'Galeazzo's room!' he muttered; 'a red portent to greet him!' and, turning to pursue his way—ran into a vice of arms and was in a moment a prisoner.
The shock was so stunning, that he found himself bound and helpless before he could realise its import. And then he roared out like a lassoed bull:—
'Dogs! What's this?'
The Provost Marshal answered him, waving aside his capturing sbirri.
'Her Grace's warrant, Messer.'
Lanterns seemed to have sprung like funguses from the ground, grossly multiplying the strong company which surrounded him. He stared about him bewildered; then, all in an instant, drove forward like a battering-ram. There was a clash of pikes and mail; an arquebus exploded, luckily without disaster; and Carlo was down in a writhe of men, pounding with his heels.
It brought him nothing but a full interest of bruises. Shortly he was on his feet again, torn and dishevelled; but this time with a thong about his ankles.
He found wisdom of his helplessness to temporise.
'Save thee, Provost Marshal, I have an important errand toward. Spare me to it, and I'll give my parole to deliver up my person to thee on my return.'
The dummy wagged aside the appeal, woodenly.