“Ho, sir page!” exclaimed the Hebrew, “thou seem’st fearful of the morning breeze. Hurry along—hurry along—or beshrew me, thou wilt not get the rare lace for the Ladye Annabel—the rare lace worth its weight in gold a hundred times told. Haste thee—haste thee!”
They crossed the court-yard, and presently stood before the pillars of the castle gate, which was guarded by four sentinels, attired in the livery of his grace of Florence.
“Fair sir,” exclaimed the Jew, addressing one of the men-at-arms, “I would pass through the castle gate. I am bound for the village hard by the castle. Albarone, I think you call it?”
“Wherefore abroad so early?” asked the sentinel; “and why goes Guiseppo with you?”
“Yesternight, when I journeyed toward the castle, some of my most precious wares I left behind me at the hostel of the village below. The Ladye Annabel wishes to purchase some rare and costly laces. My business calls me and this poor dumb youth away to the north, and therefore is the page sent with me; he is sent to receive the wares purchased by the Ladye Annabel. Hast any thing further to ask, sir sentinel?”
And as he asked the question, the page Guiseppo and the Arabian drew nearer to the Jew, awaiting the answer with evident interest.
It was observable that the right hand of the mute was thrust within the folds of his doublet, while his blue eye, so strangely contrasting with his dark brows and darker hair, glared fiercely into the faces of the sentinels.
“I have nothing more to ask of thee, now,” exclaimed another sentinel, advancing. “But had not the Duke sent me this pass for thee, thy servitor, and the page Guiseppo, the foul fiend take me, but I would have seen thy heathen carcass at the devil, ere a bolt should be drawn for thee to pass forth at this unseasonable hour. Thy way lies before thee, Jew!”
As he spoke, he applied a key to a small door which was cut into the massive timbers of the castle gate. The door flew open, and through the opened space the drawbridge was seen descending. One foot of the Jew was passed through the narrow entrance, when the sentinel who held the pass of the Duke, exclaimed:
“Why, Guiseppo, what aileth thee? Wherefore art muffled up in this fashion? Where are thy merry jests? Where is that magpie tongue of thine? Hast forgotten all thy mischievous pranks—eh, sir page?”