The Piccinino, Volume 2 (of 2); The last of Aldinis

by George Sand

As he was climbing through a breach, Malacarne saw the man sitting under his feet, almost between his legs. He had not anticipated that obstacle, and he had neither his dagger nor his pistol in his hand. An opportune dagger thrust cuts a man's life short without giving him time to cry out. The pistol shot is less certain, nor did Malacarne wish to fire until all his men were posted so that they could pour a deadly volley into the fort. Meanwhile the sentinel would surely give the alarm, even if the bandit should retreat, for his footing was precarious, and the stones, uncemented, were beginning to crumble all about him. The campiere was not asleep. He was paralyzed with cold, and had pulled his cloak over his head as a protection against the piercing wind which stiffened his limbs.

But while this precaution deadened the sound of the wind and made it easier for him to hear sounds in the distance, it prevented him from hearing any noise at his side, and the hood which he had pulled over his eyes had made him blind for the last quarter of an hour. However, he was a brave soldier, incapable of sleeping at his post. But there is nothing more difficult than to keep a sharp lookout. An active and alert mind is necessary for that, and the campiere's mind was wholly devoid of thought. He fancied that he was watching because he was not moving. And yet the mere falling of a pebble at his feet would have caused him to fire his gun. He had his finger on the trigger.

Inspired by his desperate situation, Malacarne grasped the unfortunate sentinel's throat in his iron hands, rolled down into the bastion with him, and held him thus, unable to utter a sound, until one of his comrades stabbed him in his arms.

In another moment they were crouching behind the battlements, protected from the fire of the enemy. The fire blazing in the courtyard enabled them to see the campieri unsuspectingly intent on their game, and they took plenty of time to aim. The weapons were hurriedly reloaded while the besieged were seeking theirs; but before they had thought of using them—before they had discovered from what direction they were attacked—a second volley was poured in upon them, and several were severely wounded. Two did not rise again; a third fell head-foremost into the fire, and was burned to death for lack of help.

From the tower the officer had seen where the attack had come from. He rushed out, roaring with rage. He did not arrive in time to prevent his men from wasting a volley on the wall.

"Stupid dolts!" he cried, "you waste your ammunition firing at random! You have lost your wits! Leave the fort! Leave the fort! We must fight outside!"

But he discovered that he himself had lost his wits, for he had left his sword on the table on which he had fallen asleep. A flight of six steps separated him from the room. He ascended them at a single leap, for he knew that in a moment he would have to fight with cold steel.

But, during the fusillade, the Piccinino had succeeded in breaking his bonds, and had taken advantage of the tumult to break down the ill-secured door of his prison. He had pounced on the lieutenant's sword and extinguished the pitch-pine torch that was stuck in a crack of the table. When the officer returned, and was feeling about in the darkness for his weapon, he received a terrific cut across the face, and fell backward. Carmelo rushed upon him and finished him. Then he cut Verbum Caro's bonds and handed him the lieutenant's sword, saying: "Do what you can!"

The false Piccinino forgot in an instant his weakness and his suffering. He dragged himself on his knees to the door, and there he succeeded in rising and standing on his feet. But the real Piccinino, seeing that he could not walk except by clinging to the walls, threw the officer's cloak over him, put the military cap on his head, and told him to go out at his leisure. Thereupon he himself went down into the deserted courtyard, took the cloak from one of the campieri who had been killed, disguised himself as best he could, and, always faithful to his comrade, took him by the arm and led him toward the gateway of the fort.

Everybody had gone out except the two men who had been left behind to prevent the prisoners from escaping in the confusion, and who were returning to guard the tower. The fire in the courtyard was dying out, and gave only a feeble light.