"Gentlemen," said he, recovering, "you imagined I was completely at your mercy, yet you behaved with a noble generosity which I shall never forget. You might have proposed to slay me at that instant" (he darted a terrible glance at Andronicus), "or to deliver me up to the nearest podesta: you betrayed no intention of doing either; but, had you made the attempt, behold my prevention!"
He placed to his lips a bugle of black buffalo horn, and blew a shrill signal, which made hill and valley, wood and shore, now growing dark and grim in the twilight, re-echo to the sound. It acted like the whistle of Black Roderick in the wilderness. His followers, to the number of twice five hundred men, sprang up from their concealment among the underwood, the dark green laurels, the long wavy grass, the rocks and the crumbling ruins, and crowded around us: a startling swarm of black-browed and ruffian-like fellows, all clad in the gay brigand's garb, and well armed with the Calabrian rifle, pouch, and powder-horn; some with the spoil of the unhappy Frenchmen massacred at La Syla and the villa of Sauveria, but most of them with good British buff-belts, muskets, bayonets, and cartridge-boxes, which on our landing we had issued, perhaps rather too indiscriminately, to the peasantry.
My friend and I confronted this appalling array with firmness; but old Zacheo grew pale as death: his legs tottered under him, and he sank humbly on his knees, while the memory of the fatal words by which he had urged us to despatch Francatripa, caused a cold perspiration to come over him.
"Signori, behold my followers, those free foresters of St. Eufemio, whose fame is so terrible through all the Neapolitan territories. During our whole interview they have been around us; so you were all more in my power than I could be in yours. Do me the honour to keep the poniards for my sake; and if ever you are assaulted by a Calabrian outlaw, show him my cypher on the pommel, and his arm will be powerless against you, and the passage free. Yes! fallen though he is, the name of Francatripa finds an echo in every Italian heart; and there is something glorious in that!"
He vaulted gracefully into his saddle, and assuming all his former loftiness of manner, made a signal to his band, who immediately moved off at a running trot towards the forest, led by my old acquaintance the crookback, who now very ignobly bestrode a paunchy mule.
"Buona notte, Monsignore Visconte; Capitano, santa notte!" cried the gallant robber, waving his cap, and putting spurs to his horse.
"A long good-bye to Francatripa, and all his company," I replied, significantly, as he rode away at full gallop: but Luigi, who had also resumed his hauteur, merely gave him a cold bow, and muttered to me—
"Pshaw! I hate these sentimental ruffians. Yet he is a famous fellow."
I preserved one of the brigand's poniards, as a memorial of that strange encounter; but my haughtier friend gave the other as a gift to his servant, who immediately placed it in his leathern girdle. After watching the disappearance of the brigands, as they retired by one of those gloomy gorges through which the Calabrian roads generally wind, we prepared to return to the villa, having now been absent two hours; as we remembered how great would be the anxiety of the timid Bianca for our safety.
CHAPTER VI.