"Some fourscore!" repeated Della Scala. "Are there so many as fourscore that will not serve Visconti?"
"They have strange tales, my lord. They say Carrara himself is dead."
"Carrara dead!" cried Mastino with a sudden fierceness, savage as a bite. "Now, I had promised myself to kill Carrara. Who has forestalled me?"
"It is said—Visconti himself—they do not know."
"And the traitor dead," broke in Della Scala, "was there not one—not one to lead the men back to me again? Visconti, single-handed and unarmed, was allowed to take an army into Milan?"
"Alas, my lord, not only Carrara, his captains too, as it appears, have all been bought."
"Tell me no more," cried Mastino. "I am alone to blame. I cannot learn to deal with traitors."
"As for Count Carrara, the wretched German," continued Ligozzi, "he has left the camp." As he spoke, Ligozzi glanced through the window at the tents. "He took no one with him, but, ordering his Germans to fight as one man to the death for you, he rode along the road to Milan."
"Oh!" cried Mastino, with a great cry wrung from his soul. He rested his hand a moment on Ligozzi's shoulder. "I am well-nigh sick, Ligozzi," he said. "The empty-headed and the villain prosper, and I—and mine—go to the wall."
Tomaso stole forward. Della Scala noticed him and turned kindly.