Outside he heard familiar voices, officers and men; his Veronese, still glad to trust his leadership; and he was to betray and trick them into shame.
"Can I carry it through, can I go forth with a calm face and lie to them—my soldiers!" he cried in agony. "But her life—her dear life—her more than life—hangs upon my falsity!"
He thought of the beautiful free towns of Italy: his Verona he had rescued once; proud Ferrara; Mantua that had never felt any yoke but that of the Gonzaga's; Pavia; all the haughty fair towns that had scorned Visconti. What would Visconti's vengeance on them be? Mastino could hardly believe he had done this thing. Yet were the choice given again, he would choose the same—he would choose the same!
The sultry breeze blew back the opening, showing the deep blue sky and near-lying tents; a company of soldiers galloped by carrying the standard of Verona—the ladder of the Scaligeri.
How soon would that banner be torn from the walls of Verona and the Viper take its place?
"My city!" cried Mastino, "my city!" and his head sank forward on his out-thrown arms, while his shoulders heaved with sobs.
CHAPTER THIRTY THE WEDDING
Seven days had passed.