Isotta d'Este had been removed from Milan, and was lodged in a strong fort some miles outside Brescia, guarded still by Visconti's soldiers, but also by some of Della Scala's trusted but still unwitting Veronese—men who kept watch over her night and day, inspected all she ate, and allowed no emissary from Visconti to see her alone.
Such were the terms.
The thing had been done secretly. Vague rumors that the Duchess's release was being negotiated were the utmost that got abroad. The soldiers guarding her for Mastino thought the privilege bought, or that the Emperor had wrung it from Visconti. There were none who suspected the truth. Though for those ten days had been disaster on disaster, though town after town had fallen, squadron after squadron been ambushed, and though some whispered treachery and pointed to this captain and to that, none thought of staining the loftiest name in Lombardy with even a doubt—Mastino della Scala, the son of Can' Gran' della Scala, of a race that had never lied or betrayed, the one race in Lombardy of a lofty honor. Men would have as soon thought the stars would fall as Mastino della Scala.
Visconti, pacing his palace in a fever of triumph, thought of all this; thought of the d'Estes in Novara, still trusting—thought of Mastino's Veronese, their devotion, their sympathy—thought of Mastino's feelings. It was almost enough to satisfy his hate—but not quite—not quite.
"To-morrow," he said, stopping before de Lana—"to-morrow I shall march from Milan, and I shall lay in ashes every village, every town that has favored Della Scala. I will let loose my soldiers to pay themselves from the wealth of Lombardy, and I will makes the Estes take their proud banner down from the walls of Novara, and hoist with their own hands the Viper!"
"Mastino della Scala lies at Brescia," said de Lana, with an uplifting of his dark eyes. "His army has dwindled almost to a handful of picked Veronese; so a deserter who rode in tells me. He waits there for his wife."
"And I," said Visconti, leaning against the table, "have given orders she is to be sent, de Lana. He has kept his word; I will keep mine. He has paid dearly enough—he shall have his wife. And to-morrow I march on Novara."
"I have my orders, my lord."
"I have nothing more to say, de Lana. To-morrow we leave Milan."
The captain was turning in silence, when Visconti spoke again.