"My lord," said de Lana, with a dangerous look in his eyes, "he was a Prince and a Scaliger!"
"He was my enemy—scorn for scorn! Throw Mastino della Scala from the balcony—or——"
And half a dozen men came forward and lifted the prostrate body.
"Haste," said Visconti, his eyes on de Lana. "Throw him out of my sight."
"Let them carry him down the steps, my lord," cried de Lana.
But Visconti turned on him, his face and hair glowing in the light of the flames from Novara, his face fiendish.
"They shall do as I bid, or hang from the nearest tree! Now haste!" he said again, as if he feared the dead might yet arise.
They carried the body to the edge of the steps and pushed it over, crashing dully down the foliage that half overspread the marble.
Visconti stepped to the parapet and looked over.