"Drive on," he said, and the dreary procession started again, winding through the sun and shadow toward Brescia.
So great was the spell upon the peasants, that though the wounded boy lay moaning in the road, not a man, scarce a child among them stirred from his place till the banner of the Viper was a silver speck in the distance.
Then with shaking hands the youth was dragged into the ditch amid a babble of blame and fear. Vittore, rising from his stricken comrade, gazed into the distance with horror-stricken eyes.
"Who was it?" he whispered at last to the woman near him. "Who was it?"
She turned a dull face up from the scattered vegetables she was gathering together.
"Who art thou that thou knowest not?" she asked.
"I come from Florence," said the lad quickly, "traveling to Verona."
"To Verona! Thou art not on thy way to Verona here."
"I know it, but the company we traveled with was bound for Milan. Three days ago we missed them, and thought to find them in the city where we looked to spend the night, but now——"
He glanced at his companion and could scarce refrain from weeping.