"Down with your weapons," exclaimed Banfi; "let him proclaim the Prince's mandate. Give him room that he may speak freely."
The herald rose in his stirrups, and looking along the ranks cried aloud—
"The Prince forbids you from henceforth to obey Banfi! Whoever takes up weapons for him is a traitor!"
"You're a traitor yourself," roared Michael Angel, and the next moment the crowd fell furiously upon the herald, with loud cries of "Kill him! kill him!" A hundred blades flashed simultaneously over his head.
"Hold!" cried Banfi in a voice of thunder, covering the herald with his body; "this man's person is sacred and inviolable. To your places! Sheathe your swords! I—your leader—command it!"
"Eljen! eljen!" roared the brigades, and at the word of command they fell back into their places and stood there like an iron wall.
"You will not be very angry with me," said Banfi to the herald, who had suddenly turned deadly pale, "you will not be very angry with me, I hope, for making them obey me this once? Go back to the Prince and tell him that in three days I will appear before him."
"And tell him that we will be there too," cried the captains in chorus.
The herald and his suite withdrew. Banfi moodily bent his head.
The third flourish of trumpets had already sounded, and the banners were all unfurled; but Banfi still continued staring blankly, darkly, dumbly before him.