The duke had reined in his steed at the sight, gone white to the roots of his hair. Then he covered his face with his hands, and Francesco heard him utter a heart-rending moan.
When his hands fell, after a lapse of time, he seemed to have aged years in this brief space.
"Forward, my men," he shouted with iron mouth. "The Frangipani shall not complain of our swords!"
They passed out of Ninfa through the opposite gate. At dark they reached the moors, and soon the entire host swept silently into the ebony gloom of the great forests, which seemed sealed up against the moon and stars.
[CHAPTER VI]
RETRIBUTION
