'Not if conducted as I would have it.' He came forward to the table, swaying from the hips in his swaggering walk. He put his finger on the map that was spread there. 'If a false attack were made here, on the east, between the city and the river, so as to draw the besieged, a bold, simultaneous attack on the west might carry the walls.'
'It might,' said Bellarion slowly, and fell to considering. 'This is a new thought of yours, this false attack. It has its merits.'
'You approve me for once! What condescension!'
Bellarion ignored the interruption. 'It also has its dangers. The party making the feint—and it will need to be a strong one or its real purpose will be guessed—might easily be thrust into the river by a determined sally.'
'It will not come to that,' Carmagnola answered quickly.
'You cannot say so much.'
'Why not? The feint will draw the besieged in that direction, but before they can sally they will be recalled by the real attack striking on the other side.'
Bellarion pondered again; but finally shook his head.
'I have said that it has its merits, and it tempts me. But I will not take the risk.'
'The risk of what?' Carmagnola was being exasperated by that quiet, determined opposition. 'God's death! Take charge of the feint yourself, if you wish. I'll lead the storming party, and so that you do your part, I'll answer for it that I am inside the town before daybreak and that Theodore will be in my hands.'