“But my orders from Messer degli Arcipreti were that I must not lose an instant.”
“Oh, si, si!” cried Gonzaga, with a show of good-tempered impatience. “Give me the letters, then, and I will take them to the Count while you are stripping those wet clothes.”
Zaccaria eyed him a moment in doubt. But he looked so harmless in his finery, and the expression of his comely face was so winning and honest, that the man's hesitancy faded as soon as it sprang up. Removing his cap, he drew from within the crown the letter, which he had placed there to keep dry. This package he now handed to Gonzaga, who, with a final word of instruction to the sentry touching the finding of raiment for the messenger, stepped out to go his errand. But outside the door he paused, and called the sentry to him again.
“Here is a ducat for you,” he whispered. “Do my bidding and you shall have more. Detain him in the tower till I return, and on no account let him be seen or heard by anyone.”
“Yes, Excellency,” the man replied. “But what if the captain comes and finds me absent from my post?”
“I will provide for that. I will tell Messer Fortemani that I have employed you on a special matter, and ask him to replace you. You are dispensed sentry duty for to-night.”
The man bowed, and quietly withdrew to attend to his prisoner, for in that light he now regarded Zaccaria.
Gonzaga sought Fortemani in the guard-room below, and did as he had promised the sentry.
“But,” snapped Ercole, reddening, “by whose authority have you done this? By what right do you send sentinels on missions of your own? Christo Santo! Is the castle to be invaded while you send my watchmen to fetch your comfitbox or a book of verses?”
“You will remember——” began Romeo, with an air of overwhelming dignity.