“You will save her from Gian Maria?” questioned Fanfulla incredulously.
“I will attempt it.”
He turned to his servant, who entered as he spoke.
“We set out in a quarter of an hour, Lanciotto,” said he. “Saddle for me and for yourself. You are to go with me. Zaccaria may remain with Messer degli Arcipreti. You will care for him, Fanfulla, and he will serve you well.”
“But what of me?” cried Fanfulla. “Do I not accompany you?”
“If you will, yes. But you might serve me better by returning to Babbiano and watching the events there, sending me word of what befalls—for great things will befall soon if my cousin returns not and the Borgia advances. It is upon this that I am founding such hopes as I have.”
“But whither shall I send you word? To Roccaleone?”
Francesco reflected a moment. “If you do not hear from me, then send your news to Roccaleone, for if I should linger there and we are besieged, it will perhaps be impossible to send a message to you. But if—as I hope—I go to Aquila, I will send you word of it.”
“To Aquila?”
“Yes. It may be that I shall be at Aquila before the week is out. But keep it secret, Fanfulla, and I'll fool these dukes to the very top of their unhealthy bent.”