“He has six mounted men with him,” replied Rinolfo. “In that case,” I answered, “you will bid him begone in my name.”
“And if he should not go?” was Rinolfo's impudent question.
“You will tell him that I will drive him hence—him and his braves. We keep a garrison of a score of men at least—sufficient to compel him to depart.”
“He will return again with more,” said Rinolfo.
“Does that concern you?” I snapped. “Let him return with what he pleases. To-day I enrol more forces from the countryside, take up the bridge and mount our cannon. This is my lair and fortress, and I'll defend it and myself as becomes my name and blood. For I am the lord and master here, and the Lord of Mondolfo is not to be dragged away thus at the heels of a Captain of Justice. You have my orders, obey them. About it, sir.”
Circumstances had shown me the way that I must take, and the folly of going forth a fugitive outcast at my mother's bidding. I was Lord of Mondolfo, as I had said, and they should know and feel it from this hour—all of them, not excepting my mother.
But I reckoned without the hatred Rinolfo bore me. Instead of the prompt obedience that I had looked for, he had turned again to my mother.
“Is it your wish, Madonna?” he inquired.
“It is my wish that counts, you knave,” I thundered and advanced upon him.
But he fronted me intrepidly. “I hold my office from my Lady the Countess. I obey none other here.”