He uttered an exclamation when he saw me still there, the gate shut and the officer in talk with me. He spurred quickly forward.
“How is this?” he demanded haughtily and angrily. “This man rides upon the business of the State. Why this delay to open for him?”
“My orders,” said the lieutenant, civilly but firmly, “are that none passes out to-night.”
“Do you know me?” demanded Gambara.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you dare talk to me of your orders? There are no orders here in Piacenza but my orders. Set me wide the wicket of that gate. I myself must pass.”
“My lord, I dare not.”
“You are insubordinate,” said the Legate, of a sudden very cold.
He had no need to ask whose orders were these. At once he saw the trammel spread for him. But if Messer Cosimo was subtle, so, too, was Messer Gambara. By not so much as a word did he set his authority in question with the officer.
“You are insubordinate,” was all he answered him, and then to the two men-at-arms behind the lieutenant—“Ho, there!” he called. “Bring out the guard. I am Egidio Gambara, your Governor.”