“And the Assisi?”
“Have escaped to the palace. They are endeavoring to rally the troops. Arm, my lord duke, for the sake of the Madonna, or all is lost!”
A loud shout, “down with the tyrant!” and the clang of arms ran through the corridor.
“Ho! D’Argencourt! mine armour! my helmet!” shouted the duke. “Treason! throw forth my banner! Stand fast, arbalastmen, to the windows! Ply trebuchet and mangonel! Cerettieri, order the Count D’Hunteville to draw forth my chivalry into the piazza! Shall we shrink from the hogs of Florence? Fight valiantly, my brave knights and gallant soldiers, and the spoil of the city shall be yours!”
V.
The streets of Florence presented a wild and tumultuous scene in the pale gray of the morning. The bells from the cathedral church of Santa Maria del Fiore, and from the venerable towers of the church of the Apostoli, tolled incessantly, while from the market-place and town-house, as well as from the multitude of smaller chapels, the din was fearfully augmented. The shrill cry “to arms!” resounded every where. From the tall towers of the noble, from the windows of the citizen’s house—aye, from hut and hovel, waved the flag of the ancient republic. The rabble, armed with such imperfect weapons as haste and rage could supply, wandered in confused masses through every lane and thoroughfare, in pursuit of the instruments of the duke’s cruelty. Armed bands of horsemen patrolled the city. The burghers of the town, inured to military discipline, and trained to break opposing squadrons with the spear, were ranged, each man under the respective banner of his ward. Barriers were thrown up at the end of every street to break the charge of the duke’s cavalry. Adimari and the Medici rode at the head of their mailed retainers, displaying their armorial bearings, through every ward, cheering and animating the citizens. The ducal soldiery, scattered through the city, and unprepared for such an emergency, were endeavoring to regain the palace, but many were seized and stripped of their armour, by the vigilance of Pino D’Rossi and his associates. In front of the palace was collected a blood-thirsty mob, in overwhelming numbers, pouring from lane and alley, among which cross bows and mangonels of the soldiery from the windows, scarce seemed to take effect, so fast were those who fell replaced by throngs of the living. The cry of “death! death!” was yelled out on every hand. Women thronged the windows of the grand square, repeating the cry, and throwing weapons to the crowd below. Many of the lesser minions of the duke were seized; some in female apparel, endeavoring to escape, were rent in pieces by the vindictive Florentines, with circumstances of horrible ferocity. In the height of the uproar, a knight, mounted upon a barbed steed, and covered with a gold and ivory pointed shield, his page being seated behind him, was seen dashing along at full speed toward the city gates.
“Ho!” cried Bindo Altoviti, “what guard keep ye here, archers? Draw to the head, and send me yon Frenchman back to his own country, feathered for his flight with a goose-wing of Florence!”
A shower of arrows were directed against the fugitives, two of which took effect, and the knight, with his page, fell to the ground. The people pursued and caught the flying steed, crying, “thanks to the good duke for the gift! Oh! the Florentine people for ever!”
Adimari and Medici, with their train, rode up at the instant.
“What cavalier is yon?” asked Adimari. “Some one examine him, that we may know if he deserve honorable burial. God forbid we should deny that, even to a foe.”