There was no time for consideration; I at once fell on guard myself. Polidoro awaited my attack with his blade low, after the manner of the Italians, but at my first lunge, breaking down his parade before we had even crossed swords, whether it was that remorse for his act prevented his exerting his usual skill or through unlucky mischance on his part, I disarmed him, catching his guard on the point of my sword and forcing his weapon from his hand.
"Maleditto!" he exclaimed angrily, blushing with shame and wrath, and turning to Zanetto, who could not forbear laughing at his mishap, with a blow of his heavy boot, he crushed the drum to pieces, and, tearing off his epaulettes, mingled with the ranks.
"Lieutenant, I have not degraded you," I said softly. "It is even possible that, if chance favors you, I may restore your sword."
This indulgence shown to Polidoro, whose guilt was aggravated by an attack on his superior officer, made a greater impression than severity could. The fascination he exercised over the men, their belief in him, his prestige were considerably lessened. I felt that I was master of the troop.
"As for you," I said to Matteo, "as a punishment for your insolence, you must dig the trench."
"I, my captain?"
"You."
"Shoot me first, captain, I implore you," sobbed Matteo, pale with shame and despair.
He was one of the oldest and best soldiers in the company; his mustache almost white, and his face seamed with scars. He thought himself degraded before his comrades, and did not see that my aim was to save him.