“I am Monna Valentina's captain here,” he announced, with arrogance. “And you may deliver to me such messages as you bear.”
There followed a contention, conducted ill-humouredly on the part of Gonzaga and scarcely less so on the Count's, Francesco stoutly refusing to communicate his business to any but Valentina, and Gonzaga as stoutly refusing to disturb the lady at that hour, or to lower the bridge. Words flew between them across the waters of the moat, and grew hotter at each fresh exchange, till in the end they were abruptly terminated by the appearance of Valentina herself, attended by Peppino.
“What is this, Gonzaga?” she inquired, her manner excited, for the fool had told her that it was the knight Francesco who sought admittance, and at the very mention of the name she had flushed, then paled, then started for the ramparts. “Why is this knight denied admittance since he bears a message for me?” And from where she stood she sought with admiring eyes the graceful shape of the Count of Aquila--the knight-errant of her dreams. Francesco bared his head, and bent to the withers of his horse in courteous greeting. She turned to Gonzaga impatiently.
“For what do you wait?” she cried. “Have you not understood my wishes? Let the bridge be lowered.”
“Bethink you, Madonna,” he remonstrated. “You do not know this man. He may be a spy of Gian Maria's--a hireling paid to betray us.”
“You fool,” she answered sharply. “Do you not see that it is the wounded knight we met that day you were escorting me to Urbino?”
“What shall that signify?” demanded he. “Is it proof of his honesty of purpose or loyalty to you? Be advised, Madonna, and let him deliver his message from where he is. He is safer there.”
“Messer Gonzaga, order them to lower the bridge,” she bade him.
“Peril?” she echoed. “Peril from two men, and we a garrison of over twenty? Surely the man is a coward who talks so readily of perils. Have the drawbridge lowered.”
“But if----” he began, with a desperate vehemence, when again she cut him short.
“Am I to be obeyed? Am I mistress, and will you bid them lower the bridge, or must I, myself, go see to it?”
With a look of despairing anger and a shrug of the shoulders he turned from her, and despatched one of his men with an order. A few moments later, with a creaking of hinges and a clanking of chains, the great bridge swung down and dropped with a thud to span the gulf. Instantly the Count spurred his horse forward, and followed by Lanciotto rode across the plank and under the archway of the entrance tower into the first courtyard.