Rienzi, the Last of the Roman Tribunes by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (distant reading .txt) 📖

When Walter de Montreal and his mercenaries quitted Corneto, they made the best of their way to Rome; arriving there, long before the Barons, they met with a similar reception at the gates, but Montreal prudently forbore all attack and menace, and contented himself with sending his trusty Rodolf into the city to seek Rienzi, and to crave permission to enter with his troop. Rodolf returned in a shorter time than was anticipated. “Well,” said Montreal impatiently, “you have the order I suppose. Shall we bid them open the gates?”

“Bid them open our graves,” replied the Saxon, bluntly. “I trust my next heraldry will be to a more friendly court.”

“How! what mean you?”

“Briefly this:—I found the new governor, or whatever his title, in the palace of the Capitol, surrounded by guards and councillors, and in a suit of the finest armour I ever saw out of Milan.”

“Pest on his armour! give us his answer.”

“‘Tell Walter de Montreal,’ said he, then, if you will have it, ‘that Rome is no longer a den of thieves; tell him, that if he enters, he must abide a trial—‘”

“A trial!” cried Montreal, grinding his teeth.

“‘For participation in the evil doings of Werner and his freebooters.’”

“Ha!”

“‘Tell him, moreover, that Rome declares war against all robbers, whether in tent or tower, and that we order him in forty-eight hours to quit the territories of the Church.’”

“He thinks, then, not only to deceive, but to menace me? Well, proceed.”

“That was all his reply to you; to me, however, he vouchsafed a caution still more obliging. ‘Hark ye, friend,’ said he, for every German bandit found in Rome after tomorrow, our welcome will be cord and gibbet! Begone.’”

“Enough! enough!” cried Montreal, colouring with rage and shame. “Rodolf, you have a skilful eye in these matters, how many Northmen would it take to give that same gibbet to the upstart?”

Rodolf scratched his huge head, and seemed awhile lost in calculation; at length he said, “You, Captain, must be the best judge, when I tell you, that twenty thousand Romans are the least of his force, so I heard by the way; and this evening he is to accept the crown, and depose the Emperor.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Montreal, “is he so mad? then he will want not our aid to hang himself. My friends, let us wait the result. At present neither barons nor people seem likely to fill our coffers. Let us across the country to Terracina. Thank the saints,” and Montreal (who was not without a strange kind of devotion,—indeed he deemed that virtue essential to chivalry) crossed himself piously, “the free companions are never long without quarters!”

“Hurrah for the Knight of St. John!” cried the mercenaries. “And hurrah for fair Provence and bold Germany!” added the Knight, as he waved his hand on high, struck spurs into his already wearied horse, and, breaking out into his favourite song,

Montreal, with his troop, struck gallantly across the Campagna.

The Knight of St. John soon, however, fell into an absorbed and moody reverie; and his followers imitating the silence of their chief, in a few minutes the clatter of their arms and the jingle of their spurs, alone disturbed the stillness of the wide and gloomy plains across which they made towards Terracina. Montreal was recalling with bitter resentment his conference with Rienzi; and, proud of his own sagacity and talent for scheming, he was humbled and vexed at the discovery that he had been duped by a wilier intriguer. His ambitious designs on Rome, too, were crossed, and even crushed for the moment, by the very means to which he had looked for their execution. He had seen enough of the Barons to feel assured that while Stephen Colonna lived, the head of the order, he was not likely to obtain that mastery in the state which, if leagued with a more ambitious or a less timid and less potent signor, might reward his aid in expelling Rienzi. Under all circumstances, he deemed it advisable to remain aloof. Should Rienzi grow strong, Montreal might make the advantageous terms he desired with the Barons; should Rienzi’s power decay, his pride, necessarily humbled, might drive him to seek the assistance, and submit to the proposals, of Montreal. The ambition of the Provencal, though vast and daring, was not of a consistent and persevering nature. Action and enterprise were dearer to him, as yet, than the rewards