th a flag of truce rode forward accompanied
by a knight armed cap-a-pie, his beaver down.

The herald wound a challenge; and it was answered from the postern by a
man-at-arms, whereupon the herald delivered his message.

"In the name of our Holy Father and Lord, Paul III, we summon
Agostino d'Anguissola here to confer with the High and Mighty Cosimo
d'Anguissola, Tyrant of Mondolfo and Carmina."

Three minutes later, to their infinite surprise, the bridge thudded down
to span the ditch, and I walked out upon it with Bianca at my side.

"Will the Lord Cosimo come within to deliver his message?" I demanded.

The Lord Cosimo would not, fearing a trap.

"Will he meet us here upon the bridge, divesting himself first of his
weapons? Myself I am unarmed."

The herald conveyed the words to Cosimo, who hesitated still. Indeed, he
had wheeled his horse when the bridge fell, ready to gallop off at the
first sign of a sortie.

I laughed. "You are a paltry coward, Cosimo, when all is said," I
shouted. "Do you not see that had I planned to take you, I need resort
to no subterfuge? I have," I added--though untruthfully--"twice your
number of lances under arms, and by now I could have flung them across
the bridge and taken you under the very eyes of your own men. You were
rash to venture so far. But if you will not venture farther, at least
send me your herald."

At that he got down from his horse, delivered up sword and dagger to his
single attendant, received from the man a parchment, and came towards
us, opening his vizor as he advanced. Midway upon the bridge we met. His
lips curled in a smile of scorn.

"Greetings, my strolling saint," he said. "Through all your vagaries you
are at least consistent in that you ever engage your neighbour's wife to
bear you company in your wanderings."

I went hot and cold, red and white by turns. With difficulty I
controlled myself under that taunt--the cruellest he could have flung at
me in Bianca's hearing.

"Your business here?" I snarled.

He held out the parchment, his eyes watching me intently, so that they
never once strayed to Bianca.

"Read, St. Mountebank," he bade me.

I took the paper, but before I lowered my eyes to it, I gave him
warning.

"If on your part you attempt the slightest treachery," I said, "you
shall be repaid in kind. My men are at the winches, and they have my
orders that at the first treacherous movement on your part they are to
take up the bridge.