e alarm in Gonzaga.
He still made an effort at self-control, as planting himself between
Ercole and the table, so as to screen the tell-tale shaft, he asked him
what he sought there.

"That letter you have written Gian Maria," was the gruff, uncompromising
answer, for Ercole reeked nothing of diplomatic issues.

Gonzaga's mouth jerked itself open, and his upper lip shuddered against
his teeth.

"What---- Wha----"

"Give me that letter," Ercole insisted, now advancing upon him, and
wearing an air of ferocity that drove back into Gonzaga's throat such
resentful words as he bethought him of. Then, like an animal at bay--and
even a rat will assert itself then--he swung aloft the heavy arbalest he
held, and stood barring Ercole's way.

"Stand back!" he cried; "or by God and His saints, I'll beat your brains
out."

There was a guttural laugh from the swashbuckler, and then his arms
were round Gonzaga's shapely waist, and the popinjay was lifted from his
feet. Viciously he brought down the cross-bow, as he had threatened; but
it smote the empty air. The next instant Gonzaga was hurtled, bruised,
into a corner of the tower.

In a rage so great that he felt it draining him of his very strength
and choking the breath in his body, he made a movement to rise and fling
himself again upon his aggressor. But Fortemani was down upon him, and
for all his struggles contrived to turn him over on his face, twisting
his arms behind him, and making them fast with a belt that lay at hand.

"Lie still, you scorpion!" growled the ruffler, breathing hard from his
exertions. He rose, took the shaft with the letter tied about it, read
the superscription--"To the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza"--and
with a chuckle of mingled relish and scorn, he was gone, locking the
door.

Left alone, Gonzaga lay face downward where he had been flung, able to
do little more than groan and sweat in the extremity of his despair,
whilst he awaited the coming of those who would probably make an end of
him. Not even from Valentina could he hope for mercy, so incriminating
was the note he had penned. His letter was to enjoin the Duke to hold
his men in readiness at the hour of the Angelus next morning, and to
wait until Gonzaga should wave a handkerchief from the battlements. At
that he was to advance immediately to the postern, which he would find
open, and the rest, Gonzaga promised him, would be easy. He would take
the whole garrison at their pray