ight. Oh, I know them of old! What man can do, I shall do; but..." He
shrugged, and shook his head sorrowfully.

"Can you count on none?" asked Gonzaga, very serious, stroking his
smooth, fat chin.

"I can count upon one," answered Galeotto. "The Lord of Pagliano; he is
ghibelline to the very marrow, and he belongs to me. At my bidding there
is nothing he will not do. There is an old debt between us, and he is
a noble soul who will not leave his debts unpaid. Upon him I can count;
and he is rich and powerful. But then, he is not really a Piacentino
himself. He holds his fief direct from the Emperor. Pagliano is part of
the State of Milan, and Cavalcanti is no subject of Farnese. His case,
therefore, is exceptional and he has less than the usual cause for
timidity. But the others..." Again he shrugged. "What man can do to stir
them, that will I do. You shall hear from me soon again, my lord."

Gonzaga looked at me. "Did you not say that here was another?"

Galeotto smiled sadly. "Ay--just one arm and one sword. That is all.
Unless this emprise succeeds he is never like to rule in Mondolfo. He
may be counted upon; but he brings no lances with him."

"I see," said Gonzaga, his lip between thumb and forefinger. "But his
name..."

"That and his wrongs shall be used, depend upon it, my lord--the wrongs
which are his by inheritance."

I said no word. A certain resentment filled me to hear myself so
disposed of without being consulted; and yet it was tempered by a
certain trust in Galeotto, a faith that he would lead me into nothing
unworthy.

Gonzaga conducted us to the door of the closet. "I shall look to hear
from you, Ser Galeotto," he said. "And if at first the nobles of the
Val di Taro are not to be moved, perhaps after they have had a taste
of Messer Pier Luigi's ways they will gather courage out of despair.
I think we may be hopeful if patient. Meanwhile, my master the Emperor
shall be informed."

Another moment and we were out of that florid, crafty, well-nourished
presence. The curtains had dropped behind us, and we were thrusting our
way through the press in the ante-chamber, Galeotto muttering to himself
things which as we gained the open air I gathered to be curses directed
against the Emperor and his Milanese Lieutenant.

In the inn of the sign of the Sun, by the gigantic Duomo of Visconti's
building, he opened the gates to his anger and let it freely forth.

"It is a world of cravens," he said, "a wo