at once.

Castracane squared his jaw and waited. Every now and then he muttered to
himself, with lazy lifted eyebrows. It was too much trouble to shrug.
"Poor little devil--it would be a shame! And I knocked him down for
nothing. And he loves me, per Bacco! Certainly, I have never been loved
before--by a man, I mean--except by my big old mother out yonder, and
she is a woman. She'll be sorry--she's old--eh, she's horribly old!
Accursed, most rotten ass, Andrea! The whole story out of him--and a lie
at that. Cospetto! I can't let the poor lad swing. And I did knock him
down--and he cried like a girl; but not because I grassed him. By my
soul, I'll do it--there, then!" Then he mortised his chin in his brown
hands and blinked while he waited.

He had not so very long; but you might have given him an hour, it would
have made no difference to Castracane then. The guard came reeking to
the brow of the hill; Andrea, haltered, was with them. Alessandro,
mopping his head and cursing the flies, came last.

"Look yonder, Marco," said one. The other said "Ha!" and pounced upon
his treasure. He had him by the ear and was pricking him with his sabre
in the fleshy parts.

"Easy, friend," said Castracane; "I'm not running away."

He went like a sheep to the Sub-Prefect. Andrea watched him twittering.

"What is your name, fellow?" said that heated officer.

Andrea's eyes yearned for his mate's. Castracane gave him a terrible
look.

"Silvestro is my name, Signore," says he; and Andrea knew his game.

"We have found our bird, I think," said Alessandro, turning to his men.

"Yes, Excellency, this is the lad we want. There was another of
them--Castracane they call him."

"Ah, yes. Where is Castracane, fellow?"

"He is over Venda. Gone to Noventa, to his mother," replied Castracane.

"Well, we don't want him so far as I know. Now, attend to me. You are
suspected of that business in the Via della Gatta."

Castracane shrugged. "Chi lo sa?" says he.

"We shall see about that. Meantime, what have you to urge?"

Castracane scratched his head. "What would you have me say, Messere? I
am a poor lad. You are many, and I am one."

Alessandro turned to his archers. "Bring him down to the hermitage," he
said. "I am going to eat something. Tie him up and wait for me there.
You can let the other go. This is the lad, fast enough. Avanti!"

So the shackles were taken off Andrea's raw wrists, and transferred to
Castracane's; the neck hal