“Shall we go forth as we are,” said he, “with such few as will follow the Roman standard!”

“No,” replied Pandulfo, who, by nature timid, was yet well acquainted with the disposition of the people, and therefore a sagacious counsellor.  “Let us hold back; let us wait till the rebels commit themselves by some odious outrage, and then hatred will unite the waverers, and resentment lead them.”

This counsel prevailed; the event proved its wisdom.  To give excuse and dignity to the delay, messengers were sent to Marino, whither the chief part of the Barons had fled, and which was strongly fortified, demanding their immediate return.

On the day on which the haughty refusal of the insurgents was brought to Rienzi, came fugitives from all parts of the Campagna.  Houses burned—­convents and vineyards pillaged—­cattle and horses seized—­attested the warfare practised by the Barons, and animated the drooping Romans, by showing the mercies they might expect for themselves.  That evening, of their own accord, the Romans rushed into the place of the Capitol:—­Rinaldo Orsini had seized a fortress in the immediate neighbourhood of Rome, and had set fire to a tower, the flames of which were visible to the city.  The tenant of the tower, a noble lady, old and widowed, was burnt alive.  Then rose the wild clamour—­the mighty wrath—­the headlong fury.  The hour for action had arrived.  ("Ardea terre, arse la Castelluzza e case, e uomini.  Non si schifo di ardere una nobile donna Vedova, veterana, in una torre.  Per tale crudeltade li Romani furo piu irati,” &c.—­“Vita di Cola di Rienzi”, lib. i. cap. 20.)

Chapter 5.III.  The Battle.

“I have dreamed a dream,” cried Rienzi, leaping from his bed.  “The lion-hearted Boniface, foe and victim of the Colonna, hath appeared to me, and promised victory. ("In questa notte mi e apparito Santo Bonifacio Papa,” &c.—­“Vita di Cola di Rienzi” cap. 32.) Nina, prepare the laurel-wreath:  this day victory shall be ours!”

“O, Rienzi! today?”

“Yes! hearken to the bell—­hearken to the trumpet.  Nay, I hear even now the impatient hoofs of my white warsteed!  One kiss, Nina, ere I arm for victory,—­stay—­comfort poor Irene; let me not see her—­she weeps that my foes are akin to her betrothed; I cannot brook her tears; I watched her in her cradle.  Today, I must have no weakness on my soul!  Knaves, twice perjured!—­wolves, never to be tamed!—­shall I meet ye at last sword to sword?  Away, sweet Nina, to Irene, quick!  Adrian is at Naples, and were he in Rome, her lover is sacred, though fifty times a Colonna.”

With that, the Tribune passed into his wardrobe, where his pages and gentlemen attended with his armour.  “I hear, by our spies,” said he, “that they will be at our gates ere noon—­four thousand foot, seven hundred horsemen.  We will give them a hearty welcome, my masters.  How, Angelo Villani, my pretty page, what do you out of your lady’s service?”