The Knight looked inquiringly at his companion.

“It is the marquee of the merchants,” said the captain; “they have free admission to the camp, and their property and persons are rigidly respected.  They purchase each soldier’s share of the plunder at fair prices, and either party is contented with the bargain.”

“It seems, then, that there is some kind of rude justice observed amongst you,” said the Knight.

“Rude!  Diavolo!  Not a town in Italy but would be glad of such even justice, and such impartial laws.  Yonder lie the tents of the judges, appointed to try all offences of soldier against soldier.  To the right, the tent with the golden ball contains the treasurer of the army.  Fra Moreale incurs no arrears with his soldiery.”

It was, indeed, by these means that the Knight of St. John had collected the best equipped and the best contented force in Italy.  Every day brought him recruits.  Nothing was spoken of amongst the mercenaries of Italy but the wealth acquired in his service, and every warrior in the pay of Republic or of Tyrant sighed for the lawless standard of Fra Moreale.  Already had exaggerated tales of the fortunes to be made in the ranks of the Great Company passed the Alps; and, even now, the Knight, penetrating farther into the camp, beheld from many a tent the proud banners and armorial blazon of German nobility and Gallic knighthood.

“You see,” said the Free Companion, pointing to these insignia, “we are not without our different ranks in our wild city.  And while we speak, many a golden spur is speeding hitherward from the North!”

All now in the quarter they had entered was still and solemn; only afar came the mingled hum, or the sudden shout of the pandemonium in the rear, mellowed by distance to a not unpleasing sound.  An occasional soldier, crossing their path, stalked silently and stealthily to some neighbouring tent, and seemed scarcely to regard their approach.

“Behold! we are before the General’s pavilion,” said the Free Lance.

Blazoned with purple and gold, the tent of Montreal lay a little apart from the rest.  A brooklet from the stream they had crossed murmured gratefully on the ear, and a tall and wide-spreading beech cast its shadow over the gorgeous canvass.

While his troop waited without, the knight was conducted at once to the presence of the formidable adventurer.

Chapter 8.II.  Adrian Once More the Guest of Montreal.

Montreal was sitting at the head of a table, surrounded by men, some military, some civil, whom he called his councillors, and with whom he apparently debated all his projects.  These men, drawn from various cities, were intimately acquainted with the internal affairs of the several states to which they belonged.  They could tell to a fraction the force of a signor, the wealth of a merchant, the power of a mob.  And thus, in his lawless camp, Montreal presided,