not more as a general than a statesman.  Such knowledge was invaluable to the chief of the Great Company.  It enabled him to calculate exactly the time to attack a foe, and the sum to demand for a suppression of hostilities.  He knew what parties to deal with—­where to importune—­where to forbear.  And it usually happened that, by some secret intrigue, the appearance of Montreal’s banner before the walls of a city was the signal for some sedition or some broil within.  It may be that he thus also promoted an ulterior, as well as his present, policy.

The divan were in full consultation when an officer entered, and whispered a few words in Montreal’s ear.  His eyes brightened.  “Admit him,” he said hastily.  “Messires,” he added to his councillors, rubbing his hands, “I think our net has caught our bird.  Let us see.”

At this moment the drapery was lifted and the Knight admitted.

“How!” muttered Montreal, changing colour, and in evident disappointment.  “Am I to be ever thus balked?”

“Sir Walter de Montreal,” said the prisoner, “I am once more your guest.  In these altered features you perhaps scarcely recognise Adrian di Castello.”

“Pardon me, noble Signor,” said Montreal, rising with great courtesy; “the mistake of my varlets disturbed my recollection for a moment.—­I rejoice once more to press a hand that has won so many laurels since last we parted.  Your renown has been grateful to my ears.  Ho!” continued the chieftain, clapping his hands, “see to the refreshment and repose of this noble Cavalier and his attendants.  Lord Adrian, I will join you presently.”

Adrian withdrew.  Montreal, forgetful of his councillors, traversed his tent with hasty strides; then summoning the officer who had admitted Adrian, he said, “Count Landau still keeps the pass?”

“Yes, General!”

“Hie thee fast back, then—­the ambuscade must tarry till nightfall.  We have trapped the wrong fox.”

The officer departed, and shortly afterwards Montreal broke up the divan.  He sought Adrian, who was lodged in a tent beside his own.

“My Lord,” said Montreal, “it is true that my men had orders to stop every one on the roads towards Florence.  I am at war with that city.  Yet I expected a very different prisoner from you.  Need I add, that you and your men are free?”

“I accept the courtesy, noble Montreal, as frankly as it is rendered.  May I hope hereafter to repay it?  Meanwhile permit me, without any disrespect, to say that had I learned the Grand Company was in this direction, I should have altered my course.  I had heard that your arms were bent (somewhat to my mind more nobly) against Malatesta, the tyrant of Rimini!”

“They were so.  He was my foe; he is my tributary.  We conquered him.  He paid us the price of his liberty.  We marched by Asciano upon Sienna.  For sixteen thousand florins we spared that city; and we now hang like a thunderbolt over Florence, which dared to send her puny aid to the defence of Rimini.  Our marches are forced and rapid and our camp in this plain but just pitched.”