“For shame, my lord—­for shame!” said he, indignantly.  “Will you force Rome to rise, to a man, against our order?  Vex not too far the lion, chained though he be; war against us if ye will! draw your blades upon men, though they be of your own race, and speak your own tongue:  but if ye would sleep at nights, and not dread the avenger’s gripe,—­if ye would walk the market-place secure,—­wrong not a Roman woman!  Yes, the very walls around us preach to you the punishment of such a deed:  for that offence fell the Tarquins,—­for that offence were swept away the Decemvirs,—­for that offence, if ye rush upon it, the blood of your whole house may flow like water.  Cease, then, my lord, from this mad attempt, so unworthy your great name; cease, and thank even a Colonna that he has come between you and a moment’s frenzy!”

So noble, so lofty were the air and gesture of Adrian, as he thus spoke, that even the rude servitors felt a thrill of approbation and remorse—­not so Martino di Porto.  He had been struck with the beauty of the prey thus suddenly snatched from him; he had been accustomed to long outrage and to long impunity; the very sight, the very voice of a Colonna, was a blight to his eye and a discord to his ear:  what, then, when a Colonna interfered with his lusts, and rebuked his vices?

“Pedant!” he cried, with quivering lips, “prate not to me of thy vain legends and gossip’s tales! think not to snatch from me my possession in another, when thine own life is in my hands.  Unhand the maiden! throw down thy sword! return home without further parley, or, by my faith, and the blades of my followers—­(look at them well!)—­thou diest!”

“Signor,” said Adrian, calmly, yet while he spoke he retreated gradually with his fair burthen towards the neighbouring wall, so as at least to leave only his front exposed to those fearful odds:  “Thou will not so misuse the present chances, and wrong thyself in men’s mouths, as to attack with eight swords even thy hereditary foe, thus cumbered, too, as he is.  But—­nay hold!—­if thou art so proposed, bethink thee well, one cry of my voice would soon turn the odds against thee.  Thou art now in the quarter of my tribe; thou art surrounded by the habitations of the Colonna:  yon palace swarms with men who sleep not, save with harness on their backs; men whom my voice can reach even now, but from whom, if they once taste of blood, it could not save thee!”

“He speaks true, noble Lord,” said one of the band:  “we have wandered too far out of our beat; we are in their very den; the palace of old Stephen Colonna is within call; and, to my knowledge,” added he, in a whisper, “eighteen fresh men-of-arms—­ay, and Northmen too—­marched through its gates this day.”

“Were there eight hundred men at arm’s length,” answered Martino furiously, “I would not be thus bearded amidst mine own train!  Away with yon woman!  To the attack! to the attack!”

Thus saying, he made a desperate lunge at Adrian, who, having kept his eye cautiously on the movements of his enemy, was not unprepared for the assault.  As he put aside the blade with his own, he shouted with a loud voice—­“Colonna! to the rescue, Colonna!”