“And Captain of the Grand Company!” added the prisoner, in a firm voice.

“You stand accused of divers counts:  robbery and murder, in Tuscany, Romagna, and Apulia—­”

“For robbery and murder, brave men, and belted Knights,” said Montreal, drawing himself up, “would use the words ‘war and victory.’  To those charges I plead guilty!  Proceed.”

“You are next accused of treasonable conspiracy against the liberties of Rome for the restoration of the proscribed Barons—­and of traitorous correspondence with Stefanello Colonna at Palestrina.”

“My accuser?”

“Step forth, Angelo Villani!”

“You are my betrayer, then?” said Montreal steadily.  “I deserved this.  I beseech you, Senator of Rome, let this young man retire.  I confess my correspondence with the Colonna, and my desire to restore the Barons.”

Rienzi motioned to Villani, who bowed and withdrew.

“There rests only then for you, Walter de Montreal, to relate, fully and faithfully, the details of your conspiracy.”

“That is impossible,” replied Montreal, carelessly.

“And why?”

“Because, doing as I please with my own life, I will not betray the lives of others.”

“Bethink thee—­thou wouldst have betrayed the life of thy judge!”

“Not betrayed—­thou didst not trust me.”

“The law, Walter de Montreal, hath sharp inquisitors—­behold!”

The black curtain was drawn aside, and the eye of Montreal rested on the executioner and the rack!  His proud breast heaved indignantly.

“Senator of Rome,” said he, “these instruments are for serfs and villeins.  I have been a warrior and a leader; life and death have been in my hands—­I have used them as I listed; but to mine equal and my foe, I never proffered the insult of the rack.”

“Sir Walter de Montreal,” returned the Senator, gravely, but with some courteous respect, “your answer is that which rises naturally to the lips of brave men.  But learn from me, whom fortune hath made thy judge, that no more for serf and villein, than for knight and noble, are such instruments the engines of law, or the tests of truth.  I yielded but to the desire of these reverend councillors, to test thy nerves.  But, wert thou the meanest peasant of the Campagna, before my judgment-seat thou needst not apprehend the torture.  Walter de Montreal, amongst the Princes of Italy thou hast known, amongst the Roman Barons thou wouldst have aided, is there one who could make that boast?”

“I desired only,” said Montreal, with some hesitation, “to unite the Barons with thee; nor did I intrigue against thy life!”

Rienzi frowned—­“Enough,” he said, hastily.  “Knight of St. John, I know thy secret projects, subterfuge and evasion neither befit nor avail thee.  If thou didst not intrigue against my life, thou didst intrigue against the life of Rome.  Thou hast but one favour left to demand on earth, it is the manner of thy death.”