“Marry,” quoth the peasant, “an’ it please your worships, ye had better journey many a good rood hence with your juggling circus than trust your bones in yonder castle.”

“How now, sirrah!” exclaimed the chief monk, “explain thy ribald speech, or by’r Lady it shall go hard with thee.”

“Peace, good mountebank, I did but utter the truth that was in my heart.  San Paolo be my witness that did ye but find the stout Count Leonardo in his cups, sheer from the castle’s topmost battlements would he hurl ye all!  Alack-a-day, the good Lord Luigi reigns not here in these sad times.”

“The good Lord Luigi?”

“Aye, none other, please your worship.  In his day, the poor rejoiced in plenty and the rich he did oppress; taxes were not known, the fathers of the church waxed fat upon his bounty; travelers went and came, with none to interfere; and whosoever would, might tarry in his halls in cordial welcome, and eat his bread and drink his wine, withal.  But woe is me! some two and forty years agone the good count rode hence to fight for Holy Cross, and many a year hath flown since word or token have we had of him.  Men say his bones lie bleaching in the fields of Palestine.”

“And now?”

“Now!  God ’a mercy, the cruel Leonardo lords it in the castle.  He wrings taxes from the poor; he robs all travelers that journey by his gates; he spends his days in feuds and murders, and his nights in revel and debauch; he roasts the fathers of the church upon his kitchen spits, and enjoyeth the same, calling it pastime.  These thirty years Luigi’s countess hath not been seen by any [he] in all this land, and many whisper that she pines in the dungeons of the castle for that she will not wed with Leonardo, saying her dear lord still liveth and that she will die ere she prove false to him.  They whisper likewise that her daughter is a prisoner as well.  Nay, good jugglers, seek ye refreshment other wheres.  ’Twere better that ye perished in a Christian way than that ye plunged from off yon dizzy tower.  Give ye good-day.”

“God keep ye, gentle knave—­farewell.”

But heedless of the peasant’s warning, the players moved straightway toward the castle.

Word was brought to Count Leonardo that a company of mountebanks besought his hospitality.

“’Tis well.  Dispose of them in the customary manner.  Yet stay!  I have need of them.  Let them come hither.  Later, cast them from the battlements—­or—­how many priests have ye on hand?”

“The day’s results are meagre, good my lord.  An abbot and a dozen beggarly friars is all we have.”

“Hell and furies!  Is the estate going to seed?  Send hither the mountebanks.  Afterward, broil them with the priests.”

The robed and close-cowled harlequins entered.  The grim Leonardo sate in state at the head of his council board.  Ranged up and down the hall on either hand stood near a hundred men-at-arms.