"The plan was for a body of Frenchisers, disguised as brigands, to
seize me while I was at the Favara, and carry me off to the mountains,
or kill me in event of resistance. Which meant death. They had
information that I should spend the night there, and they knew that
the attendants at the _fête_ were, save a mere handful, not servants
of the Prince, but hired men, who would, with two exceptions (one of
whom was in their pay), put off their liveries and depart with the
guests. They were therefore few enough to be overpowered, even if they
were all roused; and it might be possible to get to me unobserved by
the rest of the household, when the accomplice opened the door--for
my room lay in a distant part of the house. Information reached them
also that Will and Trinder, who were to have slept in the ante-chamber
of my suite, had been dispatched by me back to Palermo.
"But they had reckoned literally without their host, for when they
arrived, the Prince of Favara, who was a very expert swordsman, had
not retired. He was, it appears, hunting through his heirlooms for an
ancient Norman seal with the arms of Tancredo di Mardolce, Prince of
Favara, to present to me in honour of my visit to him; for the
enormous iron chest, in which he kept such things, was open, and with
the seal was found a letter which he had evidently just been writing
in the most honouring terms, begging my acceptance of 'this trifle,'
and giving its history. The accomplice must have been a stupid fellow,
for instead of assuring himself that the Prince had retired, he merely
waited until he should have retired by his usual habits. He then went
down and opened the wicket in the great oak door. But he had neglected
to see that the locks and hinges of this were oiled. The great gates
had been open all day, and when they were closed, swung and locked
easily. As, however, he opened the wicket, either the lock or the
hinges gave a great rusty jar and startled the keen-eared Prince, who,
hastening down to learn the cause, met the brigands mounting the
stairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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