“How? Why Dædalus made me a pair of wings, to be sure. I am certain your taste will approve the allusion.” Over my shoulder I could see my friends silently spreading themselves in the thicket, while all of Forli’s startled men crowded up behind their master, their group absolutely at the mercy of our levelled tubes. “Has Marianna--?” began the Cardinal at length; “have you glozened her into releasing you? Oh! folly of womanhood, rightly says Juvenal--” “Blame her not,” I commanded abruptly; “enough that I am here sorely against her wish, could she but know it. It was not _she_ that released me.” “Who, then? The Emperor? Even he thought we went to France. He knew nothing of this.” “A greater than Carolus Quintus, Eminenza.” “You are jesting. Who released and sent you?” “A certain high personage, yet one much despised in Rome, and whose pleasure has been little studied by your Eminence.” “An end to riddles. Explain.” “I will name him in German, for it is here men seem most to honor Him, _der liebe Gott_!” “_Gott?_--_Dio?_--Chatter of no miracles, Gualtiero. Why are your eyes so terrible?” “Because, Eminenza, we should cast aside our dominoes, and call the mask at an end. You seized my person foully, designing to hale me back to Italian bondage. You cozened the Emperor into consenting to your deed. You went a step further, and contrary to his known wishes, you would now seize the very deputy of heaven, Dr. Luther, in face of the safe-conduct. Let us understand one another. I am free, and go not to Italy. Your further plot is doomed to completer failure. Either bid your men to submit here and now as prisoners and yield your own person, or by the Power that brought me liberty at Marburg, you go to the prison house whence none go forth.” The Cardinal looked at me stupidly, his ears refusing to accept my utterance. “I? Papal and Apostolic Legate? Surrender myself a prisoner?” “Do not hesitate,” I commanded; “I use no child’s words.” Heaven knows whether he saw my party in the covert, and whether he would have yielded or fought; but at this instant I beheld Orosi, just behind his master, doubling like a cat and pulling a crooked and wicked blade. One instant more and Ilsa were widowed before her bridal. “Fire!” I cried. The thicket around burst into the death flame. The great charge from Gunter’s bell-mouthed arquebuse sang past me. Mercy we had shown that midnight in the garden at Worms, but the blast was pitiless now. Huddled together, Forli’s men fell like grass under the sickle, those unhit tumbling in sheer fright. Orosi had bounded half of the way toward me before a ball caught him in the groin. He fell right at my feet, waving his sinful weapon, and struggling desperately to reach me yet. But before I could draw to despatch him, Andrea had leaped past me with his own stiletto. “Mine, Eccellenza,” rang his call; “such carrion is not for the sword of a cavaliere.”