Three minutes later, to their infinite surprise, the bridge thudded down to span the ditch, and I walked out upon it with Bianca at my side. “Will the Lord Cosimo come within to deliver his message?” I demanded. The Lord Cosimo would not, fearing a trap. “Will he meet us here upon the bridge, divesting himself first of his weapons? Myself I am unarmed.” The herald conveyed the words to Cosimo, who hesitated still. Indeed, he had wheeled his horse when the bridge fell, ready to gallop off at the first sign of a sortie. I laughed. “You are a paltry coward, Cosimo, when all is said,” I shouted. “Do you not see that had I planned to take you, I need resort to no subterfuge? I have,” I added--though untruthfully--“twice your number of lances under arms, and by now I could have flung them across the bridge and taken you under the very eyes of your own men. You were rash to venture so far. But if you will not venture farther, at least send me your herald.” At that he got down from his horse, delivered up sword and dagger to his single attendant, received from the man a parchment, and came towards us, opening his vizor as he advanced. Midway upon the bridge we met. His lips curled in a smile of scorn. “Greetings, my strolling saint,” he said. “Through all your vagaries you are at least consistent in that you ever engage your neighbour's wife to bear you company in your wanderings.” I went hot and cold, red and white by turns. With difficulty I controlled myself under that taunt--the cruellest he could have flung at me in Bianca's hearing. “Your business here?” I snarled. He held out the parchment, his eyes watching me intently, so that they never once strayed to Bianca. “Read, St. Mountebank,” he bade me. I took the paper, but before I lowered my eyes to it, I gave him warning. “If on your part you attempt the slightest treachery,” I said, “you shall be repaid in kind. My men are at the winches, and they have my orders that at the first treacherous movement on your part they are to take up the bridge. You will see that you could not reach the end of it in time to save yourself.” It was his turn to change colour under the shadow of his beaver. “Have you trapped me?” he asked between his teeth. “If you had anything of the Anguissola besides the name,” I answered, “you would know me incapable of such a thing. It is because I know that of the Anguissola you have nothing but the name, that you are a craven, a dastard and a dog, that I have taken my precautions.” “Is it your conception of valour to insult a man whom you hold as if bound hand and foot against striking you as you deserve?” I smiled sweetly into that white, scowling face. “Throw down your gauntlet upon this bridge, Cosimo, if you deem yourself affronted, if you think that I have lied; and most joyfully will I take it up and give you the trial by battle of your seeking.”