to ride over the bridge into the castle, when he was stopped by the guards, whose orders were to hinder his entrance. This to the commander-in-chief was an extraordinary insult; but at first astonishment was the only feeling Carmagnola evidenced. He sent word to Philip that he was there desiring an audience, and waited with his handful of men, the horses pawing the ground, their riders chafing at the compulsory pause, which no one understood. But instead of being then admitted with apologies and excuses, as perhaps Carmagnola still hoped, the answer sent him was that Philip was busy, but that he might communicate what he had to say to Riccio. Curbing his rage, the proud soldier sent another message to the effect that he had certain private matters for the Duke's ear alone. To this no reply was given. The situation is wonderfully striking, and full of dramatic force. Carmagnola and his handful of men on one side of the bridge; the castle rising on the other with all its towers and bastions dark against the sky; the half-frightened yet half-insolent guards trembling at their own temerity, yet glad enough to have a hand in the discomfiture of the rustic commander, the arrogant and high-handed captain, who of his origin was no better than they. The parley seems to have gone on for some time, during which Carmagnola was held at bay by the attendants, who could make him no answer other than the reference to Riccio, his well-known enemy. Then as he scanned the dark unresponsive towers with angry eyes, he saw, or thought he saw, the face of Philip himself at a loop-hole. This lit the smouldering fire of passion. He raised his voice – no small voice it may well be believed – and shouted forth his message to his ungrateful master. "Since I cannot speak before my lord the Duke," he cried, "I call God to witness my innocence and faithfulness to him. I have not been guilty even of imagining evil against him. I have never taken thought for myself, for my blood or my life, in comparison with the name and power of Philip." Then, "carried on in the insolence of his words," says the chronicle, "he accused the perfidious traitors, and called God to witness that in a short time he would make them feel the want of one whom the Duke refused to hear."
And so speaking he turned his horse, and took his way towards the river. When the conspirators in the castle saw the direction he was taking, a thrill of alarm seems to have moved them, and one of them, Oldrado, dashed forth from the gates with a band of followers to prevent Carmagnola from crossing the Ticino, which was then the boundary of Savoy. But when he saw the great captain "riding furiously across the fields" towards Ticino, the heart of the pursuer failed him. Carmagnola would seem never to have paused to think – which was not the fashion of his time – but, carried along in headlong impulse, wild with the thought of his dozen years of service so important, all forgotten in a moment, did not draw bridle till he reached the castle of the Duke of Savoy, his native prince, to whom he immediately offered himself and his services, telling his story of wrong with all the vehemence of his feelings. Notwithstanding his fury, he seems to have exonerated Philip, – a doubtful compliment, since he held him up to the contempt of his brother potentate as influenced by the rabble of his Court, "the singers, actors, and inventors of all crimes, who make
