Two hours, or perhaps three at most, along the
track of that cool, glittering water, and the grey citadel of Mondolfo
would come into view.
It was this very reflection that brought me now to consider my condition;
to ask myself whither I should turn. Money I had none--not so much as a
single copper grosso. To sell I had nothing but the clothes I stood
in--black, clerkly garments that I had got yesterday at Mondolfo. Not so
much as a weapon had I that I might have bartered for a few coins. There
was the mule; that should yield a ducat or two. But when this was spent,
what then? To go a suppliant to that pious icicle my mother were worse
than useless.
Whither was I to turn--I, Lord of Mondolfo and Carmina, one of the
wealthiest and most puissant tyrants of this Val di Taro? It provoked me
almost to laughter, of a fierce and bitter sort. Perhaps some peasant of
the contado would take pity on his lord and give him shelter and
nourishment in exchange for such labour as his lord might turn his stout
limbs to upon that peasant's land, which was my own.
I might perhaps essay it. Certainly it was the only thing that was left
me. For against my mother and to support my rights I might not invoke a
law which had placed me under a ban, a law that would deal me out its
rigours did I reveal myself.
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