I did not know then that the
poor pimp who had acted as our guide was hanging from the balcony dead, nor
that his had been the horrible scream I had heard.
On the stairs we met the raging Cavalcanti reascending, the stump of his
shivered sword in his hand.
"Hasten!" he cried. "I was coming for you. Let us begone!"
Below, just within the main doors we found a pile of furniture set on a
heap of straw.
"What is this?" I asked.
"You shall see," he roared. "Get to horse."
I hesitated a moment, then obeyed him, and took Bianca on the withers in
front of me, my arm about her to support her.
Then he called to one of the men-at-arms who stood by with a flaring torch.
He snatched the brand from his hand, and stabbed the straw with it in a
dozen places, from each of which there leapt at once a tongue of flame.
When, at last, he flung the torch into the heart of the pile, it was all a
roaring, hissing, crackling blaze.
He stood back and laughed. "If there are any more of his brothel-mates in
the house, they can escape as he did. They will be more fortunate than
that one." And he pointed up to the limp figure hanging from the balcony,
so that I now learnt what already I have told you.
With my hand I screened Bianca's eyes. "Do not look," I bade her.
I shuddered at the sight of that limply hanging body.
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