Copallati screamed and covered his face with his hands; Sforza-Fogliani,
white to the lips, looked on like a man entranced.
There was a screech from Farnese that ended in a gurgle, and suddenly the
blood spurted from his neck as from a fountain. Galeotto let him go. He
dropped to his chair and fell forward against the table, drenching it in
blood. Thence he went over sideways and toppled to the floor, where he lay
twitching, a huddle of arms and legs, the head lolling sideways, the eyes
vitreous, and blood, blood, blood all about him.
CHAPTER XIII
THE OVERTHROW
The sight turned me almost physically sick.
I faced about, and sprang from the room out into the ante-chamber, where a
battle was in progress. Some three or four of the Duke's gentlemen and a
couple of Swiss had come to attempt a rescue. They had compelled
Galeotto's six men to draw and defend themselves, the odds being suddenly
all against them. Into that medley I went with drawn sword, hacking and
cutting madly, giving knocks and taking them, glad of the excitement of it;
glad of anything that would shut out from my mind the horror of the scene I
had witnessed.
Presently Confalonieri came out to take a hand, leaving Galeotto on guard
within, and in a few minutes we had made an end of that resistance--the
last splutter of resistance within those walls.
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