Antonio displayed it silently.

“This for the need of the cause in thy hand,” said Piero, passing him a purse of gold.  “But gold is worthless to this token which shall win thee the hearing of the bancali, and the aid of every loyal son of San Nicolo, and shall be proof that thou bearest my orders and my trust.”

The trust was great—­the bancali were the governing board of the traghetti.

Antonio unfastened his doublet and secured the precious token under his belt.

“Command then, caro padrone.”

“Slacken thy pace, for this may be our last speech together.  Are those who follow true as thou?”

“Messer Gastaldo,” Antonio answered with reluctance, “by signs which be but trifles to relate,—­by a word dropped in Padua, and not for mine ear,—­one of them—­I know not which—­hath, perchance, affair with a master mightier than thou.”  He made the usual gesture which indicated the Three of that terrible Inquisition whose name was better left unsaid—­a sign much used in Venice where the very walls had ears.

It was a blow to Piero, but he wasted no words.

“They then—­both—­are apart from this and all my counsel.  It shall be for thee alone, Antonio.”

“So safer, Messer Gastaldo.  I listen—­and forget, save as it shall serve thee.”

“First, then, Antonio; I have sworn to escort the Lady of the Giustiniani in safety to Rome, from which naught shall keep me—­save if the Ten have other plans, the Madonna doth forgive the broken vow!”

It was a strange admission from a man stalwart and fearless like Piero, but he made it without shame, as a soldier acquiescing in destiny.

“Santissima Maria!” Antonio ejaculated with unusual fervor and crossing himself in full realization of the meaning.

“At Brondolo a brig is waiting—­orange and yellow of sail, device of a blazing sun; a hunchback, with doublet of orange above the mast for luck, and a fine figure of a gobbo upon the deck—­a living hunchback—­by which thou shalt know it for mine, and bound to my order whether it come by me or by my token.  If we reach and board her it shall be well—­and Rome, so will it heaven, before us all!  But if the dreaded ones are on the search and overtake us——­”

Again the sign.

The tragedy of the situation was in his face as he looked steadily at Antonio, who did not flinch.

“Thy duty, then, Antonio, shall lie elsewhere.  Thou must escape, unseen, while they lay hands upon the lady and me, whom first they will secure before they give thee a thought.”

Antonio instantly touched his stiletto, and looked his question with a fearless glance.

“Nay,” said the gastaldo scornfully, and drawing a line quickly about his own throat.  “Thou wilt serve me better with thy head in its place.  Thou shalt return to Venice—­by Fusina or Brondolo, as thy wit shall serve thee—­leaving the precious gondolieri to prove whether their silken sashes be badges of men or traitors!  Art thou listening?”