Again and again had the captains of his army assured the indignant Senator that the fortress was impregnable, and that time and money were idly wasted upon the siege.  Rienzi knew better, but he concealed his thoughts.

He now summoned to his tent the brothers of Provence, and announced to them his intention of returning instantly to Rome.  “The mercenaries shall continue the siege under our Lieutenant, and you, with my Roman Legion, shall accompany me.  Your brother, Sir Walter, and I, both want your presence; we have affairs to arrange between us.  After a few days I shall raise recruits in the city, and return.”

This was what the brothers desired; they approved, with evident joy, the Senator’s proposition.

Rienzi next sent for the lieutenant of his bodyguard, the same Riccardo Annibaldi whom the reader will remember in the earlier part of this work, as the antagonist of Montreal’s lance.  This young man—­one of the few nobles who espoused the cause of the Senator—­had evinced great courage and military ability, and promised fair (should Fate spare his life (It appears that this was the same Annibaldi who was afterwards slain in an affray:—­Petrarch lauds his valour and laments his fate.)) to become one of the best Captains of his time.

“Dear Annibaldi,” said Rienzi; “at length I can fulfil the project on which we have privately conferred.  I take with me to Rome the two Provencal Captains—­I leave you chief of the army.  Palestrina will yield now—­eh!—­ha, ha, ha!—­Palestrina will yield now!”

“By my right hand, I think so, Senator,” replied Annibaldi.  “These foreigners have hitherto only stirred up quarrels amongst ourselves, and if not cowards are certainly traitors!”

“Hush, hush, hush!  Traitors!  The learned Arimbaldo, the brave Brettone, traitors!  Fie on it!  No, no; they are very excellent, honourable men, but not lucky in the camp;—­not lucky in the camp;—­better speed to them in the city!  And now to business.”

The Senator then detailed to Annibaldi the plan he himself had formed for taking the town, and the military skill of Annibaldi at once recognised its feasibility.

With his Roman troop, and Montreal’s brothers, one at either hand, Rienzi then departed to Rome.

That night Montreal gave a banquet to Pandulfo di Guido, and to certain of the principal citizens, whom one by one he had already sounded, and found hollow at heart to the cause of the Senator.

Pandulfo sate at the right hand of the Knight of St. John, and Montreal lavished upon him the most courteous attentions.

“Pledge me in this—­it is from the Vale of Chiana, near Monte Pulciano,” said Montreal.  “I think I have heard bookmen say (you know, Signor Pandulfo, we ought all to be bookmen now!) that the site was renowned of old.  In truth, the wine hath a racy flavour.”

“I hear,” said Bruttini, one of the lesser Barons, (a stanch friend to the Colonna,) “that in this respect the innkeeper’s son has put his book-learning to some use:  he knows every place where the wine grows richest.”