move, from city to city, the armed instruments of authority: my breath
is the law of thousands. This empire I have not inherited; I won it by a
cool brain and a fearless arm. Know me for Walter de Montreal; is it
not a name that speaks a spirit kindred to thine own? Is not ambition
a common sentiment between us? I do not marshal soldiers for gain only,
though men have termed me avaricious--nor butcher peasants for the
love of blood, though men have called me cruel. Arms and wealth are
the sinews of power; it is power that I desire;--thou, bold Rienzi,
strugglest thou not for the same? Is it the rank breath of the
garlic-chewing mob--is it the whispered envy of schoolmen--is it the
hollow mouthing of boys who call thee patriot and freeman, words to
trick the ear--that will content thee? These are but thy instruments to
power. Have I spoken truly?"

Whatever distaste Rienzi might conceive at this speech he masked
effectually. "Certes," said he, "it would be in vain, renowned Captain,
to deny that I seek but that power of which thou speakest. But what
union can there be between the ambition of a Roman citizen and the
leader of paid armies that take their cause only according to their
hire--today, fight for liberty in Florence--tomorrow, for tyranny in
Bologna? Pardon my frankness; for in this age that is deemed no disgrace
which I impute to thy armies. Valour and generalship are held to
consecrate any cause they distinguish; and he who is the master of
princes, may be well honoured by them as their equal."

"We are entering into a less deserted quarter of the town," said the
Knight; "is there no secret place--no Aventine--in this direction, where
we can confer?"

"Hush!" replied Rienzi, cautiously looking round. "I thank thee, noble