"Yet," said Raimond, hesitatingly, "bethink thee, Tribune; the nephew of
two cardinals, and himself once a senator."

Rienzi halted abruptly, and faced his companions. "My Lord Bishop," said
he, "does not this make the crime more inexcusable? Look you, thus it
reads:--A vessel from Avignon to Naples, charged with the revenues of
Provence to Queen Joanna, on whose cause, mark you, we now hold solemn
council, is wrecked at the mouth of the Tiber; with that, Martino
di Porto--a noble, as you say--the holder of that fortress whence
he derives his title,--doubly bound by gentle blood and by immediate
neighbourhood to succour the oppressed--falls upon the vessel with his
troops (what hath the rebel with armed troops?)--and pillages the
vessel like a common robber. He is apprehended--brought to my
tribunal--receives fair trial--is condemned to die. Such is the
law;--what more would ye have?"

"Mercy," said the Colonna.

Rienzi folded his arms, and laughed disdainfully. "I never heard my Lord
Colonna plead for mercy when a peasant had stolen the bread that was to
feed his famishing children."

"Between a peasant and a prince, Tribune, I, for one, recognise a
distinction:--the bright blood of an Orsini is not to be shed like that
of a base plebeian--"

"Which, I remember me," said Rienzi, in a low voice, "you deemed small
matter enough when my boy-brother fell beneath the wanton spear of your
proud son. Wake not that memory, I warn you; let it sleep.--For shame,