THE NINTH MAN
fought with the guards that held him. At the noise of him, Mazzaleone lifted his hand and said in his low voice that had the sound of a flicker of flame in it always:
"Stop the noise for me."
So they cut his throat, and the blood spouted up like that of a stuck pig. And they threw his body aside in the gutter. At that, though the house of Mazzafini was not beloved in the city, a murmur went through the crowd, the growl of a checked tiger, and at the same moment the short swords of Mazzaleone's men leaped forth from the scabbards and I could see them shining like the white hills above San Moglio when the sunlight strikes them.
At the glancing forth of the light of steel the murmur of our people died like distant thunder. All was tranquil again and the march went on as before, three by three, and each ninth man got his sinister ballot of black ebony. Then the heralds in the loggia gave tongue:
"Thus saith the most clement of conquerors, Mazzaleone! 'San Moglio shall go free for thirty days' time while he takes his much-needed rest among those who so
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