“A jest, your reverence? It is your side that needs that little homily, I think. When our turn comes we shall use field-guns instead of half a dozen secondhand carbines, and then you’ll see how much we’re in jest.”
“You will use field-guns! Oh, unhappy man! Have you still not realized on what frightful brink you stand?”
The Gadfly glanced back over his shoulder at the open grave.
“And s-s-so your reverence thinks that, when you have put me down there, you will have done with me? Perhaps you will lay a stone on the top to pre-v-vent a r-resurrection ‘after three days’? No fear, your reverence! I shan’t poach on the monopoly in cheap theatricals; I shall lie as still as a m-mouse, just where you put me. And all the same, we shall use field-guns.”
“Oh, merciful God,” the priest cried out; “forgive this wretched man!”
“Amen!” murmured the lieutenant of carabineers, in a deep bass growl, while the colonel and his nephew crossed themselves devoutly.
As there was evidently no hope of further insistence producing any effect, the priest gave up the fruitless attempt and moved aside, shaking his head and murmuring a prayer. The short and simple preparations were made without more delay, and the Gadfly placed himself in the required position, only turning his head to glance up for a moment at the red and yellow splendour of the sunrise. He had repeated the request that his eyes might not be bandaged, and his defiant face had wrung from the colonel a reluctant consent. They had both forgotten what they were inflicting on the soldiers.
He stood and faced them, smiling, and the carbines shook in their hands.
“I am quite ready,” he said.
The lieutenant stepped forward, trembling a little with excitement. He had never given the word of command for an execution before.
“Ready—present—fire!”
The Gadfly staggered a little and recovered his balance. One unsteady shot had grazed his cheek, and a little blood fell on to the white cravat. Another ball had struck him above the knee. When the smoke cleared away the soldiers looked and saw him smiling still and wiping the blood from his cheek with the mutilated hand.
“A bad shot, men!” he said; and his voice cut in, clear and articulate, upon the dazed stupor of the wretched soldiers. “Have another try.”
A general groan and shudder passed through the row of carabineers. Each man had aimed aside, with a secret hope that the death-shot would come from his neighbour’s hand, not his; and there the Gadfly stood and smiled at them; they had only turned the execution into a butchery, and the whole ghastly business was to do again. They were seized with sudden terror, and, lowering their carbines, listened hopelessly to the furious curses and reproaches of the officers, staring in dull horror at the man whom they had killed and who somehow was not dead.
The Governor shook his fist in their faces, savagely shouting to them to stand in position, to present arms, to make haste and get the thing over. He had become as thoroughly demoralized as they were, and dared not look at the terrible figure that stood, and stood, and would not fall. When the Gadfly spoke to him he started and shuddered at the sound of the mocking voice.
“You have brought out the awkward squad this morning, colonel! Let me see if I can manage them better. Now, men! Hold your tool higher there, you to the left. Bless your heart, man, it’s a carbine you’ve got in your hand, not a frying-pan! Are you all straight? Now then! Ready—present—”
“Fire!” the colonel interrupted, starting forward. It was intolerable that this man should give the command for his own death.
There was another confused, disorganized volley, and the line broke up into a knot of shivering figures, staring before them with wild eyes. One of the soldiers had not even discharged his carbine; he had flung it away, and crouched down, moaning under his breath: “I can’t—I can’t!”
The smoke cleared slowly away, floating up into the glimmer of the early sunlight; and they saw that the Gadfly had fallen; and saw, too, that he was still not dead. For the first moment soldiers and officials stood as if they had been turned to stone, and watched the ghastly thing that writhed and struggled on the ground; then both doctor and colonel rushed forward with a cry, for he had dragged himself up on one knee and was still facing the soldiers, and still laughing.
“Another miss! Try—again, lads—see—if you can’t—”
He suddenly swayed and fell over sideways on the grass.
“Is he dead?” the colonel asked under his breath; and the doctor, kneeling down, with a hand on the bloody shirt, answered softly:
“I think so—God be praised!”
“God be praised!” the colonel repeated. “At last!”
His nephew was touching him on the arm.
“Uncle! It’s the Cardinal! He’s at the gate and wants to come in.”
“What? He can’t come in—I won’t have it! What are the guards about? Your Eminence—”
The gate had opened and shut, and Montanelli was standing in the courtyard, looking before him with still and awful eyes.
“Your Eminence! I must beg of you—this is not a fit sight for you! The execution is only just over; the body is not yet—”
“I have come to look at him,” Montanelli said. Even at the moment it struck the Governor that his voice and bearing were those of a sleepwalker.
“Oh, my God!” one of the soldiers cried out suddenly; and the Governor glanced hastily back. Surely—
The bloodstained heap on the grass had once more begun to struggle and moan. The doctor flung himself down and lifted the head upon his knee.
“Make haste!” he cried in desperation. “You savages, make haste! Get it over, for God’s sake! There’s no bearing this!”
Great jets of blood poured over
