# The Ninth Man/Chapter 10

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### CHAPTER X

AS I have shown, each man within our gates brooded on death; but there were larger doings afoot than such small killings as glut one man's hate or satisfy one man's desire of profit. Higher hates than these there were, and greater discomforts than an older brother sitting in the place that a younger coveted; greater riches to be snatched than that of a relative too slow in dying.
The Degli Oddi and the house of Da Sala had long striven for power one with another, and at varying times had split the city in two, and the old rivalry had been given an edge of hate through the marriage of Beatrice degli Oddi to Ugo da Sala, and now they carried on a novel warfare. The rival houses dreamed wholesale assassination for their own ends.
There began through the town a buying up of the black vote of death. This I knew because the Conti supported the house of Da Sala, and day by day they met to discuss and to count their gains and whisper among themselves of the activity of their enemy, ​and though the vote was to be given secretly, they devised means by which they might keep an eye upon their own men whom they had bought and mete out punishment to them later, or beforehand fill them so full of the fear of some less easy death that they might be sure of their word.
Thus they trafficked for men's lives in men's greed. And I, as scribe, kept the lists. Much talk there was among them as to what black hatred could have possessed the soul of the cobbler's lame son, that his ballot could not be bought from him, for ever he made the same answer to Count Bartolommeo's steward, when asked his price:
"Sound legs," says he; "nothing less!" and laughs at himself.
One day Ugo da Sala asks, "Are all accounted for in your household?"
"All but the ballot of my lady," Count Bartolommeo makes reply.
"Ah!" said Count Ugo da Sala, "I did not know of hers. And her disposition of it?"
"I have my private use for it," replies my lady, and her voice sounded light of heart. ​And at this my hand tightened on the arms of my chair.
Meantime the mind of our Podestà, Messer Gubbio di Grollo, had further imaginings, and he called together a great conclave of all the principal men and nobles, and in this assembly sat also Mazzaleone and his captains. He was a spare man, Messer Gubbio, with the long face of a horse, and wind, when he talked, as long as his face; but for all that a just man and a man of force. He made a long speech which went to the effect that too long had fear and hatred rioted among us. Since one-ninth of the town were to die, we should turn this fact to our advantage, as a wise man might turn any event in life, however grievous.
"So," says he, "let us all sacrifice to the common good our factional hates and our personal revenge. As a vigorous tree acquires vigor by pruning, let us prune the town of San Moglio, and let us see that the ninth that are to die shall be those who are not beneficial to a strong state: the weaklings, the feeble-minded, the paupers, and such few as are bitten with the madness of a too overweening ambition."
​As he spoke I saw that a great mirth had been lighted in Mazzaleone, and that the so reasonable speech of Messer Gubbio filled him with silent laughter. Messer Gubbio went on to counting out each contrada of the city that lists might be made of those who have the ballot, and how each great house and each man of importance in each contrada should possess himself of the people's confidence.
"But," says some one, "what then of the ballots of the poor and the maimed and the unworthy and the weaklings themselves whose pruning shall help our town? What of their ballots? Shall weak kill weak?"
"Oh," says Messer Gubbio, "those will be easily bought up for gain." And all in the company nodded and bowed together as gravely and discussed as gravely as the Podestà himself.
Only Ludovico da Casamatto, a stern old noble, sprang to his feet, and says he: "Away with your slaughter of your townsmen! My blood be on my own head!"
And young Juliano di Donati, a wild youth, but one of great bravery and pride, "And mine, as well!"
​"And mine!" cries another, a cadet of the Moreale.
And Messer Gubbio: "Sirs! Sirs! Are not your lives of more value than those of a witless girl or a blind beggar? Consider."
Then cries out the angry old Lord Ludovico, "I have considered for the hour past, until the blood of innocents and the unfortunates is swilling about my ankles."
Now a dispute arose high on this side and that, many for the plan, and some against it. As for Mazzaleone, he took his own terrible and silent joy in the spectacle; as one who bathes upon a hot day, so did he bathe in the ebb and flow of the passions of men.
And in the midst of this dispute there came the shrill noise of the singing of children, and from the back of the hall came down the Brother Minor, Agnello, and the blond child beside him, and following his band, to which had been added a woman or two and some youths and maidens; and the wavering voices of the old men and the shrill piping of the children cut through the talk as a tiny ray of light the black darkness of night. Silence followed in their wake, and all stared at them in amazement.
​Then says Brother Agnello in his deep voice like a sweet bell, "In the name of Christ, my Master—Messer Gubbio."
"What do you wish?" says the Podestà.
"The gift of five minutes," says he, and smiles upon us.
Some there were who cried, "Cast him forth!"
And others, "Let him speak."
Old Ludovico Casamatto cried out in his hot, angry voice, "Let him speak, say I, for he asks in the name of Christ, and I have heard enough talk in the name of the devil these days past!"
He stood before them, his hand on the shoulder of the little maid, as though he were bathed in a pool of light, as though love itself shone from his eyes.
"O men of San Moglio," he cried out, "I am sent here that I, who am one already dead, may take away from you your fear. Cast upon me the bond of death, for who are you that you shall judge in this town what ninth are worthy to live and which must die? For who may judge such things but God?"
As the first day I had met him he had ​taken from my lady and myself our apprehension and left us with peace, so it seemed now that peace streamed from him in a great flood.
Then said Ludovico de Casamatto: "Here, brother, take mine, then, and I will go with you. Who follows me?" And many there were who joined him, and a hush fell upon all. Agnello stood awhile and embraced them in the silence of his regard, and then he walked out in silence from among them into the waiting crowd of poor people and of halt and lame who had heard of the beneficent design of Messer Gubbio and had come to learn their fate. When Brother Agnello appeared, and after him the little company of nobles, there arose a cry from all the stricken of San Moglio, and there were there the sons of women stricken with palsy and the children of blind fathers, and there were there the children of the poor, and they took Agnello up in their arms and bore him along.
And the noise of their shouts was the first glad thing we had heard since the fear of death had been over us.