# The Ninth Man/Chapter 14

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### CHAPTER XIV

I COULD not sleep, and before day broke I went forth into the silent streets and mounted to the Piazza Ogni Santi as though in search of Brother Agnello, for my soul thirsted for the sight of him. Though it was yet dark, I found him kneeling there, and with him many of his company of mercy, but he knelt apart as one praying by himself, so I knelt there among the others. And in the dawning light I saw that tears streamed down his cheeks, and I wondered if he, too, doubted. At sunrise he went into the church of Ogni Santi and confessed his sins and prepared as for death, and came forth again, and again knelt. He walked as though he saw no one. But now there was a great peace upon his face, and thus all day he remained. All day he knelt and he spoke not one word nor moved, but knelt there silently before God, and silence was upon the piazza where he was. The crowd that came and went unceasing moved as silently as those who carry the dead. And the silence of the piazza gained to the street, and from the street to the houses and the palaces.
​There was over San Moglio a hush as though the town held its breath in silent prayer. Yes, there was throughout that city the silence of those who pray beside the dead. In the palace of the Podestà sat Mazzaleone, his head sunk in his hands, and saw no one.
As noon struck, the silence of San Moglio was broken by the clanking of Mazzaleone's men as they went forth into the great piazza, and there they built a scaffold for the morrow. The noise of their hammerings echoed through the silent town through the hot hours of the afternoon, but none stopped to watch them, and few there were in the piazza save those who came and went, walking as on some urgent business. For all knew that silent above the town in the Piazza Ogni Santi Brother Agnello sat with God.
The noise of the building of the scaffold lasted through the day, and dusk came, and yet went on the noise of building, until at last it stood there complete, a monstrous emblem of hate and the lust of revenge.
Brother Agnello sat with God above the town, but as night came Hate came skulking ​forth. As the city had been quiet through the day, so it was restless through the night, for the scaffold and the darkness between them bred strange doubt in our hearts. Dark groups of people moved restless through the streets up to the Piazza Ogni Santi, and from there it seemed that they were sucked down to the great piazza against their will. Fear moved among them in the darkness of the night and whispered its warnings into their ears.
That quiet, restless ebb and flow of dark forms through dark streets gripped at my heart. I think it seemed to many, as it did to me, that Brother Agnello fought alone against the devils that had so long ruled our hearts. As for me, I fought no more; I strove no more. I was weary with the fight, and with the other drifting shadows I drifted to the Piazza Ogni Santi and back again to the scaffold. And I cared nothing if to-morrow meant life or death, so that it brought peace. I surrendered my spirit to the Brother Minor and found myself praying as if to a saint, "Save us if you can." In that night I ceased to be myself and became a part of the sleepless suspense of that ​waking town which knew not if to-morrow would see the scaffold an altar or streaming with blood. In the darkest hours I came on a lad I knew blubbering in a doorway. And when I asked him, "Why do you cry?" "I'm afraid of the devils," he whimpered. "The devils run through the streets, Matteo. The devils run and I fear them. Stay with me, Matteo." Many there were who said afterward that there were dark shapes among us who were no men of San Moglio; dark shapes herding us back for ever and for ever to the scaffold in the piazza. As the lad shook with fear I sat down beside him, and as I comforted him a wan peace came over me, and I sat there as San Moglio whispered to itself unceasing while it waited sleepless for dawn, as though all San Moglio were but one person, waiting to know if its soul were given to God or the devil.
The lad slept a little on my shoulder, and as the first grayness of dawn came he awoke, and we went together to the great piazza, and there on the scaffold we saw standing a dark figure. I knew that this was Brother Agnello. The piazza was full already of waiting people and of the restless ​sound of their muttering, I heard those who talked of devils and others who had heard children singing. As light came I saw that at the foot of the scaffold sat three of the Poor Ladies, and one of them was my own lady, and leaning against her was the little blond child. Around about were many of Brother Agnello's disciples and many of the company of mercy; and some were so weary that they slept. With the growing light the crowd grew until the piazza was filled with the people of San Moglio.
The gray of sleeplessness and fear and doubt was in their faces, and they all looked up to Brother Agnello as though imploring peace from him. Then the sun came and I could see his face. He looked on us with his gentle gaze and with such love as a mother who comforts her sick child and soothes it to rest. So he stood for a long while, and though he spoke no word I have never heard God's Word so truly preached.
Then beside me I heard a low sobbing, as of a woman who mourns the death of a dear son. The noise of her sobbing was a little noise, but one that was born in the very ​heart of grief. I heard a man's voice say, "Do not grieve, mother, since it was for this that he was born." I turned and saw the old woman who had first laughed her joy and revenge, and comforting her was the cobbler's lame son.
Many there were who wept, and this low sound so filled our ears that when the trumpets blared forth and the heralds cried that those with the ballots should form in line, their noise came to me as afar off, as a sound without meaning. As one in a dream I made my way through the crowd and joined the other scribes near Mazzaleone in the loggia.
He sat among his captains, very grave and weary, and I knew he, too, had kept San Moglio's vigil. Not once did his eyes leave the Brother Minor. He sat there as one who does honor to a power mightier than his own.
Now all was silent. No one moved, no one spoke. And then the silence was rent by the brazen voices of the trumpets and by the heralds crying that the balloting should begin.
At that moment, and before any could ​cast a ballot. Brother Agnello took a short sword from the soldier who stood beside him on the scaffold, and cried out:
"O God! accept my life unworthy for the lives of these!"
He drove the sword through his heart and thus he died. Then from all that great congregation of people went up a cry to heaven, and all sank upon their knees, while Mazzaleone arose and said to me:
"The ballots have been cast."
THE END