Having paid the rogue, Ciacco rested not until
he had found Biondello, to whom:--"Wast thou but now," quoth he, "at the
Loggia de' Cavicciuli?" "Indeed no," replied Biondello: "wherefore such a
question?" "Because," returned Ciacco, "I may tell thee that thou art
sought for by Messer Filippo, for what cause I know not." "Good," quoth
Biondello, "I will go thither and speak with him." So away went
Biondello, and Ciacco followed him to see what course the affair would
take.
Now having failed to catch the rogue, Messer Filippo was still very
wroth, and inly fumed and fretted, being unable to make out aught from
what the rogue had said save that Biondello was set on by some one or
another to flout him. And while thus he vexed his spirit, up came
Biondello; whom he no sooner espied than he made for him, and dealt him a
mighty blow in the face, and tore his hair and coif, and cast his capuche
on the ground, and to his "Alas, Sir, what means this?" still beating him
amain:--"Traitor," cried he; "I will give thee to know what it means to
send me such a message. 'Colour the flask,' forsooth, and 'Catamites!'
Dost take me for a stripling, to be befooled by thee?" And therewith he
pummelled Biondello's face all over with a pair of fists that were liker
to iron than aught else, until it was but a mass of bruises; he also tore
and dishevelled all his hair, tumbled him in the mud, rent all his
clothes upon his back, and that without allowing him breathing-space to
ask why he thus used him, or so much as utter a word.
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