1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
|
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE html
PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
<title>The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love-at-Arms, by Rafael Sabatini</title>
<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
.foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
.toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
.toc2 { margin-left: 20%;}
div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
.figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
.figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
.pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
text-align: right;}
pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Love-at-Arms, by Rafael Sabatini</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
country where you are located before using this eBook.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Love-at-Arms</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Rafael Sabatini</div>
<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 24, 2001 [eBook #3530]<br />
[Most recently updated: January 27, 2021]</div>
<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: John Stuart Middleton, and David Widger</div>
<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-AT-ARMS ***</div>
<p>
<br /><br />
</p>
<h1>
LOVE-AT-ARMS
</h1>
<p>
<br />
</p>
<h3>
Being a narrative excerpted from the chronicles of Urbino during the<br />
dominion of the High and Mighty Messer Guidobaldo da Montefeltro
</h3>
<p>
<br /><br />
</p>
<h2>
By Rafael Sabatini
</h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“Le donne, i cavalier', l'arme, gli amori,
Le cortesie, l'audace imprese io canto.”
ARIOSTO
</pre>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="toc">
<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
</p>
<p>
<br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> VOX POPULI
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> ON A
MOUNTAIN PATH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> SACKCLOTH
AND MOTLEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> MONNA
VALENTINA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> GIAN
MARIA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> THE
AMOROUS DUKE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> GONZAGA
THE INSIDIOUS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> AMONG
THE DREGS OF WINE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE
“TRATTA DI CORDE” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE
BRAYING OF AN ASS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> WANDERING
KNIGHTS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE
FOOL'S INQUISITIVENESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII.
</a> GIAN MARIA MAKES A VOW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014">
CHAPTER XIV. </a> FORTEMANI DRINKS WATER <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> THE MERCY OF FRANCESCO
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> GONZAGA
UNMASKS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> THE
ENEMY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> TREACHERY
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> PLOT
AND COUNTERPLOT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> THE
LOVERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE
PENITENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> A
REVELATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> IN
THE ARMOURY TOWER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> THE
INTERRUPTED MASS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE
CAPITULATION OF ROCCALEONE <br /><br />
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<h2>
CHAPTER I. VOX POPULI
</h2>
<p>
From the valley, borne aloft on the wings of the evening breeze, rose
faintly the tolling of an Angelus bell, and in a goat-herd's hut on the
heights above stood six men with heads uncovered and bowed, obeying its
summons to evening prayer. A brass lamp, equipped with three beaks, swung
from the grimy ceiling, and, with more smoke than flame, shed an
indifferent light, and yet a more indifferent smell, throughout the
darkening hovel. But it sufficed at least to reveal in the accoutrements
and trappings of that company a richness that was the more striking by
contrast with the surrounding squalor.
</p>
<p>
As the last stroke of the Ave Maria faded on the wind that murmured
plaintively through the larches of the hillside, they piously crossed
themselves, and leisurely resuming their head-gear, they looked at one
another with questioning glances. Yet before any could voice the inquiry
that was in the minds of all, a knock fell upon the rotten timbers of the
door.
</p>
<p>
“At last!” exclaimed old Fabrizio da Lodi, in a voice charged with relief,
whilst a younger man of good shape and gay garments strode to the door in
obedience to Fabrizio's glance, and set it wide.
</p>
<p>
Across the threshold stepped a tall figure under a wide, featherless hat,
and wrapped in a cloak which he loosened as he entered, revealing the very
plainest of raiment beneath. A leather hacketon was tightened at the waist
by a girdle of hammered steel, from which depended on his left a long
sword with ringed, steel quillons, whilst from behind his right hip peeped
the hilt of a stout Pistoja dagger. His hose of red cloth vanished into
boots of untanned leather, laced in front and turned down at the knees,
and completed in him the general appearance of a mercenary in time of
peace, in spite of which the six nobles, in that place of paradoxes, bared
their heads anew, and stood in attitudes of deferential attention.
</p>
<p>
He paused a moment to throw off his cloak, of which the young man who had
admitted him hastened to relieve him as readily as if he had been born a
servitor. He next removed his hat, and allowed it to remain slung from his
shoulders, displaying, together with a still youthful countenance of
surpassing strength and nobility, a mane of jet-black hair coiffed in a
broad net of gold thread—the only article of apparel that might have
suggested his station to be higher than at first had seemed.
</p>
<p>
He stepped briskly to the coarse and grease-stained table, about which the
company was standing, and his black eyes ran swiftly over the faces that
confronted him.
</p>
<p>
“Sirs,” he said at last, “I am here. My horse went lame a half-league
beyond Sant' Angelo, and I was constrained to end the journey on foot.”
</p>
<p>
“Your Excellency will be tired,” cried Fabrizio, with that ready
solicitude which is ever at the orders of the great. “A cup of Puglia
wine, my lord. Here, Fanfulla,” he called, to the young nobleman who had
acted as usher. But the new-comer silenced him and put the matter aside
with a gesture.
</p>
<p>
“Let that wait. Time imports as you little dream. It may well be,
illustrious sirs, that had I not come thus I had not come at all.”
</p>
<p>
“How?” cried one, expressing the wonder that rose in every mind, even as
on every countenance some consternation showed. “Are we betrayed?”
</p>
<p>
“If you are in case to fear betrayal, it may well be, my friends. As I
crossed the bridge over the Metauro and took the path that leads hither,
my eyes were caught by a crimson light shining from a tangle of bushes by
the roadside. That crimson flame was a reflection of the setting sun
flashed from the steel cap of a hidden watcher. The path took me nearer,
and with my hat so set that it might best conceal my face, I was all eyes.
And as I passed the spot where that spy was ambushed, I discerned among
the leaves that might so well have screened him, but that the sun had
found his helmet out, the evil face of Masuccio Torri.” There was a stir
among the listeners, and their consternation increased, whilst one or two
changed colour. “For whom did he wait? That was the question that I asked
myself, and I found the answer that it was for me. If I was right, he must
also know the distance I had come, so that he would not look to see me
afoot, nor yet, perhaps, in garments such as these. And so, thanks to all
this and to the hat and cloak in which I closely masked myself, he let me
pass unchallenged.”
</p>
<p>
“By the Virgin!” exclaimed Fabrizio hotly, “I'll swear your conclusions
were wrong. In all Italy it was known to no man beyond us six that you
were to meet us here, and with my hand upon the Gospels I could swear that
not one of us has breathed of it.”
</p>
<p>
He looked round at his companions as if inviting them to bear out his
words, and they were not slow to confirm what he had sworn, in terms as
vehement as his own, until in the end the new-comer waved them into
silence.
</p>
<p>
“Nor have I breathed it,” he assured them, “for I respected your
injunction, Messer Fabrizio. Still—what did Masuccio there, hidden
like a thief, by the roadside? Sirs,” he continued, in a slightly altered
tone, “I know not to what end you have bidden me hither, but if aught of
treason lurks in your designs, I cry you beware! The Duke has knowledge of
it, or at least, suspicion. If that spy was not set to watch for me, why,
then, he was set to watch for all, that he may anon inform his master what
men were present at this meeting.”
</p>
<p>
Fabrizio shrugged his shoulders in a contemptuous indifference which was
voiced by his neighbour Ferrabraccio.
</p>
<p>
“Let him be informed,” sneered the latter, a grim smile upon his rugged
face. “The knowledge will come to him too late.”
</p>
<p>
The new-comer threw back his head, and a look that was half wonder, half
enlightenment gleamed in the black depths of his imperious eyes. He took a
deep breath.
</p>
<p>
“It would seem, sirs, that I was right,” said he, with a touch of
sternness, “and that treason is indeed your business.”
</p>
<p>
“My Lord of Aquila,” Fabrizio answered him, “we are traitors to a man that
we may remain faithful and loyal to a State.”
</p>
<p>
“What State?” barked the Lord of Aquila contemptuously.
</p>
<p>
“The Duchy of Babbiano,” came the answer.
</p>
<p>
“You would be false to the Duke that you may be faithful to the Duchy?” he
questioned, scorn running ever stronger in his voice. “Sirs, it is a
riddle I'll not pretend to solve.”
</p>
<p>
There fell a pause in which they eyed one another, and their glances were
almost as the glances of baffled men. They had not looked for such a tone
from him, and they questioned with their eyes and minds the wisdom of
going further. At last, with a half-sigh, Fabrizio da Lodi turned once
more to Aquila.
</p>
<p>
“Lord Count,” he began, in a calm, impressive voice, “I am an old man; the
name I bear and the family from which I spring are honourable alike. You
cannot think so vilely of me as to opine that in my old age I should do
aught to smirch the fair fame of the one or of the other. To be named a
traitor, sir, is to be given a harsh title, and one, I think, that could
fit no man less than it fits me or any of these my companions. Will you do
me the honour, then, to hear me out, Excellency; and when you have heard
me, judge us. Nay, more than judgment we ask of you, Lord Count. We ask
for guidance that we may save our country from the ruin that threatens it,
and we promise you that we will take no step that has not your sanction—that
is not urged by you.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila, eyed the old noble with a glance
that had changed whilst he spoke, so that from scornful that it had been,
it had now grown full of mild wonder and inquiry. He slightly inclined his
head in token of acquiescence.
</p>
<p>
“I beg that you will speak,” was all he said, and Fabrizio would forthwith
have spoken but that Ferrabraccio intervened to demand that Aquila should
pass them his knightly word not to betray them in the event of his
rejection of the proposals they had to make. When he had given them his
promise, and they had seated themselves upon such rude stools as the place
afforded, Fabrizio resumed his office of spokesman, and unfolded the
business upon which he had invited the Count among them.
</p>
<p>
In a brief preamble he touched upon the character of Gian Maria Sforza,
the reigning Duke of Babbiano—seated upon its throne by his powerful
uncle, Lodovico Sforza, Lord of Milan. He exposed the man's reckless
extravagances, his continued self-indulgence, his carelessness in matters
of statecraft, and his apparent disinclination to fulfil the duties which
his high station imposed upon him. On all this Fabrizio touched with most
commendable discretion and restraint, as was demanded by the circumstance
that in Francesco del Falco he was addressing the Duke's own cousin.
</p>
<p>
“So far, Excellency,” he continued, “you cannot be in ignorance of the
general dissatisfaction prevailing among our most illustrious cousin's
subjects. There was the conspiracy of Bacolino, a year ago, which, had it
succeeded, would have cast us into the hands of Florence. It failed, but
another such might not fail again. The increased disfavour of his Highness
may bring more adherents to a fresh conspiracy of this character, and we
should be lost as an independent state. And the peril that menaces us is
the peril of being so lost. Not only by defection of our own, but by the
force of arms of another. That other is Caesar Borgia. His dominion is
spreading like a plague upon the face of this Italy, which he has
threatened to eat up like an artichoke—leaf by leaf. Already his
greedy eyes are turned upon us, and what power have we—all unready
as we are—wherewith successfully to oppose the overwhelming might of
the Duke of Valentinois? All this his Highness realises, for we have made
it more than clear to him, as we have, too, made clear the remedy. Yet
does he seem as indifferent to his danger as to his salvation. His time is
spent in orgies, in dancing, in hawking and in shameful dalliance, and if
we dare throw out a word of warning, threats and curses are the only
answer we receive.”
</p>
<p>
Da Lodi paused, as if growing conscious that his manner was becoming
over-vehement. But of this, his companions, at least, were all
unconscious, for they filled the pause with a murmur of angry
confirmation. Francesco wrinkled his brow, and sighed.
</p>
<p>
“I am—alas!—most fully conscious of this danger you speak of.
But—what do you expect of me? Why bear me your grievance? I am no
statesman.”
</p>
<p>
“Here is no statesman needed, lord. It is a soldier Babbiano requires; a
martial spirit to organise an army against the invasion that must come—that
is coming already. In short, Lord Count, we need such a warrior as are
you. What man is there in all Italy—or, indeed, what woman or what
child—that has not heard of the prowess of the Lord of Aquila? Your
knightly deeds in the wars 'twixt Pisa and Florence, your feats of arms
and generalship in the service of the Venetians, are matters for the
making of epic song.”
</p>
<p>
“Messer Fabrizio!” murmured Paolo, seeking to restrain his eulogistic
interlocutor, what time a faint tinge crept into his bronzed cheeks. But
Da Lodi continued, all unheeding:
</p>
<p>
“And shall you, my lord, who have borne yourself so valiantly as a
condottiero in the service of the stranger, hesitate to employ your skill
and valour against the enemies of your own homeland? Not so, Excellency.
We know the patriotic soul of Francesco del Falco, and we count upon it.”
</p>
<p>
“And you do well,” he answered firmly. “When the time comes you shall find
me ready. But until then, and touching such preparation as must be made—why
do you not address his Highness as you do me?”
</p>
<p>
A sad smile crossed the noble face of Lodi, whilst Ferrabraccio laughed
outright in chill contempt, and with characteristic roughness made answer:
</p>
<p>
“Shall we speak to him,” he cried, “of knightly deeds, of prowess, and of
valour? I would as lief enjoin Roderigo Borgia to fulfil the sacred duties
of his Vicarship; I might as profitably sprinkle incense on a dunghill.
What we could say to Gian Maria we have said, and since it had been idle
to have appealed to him as we have appealed to you, we have shown him yet
another way by which Babbiano might be saved and Valentino's onslaught
averted.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! And this other way?” inquired the Count, his glance wandering back to
Fabrizio.
</p>
<p>
“An alliance with the house of Urbino,” answered Lodi. “Guidobaldo has two
nieces. We have sounded him, and we have found him well disposed towards
such a marriage as we suggested. Allied thus to the house of Montefeltro,
we should receive not only assistance from Guidobaldo, but also from the
lords of Bologna, Perugia, Camerino, and some smaller states whose
fortunes are linked already to that of Urbino. Thus we should present to
Cesar Borgia a coalition so strong that he would never dare to bring a
lance into our territory.”
</p>
<p>
“I heard some talk of it,” said Paolo. “It would have been a wise step
indeed. Pity that the negotiations came to naught!”
</p>
<p>
“But why did they come to naught? Body of Satan!—why?” roared the
impetuous Ferrabraccio, as with his mighty fist he smote the table a blow
that well-nigh shattered it. “Because Gian Maria was not in a marrying
mood! The girl we proposed to him was beautiful as an angel; but he would
not so much as look. There was a woman in Babbiano who——”
</p>
<p>
“My lord,” cut in Fabrizio hastily, fearing the lengths to which the other
might go, “it is as Ferrabraccio says. His Highness would not marry. And
this it is has led us to invite you to meet us here to-night. His Highness
will do nothing to save the Duchy, and so we turn to you. The people are
with us; in every street of Babbiano are you spoken of openly as the duke
they would have govern them and defend their homes. In the sacred name of
the people, then,” the old man concluded, rising, and speaking in a voice
shaken by emotion, “and with the people's voice, of which we are but the
mouthpiece, we now offer you the crown of Babbiano. Return with us
to-night, my lord, and to-morrow, with but twenty spears for escort, we
shall ride into Babbiano and proclaim you Duke. Nor need you fear the
slightest opposition. One man only of Babbiano—that same Masuccio
whom you tell us that you saw to-night—remains faithful to Gian
Maria; faithful because he and the fifty Swiss mercenaries at his heels
are paid to be so. Up, my lord! Let your own good sense tell you whether
an honest man need scruple to depose a prince whose throne knows no
defence beyond the hired protection of fifty foreign spears.”
</p>
<p>
A silence followed that impassioned speech. Lodi remained standing, the
others sat, their eager glances turned upon the Count, their ears
anxiously alert for his reply. Thus they remained for a brief spell,
Aquila himself so still that he scarcely seemed to breathe.
</p>
<p>
He sat, gripping the arms of his chair, his head fallen forward until his
chin rested on his breast, a frown darkening his lofty brow. And whilst
they waited for his answer, a mighty battle was fought out within his
soul. The power so suddenly, so unexpectedly, thrust within his reach, and
offered him if he would but open his hands to grasp it, dazzled him for
one little moment. As in a flash he saw himself Lord of Babbiano. He
beheld a proud career of knightly deeds that should cause his name and
that of Babbiano to ring throughout the length and breadth of Italy. From
the obscure state that it was, his patriotism and his skill as a
condottiero should render it one of the great Italian powers—the
rival of Florence, of Venice or Milan. He had a vision of widened
territories, and of neighbouring lords becoming vassals to his might. He
saw himself wresting Romagna mile by mile from the sway of the ribald
Borgia, hunting him to the death as he was wont to hunt the boar in the
marshes of Commachio, or driving him into the very Vatican to seek shelter
within his father's gates—the last strip of soil that he would leave
him to lord it over. He dreamt of a Babbiano courted by the great
republics, and the honour of its alliance craved by them that they might
withstand the onslaughts of French and Spaniard. All this he saw in that
fleeting vision of his, and Temptation caught his martial spirit in a grip
of steel. And then another picture rose before his eyes. What would he do
in times of peace? His was a soul that pined in palaces. He was born to
the camp, and not to the vapid air of courts. In exchange for this power
that was offered him what must he give? His glorious liberty. Become their
lord in many things, to be their slave in more. Nominally to rule, but
actually to be ruled, until, should he fail to do his rulers' will, there
would be some night another meeting such as this, in which men would plot
to encompass his downfall and to supplant him as he was invited to
supplant Gian Maria. Lastly, he bethought him of the man whose power he
was bidden to usurp. His own cousin, his father's sister's son, in whose
veins ran the same blood as in his own.
</p>
<p>
He raised his head at last, and met those anxious faces on which the
fitful light was casting harsh shadows. The pale ghost of a smile hovered
for a second on the corners of his stern mouth.
</p>
<p>
“I thank you, sirs, for the honour you have done me,” he made answer
slowly, “an honour of which I fear I am all unworthy.”
</p>
<p>
In strenuous chorus their voices rose to contradict him.
</p>
<p>
“At least, then, an honour which I cannot accept.”
</p>
<p>
There was a moment's silence, and their faces from eager that they had
been, grew downcast to the point of sullenness.
</p>
<p>
“But why, my lord?” cried old Fabrizio at last, his arms outstretched
towards the Count, his voice quivering with intensity. “Santissima
Vergine! Why?”
</p>
<p>
“Because—to give you but one reason out of many—the man you
ask me to overthrow and supplant is of my own blood.” And but that his
tone was calm they might have held that he rebuked them.
</p>
<p>
“I had thought,” hazarded seriously the gay Fanfulla, “that with such a
man as your Excellency, patriotism and the love of Babbiano would have
weighed even more than the ties of blood.”
</p>
<p>
“And you had thought well, Fanfulla. Did I not say that the reason I gave
you was but one of many? Tell me, sirs, what cause have you to believe
that I should rule you wisely and well? It so chances that in the crisis
now threatening Babbiano a captain is needed for its ruler. But let not
this delude you, for there may come a season in the fortunes of the State
when such a man might be as unfitted for dominion as is the present Duke
in this. What then? A good knight-errant is an indifferent courtier and a
bad statesman. Lastly, my friends—since you must know all that is in
my heart—there remains the fact that I love myself a little. I love
my liberty too well, and I have no mind to stifle in the scented
atmosphere of courts. You see I am frank with you. It is my pleasure to
roam the world, my harness on my back, free as the blessed wind of heaven.
Shall a ducal crown and a cloak of purple——” He broke off
sharply with a laugh. “There, my friends! You have had reasons and to
spare. Again I thank you, and deplore that being such as I am, I may not
become such as you would have me.”
</p>
<p>
He sank back in his chair, eyeing them with a glance never so wistful, and
after a second's silence, Da Lodi's voice implored him, in accents that
trembled with pathetic emphasis, to reconsider his resolve. The old man
would have proceeded to fresh argument, but Aquila cut him short.
</p>
<p>
“I have already so well considered it, Messer Fabrizio,” he answered
resolutely, “that nothing now could sway me. But this, sirs, I will
promise you: I will ride with you to Babbiano, and I will seek to reason
with my cousin. More will I do; I will seek at his hands the office of
Gonfalonier, and if he grant it me; I will so reorganise our forces, and
enter into such alliances with our neighbours as shall ensure, at least in
some degree, the safety of our State.”
</p>
<p>
Still they endeavoured to cajole him, but he held firm against their
efforts, until in the end, with a sorrowful mien, Da Lodi thanked him for
his promise to use his influence with Gian Maria.
</p>
<p>
“For this, at least, we thank your Excellency, and on our part we shall
exert such power as we still wield in Babbiano to the end that the high
office of Gonfalonier be conferred upon you. We had preferred to see you
fill with honour a position higher still, and should you later come to
consider——”
</p>
<p>
“Dismiss your hopes of that,” put in the Count, with a solemn shake of his
head. And then, before another word was uttered, young Fanfulla degli
Arcipreti leapt of a sudden to his feet, his brows knit, and an expression
of alarm spreading upon his comely face. A second he remained thus; then,
going swiftly to the door, he opened it, and stood listening, followed by
the surprised glances of the assembled company. But it needed not the
warning cry with which he turned, to afford them the explanation of his
odd behaviour. In the moment's tense silence that had followed his sudden
opening of the door they had caught from without the distant fall of
marching feet.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER II. ON A MOUNTAIN PATH
</h2>
<p>
“Armed men, my lords!” had been Fanfulla's cry. “We are betrayed!”
</p>
<p>
They looked at one another with stern eyes, and with that grimness that
takes the place which fear would hold in meaner souls.
</p>
<p>
Then Aquila rose slowly to his feet, and with him rose the others, looking
to their weapons. He softly breathed a name—“Masuccio Torri.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” cried Lodi bitterly, “would that we had heeded your warning!
Masuccio it will be, and at his heels his fifty mercenaries.”
</p>
<p>
“Not less, I'll swear, by the sound of them,” said Ferrabraccio. “And we
but six, without our harness.”
</p>
<p>
“Seven,” the Count laconically amended, resuming his hat and loosening his
sword in its scabbard.
</p>
<p>
“Not so, my lord,” exclaimed Lodi, laying a hand upon the Count's arm.
“You must not stay with us. You are our only hope—the only hope of
Babbiano. If we are indeed betrayed—though by what infernal means I
know not—and they have knowledge that six traitors met here to-night
to conspire against the throne of Gian Maria, at least, I'll swear, it is
not known that you were to have met us. His Highness may conjecture, but
he cannot know for sure, and if you but escape, all may yet he well—saving
with us, who matter not. Go, my lord! Remember your promise to seek at
your cousin's hand the gonfalon, and may God and His blessed Saints
prosper your Excellency.”
</p>
<p>
The old man caught the young man's hand, and bending his head until his
face was hidden in his long white hair, he imprinted a kiss of fealty upon
it. But Aquila was not so easily to be dismissed.
</p>
<p>
“Where are your horses?” he demanded.
</p>
<p>
“Tethered at the back. But who would dare ride them at night adown this
precipice?”
</p>
<p>
“I dare for one,” answered the young man steadily, “and so shall you all
dare. A broken neck is the worst that can befall us, and I would as lief
break mine on the rocks of Sant' Angelo as have it broken by the
executioner of Babbiano.”
</p>
<p>
“Bravely said, by the Virgin!” roared Ferrabraccio. “To horse, sirs!”
</p>
<p>
“But the only way is the way by which they come,” Fanfulla remonstrated.
“The rest is sheer cliff.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, then, my sweet seducer, we'll go to meet them,” rejoined
Ferrabraccio gaily. “They are on foot, and we'll sweep over them like a
mountain torrent. Come, sirs, hasten! They draw nigh.”
</p>
<p>
“We have but six horses, and we are seven,” another objected.
</p>
<p>
“I have no horse,” said Francesco, “I'll follow you afoot.”
</p>
<p>
“What?” cried Ferrabraccio, who seemed now to have assumed command of the
enterprise. “Let our St. Michael bring up the rear! No, no. You, Da Lodi,
you are too old for this work.”
</p>
<p>
“Too old?” blazed the old man, drawing himself up to the full height of
what was still a very imposing figure, and his eyes seeming to take fire
at this reflection upon his knightly worth. “Were the season other,
Ferrabraccio, I could crave leave to show you how much of youth there is
still left in me. But——” He paused. His angry eyes had
alighted upon the Count, who stood waiting by the door, and the whole
expression of his countenance changed. “You are right, Ferrabraccio, I
grow old indeed—a dotard. Take you my horse, and begone.”
</p>
<p>
“But you?” quoth the Count solicitously.
</p>
<p>
“I shall remain. If you do your duty well by those hirelings they will not
trouble me. It will not occur to them that one was left behind. They will
think only of following you after you have cut through them. Go, go, sirs,
or all is lost.”
</p>
<p>
They obeyed him now with a rush that seemed almost to partake of panic. In
a frenzied haste Fanfulla and another tore the tetherings loose, and a
moment later they were all mounted and ready for that fearful ride. The
night was dark, yet not too dark. The sky was cloudless and thickly
starred, whilst a minguant moon helped to illumine the way by which they
were to go. But on that broken and uncertain mountain path the shadows lay
thickly enough to make their venture desperate.
</p>
<p>
Ferrabraccio claiming a better knowledge than his comrades of the way,
placed himself at their head, with the Count beside him. Behind them, two
by two, came the four others. They stood on a small ledge in the shadow of
the great cliff that loomed on their left. Thence the mountain-side might
be scanned—as well as in such a light it was to be discerned. The
tramp of feet had now grown louder and nearer, and with it came the clank
of armour. In front of them lay the path which sloped, for a hundred yards
or more, to the first corner. Below them, on the right, the path again
appeared at the point where it jutted out for some half-dozen yards in its
zigzag course, and there Fanfulla caught the gleam of steel, reflecting
the feeble moonlight. He drew Ferrabraccio's attention to it, and that
stout warrior at once gave the word to start. But Francesco interposed.
</p>
<p>
“If we do so,” he objected, “we shall come upon them past the corner, and
at that corner we shall be forced to slacken speed to avoid being carried
over the edge of the cliff. Besides, in such a strait our horses may fail
us, and refuse the ground. In any event, we shall not descend upon them
with the same force as we shall carry if we wait until they come into a
straight line with us. The shadows here will screen us from them
meanwhile.”
</p>
<p>
“You are right, Lord Count. We will wait,” was the ready answer. And what
time they waited he grumbled lustily.
</p>
<p>
“To be caught in such a trap as this! Body of Satan! It was a madness to
have met in a hut with but one approach.”
</p>
<p>
“We might perhaps have retreated down the cliff behind,” said Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“We might indeed—had we been sparrows or mountain cats. But being
men, the way we go is the only way—and a mighty bad way it is. I
should like to be buried at Sant' Angelo, Lord Count,” he continued
whimsically. “It will be conveniently near; for once I go over the
mountain-side, I'll swear naught will stop me until I reach the valley—a
parcel of broken bones.”
</p>
<p>
“Steady, my friends,” murmured the voice of Aquila. “They come.”
</p>
<p>
And round that fateful corner they were now swinging into view—a
company in steel heads and bodies with partisan on shoulder. A moment they
halted now, so that the waiting party almost deemed itself observed. But
it soon became clear that the halt was to the end that the stragglers
might come up. Masuccio was a man who took no chances; every knave of his
fifty would he have before he ventured the assault.
</p>
<p>
“Now,” murmured the Count, tightening his hat upon his brow, so that it
might the better mask his features. Then rising in his stirrups, and
raising his sword on high, he let his voice be heard again. But no longer
in a whisper. Like a trumpet-call it rang, echoed and re-echoed up the
mountain-side.
</p>
<p>
“Forward! St. Michael and the Virgin!”
</p>
<p>
That mighty shout, followed as it was by a thunder of hooves, gave pause
to the advancing mercenaries. Masuccio's voice was heard, calling to them
to stand firm; bidding them kneel and ward the charge with their pikes;
assuring them with curses that they had but to deal with half-dozen men.
But the mountain echoes were delusive, and that thunder of descending
hooves seemed to them not of a half-dozen but of a regiment. Despite
Masuccio's imprecations the foremost turned, and in that moment the riders
were upon them, through them and over them, like the mighty torrent of
which Ferrabraccio had spoken.
</p>
<p>
A dozen Swiss went down beneath that onslaught, and another dozen that had
been swept aside and over the precipice were half-way to the valley before
that cavalcade met any check. Masuccio's remaining men strove lustily to
stem this human cataract, now that they realised how small was the number
of their assailants. They got their partisans to work, and for a few
moments the battle raged hot upon that narrow way. The air was charged
with the grind and ring of steel, the stamping of men and horses and the
shrieks and curses of the maimed.
</p>
<p>
The Lord of Aquila, ever foremost, fought desperately on. Not only with
his sword fought he, but with his horse as well. Rearing the beast on its
hind legs, he would swing it round and let it descend where least it was
expected, laying about him with his sword at the same time. In vain they
sought to bring down his charger with their pikes; so swift and furious
was his action, that before their design could be accomplished, he was
upon those that meditated it, scattering them out of reach to save their
skins.
</p>
<p>
In this ferocious manner he cleared a way before him, and luck served him
so well that what blows were wildly aimed at him as he dashed by went wide
of striking him. At last he was all but through the press, and but three
men now fronted him. Again his charger reared, snorting, and pawing the
air like a cat, and two of the three knaves before him fled incontinently
aside. But the third, who was of braver stuff, dropped on one knee and
presented his pike at the horse's belly. Francesco made a wild attempt to
save the roan that had served him so gallantly, but he was too late. It
came down to impale itself upon that waiting partisan. With a hideous
scream the horse sank upon its slayer, crushing him beneath its mighty
weight, and hurling its rider forward on to the ground. In an instant he
was up and had turned, for all that he was half-stunned by his fall and
weakened by the loss of blood from a pike-thrust in the shoulder—of
which he had hitherto remained unconscious in the heat of battle. Two
mercenaries were bearing down upon him—the same two that had been
the last to fall back before him. He braced himself to meet them, thinking
that his last hour was indeed come, when Fanfulla degli Arcipreti, who had
followed him closely through the press, now descended upon his assailants
from behind, and rode them down. Beside the Count he reined up, and
stretched down his hand.
</p>
<p>
“Mount behind me, Excellency,” he urged him.
</p>
<p>
“There is not time,” answered Francesco, who discerned a half-dozen
figures hurrying towards them. “I will cling to your stirrup-leather,
thus. Now spur!” And without waiting for Fanfulla to obey him, he caught
the horse a blow with the flat of his sword across the hams, which sent it
bounding forward. Thus they continued now that perilous descent, Fanfulla
riding, and the Count half-running, half-swinging from his stirrup. At
last, when they had covered a half-mile in this fashion, and the going had
grown easier, they halted that the Count might mount behind his companion,
and as they now rode along at an easier pace Francesco realised that he
and Fanfulla were the only two that had come through that ugly place. The
gallant Ferrabraccio, hero of a hundred strenuous battles, had gone to the
ignoble doom which half in jest he had prophesied himself. His horse had
played him false at the outset of the charge, and taking fright it had
veered aside despite his efforts to control it, until, losing its
foothold, man and beast had gone hurtling over the cliff. Amerini,
Fanfulla had seen slain, whilst the remaining two, being both unhorsed,
would doubtless be the prisoners of Masuccio.
</p>
<p>
Some three miles beyond Sant' Angelo, Fanfulla's weary horse splashed
across a ford of the Metauro, and thus, towards the second hour of night,
they gained the territory of Urbino, where for the time they might hold
themselves safe from all pursuit.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER III. SACKCLOTH AND MOTLEY
</h2>
<p>
The fool and the friar had fallen a-quarrelling, and—to the shame of
the friar and the glory of the fool be it spoken—their subject of
contention was a woman. Now the friar, finding himself no match for the
fool in words, and being as broad and stout of girth and limb as the other
was puny and misshapen, he had plucked off his sandal that with it he
might drive the full force of his arguments through the jester's skull. At
that the fool, being a very coward, had fled incontinently through the
trees.
</p>
<p>
Running, like the fool he was, with his head turned to learn whether the
good father followed him, he never saw the figure that lay half-hidden in
the bracken, and might never have guessed its presence but that tripping
over it he shot forward, with a tinkle of bells, on to his crooked nose.
</p>
<p>
He sat up with a groan, which was answered by an oath from the man into
whose sides he had dug his flying feet. The two looked at one another in
surprise, tempered with anger in the one and dismay in the other.
</p>
<p>
“A good awakening to you, noble sir,” quoth the fool politely; for by the
mien and inches of the man he had roused, he thought that courtesy might
serve him best.
</p>
<p>
The other eyed him with interest, as well he might; for an odder figure it
would be hard to find in Italy.
</p>
<p>
Hunched of back, under-sized, and fragile of limb, he was arrayed in
doublet, hose and hood, the half of which was black the other crimson,
whilst on his shoulders fell from that same hood—which tightly
framed his ugly little face—a foliated cape, from every point of
which there hung a tiny silver bell that glimmered in the sunlight, and
tinkled as he moved. From under bulging brows a pair of bright eyes, set
wide as an owl's, took up the mischievous humour of his prodigious mouth.
</p>
<p>
“A curse on you and him that sent you,” was the answering greeting he
received. Then the man checked his anger and broke into a laugh at sight
of the fear that sprang into the jester's eyes.
</p>
<p>
“I crave your pardon—most humbly do I crave it, Illustrious,” said
the fool, still in fear. “I was pursued.”
</p>
<p>
“Pursued?” echoed the other, in a tone not free from a sudden uneasiness.
“And, pray, by whom?”
</p>
<p>
“By the very fiend, disguised in the gross flesh and semblance of a
Dominican brother.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you jest?” came the angry question.
</p>
<p>
“Jest? Had you caught his villainous sandal between your shoulders, as did
I, you would know how little I have a mind to jest.”
</p>
<p>
“Now answer me a plain question, if you have the wit to answer with,”
quoth the other, anger ever rising in his voice. “Is there hereabouts a
monk?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, is there—may a foul plague rot him!—lurking in the
bushes yonder. He is over-fat to run, or you had seen him at my heels,
arrayed in that panoply of avenging wrath that is the cognisance of the
Church Militant.”
</p>
<p>
“Go bring him hither,” was the short answer.
</p>
<p>
“Gesù!” gasped the fool, in very real affright. “I'll not go near him till
his anger cools—not if you made me straight and bribed me with the
Patrimony of St. Peter.”
</p>
<p>
The man turned from him impatiently, and rising his voice:
</p>
<p>
“Fanfulla!” he called over his shoulder, and then, after a moment's pause,
again: “Olá, Fanfulla!”
</p>
<p>
“I am here, my lord,” came an answering voice from behind a clump of
bushes on their right, and almost immediately the very splendid youth who
had gone to sleep in its shadow stood up and came round to them. At sight
of the fool he paused to take stock of him, what time the fool returned
the compliment with wonder-stricken interest. For however much Fanfulla's
raiment might have suffered in yesternight's affray, it was very gorgeous
still, and in the velvet cap upon his head a string of jewels was
entwined. Yet not so much by the richness of his trappings was the fool
impressed, as by the fact that one so manifestly noble should address by
such a title, and in a tone of so much deference, this indifferently
apparelled fellow over whom he had stumbled. Then his gaze wandered back
to the man who lay supported on his elbow, and he noticed now the gold net
in which his hair was coiffed, and which was by no means common to mean
folk. His little twinkling eyes turned their attention full upon the face
before him, and of a sudden a gleam of recognition entered them. His
countenance underwent a change, and from grotesque that it had been, it
became more grotesque still in its hasty assumption of reverence.
</p>
<p>
“My Lord of Aquila!” he murmured, scrambling to his feet.
</p>
<p>
Scarcely had he got erect when a hand gripped him by the shoulder, and
Fanfulla's dagger flashed before his startled eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Swear on the cross of this, never to divulge his Excellency's presence
here, or take you the point of it in your foolish heart.”
</p>
<p>
“I swear, I swear!” he cried, in fearful haste, his hand upon the hilt,
which Fanfulla now held towards him.
</p>
<p>
“Now fetch the priest, good fool,” said the Count, with a smile at the
hunchback's sudden terror. “You have nothing to fear from us.”
</p>
<p>
When the jester had left them to go upon his errand, Francesco turned to
his companion.
</p>
<p>
“Fanfulla, you are over-cautious,” he said, with an easy smile. “What
shall it matter that I am recognised?”
</p>
<p>
“I would not have it happen for a kingdom while you are so near Sant'
Angelo. The six of us who met last night are doomed—those of us who
are not dead already. For me, and for Lodi if he was not taken, there may
be safety in flight. Into the territory of Babbiano I shall never again
set foot whilst Gian Maria is Duke, unless I be weary of this world. But
of the seventh—yourself—you heard old Lodi swear that the
secret could not have transpired. Yet should his Highness come to hear of
your presence in these parts and in my company, suspicion might set him on
the road that leads to knowledge.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! And then?”
</p>
<p>
“Then?” returned the other, eyeing Francesco in surprise. “Why, then, the
hopes we found on you—the hopes of every man in Babbiano worthy of
the name—would be frustrated. But here comes our friend the fool,
and, in his wake, the friar.”
</p>
<p>
Fra Domenico—so was he very fitly named, this follower of St.
Dominic—approached with a solemnity that proceeded rather from his
great girth than from any inflated sense of the dignity of his calling. He
bowed before Fanfulla until his great crimson face was hidden, and he
displayed instead a yellow, shaven crown. It was as if the sun had set,
and the moon had risen in its place.
</p>
<p>
“Are you skilled in medicine?” quoth Fanfulla shortly.
</p>
<p>
“I have some knowledge, Illustrious.”
</p>
<p>
“Then see to this gentleman's wounds.”
</p>
<p>
“Eh? Dio mio! You are wounded, then?” he began, turning to the Count, and
he would have added other questions as pregnant, but that Aquila, drawing
aside his hacketon at the shoulder, answered him quickly:
</p>
<p>
“Here, sir priest.”
</p>
<p>
His lips pursed in solicitude, the friar would have gone upon his knees,
but that Francesco, seeing with what labour the movement must be fraught,
rose up at once.
</p>
<p>
“It is not so bad that I cannot stand,” said he, submitting himself to the
monk's examination.
</p>
<p>
The latter expressed the opinion that it was nowise dangerous, however
much it might be irksome, whereupon the Count invited him to bind it up.
To this Fra Domenico replied that he had neither unguents nor linen, but
Fanfulla suggested that he might get these things from the convent of
Acquasparta, hard by, and proffered to accompany him thither.
</p>
<p>
This being determined, they departed, leaving the Count in the company of
the jester. Francesco spread his cloak, and lay down again, whilst the
fool, craving his permission to remain, disposed himself upon his haunches
like a Turk.
</p>
<p>
“Who is your master, fool?” quoth the Count, in an idle spirit.
</p>
<p>
“There is a man who clothes and feeds me, noble sir, but Folly is my only
master.”
</p>
<p>
“To what end does he do this?”
</p>
<p>
“Because I pretend to be a greater fool than he, so that by contrast with
me he seems unto himself wise, which flatters his conceit. Again, perhaps,
because I am so much uglier than he that, again by contrast, he may
account himself a prodigy of beauty.”
</p>
<p>
“Odd, is it not?” the Count humoured him.
</p>
<p>
“Not half so odd as that the Lord of Aquila should lie here, roughly clad,
a wound in his shoulder, talking to a fool.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco eyed him with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Give thanks to God that Fanfulla is not here to hear you, or they had
been your last words for pretty though he be, Messer Fanfulla is a very
monster of bloodthirstiness. With me it is different. I am a man of very
gentle ways, as you may have heard, Messer Buffoon. But see that you
forget at once my station and my name, or you may realise how little they
need buffoons in the Court of Heaven.”
</p>
<p>
“My lord, forgive. I shall obey you,” answered the hunchback, with a
stricken manner. And then through the glade came a voice—a woman's
voice, wondrous sweet and rich—calling: “Peppino! Peppino!”
</p>
<p>
“It is my mistress calling me,” quoth the fool, leaping to his feet.
</p>
<p>
“So that you own a mistress, though Folly be your only master,” laughed
the Count. “It would pleasure me to behold the lady whose property you
have the honour to be, Ser Peppino.”
</p>
<p>
“You may behold her if you but turn your head,” Peppino whispered.
</p>
<p>
Idly, with a smile upon his lips that was almost scornful, the Lord of
Aquila turned his eyes in the direction in which the fool was already
walking. And on the instant his whole expression changed. The amused scorn
was swept from his countenance, and in its place there sat now a look of
wonder that was almost awe.
</p>
<p>
Standing there, on the edge of the clearing, in which he lay, he beheld a
woman. He had a vague impression of a slender, shapely height, a fleeting
vision of a robe of white damask, a camorra of green velvet, and a
choicely wrought girdle of gold. But it was the glory of her peerless face
that caught and held his glance in such ecstatic awe; the miracle of her
eyes, which, riveted on his, returned his glance with one of mild
surprise. A child she almost seemed, despite her height and womanly
proportions, so fresh and youthful was her countenance.
</p>
<p>
Raised on his elbow, he lay there for a spell, and gazed and gazed, his
mind running on visions which godly men have had of saints from Paradise.
</p>
<p>
At last the spell was broken by Peppino's voice, addressing her, his back
servilely bent. Francesco bethought him of the deference due to one so
clearly noble, and leaping to his feet, his wound forgotten, he bowed
profoundly. A second later he gasped for breath, reeled, and swooning,
collapsed supine among the bracken.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER IV. MONNA VALENTINA
</h2>
<p>
In after years the Lord of Aquila was wont to aver in all solemnity that
it was the sight of her wondrous beauty set up such a disorder in his soul
that it overcame his senses, and laid him swooning at her feet. That he,
himself, believed it so, it is not ours to doubt, for all that we may be
more prone to agree with the opinion afterwards expressed by Fanfulla and
the friar—and deeply resented by the Count—that in leaping to
his feet in over-violent haste his wound re-opened, and the pain of this,
combining with the weak condition that resulted from his loss of blood,
had caused his sudden faintness.
</p>
<p>
“Who is this, Peppe?” she asked the fool, and he, mindful of the oath he
had sworn, answered her brazenly that he did not know, adding that it was—as
she might see—-some poor wounded fellow.
</p>
<p>
“Wounded?” she echoed, and her glorious eyes grew very pitiful. “And
alone?”
</p>
<p>
“There was a gentleman here, tending him, Madonna; but he is gone with Fra
Domenico to the Convent of Acquasparta to seek the necessaries to mend his
shoulder.”
</p>
<p>
“Poor gentleman,” she murmured, approaching the fallen figure. “How came
he by his hurt?”
</p>
<p>
“That, Madonna, is more than I can tell.”
</p>
<p>
“Can we do nothing for him until his friends return?” was her next
question, bending over the Count as she spoke. “Come, Peppino,” she cried,
“lend me your aid. Get me water from the brook, yonder.”
</p>
<p>
The fool looked about him for a vessel, and his eye falling upon the
Count's capacious hat, he snatched it up, and went his errand. When he
returned, the lady was kneeling with the unconscious man's head in her
lap. Into the hatful of water that Peppe brought her she dipped a
kerchief, and with this she bathed the brow on which his long black hair
lay matted and disordered.
</p>
<p>
“See how he has bled, Peppe,” said she. “His doublet is drenched, and he
is bleeding still! Vergine Santa!” she cried, beholding now the ugly wound
that gaped in his shoulder, and turning pale at the sight. “Assuredly he
will die of it—and he so young, Peppino, and so comely to behold!”
</p>
<p>
Francesco stirred, and a sigh fluttered through his pallid lips. Then he
raised his heavy lids, and their glances met and held each other. And so,
eyes that were brown and tender looked down into feverish languid eyes of
black, what time her gentle hand held the moist cloth to his aching brow.
</p>
<p>
“Angel of beauty!” he murmured dreamily, being but half-awake as yet to
his position. Then, becoming conscious of her ministrations, “Angel of
goodness!” he added, with yet deeper fervour.
</p>
<p>
She had no answer for him, saving such answer—and in itself it was
eloquent enough—as her blushes made, for she was fresh from a
convent and all innocent of worldly ways and tricks of gallant speech.
</p>
<p>
“Do you suffer?” she asked at last.
</p>
<p>
“Suffer?” quoth he, now waking more and more, and his voice sounding a
note of scorn. “Suffer? My head so pillowed and a saint from Heaven
ministering to my ills? Nay, I am in no pain, Madonna, but in a joy more
sweet than I have ever known.”
</p>
<p>
“Gesù! What a nimble tongue!” gibed the fool from the background.
</p>
<p>
“Are you there, too, Master Buffoon?” quoth Francesco. “And Fanfulla? Is
he not here? Why, now I bethink me; he went to Acquasparta with the
friar.” He thrust his elbow under him for more support.
</p>
<p>
“You must not move,” said she, thinking that he would essay to rise.
</p>
<p>
“I would not, lady, if I must,” he answered solemnly. And then, with his
eyes upon her face, he boldly asked her name.
</p>
<p>
“My name,” she answered readily, “is Valentina della Rovere, and I am
niece to Guidobaldo of Urbino.”
</p>
<p>
His brows shot up.
</p>
<p>
“Do I indeed live,” he questioned, “or do I but dream the memories of some
old romancer's tale, in which a wandering knight is tended thus by a
princess?”
</p>
<p>
“Are you a knight?” she asked, a wonder coming now into her eyes, for even
into the seclusion of her convent-life had crept strange stories of these
mighty men-at-arms.
</p>
<p>
“Your knight at least, sweet lady,” answered he, “and ever your poor
champion if you will do me so much honour.”
</p>
<p>
A crimson flush stole now into her cheeks, summoned by his bold words and
bolder glances, and her eyes fell. Yet, resentment had no part in her
confusion. She found no presumption in his speech, nor aught that a brave
knight might not say to the lady who had succoured him in his distress.
Peppe, who stood listening and marking the Count's manner, knowing the
knight's station, was filled now with wonder, now with mockery; yet never
interfered.
</p>
<p>
“What is your name, sir knight?” she asked, after a pause.
</p>
<p>
His eyes looked troubled, and as they shot beyond her to the fool, they
caught on Peppe's face a grin of sly amusement.
</p>
<p>
“My name,” he said at last, “is Francesco.” And then, to prevent that she
should further question him—“But tell me, Madonna,” he inquired,
“how comes a lady of your station here, alone with that poor fraction of a
man?” And he indicated the grinning Peppe.
</p>
<p>
“My people are yonder in the woods, where we have halted for a little
space. I am on my way to my uncle's court, from the Convent of Santa
Sofia, and for my escort I have Messer Romeo Gonzaga and twenty spears. So
that, you see, I am well protected, without counting Ser Peppe here and
the saintly Fra Domenico, my confessor.”
</p>
<p>
There was a pause, ended at length by Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“You will be the younger niece of his Highness of Urbino?” said he.
</p>
<p>
“Not so, Messer Francesco,” she answered readily. “I am the elder.”
</p>
<p>
At that his brows grew of a sudden dark.
</p>
<p>
“Can you be she whom they would wed to Gian Maria?” he exclaimed, at which
the fool pricked up his ears, whilst she looked at the Count with a gaze
that plainly showed how far she was from understanding him.
</p>
<p>
“You said?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Why, nothing,” he answered, with a sigh, and in that moment a man's voice
came ringing through the wood.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna! Madonna Valentina!”
</p>
<p>
Francesco and the lady turned their eyes in the direction whence the voice
proceeded, and they beheld a superbly dazzling figure entering the glade.
In beauty of person and richness of apparel he was well worthy of the
company of Valentina. His doublet was of grey velvet, set off with scales
of beaten gold, and revealing a gold-embroidered vest beneath; his bonnet
matched his doublet, and was decked by a feather that sparkled with costly
gems; his gold-hilted sword was sheathed in a scabbard also of grey velvet
set with jewels. His face was comely as a damsel's, his eyes blue and his
hair golden.
</p>
<p>
“Behold,” announced Peppino gravely, “Italy's latest translation of the
Golden Ass of Apuleius.”
</p>
<p>
Upon seeing the noble niece of Guidobaldo kneeling there with Francesco's
head still pillowed in her lap, the new-comer cast up his arms in a
gesture of dismay.
</p>
<p>
“Saints in Heaven!” he exclaimed, hurrying towards them. “What occupation
have you found? Who is this ugly fellow?”
</p>
<p>
“Ugly?” was all she answered him, in accents of profound surprise.
</p>
<p>
“Who is he?” the young man insisted, his tone growing heated. “And what
does he here and thus, with you? Gesù! What would his Highness say? How
would he deal with me were he to learn of this? Who is the man, Madonna?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, as you see, Messer Gonzaga,” she answered, with some heat, “a
wounded knight.”
</p>
<p>
“A knight he?” gibed Gonzaga. “A thief more likely, a prowling masnadiero.
What is your name?” he roughly asked the Count.
</p>
<p>
Drawing himself a little away from Valentina, and reclining entirely upon
his elbow, Francesco motioned him with a wave of the hand to come no
nearer.
</p>
<p>
“I beg, lady, that you will bid your pretty page stand back a little. I am
still faint, and his perfumes overpower me.”
</p>
<p>
Under the mask of the polite request Gonzaga detected the mocking,
contemptuous note, and it gave fuel to his anger.
</p>
<p>
“I am no page, fool,” he answered, then clapping his hands together, he
raised his voice to shout—“Olá, Beltrame! To me!”
</p>
<p>
“What would you do?” cried the lady, rising to confront him.
</p>
<p>
“Carry this ruffian in bonds to Urbino, as is my duty.”
</p>
<p>
“Sir, you may wound your pretty hands in grasping me,” replied the Count,
in chill indifference.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! You would threaten me with violence, vassal?” cried the other,
retreating some paces farther as he spoke. “Beltrame!” he called again.
“Are you never coming?” A voice answered him from the thicket, and with a
clank of steel a half-dozen men flung themselves into the glade.
</p>
<p>
“Your orders, sir?” craved he that led them, his eyes wandering to the
still prostrate Count.
</p>
<p>
“Tie me up this dog,” Gonzaga bade him. But before the fellow could move a
foot to carry out the order Valentina barred his way.
</p>
<p>
“You shall not,” she commanded, and so transformed was she from the
ingenuous child that lately had talked with him, that Francesco gaped in
pure astonishment. “In my uncle's name, I bid you leave this gentleman
where he lies. He is a wounded knight whom I have been pleased to tend—a
matter which seems to have aroused Messer Gonzaga's anger against him.”
</p>
<p>
Beltrame paused, and looked from Valentina to Gonzaga, undecided.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” said Gonzaga, with assumed humility, “your word is law with us.
But I would have you consider that, what I bid Beltrame do is in the
interest of his Highness, whose territory is infested by these vagabonding
robbers. It is a fact that may not have reached you in your convent
retreat, no more than has sufficient knowledge reached you yet—in
your incomparable innocence—to distinguish between rogues and honest
men. Beltrame, do my bidding.”
</p>
<p>
Valentina's foot tapped the ground impatiently, and into her eyes there
came a look of anger that heightened her likeness to her martial uncle.
But Peppe it was who spoke.
</p>
<p>
“For all that there seem to be fools enough, already, meddling in this
business,” he said, in tones of mock lament, “permit that I join their
number, Ser Romeo, and listen to my counsel.”
</p>
<p>
“Out, fool,” cried Gonzaga, cutting at him with his riding-switch, “we
need not your capers.”
</p>
<p>
“No, but you need my wisdom,” retorted Ser Peppe, as he leapt beyond
Gonzaga's reach. “Hear me, Beltrame! For all that we do not doubt Messer
Gonzaga's keen discrimination in judging 'twixt a rogue and an honest man,
I do promise you, as surely as though I were Fate herself, that if you
obey him now and tie up that gentleman, you will yourself be tied up for
it, later on, in a yet uglier fashion.”
</p>
<p>
Beltrame looked alarmed, Gonzaga incredulous. Valentina thanked Peppe with
her eyes, thinking that he had but hit upon a subterfuge to serve her
wishes, whilst Francesco, who had now risen to his feet, looked on with an
amused smile as though the matter concerned him nowise personally. And
then, in the very crux of the situation, Fanfulla and Fra Domenico
appeared upon the scene.
</p>
<p>
“You are, well-returned, Fanfulla!” the Count called to him, “This pretty
gentleman would have had me bound.”
</p>
<p>
“Have you bound?” echoed Fanfulla, in angry horror. “Upon what grounds,
pray?” he demanded, turning fiercely upon Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
Impressed by Fanfulla's lordly air, Romeo Gonzaga grew amazingly humble
for one that but a moment back had been so overbearing.
</p>
<p>
“It would seem, sir, that my judgment was at fault in esteeming his
condition,” he excused himself.
</p>
<p>
“Your judgment?” returned the hot Fanfulla. “And who bade you judge? Go
cut your milk-teeth, boy, and meddle not with men if you would live to be
a man yourself some day.”
</p>
<p>
Valentina smiled, Peppe laughed outright, whilst even Beltrame and his
followers grinned, all of which added not a little to Gonzaga's choler.
But scant though his wisdom might be, it was yet enough to dictate
prudence.
</p>
<p>
“The presence of Madonna here restrains me,” he answered, with elaborate
dignity. “But should we meet again, I shall make bold to show you what
manhood means.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps—if by then you shall have come to it.” And with a shrug
Fanfulla turned to give his attention to the Count, whom Fra Domenico was
already tending.
</p>
<p>
Valentina, to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, proposed to Gonzaga
that he should get his escort to horse, and have her litter in readiness,
so that they might resume their journey as soon as Fra Domenico should
have concluded his ministrations.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga bowed, and with a vicious glance at the strangers and an angry
“Follow me!” to Beltrame and the others, he departed with the men-at-arms
at his heels.
</p>
<p>
Valentina remained with Fanfulla and Peppe, whilst Fra Domenico dressed
Francesco's wound, and, presently, when the task was accomplished, they
departed, leaving Fanfulla amid the Count alone. But ere she went she
listened to Francesco's thanks, and suffered him to touch her ivory
fingers with his lips.
</p>
<p>
There was much he might have said but that the presence of the other three
restrained him. Yet some little of that much she may have seen reflected
in his eyes, for all that day she rode pensive, a fond, wistful smile at
the corners of her lips. And although to Gonzaga she manifested no
resentment, yet did she twit him touching that mistake of his. Sore in his
dignity, he liked her playful mockery little yet he liked the words in
which she framed it less.
</p>
<p>
“How came you into so grievous an error, Ser Romeo?” she asked him, more
than once. “How could you deem him a rogue—he with so noble a mien
and so beautiful a countenance?” And without heeding the sullenness of his
answers, she would lapse with a sigh once more into reflection—a
thing that galled Gonzaga more, perhaps, than did her gibes.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER V. GIAN MARIA
</h2>
<p>
It was a week after the meeting 'twixt the niece of Guidobaldo and the
Count of Aquila, when the latter—his wound being wellnigh healed—rode
one morning under the great archway that was the main entrance to the city
of Babbiano. The Captain of the Gate saluted him respectfully as he rode
by, and permitted himself to marvel at the pallor of his Excellency's
face. And yet, the cause was not very far to seek. It stood upon four
spears, among a noisy flock of circling crows, above that very Gate—-called
of San Bacolo—and consisted of four detruncated human heads.
</p>
<p>
The sight of those dead faces grinning horribly, their long, matted hair
fluttering like rags in the April breeze, had arrested Francesco's
attention as he drew nigh. But when presently he came nearer and looked
with more intentness, a shudder of recognition ran through him, and a
great horror filled his soul and paled his cheek. The first of those heads
was that of the valiant and well-named Ferrabraccio; the next that of
Amerino Amerini; and the other two, those of his captured companions on
that night at Sant' Angelo.
</p>
<p>
So it would seem that Gian Maria had been busy during the week that was
sped, and that there, on the walls of Babbiano, lay rotting the only
fruits which that ill-starred conspiracy was likely to bear.
</p>
<p>
For a second it entered his mind to turn back. But his stout and fearless
nature drove him on, all unattended as he was, and in despite of such
vague forebodings as beset him. How much, he wondered, might Gian Maria
know of his own share in that mountain meeting, and how would it fare with
him if his cousin was aware that it had been proposed to the Count of
Aquila to supplant him?
</p>
<p>
He was not long, however, in learning that grounds were wanting for such
fears as he had entertained. Gian Maria received him with even more than
wonted welcome, for he laid much store by Francesco's judgment and was in
sore need of it at present.
</p>
<p>
Francesco found him at table, which had been laid for him amidst the
treasures of art and learning that enriched the splendid Palace library.
It was a place beloved by Gian Maria for the material comforts that it
offered him, and so he turned it to a score of vulgar purposes of his own,
yet never to that for which it was equipped, being an utter stranger to
letters and ignorant as a ploughboy.
</p>
<p>
Ensconced in a great chair of crimson leather, at a board overladen with
choice viands and sparkling with crystal flagons and with vessels and
dishes of gold and enamel, Francesco found his cousin, and the air that
had been heavy once with the scholarly smell of parchments and musty tomes
was saturated now with pungent odours of the table.
</p>
<p>
In stature Gian Maria was short and inclining, young though he was, to
corpulency. His face was round and pale and flabby; his eyes blue and
beady; his mouth sensual and cruel. He was dressed in a suit of lilac
velvet, trimmed with lynx fur, and slashed, Spanish fashion, in the
sleeves, to show the shirt of fine Rheims linen underneath. About his neck
hung a gold chain, bearing an Agnus Dei, which contained a relic of the
True Cross—for Gian Maria pushed his devoutness to great lengths.
</p>
<p>
His welcome of Francesco was more effusive than its wont. He bade the two
servants who attended him to lay a plate for his illustrious cousin, and
when Aquila shortly yet courteously declined, with the assurance that he
had dined already, the Duke insisted that, at least, he should drink a Cup
of Malvasia. When out of a vessel of beaten gold they had filled a goblet
for the Count, his Highness bade the servants go, and relaxed—if,
indeed, so much may be said of one who never knew much dignity—before
his visitor.
</p>
<p>
“I hear,” said Aquila, when the first compliments were spent, “strange
stories of a conspiracy in your Duchy, and on the walls at the Gate of San
Bacolo I beheld four heads, of men whom I have known and honoured.”
</p>
<p>
“And who dishonoured themselves ere their heads were made a banquet for
the crows. There, Francesco!” He shuddered, and crossed himself. “It is
unlucky to speak of the dead at table.”
</p>
<p>
“Let us speak, then, of their offence alone,” persisted Francesco subtly.
“In what did it lie?
</p>
<p>
“In what?” returned the Duke amusedly. His voice was thin and inclining to
shrillness. “It is more than I can say. Masuccio knew. But the dog would
not disclose his secret nor the names of the conspirators until his task
should be accomplished and he had taken them at the treason he knew they
had gathered to ripen. But,” he continued, an olive poised 'twixt thumb
and forefinger, “it seems they were not to be captured as easily as he
thought. He told me the traitors numbered six, and that they were to meet
a seventh there. The men who returned from the venture tell me too, and
without shame, that there were but some six or seven that beset them. Yet
they gave the Swiss trouble enough, and killed some nine of them besides a
half-score of more or less grievously wounded, whilst they but slew two of
their assailants and captured another two. Those were the four heads you
saw at the Porta San Bacolo.”
</p>
<p>
“And Masuccio?” inquired Francesco. “Has he not told you since who were
those others that escaped?”
</p>
<p>
His Highness paused to masticate the olive.
</p>
<p>
“Why, there lies the difficulty,” said he at length. “The dog is dead. He
was killed in the affray. May he rot in hell for his obstinate reticence.
No, no!” he checked himself hastily. “He's dead, and the secret of this
treason, as well as the names of the traitors, have perished with him. Yet
I am a clement man, Francesco, and sorely though that dog has wronged me
by his silence, I thank Heaven for the grace to say—God rest his
vile soul!”
</p>
<p>
The Count flung himself into a chair, as much to dissemble such signs of
relief as might show upon his face, as because he wished to sit.
</p>
<p>
“But surely Masuccio left you some information!” he exclaimed.
</p>
<p>
“The very scantiest,” returned Gian Maria, in chagrined accents. “It was
ever the way of that secretive vassal. Damn him! He frankly told me that
if I knew, I would talk. Heard you ever of such insufferable insolence to
a prince? All that he would let me learn was that there was a conspiracy
afoot to supplant me, and that he was going to capture the conspirators,
together with the man whom they were inviting to take my place. Ponder it,
Francesco! Such are the murderous plans my loving subjects form for my
undoing—I who rule them with a rod of gold, the most clement, just
and generous prince in Italy. Cristo buono! Do you marvel that I lost
patience and had their hideous heads set upon spears?”
</p>
<p>
“But did you not say that two of these conspirators were brought back
captive?”
</p>
<p>
The Duke nodded, his mouth too full for words.
</p>
<p>
“Then, at their trial, what transpired?”
</p>
<p>
“Trial? There was no trial.” Gian Maria chewed vigorously for a moment. “I
tell you I was so heated with anger at this base ingratitude, that I had
not even the wit to have the names of their associates tortured out of
them. Within a half-hour of their arrival in Babbiano, the heads of these
men whom it had pleased Heaven to deliver up to me were where you saw them
to-day.”
</p>
<p>
“You sent them thus to their death?” gasped Francesco, rising to his feet
and eyeing his cousin with mingled wonder and anger. “You sent men of such
families as these to the headsman, without a trial? I think, Gian Maria,
that you must be mad if so rashly you can shed such blood as this.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke sank back in his chair to gape at his impetuous cousin. Then, in
sullen anger: “To whom do you speak?” he demanded.
</p>
<p>
“To a tyrant who calls himself the most clement, just and generous prince
in Italy, and who lacks the wisdom to see that he is undermining with his
own hands, and by his own rash actions, a throne that is already
tottering. Can you not think that this might mean a revolution? It amounts
to murder, and though dukes resort to it freely enough in Italy, it is not
openly and defiantly wrought, as is this.”
</p>
<p>
Anger there was in the Duke's soul, but there was still more fear—so
much, that it shouldered the anger aside.
</p>
<p>
“I have provided against rebellion,” he announced, with an ease that he
vainly strove to feel. “I have given the command of my guards to Martino
Armstadt, and he has engaged for me a company of five hundred Swiss
lanzknechte that were lately in the pay of the Baglioni of Perugia.”
</p>
<p>
“And you deem this security?” rejoined Francesco, with a smile of scorn.
“To hedge your throne with foreign spears commanded by a foreigner?”
</p>
<p>
“This and God's grace,” was the pious answer.
</p>
<p>
“Bah!” answered Francesco, impatient at the hypocrisy. “Win the hearts of
your people. Let that be your buckler.”
</p>
<p>
“Hush!” whispered Gian Maria. “You blaspheme. Does not every act of my
self-sacrificing life point to such an aim? I live for my people. But, by
my soul, they ask too much when they ask that I should die for them. If I
serve those who plot against my life, as I have served these men you speak
of, who shall blame me? I tell you, Francesco, I wish I might have those
others who escaped, that I might do as much by them. By the living God, I
do! And as for the man who was to have supplanted me——” He
paused, a deadly smile on his sensual mouth completing the sentence more
effectively than lay within the power of words. “Who could it have been?”
he mused. “I've vowed that if Heaven will grant me that I discover him,
I'll burn a candle to Santa Fosca every Saturday for a twelvemonth and go
fasting on the Vigil of the Dead. Who—who could it have been,
Franceschino?”
</p>
<p>
“How should I know?” returned Francesco, evading the question.
</p>
<p>
“You know so much, Checco mio. Your mind is so quick to fathom matters of
this kind. Think you, now, it might have been the Duca Valentino?”
</p>
<p>
Francesco shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“When Caesar Borgia comes he will know no need to resort to such poor
means. He will come in arms to reduce you by his might.”
</p>
<p>
“God and the saints protect me!” gasped the Duke. “You talk of it as if he
were already marching.”
</p>
<p>
“Then I talk of it advisedly. The event is none so remote as you would
make yourself believe. Listen, Gian Maria! I have not ridden from Aquila
for just the pleasure of passing the time of day with you. Fabrizio da
Lodi and Fanfulla degli Arcipreti have been with me of late.”
</p>
<p>
“With you?” cried the Duke, his little eyes narrowing themselves as they
glanced up at his cousin. “With you—eh?” He shrugged his shoulders
and spread his palms before him. “Pish! See into what errors even so clear
a mind as mine may fall. Do you know, Francesco, that marking their
absence since that conspiracy was laid, I had a half-suspicion they were
connected with it.” And he devoted his attention to a honeycomb.
</p>
<p>
“You have not in all your Duchy two hearts more faithful to Babbiano,” was
the equivocal reply. “It was on the matter of this very peril that
threatens you that they came to me.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” Gian Maria's white face grew interested.
</p>
<p>
And now the Count of Aquila talked to the Duke of Babbiano much as
Fabrizio da Lodi had talked to the Count that night at Sant' Angelo. He
spoke of the danger that threatened from the Borgia, of the utter lack of
preparation, and of Gian Maria's contempt of the counsels given him. He
alluded to the discontent rife among his subjects at this state of things,
and to the urgent need to set them right. When he had done, the Duke sat
silent a while, his eyes bent thoughtfully upon his platter, on which the
food lay now unheeded.
</p>
<p>
“An easy thing, is it not, Francesco, to say to a man: this is wrong, and
that is wrong. But who is there, pray, to set it right for me?”
</p>
<p>
“That, if you will say but the word, I will attempt to do.”
</p>
<p>
“You?” cried the Duke, and far from manifesting satisfaction at having one
offer himself to undertake to right this very crooked business, Gian
Maria's face reflected an incredulous anger and some little scorn. “And
how, my marvellous cousin, would you set about it?” he inquired, a sneer
lurking in his tone.
</p>
<p>
“I would place such matters as the levying of money by taxation in the
hands of Messer Despuglio, and at whatever sacrifice to your own
extravagance, I would see that for months to come the bulk of these moneys
is applied to the levying and arming of suitable men. I have some skill as
a condottiero—leastways, so more than one foreign prince has been
forced to acknowledge. I will lead your army when I have raised it, and I
will enter into alliances for you with our neighbouring States, who,
seeing us armed, will deem us a power worthy of their alliance. And so,
what man can do to stem the impending flood of this invasion, that will I
do to defend your Duchy. Make me your gonfalonier, and in a month I will
tell you whether it lies in my power or not to save your State.”
</p>
<p>
The eyes of Gian Maria had narrowed more and more whilst Francesco spoke,
and into his shallow face had crept an evil, suspicious look. As the Count
ceased, he gave vent to a subdued laugh, bitter with mockery.
</p>
<p>
“Make you my gonfalonier?” he muttered, in consummate amusement. “And
since when has Babbiano been a republic—or is it your aim to make it
one, and establish yourself as its chief magistrate?”
</p>
<p>
“If you misapprehend me so——” began Francesco, but his cousin
interrupted him with heightening scorn.
</p>
<p>
“Misapprehend you, Messer Franceschino? No, no. I understand you but too
well.” He rose suddenly from his interrupted meal, and came a step nearer
his cousin. “I hear rumours of this growing love my people are manifesting
for the Count of Aquila, and I have let them go unheeded. That rogue
Masuccio warned me ere he died, and I answered him with my whip across his
face. But I am by no means sure that I have been proceeding wisely. I had
a dream two nights ago—— But let that be! When it so happens
that in any State there is a man whom the people prefer to him who rules
them, and when it so happens that this man is of as good blood and high
birth as are you, he becomes a danger to him that sits the throne. I need
scarce remind you,” he added, with a horrid grin, “of how the Borgias deal
with such individuals, nor need I add that a Sforza may see fit to emulate
those very conclusive measures of precaution. The family of Sforza has
bred as yet no fools, nor shall I prove myself the first by placing in
another's hands the power to make himself my master. You see, my gentle
cousin, how transparent your aims become under my eyes. I am keen of
vision, Franceschino, keen of vision!” He tapped his nose and chuckled a
malicious appreciation of his own acute perceptions.
</p>
<p>
Francesco regarded him with an eye of stony scorn. He might have answered,
had he been so disposed, that the Duchy of Babbiano was his to take
whenever he pleased. He might have told him that, and defied him. But he
went more slowly than did this man of a family that bred no fools.
</p>
<p>
“Do you know me, then, so little, Gian Maria,” said he, not without
bitterness, “that you think I hunger for so empty a thing as this ducal
pomp you clutch so fearfully? I tell you, man, that I prefer my liberty to
an imperial throne. But I waste breath with you. Yet, some day, when your
crown shall have passed from you and your power have been engulfed in the
Borgia's rapacious maw, remember my offer which might have saved you and
which with insults you disregarded, as you disregarded the advice your
older counsellors gave you.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria shrugged his fat shoulders.
</p>
<p>
“If by that other advice you mean the counsel that I should take
Guidobaldo's niece to wife, you may give ease unto your patriotic soul. I
have consented to enter into this alliance. And now,” he ended, with
another of his infernal chuckles, “you see how little I need dread this
terrible son of Pope Alexander. Allied with Urbino and the other States
that are its friends, I can defy the might of Caesar Borgia. I shall sleep
tranquil of nights beside my beauteous bride, secure in the protection her
uncle's armies will afford me, and never needing so much as my valiant
cousin's aid as my gonfalonier.”
</p>
<p>
The Count of Aquila changed colour despite himself, and the Duke's
suspicious eyes were as quick to observe it as was his mind to
misinterpret its meaning. He registered a vow to set a watch on this
solicitous cousin who offered so readily to bear his gonfalon.
</p>
<p>
“I felicitate you, at least,” said Francesco gravely, “upon the wisdom of
that step. Had I known of it I had not troubled you with other proposals
for the safety of your State. But, may I ask you, Gian Maria, what
influences led you to a course which, hitherto, you have so obstinately
refused to follow?”
</p>
<p>
The Duke shrugged his shoulders.
</p>
<p>
“They plagued me so,” he lamented, with a grimace, “that in the end I
consented. I could withstand Lodi and the others, but when my mother
joined them with her prayers—I should say, her commands—and
pointed out again my peril to me, I gave way. After all a man must wed.
And since in my station he need not let his marriage weigh too much upon
him, I resolved on it for the sake of security and peace.”
</p>
<p>
Since it was the salvation of Babbiano that he aimed at, the Count of
Aquila should have rejoiced at Gian Maria's wise resolve, and no other
consideration should have tempered so encompassing a thing as that joy of
his should have been. Yet, when later he left his cousin's presence, the
only feeling that he carried with him was a deep and bitter resentment
against the Fate that willed such things, blent with a sorrowing pity for
the girl that was to wed his cousin and a growing hatred for the cousin
who made him pity her.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER VI. THE AMOROUS DUKE
</h2>
<p>
From a window of the Palace of Babbiano the Lord of Aquila watched the
amazing bustle in the courtyard below, and at his side stood Fanfulla
degli Arcipreti, whom he had summoned from Perugia with assurances that,
Masuccio being dead, no peril now menaced him.
</p>
<p>
It was a week after that interview at which Gian Maria had made known his
intentions to his cousin, and his Highness was now upon the point of
setting out for Urbino, to perform the comedy of wooing the Lady
Valentina. This was the explanation of that scurrying of servitors and
pages, that parading of men-at-arms, and that stamping of horses and mules
in the quadrangle below. Francesco watched the scene with a smile of some
bitterness, his companion with one of supreme satisfaction.
</p>
<p>
“Praised be Heaven for having brought his Highness at last to a sense of
his duty,” remarked the courtier.
</p>
<p>
“It has often happened to me,” said Francesco, disregarding his
companion's words, “to malign the Fates for having brought me into the
world a count. But in the future I shall give them thanks, for I see how
much worse it might have been—I might have been born a prince, with
a duchy to rule over. I might have been as that poor man, my cousin, a
creature whose life is all pomp and no real dignity, all merrymaking and
no real mirth—loveless, isolated and vain.”
</p>
<p>
“But,” cried the amazed Fanfulla, “assuredly there are compensations?”
</p>
<p>
“You see that bustle. You know what it portends. What compensation can
there be for that?”
</p>
<p>
“It is a question you should be the last to ask, my lord. You have seen
the niece of Guidobaldo, and having seen her, can you still ask what
compensation does this marriage offer Gian Maria?”
</p>
<p>
“Do you, then, not understand?” returned Aquila, with a wan smile. “Do you
not see the tragedy of it? Is it nothing that two States, having found
that this marriage would be mutually advantageous, have determined that it
shall take place? That meanwhile the chief actors—the victims, I
might almost call them—have no opportunity of selecting for
themselves. Gian Maria goes about it resignedly. He will tell you that he
has always known that some day he must wed and do his best to beget a son.
He held out long enough against this alliance, but now that necessity is
driving him at last, he goes about it much as he would go about any other
State affair—a coronation, a banquet, or a ball. Can you wonder now
that I would not accept the throne of Babbiano when it was offered me? I
tell you, Fanfulla, that were I at present in my cousin's shoes, I would
cast crown and purple at whomsoever had a fancy for them ere they crushed
the life out of me and left me a poor puppet. Sooner than endure that
hollow mockery of a life I would become a peasant or a vassal; I would
delve the earth and lead a humble life, but lead it in my own way, and
thank God for the freedom of it; choose my own comrades; live as I list,
where I list; love as I list, where I list, and die when God pleases with
the knowledge that my life had not been altogether barren. And that poor
girl, Fanfulla! Think of her. She is to be joined in loveless union to
such a gross, unfeeling clod as Gian Maria. Have you no pity for her?”
</p>
<p>
Fanfulla sighed, his brow clouded.
</p>
<p>
“I am not so dull but that I can see why you should reason thus to-day,”
said he. “These thoughts have come to you since you have seen her.”
</p>
<p>
Franceseo sighed deeply.
</p>
<p>
“Who knows?” he made answer wistfully. “In the few moments that we talked
together, in the little time that I beheld her, it may be that she dealt
me a wound far deeper than the one to which she so mercifully sought to
minister.”
</p>
<p>
Now for all that in what the Lord of Aquila said touching the projected
union there was a deal of justice, yet when he asserted that the chief
actors were to have no opportunity of selecting for themselves, he said
too much. That opportunity they were to have. It occurred three days later
at Urbino, when the Duke and Valentina were brought together at the
banquet of welcome given by Guidobaldo to his intended nephew-in-law. The
sight of her resplendent beauty came as a joyful shock to Gian Maria, and
filled him with as much impatience to possess her as did his own gross
ugliness render him offensive in her eyes. Averse had she been to this
wedding from the moment that it had been broached to her. The sight of
Gian Maria completed her loathing of the part assigned her, and in her
heart she registered a vow that sooner than become the Duchess of
Babbiano, she would return to her Convent of Santa Sofia and take the
veil.
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria sat beside her at the banquet, and in the intervals of eating—which
absorbed him mightily—he whispered compliments at which she
shuddered and turned pale. The more strenuously did he strive to please,
in his gross and clumsy fashion, the more did he succeed in repelling and
disgusting her, until, in the end, with all his fatuousness, he came to
deem her oddly cold. Of this, anon, he made complaint to that magnificent
prince, her uncle. But Guidobaldo scoffed at his qualms.
</p>
<p>
“Do you account my niece a peasant girl?” he asked. “Would you have her
smirk and squirm at every piece of flattery you utter? So that she weds
your Highness what shall the rest signify?”
</p>
<p>
“I would she loved me a little,” complained Gian Maria foolishly.
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo looked him over with an eye that smiled inscrutably, and it may
have crossed his mind that this coarse, white-faced Duke was too
ambitious.
</p>
<p>
“I doubt not that she will,” he answered, in tones as inscrutable as his
glance. “So that you woo with grace and ardour, what woman could withstand
your Highness? Be not put off by such modesty as becomes a maid.”
</p>
<p>
Those words of Guidobaldo's breathed new courage into him. Nor ever after
could he think that her coldness was other than a cloak, a sort of
maidenly garment behind which modesty bade her conceal the inclinations of
her heart. Reasoning thus, and having in support of it his wondrous
fatuity, it so befell that the more she shunned and avoided him, the more
did he gather conviction of the intensity of her affection; the more
loathing she betrayed, the more proof did it afford him of the consuming
quality of her passion. In the end, he went even so far as to applaud and
esteem in her this very maidenly conduct.
</p>
<p>
There were hunting-parties, hawking-parties, water-parties, banquets,
comedies, balls, and revels of every description, and for a week all went
well at Urbino. Then, as suddenly as if a cannon had been fired upon the
Palace, the festivities were interrupted. The news that an envoy of Caesar
Borgia's was at Babbiano with a message from his master came like a cold
douche upon Gian Maria. It was borne to him in a letter from Fabrizio da
Lodi, imploring his immediate return to treat with this plenipotentiary of
Valentino's.
</p>
<p>
No longer did he disregard the peril that threatened him from the
all-conquering Borgia, no longer deem exaggerated by his advisers the
cause for fear. This sudden presence of Valentino's messenger, coming,
too, at a time when it would almost seem as if the impending union with
Urbino had spurred the Borgia to act before the alliance was established,
filled him with apprehension.
</p>
<p>
In one of the princely chambers that had been set aside for his use during
his visit to Urbino he discussed the tragic news with the two nobles who
had accompanied him—Alvaro de Alvari and Gismondo Santi—and
both of them, whilst urging him to take the advice of Lodi and return at
once, urged him, too, to establish his betrothal ere he left.
</p>
<p>
“Bring the matter to an issue at once, your Highness,” said Santi, “and
thus you will go back to Babbiano well-armed to meet the Duca Valentino's
messenger.”
</p>
<p>
Readily accepting this advice, Gian Maria went in quest of Guidobaldo, and
laid before him his proposals, together with the news which had arrived
and which was the cause of the haste he now manifested. Guidobaldo
listened gravely. In its way the news affected him as well, for he feared
the might of Caesar Borgia as much as any man in Italy, and he was, by
virtue of it, the readier to hasten forward an alliance which should bring
another of the neighbouring states into the powerful coalition he was
forming.
</p>
<p>
“It shall be as you wish,” answered him the gracious Lord of Urbino, “and
the betrothal shall be proclaimed to-day, so that you can bear news of it
to Valentino's messenger. When you have heard this envoy, deliver him an
answer of such defiance or such caution as you please. Then return in ten
days' time to Urbino, and all shall be ready for the nuptials. But, first
of all, go you and tell Monna Valentina.”
</p>
<p>
Confident of success, Gian Maria obeyed his host, and went in quest of the
lady. He gained her ante-chamber, and thence he despatched an idling page
to request of her the honour of an audience.
</p>
<p>
As the youth passed through the door that led to the room beyond, Gian
Maria caught for a moment the accents of an exquisite male voice singing a
love-song to the accompaniment of a lute.
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“Una donna più bella assai che 'l sole...”
</pre>
<p>
came the words of Petrarch, and he heard them still, though muffled, for a
moment or two after the boy had gone. Then it ceased abruptly, and a pause
followed, at the end of which the page returned. Raising the portière of
blue and gold, he invited Gian Maria to enter.
</p>
<p>
It was a room that spoke with eloquence of the wealth and refinement of
Montefeltro, from the gilding and ultramarine of the vaulted ceiling with
its carved frieze of delicately inlaid woodwork, to the priceless
tapestries beneath it. Above a crimson prie-dieu hung a silver crucifix,
the exquisite workmanship of the famous Anichino of Ferrara. Yonder stood
an inlaid cabinet, surmounted by a crystal mirror and some wonders of
Murano glass. There was a picture by Mantegna, some costly cameos and
delicate enamels, an abundance of books, a dulcimer which a fair-haired
page was examining with inquisitive eyes, and by a window on the right
stood a very handsome harp that Guidobaldo had bought his niece in Venice.
</p>
<p>
In that choice apartment of hers the Duke found Valentina surrounded by
her ladies, Peppe the fool, a couple of pages, and a half-dozen gentlemen
of her uncle's court. One of these—that same Gonzaga who had
escorted her from the Convent of Santa Sofia—most splendidly arrayed
in white taby, his vest and doublet rich with gold, sat upon a low stool,
idly fingering the lute in his lap, from which Gian Maria inferred that
his had been the voice that had reached him in the ante-chamber.
</p>
<p>
At the Duke's advent they all rose saving Valentina and received him with
a ceremony that somewhat chilled his ardour. He advanced; then halted
clumsily, and in a clumsy manner framed a request that he might speak with
her alone. In a tired, long-suffering way she dismissed that court of
hers, and Gian Maria stood waiting until the last of them had passed out
through the tall windows that abutted on to a delightful terrace, where,
in the midst of a green square, a marble fountain flashed and glimmered in
the sunlight.
</p>
<p>
“Lady,” he said, when they were at last alone, “I have news from Babbiano
that demands my instant return.” And he approached her by another step.
</p>
<p>
In truth he was a dull-witted fellow or else too blinded by fatuity to see
and interpret aright the sudden sparkle in her eye, the sudden,
unmistakable expression of relief that spread itself upon her face.
</p>
<p>
“My lord,” she answered, in a low, collected voice, “we shall grieve at
your departure.”
</p>
<p>
Fool of a Duke that he was! Blind, crass and most fatuous of wooers! Had
he been bred in courts and his ears attuned to words that meant nothing,
that were but the empty echoes of what should have been meant; was he so
new to courtesies in which the heart had no share, that those words of
Valentina's must bring him down upon his knees beside her, to take her
dainty fingers in his fat hands, and to become transformed into a boorish
lover of the most outrageous type?
</p>
<p>
“Shall you so?” he lisped, his glance growing mighty amorous. “Shall you
indeed grieve?”
</p>
<p>
She rose abruptly to her feet.
</p>
<p>
“I beg that your Highness will rise,” she enjoined him coldly, a coldness
which changed swiftly to alarm as her endeavours to release her hand
proved vain. For despite her struggles he held on stoutly. This was mere
coyness, he assured himself, mere maidenly artifice which he must bear
with until he had overcome it for all time.
</p>
<p>
“My lord, I implore you!” she continued. “Bethink you of where you are—of
who you are.”
</p>
<p>
“Here will I stay until the crack of doom,” he answered, with an odd
mixture of humour, ardour and ferocity, “unless you consent to listen to
me.”
</p>
<p>
“I am ready to listen, my lord,” she answered, without veiling a
repugnance that he lacked the wit to see. “But it is not necessary that
you should hold my hand, nor fitting that you should kneel.”
</p>
<p>
“Not fitting?” he exclaimed. “Lady, you do not apprehend me rightly. Is it
not fitting that all of us—be we princes or vassals—shall
kneel sometimes?”
</p>
<p>
“At your prayers, my lord, yes, most fitting.”
</p>
<p>
“And is not a man at his prayers when he woos? What fitter shrine in all
the world than his mistress's feet?”
</p>
<p>
“Release me,” she commanded, still struggling. “Your Highness grows
tiresome and ridiculous.”
</p>
<p>
“Ridiculous?”
</p>
<p>
His great, sensual mouth fell open. His white cheeks grew mottled, and his
little eyes looked up with a mighty evil gleam in their cruel blue. A
moment he stayed so, then he rose up. He released her hands as she had
bidden him, but he clutched her arms instead, which was yet worse.
</p>
<p>
“Valentina,” he said, in a voice that was far from steady, “why do you use
me thus unkindly?”
</p>
<p>
“But I do not,” she protested wearily, drawing back with a shudder from
the white face that was so near her own, inspiring her with a loathing she
could not repress. “I would not have your Highness look foolish, and you
cannot conceive how——”
</p>
<p>
“Can you conceive how deeply, how passionately I love you?” he broke in,
his grasp tightening.
</p>
<p>
“My lord, you are hurting me!”
</p>
<p>
“And are you not hurting me?” he snarled. “What is a pinched arm when
compared with such wounds as your eyes are dealing me? Are you not——”
</p>
<p>
She had twisted from his grasp, and in a bound she had reached the
window-door through which her attendants had passed.
</p>
<p>
“Valentina!” he cried, as he sprang after her, and it was more like the
growl of a beast than the cry of a lover. He caught her, and with scant
ceremony he dragged her back into the room.
</p>
<p>
At this, her latent loathing, contempt and indignation rose up in arms.
Never had she heard tell of a woman of her rank being used in this
fashion. She abhorred him, yet she had spared him the humiliation of
hearing it from her lips, intending to fight for her liberty with her
uncle. But now, since he handled her as though she had been a
serving-wench; since he appeared to know nothing of the deference due to
her, nothing of the delicacies of people well-born and well-bred, she
would endure his odious love-making no further. Since he elected to pursue
his wooing like a clown, the high-spirited daughter of Urbino promised
herself that in like fashion would she deal with him.
</p>
<p>
Swinging herself free from his grasp a second time, she caught him a
stinging buffet on the ducal cheek which—so greatly did it take him
by surprise—all but sent him sprawling.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna!” he panted. “This indignity to me!”
</p>
<p>
“And what indignities have not I suffered at your hands?” she retorted,
with a fierceness of glance before which he recoiled. And as she now
towered before him, a beautiful embodiment of wrath, he knew not whether
he loved her more than he feared her, yet the desire to possess her and to
tame her was strong within him.
</p>
<p>
“Am I a baggage of your camps,” she questioned furiously, “to be so
handled by you? Do you forget that I am the niece of Guidobaldo, a lady of
the house of Rovere, and that from my cradle I have known naught but the
respect of all men, be they born never so high? That to such by my birth I
have the right? Must I tell you in plain words, sir, that though born to a
throne, your manners are those of a groom? And must I tell you, ere you
will realise it, that no man to whom with my own lips I have not given the
right, shall set hands upon me as you have done?”
</p>
<p>
Her eyes flashed, her voice rose, and higher raged the storm; and Gian
Maria was so tossed and shattered by it that he could but humbly sue for
pardon.
</p>
<p>
“What shall it signify that I am a Duke,” he pleaded timidly, “since I am
become a lover? What is a Duke then? He is but a man, and as the meanest
of his subjects his love must take expression. For what does love know of
rank?”
</p>
<p>
She was moving towards the window again, and for all that he dared not a
second time arrest her by force, he sought by words to do so.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he exclaimed, “I implore you to hear me. In another hour I
shall be in the saddle, on my way to Babbiano.”
</p>
<p>
“That, sir,” she answered him, “is the best news I have heard since your
coming.” And without waiting for his reply, she stepped through the open
window on to the terrace.
</p>
<p>
For a second he hesitated, a sense of angry humiliation oppressing his
wits. Then he started to follow her; but as he reached the window the
little crook-backed figure of Ser Peppe stood suddenly before him with a
tinkle of bells, and a mocking grin illumining his face.
</p>
<p>
“Out of the way, fool,” growled the angry Duke. But the odd figure in its
motley of red and black continued where it stood.
</p>
<p>
“If it is Madonna Valentina you seek,” said he, “behold her yonder.”
</p>
<p>
And Gian Maria, following the indication of Peppe's lean finger, saw that
she had rejoined her ladies and that thus his opportunity of speaking with
her was at an end. He turned his shoulder upon the jester, and moved
ponderously towards the door by which he had originally entered the room.
It had been well for Ser Peppe had he let him go. But the fool, who loved
his mistress dearly, and had many of the instincts of the faithful dog,
loving where she loved and hating where she hated, could not repress the
desire to send a gibe after the retreating figure, and inflict another
wound in that much wounded spirit.
</p>
<p>
“You find it a hard road to Madonna's heart, Magnificent,” he called after
him. “Where your wisdom is blind be aided by the keen eyes of folly.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke stood still. A man more dignified would have left that
treacherous tongue unheeded. But Dignity and Gian Maria were strangers. He
turned, and eyed the figure that now followed him into the room.
</p>
<p>
“You have knowledge to sell,” he guessed contemptuously.
</p>
<p>
“Knowledge I have—a vast store—but none for sale, Lord Duke.
Such as imports you I will bestow if you ask me, for no more than the joy
of beholding you smile.”
</p>
<p>
“Say on,” the Duke bade him, without relaxing the grimness that tightened
his flabby face.
</p>
<p>
Peppe bowed.
</p>
<p>
“It were an easy thing, most High and Mighty, to win the love of Madonna
if——” He paused dramatically.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes. E dunque! If——?”
</p>
<p>
“If you had the noble countenance, the splendid height, the shapely limbs,
the courtly speech and princely manner of one I wot of.”
</p>
<p>
“Are you deriding me?” the Duke questioned, unbelieving.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, no, Highness! I do but tell you how it were possible that my lady
might come to love you. Had you those glorious attributes of him I speak
of, and of whom she dreams, it might be easy. But since God fashioned you
such as you are—gross of countenance, fat and stunted of shape,
boorish of——”
</p>
<p>
With a roar the infuriated Duke was upon him. But the fool, as nimble of
legs as he was of tongue, eluded the vicious grasp of those fat hands, and
leaping through the window, ran to the shelter of his mistress's
petticoats.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER VII. GONZAGA THE INSIDIOUS
</h2>
<p>
Well indeed had it been for Ser Peppe had he restrained his malicious mood
and curbed the mocking speech that had been as vinegar to Gian Maria's
wounds. For when Gian Maria was sore he was wont to be vindictive, and on
the present occasion he was something even more.
</p>
<p>
There abode with him the memory of the fool's words, and the suggestion
that in the heart of Valentina was framed the image of some other man.
Now, loving her, in his own coarse way, and as he understood love, the
rejected Duke waxed furiously jealous of this other at whose existence
Peppe had hinted. This unknown stood in his path to Valentina, and to
clear that path it suggested itself to Gian Maria that the simplest method
was to remove the obstacle. But first he must discover it, and to this he
thought, with a grim smile, the fool might—willy-nilly—help
him.
</p>
<p>
He returned to his own apartments, and whilst the preparations for his
departure were toward, he bade Alvaro summon Martin Armstadt—the
captain of his guard. To the latter his orders were short and secret.
</p>
<p>
“Take four men,” he bade him, “and remain in Urbino after I am gone.
Discover the haunts of Peppe the fool. Seize him, and bring him after me.
See that you do it diligently, and let no suspicion of your task arise.”
</p>
<p>
The bravo—he was little better, for all that he commanded the guards
of the Duke of Babbiano—bowed, and answered in his foreign, guttural
voice that his Highness should be obeyed.
</p>
<p>
Thereafter Gian Maria made shift to depart. He took his leave of
Guidobaldo, promising to return within a few days for the nuptials, and
leaving an impression upon the mind of his host that his interview with
Valentina had been very different from the actual.
</p>
<p>
It was from Valentina herself that Guidobaldo was to learn, after Gian
Maria's departure, the true nature of that interview, and what had passed
between his niece and his guest. She sought him out in his closet, whither
he had repaired, driven thither by the demon of gout that already
inhabited his body, and was wont to urge him at times to isolate himself
from his court. She found him reclining upon a couch, seeking distraction
in a volume of the prose works of Piccinino. He was a handsome man, of
excellent shape, scarce thirty years of age. His face was pale, and there
were dark circles round his eyes, and lines of pain about his strong
mouth.
</p>
<p>
He sat up at her advent, and setting his book upon the table beside him,
he listened to her angry complaints.
</p>
<p>
At first, the courtly Montefeltro inclined to anger upon learning of the
roughness with which Gian Maria had borne himself. But presently he
smiled.
</p>
<p>
“When all is said, I see in this no great cause for indignation,” he
assured her. “I acknowledge that it may lack the formality that should
attend the addresses of a man in the Duke's position to a lady in yours.
But since he is to wed you, and that soon, why be angered at that he seeks
to pay his court like any other man?”
</p>
<p>
“I have talked in vain, then,” she answered petulantly, “and I am
misunderstood. I do not intend to wed this ducal clod you have chosen to
be my husband.”
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo stared at her with brows raised, and wonder in his fine eyes.
Then he shrugged his shoulders a trifle wearily. This handsome and
well-beloved Guidobaldo was very much a prince, so schooled to princely
ways as to sometimes forget that he was a man.
</p>
<p>
“We forgive much to the impetuousness of youth,” said he, very coldly.
“But there are bounds to the endurance of every one of us. As your uncle
and your prince, I claim a double duty from you, and you owe a double
allegiance to my wishes. By my twofold authority I have commanded you to
wed with Gian Maria.”
</p>
<p>
The princess in her was all forgotten, and it was just the woman who
answered him, in a voice of protest:
</p>
<p>
“But, Highness, I do not love him.”
</p>
<p>
A shade of impatience crossed his lofty face.
</p>
<p>
“I do not remember,” he made answer wearily, “that I loved your aunt. Yet
we were wed, and through habit came to love each other and to be happy
together.”
</p>
<p>
“I can understand that Monna Elizabetta should have come to love you,” she
returned. “You are not as Gian Maria. You were not fat and ugly, stupid
and cruel, as is he.”
</p>
<p>
It was an appeal that might have won its way to a man's heart through the
ever-ready channel of his vanity. But it did not so with Guidobaldo. He
only shook his head.
</p>
<p>
“The matter is not one that I will argue. It were unworthy in us both.
Princes, my child, are not as ordinary folk.”
</p>
<p>
“In what are they different?” she flashed back at him. “Do they not hunger
and thirst as ordinary folk? Are they not subject to the same ills; do
they not experience the same joys? Are they not born, and do they not die,
just as ordinary folk? In what, then, lies this difference that forbids
them to mate as ordinary folk?”
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo tossed his arms to Heaven, his eyes full of a consternation
that clearly defied utterance. The violence of his gesture drew a gasp of
pain from him. At last, when he had mastered it:
</p>
<p>
“They are different,” said he, “in that their lives are not their own to
dispose of as they will. They belong to the State which they were born to
govern, and in nothing else does this become of so much importance as in
their mating. It behoves them to contract such alliances as shall redound
to the advantage of their people.” A toss of her auburn head was
Valentina's interpolation, but her uncle continued relentlessly in his
cold, formal tones—such tones as those in which he might have
addressed an assembly of his captains:
</p>
<p>
“In the present instance we are threatened—Babbiano and Urbino—by
a common foe. And whilst divided, neither of us could withstand him,
united, we shall combine to his overthrow. Therefore does this alliance
become necessary—imperative.”
</p>
<p>
“I do not apprehend the necessity,” she answered, in a voice that breathed
defiance. “If such an alliance as you speak of is desirable, why may it
not be made a purely political one—such a one, for instance, as now
binds Perugia and Camerino to you? What need to bring me into question?”
</p>
<p>
“A little knowledge of history would afford you an answer. Such political
alliances are daily made, and daily broken when more profit offers in
another quarter. But cemented by marriage, the tie, whilst continuing
political, becomes also one of blood. In the case of Urbino and Babbiano
it enters also into consideration that I have no son. It might well be,
Valentina,” he pursued, with a calculating coldness that revolted her,
“that a son of yours would yet more strongly link the two duchies. In time
both might become united under him into one great power that might vie
successfully with any in Italy. Now leave me, child. As you see, I am
suffering, and when it is thus with me, and this evil tyrant has me in its
clutches, I prefer to be alone.”
</p>
<p>
There was a pause, and whilst his eyes were upon hers, hers were upon the
ground in avoidance of his glance. A frown marred her white brow, her lips
were set and her hands clenched. Pity for his physical ills fought a while
with pity for her own mental torment. At last she threw back her beautiful
head, and the manner of that action was instinct with insubordination.
</p>
<p>
“It grieves me to harass your Highness in such a season,” she assured him,
“but I must beg your indulgence. These things may be as you say. Your
plans may be the noblest that were ever conceived, since to their
consummation would be entailed the sacrifice of your own flesh and blood—in
the person of your niece. But I will have no part in them. It may be that
I lack a like nobility of soul; it may be that I am all unworthy of the
high station to which I was born, through no fault of my own. And so, my
lord,” she ended, her voice, her face, her gesture, all imparting an
irrevocable finality to her words, “I will not wed this Duke of Babbiano—no,
not to cement alliances with a hundred duchies.”
</p>
<p>
“Valentina!” he exclaimed, roused out of his wonted calm. “Do you forget
that you are my niece?”
</p>
<p>
“Since you appear to have forgotten it.”
</p>
<p>
“These woman's whims——” he began, when she interrupted him.
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps they will serve to remind you that I am a woman, and perhaps if
you remember that, you may consider how very natural it is that, being a
woman, I should refuse to wed for—for political ends.”
</p>
<p>
“To your chamber,” he commanded, now thoroughly aroused. “And on your
knees beg Heaven's grace to help you to see your duty, since no words of
mine prevail.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that the Duchess were returned from Mantua,” she sighed. “The good
Monna Elizabetta might melt you to some pity.”
</p>
<p>
“Monna Elizabetta is too dutiful herself to do aught but urge you to
dutifulness. There, child,” he added, in a more wheedling tone, “set aside
this disobedient mood, which is unlike you and becomes you ill. You shall
be wed with a splendour and magnificence that will set every princess in
Italy green with envy. Your dowry is set at fifty thousand ducats, and
Giuliano della Rovere shall pronounce the benediction. Already I have sent
orders to Ferrara, to the incomparable Anichino, for the majestate girdle;
I will send to Venice for gold leaf and——”
</p>
<p>
“But do you not heed me that I will not wed?” she broke in with passionate
calm, her face white, her bosom heaving.
</p>
<p>
He rose, leaning heavily upon a gold-headed cane, and looked at her a
moment without speaking, his brows contracted. Then:
</p>
<p>
“Your betrothal to Gian Maria is proclaimed,” he announced in a voice cold
with finality. “I have passed my word to the Duke, and your marriage shall
take place so soon as he returns. Now go. Such scenes as these are
wearisome to a sick man, and they are undignified.”
</p>
<p>
“But, your Highness,” she began, an imploring note now taking the place
that lately had been held by defiance.
</p>
<p>
“Go!” he blazed, stamping his foot, and then to save his dignity—for
he feared that she might still remain—he himself turned on his heel
and passed from the apartment.
</p>
<p>
Left to herself, she stood there a moment, allowed a sigh to escape her,
and brushed an angry tear from her brown eyes. Then, with a sudden
movement that seemed to imply suppression of her mood, she walked to the
door by which she entered, and left the chamber.
</p>
<p>
She went down the long gallery, whose walls glowed with the new frescoes
from the wonder-working brush of Andrea Mantegna; she crossed her
ante-chamber and gained the very room where some hours ago she had
received the insult of Gian Maria's odious advances. She passed through
the now empty room, and stepped out on to the terrace that overlooked the
paradise-like gardens of the Palace.
</p>
<p>
Close by the fountain stood a white marble seat, over which, earlier that
day, one of her women had thrown a cloak of crimson velvet. There she now
sat herself to think out the monstrous situation that beset her. The air
was warm and balmy and heavy with the scent of flowers from the garden
below. The splashing of the fountain seemed to soothe her, and for a
little while her eyes were upon that gleaming water, which rose high in a
crystal column, then broke and fell, a shower of glittering jewels, into
the broad marble basin. Then, her eyes growing tired, they strayed to the
marble balustrade, where a peacock strode with overweening dignity; they
passed on to the gardens below, gay with early blossoms, in their stately
frames of tall, boxwood hedges, and flanked by myrtles and tall cypresses
standing gaunt and black against the deep saffron of the vesper sky.
</p>
<p>
Saving the splashing of the fountain, and the occasional harsh scream of
the peacock, all was at peace, as if by contrast with the tumult that
raged in Valentina's soul. Then another sound broke the stillness—a
soft step, crunching the gravel of the walk. She turned, and behind her
stood the magnificent Gonzaga, a smile that at once reflected pleasure and
surprise upon his handsome face.
</p>
<p>
“Alone, Madonna?” he said, in accents of mild wonder, his fingers softly
stirring the strings of the lute he carried, and without which he seldom
appeared about the Court.
</p>
<p>
“As you see,” she answered, and her tone was the tone of one whose
thoughts are taken up with other things.
</p>
<p>
Her glance moved away from him again, and in a moment it seemed as if she
had forgotten his presence, so absorbed grew the expression of her face.
</p>
<p>
But Gonzaga was not easily discouraged. Patience was the one virtue that
Valentina more than any woman—and there had been many in his young
life—had inculcated into a soul that in the main was anything but
virtuous. He came a step nearer, and leant lightly against the edge of her
seat, his shapely legs crossed, his graceful body inclining ever so
slightly towards her.
</p>
<p>
“You are pensive, Madonna,” he murmured, in his rich, caressing voice.
</p>
<p>
“Why then,” she reproved him, but in a mild tone, “do you intrude upon my
thoughts?”
</p>
<p>
“Because they seem sad thoughts, Madonna.” he answered, glibly, “and I
were a poor friend did I not seek to rouse you out of them.”
</p>
<p>
“You are that, Gonzaga?” she questioned, without looking at him. “You are
my friend?”
</p>
<p>
He seemed to quiver and then draw himself upright, whilst across his face
there swept a shade of something that may have been good or bad or partly
both. Then he leant down until his head came very near her own.
</p>
<p>
“Your friend?” quoth he. “Ah, more than your friend. Count me your very
slave, Madonna.”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him now, and in his countenance she saw a reflection of the
ardour that had spoken in his voice. In his eyes there was a glance of
burning intensity. She drew away from him, and at first he accounted
himself repulsed, but pointing to the space she had left:
</p>
<p>
“Sit here beside me, Gonzaga,” she said quietly, and he, scarce crediting
his own good fortune that so much favour should be showered upon him,
obeyed her in a half-timid fashion that was at odd variance with his late
bold words.
</p>
<p>
He laughed lightly, perhaps to cover the embarrassment that beset him, and
dropping his jewelled cap, he flung one white-cased leg over the other and
took his lute in his lap, his fingers again wandering to the strings.
</p>
<p>
“I have a new song, Madonna,” he announced, with a gaiety that was
obviously forced. “It is in ottava rima, a faint echo of the immortal
Niccolo Correggio, composed in honour of one whose description is beyond
the flight of human song.”
</p>
<p>
“Yet you sing of her?”
</p>
<p>
“It is no better than an acknowledgment of the impossibility to sing of
her. Thus——” And striking a chord or two, he began, a mezza
voce:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“Quando sorriderán' in ciel
Gli occhi tuoi ai santi—”
</pre>
<p>
She laid a hand upon his arm to stay him.
</p>
<p>
“Not now, Gonzaga,” she begged, “I am in no humour for your song, sweet
though I doubt not that it be.”
</p>
<p>
A shade of disappointment and ruffled vanity crossed his face. Women had
been wont to listen greedily to his strambotti, enthralled by the cunning
of the words and the seductive sweetness of his voice.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, never look so glum,” she cried, smiling now at his crestfallen air.
“If I have not hearkened now, I will again. Forgive me, good Gonzaga,” she
begged him, with a sweetness no man could have resisted. And then a sigh
fluttered from her lips; a sound that was like a sob came after it, and
her hand closed upon his arm.
</p>
<p>
“They are breaking my heart, my friend. Oh, that you had left me at peace
in the Convent of Santa Sofia!”
</p>
<p>
He turned to her, all solicitude and gentleness, to inquire the reason of
her outburst.
</p>
<p>
“It is this odious alliance into which they seek to force me with that man
from Babbiano. I have told Guidobaldo that I will not wed this Duke. But
as profitably might I tell Fate that I will not die. The one is as
unheeding as the other.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga sighed profoundly, in sympathy, but said nothing.
</p>
<p>
Here was a grief to which he could not minister, a grievance that he could
do nothing to remove. She turned from him with a gesture of impatience.
</p>
<p>
“You sigh,” she exclaimed, “and you bewail the cruelty of the fate in
store for me. But you can do nothing for me. You are all words, Gonzaga.
You can call yourself more than my friend—my very slave. Yet, when I
need your help, what do you offer me? A sigh!”
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, you are unjust,” he was quick to answer, with some heat. “I did
not dream—I did not dare to dream—that it was my help you
sought. My sympathy, I believed, was all that you invited, and so, lest I
should seem presumptuous, it was all I offered. But if my help you need;
if you seek a means to evade this alliance that you rightly describe as
odious, such help as it lies in a man's power to render shall you have
from me.”
</p>
<p>
He spoke almost fiercely and with a certain grim confidence, for all that
as yet no plan had formed itself in his mind.
</p>
<p>
Indeed, had a course been clear to him, there had been perhaps less
confidence in his tone, for, after all, he was not by nature a man of
action, and his character was the very reverse of valiant. Yet so
excellent an actor was he as to deceive even himself by his acting, and in
this suggestion of some vague fine deeds that he would do, he felt himself
stirred by a sudden martial ardour, and capable of all. He was stirred,
too, by the passion with which Valentina's beauty filled him—a
passion that went nearer to making a man of him than Nature had succeeded
in doing.
</p>
<p>
That now, in the hour of her need, she should turn so readily to him for
assistance, he accepted as proof that she was not deaf to the voice of
this great love he bore her, but of which he never yet had dared to show a
sign. The passing jelousy that he had entertained for that wounded knight
they had met at Acquasparta was laid to rest by her present attitude
towards him, the knight, himself forgotten.
</p>
<p>
As for Valentina, she listened to his ready speech and earnest tone with
growing wonder both at him and at herself. Her own words had been little
more than a petulant outburst. Of actually finding a way to elude her
uncle's wishes she had no thought—unless it lay in carrying out that
threat of hers to take the veil. Now, however, that Gonzaga spoke so
bravely of doing what man could do to help her to evade that marriage, the
thought of active resistance took an inviting shape.
</p>
<p>
A timid hope—a hope that was afraid of being shattered before it
grew to any strength—peeped now from the wondering eyes she turned
on her companion.
</p>
<p>
“Is there a way, Gonzaga?” she asked, after a pause.
</p>
<p>
Now during that pause his mind had been very busy. Something of a poet, he
was blessed with wits of a certain quickness, and was a man of very ready
fancy. Like an inspiration an idea had come to him; out of this had sprung
another, and yet another, until a chain of events by which the frustration
of the schemes of Babbiano and Urbino might be accomplished, was complete.
</p>
<p>
“I think,” he said slowly, his eyes upon the ground, “that I know a way.”
</p>
<p>
Her glance was now eager, her lip tremulous, and her face a little pale.
She leant towards him.
</p>
<p>
“Tell me,” she besought him feverishly.
</p>
<p>
He set his lute on the seat beside him, and his eyes looked round in
apprehensive survey.
</p>
<p>
“Not here,” he muttered. “There are too many ears in the Palace of Urbino.
Will it please you to walk in the gardens? I will tell you there.”
</p>
<p>
They rose together, so ready was her assent. They looked at each other for
a second. Then, side by side, they passed down the wide marble steps that
led from the terrace to the box-flanked walks of the gardens. Here, among
the lengthening shadows, they paced in silence for a while, what time
Gonzaga sought for words in which to propound his plan. At length, grown
impatient, Valentina urged him with a question.
</p>
<p>
“What I counsel, Madonna,” he answered her, “is open defiance.”
</p>
<p>
“Such a course I am already pursuing. But whither will it lead me?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not mean the mere defiance of words—mere protestations that
you will not wed Gian Maria. Listen, Madonna! The Castle of Roccaleone is
your property. It is perhaps the stoutest fortress in all Italy, to-day.
Lightly garrisoned and well-provisioned it might withstand a year's
siege.”
</p>
<p>
She turned to him, having guessed already the proposal in his mind, and
for all that at first her eyes looked startled, yet presently they kindled
to a light of daring that augured well for a very stout adventure. It was
a wildly romantic notion, this of Gonzaga's, worthy of a poet's perfervid
brain, and yet it attracted her by its unprecedented flavour.
</p>
<p>
“Could it be done?” she wondered, her eyes sparkling at the anticipation
of such a deed.
</p>
<p>
“It could, indeed it could,” he answered, with an eagerness no whit less
than her own. “Immure yourself in Roccaleone, and thence hurl defiance at
Urbino and Babbiano, refusing to surrender until they grant your terms—that
you are to marry as you list.”
</p>
<p>
“And you will help me in this?” she questioned, her mind—in its
innocence—inclining more and more to the mad project.
</p>
<p>
“With all my strength and wit,” he answered, readily and gallantly. “I
will so victual the place that it shall be able to stand siege for a whole
year, should the need arise, and I will find you the men to arm it—a
score will, I should think, be ample for our needs, since it is mainly
upon the natural strength of the place that we rely.”
</p>
<p>
“And then,” said she, “I shall need a captain.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga made her a low bow.
</p>
<p>
“If you will honour me with the office, Madonna, I shall serve you loyally
whilst I have life.”
</p>
<p>
A smile quivered for a second on her lips, but was gone ere the courtier
had straightened himself from his bow, for far was it from her wishes to
wound his spirit. But the notion of this scented fop in the role of
captain, ruling a handful of rough mercenaries, and directing the
operations for the resistance of an assiduous siege, touched her with its
ludicrous note. Yet, if she refused him this, it was more than likely he
would deem himself offended, and refuse to advance their plans. It crossed
her mind—in the full confidence of youth—that if he should
fail her when the hour of action came, she was of stout enough heart to
aid herself. And so she consented, whereat again he bowed, this time in
gratitude. And then a sudden thought occurred to her, and with it came
dismay.
</p>
<p>
“But for all this, Gonzaga—for the men and the victualling—money
will be needed.”
</p>
<p>
“If you will let my friendship be proven also in that——” he
began.
</p>
<p>
But she interrupted him, struck suddenly with a solution to the riddle.
</p>
<p>
“No, no!” she exclaimed. His face fell a little. He had hoped to place her
in his debt in every possible way, yet here was one in which she raised a
barrier. Upon her head she wore a fret of gold, so richly laced with
pearls as to be worth a prince's ransom. This she now made haste to
unfasten with fingers that excitement set a-tremble. “There!” she cried,
holding it out to him. “Turn that to money, my friend. It should yield you
ducats enough for this enterprise.”
</p>
<p>
It next occurred to her that she could not go alone into that castle with
just Gonzaga and the men he was about to enrol. His answer came with a
promptness that showed he had considered, also, that.
</p>
<p>
“By no means,” he answered her. “When the time comes you must select such
of your ladies—say three or four—as appear suitable and have
your trust. You may take a priest as well, a page or two, and a few
servants.”
</p>
<p>
Thus, in the gloaming, amid the shadows of that old Italian garden, was
the plot laid by which Valentina was to escape alliance with his Highness
of Babbiano. But there was more than that in it, although that was all
that Valentina saw. It was, too, a plot by which she might become the wife
of Messer Romeo Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
He was an exiled member of that famous Mantua family, which has bred some
scoundrels and one saint. With the money which, at parting, a doting
mother had bestowed upon him, he was cutting a brave figure at the Urbino
court, where he was tolerated by virtue of his kinship with Guidobaldo's
Duchess, Monna Elizabetta. But his means were running low, and it behoved
him to turn his attention to such quarters as might yield him profit.
Being poor-spirited, and—since his tastes had not inclined that way—untrained
in arms, it would have been futile for him to have sought the career
common to adventurers of his age. Yet an adventurer at heart he was, and
since the fields of Mars were little suited to his nature, he had long
pondered upon the possibilities afforded him by the lists of Cupid.
Guidobaldo—purely out of consideration for Monna Elizabetta—had
shown him a high degree of favour, and upon this he had been vain enough
to found great hopes—for Guidobaldo had two nieces. High had these
hopes run when he was chosen to escort the lovely Valentina della Rovere
from the Convent of Santa Sofia to her uncle's court. But of late they had
withered, since he had learnt what were her uncle's plans for this lady's
future. And now, by her own action, and by the plot into which she had
entered with him, they rose once more.
</p>
<p>
To thwart Guidobaldo might prove a dangerous thing, and his life might pay
the forfeit if his schemes miscarried—clement and merciful though
Guidobaldo was. But if they succeeded, and if by love or by force he could
bring Valentina to wed him, he was tolerably confident that Guidobaldo,
seeing matters had gone too far—since Gian Maria would certainly
refuse to wed Gonzaga's widow—would let them be. To this end no plan
could be more propitious than that into which he had lured her. Guidobaldo
might besiege them in Roccaleone and might eventually reduce them by force
of arms—a circumstance, however, which, despite his words, he deemed
extremely remote. But if only he could wed Valentina before they
capitulated, he thought that he would have little cause to fear any
consequences of Guidobaldo's wrath. After all, in so far as birth and
family were concerned, Romeo Gonzaga was nowise the inferior of his
Highness of Urbino. Guidobaldo had yet another niece, and he might cement
with her the desired alliance with Babbiano.
</p>
<p>
Alone in the gardens of the Palace, Gonzaga paced after night had fallen,
and with his eyes to the stars that began to fleck the violet sky, he
smiled a smile of cunning gratification. He bethought him how well advised
had been his suggestion that they should take a priest to Roccaleone.
Unless his prophetic sense led him deeply into error, they would find work
for that priest before the castle was surrendered.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER VIII. AMONG THE DREGS OF WINE
</h2>
<p>
And so it befell that whilst by Guidobaldo's orders the preparations for
Valentina's nuptials went forward with feverish haste—whilst
painters, carvers, and artificers in gold and silver applied themselves to
their hurried tasks; whilst messengers raced to Venice for gold leaf and
ultramarine for the wedding-chests whilst the nuptial bed was being
brought from Rome and the chariot from Ferrara; whilst costly stuffs were
being collected, and the wedding-garments fashioned—the magnificent
Romeo Gonzaga was, on his side, as diligently contriving to render vain
all that toil of preparation.
</p>
<p>
On the evening of the third day of his conspiring he sat in the room
allotted to him in the Palace of Urbino, and matured his plans. And so
well pleased was he with his self-communion that, as he sat at his window,
there was a contented smile upon his lips.
</p>
<p>
He allowed his glance to stray adown the slopes of that arid waste of
rocks, to the River Metauro, winding its way to the sea, through fertile
plains, and gleaming here silver and yonder gold in the evening light. Not
quite so complacently would he have smiled had he deemed the enterprise
upon which he was engaging to be of that warlike character which he had
represented to Valentina. He did not want for cunning, nor for judgment of
the working of human minds, and he very reasonably opined that once the
Lady Valentina immured herself in Roccaleone and sent word to her uncle
that she would not wed Gian Maria, nor return to the Court of Urbino until
he passed her his ducal word that she should hear no more of the union,
the Duke would be the first to capitulate.
</p>
<p>
He contended that this might not happen at once—nor did he wish it
to; messages would pass, and Guidobaldo would seek by cajolery to win back
his niece. This she would resist, and, in the end her uncle would see the
impassable nature of the situation, and agree to her terms that it might
be ended. That it should come to arms, and that Guidobaldo should move to
besiege Roccaleone, he did not for a moment believe—for what manner
of ridicule would he not draw upon himself from the neighbouring States?
At the worst, even if a siege there was, it would never be carried out
with the rigour of ordinary warfare; there would be no assaults, no
bombarding; it would be a simple investment, with the object of
intercepting resources, so as to starve the garrison into submission—for
they would never dream of such victualling as Gonzaga was preparing.
</p>
<p>
Thus communed Gonzaga with himself, and the smile enlivening the corners
of his weak mouth grew more thoughtful. He dreamed great dreams that
evening; he had wondrous visions of a future princely power that should
come to be his own by virtue of this alliance that he was so skilfully
encompassing—a fool in a fool's paradise, with his folly for only
company.
</p>
<p>
But for all that, his dreams were wondrous sweet to indulge and his
visions truly alluring to contemplate. There were plans to be formed and
means to be devised for the flight to Roccaleone. There were calculations
to be made; the estimating of victuals, arms, and men; and once these
calculations were complete, there were all these things to be obtained.
The victuals he had already provided for, whilst of arms he had no need to
think; Roccaleone should be well stocked with them. But the finding of the
men gave him some concern. He had decided to enrol a score, which was
surely the smallest number with which he could make a fair show of being
martially in earnest. But even though the number was modest, where was he
to find twenty fellows who reeked so little of their lives as to embark
upon such an enterprise—even if lured by generous pay—and
thereby incur the ducal displeasure of Guidobaido?
</p>
<p>
He dressed himself with sober rigour for once in his foppish life, and
descended, after night had fallen, to a tavern in a poor street behind the
Duomo, hoping that there, among the dregs of wine, he might find what he
required.
</p>
<p>
By great good fortune he chanced upon an old freebooting captain, who once
had been a meaner sort of condottiero, but who was sorely reduced by bad
fortune and bad wine.
</p>
<p>
The tavern was a dingy, cut-throat place, which the delicate Gonzaga had
not entered without a tremor, invoking the saints' protection, and
crossing himself ere he set foot across the threshold. Some pieces of goat
were being cooked on the embers, in a great fireplace at the end of the
room farthest from the door. Before this, Ser Luciano—the taverner—squatted
on his heels and fanned so diligently that a cloud of ashes rose ceiling
high and spread itself, together with the noisome smoke, throughout the
squalid chamber. A brass lamp swung from the ceiling, and shone freely
through that smoke, as shines the moon through an evening mist. So foully
stank the place that at first Gonzaga was moved to get him thence. Only
the reflection that nowhere in Urbino was he as likely as here to find the
thing he sought, impelled him to stifle his natural squeamishness and
remain. He slipped upon some grease, and barely saved himself from
measuring his length upon that filthy floor, a matter which provoked a
malicious guffaw from a tattered giant who watched with interest his
mincing advent.
</p>
<p>
Perspiring, and with nerves unstrung, the courtier picked his way to a
table by the wall, and seated himself upon the coarse deal bench before
it, praying that he might be left its sole occupant.
</p>
<p>
On the opposite wall hung a blackened crucifix and a small holy-water
stoup that had been dry for a generation, and was now a receptacle for
dust and a withered sprig of rosemary. Immediately beneath this—in
the company of a couple of tatterdemalions worthy of him—sat the
giant who had mocked his escape from falling, and as Gonzaga took his seat
he heard the fellow's voice, guttural, bottle-thickened and contentious.
</p>
<p>
“And this wine, Luciano? Sangue della Madonna! Will you bring it before
dropping dead, pig?”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga shuddered and would have crossed himself again for protection
against what seemed a very devil incarnate, but that the ruffian's
blood-shot eye was set upon him in a stony stare.
</p>
<p>
“I come, cavaliere, I come,” cried the timid host, leaping to his feet,
and leaving the goat to burn while he ministered to the giant's
unquenchable thirst.
</p>
<p>
The title caused Gonzaga to start, and he bent his eyes again on the man's
face. He found it villainous of expression, inflamed and blotched; the
hair hung matted about a bullet head, and the eyes glared fiercely from
either side of a pendulous nose. Of the knightly rank by which the
taverner addressed him the fellow bore no outward signs. Arms he carried,
it is true; a sword and dagger at his belt, whilst beside him on the table
stood a rusty steel-cap. But these warlike tools served only to give him
the appearance of a roving masnadiero or a cut-throat for hire. Presently
abandoning the comtemplation of Gonzaga he turned to his companions, and
across to the listener floated a coarse and boasting tale of a plunderous
warfare in Sicily ten years agone. Gonzaga became excited. It seemed
indeed as if this were man who might be useful to him. He made pretence to
sip the wine Luciano had brought him, and listened avidly to that
swashbuckling story, from which it appeared that this knave had once been
better circumstanced and something of a leader. Intently he listened, and
wondered whether such men as he boasted he had led in that campaign were
still to be found and could be brought together.
</p>
<p>
At the end of perhaps a half-hour the two companions of that thirsty giant
rose and took their leave of him. They cast a passing glance upon Gonzaga,
and were gone.
</p>
<p>
A little while he hesitated. The ruffian seemed to have lapsed into a
reverie, or else he slept with open eyes. Calling up his courage the
gallant rose at last and moved across the room. All unversed in tavern
ways was the magnificent Gonzaga, and he who at court, in ballroom or in
antechamber, was a very mirror of all the graces of a courtier, felt
awkward here and ill at ease.
</p>
<p>
At length, summoning his wits to his aid:
</p>
<p>
“Good sir,” said he, with some timidity, “will you do me the honour to
share a flagon with me?”
</p>
<p>
The ruffian's eye, which but a moment back had looked vacuous and
melancholy, now quickened until it seemed ablaze. He raised his bloodshot
orbs and boldly encountered Gonzaga's uneasy glance. His lips fell apart
with an anticipatory smack, his back stiffened, and his head was raised
until his chin took on so haughty a tilt that Gonzaga feared his proffered
hospitality was on the point of suffering a scornful rejection.
</p>
<p>
“Will I share a flagon?” gasped the fellow, as, being the sinner that he
was and knew himself to be, he might have gasped: “Will I go to Heaven?”
“Will I—will I——?” He paused, and pursed his lips. His
eyebrows were puckered and his expression grew mighty cunning as again he
took stock of this pretty fellow who offered flagons of wine to
down-at-heel adventurers like himself. He had all but asked what was to be
required of him in exchange for this, when suddenly he bethought him—with
the knavish philosophy adversity had taught him—that were he told
for what it was intended that the wine should bribe him, and did the
business suit him not, he should, in the confession of it, lose the wine;
whilst did he but hold his peace until he had drunk, it would be his
thereafter to please himself about the business when it came to be
proposed.
</p>
<p>
He composed his rugged features into the rude semblance of a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Sweet young sir,” he murmured, “sweet, gentle and most illustrious lord,
I would share a hogshead with such a nobleman as you.”
</p>
<p>
“I am to take it that you will drink?” quoth Gonzaga, who had scarce known
what to make of the man's last words.
</p>
<p>
“Body of Bacchus! Yes. I'll drink with you gentile signorino, until your
purse be empty or the world run dry.” And he leered a mixture of mockery
and satisfaction.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga, still half uncertain of his ground, called the taverner and bade
him bring a flagon of his best. While Luciano was about the fetching of
the wine, constraint sat upon that oddly discordant pair.
</p>
<p>
“It is a chill night,” commented Gonzaga presently, seating himself
opposite his swashbuckler.
</p>
<p>
“Young sir, your wits have lost their edge. The night is warm.
</p>
<p>
“I said,” spluttered Gonzaga, who was unused to contradiction from his
inferiors, and wished now to assert himself, “that the night is chill.”
</p>
<p>
“You lied, then,” returned the other, with a fresh leer, “for, as I
answered you, the night is warm. Piaghe di Cristo! I am an ill man to
contradict, my pretty gallant, and if I say the night is warm, warm it
shall be though there be snow on Mount Vesuvius.”
</p>
<p>
The courtier turned pink at that, and but for the arrival of the taverner
with the wine, it is possible he might have done an unconscionable
rashness. At sight of the red liquor the fury died out of the ruffler's
face.
</p>
<p>
“A long life, a long thirst, a long purse, and a short memory!” was his
toast, into whose cryptic meaning Gonzaga made no attempt to pry. As the
fellow set down his cup, and with his sleeve removed the moisture from his
unshorn mouth, “May I not learn,” he inquired, “whose hospitality I have
the honour of enjoying?”
</p>
<p>
“Heard you ever of Romeo Gonzaga?”
</p>
<p>
“Of Gonzaga, yes; though of Romeo Gonzaga never. Are you he?”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga bowed his head.
</p>
<p>
“A noble family yours,” returned the swashbuckler, in a tone that implied
his own to be as good. “Let me name myself to you. I am Ercole Fortemani,”
he said, with the proud air of one who announced himself an emperor.
</p>
<p>
“A formidable name,” said Gonzaga, in accents of surprise, “and it bears a
noble sound.”
</p>
<p>
The great fellow turned on him in a sudden anger.
</p>
<p>
“Why that astonishment?” he blazed. “I tell you my name is both noble and
formidable, and you shall find me as formidable as I am noble. Diavolo!
Seems it incredible?”
</p>
<p>
“Said I so?” protested Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
“You had been dead by now if you had, Messer Gonzaga. But you thought so,
and I may take leave to show you how bold a man it needs to think so
without suffering.”
</p>
<p>
Ruffled as a turkey-cock, wounded in his pride and in his vanity, Ercole
hastened to enlighten Gonzaga on his personality.
</p>
<p>
“Learn, sir,” he announced, “that I am Captain Ercole Fortemani. I held
that rank in the army of the Pope. I have served the Pisans and the noble
Baglioni of Perugia with honour and distinction. I have commanded a
hundred lances of Gianinoni's famous free-company. I have fought with the
French against the Spaniards, and with the Spaniards against the French,
and I have served the Borgia, who is plotting against both. I have trailed
a pike in the emperor's following, and I have held the rank of captain,
too, in the army of the King of Naples. Now, young sir, you have learned
something of me, and if my name is not written in letters of fire from one
end of Italy to the other, it is—Body of God!—because the
hands that hired me to the work garnered the glory of my deeds.”
</p>
<p>
“A noble record,” said Gonzaga, who had credulously absorbed that
catalogue of lies, “a very noble record.”
</p>
<p>
“Not so,” the other contradicted, for the lust of contradiction that was a
part of him. “A great record, if you will, to commend me to hireling
service. But you may not call the service of a hireling noble.”
</p>
<p>
“It is a matter we will not quarrel over,” said Gonzaga soothingly. The
man's ferocity was terrific.
</p>
<p>
“Who says that we shall not?” he demanded. “Who will baulk me if I have a
mind to quarrel over it? Answer me!” and he half rose from his seat, moved
by the anger into which he was lashing himself. “But patience!” he broke
off, subsiding on a sudden. “I take it, it was not out of regard for my
fine eyes, nor drawn by the elegance of my apparel”—and he raised a
corner of his tattered cloak—“nor yet because you wish to throw a
main with me, that you have sought my acquaintance, and called for this
wine. You require service of me?”
</p>
<p>
“You have guessed it.”
</p>
<p>
“A prodigious discernment, by the Host!” He seemed to incline rather
tediously to irony. Then his face grew stern, and he lowered his voice
until it was no more than a growling whisper. “Heed me, Messer Gonzaga. If
the service you require be the slitting of a gullet or some kindred foul
business, which my seeming neediness leads you to suppose me ripe for, let
me counsel you, as you value your own skin, to leave the service
unmentioned, and get you gone.”
</p>
<p>
In hasty, frantic, fearful protest were Gonzaga's hands outspread.
</p>
<p>
“Sir, sir—I—I could not have thought it of you,” he
spluttered, with warmth, much of which was genuine, for it rejoiced him to
see some scruples still shining in the foul heap of this man's rascally
existence. A knave whose knavery knew no limits would hardly have suited
his ends. “I do need a service, but it is no dark-corner work. It is a
considerable enterprise, and one in which, I think, you should prove the
very man I need.”
</p>
<p>
“Let me know more,” quoth Ercole grandiloquently.
</p>
<p>
“I need first your word that should the undertaking prove unsuited to you,
or beyond you, you will respect the matter, and keep it secret.”
</p>
<p>
“Body of Satan! No corpse was ever half so dumb as I shall be.”
</p>
<p>
“Excellent! Can you find me a score of stout fellows to form a bodyguard
and a garrison, who, in return for good quarters—perchance for some
weeks—and payment at four times the ordinary mercenaries' rate, will
be willing to take some risk, and chance even a brush with the Duke's
forces?”
</p>
<p>
Ercole blew out his mottled cheeks until Gonzaga feared that he would
burst them.
</p>
<p>
“It's outlawry!” he roared, when he had found his voice. “Outlawry, or I'm
a fool.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes,” confessed Gonzaga. “It is outlaw matter of a kind. But the
risk is slender.”
</p>
<p>
“Can you tell me no more?”
</p>
<p>
“I dare not.”
</p>
<p>
Ercole emptied his wine-cup at a draught and splashed the dregs on to the
floor. Then, setting down the empty vessel, he sat steeped in thought
awhile. Growing impatient:
</p>
<p>
“Well,” cried Gonzaga at last, “can you help me? Can you find the men?”
</p>
<p>
“If you were to tell me more of the nature of this service you require, I
might find a hundred with ease.”
</p>
<p>
“As I have said—I need but a score.”
</p>
<p>
Ercole looked mighty grave, and thoughtfully rubbed his long nose.
</p>
<p>
“It might be done,” said he, after a pause. “But we shall have to look for
desperate knaves; men who are already under a ban, and to whom it will
matter little to have another item added to their indebtedness to the law
should they fall into its talons. How soon shall you require this forlorn
company?”
</p>
<p>
“By to-morrow night.”
</p>
<p>
“I wonder——” mused Ercole. He was counting on his fingers, and
appeared to have lapsed into mental calculations. “I could get
half-a-score or a dozen within a couple of hours. But a score——”
Again he paused, and again he fell to thinking. At last, more briskly:
“Let us hear what pay you offer me, to thrust myself thus blindfolded into
this business of yours as leader of the company you require?” he asked
suddenly.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga's face fell at that. Then he suddenly stiffened, and put on an
expression of haughtiness.
</p>
<p>
“It is my intent to lead this company myself,” he loftily informed the
ruffler.
</p>
<p>
“Body of God!” gasped Ercole, upon whose mind intruded a grotesque picture
of such a company as he would assemble, being led by this mincing
carpet-knight. Then recollecting himself: “If that be so,” said he, “you
had best, yourself, enrol it. Felicissima notte!” And he waved him a
farewell across the table.
</p>
<p>
Here was a poser for Gonzaga. How was he to go about such a business as
that? It was beyond his powers. Thus much he protested frankly.
</p>
<p>
“Now attend to me, young sir,” was the other's answer. “The matter stands
thus: If I can repair to certain friends of mine with the information that
an affair is afoot, the particulars of which I may not give them, but in
which I am to lead them myself, sharing such risk as there may be, I do
not doubt but that by this time to-morrow I can have a score of them
enrolled—such is their confidence in Ercole Fortemani. But if I take
them to enter a service unknown, under a leader equally unknown, the
forming of such a company would be a mighty tedious matter.”
</p>
<p>
This was an argument to the force of which Gonzaga could not remain
insensible. After a moment's consideration, he offered Ercole fifty gold
florins in earnest of good faith and the promise of pay, thereafter, at
the rate of twenty gold florins a month for as long as he should need his
services and Ercole, who in all his free-lancing days had never earned the
tenth of such a sum, was ready to fall upon this most noble gentleman's
neck, and weep for very joy and brotherly affection.
</p>
<p>
The matter being settled, Gonzaga produced a heavy bag which gave forth a
jangle mighty pleasant to the ears of Fortemani, and let it drop with a
chink upon the table.
</p>
<p>
“There are a hundred florins for the equipment of this company. I do not
wish to have a regiment of out-at-elbow tatterdemalions at my heels.” And
his eye swept in an uncomplimentary manner over Ercole's apparel. “See
that you dress them fittingly.”
</p>
<p>
“It shall be done, Magnificent,” answered Ercole, with a show of such
respect as he had not hitherto manifested. “And arms?”
</p>
<p>
“Give them pikes and arquebuses, if you will; but nothing more. The place
we are bound for is well stocked with armour—but even that may not
be required.”
</p>
<p>
“May not be required?” echoed the more and more astonished swashbuckler.
Were they to be paid on so lordly a scale, clothed and fed, to induce them
upon a business that might carry no fighting with it? Surely he had never
sold himself into a more likely or promising service, and that night he
dreamt in his sleep that he was become a gentleman's steward, and that at
his heels marched an endless company of lacqueys in flamboyant liveries.
On the morrow he awoke to the persuasion that at last, of a truth, was his
fortune made, and that hereafter there would be no more pike-trailing for
his war-worn old arms.
</p>
<p>
Conscientiously he set about enrolling the company, for, in his way, this
Ercole Fortemani was a conscientious man—boisterous and unruly if
you will; a rogue, in his way, with scant respect for property; not above
cogging dice or even filching a purse upon occasion when hard driven by
necessity—for all that he was gently born and had held honourable
employment; a drunkard by long habit, and a swaggering brawler upon the
merest provocation. But for all that, riotous and dishonest though he
might be in the general commerce of life, yet to the hand that hired him
he strove—not always successfully, perhaps, but, at least, always
earnestly—to be loyal.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER IX. THE “TRATTA DI CORDE”
</h2>
<p>
Whilst the bustle of preparation went on briskly in Urbino, Gian Maria, on
his side, was rapidly disposing of affairs in Babbiano, that he might
return to the nuptials for which he was impatient. But he had chanced upon
a deeper tangle than he had reckoned with, and more to do than he had
looked for.
</p>
<p>
On the day of his departure from Urbino, he had ridden as far as Cagli,
and halted at the house of the noble Messer Valdicampo. This had been
placed at his disposal, and there he proposed to lie the night. They had
supped—the Duke, de' Alvari, Gismondo Santi, Messér Valdicampo, his
wife and two daughters, and a couple of friends, potential citizens of
Cagli, whom he had invited, that they might witness the honour that was
being done his house. It waxed late, and the torpor that ensues upon the
generous gratification of appetite was settling upon the company when
Armstadt—Gian Maria's Swiss captain—entered and approached his
master with the air of a man who is the bearer of news. He halted a pace
or two from the Duke's high-backed chair, and stood eyeing Gian Maria in
stupid patience.
</p>
<p>
“Well, fool?” growled the Duke, turning his head.
</p>
<p>
The Swiss approached another step. “They have brought him, Highness,” he
said in a confidential whisper.
</p>
<p>
“Am I a wizard that I must read your thoughts?” hectored Gian Maria. “Who
has brought whom?”
</p>
<p>
Armstadt eyed the company in hesitation. Then, stepping close to the Duke,
he murmured in his ear:
</p>
<p>
“The men I left behind have brought the fool—Ser Peppe.”
</p>
<p>
A sudden brightening of the eye showed that Gian Maria understood. Without
apology to the board, he turned and whispered back to his captain to have
the fellow taken to his chamber, there to await him. “Let a couple of your
knaves be in attendance, and do you come too, Martino.”
</p>
<p>
Martin bowed, and withdrew, whereupon Gian Maria found grace to crave his
host's pardon, with the explanation that the man had brought him news he
had been expecting. Valdicampo, who for the honour of having a Duke sleep
beneath his roof would have stomached improprieties far more flagrant,
belittled the matter and dismissed it. And presently Gian Maria rose with
the announcement that he had far to journey on the morrow, and so, with
his host's good leave, would be abed.
</p>
<p>
Valdicampo, himself, then played the part of chamberlain, and taking up
one of the large candle branches, he lighted the Duke to his apartments.
He would have carried his good offices, and his candles, as far as Gian
Maria's very bed-chamber, but that in the ante-room his Highness, as
politely as might be, bade him set down the lights and leave him.
</p>
<p>
The Duke remained standing for a moment, deliberating whether to afford
knowledge to Alvari and Santi—who had followed him and stood
awaiting his commands—of what he was about to do. In the end he
decided that he would act alone and upon his sole discretion. So he
dismissed them.
</p>
<p>
When they had gone and he was quite alone, he clapped his hands together,
and in answer to that summons the door of his bedroom opened, revealing
Martin Armstadt on the threshold.
</p>
<p>
“He is there?” inquired the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“Awaiting your Highness,” answered the Swiss, and he held the door for
Gian Maria to enter.
</p>
<p>
The bedchamber apportioned the Duke in the Palazzo Valdicampo was a noble
and lofty room, in the midst of which loomed the great carved bed of
honour, with its upright pillars and funereal canopy.
</p>
<p>
On the overmantel stood two five-armed sconces with lighted tapers. Yet
Gian Maria did not seem to deem that there was light enough for such
purpose as he entertained, for he bade Martin fetch him the candelabra
that had been left behind. Then he turned his attention to the group
standing by the window, where the light from the overmantel fell full upon
it.
</p>
<p>
This consisted of three men, two being mercenaries of Armstadt's guard, in
corselet and morion, and the third, who stood captive between, the
unfortunate Ser Peppe. The fool's face was paler than its wont, whilst the
usual roguery had passed from his eyes and his mouth, fear having taken
possession of its room. He met the Duke's cruel glance with one of alarm
and piteous entreaty.
</p>
<p>
Having assured himself that Peppe had no weapons, and that his arms were
pinioned behind him, Gian Maria bade the two guards withdraw, but hold
themselves in readiness in the ante-chamber with Armstadt. Then he turned
to Peppe with a scowl on his low brow.
</p>
<p>
“You are not so merry as you were this morning, fool,” he scoffed.
</p>
<p>
Peppino squirmed a little, but his nature, schooled by the long habit of
jest, prompted a bold whimsicality in his reply.
</p>
<p>
“The circumstances are scarcely as propitious—to me. Your Highness,
though, seems in excellent goodhumour.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria looked at him angrily a moment. He was a slow-witted man, and
he could devise no ready answer, no such cutting gibe as it would have
pleasured him to administer. He walked leisurely to the fire-place, and
leant his elbow on the overmantel.
</p>
<p>
“Your humour led you into saying some things for which I should be
merciful if I had you whipped.”
</p>
<p>
“And, by the same reasoning, charitable if you had me hanged,” returned
the fool dryly, a pale smile on his lips.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! You acknowledge it?” cried Gian Maria, never seeing the irony
intended. “But I am a very clement prince, fool.”
</p>
<p>
“Proverbially clement,” the jester protested, but he did not succeed this
time in excluding the sarcasm from his voice.
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria shot him a furious glance.
</p>
<p>
“Are you mocking me, animal? Keep your venomous tongue in bounds, or I'll
have you deprived of it.”
</p>
<p>
Peppe's face turned grey at the threat, as well it might—for what
should such a one as he do in the world without a tongue?
</p>
<p>
Seeing him dumb and stricken, the Duke continued:
</p>
<p>
“Now, for all that you deserve a hanging for your insolence, I am willing
that you should come by no hurt so that you answer truthfully such
questions as I have for you.”
</p>
<p>
Peppino's grotesque figure was doubled in a bow.
</p>
<p>
“I await your questions, glorious lord,” he answered.
</p>
<p>
“You spoke——” the Duke hesitated a moment, writhing inwardly
at the memory of the exact words in which the fool had spoken. “You spoke
this morning of one whom the Lady Valentina had met.”
</p>
<p>
The fear seemed to increase on the jester's face. “Yes,” he answered, in a
choking voice.
</p>
<p>
“Where did she meet this knight you spoke of, and in such wondrous words
of praise described to me?”
</p>
<p>
“In the woods at Acquasparta, where the river Metauro is no better than a
brook. Some two leagues this side of Sant' Angelo.”
</p>
<p>
“Sant' Angelo!” echoed Gian Maria, starting at the very mention of the
place where the late conspiracy against him had been hatched. “And when
was this?”
</p>
<p>
“On the Wednesday before Easter, as Monna Valentina was journeying from
Santa Sofia to Urbino.”
</p>
<p>
No word spake the Duke in answer. He stood still, his head bowed, and his
thoughts running again on that conspiracy. The mountain fight in which
Masuccio had been killed had taken place on the Tuesday night, and the
conviction—scant though the evidence might be—grew upon him
that this man was one of the conspirators who had escaped.
</p>
<p>
“How came your lady to speak with this man—was he known to her?” he
inquired at last.
</p>
<p>
“No, Highness; but he was wounded, and so aroused her compassion. She
sought to minister to his hurt.”
</p>
<p>
“Wounded?” cried Gian Maria, in a shout. “Now, by God, it is as I
suspected. I'll swear he got that wound the night before at Sant' Angelo.
What was his name, fool? Tell me that, and you shall go free.”
</p>
<p>
For just a second the hunchback seemed to hesitate. He stood in awesome
fear of Gian Maria, of whose cruelties some ghastly tales were told. But
in greater fear he stood of the eternal damnation he might earn did he
break the oath he had plighted not to divulge that knight's identity.
</p>
<p>
“Alas!” he sighed, “I would it might be mine to earn my freedom at so
light a price; yet it is one that ignorance will not let me pay. I do not
know his name.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke looked at him searchingly and suspiciously.
</p>
<p>
Dull though he was by nature, eagerness seemed now to have set a cunning
edge upon his wits, and suspicion had led him to observe the fool's
momentary hesitation.
</p>
<p>
“Of what appearance was he? Describe him to me. How was he dressed? What
was the manner of his face?”
</p>
<p>
“Again, Lord Duke, I cannot answer you. I had but the most fleeting
glimpse of him.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke's sallow countenance grew very evil-looking, and an ugly smile
twisted his lip and laid bare his strong white teeth.
</p>
<p>
“So fleeting that no memory of him is left you?” quoth he.
</p>
<p>
“Precisely, Highness.”
</p>
<p>
“You lie, you filth,” Gian Maria thundered in a towering rage. “It was but
this morning that you said his height was splendid, his countenance noble,
his manner princely, his speech courtly, and—I know not what
besides. Yet now you tell me—you tell me—that your glimpse of
him was so fleeting that you cannot describe him. You know his name,
rogue, and I will have it from you, or else——”
</p>
<p>
“Indeed, indeed, most noble lord, be not incensed——” the fool
began, in fearful protestation. But the Duke interrupted him.
</p>
<p>
“Incensed?” he echoed, his eyes dilating in a sort of horror at the
notion. “Do you dare impute to me the mortal sin of choler? I am not
incensed; there is no anger in me.” He crossed himself, as if to exorcise
the evil mood if it indeed existed, and devotedly bowing his head and
folding his hands—“Libera me a malo, Domine!” he murmured audibly.
Then, with a greater fierceness than before—“Now,” he demanded,
“will you tell me his name?”
</p>
<p>
“I would I could,” the terrified hunchback began. But at that the Duke
turned from him with a shrug of angry impatience, and clapping his hands
together:
</p>
<p>
“Olá! Martino!” he called. Instantly the door opened, and the Swiss
appeared. “Bring in your men and your rope.”
</p>
<p>
The captain turned on his heel, and simultaneously the fool cast himself
at Gian Maria's feet.
</p>
<p>
“Mercy, your Highness!” he wailed. “Do not have me hanged. I am——”
</p>
<p>
“We are not going to hang you,” the Duke broke in coldly. “Dead you would
indeed be dumb, and avail us nothing. We want you alive, Messer Peppino—alive
and talkative; we find you very reserved for a fool. But we hope to make
you speak.”
</p>
<p>
On his knees, Peppe raised his wild eyes to Heaven.
</p>
<p>
“Mother of the Afflicted,” he prayed, at which the Duke broke into a
contemptuous laugh.
</p>
<p>
“What has the Heavenly Mother to do with such filth as you? Make your
appeals to me. I am the more immediate arbiter of your fate. Tell me the
name of that man you met in the woods, and all may yet be well with you.”
</p>
<p>
Peppino knelt in silence, a cold sweat gathering on his pale brow, and a
horrid fear tightening at his heart and throat.
</p>
<p>
And yet greater than this horror they were preparing for him was the
horror of losing his immortal soul by a breach of the solemn oath he had
sworn. Gian Maria turned from him, at last, to his bravi, who now entered
silently and with the air of men who knew the work expected of them.
Martino mounted the bed, and swung for an instant from the framework of
the canopy.
</p>
<p>
“It will hold, Highness,” he announced.
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria bade him, since that was so, remove the velvet hangings, whilst
he despatched one of the men to see that the ante-chamber door was closed,
so that no cry should penetrate to the apartments of the Valdicampo
household.
</p>
<p>
In a few seconds all was ready, and Peppino was rudely lifted from his
knees and from the prayers he had been pattering to the Virgin to lend him
strength in this hour of need.
</p>
<p>
“For the last time, sir fool,” quoth the Duke, “will you tell us his
name?”
</p>
<p>
“Highness, I cannot,” answered Peppe, for all that terror was freezing his
very blood.
</p>
<p>
A light of satisfaction gleamed now in Gian Maria's eyes.
</p>
<p>
“So you know it!” he exclaimed. “You no longer protest your ignorance, but
only that you cannot tell me. Up with him, Martino.”
</p>
<p>
In a last pitiable struggle against the inevitable, the fool broke from
his guards, and flung himself towards the door. One of the burly Swiss
caught him by the neck in a grip that made him cry out with pain. Gian
Maria eyed him with a sinister smile, and Martin proceeded to fasten one
end of the rope to his pinioned wrists. Then they led him, shivering to
the great bed. The other end of the cord was passed over one of the bared
arms of the canopy-frame. This end was grasped by the two men-at-arms.
Martin stood beside the prisoner. The Duke flung himself into a great
carved chair, an air of relish now investing his round, pale face.
</p>
<p>
“You know what is about to befall you,” he said, in tones of chilling
indifference. “Will you speak before we begin?”
</p>
<p>
“My lord,” said the fool, in a voice that terror was throttling, “you are
a good Christian, a loyal son of Mother Church, and a believer in the
eternal fires of hell?”
</p>
<p>
A frown settled on Gian Maria's brow. Was the fool about to intimidate him
with talk of supernatural vengeance?
</p>
<p>
“Thus,” Peppe continued, “you will perhaps be merciful when I confess my
position. I made most solemn oath to the man I met at Acquasparta on that
luckless day, that I would never reveal his identity. What am I to do? If
I keep my oath, you will torture me to death perhaps. If I break it, I
shall be damned eternally. Have mercy, noble lord, since now you know how
I am placed.”
</p>
<p>
The smile broadened on Gian Maria's face, and the cruelty of his mouth and
eyes seemed intensified by it. The fool had told him that which he would
have given much to learn. He had told him that this man whose name he
sought, had so feared that his presence that day at Acquasparta should
become known, that he had bound the fool by oath not to divulge the secret
of it. Of what he had before suspected he was now assured. The man in
question was one of the conspirators; probably the very chief of them.
Nothing short of the fool's death under torture would now restrain him
from learning the name of that unknown who had done him the double injury
of conspiring against him, and—if the fool were to be believed—of
capturing the heart of Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“For the damnation of your soul I shall not be called to answer,” he said
at last. “Care enough have I to save my own—for temptations are many
and this poor flesh is weak. But it is this man's name I need, and—by
the five wounds of Lucia of Viterbo!—I will have it. Will you
speak?”
</p>
<p>
Something like a sob shook the poor fool's deformed frame. But that was
all. With bowed head he preserved a stubborn silence. The Duke made a sign
to the men, and instantly the two of them threw their weight upon the
rope, hoisting Peppe by his wrists until he was at the height of the
canopy itself. That done, they paused, and turned their eyes upon the Duke
for further orders. Again Gian Maria called upon the fool to answer his
questions; but Peppe, a writhing, misshapen mass from which two wriggling
legs depended, maintained a stubborn silence.
</p>
<p>
“Let him go,” snarled Gian Maria, out of patience. The men released the
rope, and allowed some three feet of it to run through their hands. Then
they grasped it again, so that Peppe's sudden fall was as suddenly
arrested by a jerk that almost wrenched his arms from their sockets. A
shriek broke from him at that exquisite torture, and he was dragged once
more to the full height of the canopy.
</p>
<p>
“Will you speak now?” asked Gian Maria coldly, amusedly almost. But still
the fool was silent, his nether lip caught so tightly in his teeth that
the blood trickled from it adown his chin. Again the Duke gave the signal,
and again they let him go. This time they allowed him a longer drop, so
that the wrench with which they arrested it was more severe than had been
the first.
</p>
<p>
Peppe felt his bones starting from their joints, and it was as if a
burning iron were searing him at shoulder, elbow and wrist.
</p>
<p>
“Merciful God!” he screamed. “Oh, have pity, noble lord.”
</p>
<p>
But the noble lord had him hoisted anew to the canopy. Writhing there in
the extremity of his anguish, the poor hunchback poured forth from
frothing lips a stream of curses and imprecations, invoking Heaven and
hell to strike his tormentors dead.
</p>
<p>
But the Duke, from whose demeanour it might be inferred that he was inured
to the effect produced by this form of torture, looked on with a cruel
smile, as of one who watches the progress of events towards the end that
he desires and has planned. He was less patient, and his signal came more
quickly now. For a third time the fool was dropped, and drawn up, now, a
short three feet from the ground.
</p>
<p>
This time he did not so much as scream. He hung there, dangling at the
rope's end, his mouth all bloody, his face ghastly in its glistening
pallor, and of his eyes naught showing save the whites. He hung there, and
moaned piteously and incessantly. Martin glanced questioningly at Gian
Maria, and his eyes very plainly inquired whether they had not better
cease. But Gian Maria paid no heed to him.
</p>
<p>
“Will that suffice you?” he asked the fool. “Will you speak now?”
</p>
<p>
But the fool's only answer was a moan, whereupon again, at the Duke's
relentless signal, he was swung aloft. But at the terror of a fourth drop,
more fearful than any of its three predecessors, he awoke very suddenly to
the impossible horror of his position. That this agony would endure until
he died or fainted, he was assured. And since he seemed incapable of
either fainting or dying, suffer more he could not. What was heaven or
hell to him then that the thought of either could efface the horror of
this torture and strengthen him to continue to endure the agony of it? He
could endure no more—no, not to save a dozen souls if he had had
them:
</p>
<p>
“I'll speak,” he screamed. “Let me down, and you shall have his name, Lord
Duke.”
</p>
<p>
“Pronounce it first, or the manner of your descent shall be as the
others.”
</p>
<p>
Peppe passed his tongue over his bleeding lips, hung still and spoke.
</p>
<p>
“It was your cousin,” he panted, “Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke stared at him a moment, with startled countenance and mouth
agape.
</p>
<p>
“You are telling me the truth, animal?” he demanded, in a quivering voice.
“It was the Count of Aquila who was wounded and whom Monna Valentina
tended?”
</p>
<p>
“I swear it,” answered the fool. “Now, in the name of God and His blessed
saints, let me down.”
</p>
<p>
For a moment yet he was held there, awaiting Gian Maria's signal. The Duke
continued to eye him with that same astonished look, what time he turned
over in his mind the news he had gathered. Then conviction of the truth
sank into his mind. It was the Lord of Aquila who was the idol of the
Babbianians. What, then, more natural than that the conspirators should
have sought to place him on the throne they proposed to wrest from Gian
Maria? He dubbed himself a fool that he had not guessed so much before.
</p>
<p>
“Let him down,” he curtly bade his men. “Then take him hence, and let him
go with God. He has served his purpose.”
</p>
<p>
Gently they lowered him, but when his feet touched the ground he was
unable to stand. His legs doubled under him, and he lay—a little
crook-backed heap—upon the rushes of the floor. His senses had
deserted him.
</p>
<p>
At a sign from Armstadt the two men picked him up and carried him out
between them.
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria moved across the room to a tapestried priedieu, and knelt down
before an ivory crucifix to render thanks to God for the signal light of
grace, by which He had vouchsafed to show the Duke his enemy.
</p>
<p>
Thereafter, drawing from the breast of his doublet a chaplet of gold and
amber beads, he piously discharged his nightly devotions.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER X. THE BRAYING OF AN ASS
</h2>
<p>
When on the morrow, towards the twenty-second hour, the High and Mighty
Gian Maria Sforza rode into his capital at Babbiano, he found the city in
violent turmoil, occasioned, as he rightly guessed, by the ominous
presence of Caesar Borgia's envoy.
</p>
<p>
A dense and sullen crowd met him at the Porta Romana, and preserved a
profound silence as he rode into the city, accompanied by Alvari and
Santi, and surrounded by his escort of twenty spears in full armour. There
was a threat in that silence more ominous than any vociferations, and very
white was the Duke's face as he darted scowls of impotent anger this way
and that. But there was worse to come. As they rode up the Borgo dell'
Annunziata the crowd thickened, and the silence was now replaced by a
storm of hooting and angry cries. The people became menacing, and by
Armstadt's orders—the Duke was by now too paralysed with fear to
issue any—the men-at-arms lowered their pikes in order to open a
way, whilst one or two of the populace, who were thrust too near the
cavalcade by the surging human tide, went down and were trampled under
foot.
</p>
<p>
Satirical voices asked the Duke derisively was he wed, and where might be
his uncle-in-law's spears that were to protect them against the Borgia.
Some demanded to know whither the last outrageous levy of taxes was gone,
and where was the army it should have served to raise. To this, others
replied for the Duke, suggesting a score of vile uses to which the money
had been put.
</p>
<p>
Then, of a sudden, a cry of “Murderer!” arose, followed by angry demands
that he should restore life to the valiant Ferrabraccio, to Amerini, the
people's friend, and to those others whom he had lately butchered, or else
follow them in death. Lastly the name of the Count of Aquila rang wildly
in his ears, provoking a storm of “Evviva! Live Francesco del Falco!” and
one persistent voice, sounding loudly above the others, styled him already
“il Duca Francesco.” At that the blood mounted to Gian Maria's brain, and
a wave of anger beat back the fear from his heart. He rose in his
stirrups, his eyes ablaze with the jealous wrath that possessed him.
</p>
<p>
“Ser Martino!” he roared hoarsely to his captain. “Couch lances and go
through them at the gallop!”
</p>
<p>
The burly Swiss hesitated, brave man though he was. Alvaro de' Alvari and
Gismondo Santi looked at each other in alarm, and the intrepid old
statesman, in whose heart no pang of fear had been awakened by the
rabble's threatening bay, changed colour as he heard that order given.
</p>
<p>
“Highness,” he implored the Duke, “You cannot mean this.”
</p>
<p>
“Not mean it?” flashed back Gian Maria, his eye travelling from Santi to
the hesitating captain. “Fool!” he blazed at the latter. “Brute beast, for
what do you wait? Did you not hear me?”
</p>
<p>
Without a second's delay the captain now raised his sword, and his deep,
guttural voice barked an order to his men which brought their lances below
the horizontal. The mob, too, had heard that fierce command, and awakening
to their peril, those nearest the cavalcade would have fallen back but
that the others, pressing tightly from behind, held them in the death-tide
that now swept by with clattering arms and hoarse cries.
</p>
<p>
Shrieks filled the air where lately threats had been loudly tossed. But
some there were in that crowd that would be no passive witnesses of this
butchery. Half the stones of the borgo went after that cavalcade, and fell
in a persistent shower upon them, rattling like giant hail upon their
armour, dinting many a steel-cap to its wearer's sore discomfort. The Duke
himself was struck twice, and on Santi's unprotected scalp an ugly wound
was opened from which the blood flowed in profusion to dye his snowy
locks.
</p>
<p>
In this undignified manner they reached, at last, the Palazzo Ducale,
leaving a trail of dead and maimed to mark the way by which they had come.
</p>
<p>
In a white heat of passion Gian Maria sought his apartments, and came not
forth again until, some two hours later, the presence was announced him of
the emissary from Caesar Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, who sought an
audience.
</p>
<p>
Still beside himself, and boiling with wrath at the indignities he had
received, Gian Maria—in no mood for an interview that would have
demanded coolness and presence of mind from a keener brain than his—received
the envoy, a gloomy, priestly-faced Spaniard, in the throne-room of the
Palace. The Duke was attended by Alvari, Santi, and Fabrizio da Lodi,
whilst his mother, Caterina Colonna, occupied a chair of crimson velvet on
which the Sforza lion was wrought in gold.
</p>
<p>
The interview was brief, and marked by a rudeness at its close that
contrasted sharply with the ceremoniousness of its inception. It soon
became clear that the ambassador's true mission was to pick a quarrel with
Babbiano on his master's behalf, to the end that the Borgia might be
afforded a sound pretext for invading the Duchy. He demanded, at first
politely and calmly, and later—when denied—with arrogant
insistance, that Gian Maria should provide the Duke of Valentinois with a
hundred lances—equivalent to five hundred men—as some
contribution on his part towards the stand which Caesar Borgia meant to
make against the impending French invasion.
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria never heeded the restraining words which Lodi whispered in his
ear, urging him to temporise, and to put off this messenger until the
alliance with the house of Urbino should be complete and their position
strengthened sufficiently to permit them to brave the anger of Caesar
Borgia. But neither this nor the wrathful, meaning glances which his
cunning mother bent upon him served to curb him. He obeyed only the voice
of his headstrong mood, never dreaming of the consequences with which he
might be visited.
</p>
<p>
“You will bear to the Duca Valentino this message from me,” he said, in
conclusion. “You will tell him that what lances I have in Babbiano I
intend to keep, that with them I may defend my own frontiers against his
briganding advances. Messer da Lodi,” he added, turning to Fabrizio and
without so much as waiting to see if the envoy had anything further to
say, “let this gentleman be reconducted to his quarters, and see that he
has safe conduct hence until he is out of our Duchy.”
</p>
<p>
When the envoy, crimson of face and threatening of eye, had withdrawn
under Lodi's escort, Monna Caterina rose, the very incarnation of outraged
patience, and poured her bitter invective upon her rash son's head.
</p>
<p>
“Fool!” she stormed at him. “There goes your Duchy—in the hollow of
that man's hand.” Then she laughed in bitterness. “After all, in casting
it from you, perhaps you have chosen the wiser course, for, as truly as
there is a God in Heaven, you are utterly unfitted to retain it.”
</p>
<p>
“My lady mother,” he answered her, with such dignity as he could muster
from the wretched heap in which his wits now seemed to lie, “you will be
well advised to devote yourself to your woman's tasks, and not to
interfere in a man's work.”
</p>
<p>
“Man's work!” she sneered. “And you perform it like a petulant boy or a
peevish woman.”
</p>
<p>
“I perform it, Madonna, as best seems to me, for it happens that I am Duke
of Babbiano,” he answered sullenly. “I do not fear any Pope's son that
ever stepped. The alliance with Urbino is all but completed. Let that be
established, and if Valentino shows his teeth—by God we'll show
ours.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, but with this difference, that his are a wolf's teeth, and yours a
lamb's. Besides, this alliance with Urbino is all incomplete as yet. You
had been better advised to have sent away the envoy with some indefinite
promise that would have afforded you respite enough in which to seal
matters with the house of Montefeltro. As it is, your days are numbered.
Upon that message you have sent him Caesar will act at once. For my own
part, I have no mind to fall a prey to the invader, and I shall leave
Babbiano, and seek refuge in Naples. And if a last word of advice I may
offer you, it is that you do the same.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria rose and came down from the dais, eyeing her in a sort of dull
amazement. Then he looked, as if for help, to Alvari, to Santi, and lastly
to Lodi, who had returned while Caterina was speaking. But no word said
any of them, and grave were the eyes of all.
</p>
<p>
“Poor-spirited are you all!” he sneered. Then his face grew dark and his
tone concentrated. “Not so am I,” he assured them, “if in the past I may
have seemed it sometimes. I am aroused at length, sirs. I heard a voice in
the streets of Babbiano to-day, and I saw a sight that has put a fire into
my veins. This good-tempered, soft, indulgent Duke you knew is gone. The
lion is awake at last, and you shall see such things as you had not dreamt
of.”
</p>
<p>
They regarded him now with eyes in which the gravity was increased by a
light of fearsome wonder and inquiry. Was his mind giving way under the
prodigious strain that had been set upon it that day? If not madness, what
else did that wild boasting argue?
</p>
<p>
“Are you all dumb?” he asked them, his eyes feverish. “Or do you deem that
I promise more than is mine to fulfil. You shall judge, and soon.
To-morrow, my lady mother, whilst you journey south, as you have told us,
I go north again, back to Urbino. Not a day will I now waste. Within the
week, sirs, by God's grace, I shall be wed. That will give us Urbino for a
buckler, and with Urbino comes Perugia and Camerino. But more than that.
There is a princely dowry comes to us with the Lady Valentina. How think
you will I spend it? To the last florin it shall go to the arming of men.
I will hire me every free condotta in Italy. I will raise me such an army
as has never before been seen at any one time, and with this I shall seek
out the Duca Valentino. I'll not sit here at home awaiting the pleasure of
his coming, but I'll out to meet him, and with that army I shall descend
upon him as a thunderbolt out of Heaven. Aye, my lady mother,” he laughed
in his madness, “the lamb shall hunt the wolf, and rend it so that it
shall never stand again to prey on other lambs. This will I do, my
friends, and there shall be such fighting as has not been seen since the
long-dead days of Castracani.”
</p>
<p>
They stared at him, scarce believing now that he was sane, and marvelling
deeply whence had sprung this sudden martial fervour in one whose nature
was more indolent than active, more timid than warlike. And yet the reason
was not far to seek, had they but cared to follow the line of thought to
which he, himself, had given them the clue when he referred to the voice
he had heard, and the sights he had seen in the streets of Babbiano. The
voice was the voice that had acclaimed his cousin Francesco Duke. That it
was through that a fierce jealousy had fired him. This man had robbed him
at once of the love of his people and of Valentina, and thereby had set in
his heart the burning desire to outdo him and to prove wrong in their
preference both his people and Valentina. He was like a gamer who risks
all on a single throw, and his stake was to be the dowry of his bride, the
game a tilt with the forces of the Borgia. If he won he came out covered
with glory, and not only the saviour of his people and the champion of
their liberty, but a glorious figure that all Italy—or, at least,
that part of it that had known the iron heel of Valentino—should
revere. Thus would he set himself right, and thus crush from their minds
the memory of his rebellious cousin with whom he was about to deal.
</p>
<p>
His mother turned to him now, and her words were words of caution, prayers
that he should adventure on naught so vast and appalling to her woman's
mind, without due thought and argument in council. A servant entered at
that moment, and approached the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” Gian Maria announced, breaking in upon her earnest words, “I am
fully resolved upon my course. If you will but delay a moment and resume
your seat, you shall witness the first scene of this great drama that I am
preparing.” Then turning to the waiting servant: “Your message?” he
demanded.
</p>
<p>
“Captain Armstadt has returned, Highness, and has brought his Excellency.”
</p>
<p>
“Fetch lights and then admit them,” he commanded briefly. “To your places,
sirs, and you, my mother. I am about to sit in judgment.”
</p>
<p>
Amazed and uncomprehending, they obeyed his wild gestures, and resumed
their places by the throne even as he walked back to the dais and sat
himself upon the ducal chair. Servants entered, bearing great candelabra
of beaten gold which they set on table and overmantel. They withdrew, and
when the doors opened again, a clank of mail, reaching them from without,
increased the astonishment of the company.
</p>
<p>
This rose yet higher, and left them cold and speechless, when into the
chamber stepped the Count of Aquila with a man-at-arms on either side of
him, marking him a prisoner. With a swift, comprehensive glance that took
in the entire group about the throne—and without manifesting the
slightest surprise at Lodi's presence—Francesco stood still and
awaited his cousin's words.
</p>
<p>
He was elegantly dressed, but without lavishness, and if he had the air of
a great lord, it was rather derived from the distinction of his face and
carriage. He was without arms, and bareheaded save for the gold coif he
always wore, which seemed to accentuate the lustrous blackness of his
hair. His face was impassive, and the glance as that of a man rather weary
of the entertainment provided him.
</p>
<p>
There was an oppressive silence of some moments, during which his cousin
regarded him with an eye that glittered oddly. At last Gian Maria broke
into speech, his voice shrill with excitement.
</p>
<p>
“Know you of any reason,” he demanded, “why your head should not be
flaunted on a spear among those others on the Gate of San Bacolo?”
</p>
<p>
Francesco's eyebrows shot up in justifiable astonishment.
</p>
<p>
“I know of many,” he answered, with a smile, an answer which by its
simplicity seemed to nonplus the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“Let us hear some of them,” he challenged presently.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, let us hear, rather, some reason why my poor head should be so
harshly dealt with. When a man is rudely taken, as I have been, it is a
custom, which perhaps your Highness will follow, to afford him some reason
for the outrage.”
</p>
<p>
“You smooth-tongued traitor,” quoth the Duke, with infinite malice, made
angrier by his cousin's dignity. “You choicely-spoken villain! You would
learn why you have been taken? Tell me, sir, what did you at Acquasparta
on the morning of the Wednesday before Easter?”
</p>
<p>
The Count's impassive face remained inscrutable, a mask of patient wonder.
By the sudden clenching of his hands alone did he betray how that thrust
had smitten him, and his hands none there remarked. Fabrizio da Lodi,
standing behind the Duke, went pale to the lips.
</p>
<p>
“I do not recall that I did anything there of much account,” he answered.
“I breathed the good spring air in the woods.”
</p>
<p>
“And nothing else?” sneered Gian Maria.
</p>
<p>
“I can bethink me of little else that signifies. I met a lady there with
whom I had some talk, a friar, a fool, a popinjay, and some soldiers.
But,”—he shifted abruptly, his tone growing haughty—“whatever
I did, I did as best seemed to me, and I have yet to learn that the Count
of Aquila must give account of what he does and where he does it. You have
not told me yet, sir, by what right, or fancied right, you hold me
prisoner.”
</p>
<p>
“Have I not, indeed? See you no link between your offence and your
presence near Sant' Angelo on that day?”
</p>
<p>
“If I am to apprehend that you have had me brought here with this
indignity to set me riddles for your amusement, I am enlightened and yet
amazed. I am no court buffoon.”
</p>
<p>
“Words, words,” snapped the Duke. “Do not think to beguile me with them.”
With a short laugh he turned from Francesco to those upon the dais. “You
will be marvelling, sirs, and you, my lady mother, upon what grounds I
have had this traitor seized. You shall learn. On the night of the Tuesday
before Easter seven traitors met at Sant' Angelo to plot my overthrow. Of
those, the heads of four may be seen on the walls of Babbiano now; the
other three made off, but there stands one of them—the one that was
to have occupied this throne after they had unseated me.”
</p>
<p>
The eyes of all were now upon the young Count, whilst his own glance
strayed to the face of Lodi, on which there was written a consternation so
great that it must have betrayed him had the Duke but chanced to look his
way. A pause ensued which none present dared to break. Gian Maria seemed
to await an answer from Francesco; but Francesco stood impassively
regarding him, and made no sign that he would speak. At length, unable
longer to endure the silence:
</p>
<p>
“E dunque?” cried the Duke. “Have you no answer?”
</p>
<p>
“I would submit,” returned Francesco, “that I have heard no question. I
heard a wild statement, extravagant and mad, the accusation of one
demented, a charge of which no proofs can be forthcoming, else I take it
you had not withheld them. I ask you, sirs, and you, Madonna,” he
continued, turning to the others, “has his Highness said anything to which
an answer can by any means be necessary?”
</p>
<p>
“Is it proofs you lack?” cried Gian Maria, but less confidently than
hitherto, and, so, less fiercely. A doubt had arisen in his mind born of
this strange calm on the part of Francesco—a calm that to Gian
Maria's perceptions seemed hardly the garb of guilt, but belonged rather
to one who is assured that no peril threatens him. “Is it proofs you
lack?” quoth the Duke again, and then with the air of a man launching an
unanswerable question: “How came you by the wound you had that day in the
woods?”
</p>
<p>
A smile quivered on Francesco's face, and was gone.
</p>
<p>
“I asked for proofs, not questions,” he protested wearily. “What shall it
prove if I had a hundred wounds?”
</p>
<p>
“Prove?” echoed the Duke, less and less confident of his ground, fearing
already that he had perhaps gone too fast and too far upon the road of his
suspicions. “It proves to me, when coupled with your presence there, that
you were in the fight the night before.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco stirred at that. He sighed and smiled at once. Then assuming a
tone of brisk command:
</p>
<p>
“Bid these men begone,” he said, pointing to his guards. “Then hear me
scatter your foul suspicions as the hurricane scatters the leaves in
autumn.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria stared at him in stupefaction. That overwhelming assurance,
that lofty, dignified bearing which made such a noble contrast with his
own coarse hectoring, were gradually undermining more and more his
confidence. With a wave of his hand he motioned the soldiers to withdraw,
obeying almost unconsciously the master-mind of his cousin by which he was
as unconsciously being swayed.
</p>
<p>
“Now, Highness,” said Francesco, as soon as the men were gone, “before I
refute the charge you make, let me clearly understand it. From the
expressions you have used I gather it to be this: A conspiracy was laid a
little time ago at Sant' Angelo which had for object to supplant you on
the throne of Babbiano and set me in your place. You charge me with having
had in that conspiracy a part—the part assigned to me. It is so, is
it not?”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria nodded.
</p>
<p>
“You have put it very clearly,” he sneered. “If you can make out your
innocence as clearly, I shall be satisfied that I have wronged you.”
</p>
<p>
“That this conspiracy took place we will accept as proven, although to the
people of Babbiano the proof may have seemed scant. A man, since dead, had
told your Highness that such a plot was being hatched. Hardly, perhaps, in
itself, evidence enough to warrant setting the heads of four very valiant
gentlemen on spears, but no doubt your Highness had other proofs to which
the rest of us had no access.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria shivered at the words. He recalled what Francesco had said on
the occasion of their last talk upon this very subject; he remembered the
manner of his own reception that day in Babbiano.
</p>
<p>
“We must be content that it is so,” calmly pursued Francesco. “Indeed,
your Highness's action in the matter leaves no doubt. We will accept,
then, that such a plot was laid, but that I had a part in it, that I was
the man chosen to take your place—need I prove the idleness of such
a charge?”
</p>
<p>
“You need, in truth. By God! you need, if you would save your head.”
</p>
<p>
The Count stood in an easy posture, his hands clasped behind his back, and
smiled up at his cousin's pale face and scowling brow.
</p>
<p>
“How mysterious are the ways of your justice, Cousin,” he murmured, with
infinite relish; “what a wondrous equity invests your methods! You have me
dragged here by force, and sitting there, you say to me: 'Prove that you
have not conspired against me, or the headsman shall have you!' By my
faith! Soloman was a foolish prattler when compared with you.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria smote the gilded arm of his chair a blow for which he was to
find his hand blackened on the morrow.
</p>
<p>
“Prove it!” he screamed, like a child in a pet. “Prove it, prove it, prove
it!”
</p>
<p>
“And have my words not already proven it?” quoth the Count, in a voice of
such mild wonder and gentle protest that it left Gian Maria gasping.
</p>
<p>
Then the Duke made a hasty gesture of impatience.
</p>
<p>
“Messer Alvari,” he said, in a voice of concentrated rage, “I think you
had best recall the guard.”
</p>
<p>
“Wait!” the Count compelled him, raising his hand. And now it was seen
that the easy insouciance was gone from his face: the smile had vanished,
and in its place there was a look of lofty and contemptuous wrath. “I will
repeat my words. You have dragged me here before you by force, and,
sitting there on the throne of Babbiano, you say: 'Prove that you have not
conspired against me if you would save your head.'” A second he paused,
and noted the puzzled look with which all regarded him.
</p>
<p>
“Is this a parable?” sneered the uncomprehending Duke.
</p>
<p>
“You have said it,” flashed back Francesco. “A parable it is. And if you
consider it, does it not afford you proof enough?” he asked, a note of
triumph in his voice. “Do not our relative positions irrefutably show the
baselessness of this your charge? Should I stand here and you sit there if
what you allege against me were true?” He laughed almost savagely, and his
eyes flashed scornfully upon the Duke. “If more plainly still you need it,
Gian Maria, I tell you that had I plotted to occupy your tottering throne,
I should be on it now, not standing here defending myself against a
foolish charge. But can you doubt it? Did you learn no lesson as you rode
into Babbiano to-day? Did you not hear them acclaim me and groan at you.
And yet,” he ended, with a lofty pity, “you tell me that I plotted. Why,
if I desired your throne, my only need would be to unfurl my banner in the
streets of your capital, and within the hour Gian Maria would be Duke no
more. Have I proved my innocence, Highness?” he ended quietly, sadly
almost. “Are you convinced how little is my need for plots?”
</p>
<p>
But the Duke had no answer for him. Speechless, and in a sort of dazed
horror, he sat and scowled before him at his cousin's handsome face, what
time the others watched him furtively, in silence, trembling for the young
man who, here, in his grasp, had dared say such things to him. Presently
he covered his face with his hands, and sat so, as one deeply in thought,
a little while. At last he withdrew them slowly and presented a
countenance that passion and chagrin had strangely ravaged in so little
time. He turned to Santi, who stood nearest.
</p>
<p>
“The guard,” he said hoarsely, with a wave of the hand, and Santi went,
none daring to utter a word. They waited thus an odd group, all very grave
save one, and he the one that had most cause for gravity. Then the captain
re-entered, followed by his two men, and Gian Maria waved a hand towards
the prisoner.
</p>
<p>
“Take him away,” he muttered harshly, his face ghastly, and passion
shaking him like an aspen. “Take him away, and await my orders in the
ante-chamber.”
</p>
<p>
“If it is farewell, Cousin,” said Francesco, “may I hope that you will
send a priest to me? I have lived a faithful Christian.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria returned him no answer, but his baleful eye was upon Martino.
Reading the significance of that glance, the captain touched Francesco
lightly on the arm. A moment the Count stood, looking from the Duke to the
soldiers; a second his glance rested on those assembled there; then, with
a light raising of his shoulders, he turned on his heel, and with his head
high passed out of the ducal chamber.
</p>
<p>
And silence continued after he was gone until Caterina Colonna broke it
with a laugh that grated on Gian Maria's now very tender nerves.
</p>
<p>
“You promised bravely,” she mocked him, “to play the lion. But so far, we
have only heard the braying of an ass.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XI. WANDERING KNIGHTS
</h2>
<p>
That taunt of his mother's stirred Gian Maria. He rose from his ducal
chair and descended from the dais on which it stood, possessed by a
tempestuous mood that would not brook him to sit still.
</p>
<p>
“The braying of an ass?” he muttered, facing Caterina. Then he laughed
unpleasantly. “The jaw-bone of an ass did sore execution on one occasion,
Madonna, and it may again. A little patience, and you shall see.” Next,
and with a brisker air, he addressed the four silent courtiers, “You heard
him, sirs,” he exclaimed, “How do you say that I shall deal with such a
traitor?” He waited some seconds for an answer, and it seemed to anger him
that none came. “Have you, then, no counsel for me?” he demanded harshly.
</p>
<p>
“I had not thought,” said Lodi hardily, “that this was a case in which
your Highness needed counsel. You were drawn to conclude that the Lord of
Aquila was a traitor, but from what we have all heard, your Highness
should now see that he is not.”
</p>
<p>
“Should I so?” the Duke returned, standing still and fixing upon Fabrizio
an eye that was dull as a snake's. “Messer da Lodi, your loyalty is a
thing that has given signs of wavering of late. Now, if by the grace of
God and His blessed saints I have ruled as a merciful prince who errs too
much upon the side of clemency, I would enjoin you not to try that
clemency too far. I am but a man, after all.”
</p>
<p>
He turned from the fearless front presented by the old statesman, to face
the troubled glances of the others.
</p>
<p>
“Your silence, sirs, tells me that in this matter your judgement runs
parallel with mine. And you are wise, for in such a case there can be but
one course. My cousin has uttered words to-day which no man has ever said
to a prince and lived. Nor shall we make exception to that rule. My Lord
of Aquila's head must pay the price of his temerity.”
</p>
<p>
“My son,” cried Caterina, in a voice of horror. Gian Maria faced her in a
passion, his countenance grown mottled.
</p>
<p>
“I have said it,” he growled. “I will not sleep until he dies.”
</p>
<p>
“Yet never may you wake again,” she answered. And with that preamble she
launched upon his head the bitterest criticism he had ever heard. By
stinging epithets and contemptuous words, she sought to make him see the
folly of what he meditated. Was he indeed tired of ruling Babbiano? If
that were so, she told him, he had but to wait for Caesar Borgia's coming.
He need not precipitate matters by a deed that must lead to a revolt, a
rising of the people to avenge their idol.
</p>
<p>
“You have given me but added reasons,” he answered her stoutly. “There is
no room in my Duchy for a man whose death, if it pleased me to encompass
it, would be avenged upon me by my own people.”
</p>
<p>
“Then send him from your dominions,” she urged. “Banish him, and all may
be well. But if you slay him, I should not count your life worth a day's
purchase.”
</p>
<p>
This advice was sound, and in the end they prevailed upon him to adopt it.
But it was not done save at the cost of endless prayers on the part of
those courtiers, and the persuasions of Caterina's biting scorn and
prophecies of the fate that surely awaited him did he touch the life of
one so wellbeloved. At last, against his will, he sullenly consented that
the banishment of his cousin should content him. But it was with infinite
bitterness and regret that he passed his word, for his jealousy was of a
quality that nothing short of Francesco's death could have appeased.
Certain it is that nothing but the fear of the consequences, which his
mother had instilled into his heart, could have swayed him to be satisfied
that the Count of Aquila should be banished.
</p>
<p>
He sent for Martino and bade him return the Count his sword, and he
entrusted the message of exile to Fabrizio da Lodi, charging him to
apprise Francesco that he was allowed twenty-four hours' grace in which to
take himself beyond the dominions of Gian Maria Sforza.
</p>
<p>
That done—and with an exceedingly ill grace—the Duke turned on
his heel, and with a sullen brow he left the ducal chamber, and passed,
unattended, to his own apartments.
</p>
<p>
Rejoicing, Fabrizio da Lodi went his errand, which he discharged with
certain additions that might have cost him his head had knowledge of them
come to Gian Maria. In fact, he seized the opportunity to again press upon
Francesco the throne of Babbiano.
</p>
<p>
“The hour is very ripe,” he urged the Count, “and the people love you as
surely prince was never loved. It is in their interests that I plead. You
are their only hope. Will you not come to them?”
</p>
<p>
If for a moment Francesco hesitated, it was rather in consideration of the
manner in which the crown was offered than in consequence of any
allurement that the offer may have had for him. Once—that night at
Sant' Angelo—he had known temptation, and for a moment had listened
to the seductions in the voice that invited him to power. But not so now.
A thought he gave to the people who had such faith in him, and showered
upon him such admiring love, and whom, as a matter of reciprocity, he
wished well, and would have served in any capacity but this. He shook his
head, and with a smile of regret declined the offer.
</p>
<p>
“Have patience, old friend,” he added. “I am not of the stuff that goes to
make good princes, although you think it. It is a bondage into which I
would not sell myself. A man's life for me, Fabrizio—a free life
that is not directed by councillors and at the mercy of the rabble.”
</p>
<p>
Fabrizio's face grew sad. He sighed profoundly, yet since it might not be
well for him that he should remain over-long in talk with one who, in the
Duke's eyes, was attainted with treason, he had not leisure to insist with
persuasions, which, after all, he clearly saw must in the end prove
barren.
</p>
<p>
“What was the salvation of the people of Babbiano,” he murmured, “was also
your Excellency's, since did you adopt the course I urge there would be no
need to go in banishment.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, this exile suits me excellently well,” returned Francesco. “Idle
have I been over-long, and the wish to roam is in my veins again. I'll see
the world once more, and when I weary of my vagrancy I can withdraw to my
lands of Aquila, and in that corner of Tuscany, too mean to draw a
conqueror's eye, none will molest me, and I shall rest. Babbiano, my
friend, shall know me no more after to-night. When I am gone, and the
people realise that they may not have what they would, they may rest
content perhaps with what they may.” And he waved a hand in the direction
of the doors leading to the ducal chamber. With that he took his leave of
his old friend, and, carrying in his hand the sword and dagger which
Captain Armstadt had returned to him, he repaired briskly to the northern
wing of the Palace, in which he had his lodging.
</p>
<p>
In the ante-room he dismissed those of his servants who had been taken
from the ranks of the Duke's people, and bade his own Tuscan followers,
Zaccaria and Lanciotto, see to the packing of his effects, and make all
ready to set out within the hour.
</p>
<p>
He was no coward, but he had no wish to die just yet if it might be
honourably avoided. Life had some sweets to offer Francesco del Falco, and
this spurred him to hasten, for he well knew his cousin's unscrupulous
ways. He was aware that Gian Maria had been forced by weight of argument
to let him go, and he shrewdly feared that did he linger, his cousin might
veer round again, and without pausing to seek advice a second time, have
him disposed of out of hand and reckless of consequences.
</p>
<p>
Whilst Lanciotto was left busy in the ante-room the Count passed into his
bedchamber attended by Zaccaria, to make in his raiment such changes as
were expedient. But scarce had he begun when he was interrupted by the
arrival of Fanfulla degli Arcipreti, whom Lanciotto ushered in.
Francesco's face lighted at sight of his friend, and he held out his hand.
</p>
<p>
“What is it that has happened?” cried the young gallant, adding that which
showed his question to be unnecessary, for from Fabrizio da Lodi he had
had the whole story of what was befallen. He sat himself upon the bed, and
utterly disregarding the presence of Zaccaria—whom he knew to be
faithful—he attempted to persuade the Count where Fabrizio had
failed. But Paolo cut him short ere he had gone very far.
</p>
<p>
“Have done with that,” he said, and for all that he said it with a laugh,
determination sounded sturdy in his accents. “I am a knight-errant, not a
prince, and I'll not be converted from one to the other. It were making a
helot of a free man, and you do not love me, Fanfulla, if you drive this
argument further. Do you think me sad, cast down, at the prospect of this
banishment? Why, boy, the blood runs swifter through my veins since I
heard the sentence. It frees me from Babbiano in an hour when perhaps my
duty—the reciprocation of the people's love—might otherwise
have held me here, and it gives me liberty to go forth, my good Fanfulla,
in quest of such adventure as I choose to follow.” He threw out his arms,
and displayed his splendid teeth in a hearty laugh.
</p>
<p>
Fanfulla eyed him, infected by the boisterous gladness of his mood.
</p>
<p>
“Why, true indeed, my lord,” he acknowledged, “you are too fine a bird to
sing in a cage. But to go knight-erranting——” He paused, and
spread his hands in protest. “There are no longer dragons holding
princesses captive.”
</p>
<p>
“Alas no. But the Venetians are on the eve of war, and they will find work
for these hands of mine. I want not for friends among them.”
</p>
<p>
Fanfulla sighed.
</p>
<p>
“And so we lose you. The stoutest arm in Babbiano leaves us in the hour of
need, driven out by that loutish Duke. By my soul, Ser Francesco, I would
I might go with you. Here is nothing to be done.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco paused in the act of drawing on a boot, and raised his eyes to
stare a moment at his friend.
</p>
<p>
“But if you wish it, Fanfulla, I shall rejoice to have your company.”
</p>
<p>
And now the idea of it entered Fanfulla's mind in earnest, for his
expression had been more or less an idle one. But since Francesco invited
him, why not indeed?
</p>
<p>
And thus it came to pass that at the third hour of that warm May night a
party of four men on horseback and two sumpter mules passed out of
Babbiano and took the road that leads to Vinamare, and thence into the
territory of Urbino. These riders were the Count of Aquila and Fanfulla
degli Arcipreti, followed by Lanciotto leading a mule that bore the arms
of those knights-errant, and Zaccaria leading another with their general
baggage.
</p>
<p>
All night they rode beneath the stars, and on until some three hours after
sunrise, when they made halt in a hollow of the hills not far from
Fabriano. They tethered their horses in a grove of peaceful laurel and
sheltering mulberry, at the foot of a slope that was set with olive trees,
grey, gnarled and bent as aged cripples, and beside the river Esino at a
spot where it was so narrow that an agile man might leap its width. Here,
then, they spread their cloaks, and Zaccaria unpacked his victuals, and
set before them a simple meal of bread and wine and roasted fowl, which to
their hunger made more appeal than a banquet at another season. And when
they had eaten they laid them down beside the stream, and there beguiled
in pleasant talk the time until they fell asleep. They rested them through
the heat of the day, and waking some three hours after noon, the Count
rose up and went some dozen paces down the stream to a spot where it fell
into a tiny lake—a pool deep and blue as the cloudless heavens which
it mirrored. Here he stripped off his garments and plunged headlong in, to
emerge again, some moments later, refreshed and reinvigorated in body and
in soul.
</p>
<p>
As Fanfulla awoke he beheld an apparition coming towards him, a figure
lithe and stalwart as a sylvian god, the water shining on the ivory
whiteness of his skin and glistening in his sable hair as the sunlight
caught it.
</p>
<p>
“Tell me now, Fanfulla, lives there a man of so depraved a mind that he
would prefer a ducal crown to this?”
</p>
<p>
And the courtier, seeing Francesco's radiant mien, understood perhaps, at
last, how sordid was the ambition that could lure a man from such a
god-like freedom, and from the holy all-consuming joys it brought him. His
thoughts being started upon that course, it was of this they talked what
time the Count resumed his garments—his hose of red, his knee-high
boots of untanned leather, and his quilted brigandine of plain brown
cloth, reputed dagger-proof. He rose at last to buckle on his belt of
hammered steel, from which there hung, behind his loins, a stout, lengthy
dagger, the only weapon that he carried.
</p>
<p>
At his command the horses were saddled and the sumpters laden once more.
Lanciotto held his stirrup, and Zaccaria did like service for Fanfulla,
and presently they were cantering out of that fragrant grove on to the
elastic sward of broad, green pasture-lands. They crossed the stream at a
spot where the widened sheet of water scarce went higher than their
horses' hocks; then veering to the east they rode away from the hills for
a half-league or so until they gained a road. Here they turned northward
again, and pushed on towards Cagli.
</p>
<p>
As the bells were ringing the Ave Maria the cavalcade drew up before the
Palazzo Valdicampo, where two nights ago Gian Maria had been entertained.
Its gates were now as readily thrown wide to welcome the illustrious and
glorious Count of Aquila, who was esteemed by Messer Valdicampo no less
than his more puissant cousin. Chambers were set at his disposal, and at
Fanfulla's; servants were bidden to wait upon them; fresh raiment was laid
out for them, and a noble supper was prepared to do honour to Francesco.
Nor did the generous Valdicampo's manner cool when he learned that
Francesco was in disgrace at the Court of Babbiano and banished from the
dominions of Duke Gian Maria. He expressed sympathetic regret at so
untoward a circumstance and discreetly refrained from passing any opinion
thereupon.
</p>
<p>
Yet later, as they supped, and when perhaps the choice wines had somewhat
relaxed his discretion, he permitted himself to speak of Gian Maria's ways
in terms that were very far from laudatory.
</p>
<p>
“Here, in my house,” he informed them, “he committed an outrage upon a
poor unfortunate, for which an account may yet be asked of me—since
it was under my roof that the thing befell, for all that I knew nothing of
it.”
</p>
<p>
Upon being pressed by Paolo to tell them more, he parted with the
information that the unfortunate in question was Urbino's jester Peppe. At
that, Paolo's glance became more intent. The memory of his meeting with
the fool and his mistress in the woods, a month ago, flashed now across
his mind, and it came to him that he could rightly guess the source whence
his cousin had drawn the information that had led to his own arrest and
banishment.
</p>
<p>
“Of what nature was the outrage?” he inquired.
</p>
<p>
“From what Peppe himself has told me it would seem that the fool was
possessed of some knowledge which Gian Maria sought, but on which Peppe
was bound by oath to silence. Gian Maria caused him to be secretly taken
and carried off from Urbino. His sbirri brought the fellow here, and to
make him speak the Duke improvised in his bedchamber a tratta di corde,
which had the desired result.”
</p>
<p>
The Count's face grew dark with anger. “The coward!” he muttered. “The
dastardly craven!”
</p>
<p>
“But bethink you, sir Count,” exclaimed Valdicampo, “that this poor Peppe
is a frail and deformed creature, lacking the strength of an ordinary man,
and do not judge him over-harshly.”
</p>
<p>
“It was not of him I spoke,” replied Francesco, “but of my cousin, that
cowardly tyrant, Gian Maria Sforza. Tell me, Messer Valdicampo—what
has become of Ser Peppe?”
</p>
<p>
“He is still here. I have had him tended, and his condition is already
much improved. It will not be long ere he is recovered, but for a few days
yet his arms will remain almost useless. They were all but torn from his
body.”
</p>
<p>
When the meal was done Francesco begged his host to conduct him to Peppe's
chamber. This Valdicampo did, and leaving Fanfulla in the company of the
ladies of his house, he escorted the Count to the room where the poor,
ill-used hunchback was abed tended by one of the women of Valdicampo's
household.
</p>
<p>
“Here is a visitor to see you, Ser Peppe,” the old gentleman announced,
setting down his candle on a table by the bed. The jester turned his great
head towards the newcomer's, and sought with melancoly eyes the face of
his visitor. At sight of him a look of terror spread itself upon his
countenance.
</p>
<p>
“My lord,” he cried, struggling into a sitting posture, “my noble,
gracious lord, have mercy on me. I could tear out this craven tongue of
mine. But did you know what agonies I suffered, and to what a torture they
submitted me to render me unfaithful, it may be that you, yourself, would
pity me.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, that I do,” answered Francesco gently. “Indeed, could I have seen
the consequences that oath would have for you, I had not bound you by it.”
</p>
<p>
The fear in Peppe's face gave place to unbelief.
</p>
<p>
“And you forgive me, lord?” he cried. “I dreaded when you entered that you
were come to punish me for what wrong I may have done you in speaking. But
if you forgive me, it may be that Heaven will forgive me also, and that I
may not be damned. And that were a thousand pities, for what, my lord,
should I do in hell?”
</p>
<p>
“Deride the agonies of Gian Maria,” answered Francesco, with a laugh.
</p>
<p>
“It were almost worth burning for,” mused Peppe, putting forth a hand,
whose lacerated, swollen wrist bore evidence to the torture he had
suffered. At sight of it the Count made an exclamation of angry horror,
and hastened to inquire into the poor fool's condition.
</p>
<p>
“It is not so bad now,” Peppe answered him, “and it is only in consequence
of Messer Valdicampo's insistence that I have kept my bed. I can scarce
use my arms, it is true, but they are improving. To-morrow I shall be up,
and I hope to set out for Urbino, where my dear mistress must be
distressed with fears for my absence, for she is a very kind and
tenderhearted lady.”
</p>
<p>
This resolve of Peppe's prompted the Count to offer to conduct him to
Urbino on the morrow, since he, himself, would be journeying that way—an
offer which the fool accepted without hesitation and with lively
gratitude.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XII. THE FOOL'S INQUISITIVENESS
</h2>
<p>
In the morning Francesco set out once more, accompanied by his servants,
Fanfulla, and the fool. The latter was now so far restored as to be able
to sit a mule, but lest the riding should over-tire him they proceeded at
little more than an ambling pace along the lovely valleys of the Metauro.
Thus it befell that when night descended it found them still journeying,
and some two leagues distant from Urbino. Another league they travelled in
the moonlight, and the fool was beguiling the time for them with a droll
story culled from the bright pages of Messer Boccaccio, when of a sudden
his sharp ears caught a sound that struck him dumb in the middle of a
sentence.
</p>
<p>
“Are you faint?” asked Francesco, turning quickly towards him, and mindful
of the fellow's sore condition.
</p>
<p>
“No, no,” answered the fool, with a readiness that dispelled the Count's
alarm on that score. “I thought I heard a sound of marching in the
distance.”
</p>
<p>
“The wind in the trees, Peppino,” explained Fanfulla.
</p>
<p>
“I do not think——” He stopped short and listened and now they
all heard it, for it came wafted to them on a gust of the fitful breeze
that smote their faces.
</p>
<p>
“You are right,” said Francesco. “It is the tramp of men. But what of
that, Peppe? Men will march in Italy. Let us hear the end of your story.”
</p>
<p>
“But who should march in Urbino, and by night?” the fool persisted.
</p>
<p>
“Do I know or do I care?” quoth the Count. “Your story, man.”
</p>
<p>
For all that he was far from satisfied, the fool resumed his narrative.
But he no longer told it with his former irresistible humour. His mind was
occupied with that sound of marching, which came steadily nearer. At
length he could endure it no longer, and the apathy of his companions
fired him openly to rebel.
</p>
<p>
“My lord,” he cried, turning to the Count, and again leaving his story
interrupted, “they are all but upon us.”
</p>
<p>
“True!” agreed Francesco indifferently. “The next turn yonder should bring
us into them.”
</p>
<p>
“Then I beg you, Lord Count, to step aside. Let us pause here, under the
trees, until they have passed. I am full of fears. Perhaps I am a coward,
but I mislike these roving night-hands. It may be a company of
masnadieri.”
</p>
<p>
“What then?” returned the Count, without slackening speed. “What cause
have we to fear a party of robbers?”
</p>
<p>
But Fanfulla and the servants joined their advice to Peppe's, and
prevailed at last upon Francesco to take cover until this company should
have passed. He consented, to pacify them, and wheeling to the right they
entered the border of the forest, drawing rein well in the shadow, whence
they could survey the road and see who passed across the patch of
moonlight that illumined it. And presently the company came along and
swung into that revealing flood of light. To the astonishment of the
watchers they beheld no marauding party such as they had been led to
expect, but a very orderly company of some twenty men, soberly arrayed in
leather hacketons and salades of bright steel, marching sword on thigh and
pike on shoulder. At the head of this company rode a powerfully-built man
on a great sorrel horse, at sight of whom the fool swore softly in
astonishment. In the middle of the party came four litters borne by mules,
and at the side of one of them rode a slender, graceful figure that
provoked from Peppe a second oath. But the profoundest objurgation of all
was wrung from him at sight of a portly bulk in the black habit of the
Dominicans ambling in the rear, who just then was in angry altercation
with a fellow that was urging his mule along with the butt of his
partisan.
</p>
<p>
“May you be roasted on a gridiron like Saint Lawrence,” gasped the irate
priest. “Would you break my neck, brute beast that you are? Do you but
wait until we reach Roccaleone, and by St. Dominic, I'll get your
ruffianly commander to hang you for this ill-seasoned jest.”
</p>
<p>
But his tormentor laughed for answer, and smote the mule again, a blow
this time that almost caused it to rear up. The friar cried out in angry
alarm, and then, still storming and threatening his persecutor, he passed
on. After him came six heavily-laden carts, each drawn by a pair of
bullocks, and the rear of the procession was brought up by a flock of a
dozen bleating sheep, herded by a blasphemant man-at-arms. They passed the
astonished watchers, who remained concealed until that odd company had
melted away into the night.
</p>
<p>
“I could swear,” said Fanfulla, “that that friar and I have met before.”
</p>
<p>
“Nor would you do a perjury,” answered him the fool. “For it is that fat
hog Fra Domenico—he that went with you to the Convent of Acquasparta
to fetch unguents for his Excellency.”
</p>
<p>
“What does he in that company, and who are they?” asked the Count, turning
to the fool as they rode out of their ambush.
</p>
<p>
“Ask me where the devil keeps his lures,” quoth the fool, “and I'll make
some shift to answer you. But as for what does Fra Domenico in that
galley, it is more than I can hazard a guess on. He is not the only one
known to me,” Peppino added, “There was Ercole Fortemani, a great, dirty,
blustering ruffian whom I never saw in aught but rags, riding at their
heads in garments of most unwonted wholeness; and there was Romeo Gonzaga,
whom I never knew to stir by night save to an assignation. Strange things
must be happening in Urbino.”
</p>
<p>
“And the litters?” inquired Francesco, “Can you hazard no guess as to
their meaning?”
</p>
<p>
“None,” said he, “saving that they may account for the presence of Messer
Gonzaga. For litters argue women.”
</p>
<p>
“It seems, fool, that not even your wisdom shall avail us. But you heard
the friar say they were bound for Roccaleone?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I heard that. And by means of it we shall probably learn the rest at
the end of our journey.”
</p>
<p>
And being a man of extremely inquisitive mind, the fool set his inquiries
on foot the moment they entered the gates of Urbino in the morning—for
they had reached the city over-late to gain admittance that same night,
and were forced to seek shelter in one of the houses by the river. It was
of the Captain of the Gate that he sought information.
</p>
<p>
“Can you tell me, Ser Capitan,” he inquired, “what company was that that
travelled yesternight to Roccaleone?”
</p>
<p>
The captain looked at him a moment.
</p>
<p>
“There was none that I know of,” said he, “Certainly none from Urbino.”
</p>
<p>
“You keep a marvellous watch,” said the fool drily. “I tell you that a
company of men-at-arms some twenty strong went last night from Urbino to
Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“To Roccaleone?” echoed the captain, with a musing air, more attentively
than before, as if the repetition of that name had suggested something to
his mind. “Why, it is the castle of Monna Valentina.”
</p>
<p>
“True, sapient sir. But what of the company, and why was it travelling so,
by night?”
</p>
<p>
“How know you it proceeded from Urbino?” quoth the captain earnestly.
</p>
<p>
“Because at its head I recognised the roaring warrior Ercole Fortemani, in
the middle rode Romeo Gonzaga, in the rear came Fra Domenico, Madonna's
confessor—men of Urbino all.”
</p>
<p>
The officer's face grew purple at the news.
</p>
<p>
“Were there any women in the party?” he cried.
</p>
<p>
“I saw none,” replied the fool, in whom this sudden eagerness of the
captain's awakened caution and reflection.
</p>
<p>
“But there were four litters,” put in Francesco, whose nature was less
suspicious and alert than the wise fool's.
</p>
<p>
Too late Peppe scowled caution at him. The captain swore a great oath.
</p>
<p>
“It is she,” he cried, with assurance. “And this company was travelling to
Roccaleone, you say. How know you that?”
</p>
<p>
“We heard it from the friar,” answered Francesco readily.
</p>
<p>
“Then, by the Virgin! we have them. Olá!” He turned from them, and ran
shouting into the gatehouse, to re-emerge a moment later with half-dozen
soldiers at his heels.
</p>
<p>
“To the Palace,” he commanded, and as his men surrounded Francesco's
party, “Come, sir,” he said to the Count. “You must go with us, and tell
your story to the Duke.”
</p>
<p>
“There is no need for all this force,” answered Francesco coldly. “In any
case, I could not pass through Urbino without seeing Duke Guidobaldo. I am
the Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
At once the captain's bearing grew respectful. He made his apologies for
the violent measures of his zeal, and bade his men fall behind. Ordering
them to follow him, he mounted a horse that was brought him, and rode
briskly through the borgo at the Count's side. And as he rode he told them
what the jester's quick intuition had already whispered to him. The lady
Valentina was fled from Urbino in the night, and in her company were gone
three of her ladies, and—it was also supposed, since they had
disappeared—Fra Domenico and Romeo Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
Aghast at what he heard, Francesco pressed his informer for more news; but
there was little more that the captain could tell him, beyond the fact
that it was believed she had been driven to it to escape her impending
marriage with the Duke of Babbiano. Guidobaldo was distraught at what had
happened, and anxious to bring the lady back before news of her behaviour
should reach the ears of Gian Maria. It was, therefore, a matter of no
little satisfaction to the captain that the task should be his to bear
Guidobaldo this news of her whereabouts which from Francesco and the
jester he had derived.
</p>
<p>
Peppe looked glum and sullen. Had he but bridled his cursed curiosity, and
had the Count but taken the alarm in time and held his peace, all might
have been well with his beloved patrona. As it was, he—the one man
ready to die that he might serve her—had been the very one to betray
her refuge. He heard the Count's laugh, and the sound of it was fuel to
his anger. But Francesco only thought of the splendid daring of the lady's
action.
</p>
<p>
“But these men-at-arms that she had with her?” he cried. “For what purpose
so numerous a bodyguard?”
</p>
<p>
The captain looked at him a moment.
</p>
<p>
“Can you not guess?” he inquired. “Perhaps you do not know the Castle of
Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“It were odd if I did not know the most impregnable fortress in Italy.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for a
garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel fashion
the wishes of his Highness.”
</p>
<p>
At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as
hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips.
</p>
<p>
“By the Host!” he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. “There is
a maid for you! Do you hear what the captain says, Fanfulla? She means to
resist this wedding by armed force if needs be. Now, on my soul, if
Guidobaldo insists upon the union after this, why, then, he has no heart,
no feeling. As I live, she is a kinswoman that such a warlike prince might
well be proud of. Small wonder that they do not fear the Borgia in
Urbino.” And he laughed again. But the captain scowled at him, and Peppe
frowned.
</p>
<p>
“She is a rebellious jade,” quoth the captain sourly.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, softly,” returned Francesco; for all that he still laughed. “If you
were of knightly rank I'd break a lance with you on that score. As it is——”
he paused, his laughter ceased, and his dark eyes took the captain's
measure in a curious way. “Best leave her uncensured, Ser Capitano. She is
of the house of Rovere, and closely allied to that of Montefeltro.”
</p>
<p>
The officer felt the rebuke, and silence reigned between them after that.
</p>
<p>
It was whilst Francesco, Fanfulla and Peppe waited in the ante-chamber for
admittance to the Duke that the jester vented some of the bitterness he
felt at their babbling. The splendid room was thronged with a courtly
crowd. There were magnificent nobles and envoys, dark ecclesiastics and
purple prelates, captains in steel and court officers in silk and velvet.
Yet, heedless of who might hear him, Peppe voiced his rebuke, and the
terms he employed were neither as measured nor as respectful as the
Count's rank dictated. Yet with that fairness of mind that made him so
universally beloved, Francesco offered no resentment to the fool's
reproof. He saw that it was deserved, for it threw upon the matter a light
that was new and more searching. But he presently saw further than did the
fool, and he smiled at the other's scowls.
</p>
<p>
“Not so loud Peppe,” said he. “You over-estimate the harm. At worst, we
have but anticipated by a little what the Duke must have learnt from other
sources.”
</p>
<p>
“But it is just that little—the few hours or days—that will do
the mischief,” snapped the jester testily, for all that he lowered his
voice. “In a few days Gian Maria will be back. If he were met with the
news that the Lady Valentina were missing, that she had run away with
Romeo Gonzaga—for that, you'll see, will presently be the tale—do
you think he would linger here, or further care to pursue his wooing? Not
he. These alliances that are for State purposes alone, in which the heart
plays no part, demand, at least, that on the lady's side there shall be a
record unblemished by the breath of scandal. His Highness would have
returned him home, and Madonna would have been rid of him.”
</p>
<p>
“But at a strange price, Peppe,” answered Franeesco gravely. “Still,” he
added, “I agree that I would have served her purpose better by keeping
silent. But that such an affair will cool the ardour of my cousin I do not
think. You are wrong in placing this among the alliances in which the
heart has no part. On my cousin's side—if all they say be true—the
heart plays a very considerable part indeed. But, for the rest—what
harm have we done?”
</p>
<p>
“Time will show,” said the hunchback.
</p>
<p>
“It will show, then, that I have done no hurt whatever to her interests.
By now she is safe in Roccaleone. What, then, can befall her? Guidobaldo,
no doubt, will repair to her, and across the moat he will entreat her to
be a dutiful niece and to return. She will offer to do so on condition
that he pass her his princely word not to further molest her with the
matter of this marriage. And then?”
</p>
<p>
“Well?” growled the fool, “And then? Who shall say what may befall then?
Let us say that his Highness reduces her by force.”
</p>
<p>
“A siege?” laughed the Count. “Pooh! Where is your wisdom, fool! Do you
think the splendid Guidobaldo is eager to become the sport of Italy, and
go down to posterity as the duke who besieged his niece because she
resisted his ordainings touching the matter of her wedding?”
</p>
<p>
“Guidobaldo da Montefeltro can be a violent man upon occasion,” the fool
was answering, when the officer who had left them reappeared with the
announcement that his Highness awaited them.
</p>
<p>
They found the Prince in a very gloomy mood, and after greeting Francesco
with cool ceremony, he questioned him on the matter of the company they
had met yesternight. These inquiries he conducted with characteristic
dignity, and no more show of concern than if it had been an affair of a
strayed falcon. He thanked Francesco for his information, and gave orders
that the seneschal should place apartments at his and Fanfulla's disposal
for as long as it should please them to grace his court. With that he
dismissed them, bidding the officer remain to receive his orders.
</p>
<p>
“And that,” said Francesco to Peppe, as they crossed the ante-chamber in
the wake of a servant, “is the man who would lay siege to his niece's
castle? For once, sir fool, your wisdom is at fault.”
</p>
<p>
“You do not know the Duke, Excellency,” answered the fool. “Beneath that
frozen exterior burns a furnace, and there is no madness he would not
commit.”
</p>
<p>
But Francesco only laughed as, linking arms with Fanfulla, he passed down
the gallery on his way to the apartments to which the servant was
conducting them.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XIII. GIAN MARIA MAKES A VOW
</h2>
<p>
In a measure the events that followed would almost tend to show that the
fool was right. For even if the notion of besieging Valentina and reducing
her by force of arms was not Guidobaldo's own in the first place, yet he
lent a very willing ear to the counsel that they should thus proceed, when
angrily urged two days thereafter by the Duke of Babbiano.
</p>
<p>
Upon hearing the news Gian Maria had abandoned himself to such a licence
of rage as made those about him tremble from the highest to the meanest.
The disappointment of his passion was in itself justification enough for
this; but, in addition, Gian Maria beheld in the flight of Valentina the
frustration of those bold schemes of which had talked so loudly to his
councillors and his mother. It was his confidence in those same schemes
that had induced him to send that defiant answer to Caesar Borgia. As a
consequence of this there was haste—most desperate haste—that
he should wed, since wedding was to lend him the power to carry out his
brave promises of protecting his crown from the Duke of Valentinois, not
to speak of the utter routing of the Borgia which he had wildly undertaken
to accomplish.
</p>
<p>
That the destinies of States should be tossed to the winds of Heaven by a
slip of a girl was to him something as insufferable as it had been
unexpected.
</p>
<p>
“She must be brought back!” he had screeched, in his towering passion.
“She must be brought back at once.”
</p>
<p>
“True!” answered Guidobaldo, in his serene way; “she must be brought back.
So far, I agree with you entirely. Tell me, now, how the thing is to be
accomplished.” And there was sarcasm in his voice.
</p>
<p>
“What difficulties does it present?” inquired Gian Maria.
</p>
<p>
“No difficulties,” was the ironical reply. “She has shut herself up in the
stoutest castle in Italy, and tells me that she will not come forth until
I promise her freedom of choice in the matter of marriage. Clearly, there
are no difficulties attached to her being brought back.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria showed his teeth.
</p>
<p>
“Do you give me leave to go about it in my own way?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
“Not only do I give you leave, but I'll render you all the assistance in
my power, if you can devise a means for luring her from Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“I hesitate no longer. Your niece, Lord Duke, is a rebel, and as a rebel
is she to be treated. She has garrisoned a castle, and hurled defiance at
the ruler of the land. It is a declaration of war, Highness, and war we
shall have.”
</p>
<p>
“You would resort to force?” asked Guidobaldo, disapproval lurking in his
voice.
</p>
<p>
“To the force of arms, your Highness,” answered Gian Maria, with prompt
fierceness. “I will lay siege to this castle of hers, and I shall tear it
stone from stone. Oh, I would have wooed her nicely had she let me, with
gentle words and mincing ways that maidens love. But since she defies us,
I'll woo her with arquebuse and cannon, and seek by starvation to make her
surrender to my suit. My love shall put on armour to subject her, and I
vow to God that I shall not shave my beard until I am inside her castle.”
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo looked grave.
</p>
<p>
“I should counsel gentler measures,” said he. “Besiege her if you will,
but do not resort to too much violence. Cut off their resources and let
hunger be your advocate. Even so, I fear me, you will be laughed at by all
Italy,” he added bluntly.
</p>
<p>
“A fig for that! Let the fools laugh if they be minded to. What forces has
she at Roccaleone?”
</p>
<p>
At the question Guidobaldo's brow grew dark. It was as if he had recalled
some circumstance that had lain forgotten.
</p>
<p>
“Some twenty knaves led by a notorious ruffian of the name of Fortemani.
The company was enrolled, they tell me, by a gentleman of my court, a
kinsman of my Duchess, Messer Romeo Gonzaga.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he with her now?” gasped Gian Maria.
</p>
<p>
“It would seem he is.”
</p>
<p>
“By the Virgin's Ring of Perugia!” spluttered Gian Maria in increased
dismay. “Do you suggest that they fled together?”
</p>
<p>
“My lord!” Guidobaldo's voice rang sharp and threatening. “It is of my
niece that you are speaking. She took this gentleman with her just as she
took three of her ladies and a page or two, to form such attendance as
befits her birth.”
</p>
<p>
Gian Maria took a turn in the apartment, a frown wrinkling his brow, and
his lips pressed tight. Guidobaldo's proud words by no means convinced
him. But the one preponderating desire in his heart just then was to
humble the girl who had dared to flout him, to make her bend her stubborn
neck. At last:
</p>
<p>
“I may indeed become the laughing-stock of Italy,” he muttered, in a
concentrated voice, “but I shall carry my resolve through, and my first
act upon entering Roccaleone will be to hang this knave Gonzaga from its
highest turret.”
</p>
<p>
That very day Gian Maria began his preparations for the expedition against
Roccaleone, and word of it was carried by Fanfulla to Francesco—for
the latter had left his quarters at the palace upon hearing of Gian
Maria's coming, and was now lodging at the sign of the “Sun.”
</p>
<p>
Upon hearing the news he swore a mighty oath in which he consigned his
cousin to the devil, by whom, in that moment, he pronounced him begotten.
</p>
<p>
“Do you think,” he asked, when he was calmer, “that this man Gonzaga is
her lover?”
</p>
<p>
“It is more than I can say,” answered Fanfulla. “There is the fact that
she fled with him. Though when I questioned Peppe on this same subject he
first laughed the notion to scorn, and then grew grave. 'She loves him
not, the popinjay,' he said; 'but he loves her, or I am blind else, and
he's a villain, I know.'”
</p>
<p>
Francesco stood up, his face mighty serious, and his dark eyes full of
uneasy thought.
</p>
<p>
“By the Host! It is a shameful thing,” he cried out at last. “This poor
lady so beset on every hand by a parcel of villains, each more
unscrupulous than the other. Fanfulla, send for Peppe. We must despatch
the fool to her with warning of Gian Maria's coming, and warning, too,
against this man of Mantua she has fled with.”
</p>
<p>
“Too late,” answered Fanfulla. “The fool departed this morning for
Roccaleone, to join his patrona.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco looked his dismay.
</p>
<p>
“She will be undone,” he groaned. “Thus between the upper and the nether
stone—between Gian Maria and Romeo Gonzaga. Gesù! she will be
undone! And she so brave and so high-spirited!”
</p>
<p>
He moved slowly to the casement, and stood staring at the windows across
the street, on which the setting sun fell in a ruddy glow. But it was not
the windows that he saw. It was a scene in the woods at Acquasparta on
that morning after the mountain fight; a man lying wounded in the bracken,
and over him a gentle lady bending with eyes of pity and solicitude. Often
since had his thoughts revisited that scene, sometimes with a smile,
sometimes with a sigh, and sometimes with both at once.
</p>
<p>
He turned suddenly upon Fanfulla. “I will go myself,” he announced.
</p>
<p>
“You?” echoed Fanfulla. “But the Venetians?”
</p>
<p>
By a gesture the Count signified how little the Venetians weighed with him
when compared with the fortunes of this lady.
</p>
<p>
“I am going to Roccaleone,” he insisted, “now—at once.” And striding
to the door he beat his hands together and called Lanciotto.
</p>
<p>
“You said, Fanfulla, that in these days there are no longer maidens held
in bondage to whom a knight-errant may lend aid. You were at fault, for in
Monna Valentina we have the captive maiden, in my cousin the dragon, in
Gonzaga another, and in me the errant knight who is destined—I hope—to
save her.”
</p>
<p>
“You will save her from Gian Maria?” questioned Fanfulla incredulously.
</p>
<p>
“I will attempt it.”
</p>
<p>
He turned to his servant, who entered as he spoke.
</p>
<p>
“We set out in a quarter of an hour, Lanciotto,” said he. “Saddle for me
and for yourself. You are to go with me. Zaccaria may remain with Messer
degli Arcipreti. You will care for him, Fanfulla, and he will serve you
well.”
</p>
<p>
“But what of me?” cried Fanfulla. “Do I not accompany you?”
</p>
<p>
“If you will, yes. But you might serve me better by returning to Babbiano
and watching the events there, sending me word of what befalls—for
great things will befall soon if my cousin returns not and the Borgia
advances. It is upon this that I am founding such hopes as I have.”
</p>
<p>
“But whither shall I send you word? To Roccaleone?”
</p>
<p>
Francesco reflected a moment. “If you do not hear from me, then send your
news to Roccaleone, for if I should linger there and we are besieged, it
will perhaps be impossible to send a message to you. But if—as I
hope—I go to Aquila, I will send you word of it.”
</p>
<p>
“To Aquila?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. It may be that I shall be at Aquila before the week is out. But keep
it secret, Fanfulla, and I'll fool these dukes to the very top of their
unhealthy bent.”
</p>
<p>
A half-hour later the Count of Aquila, mounted on a stout Calabrian horse,
and attended by Lanciotto on a mule, rode gently down towards the valley.
They went unnoticed, for what cared for them the peasants that sang at
their labours in the contado?
</p>
<p>
They met a merchant, whose servant was urging his laden sumpters up the
hilly road to the city on the heights, and they passed him with a
courteous greeting. Farther they came upon a mounted company of nobles and
ladies, returning from a hawking party, and followed by attendants bearing
their hooded falcons, and their gay laughter still rang in Francesco's
ears after he had passed from their sight and vanished in the purple mists
of eventide that came up to meet him from the river.
</p>
<p>
They turned westward towards the Apennines, and pushed on after night had
fallen, until the fourth hour, when at Francesco's suggestion they drew
rein before a sleepy, wayside locanda, and awoke the host to demand
shelter. There they slept no longer than until matins, so that the grey
light of dawn saw them once more upon their way, and by the time the sun
had struck with its first golden shaft the grey crest of the old hills,
they drew rein on the brink of the roaring torrent at the foot of the
mighty crag that was crowned by the Castle of Roccaleone.
</p>
<p>
Grim and gaunt it loomed above the fertile vale, with that torrent
circling it in a natural moat, like a giant sentinel of the Apennines that
were its background. And now the sunlight raced down the slopes of the old
mountains like a tide. It smote the square tower of the keep, then flowed
adown the wall, setting the old grey stone a-gleaming, and flashing back
from a mullioned window placed high up. Lower it came, revealing grotesque
gargoyles, flooding the crenellated battlements and turning green the ivy
and lichen that but a moment back had blackened the stout, projecting
buttresses. Thence it leapt to the ground, and drove the shadow before it
down the grassy slope, until it reached the stream and sparkled on its
foaming, tumbling waters, scattering a hundred colours through the flying
spray.
</p>
<p>
And all that time, until the sun had reached him and included him in the
picture it was awakening, the Count of Aquila sat in his saddle, with
thoughtful eyes uplifted to the fortress.
</p>
<p>
Then, Lanciotto following him, he walked his horse round the western side,
where the torrent was replaced by a smooth arm of water, for which a
cutting had been made to complete the isolation of the crag of Roccaleone.
But here, where the castle might more easily have become vulnerable, a
blank wall greeted him, broken by no more than a narrow slit or two midway
below the battlements. He rode on towards the northern side, crossing a
footbridge that spanned the river, and at last coming to a halt before the
entrance tower. Here again the moat was formed by the torrential waters of
the mountain stream.
</p>
<p>
He bade his servant rouse the inmates, and Lanciotto hallooed in a voice
that nature had made deep and powerful. The echo of it went booming up to
scare the birds on the hillside, but evoked no answer from the silent
castle.
</p>
<p>
“They keep a zealous watch,” laughed the Count. “Again, Lanciotto.”
</p>
<p>
The man obeyed him, and again and again his deep voice rang out like a
trumpet-call before sign was made from within that it had been heard. At
length, above the parapet of the tower appeared a stunted figure with head
unkempt, as grotesque almost as any of the gargoyles beneath, and an
owlish face peered at them from one of the crenels of the battlement, and
demanded, in surly, croaking tones their business. Instantly the Count
recognised Peppe.
</p>
<p>
“Good morrow, fool,” he bade him.
</p>
<p>
“You, my lord?” exclaimed the jester.
</p>
<p>
“You sleep soundly at Roccaleone,” quoth Francesco. “Bestir that knavish
garrison of yours, and bid the lazy dogs let down the bridge. I have news
for Monna Valentina.”
</p>
<p>
“At once, Excellency,” the fool replied, and would have gone upon the
instant but that Francesco recalled him.
</p>
<p>
“Say, Peppe, a knight—the knight she met at Acquasparta, if you
will. But leave my name unspoken.”
</p>
<p>
With the assurance that he would obey his wishes Peppe went his errand. A
slight delay ensued, and then upon the battlements appeared Gonzaga,
sleepy and contentious, attended by a couple of Fortemani's knaves, who
came to ask the nature of Francesco's business.
</p>
<p>
“It is with Monna Valentina,” answered him Francesco, raising head and
voice, so that Gonzaga recognised him for the wounded knight of
Acquasparta, remembered and scowled.
</p>
<p>
“I am Monna Valentina's captain here,” he announced, with arrogance. “And
you may deliver to me such messages as you bear.”
</p>
<p>
There followed a contention, conducted ill-humouredly on the part of
Gonzaga and scarcely less so on the Count's, Francesco stoutly refusing to
communicate his business to any but Valentina, and Gonzaga as stoutly
refusing to disturb the lady at that hour, or to lower the bridge. Words
flew between them across the waters of the moat, and grew hotter at each
fresh exchange, till in the end they were abruptly terminated by the
appearance of Valentina herself, attended by Peppino.
</p>
<p>
“What is this, Gonzaga?” she inquired, her manner excited, for the fool
had told her that it was the knight Francesco who sought admittance, and
at the very mention of the name she had flushed, then paled, then started
for the ramparts. “Why is this knight denied admittance since he bears a
message for me?” And from where she stood she sought with admiring eyes
the graceful shape of the Count of Aquila—the knight-errant of her
dreams. Francesco bared his head, and bent to the withers of his horse in
courteous greeting. She turned to Gonzaga impatiently.
</p>
<p>
“For what do you wait?” she cried. “Have you not understood my wishes? Let
the bridge be lowered.”
</p>
<p>
“Bethink you, Madonna,” he remonstrated. “You do not know this man. He may
be a spy of Gian Maria's—a hireling paid to betray us.”
</p>
<p>
“You fool,” she answered sharply. “Do you not see that it is the wounded
knight we met that day you were escorting me to Urbino?”
</p>
<p>
“What shall that signify?” demanded he. “Is it proof of his honesty of
purpose or loyalty to you? Be advised, Madonna, and let him deliver his
message from where he is. He is safer there.”
</p>
<p>
She measured him with a determined eye.
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga, order them to lower the bridge,” she bade him.
</p>
<p>
“But, lady, bethink you of your peril.”
</p>
<p>
“Peril?” she echoed. “Peril from two men, and we a garrison of over
twenty? Surely the man is a coward who talks so readily of perils. Have
the drawbridge lowered.”
</p>
<p>
“But if——” he began, with a desperate vehemence, when again
she cut him short.
</p>
<p>
“Am I to be obeyed? Am I mistress, and will you bid them lower the bridge,
or must I, myself, go see to it?”
</p>
<p>
With a look of despairing anger and a shrug of the shoulders he turned
from her, and despatched one of his men with an order. A few moments
later, with a creaking of hinges and a clanking of chains, the great
bridge swung down and dropped with a thud to span the gulf. Instantly the
Count spurred his horse forward, and followed by Lanciotto rode across the
plank and under the archway of the entrance tower into the first
courtyard.
</p>
<p>
Now, scarcely had he drawn rein there when through a door at the far end
appeared the gigantic figure of Fortemani, half-clad and sword in hand. At
sight of Francesco the fellow leaped down a half-dozen steps, and advanced
towards him with a burst of oaths.
</p>
<p>
“To me!” he shouted, in a voice that might have waked the dead. “Olá! Olá!
What devil's work is this? How come you here? By whose orders was the
bridge let down?”
</p>
<p>
“By the orders of Monna Valentina's captain,” answered Francesco,
wondering what madman might be this.
</p>
<p>
“Captain?” cried the other, coming to a standstill and his face turning
purple. “Body of Satan! What captain? I am captain here.”
</p>
<p>
The Count looked him over in surprise.
</p>
<p>
“Why, then,” said he, “you are the very man I seek. I congratulate you on
the watch you keep, Messer Capitano. Your castle is so excellently
patrolled that had I been minded for a climb I had scaled your walls and
got within your gates without arousing any of your slumbering sentries.”
</p>
<p>
Fortemani eyed him with a lowering glance. The prosperity of the past four
days had increased the insolence inherent in the man.
</p>
<p>
“Is that your affair?” he growled menacingly. “You are over-bold, sir
stranger, to seek a quarrel with me, and over-pert to tell me how I shall
discharge my captaincy. By the Passion! You shall be punished.”
</p>
<p>
“Punished—I?” echoed Francesco, on whose brow there now descended a
scowl as black as Ercole's own.
</p>
<p>
“Aye, punished, young sir. Ercole Fortemani is my name.”
</p>
<p>
“I have heard of you,” answered the Count contemptuously, “and of how you
belie that name of yours, for they tell me that a more drunken, cowardly,
good-for-nothing rogue is not to be found in Italy—no, not even in
the Pope's dominions. And have a care how you cast the word 'punishment'
at your betters, animal. The moat is none so distant, and the immersion
may profit you. For I'll swear you've not been washed since they baptized
you—if, indeed, you be a son of Mother Church at all.”
</p>
<p>
“Sangue di Cristo!” spluttered the enraged bully, his face mottled. “This
to me? Come down from that horse.”
</p>
<p>
He laid hold of Francesco's leg to drag him to the ground, but the Count
wrenched it free by a quick motion that left a gash from his spur upon the
captain's hands. Simultaneously he raised his whip, and would have laid
the lash of it across the broad of Fortemani's back—for it had
angered him beyond words to have a ruffian of this fellow's quality
seeking to ruffle it with him—but at that moment a female voice,
stern and imperative, bade them hold in their quarrel.
</p>
<p>
Fortemani fell back nursing his lacerated hand and muttering curses,
whilst Francesco turned in the direction whence that voice had come.
Midway on the flight of stone steps he beheld Valentina, followed by
Gonzaga, Peppe, and a couple of men-at-arms, descending from the
battlements.
</p>
<p>
Calm and queenly she stood, dressed in a camorra of grey velvet with black
sleeves, which excellently set off her handsome height. Gonzaga was
leaning forward, speaking into her ear, and for all that his voice was
subdued, some of his words travelled down to Francesco on the still,
morning air.
</p>
<p>
“Was I not wise, Madonna, in that I hesitated to admit him? You see what
manner of man he is.”
</p>
<p>
The blood flamed in Francesco's cheeks, nor did it soften his chagrin to
note the look which Valentina flashed down at him.
</p>
<p>
Instantly he leapt to the ground, and flinging his reins to Lanciotto he
went forward to the foot of that stone staircase, his broad hat slung back
upon his shoulders, to meet that descending company.
</p>
<p>
“Is this seemly, sir?” she questioned angrily. “Does it become you to
brawl with my garrison the moment you are admitted?”
</p>
<p>
The blood rose higher in Francesco's face, and now suffused his temples
and reached his hair. Yet his voice was well restrained as he made answer:
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, this knave was insolent.”
</p>
<p>
“An insolence that you no doubt provoked,” put in Gonzaga, a dimple
showing on his woman's cheek. But the sterner rebuke fell from the lips of
Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“Knave?” she questioned, with flushed countenance. “If you would not have
me regret your admittance, Messer Francesco, I pray you curb your words.
Here are no knaves. That, sir, is the captain of my soldiers.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco bowed submissively, as patient under her reproof as he had been
hasty under Fortemani's.
</p>
<p>
“It was on the matter of this captaincy that we fell to words,” he
answered, with more humility. “By his own announcement I understood this
nobleman”—and his eyes turned to Gonzaga—“to be your captain.”
</p>
<p>
“He is the captain of my castle,” she informed him.
</p>
<p>
“As you see, Ser Francesco,” put in Peppe, who had perched himself upon
the balustrade, “we suffer from no lack of captains here. We have also Fra
Domenico, who is captain of our souls and of the kitchen; myself am
captain of——”
</p>
<p>
“Devil take you, fool,” snapped Gonzaga, thrusting him roughly from his
perch. Then turning abruptly to the Count: “You bear a message for us,
sir?” he questioned loftily.
</p>
<p>
Swallowing the cavalier tone, and overlooking the pronoun Gonzaga
employed, Francesco inclined his head again to the lady.
</p>
<p>
“I should prefer to deliver it in more privacy than this.” And his eye
travelled round the court and up the steps behind, where was now collected
the entire company of Fortemani. Gonzaga sneered and tossed his golden
curls, but Valentina saw naught unreasonable in the request, and bidding
Romeo attend her and Francesco follow, she led the way.
</p>
<p>
They crossed the quadrangle, and, mounting the steps down which Fortemani
had dashed to meet the Count, they passed into the banqueting-hall, which
opened directly upon the south side of the courtyard. The Count, following
in her wake, ran the gauntlet of scowls of the assembled mercenaries. He
stalked past them unmoved, taking their measure as he went, and estimating
their true value with the unerring eye of the practised condottiero who
has had to do with the enrolling of men and the handling of them. So
little did he like their looks that on the threshold of the hall he paused
and stayed Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
“I am loath to leave my servant at the mercy of those ruffians, sir. May I
beg that you will warn them against offering him violence?”
</p>
<p>
“Ruffians?” cried the lady angrily, before Gonzaga could offer a reply.
“They are my soldiers.”
</p>
<p>
Again he bowed, and there was a cold politeness in the tones in which he
answered her:
</p>
<p>
“I crave your pardon, and I will say no more—unless it be to deplore
that I may not felicitate you on your choice.”
</p>
<p>
It was Gonzaga's turn to wax angry, for the choice had been his.
</p>
<p>
“Your message will have need to be a weighty one, sir, to earn our
patience for your impertinence.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco returned the look of those blue eyes which vainly sought to
flash ferociously, and he made little attempt to keep his scorn from
showing in his glance. He permitted himself even to shrug his shoulders a
trifle impatiently.
</p>
<p>
“Indeed, indeed, I think that I had best begone,” he answered regretfully,
“for it is a place whose inmates seem all bent on quarrelling with me.
First your captain Fortemani greets me with an insolence hard to leave
unpunished. You, yourself, Madonna, resent that I should crave protection
for my man against those fellows whose looks give rise for my
solicitation. You are angry that I should dub them ruffians, as if I had
followed the calling of arms these ten years without acquiring knowledge
of the quality of a man however much you may disguise him. And lastly, to
crown all, this cicisbeo”—and he spread a hand contemptuously
towards Gonzaga—“speaks of my impertinences.”
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” cried Gonzaga, “I beg that you will let me deal with him.”
</p>
<p>
Unwittingly, unwillingly, Gonzaga saved the situation by that prayer. The
anger that was fast rising in Madonna's heart, stirred by the proud
bearing of the Count, was scattered before the unconscious humour of her
captain's appeal, in such ludicrous contrast was his mincing speech and
slender figure with Francesco's firm tones and lean, active height. She
did not laugh, for that would have been to have spoilt all, but she looked
from one to the other with quiet relish, noting the glance of surprise and
raised eyebrows with which the Count received the courtier's request to be
let deal with him. And thus, being turned from anger, the balance of her
mind was quick to adjust itself, and she bethought her that perhaps there
was reason in what this knight advanced, and that his reception had lacked
the courtesy that was his due. In a moment, with incomparable grace and
skill, she had soothed Gonzaga's ruffled vanity, and appeased the Count's
more sturdy resentment.
</p>
<p>
“And now, Messer Francesco,” she concluded, “let us be friends, and let me
hear your business. I beg that you will sit.”
</p>
<p>
They had passed into the banqueting-hall—a noble apartment, whose
walls were frescoed with hunting and pastoral scenes, one or two of which
were the work of Pisaniello. There were, too, some stray trophies of the
chase, and, here and there, a suit of costly armour that caught the
sunlight pouring through the tall, mullioned windows. At the far end stood
a richly carved screen of cedar, and above this appeared the twisted
railing of the minstrels' gallery. In a tall armchair of untanned leather,
at the head of the capacious board, Monna Valentina sat herself, Gonzaga
taking his stand at her elbow, and Francesco fronting her, leaning lightly
against the table.
</p>
<p>
“The news I bear you, lady, is soon told,” said the Count. “I would its
quality were better. Your suitor Gian Maria returning to Guidobaldo's
court, eager for the nuptials that were promised him, has learnt of your
flight to Roccaleone and is raising—indeed will have raised by now—an
army to invest and reduce your fortress.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga turned as pale as the vest of white silk that gleamed beneath his
doublet of pearl-coloured velvet at this realisation of the prophecies he
had uttered without believing. A sickly fear possessed his soul. What fate
would they mete out to him who had been the leading spirit in Valentina's
rebellion? He could have groaned aloud at this miscarriage of all his fine
plans. Where now would be the time to talk of love, to press and carry his
suit with Valentina and render himself her husband? There would be war in
the air, and bloody work that made his skin creep and turn cold to ponder
on. And the irony of it all was keenly cruel. It was the very contingency
that he had prophesied, assured that neither Guidobaldo nor Gian Maria
would be so mad as to court ridicule by engaging upon it.
</p>
<p>
For a second Francesco's eyes rested on the courtier's face, and saw the
fear written there for all to read. The shadow of a smile quivered on his
lips as his glance moved on to meet the eyes of Valentina, sparkling as
sparkles frost beneath the sun.
</p>
<p>
“Why, let them come!” she exclaimed, almost in exultation. “This ducal oaf
shall find me very ready for him. We are armed at all points. We have
victuals to last us three months, if need be, and we have no lack of
weapons. Let Gian Maria come, and he will find Valentina della Rovere none
so easy to reduce. To you, sir,” she continued, with more calm, “to you on
whom I have no claim, I am more than grateful for your chivalrous act in
riding here to warn me.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco sighed; a look of regret crossed his face.
</p>
<p>
“Alas!” he said. “When I rode hither, Madonna, I had hoped to serve you to
a better purpose. I had advice to offer and assistance if you should need
it; but the sight of those men-at-arms of yours makes me fear that it is
not advice upon which it would be wise to act. For the plan I had in mind,
it would be of the first importance that your soldiers should be
trustworthy, and this, I fear me, they are not.”
</p>
<p>
“Nevertheless,” put in Gonzaga feverishly, clinging to a slender hope,
“let us hear it.”
</p>
<p>
“I beg that you will,” said Valentina.
</p>
<p>
Thus enjoined, Francesco pondered a moment.
</p>
<p>
“Are you acquainted with the politics of Babbiano?” he inquired.
</p>
<p>
“I know something of them.”
</p>
<p>
“I will make the position quite clear to you, Madonna,” he rejoined. And
with that he told her of the threatened descent of Caesar Borgia upon Gian
Maria's duchy, and hence, of the little time at her suitor's disposal; so
that if he could but be held in check before the walls of Roccaleone for a
little while, all might be well. “But seeing in what haste he is,” he
ended, “his methods are likely to be rough and desperate, and I had
thought that meanwhile you need not remain here, Madonna.”
</p>
<p>
“Not remain?” she cried, scorn of the notion in her voice. “Not remain?”
quoth Gonzaga timorously, hope sounding in his.
</p>
<p>
“Precisely, Madonna. I would have proposed that you leave Gian Maria an
empty nest, so that even if the castle should fall into his hands he would
gain nothing.”
</p>
<p>
“You would advise me to fly?” she demanded.
</p>
<p>
“I came prepared to do so, but the sight of your men restrains me. They
are not trustworthy, and to save their dirty skins they might throw
Roccaleone open to the besiegers, and thus your flight would be
discovered, while yet there might be time to render it futile.”
</p>
<p>
Before she could frame an answer there was Gonzaga feverishly urging her
to act upon so wise and timely a suggestion, and seek safety in flight
from a place that Gian Maria would tear stone from stone. His words
pattered quickly and piteously in entreaty, till in the end, facing him
squarely:
</p>
<p>
“Are you afraid, Gonzaga?” she asked him.
</p>
<p>
“I am—afraid for you, Madonna,” he answered readily.
</p>
<p>
“Then let your fears have peace. For whether I stay or whether I go, one
thing is certain: Gian Maria never shall set hands upon me.” She turned
again to Francesco. “I see a certain wisdom in the counsel of flight you
would have offered me, no less than in what I take to be your advice that
I should remain. Did I but consult my humour I should stay and deliver
battle when this tyrant shows himself. But prudence, too, must be
consulted, and I will give the matter thought.” And now she thanked him
with a generous charm for having come to her with this news and proffered
his assistance, asking what motives brought him.
</p>
<p>
“Such motives as must ever impel a knight to serve a lady in distress,”
said he, “and perhaps, too, the memory of the charity with which you
tended my wounds that day at Acquasparta.”
</p>
<p>
For a second their glances met, quivered in the meeting, and fell apart
again, an odd confusion in the breast of each, all of which Gonzaga, sunk
in moody rumination, observed not. To lighten the awkward silence that was
fallen, she asked him how it had transpired so soon that it was to
Roccaleone she had fled.
</p>
<p>
“Do you not know?” he cried. “Has not Peppe told you?”
</p>
<p>
“I have had no speech with him. He but reached the castle, himself, late
last night, and I first saw him this morning when he came to announce your
presence.”
</p>
<p>
And then, before more could be said, there arose a din of shouting from
without. The door was pushed suddenly open, and Peppe darted into the
room.
</p>
<p>
“Your man, Ser Francesco,” he cried, his face white with excitement. “Come
quickly, or they will kill him.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XIV. FORTEMANI DRINKS WATER
</h2>
<p>
The thing had begun with the lowering glances that Francesco had observed,
and had grown to gibes and insults after he had disappeared. But Lanciotto
had preserved an unruffled front, being a man schooled in the Count of
Aquila's service to silence and a wondrous patience. This insensibility
those hinds translated into cowardice, and emboldened by it—like the
mongrels that they were—their offensiveness grew more direct and
gradually more threatening. Lanciotto's patience was slowly oozing away,
and indeed, it was no longer anything but the fear of provoking his
master's anger that restrained him. At length one burly ruffian, who had
bidden him remove his head-piece in the company of gentlemen, and whose
request had been by Lanciotto as disregarded as the rest, advanced
menacingly towards him and caught him by the leg, as Ercole had caught his
master. Exasperated at that, Lanciotto had swung his leg free, and caught
the rash fellow a vicious kick in the face that had felled him, stunned
and bleeding.
</p>
<p>
The roar from the man's companions told Lanciotto what to expect. In an
instant they were upon him, clamouring for his blood. He sought to draw
his master's sword, which together with the Count's other armour was slung
across his saddle-bow; but before he could extricate it, he was seized by
a dozen hands, and cropped, fighting, from the saddle. On the ground they
overpowered him, and a mailed hand was set upon his mouth, crushing back
into his throat the cry for help he would have raised.
</p>
<p>
On the west side of the courtyard a fountain issuing from the wall had
once poured its water through a lion's head into a vast tank of moss-grown
granite. But it had been disused for some time, and the pipe in the lion's
mouth was dry. The tank, however, was more than half full of water, which,
during the late untenanting of the castle, had turned foul and stagnant.
To drown Lanciotto in this was the amiable suggestion that emanated from
Fortemani himself—a suggestion uproariously received by his knaves,
who set themselves to act upon it. They roughly dragged the bleeding and
frantically struggling Lanciotto across the yard and gained the border of
the tank, intending fully to sink him into it and hold him under, to drown
there like a rat.
</p>
<p>
But in that instant a something burst upon him like a bolt from out of
Heaven. In one or two, and presently in more, the cruel laughter turned to
sudden howls of pain as a lash of bullock-hide caught them about head and
face and shoulders.
</p>
<p>
“Back there, you beasts, you animals, back!” roared a voice of thunder,
and back they went unquestioning before that pitiless lash, like the pack
of craven hounds they were.
</p>
<p>
It was Francesco, who, single-handed, and armed with no more than a whip,
was scattering them from about his maltreated servant, as the hawk
scatters a flight of noisy sparrows. And now between him and Lanciotto
there stood no more than the broad bulk of Ercole Fortemani, his back to
the Count; for, as yet, he had not realised the interruption.
</p>
<p>
Francesco dropped his whip, and setting one hand at the captain's girdle,
and the other at his dirty neck, he hoisted him up with a strength
incredible, and hurled him from his path and into the slimy water of the
tank.
</p>
<p>
There was a mighty roar drowned in a mightier splash as Fortemani,
spread-eagle, struck the surface and sank from sight, whilst with the
flying spray there came a fetid odour to tell of the unsavouriness of that
unexpected bath.
</p>
<p>
Without pausing to see the completion of his work, Francesco stooped over
his prostrate servant.
</p>
<p>
“Have the beasts hurt you, Lanciotto?” he questioned. But before the
fellow could reply, one of those hinds had sprung upon the stooping Count,
and struck him with a dagger between the shoulder-blades.
</p>
<p>
A woman's alarmed cry rang out, for Valentina was watching the affray from
the steps of the hall, with Gonzaga at her elbow.
</p>
<p>
But Francesco's quilted brigandine had stood the test of steel, and the
point of that assassin's dagger glanced harmlessly aside, doing no worse
hurt than a rent in the silk surface of the garment. A second later the
fellow found himself caught as in a bond of steel. The dagger was wrenched
from his grasp, and the point of it laid against his breast even as the
Count forced him down upon his knees.
</p>
<p>
In a flash was the thing done, yet to the wretched man who saw himself
upon the threshold of Eternity, and who—like a true son of the
Church—had a wholesome fear of hell, it seemed an hour whilst, with
livid cheeks and eyes starting from his head, he waited for that poniard
to sink into his heart, as it was aimed. But not in his heart did the blow
fall. With a sudden snort of angry amusement, the Count pitched the dagger
from him and brought down his clenched fist with a crushing force into the
ruffian's face. The fellow sank unconscious beneath that mighty blow, and
Francesco, regaining the whip that lay almost at his feet, rose up to
confront what others there might be.
</p>
<p>
From the tank, standing breast-deep in that stinking water, his head and
face grotesquely masked in a vile green slime of putrid vegetation, Ercole
Fortemani bellowed with horrid blasphemy that he would have his
aggressor's blood, but stirred never a foot to take it. Not that he was by
nature wholly a coward; but inspired by a wholesome fear of the man who
could perform such a miracle of strength, he remained out of Francesco's
reach, well in the middle of that square basin, and lustily roared orders
to his men to tear the fellow to pieces. But his men had seen enough of
the Count's methods, and made no advance upon that stalwart, dauntless
figure that stood waiting for them with a whip which several had already
tasted. Huddled together, more like a flock of frightened sheep than a
body of men of war, they stood near the entrance tower, the mock of Peppe,
who from the stone-gallery above—much to the amusement of
Valentina's ladies and two pert pages that were with him—applauded
in high-flown terms their wondrous valour.
</p>
<p>
They stirred at last, but it was at Valentina's bidding. She had been
conferring with Gonzaga, who—giving it for his reason that she,
herself, might need protection—had remained beside her, well out of
the fray. She had been urging him to do something, and at last he had
obeyed her, and moved down the short flight of steps into the court; but
so reluctantly and slowly, that with an exclamation of impatience, she
suddenly brushed past him, herself to do the task she had begged of him.
Past Francesco she went, with a word of such commendation of his valour
and a look of such deep admiration, that the blood sprang, responsive, to
his cheek. She paused with a solicitous inquiry for the now risen but
sorely bruised Lanciotto. She flashed an angry look and an angry command
of silence at the great Ercole, still bellowing from his tank, and then,
within ten paces of his followers, she halted, and with wrathful mien, and
hand outstretched towards their captain, she bade them arrest him.
</p>
<p>
That sudden, unexpected order struck dumb the vociferous Fortemani. He
ceased, and gaped at his men, who eyed one another now in doubt; but the
doubt was quickly dispelled by the lady's own words:
</p>
<p>
“You will make him prisoner, and conduct him to the guardroom, or I will
have you and him swept out of my castle,” she informed them, as
confidently as though she had a hundred men-at-arms to do her bidding on
them.
</p>
<p>
A pace or so behind her stood the lily-cheeked Gonzaga, gnawing his lip,
timid and conjecturing. Behind him again loomed the stalwart height of
Francesco del Falco with, at his side, Lanciotto, of mien almost as
resolute as his own.
</p>
<p>
That was the full force with which the lady spoke of sweeping them—as
if they had been so much foulness—from Roccaleone, unless they did
her bidding. They were still hesitating, when the Count advanced to
Valentina's side.
</p>
<p>
“You have heard the choice our lady gives you,” he said sternly. “Let us
know whether you will obey or disobey. This choice that is yours now, may
not be yours again. But if you elect to disobey Madonna, the gate is
behind you, the bridge still down. Get you gone!”
</p>
<p>
Furtively, from under lowering brows, Gonzaga darted a look of impotent
malice at the Count. Whatever issue had the affair, this man must not
remain in Roccaleone. He was too strong, too dominant, and he would render
himself master of the place by no other title than that strength of his
and that manner of command which Gonzaga accounted a coarse, swashbuckling
bully's gift, but would have given much to be possessed of. Of how strong
and dominant indeed he was never had Francesco offered a more signal
proof. Those men, bruised and maltreated by him, would beyond doubt have
massed together and made short work of one less dauntless but when a
mighty courage such as his goes hand-in-hand with the habit of command,
such hinds as they can never long withstand it. They grumbled something
among themselves, and one of them at last made answer:
</p>
<p>
“Noble sir, it is our captain that we are bidden to arrest.”
</p>
<p>
“True; but your captain, like yourselves, is in this lady's pay; and she,
your true, your paramount commander, bids you arrest him.” And now, whilst
yet they hesitated, his quick wits flung them the bait that must prove
most attractive. “He has shown himself to-day unfitted for the command
entrusted him and it may become a question, when he has been judged, of
choosing one of you to fill the place he may leave empty.”
</p>
<p>
Hinds were they in very truth; the scum of the bravi that haunted the
meanest borgo of Urbino. Their hesitation vanished, and such slight
loyalty as they felt towards Ercole was overruled by the prospect of his
position and his pay, should his disgrace become accomplished.
</p>
<p>
They called upon him to come forth from his refuge, where he still stood,
dumb and stricken at this sudden turn events had taken. He sullenly
refused to obey the call to yield, until Francesco—who now assumed
command with a readiness that galled Gonzaga more and more—bade one
of them go fetch an arquebuse and shoot the dog. At that he cried out for
mercy, and came wading to the edge of the tank swearing that if the
immersion had not drowned him, it were a miracle but he was poisoned.
</p>
<p>
Thus closed an incident that had worn a mighty ugly look, and it served to
open Valentina's eyes to the true quality of the men Gonzaga had hired
her. Maybe that it opened his own for that amiable lute-thrummer was green
of experience in these matters. She bade Gonzaga care for Francesco, and
called one of the grinning pages from the gallery to be his esquire. A
room was placed at his disposal for the little time that he might spend at
Roccaleone, whilst she debated what her course should be.
</p>
<p>
A bell tolled in the far southern wing of the castle, beyond the second
courtyard, and summoned her to chapel, for there Fra Domenico said Mass
each morning. And so she took her leave of Francesco, saying she would
pray Heaven to direct her to a wise choice, whether to fly from
Roccaleone, or whether to remain and ward off the onslaught of Gian Maria.
</p>
<p>
Francesco, attended by Gonzaga and the page, repaired to a handsome room
under the Lion's Tower, which rose upon the south-eastern angle of the
fortress. His windows overlooked the second, or inner, courtyard, across
which Valentina and her ladies were now speeding on their way to Mass.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga made shift to stifle the resentment that he felt against this man,
in whom he saw an interloper, and strove to treat him with the courtesy
that was his due. He would even have gone the length of discussing with
him the situation—prompted by a certain mistrust, and cunningly
eager to probe the real motive that had brought this stranger to interest
himself in the affairs of Valentina. But Francesco, wearily, yet with an
unimpeachable politeness, staved him off, and requested that Lanciotto
might be sent to attend him. Seeing the futility of his endeavours,
Gonzaga withdrew in increased resentment, but with a heightened sweetness
of smile and profoundness of courtesies.
</p>
<p>
He went below to issue orders for the raising of the bridge, and finding
the men singularly meek and tractable after the sharp lesson Francesco had
read them, he vented upon them some of the vast ill-humour that possessed
him. Next he passed on to his own apartments, and there he sat himself by
a window overlooking the castle gardens, with his unpleasant thoughts for
only company.
</p>
<p>
But presently his mood lightened and he took courage, for he could be very
brave when peril was remote. It was best, he reflected, that Valentina
should leave Roccaleone. Such was the course he would advise and urge.
Naturally, he would go with her, and so he might advance his suit as well
elsewhere as in that castle. On the other hand, if she remained, why, so
would he, and, after all, what if Gian Maria came? As Francesco had said,
the siege could not be protracted, thanks to the tangled affairs of
Babbiano. Soon Gian Maria would be forced to turn him homeward, to defend
his Duchy. If, then, for a little while they could hold him in check, all
would yet be well. Surely he had been over-quick to despond.
</p>
<p>
He rose and stretched himself with indolent relish, then pushing wide his
casement, he leaned out to breathe the morning air. A soft laugh escaped
him. He had been a fool indeed to plague himself with fears when he had
first heard of Gian Maria's coming. Properly viewed, it became a service
Gian Maria did him—whether they remained, or whether they went. Love
has no stronger promoter than a danger shared, and a week of such
disturbances as Gian Maria was likely to occasion them should do more to
advance his suit than he might hope to achieve in a whole month of
peaceful wooing. Then the memory of Francesco set a wrinkle 'twixt his
brows, and he bethought him how taken Valentina had been with the fellow
when first she had beheld him at Acquasparta, and of how, as she rode that
day, she had seen naught but the dark eyes of this Knight Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“Knight Francesco of what or where?” he muttered to himself. “Bah! A
nameless, homeless adventurer; a swashbuckling bully, reeking of blood and
leather, and fit to drive such a pack as Fortemani's. But with a lady—what
shalt such an oaf attain, how shall he prevail?” He laughed the incipient
jealousy to scorn, and his brow grew clear, for now he was in an
optimistic mood—perhaps a reaction from his recent tremors. “Yet, by
the Host!” he pursued, bethinking him of the amazing boldness Francesco
had shown in the courtyard, “he has the strength of Hercules, and a way
with him that makes him feared and obeyed. Pish!” he laughed again, as,
turning, he unhooked his lute from where it hung upon the wall. “The
by-blow of some condottiero, who blends with his father's bullying
arrogance the peasant soul of his careless mother. And I fear that such a
one as that shall touch the heart of my peerless Valentina? Why, it is a
thought that does her but poor honour.”
</p>
<p>
And dismissing Francesco from his mind, he sought the strings with his
fingers, and thrummed an accompaniment as he returned to the window, his
voice, wondrous sweet and tender, breaking into a gentle love-song.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XV. THE MERCY OF FRANCESCO
</h2>
<p>
Monna Valentina and her ladies dined at noon in a small chamber opening
from the great hall, and thither were bidden Francesco and Gonzaga. The
company was waited upon by the two pages, whilst Fra Domenico, with a
snow-white apron girt about his portentous waist, brought up the steaming
viands from the kitchen where he had prepared them; for, like a true
conventual, he was something of a master in the confection—and a
very glutton in the consumption—of delectable comestibles. The
kitchen was to him as the shrine of some minor cult, and if his breviary
and beads commanded from him the half of the ecstatic fervour of his
devotions to pot and pan, to cauldron and to spit, then was canonisation
indeed assured him.
</p>
<p>
He set before them that day a dinner than which a better no prince
commanded, unless it were the Pope. There were ortolans, shot in the
valley, done with truffles, that made the epicurean Gonzaga roll his eyes,
translated through the medium of his palate into a very paradise of
sensual delight. There was a hare, trapped on the hillside, and stewed in
Malmsey, of a flavour so delicate that Gonzaga was regretting him his
heavy indulgence in the ortolans; there was trout, fresh caught in the
stream below, and a wondrous pasty that turned liquid in the mouth. To
wash down these good things there was stout red wine of Puglia and more
delicate Malvasia, for in his provisioning of the fortress Gonzaga had
contrived that, at least, they should not go thirsty.
</p>
<p>
“For a garrison awaiting siege you fare mighty well at Roccaleone,” was
Francesco's comment on that excellent repast.
</p>
<p>
It was the fool who answered him. He sat out of sight upon the floor,
hunched against the chair of one of Valentina's ladies, who now and again
would toss him down a morsel from her plate, much as she might have
treated a favourite hound.
</p>
<p>
“You have the friar to thank for it,” said he, in a muffled voice, for his
mouth was crammed with pasty. “Let me be damned when I die, if I make him
not my confessor. The man who can so minister to bodies should deal
amazingly well with souls. Fra Domenico, you shall confess me after
sunset.”
</p>
<p>
“You need me not,” answered the monk, in disdainful wrath. “There is a
beatitude for such as you—'Blessed are the poor in spirit.'”
</p>
<p>
“And is there no curse for such as you?” flashed back the fool. “Does it
say nowhere—'Damned are the gross of flesh, the fat and rotund
gluttons who fashion themselves a god of their own bellies'?”
</p>
<p>
With his sandalled foot the friar caught the fool a surreptitious kick.
</p>
<p>
“Be still, you adder, you bag of venom.”
</p>
<p>
Fearing worse, the fool gathered himself up.
</p>
<p>
“Beware!” he cried shrilly. “Bethink you, friar, that anger is a cardinal
sin. Beware, I say!”
</p>
<p>
Fra Domenico checked his upraised hand, and fell to muttering scraps of
Latin, his lids veiling his suddenly downcast eyes. Thus Peppe gained the
door.
</p>
<p>
“Say, friar; in my ear, now—Was that a hare you stewed, or an
outworn sandal?”
</p>
<p>
“Now, God forgive me,” roared the monk, springing towards him.
</p>
<p>
“For your cooking? Aye, pray—on your knees.” He dodged a blow,
ducked, and doubled back into the room. “A cook, you? Pish! you tun of
convent lard! Your ortolans were burnt, your trout swam in grease, your
pasty——”
</p>
<p>
What the pasty may have been the company was not to learn, for Fra
Domenico, crimson of face, had swooped down upon the fool, and would have
caught him but that he dived under the table by Valentina's skirts, and
craved her protection from this gross maniac that held himself a cook.
</p>
<p>
“Now, hold your wrath, father,” she said, laughing with the rest. “He does
but plague you. Bear with him for the sake of that beautitude you cited,
which has fired him to reprisals.”
</p>
<p>
Mollified, but still grumbling threats of a beating to be bestowed on
Peppe when the opportunity should better serve him, the friar turned to
his domestic duties. They rose soon after, and at Gonzaga's suggestion
Valentina paused in the great hall to issue orders that Fortemani be
brought before her for judgment. In a score of ways, since their coming to
Roccaleone, had Ercole been wanting in that respect to which Gonzaga held
himself entitled, and this opportunity he seized with eagerness to vent
his vindictive rancour.
</p>
<p>
Valentina begged of Francesco that he, too, would stay, and help them with
his wide experience, a phrase that sent an unpleasant pang through the
heart of Romeo Gonzaga. It was perhaps as much to assert himself as to
gratify his rancour against Fortemani, that, having despatched a soldier
to fetch the prisoner, he turned to suggest curtly that Ercole should be
hanged at once.
</p>
<p>
“What boots a trial?” he demanded. “We were all witnesses of his
insubordination, and for that there can be but one punishment. Let the
animal hang!”
</p>
<p>
“But the trial is of your own suggestion,” she protested.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, Madonna. I but suggested judgment. It is since you have begged
Messer Francesco, here, to assist us that I opine you mean to give the
knave a trial.”
</p>
<p>
“Would you credit this dear Gonzaga with so much bloodthirstiness?” she
asked Francesco. “Do you, sir, share his opinion that the captain should
hang unheard? I fear me you do, for, from what I have seen of them, your
ways do not incline to gentleness.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga smiled, gathering from that sentence how truly she apprised the
coarse nature of this stranger. Francesco's answer surprised them.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, I hold Messer Gonzaga's an ill counsel. Show mercy to Fortemani now,
where he expects none, and you will have made a faithful servant of him. I
know his kind.”
</p>
<p>
“Ser Francesco speaks without the knowledge that we have, Madonna,” was
Gonzaga's rude comment. “An example must be made if we would have respect
and orderliness from these men.”
</p>
<p>
“Then make it an example of mercy,” suggested Francesco sweetly.
</p>
<p>
“Well, we shall see,” was Valentina's answer. “I like your counsel, Messer
Francesco, and yet I see a certain wisdom in Gonzaga's words. Though in
such a case as this I would sooner consort with folly than have a man's
death upon my conscience. But here he comes, and, at least, we'll give him
trial. Maybe he is penitent by now.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga sneered, and took his place on the right of Valentina's chair,
Francesco standing on her left; and in this fashion they disposed
themselves to hold judgment upon the captain of her forces.
</p>
<p>
He was brought in between two mailed men-at-arms, his hands pinioned
behind him, his tread heavy as that of a man in fear, his eyes directed
sullenly upon the waiting trio, but sullenest of all upon Francesco, who
had so signally encompassed his discomfiture. Valentina spread a hand to
Gonzaga, and from Gonzaga waved it slightly in the direction of the Bully.
Responsive to that gesture, Gonzaga faced the pinioned captain
truculently.
</p>
<p>
“You know your offence, knave,” he bawled at him. “Have you aught to urge
that may deter us from hanging you?”
</p>
<p>
Fortemani raised his brows a moment in surprise at this ferocity from one
whom he had always deemed a very woman. Then he uttered a laugh of such
contempt that the colour sprang to Gonzaga's cheek.
</p>
<p>
“Take him out——” he began furiously, when Valentina
interposed, setting a hand upon his arm.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, nay, Gonzaga, your methods are all wrong. Tell him——
Nay, I will question him myself. Messer Fortemani, you have been guilty of
an act of gross abuse. You and your men were hired for me by Messer
Gonzaga, and to you was given the honourable office of captain over them,
that you might lead them in this service of mine in the ways of duty,
submission, and loyalty. Instead of that, you were the instigator of that
outrage this morning, when murder was almost done upon an inoffensive man
who was my guest. What have you to say?”
</p>
<p>
“That I was not the instigator,” he answered sullenly.
</p>
<p>
“It is all one,” she returned, “for at least it was done with your
sanction, and you took a share in that cruel sport, instead of restraining
it, as was clearly your duty. It is upon you, the captain, that the
responsibility rests.”
</p>
<p>
“Lady,” he explained, “they are wild souls, but very true.”
</p>
<p>
“True to their wildness, maybe,” she answered him disdainfully. Then she
proceeded: “You will remember that twice before has Messer Gonzaga had
occasion to admonish you. These last two nights your men have behaved
riotously within my walls. There has been hard drinking, there has been
dicing, and such brawling once or twice as led me to think there would be
throats cut among your ranks. You were warned by Messer Gonzaga to hold
your followers in better leash, and yet to-day, without so much as
drunkenness to excuse them, we have this vile affair, with yourself for a
ringleader in it.”
</p>
<p>
There followed a pause, during which Ercole stood with bent head like one
who thinks, and Francesco turned his wonder-laden glance upon this slight
girl with the gentle brown eyes which had been so tender and pitiful.
Marvelling at the greatness of her spirit, he grew—all unconsciously—the
more enslaved.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga, all unconcerned in this, eyed Fortemani in expectation of his
answer.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” said the bully at last, “what can you look for from such a
troop as this? Messer Gonzaga cannot have expected me to enlist acolytes
for a business that he told me bordered upon outlawry. Touching their
drunkenness and the trifle of rioting, what soldiers have not these
faults? When they have them not, neither have they merit. The man that is
tame in times of peace is a skulking woman in times of war. For the rest,
whence came the wine they drank? It was of Messer Gonzaga's providing.”
</p>
<p>
“You lie, hound!” blazed Gonzaga. “I provided wine for Madonna's table,
not for the men.”
</p>
<p>
“Yet some found its way to them; which is well. For water on the stomach
makes a man poor-spirited. Where is the sin of a little indulgence,
Madonna?” he went on, turning again to Valentina. “These men of mine will
prove their mettle when it comes to blows. They are dogs perhaps—but
mastiffs every one of them, and would lose a hundred lives in your service
if they had them.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, if they had them,” put in Gonzaga sourly; “but having no more than
one apiece, they'll not care to spare it.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay, there you wrong them,” cried Fortemani, with heat. “Give them a
leader strong enough to hold them, to encourage and subject them, and they
will go anywhere at his bidding.”
</p>
<p>
“And there,” put in Gonzaga quickly, “you bring us back to the main issue.
Such a leader you have shown us that you are not. You have done worse. You
have been insubordinate when you should not only have been orderly, but
have enforced orderliness in others. And for that, by my lights, you
should be hanged. Waste no more time on him, Madonna,” he concluded,
turning to Valentina. “Let the example be made.”
</p>
<p>
“But, Madonna——” began Fortemani, paling under the tan of his
rugged countenance.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga silenced him.
</p>
<p>
“Your words are vain. You have been insubordinate, and for insubordination
there is but one penalty.”
</p>
<p>
The bully hung his head, deeming himself lost, and lacking the wit to
retort as Francesco unexpectedly retorted for him.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, there your adviser is at fault. The charge against the man is
wrong. There has been no insubordination.”
</p>
<p>
“How?” she questioned, turning to the Count. “None, say you?”
</p>
<p>
“A Solomon is arisen,” sneered Gonzaga. Then peevishly; “Waste not words
with him, Madonna,” he pursued. “Our business is with Fortemani.”
</p>
<p>
“But stay, my good Gonzaga. He may be right.”
</p>
<p>
“Your heart is over-tender,” answered Romeo impatiently. But she had
turned from him now, and was begging Francesco to make his meaning
clearer.
</p>
<p>
“Had he raised his hand against you, Madonna, or even against Messer
Gonzaga, or had he disobeyed an order given him by either of you, then,
and then only, could there be question of insubordination. But he has done
none of these things. He is guilty of grossly misusing my servant, it is
true, but there is no insubordination in that, since he was under no
promise of loyalty to Lanciotto.”
</p>
<p>
They stared at him as though his words were words of recondite wisdom
instead of the simple statement of a plain case. Gonzaga crestfallen,
Fortemani with a light of hope and wonder shining in his eyes, and Madonna
with a faint nodding of the head that argued agreement. They wrangled a
while yet, Gonzaga bitter and vindictive and rashly scornful of both
Francesco and Fortemani. But the Count so resolutely held the ground he
had taken that in the end Valentina shrugged her shoulders, acknowledged
herself convinced, and bade Francesco deliver judgment.
</p>
<p>
“You are in earnest, Madonna?” quoth Francesco in surprise, whilst a black
scowl disfigured the serenity of Gonzaga's brow.
</p>
<p>
“I am indeed. Deal with him as you account best and most just, and it
shall fare with him precisely as you ordain.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco turned to the men-at-arms. “Unbind him, one of you,” he said
shortly.
</p>
<p>
“I believe that you are mad,” cried Gonzaga, in a frenzy, but his mood
sprang rather from the chagrin of seeing his interloper prevail where he
had failed. “Madonna, do not heed him.”
</p>
<p>
“I pray you let be, my good Gonzaga,” she answered soothingly, and
Gonzaga, ready to faint from spite, obeyed her.
</p>
<p>
“Leave him there, and go,” was Paolo's next order to the men, and they
departed, leaving the astonished Fortemani standing alone, unbound and
sheepish.
</p>
<p>
“Now mark me well, Messer Fortemani,” Francesco admonished him. “You did a
cowardly thing, unworthy of the soldier that you would have men believe
you. And for that, I think, the punishment you received at my hands has
been sufficient, in that the indignity to which I submitted you has shaken
your standing with your followers. Go back to them now and retrieve what
you have lost, and see that in the future you are worthier. Let this be a
lesson to you, Messer Fortemani. You have gone perilously near hanging,
and you have had it proved to you that in moments of peril your men are
ready to raise their hands against you. Why is that? Because you have not
sought their respect. You have been too much a fellow of theirs in their
drinking and their brawling, instead of holding yourself aloof with
dignity.”
</p>
<p>
“Lord, I have learnt my lesson!” answered the cowed bully.
</p>
<p>
“Then act upon it. Resume your command, and discipline your men to a
better order. Madonna, here, and Messer Gonzaga will forget this thing. Is
it not so, Madonna? Is it not so, Messer Gonzaga?”
</p>
<p>
Swayed by his will and by an intuition that told her that to whatever end
he might be working, he was working wisely, Valentina gave Fortemani the
assurance Francesco begged, and Gonzaga was forced grudgingly to follow
her example.
</p>
<p>
Fortemani bowed low, his face pale and his limbs trembling as not even
fear had made them tremble. He advanced towards Valentina, and sinking on
one knee, he humbly kissed the hem of her gown.
</p>
<p>
“Your clemency, Madonna, shall give you no regret. I will serve you to the
death, lady, and you, lord.” At the last words he raised his eyes to
Francesco's calm face. Then, without so much as a glance at the
disappointed Gonzaga, he rose, and bowing again—a very courtier—he
withdrew.
</p>
<p>
The closing of the door was to Gonzaga a signal to break out in a torrent
of bitter reproofs against Francesco, reproofs that were stemmed midway by
Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“You are beside yourself, Gonzaga,” she exclaimed. “What has been done,
has been done with my sanction. I do not doubt the wisdom of it.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you not? God send you never may! But that man will know no peace until
he is avenged on us.”
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga,” returned Francesco, with an incomparable politeness, “I
am an older man than are you, and maybe that I have seen more warring and
more of such men. There is a certain valour lurks in that bully for all
his blustering boastfulness and swagger, and there is, too, a certain
sense of justice. Mercy he has had to-day, and time will show how right I
am in having pardoned him in Madonna's name. I tell you, sir, that nowhere
has Monna Valentina a more faithful servant than he is now likely to
become.”
</p>
<p>
“I believe you, Messer Francesco. Indeed, I am sure your act was wisdom
itself.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga gnawed his lip.
</p>
<p>
“I may be wrong,” said he, in grudging acquiescence. “I hope, indeed, I
may be.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XVI. GONZAGA UNMASKS
</h2>
<p>
The four great outer walls of Roccaleone stood ranged into a mighty
square, of which the castle proper occupied but half. The other half,
running from north to south, was a stretch of garden, broken into three
terraces. The highest of these was no more than a narrow alley under the
southern wall, roofed from end to end by a trellis of vines on beams
blackened with age, supported by uprights of granite, square and roughly
hewn.
</p>
<p>
A steep flight of granite steps, weedy in the interstices of the old
stone, and terminating in a pair of couchant lions at the base, led down
to the middle terrace, which was called the upper garden. This was split
in twain by a very gallery of gigantic box trees running down towards the
lower terrace, and bearing eloquent witness to the age of that old garden.
Into this gallery no sun ever penetrated by more than a furtive ray, and
on the hottest day in summer a grateful cool dwelt in its green gloom.
Rose gardens spread on either side of it, but neglect of late had left
them rank with weeds.
</p>
<p>
The third and lowest of these terraces, which was longer and broader than
either of those above, was no more than a smooth stretch of lawn, bordered
by acacias and plane trees, from the extreme corner of which sprang a
winding, iron-railed staircase of stone, leading to an eerie which
corresponded diagonally with the Lion's Tower, where the Count of Aquila
was lodged.
</p>
<p>
On this green lawn Valentina's ladies and a page beguiled the eventide in
a game of bowls, their clumsiness at the unwonted pastime provoking the
good-humoured banter of Peppe, who looked on, and their own still
better-humoured laughter.
</p>
<p>
Fortemani, too, was there, brazening out the morning's affair, which it
almost seemed he must have forgotten, so self-possessed and mightily at
his ease was he. He was of the kind with whom shame strikes never very
deeply, and he ruffled it gaily there, among the women, rolling his fierce
eyes to ogle them seductively, tossing his gaudy new cloak with a
high-born disdain—gloriously conscious that it would not rend in the
tossing, like the cloaks to which grim Circumstance had lately accustomed
him—and strutting it like any cock upon a dunghill.
</p>
<p>
But the lesson he had learnt was not likely to share the same
forgetfulness. Indeed, its fruits were to be observed already in the more
orderly conduct of his men, four of whom, partisan on shoulder, were doing
duty on the walls of the castle. They had greeted his return amongst them
with sneers and derisive allusions to his immersion, but with a few
choicely-aimed blows he had cuffed the noisiest into silence and a more
subservient humour. He had spoken to them in a rasping, truculent tone,
issuing orders that he meant should be obeyed, unless the disobeyer were
eager for a reckoning with him.
</p>
<p>
Indeed, he was an altered man, and when that night his followers, having
drunk what he accounted enough for their good, and disregarding his orders
that they should desist and get them to bed, he went in quest of Monna
Valentina. He found her in conversation with Francesco and Gonzaga, seated
in the loggia of the dining-room. They had been there since supper,
discussing the wisdom of going or remaining, of fleeing or standing firm
to receive Gian Maria. Their conference was interrupted now by Ercole with
his complaint.
</p>
<p>
She despatched Gonzaga to quell the men, a course that Fortemani treated
to a covert sneer. The fop went rejoicing at this proof that her estimate
of his commanding qualities had nowise suffered by contrast with those of
that swashbuckling Francesco. But his pride rode him to a bitter fall.
</p>
<p>
They made a mock of his remonstrances, and when he emulated Francesco's
methods, addressing them with sharp ferocity, and dubbing them beasts and
swine, they caught the false ring of his fierceness, which was as unlike
the true as the ring of lead is unlike that of silver. They jeered him
insults, they mimicked his tenor voice, which excitement had rendered
shrill, and they bade him go thrum a lute for his lady's delectation, and
leave men's work to men.
</p>
<p>
His anger rose, and they lost patience; and from showing their teeth in
laughter, they began to show them in snarls. At this his ferocity deserted
him. Brushing past Fortemani, who stood cold and contemptuous by the
doorway, watching the failure he had expected, he returned with burning
cheeks and bitter words to Madonna Valentina.
</p>
<p>
She was dismayed at the tale he bore her, magnified to cover his own
shame. Francesco sat quietly drumming on the sill, his eyes upon the
moonlit garden below, and never by word or sign suggesting that he might
succeed where Romeo had failed. At last she turned to him.
</p>
<p>
“Could you——?” she began, and stopped, her eyes wandering back
to Gonzaga, loath to further wound a pride that was very sore already. On
the instant Francesco rose.
</p>
<p>
“I might try, Madonna,” he said quietly, “although Messer Gonzaga's
failure gives me little hope. And yet, it may be that he has taken the
keen edge from their assurance, and that, thus, an easier task awaits me.
I will try, Madonna.” And with that he went.
</p>
<p>
“He will succeed, Gonzaga,” she said, after he had gone. “He is a man of
war, and knows the words to which these fellows have no answer.”
</p>
<p>
“I wish him well of his errand,” sneered Gonzaga, his pretty face white
now with sullenness. “And I'll wager you he fails.”
</p>
<p>
But Valentina disdained the offer whose rashness was more than proven
when, at the end of some ten minutes, Francesco re-entered, as
imperturbable as when he went.
</p>
<p>
“They are quiet now, Madonna,” he announced.
</p>
<p>
She looked at him questioningly. “How did you accomplish it?” she
inquired.
</p>
<p>
“I had a little difficulty,” he said, “yet not over-much.” His eye roved
to Gonzaga, and he smiled. “Messer Gonzaga is too gentle with them. Too
true a courtier to avail himself of the brutality that is necessary when
we deal with brutes. You should not disdain to use your hands upon them,”
he admonished the fop in all seriousness, and without a trace of irony.
Nor did Gonzaga suspect any.
</p>
<p>
“I, soil my hands on that vermin?” he cried, in a voice of horror. “I
would die sooner.”
</p>
<p>
“Or else soon after,” squeaked Peppe, who had entered unobserved. “Patrona
mia, you should have seen this paladin,” he continued, coming forward.
“Why, Orlando was never half so furious as he when he stood there telling
them what manner of dirt they were, and bidding them to bed ere he drove
them with a broomstick.”
</p>
<p>
“And they went?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Not at first,” said the fool. “They had drunk enough to make them very
brave, and one who was very drunk was so brave as to assault him. But Ser
Francesco fells him with his hands, and calling Fortemani he bids him have
the man dropped in a dungeon to grow sober. Then, without waiting so much
as to see his orders carried out, he stalks away, assured that no more was
needed. Nor was it. They rose up, muttering a curse or two, maybe—yet
not so loud that it might reach the ears of Fortemani—and got
themselves to bed.”
</p>
<p>
She looked again at Francesco with admiring eyes, and spoke of his
audacity in commending terms. This he belittled; but she persisted.
</p>
<p>
“You have seen much warring, sir,” she half-asked, halfasserted.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes, Madonna.”
</p>
<p>
And here the writhing Gonzaga espied his opportunity.
</p>
<p>
“I do not call to mind your name, good sir,” he purred.
</p>
<p>
Francesco half-turned towards him, and for all that his mind was working
with a lightning quickness, his face was indolently calm. To disclose his
true identity he deemed unwise, for all connected with the Sforza brood
must earn mistrust at the hands of Valentina. It was known that the Count
of Aquila stood high in the favour of Gian Maria, and the news of his
sudden fall and banishment could not have reached Guidobaldo's niece, who
had fled before the knowledge of it was in Urbino. His name would awaken
suspicion, and any story of disgrace and banishment might be accounted the
very mask to fit a spy. There was this sleek, venomous Gonzaga, whom she
trusted and relied on, to whisper insidiously into her ear.
</p>
<p>
“My name,” he said serenely, “is, as I have told you. Francesco.”
</p>
<p>
“But you have another?” quoth Valentina, interest prompting the question.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes, but so closely allied to the first as to be scarce worth
reciting. I am Francesco Franceschi, a wandering knight.”
</p>
<p>
“And a true one, as I know.” She smiled at him so sweetly that Gonzaga was
enraged.
</p>
<p>
“I have not heard the name before,” he murmured, adding:
</p>
<p>
“Your father was——?”
</p>
<p>
“A gentleman of Tuscany.”
</p>
<p>
“But not at Court?” suggested Romeo.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes, at Court.”
</p>
<p>
Then with a sly insolence that brought the blood to Francesco's cheeks,
though to the chaste mind of Valentina's it meant nothing—“Ah!” he
rejoined. “But then, your mother——?”
</p>
<p>
“Was more discriminating, sir, than yours,” came the sharp answer, and
from the shadows the fool's smothered burst of laughter added gall to it.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga rose heavily, drawing a sharp breath, and the two men stabbed each
other with their eyes. Valentina, uncomprehending, looked from one to the
other.
</p>
<p>
“Sirs, sirs, what have you said?” she cried. “Why all this war of looks?”
</p>
<p>
“He is over-quick to take offence, Madonna, for an honest man,” was
Gonzaga's answer. “Like the snake in the grass, he is very ready with his
sting when we seek to disclose him.”
</p>
<p>
“For shame, Gonzaga,” she cried, now rising too. “What are you saying? Are
you turned witless? Come, sirs, since you are both my friends, be friends
each with the other.”
</p>
<p>
“Most perfect syllogism!” murmured the fool, unheeded.
</p>
<p>
“And you, Messer Francesco, forget his words. He means them not. He is
very hot of fancy, but sweet at heart, this good Gonzaga.”
</p>
<p>
On the instant the cloud lifted from Francesco's brow.
</p>
<p>
“Why, since you ask me,” he answered, inclining his head, “if he'll but
say he meant no malice by his words, I will confess as much for mine.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga, cooling, saw that haply he had gone too fast, and was the readier
to make amends. Yet in his bosom he nursed an added store of poison, a
breath of which escaped him as he was leaving Valentina, and after
Francesco had already gone:
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he muttered, “I mistrust that man.”
</p>
<p>
“Mistrust him? Why?” she asked, frowning despite her faith in the
magnificent Romeo.
</p>
<p>
“I know not why; but it is here. I feel it.” And with his hand he touched
the region of his heart. “Say that he is no spy, and call me a fool.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, I'll do both,” she laughed. Then more sternly, added: “Get you to
bed, Gonzaga. Your wits play you false. Peppino, call my ladies.”
</p>
<p>
In the moment that they were left alone he stepped close up to her,
spurred to madness by the jealous pangs he had that day endured. His face
gleamed white in the candlelight, and in his eyes there was a lurking
fierceness that gave her pause.
</p>
<p>
“Have your way, Madonna,” he said, in a concentrated voice; “but
to-morrow, whether we go hence, or whether we stay, he remains not with
us.”
</p>
<p>
She drew herself up to the full of her slender, graceful height, her eyes
on a level with Gonzaga's own.
</p>
<p>
“That,” she answered, “is as shall be decreed by me or him.”
</p>
<p>
He breathed sharply, and his voice hardened beyond belief in one usually
so gentle of tone and manner.
</p>
<p>
“Be warned, Madonna,” he muttered, coming so close that with the slightest
swaying she must touch him, “that if this nameless sbirro shall ever dare
to stand 'twixt you and me, by God and His saints, I'll kill him! Be
warned, I say.”
</p>
<p>
And the door re-opening at that moment, he fell back, bowed, and brushing
past the entering ladies, gained the threshold. Here someone tugged at the
prodigious foliated sleeves that spread beside him on the air like the
wings of a bird. He turned, and saw Peppino motioning him to lower his
head.
</p>
<p>
“A word in your ear, Magnificent. There was a man once went out for wool
that came back shorn.”
</p>
<p>
Angrily cuffing the fool aside, he was gone.
</p>
<p>
Valentina sank down upon her window-seat, in a turmoil of mingled anger
and amazement that paled her cheek and set her bosom heaving. It was the
first hint of his aims respecting her that Gonzaga had ever dared let
fall, and the condition in which it left her boded ill for his ultimate
success. Her anger he could have borne, had he beheld it, for he would
have laid it to the score of the tone he had taken with her. But her
incredulity that he could indeed have dared to mean that which her senses
told her he had meant, would have shown him how hopeless was his case and
how affronted, how outraged in soul she had been left by this moment of
passionate self-revealing. He would have understood then that in her eyes
he never had been, was never like to be, aught but a servant—and
one, hereafter, that, deeming presumptuous, she would keep at greater
distance.
</p>
<p>
But he, dreaming little of this as he paced his chamber, smiled at his
thoughts, which flowed with ready optimism. He had been a fool to give way
so soon, perhaps. The season was not yet; the fruit was not ripe enough
for plucking; still, what should it signify that he had given the tree a
slight premonitory shake? A little premature, perhaps, but it would
predispose the fruit to fall. He bethought him of her never-varying
kindness to him, her fond gentleness, and he lacked the wit to see that
this was no more than the natural sweetness that flowed from her as freely
as flows the perfume from the flower—because Nature has so fashioned
it, and not because Messer Gonzaga likes the smell. Lacking that wit, he
went in blissful confidence to bed, and smiled himself softly to his
sleep.
</p>
<p>
Away in the room under the Lion's Tower, the Count of Aquila, too, paced
his chamber ere he sought his couch, and in his pacing caught sight of
something that arrested his attention, and provoked a smile. In a corner,
among his harness which Lanciotto had piled there, his shield threw back
the light, displaying the Sforza lion quartered with the Aquila eagle.
</p>
<p>
“Did my sweet Gonzaga get a glimpse of that he would have no further need
to pry into my parentage,” he mused. And dragging the escutcheon from
amongst that heap of armour, he softly opened his window and flung it far
out, so that it dropped with a splash into the moat. That done, he went to
bed, and he, too, fell asleep with a smile upon his lips, and in his mind
a floating vision of Valentina. She needed a strong and ready hand to
guide her in this rebellion against the love-at-arms of Gian Maria, and
that hand he swore should be his, unless she scorned the offer of it. And
so, murmuring her name with a lingering fervour, of whose true
significance he was all-nescient, he sank to sleep, nor waked again until
a thundering at his door aroused him. And to his still dormant senses came
the voice of Lanciotto, laden with hurry and alarm.
</p>
<p>
“Awake, lord! Up, afoot! We are beset.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XVII. THE ENEMY
</h2>
<p>
The Count leapt from his bed, and hastened to throw wide the door to admit
his servant, who with excited face and voice bore him the news that Gian
Maria had reached Roccaleone in the night, and was now encamped in the
plain before the castle.
</p>
<p>
He was still at his tale when a page came with the message that Monna
Valentina besought Messer Francesco's presence in the great hall. He
dressed in all haste, and then, with Lanciotto at his heels, he descended
to answer her summons. As he crossed the second courtyard he beheld
Valentina's ladies grouped upon the chapel-steps in excited discussion of
this happening with Fra Domenico, who, in full canonicals, was waiting to
say the morning's Mass. He gave them a courteous “Good morrow,” and passed
on to the banqueting-hall, leaving Lanciotto without.
</p>
<p>
Here he found Valentina in conference with Fortemani. She was pacing the
great room as she talked; but, beyond that, there was no sign of
excitement in her bearing, and if any fear of the issue touched her heart
now that the moment for action was at hand, it was wondrously
well-suppressed. At sight of Francesco, a look that was partly dismay and
partly pleasure lighted her face. She greeted him with such a smile as she
would bestow in that hour upon none but a trusted friend. Then, with a
look of regret:
</p>
<p>
“I am beyond measure grieved, sir, that you should thus stand committed to
my fortunes. They will have told you that already we are besieged, and so
you will see how your fate is now bound up with ours. For I fear me there
is no road hence for you until Gian Maria raises this siege. The choice of
going or remaining is no longer mine. We must remain, and fight this
battle out.”
</p>
<p>
“At least, lady,” he answered readily, gaily almost, “I cannot share your
regrets for me. The act of yours may be a madness, Madonna, but it is the
bravest, sweetest madness that ever was, and I shall be proud to play my
part if you'll assign me one.”
</p>
<p>
“But, sir, I have no claim upon you!”
</p>
<p>
“The claim that every beset lady has upon a true knight,” he assured her.
“I could ask no better employment for these arms of mine than in your
defence against the Duke of Babbiano. I am at your service, and with a
glad heart, Monna Valentina. I have seen something of war, and you may
find me useful.”
</p>
<p>
“Make him Provost of Roccaleone, Madonna,” urged Fortemani, whose
gratitude to the man who had saved his life was blent with an admiring
appreciation of his powers, of which the bully had had such practical
experience.
</p>
<p>
“You hear what Ercole says?” she cried, turning to Francesco with a sudden
eagerness that showed how welcome that suggestion was.
</p>
<p>
“It were too great an honour,” he answered solemnly. “Yet, if you were to
place in my hands that trust, I would defend it to my last breath.”
</p>
<p>
And then, before she could answer him, Gonzaga entered by the side-door,
and frowned to see Francesco there before him. He was a trifle pale, he
carried his cloak on the right shoulder, instead of the left, and in
general his apparel was less meticulous than usual, and showed signs of
hasty donning. With a curt nod to the Count, and an utter ignoring of
Fortemani—who was scowling upon him in memory of yesterday—he
bowed low before Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“I am distraught, Madonna——” he began, when she cut him short.
</p>
<p>
“You have little cause to be. Have things fallen out other than we
expected?”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps not. Yet I had hoped that Gian Maria would not allow his humour
to carry him so far.”
</p>
<p>
“You had hoped that—after the message Messer Francesco brought us?”
And she looked him over with an eye of sudden understanding. “Yet you
expressed no such hope when you advised this flight to Roccaleone. You
were all for fighting then. A martial ardour consumed you. Whence this
change? Is it the imminence of danger that gives it a reality too grim for
your appetite?”
</p>
<p>
There was a scorn in her words that wounded him as she meant it should.
His last night's rashness had shown her the need to leave him in no false
opinion of the extent of her esteem, and, in addition, those last words of
his had shown him revealed in a new light, and she liked him the less by
it.
</p>
<p>
He inclined his head slightly, shame blazing red in his cheeks, that he
should be thus reproved before Fortemani and that upstart Francesco. That
Francesco was an upstart was no longer a matter of surmise with him. His
soul assured him of it.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he said, with some show of dignity, ignoring her gibes, “I came
to bear you news that a herald from Gian Maria craves a hearing. Shall I
hold parley with him for you?”
</p>
<p>
“You are too good,” she answered sweetly. “I will hear the man myself.”
</p>
<p>
He bowed submissively, and then his eye moved to Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“We might arrange with him for the safe-conduct of this gentleman,” he
suggested.
</p>
<p>
“There is no hope they would accord it,” she answered easily. “Nor could I
hope so if they would, for Messer Francesco has consented to fill the
office of Provost of Roccaleone. But we are keeping the messenger waiting.
Sirs, will you attend me to the ramparts?”
</p>
<p>
They bowed, and followed her, Gonzaga coming last, his tread heavy as a
drunkard's, his face white to the lips in the bitter rage with which he
saw himself superseded, and read his answer to the hot words that last
night he had whispered in Valentina's ear.
</p>
<p>
As they crossed the courtyard Francesco discharged the first act of his
new office in ordering a half-dozen men-at-arms to fall in behind them, to
the end that they might make some show upon the wall when they came to
parley with the herald.
</p>
<p>
They found a tall man on a tall, grey horse, whose polished helm shone
like silver in the morning sun, and whose haubergeon was almost hidden
under a crimson tabard ornamented with the Sforza lion. He bowed low as
Valentina appeared, followed by her escort, foremost in which stood the
Count of Aquila, his broad castor pulled down upon his brow, so that it
left his face in shadow.
</p>
<p>
“In the name of my master, the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza,
Duke of Babbiano, I call upon you to yield, lady, laying down your arms
and throwing open your gates.”
</p>
<p>
There followed a pause, at the end of which she asked him was that the sum
of his message, or was there something that he had forgotten. The herald,
bowing gracefully upon the arched neck of his caracoling palfrey, answered
her that what he had said was all he had been bidden say.
</p>
<p>
She turned with a bewildered and rather helpless look to those behind her.
She wished that the matter might be conducted with due dignity, and her
convent rearing left her in doubt of how this might best be achieved. She
addressed herself to Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“Will you give him his answer, my Lord Provost,” she said, with a smile,
and Francesco, stepping forward and leaning on a merlon of that embattled
wall, obeyed her.
</p>
<p>
“Sir Herald,” he said, in a gruff voice that was unlike his own, “will you
tell me since when has the Duke of Babbiano been at war with Urbino that
he should thus beset one of its fortresses, and demand the surrender of
it?”
</p>
<p>
“His Highness,” replied the herald, “is acting with the full sanction of
the Duke of Urbino in sending this message to the Lady Valentina della
Rovere.”
</p>
<p>
At that Valentina elbowed the Count aside, and forgetting her purpose of
conducting this affair with dignity, she let her woman's tongue deliver
the answer of her heart.
</p>
<p>
“This message, sir, and the presence here of your master, is but another
of the impertinences that I have suffered at his hands, and it is the
crowning one. Take you that message back to him, and tell him that when I
am instructed by what right he dares to send you upon such an errand, I
may render him an answer more germane with his challenge.”
</p>
<p>
“Would you prefer, Madonna, that his Highness should come himself to speak
with you?”
</p>
<p>
“There is nothing I should prefer less. Already has necessity compelled me
to have more to say to Gian Maria than I could have wished.” And with a
proud gesture she signified that the audience was at an end, and turned to
quit the wall.
</p>
<p>
She had a brief conference with Francesco, during which he consulted her
as to certain measures of defence to be taken, and made suggestions, to
all of which she agreed, her hopes rising fast to see that here, at least,
she had a man with knowledge of the work to which he had set his hand. It
lightened her heart and gave her a glad confidence to look on that
straight, martial figure, the hand so familiarly resting on the hilt of
the sword that seemed a part of him, and the eyes so calm; whilst when he
spoke of perils, they seemed to dwindle 'neath the disdain of them so
manifest in his tone.
</p>
<p>
With Fortemani at his heels he went about the execution of the measures he
had suggested, the bully following him now with the faithful wonder of a
dog for its master, realising that here, indeed, was a soldier of fortune
by comparison with whom the likes of himself were no better than
camp-followers. Confidence, too, did Ercole gather from that magnetism of
Francesco's unfaltering confidence; for he seemed to treat the matter as a
great jest, a comedy played for the Duke of Babbiano and at that same
Duke's expense. And just as Francesco's brisk tone breathed confidence
into Fortemani and Valentina, so, too, did it breathe it into Fortemani's
wretched followers. They grew zestful in the reflection of his zest, and
out of admiration for him they came to admire the business on which they
were engaged, and, finally, to take a pride in the part he assigned to
each of them. Within an hour there was such diligent bustle in Roccaleone,
such an air of grim gaiety and high spirits, that Valentina, observing it,
wondered what manner of magician was this she had raised to the command of
her fortress, who in so little time could work so marvellous a change in
the demeanour of her garrison.
</p>
<p>
Once only did Francesco's light-heartedness fail him, and this was when,
upon visiting the armoury, he found but one single cask of gunpowder
stored there. He turned to Fortemani to inquire where Gonzaga had bestowed
it, and Fortemani being as ignorant as himself upon the subject he went
forthwith in quest of Gonzaga. After ransacking the castle for him, he
found him pacing the vine-alley in the garden in animated conversation
with Valentina. At his approach the courtier's manner grew more subdued,
and his brows sullen.
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga,” Francesco hailed him. The courtier, surprised, looked
up. “Where have you hidden your store of powder?”
</p>
<p>
“Powder?” faltered Gonzaga, chilled by a sudden apprehension. “Is there
none in the armoury?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes—one small cask, enough to load a cannon once or twice, leaving
us nothing for our hand-guns. Is that your store?”
</p>
<p>
“If that is all there is in the armoury, that is all we have.”
</p>
<p>
Franceseo stood speechless, staring at him, a dull flush creeping into his
cheeks. In that moment of wrath he forgot their positions, and gave never
a thought to the smarting that must be with Gonzaga at the loss of rank he
had suffered since Valentina had appointed a provost.
</p>
<p>
“And are these your methods of fortifying Roccaleone?” he asked, in a
voice that cut like a knife. “You have laid in good store of wine, a flock
of sheep, and endless delicacies, sir,” he jeered. “Did you expect to pelt
the enemy with these, or did you reckon upon no enemy at all?”
</p>
<p>
Now this question touched so closely upon the truth, that it fired in
Gonzaga's bosom an anger that for the moment made a man of him. It was the
last breath that blew into a blaze the smouldering wrath he carried in his
soul.
</p>
<p>
His retort came fierce and hot. It was as unmeasured and contemptuous as
Francesco's erst recriminations, and it terminated in a challenge to the
Count to meet him on horse or foot, with sword or lance, and that as soon
as might be.
</p>
<p>
But Valentina intervened, and rebuked them both. Yet to Francesco her
rebuke was courteous, and ended in a prayer that he should do the best
with such resources as Roccaleone offered; to Gonzaga it was contemptuous
in the last degree, for Francesco's question—which Gonzaga had left
unanswered—coming at a moment when she was full of suspicions of
Gonzaga, and the ends he had sought to serve in advising her upon a course
which he had since shown himself so utterly unfitted to guide, had opened
wide her eyes. She remembered how strangely moved he had been upon
learning yesterday that Gian Maria was marching upon Roccaleone, and how
ardently he had advised flight from the fortress—he that had so
bravely talked of holding it against the Duke.
</p>
<p>
They were still wrangling there in a most unseemly fashion when a
trumpet-blast reached them from beyond the walls.
</p>
<p>
“The herald again,” she cried. “Come, Messer Francesco, let us hear what
fresh message he brings.”
</p>
<p>
She led Francesco away, leaving Gonzaga in the shadow of the vines,
reduced well-nigh to tears in the extremity of his mortification.
</p>
<p>
The herald was returned with the announcement that Valentina's answer left
Gian Maria no alternative but to await the arrival of Duke Guidobaldo, who
was then marching to join him. The Duke of Urbino's presence would be, he
thought, ample justification in her eyes for the challenge Gian Maria had
sent, and which he would send again when her uncle arrived to confirm it.
</p>
<p>
Thereafter, the remainder of the day was passed in peace at Roccaleone, if
we except the very hell of unrest that surged in the heart of Romeo
Gonzaga. He sat disregarded at supper that evening, save by Valentina's
ladies and the fool, who occasionally rallied him upon his glumness.
Valentina herself turned her whole attention to the Count, and whilst
Gonzaga—Gonzaga, the poet of burning fancy, the gay songster, the
acknowledged wit, the mirror of courtliness—was silent and
tongue-tied, this ruffling, upstart swashbuckler entertained them with a
sprightliness that won him every heart—always excepting that of
Romeo Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
Francesco made light of the siege in a manner that enlivened every soul
present with relief. He grew merry at the expense of Gian Maria, and made
it very plain that he could have found naught more captivating to his
warlike fancy than this business upon which an accident had embarked him.
He was as full of confidence for the issue as he was full of eager
anticipation of the fray itself.
</p>
<p>
Is it wonderful that—never having known any but artificial men; men
of court and ante-chamber; men of dainty ways and mincing, affected tricks
of speech; in short, such men as circumstance ordains shall surround the
great—Monna Valentina's eyes should open very wide, the better to
behold this new pattern of a man, who, whilst clearly a gentleman of high
degree, carried with him an air of the camp rather than the camerion, was
imbued by a spirit of chivalry and adventure, and ignored with a certain
lofty dignity, as if beneath his observance, the poses that she was wont
to see characterising the demeanour of the gentlemen of his Highness, her
uncle.
</p>
<p>
He was young, moreover, yet no longer callow; comely, yet with a strong
male comeliness; he had a pleasantly modulated voice, yet one that they
had heard swell into a compelling note of command; he had the most joyous,
careless laugh in all the world—such a laugh as endears a man to all
that hear it—and he indulged it without stint.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga sat glum and moody, his heart bursting with the resentment of the
mean and the incompetent for the man of brilliant parts. But the morrow
was to bring him worse.
</p>
<p>
The Duke of Urbino arrived next morning, and rode up to the moat in
person, attended only by a trumpeter, who, for the third time, wound a
note of challenge to the fortress.
</p>
<p>
As on the previous day, Valentina answered the summons, attended by
Francesco, Fortemani and Gonzaga—the latter uninvited yet not
denied, and following sullenly in her train, in a last, despairing attempt
to assert himself one of her captains.
</p>
<p>
Francesco had put on his harness, and came arrayed from head to foot in
resplendent steel, to do worthy honour to the occasion. A bunch of plumes
nodded in his helm, and for all that his beaver was open, yet the shadows
of the head-piece afforded at the distance sufficient concealment to his
features.
</p>
<p>
The sight of her uncle left Valentina unmoved. Well-beloved though he was
of his people, between himself and his niece he had made no effort ever to
establish relations of affection. Less than ever did he now seek to
prevail by the voice of kinship. He came in the panoply of war, as a
prince to a rebel subject, and in precisely such a tone did he greet her.
</p>
<p>
“Monna Valentina,” he said—seeming entirely to overlook the
circumstance that she was his kinswoman—“deeply though this
rebellion grieves me, you are not to think that your sex shall gain you
any privileges or any clemency. We will treat you precisely as we would
any other rebel subject who acted as you have done.”
</p>
<p>
“Highness,” she replied, “I solicit no privilege beyond that to which my
sex gives me the absolute right, and which has no concern with war and
arms. I allude to the privilege of disposing of myself, my hand and heart,
as it shall please me. Until you come to recognise that I am a woman
endowed with a woman's nature, and until, having realised it, you are
prepared to submit to it, and pass me your princely word to urge the Duke
of Babbiano's suit no further with me, here will I stay in spite of you,
your men-at-arms, and your paltry ally, Gian Maria, who imagines that love
may be made successfully in armour, and that a way to a woman's heart is
to be opened with cannon-shot.”
</p>
<p>
“I think we shall bring you to a more subjective and dutiful frame of
mind, Madonna,” was the grim answer.
</p>
<p>
“Dutiful to whom?”
</p>
<p>
“To the State, a princess of which you have had the honour to be born.”
</p>
<p>
“And what of my duty to myself, to my heart, and to my womanhood? Is no
account to be taken of that?”
</p>
<p>
“These are matters, Madonna, that are not to be discussed in shouts from
the walls of a castle—nor, indeed, do I wish to discuss them
anywhere. I am here to summon you to surrender. If you resist us, you do
so at your peril.”
</p>
<p>
“Then at my peril I will resist you—gladly. I defy you. Do your
worst against me, disgrace your manhood and the very name of chivalry by
whatsoever violence may occur to you, yet I promise you that Valentina
della Rovere never shall become the wife of his Highness of Babbiano.”
</p>
<p>
“You refuse to open your gates?” he returned, in a voice that shook with
anger.
</p>
<p>
“Utterly and finally.”
</p>
<p>
“And you think to persist in this?”
</p>
<p>
“As long as I have life.”
</p>
<p>
The Prince laughed sardonically.
</p>
<p>
“I wash my hands of the affair and of its consequences,” he answered
grimly. “I leave it in the care of your future husband, Gian Maria Sforza,
and if, in his very natural eagerness for the nuptials, he uses your
castle roughly, the blame of it must rest with you. But what he does, he
does with my full sanction, and I have come hither to advise you of it
since you appeared in doubt. I beg that you will remain there for a few
moments, to hear what his Highness himself may have to say. I trust his
eloquence may prove more persuasive.”
</p>
<p>
He saluted ceremoniously, and, wheeling his horse about, he rode away.
Valentina would have withdrawn, but Francesco urged her to remain, and
await the Duke of Babbiano's coming. And so they paced the battlements,
Valentina in earnest talk with Francesco, Gonzaga following in moody
silence with Fortemani, and devouring them with his eyes.
</p>
<p>
From their eminence they surveyed the bustling camp in the plain, where
tents, green, brown, and white, were being hastily erected by
half-stripped soldiers. The little army altogether, may have numbered a
hundred men, which, in his vainglory, Gian Maria accounted all that would
be needed to reduce Roccaleone. But the most formidable portion of his
forces rolled into the field even as they watched. It was heralded by a
hoarse groaning of the wheels of bullock-carts to the number of ten, on
each of which was borne a cannon. Other carts followed with ammunition and
victuals for the men encamped.
</p>
<p>
They looked on with interest at the busy scene that was toward, and as
they watched they saw Guidobaldo ride into the heart of the camp, and
dismount. Then from out of a tent more roomy and imposing than the rest
advanced the short, stout figure of Gian Maria, not to be recognised at
that distance save by the keen eyes of Francesco that were familiar with
his shape.
</p>
<p>
A groom held a horse for him and assisted him to mount, and then, attended
by the same trumpeter that had escorted Guidobaldo, he rode forward
towards the castle. At the edge of the moat he halted, and at sight of
Valentina and her company, he doffed his feathered hat, and bowed his
straw-coloured head.
</p>
<p>
“Monna Valentina,” he called, and when she stepped forth in answer, he
raised his little, cruel eyes in a malicious glance and showed the round
moon of his white face to be whiter even, than its wont—a pallor
atrabilious and almost green.
</p>
<p>
“I am grieved that his Highness, your uncle, should not have prevailed
with you. Where he has failed, I may have little hope of succeeding—by
the persuasion of words. Yet I would beg you to allow me to have speech of
your captain, whoever he may be.”
</p>
<p>
“My captains are here in attendance,” she answered tranquilly.
</p>
<p>
“So! You have a plurality of them; to command—how many men?”
</p>
<p>
“Enough,” roared Francesco, interposing, his voice sounding hollow from
his helmet, “to blow you and your woman besieging scullions to perdition.”
</p>
<p>
The Duke stirred on his horse, and peered up at the speaker. But there was
too little of his face visible for recognition, whilst his voice was
altered and his figure dissembled in its steel casing.
</p>
<p>
“Who are you, rogue?” he asked.
</p>
<p>
“Rogue in your teeth, be you twenty times a Duke,” returned the other, at
which Valentina laughed outright.
</p>
<p>
Never from the day when he had uttered his first wail had his Highness of
Babbiano heard words of such import from the lips of living man. A purple
flush mottled his cheeks at the indignity of it.
</p>
<p>
“Attend to me, knave!” he bellowed. “Whatever betide the rest of this
misguided garrison when ultimately it falls into my hands, for you I can
promise a rope and a cross-beam.”
</p>
<p>
“Bah!” sneered the knight. “First catch your bird. Be none so sure that
Roccaleone ever will fall into your hands. While I live you do not enter
here, and my life, Highness, is for me a precious thing, which I'll not
part with lightly.”
</p>
<p>
Valentina's eyes were mirthless now as she turned them upon that gleaming,
martial figure standing so proudly at her side, and seeming so
well-attuned to the proud defiance he hurled at the princely bully below.
</p>
<p>
“Hush, sir!” she murmured. “Do not anger him further.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye,” groaned Gonzaga, “in God's name say no more, or you'll undo us
hopelessly.”
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” said the Duke, without further heeding Francesco, “I give you
twenty-four hours in which to resolve upon your action. Yonder you see
them bringing the cannon into camp. When you wake to-morrow you shall find
those guns trained upon your walls. Meanwhile, enough said. May I speak a
word with Messer Gonzaga ere I depart.”
</p>
<p>
“So that you depart, you may say a word to whom you will,” she answered
contemptuously. And, turning aside, she motioned Gonzaga to the crenel she
abandoned.
</p>
<p>
“I'll swear that mincing jester is trembling already with the fear of what
is to come,” bawled the Duke, “and perhaps fear will show him the way to
reason. Messer Gonzaga!” he called, raising his voice. “As I believe the
men of Roccaleone are in your service, I call upon you to bid them throw
down that drawbridge, and in the name of Guidobaldo as well as my own, I
promise them free pardon and no hurt—saving only that rascal at your
side. But if your knaves resist me, I promise you that when I shall have
dashed Roccaleone stone from stone, not a man of you all will I spare.”
</p>
<p>
Shaking like an aspen Gonzaga stood there, his voice palsied and making no
reply, whereupon Francesco leant forward again.
</p>
<p>
“We have heard your terms,” he answered, “and we are not like to heed
them. Waste not the day in vain threats.”
</p>
<p>
“Sir, my terms were not for you. I know you not; I addressed you not, nor
will I suffer myself to be addressed by you.”
</p>
<p>
“Linger there another moment,” answered the vibrating voice of the knight,
“and you will find yourself addressed with a volley of arquebuse-shot.
Olá, there!” he commanded, turning and addressing an imaginary body of men
on the lower ramparts of the garden, to his left. “Arquebusiers to the
postern! Blow your matches! Make ready! Now, my Lord Duke, will you draw
off, or must we blow you off?”
</p>
<p>
The Duke's reply took the form of a bunch of blasphemous threats of how he
would serve his interlocutor when he came to set hands on him.
</p>
<p>
“Present arms!” roared the knight to his imaginary arquebusiers,
whereupon, without another word, the Duke turned his horse and rode off in
disgraceful haste, his trumpeter following hot upon his heels, pursued by
a derisive burst of laughter from Francesco.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XVIII. TREACHERY
</h2>
<p>
“Sir,” gulped Gonzaga, as they were descending from the battlements, “you
will end by having us all hanged. Was that a way to address a prince?”
</p>
<p>
Valentina frowned that he should dare rebuke her knight. But Francesco
only laughed.
</p>
<p>
“By St. Paul! How would you have had me address him?” he inquired. “Would
you have had me use cajolery with him—the lout? Would you have had
me plead mercy from him, and beg him, in honeyed words, to be patient with
a wilful lady? Let be, Messer Gonzaga, we shall weather it yet, never
doubt it.”
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga's courage seems of a quality that wanes as the need for it
increases,” said Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“You are confounding courage, Madonna, with foolhardy recklessness,” the
courtier returned. “You may learn it to your undoing.”
</p>
<p>
That Gonzaga was not the only one entertaining this opinion they were soon
to learn, for, as they reached the courtyard a burly, black-browed
ruffian, Cappoccio by name, thrust himself in their path.
</p>
<p>
“A word with you, Messer Gonzaga, and you, Ser Ercole.” His attitude was
full of truculent insolence, and all paused, Francesco and Valentina
turning from him to the two men whom he addressed, and waiting to hear
what he might have to say to them. “When I accepted service under you, I
was given to understand that I was entering a business that should entail
little risk to my skin. I was told that probably there would be no
fighting, and that if there were, it would be no more than a brush with
the Duke's men. So, too, did you assure my comrades.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you indeed?” quoth Valentina, intervening, and addressing herself to
Fortemani, to whom Cappoccio's words had been directed.
</p>
<p>
“I did, Madonna,” answered Ercole. “But I had Messer Gonzaga's word for
it.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you,” she continued, turning to Gonzaga, “permit their engagement on
that understanding?”
</p>
<p>
“On some such understanding, yes, Madonna,” he was forced to confess.
</p>
<p>
She looked at him a moment in amazement. Then:
</p>
<p>
“Msser Gonzaga,” she said at length, “I think that I begin to know you.”
</p>
<p>
But Cappoccio, who was nowise interested in the extent of Valentina's
knowledge of the man, broke in impetuously:
</p>
<p>
“Now we have heard what has passed between this new Provost here and his
Highness of Babbiano. We have heard the terms that were offered, and his
rejection of them, and I am come to tell you, Ser Ercole, and you, Messer
Gonzaga, that I for one will not remain here to be hanged when Roccaleone
shall fall into the hands of Gian Maria. And there are others of my
comrades who are of the same mind.”
</p>
<p>
Valentina looked at the rugged, determined features of the man, and fear
for the first time stole into her heart and was reflected on her
countenance. She was half-turning to Gonzaga, to vent upon him some of the
bitterness of her humour—for him she accounted to blame—when
once again Francesco came to the rescue.
</p>
<p>
“Now, shame on you, Cappoccio, for a paltry hind! Are these words for the
ears of a besieged and sorely harassed lady, craven?”
</p>
<p>
“I am no craven,” the man answered hoarsely, his face flushing under the
whip of Francesco's scorn. “Out in the open I will take my chances, and
fight in any cause that pays me. But this is not my trade—this
waiting for the death of a trapped rat.”
</p>
<p>
Francesco met his eyes steadily for a moment, then glanced at the other
men, to the number of a half-score or so—all, in fact, whom the
duties he had apportioned them did not hold elsewhere. They hung in the
rear of Cappoccio, all ears for what was being said, and their
countenances plainly showing how their feelings were in sympathy with
their spokesman.
</p>
<p>
“And you a soldier, Cappoccio?” sneered Francesco. “Shall I tell you in
what Fortemani was wrong when he enlisted you? He was wrong in not hiring
you for scullion duty in the castle kitchen.”
</p>
<p>
“Sir Knight!”
</p>
<p>
“Bah! Do you raise your voice to me? Do you think I am of your kind,
animal, to be affrighted by sounds—however hideous?”
</p>
<p>
“I am not affrighted by sounds.”
</p>
<p>
“Are you not? Why, then, all this ado about a bunch of empty threats cast
at us by the Duke of Babbiano? If you were indeed the soldier you would
have us think you, would you come here and say, 'I will not die this way,
or that'? Confess yourself a boaster when you tell us that you are ready
to die in the open.”
</p>
<p>
“Nay! That am I not.”
</p>
<p>
“Then, if you are ready to die out there, why not in here? Shall it
signify aught to him that dies where he gets his dying done? But reassure
yourself, you woman,” he added, with a laugh, and in a voice loud enough
to be heard by the others, “you are not going to die—neither here,
nor there.”
</p>
<p>
“When Roccaleone capitulates——”
</p>
<p>
“It will not capitulate,” thundered Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then—when it is taken.”
</p>
<p>
“Nor will it be taken,” the Provost insisted, with an assurance that
carried conviction. “If Gian Maria had time unlimited at his command, he
might starve us into submission. But he has not. An enemy is menacing his
own frontiers, and in a few days—a week, at most—he will be
forced to get him hence to defend his crown.”
</p>
<p>
“The greater reason for him to use stern measures and bombard us as he
threatens,” answered Cappoccio shrewdly but rather in the tone of a man
who expects to have his argument disproved. And Francesco, if he could not
disprove it, could at least contradict it.
</p>
<p>
“Believe it not,” he cried, with a scornful laugh. “I tell you that Gian
Maria will never dare so much. And if he did, are these walls that will
crumble at a few cannon-shots? Assault he might attempt; but I need not
tell a soldier that twenty men who are stout and resolute, as I will
believe you are for all your craven words, could hold so strong a place as
this against the assault of twenty times the men the Duke has with him.
And for the rest, if you think I tell you more than I believe myself, I
ask you to remember how I am included in Gian Maria's threat. I am but a
soldier like you, and such risks as are yours are mine as well. Do you see
any sign of faltering in me, any sign of doubting the issue, or any fear
of a rope that shall touch me no more than it shall touch you? There,
Cappoccio! A less merciful provost would have hanged you for your words—for
they reek of sedition. Yet I have stood and argued with you, because I
cannot spare a brave man such as you will prove yourself. Let us hear no
more of your doubtings. They are unworthy. Be brave and resolute, and you
shall find yourself well rewarded when the baffled Duke shall be forced to
raise this siege.”
</p>
<p>
He turned without waiting for the reply of Cappoccio—who stood
crestfallen, his cheeks reddened by shame of his threat to get him hence—and
conducted Valentina calmly across the yard and up the steps of the hall.
</p>
<p>
It was his way never to show a doubt that his orders would be obeyed, yet
on this occasion scarce had the door of the hall closed after them when he
turned sharply to the following Ercole.
</p>
<p>
“Get you an arquebuse,” he said quickly, “and take my man Lanciotto, with
you. Should those dogs still prove mutinous, fire into any that attempt
the gates—fire to kill—and send me word. But above all,
Ercole, do not let them see you or suspect your presence; that were to
undermine such effect as my words may have produced.”
</p>
<p>
From out of a woefully pale face Valentina raised her brown eyes to his,
in a look that was as a stab to the observing Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
“I needed a man here,” she said, “and I think that Heaven it must have
been that sent you to my aid. But do you think,” she asked, and with her
eyes she closely scanned his face for any sign of doubt, “that they are
pacified?”
</p>
<p>
“I am assured of it, Madonna. Come, there are signs of tears in your eyes,
and—by my soul!—there is naught to weep at.”
</p>
<p>
“I am but a woman, after all,” she smiled up at him, “and so, subject to a
woman's weakness. It seemed as if the end were indeed come just now. It
had come, but for you. If they should mutiny——”
</p>
<p>
“They shall not, while I am here,” he answered, with a cheering
confidence. And she, full of faith in this true knight of hers, went to
seek her ladies, and to soothe in her turn any alarm to which they might
have fallen a prey.
</p>
<p>
Francesco went to disarm, and Gonzaga to take the air upon the ramparts,
his heart a very bag of gall. His hatred for the interloper was as nothing
now to his rage against Valentina, a rage that had its birth in a
wondering uncomprehension of how she should prefer that coarse,
swashbuckling bully to himself, the peerless Gonzaga. And as he walked
there, under the noontide sky, the memory of Francesco's assurance that
the men would not mutiny returned to him, and he caught himself most
ardently desiring that they might, if only to bear it home to Valentina
how misplaced was her trust, how foolish her belief in that loud boaster.
He thought next—and with increasing bitterness—of his own
brave schemes, of his love for Valentina, and of how assured he had been
that his affections were returned, before this ruffler came amongst them.
He laughed in bitter scorn as the thought returned to her preferring
Francesco to himself. Well, it might be so now—now that the times
were warlike, and this Francesco was such a man as shone at his best in
them. But what manner of companion would this sbirro make in times of
peace? Had he the wit, the grace, the beauty even that was Gonzaga's?
Circumstance, it seemed to him, was here to blame, and he roundly cursed
that same Circumstance. In other surroundings, he was assured that she
would not have cast an eye upon Francesco whilst he, himself, was by; and
if he recalled their first meeting at Acquasparta, it was again to curse
Circumstance for having placed the knight in such case as to appeal to the
tenderness that is a part of woman's nature.
</p>
<p>
He reflected—assured that he was right—that if Francesco had
not come to Roccaleone, he might by now have been wed to Valentina; and
once wed, he could throw down the bridge and march out of Roccaleone,
assured that Gian Maria would not care to espouse his widow, and no less
assured that Guidobaldo—who was at heart a kind and clement prince—would
be content to let be what was accomplished, since there would be naught
gained beyond his niece's widowhood in hanging Gonzaga. It was the
specious argument that had lured him upon this rash enterprise, the hopes
that he was confident would have fructified but for the interloping of
Francesco.
</p>
<p>
He stood looking down at the tented plain, with black rage and black
despair blotting the beauty from the sunlight of that May morning, and
then it came to him that since there was naught to be hoped from his old
plans, might it not be wise to turn his attention to new ones that would,
at least, save him from hanging? For he was assured that whatever might
betide the others, his own fate was sealed, whether Roccaleone fell or
not. It would be remembered against him that the affair was of his
instigating, and from neither Gian Maria nor Guidobaldo might he look for
mercy.
</p>
<p>
And now the thought of extricating himself from his desperate peril turned
him cold by its suddenness. He stood very still a moment; then looked
about him as though he feared that some watching spy might read on him the
ugly intention that of a sudden had leapt to life in his heart. Swiftly it
spread, and took more definite shape, the reflection of it showing now
upon his smooth, handsome face, and disfiguring it beyond belief. He drew
away from the wall, and took a turn or two upon the ramparts, one hand
behind him, the other raised to support his drooping chin. Thus he brooded
for a little while. Then, with another of his furtive glances, he turned
to the north-western tower, and entered the armoury. There he rummaged
until he had found the pen, ink and paper that he sought, and with the
door wide open—the better that he might hear the sound of
approaching steps—he set himself feverishly to write. It was soon
done, and he stood up, waving the sheet to dry the ink. Then he looked it
over again, and this is what he had written:
</p>
<p>
“I have it in my power to stir the garrison to mutiny and to throw open
the gates of Roccaleone. Thus shall the castle fall immediately into your
hands, and you shall have a proof of how little I am in sympathy with this
rebellion of Monna Valentina's. What terms do you offer me if I accomplish
this? Answer me now, and by the same means as I am employing, but dispatch
not your answer if I show myself upon the ramparts.
</p>
<p>
“ROMEO GONZAGA.”
</p>
<p>
He folded the paper, and on the back he wrote the superscription—“To
the High and Mighty Duke of Babbiano.” Then opening a large chest that
stood against the wall, he rummaged a moment, and at last withdrew an
arbalest quarrel. About the body of this he tied his note. Next, from the
wall he took down a cross-bow, and from a corner a moulinet for winding
it. With his foot in the stirrup he made the cord taut and set the shaft
in position.
</p>
<p>
And now he closed the door, and, going to the window, which was little
more than an arrow-slit, he shouldered his arbalest. He took careful aim
in the direction of the ducal tent, and loosed the quarrel. He watched its
light, and it almost thrilled him with pride in his archery to see it
strike the tent at which he had aimed, and set the canvas shuddering.
</p>
<p>
In a moment there was a commotion. Men ran to the spot, others emerged
from the tent, and amongst the latter Gonzaga recognised the figures of
Gian Maria and Guidobaldo.
</p>
<p>
The bolt was delivered to the Duke of Babbiano, who, with an upward glance
at the ramparts, vanished into the tent once more.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga moved from his eerie, and set wide the door of the tower, so that
his eyes could range the whole of the sun-bathed ramparts. Returning to
his window, he waited impatiently for the answer. Nor was his impatience
to endure long. At the end of some ten minutes Gian Maria reappeared, and,
summoning an archer to his side, he delivered him something and made a
motion of his hand towards Roccaleone. Gonzaga moved to the door, and
stood listening breathlessly. At the least sign of an approach, he would
have shown himself, and thus, by the provision made in his letter have
cautioned the archer against shooting his bolt. But all was quiet, and so
Gonzaga remained where he was until something flashed like a bird across
his vision, struck sharply against the posterior wall, and fell with a
tinkle on the broad stones of the rampart. A moment later the answer from
Gian Maria was in his hands.
</p>
<p>
He swiftly unwound it from the shaft that had brought it, and dropped the
bolt into a corner. Then unfolding the letter, he read it, leaning against
one of the merlons of the wall.
</p>
<p>
“If you can devise a means to deliver Roccaleone at once into my hands you
shall earn my gratitude, full pardon for your share in Monna Valentina's
rebellion, and the sum of a thousand gold florins.
</p>
<p>
“GIAN MARIA.”
</p>
<p>
As he read, a light of joy leapt to his eyes. Gian Maria's terms were very
generous. He would accept them, and Valentina should realise when too late
upon what manner of broken reed she leaned in relying upon Messer
Francesco. Would he save her now, as he so loudly boasted? Would there
indeed be no mutiny, as he so confidently prophesied? Gonzaga chuckled
evilly to himself. She should learn her lesson, and when she was Gian
Maria's wife, she might perhaps repent her of her treatment of Romeo
Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
He laughed softly to himself. Then suddenly he turned cold, and he felt
his skin roughening. A stealthy step sounded behind him.
</p>
<p>
He crumpled the Duke's letter in his hand, and in the alarm of the moment,
he dropped it over the wall. Seeking vainly to compose the features that a
chilling fear had now disturbed, he turned to see who came.
</p>
<p>
Behind him stood Peppe, his solemn eyes bent with uncanny intentness upon
Gonzaga's face.
</p>
<p>
“You were seeking me?” quoth Romeo, and the quaver in his voice sorted ill
with his arrogance.
</p>
<p>
The fool made him a grotesque bow.
</p>
<p>
“Monna Valentina desires that you attend her in the garden, Illustrious.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XIX. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT
</h2>
<p>
Peppe's quick eyes had seen Gonzaga crumple and drop the paper, no less
than he had observed the courtier's startled face, and his suspicions had
been aroused. He was by nature prying, and experience had taught him that
the things men seek to conceal are usually the very things it imports most
to have knowledge of. So when Gonzaga had gone, in obedience to
Valentina's summons, the jester peered carefully over the battlements.
</p>
<p>
At first he saw nothing, and he was concluding with disappointment that
the thing Gonzaga had cast from him was lost in the torrential waters of
the moat. But presently, lodged on a jutting stone, above the foaming
stream into which it would seem that a miracle had prevented it from
falling, he espied a ball of crumpled paper. He observed with satisfaction
that it lay some ten feet immediately below the postern-gate by the
drawbridge.
</p>
<p>
Secretly, for it was not Peppy's way to take men into his confidence where
it might be avoided, he got himself a coil of rope. Having descended and
quietly opened the postern, he made one end fast and lowered the other to
the water with extreme care, lest he should dislodge, and so lose, that
paper.
</p>
<p>
Assuring himself again that he was unobserved, he went down, hand over
hand, like a monkey, his feet against the rough-hewn granite of the wall.
Then, with a little swinging of the rope, he brought himself nearer that
crumpled ball, his legs now dangling in the angry water, and by a mighty
stretch that all but precipitated him into the torrent, he seized the
paper and transferred it to his teeth. Then hand over hand again, and with
a frantic haste, for he feared observation not only from the castle
sentries but also from the watchers in the besieger's camp, he climbed
back to the postern, exulting in that he had gone unobserved, and
contemptuous for the vigilance of those that should have observed him.
</p>
<p>
Softly he closed the wicket, locked it and shot home the bolts at top and
base, and went to replace the key on its nail in the guard-room, which he
found untenanted. Next, with that mysterious letter in his hand, he
scampered off across the courtyard and through the porch leading to the
domestic quarters, nor paused until he had gained the kitchen, where Fra
Domenico was roasting the quarter of a lamb that he had that morning
butchered. For now that the siege was established, there was no more fish
from the brook, nor hares and ortolans from the country-side.
</p>
<p>
The friar cursed the fool roundly, as was his wont upon every occasion,
for he was none so holy that he disdained the milder forms of objurgatory
oaths. But Peppe for once had no vicious answer ready, a matter that led
the Dominican to ask him was he ill.
</p>
<p>
Never heeding him, the fool unfolded and smoothed the crumpled paper in a
corner by the fire. He read it and whistled, then stuffed it into the
bosom of his absurd tunic.
</p>
<p>
“What ails you?” quoth the friar. “What have you there?”
</p>
<p>
“A recipe for a dish of friar's brains. A most rare delicacy, and rendered
costly by virtue of the scarcity of the ingredients.” And with that answer
Peppe was gone, leaving the monk with an ugly look in his eyes, and an
unuttered imprecation on his tongue.
</p>
<p>
Straight to the Count of Aquila went the fool with his letter. Francesco
read it, and questioned him closely as to what he knew of the manner in
which it had come into Gonzaga's possession. For the rest, those lines,
far from causing him the uneasiness Peppe expected, seemed a source of
satisfaction and assurance to him.
</p>
<p>
“He offers a thousand gold florins,” he muttered, “in addition to
Gonzaga's liberty and advancement. Why, then, I have said no more than was
true when I assured the men that Gian Maria was but idly threatening us
with bombardment. Keep this matter secret, Peppe.”
</p>
<p>
“But you will watch Messer Gonzaga?” quoth the fool.
</p>
<p>
“Watch him? Why, where is the need? You do not imagine him so vile that
this offer could tempt him?”
</p>
<p>
Peppe looked up, his great, whimsical face screwed into an expression of
cunning doubt.
</p>
<p>
“You do not think, lord, that he invited it?”
</p>
<p>
“Now, shame on you for that thought. Messer Gonzaga may be an idle
lute-thrummer, a poor-spirited coward; but a traitor——! And to
betray Monna Valentina! No, no.”
</p>
<p>
But the fool was far from reassured. He had had the longer acquaintance of
Messer Gonzaga, and his shrewd eyes had long since taken the man's exact
measure. Let Francesco scorn the notion of betrayal at Romeo's hands;
Peppe would dog him like a shadow. This he did for the remainder of that
day, clinging to Gonzaga as if he loved him dearly, and furtively
observing the man's demeanour. Yet he saw nothing to confirm his
suspicions beyond a certain preoccupied moodiness on the courtier's part.
</p>
<p>
That night, as they supped, Gonzaga pleaded toothache, and with
Valentina's leave he quitted the table at the very outset of the meal.
Peppe rose to follow him, but as he reached the door, his natural enemy,
the friar—ever anxious to thwart him where he could—caught him
by the nape of the neck, and flung him unceremoniously back into the room.
</p>
<p>
“Have you a toothache too, good-for-naught?” quoth the frate. “Stay you
here and help me to wait upon the company.”
</p>
<p>
“Let me go, good Fra Domenico,” the fool whispered, in a voice so earnest
that the monk left his way clear. But Valentina's voice now bade him stay
with them, and so his opportunity was lost.
</p>
<p>
He moved about the room a very dispirited, moody fool with no quip for
anyone, for his thoughts were all on Gonzaga and the treason that he was
sure he was hatching. Yet faithful to Francesco, who sat all unconcerned,
and not wishing to alarm Valentina, he choked back the warning that rose
to his lips, seeking to convince himself that his fears sprang perhaps
from an excess of suspicion. Had he known how well-founded indeed they
were he might have practised less self-restraint.
</p>
<p>
For whilst he moved sullenly about the room, assisting Fra Domenico with
the dishes and platters, Gonzaga paced the ramparts beside Cappoccio, who
was on sentry duty on the north wall.
</p>
<p>
His business called for no great diplomacy, nor did Gonzaga employ much.
He bluntly told Cappoccio that he and his comrades had allowed Messer
Francesco's glib tongue to befool them that morning, and that the
assurances Francesco had given them were not worthy of an intelligent
man's consideration.
</p>
<p>
“I tell you, Cappoccio,” he ended, “that to remain here and protract this
hopeless resistance will cost you your life at the unsavoury hands of the
hangman. You see I am frank with you.”
</p>
<p>
Now for all that what Gonzaga told him might sort excellently well with
the ideas he had himself entertained, Cappoccio was of a suspicious
nature, and his suspicions whispered to him now that Gonzaga was actuated
by some purpose he could not gauge.
</p>
<p>
He stood still, and leaning with both hands upon his partisan, he sought
to make out the courtier's features in the dim light of the rising moon.
</p>
<p>
“Do you mean,” he asked, and in his voice sounded the surprise with which
Gonzaga's odd speech had filled him, “that we are foolish to have listened
to Messer Francesco, and that we should be better advised to march out of
Roccaleone?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; that is what I mean.”
</p>
<p>
“But why,” he insisted, his surprise increasing, “do you urge such a
course upon us?”
</p>
<p>
“Because, Cappoccio,” was the plausible reply, “like yourselves, I was
lured into this business by insidious misrepresentations. The assurances
that I gave Fortemani, and with which he enrolled you into his service,
were those that had been given to me. I did not bargain with such a death
as awaits us here, and I frankly tell you that I have no stomach for it.”
</p>
<p>
“I begin to understand,” murmured Cappoccio, sagely wagging his head, and
there was a shrewd insolence in his tone and manner. “When we leave
Roccaleone you come with us?”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga nodded.
</p>
<p>
“But why do you not say these things to Fortemani?” questioned Cappoccio,
still doubting.
</p>
<p>
“Fortemani!” echoed Gonzaga. “By the Host, no! The man is bewitched by
that plausible rogue, Francesco. Far from resenting the fellow's treatment
of him, he follows and obeys his every word, like the mean-spirited dog
that he is.”
</p>
<p>
Again Cappoccio sought to scrutinise Gonzaga's face. But the light was
indifferent.
</p>
<p>
“Are you dealing with me fairly?” he asked. “Or does some deeper purpose
lie under your wish that we should rebel against the lady?”
</p>
<p>
“My friend,” answered Gonzaga, “do you but wait until Gian Maria's herald
comes for his answer in the morning. Then you will learn again the terms
on which your lives are offered you. Do nothing until then. But when you
hear yourselves threatened with the rope and the wheel, bethink you of
what course you will be best advised in pursuing. You ask me what purpose
inspires me. I have already told you—for I am as open as the
daylight with you—that I am inspired by the purpose of saving my own
neck. Is not that purpose enough?”
</p>
<p>
A laugh of such understanding as would have set a better man on fire with
indignation was the answer he received.
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes, it is more than enough. To-morrow, then, my comrades and I
march out of Roccaleone. Count upon that.”
</p>
<p>
“But do not accept my word. Wait until the herald comes again. Do nothing
until you have heard the terms he brings.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, no, assuredly not.”
</p>
<p>
“And do not let it transpire among your fellows that it is I who have
suggested this.”
</p>
<p>
“Why no. I'll keep your secret,” laughed the bravo offensively,
shouldering his partisan and resuming his sentinel's pacing.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga sought his bed. A fierce joy consumed him at having so
consummately planned Valentina's ruin, yet he did not wish to face her
again that night.
</p>
<p>
But when on the morrow the herald wound his horn again beneath the castle
walls, Gonzaga was prominent in the little group that attended Monna
Valentina. The Count of Aquila was superintending the work to which he had
set a half-score of men. With a great show, and as much noise as possible—by
which Francesco intended that the herald should be impressed—they
were rolling forward four small culverins and some three cannons of larger
calibre, and planting them so that they made a menacing show in the
crenels of the parapet.
</p>
<p>
Whilst watching and directing the men, he kept his ears open for the
message, and he heard the herald again recite the terms on which the
garrison might surrender, and again the threat to hang every man from the
castle-walls if they compelled him to reduce them by force of arms. He
brought his message to an end by announcing that in his extreme clemency
Gian Maria accorded them another half-hour's grace in which to resolve
themselves upon their course. Should the end of that time still find them
obstinate, the bombardment would commence. Such was the message that in
another of his arrow-borne letters Gonzaga had suggested Gian Maria should
send.
</p>
<p>
It was Francesco who stepped forward to reply. He had been stooping over
one of the guns, as if to assure himself of the accuracy of its aim, and
as he rose he pronounced himself satisfied in a voice loud enough for the
herald's hearing. Then he advanced to Valentina's side, and whilst he
stood there delivering his answer he never noticed the silent departure of
the men from the wall.
</p>
<p>
“You will tell his Highness of Babbiano,” he replied, “that he reminds us
of the boy in the fable who cried 'Wolf!' too often. Tell him, sir, that
his threats leave this garrison as unmoved as do his promises. If so be
that he intends in truth to bombard us, let him begin forthwith. We are
ready for him, as you perceive. Maybe he did not suppose us equipped with
cannon; but there they stand. Those guns are trained upon his camp, and
the first shot he fires upon us shall be a signal for such a reply as he
little dreams of. Tell him, too, that we expect no quarter, and will yield
none. We are unwilling for bloodshed, but if he drives us to it and
executes his purpose of employing cannon, then the consequences be upon
his own head. Bear him that answer, and tell him to send you no more with
empty threats.”
</p>
<p>
The herald bowed upon the withers of his horse. The arrogance, the cold
imperiousness of the message struck him dumb with amazement. Amazement was
his, too, that Roccaleone should be armed with cannon, as with his own
eyes he saw. That those guns were empty he could not guess, nor could Gian
Maria when he heard a message that filled him with rage, and would have
filled him with dismay, but that he counted upon the mutiny which Gonzaga
had pledged himself to stir up.
</p>
<p>
As the herald was riding away a gruff laugh broke from Fortemani, who
stood behind the Count.
</p>
<p>
Valentina turned to Francesco with eyes that beamed admiration and a
singular tenderness.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, what had I done without you, Messer Francesco?” she cried, for surely
the twentieth time since his coming. “I tremble to think how things had
gone without your wit and valour to assist me.” She never noticed the
malicious smile that trembled on Gonzaga's pretty face. “Where did you
find the powder?” she asked innocently, for her mind had not yet caught
that humour of the situation that had drawn a laugh from Fortemani.
</p>
<p>
“I found none,” answered Francesco, smiling from the shadow of his helm.
“My threats”—and he waved his hand in the direction of that
formidable array of guns—“are as empty as Gian Maria's. Yet I think
they will impress him more than his do us. I will answer for it, Madonna,
that they deter him from bombarding us—if so be that he ever
intended to. So let us go and break our fast with a glad courage.”
</p>
<p>
“Those guns are empty?” she gasped. “And you could talk so boldly and
threaten so defiantly!”
</p>
<p>
Mirth crept now into her face, and thrust back the alarm, a little of
which had peeped from her eyes even as she was extolling Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“There!” he cried joyously. “You are smiling now, Madonna. Nor have you
cause for aught else. Shall we descend? This early morning work has given
me the hunger of a wolf.”
</p>
<p>
She turned to go with him, and in that moment, Peppe, his owlish face
spread over with alarm, dashed up the steps from the courtyard.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna!” he gasped, breathless. “Messer Francesco! The men—Cappoccio——
He is haranguing them. He—is inciting them to treachery.”
</p>
<p>
So, in gasps, he got out his tale, which swept the mirth again from
Valentina's eyes, and painted very white her cheek. Strong and brave
though she was, she felt her senses swimming at that sudden revulsion from
confidence to fear. Was all indeed ended at the very moment when hope had
reached its high meridian?
</p>
<p>
“You are faint, Madonna; lean on me.”
</p>
<p>
It was Gonzaga who spoke. But beyond the fact that the words had been
uttered, she realised nothing. She saw an arm advanced, and she took it.
Then she dragged Gonzaga with her to the side overlooking the courtyard,
that with her own eyes she might have evidence of what was toward.
</p>
<p>
She heard an oath—a vigorous, wicked oath—from Francesco,
followed by a command, sharp and rasping.
</p>
<p>
“To the armoury yonder, Peppe! Fetch me a two-handed sword—the
stoutest you can find. Ercole, come with me. Gonzaga—— Nay,
you had best stay here. See to Monna Valentina.”
</p>
<p>
He stepped to her side now, and rapidly surveyed the surging scene below,
where Cappoccio was still addressing the men. At sight of Francesco, they
raised a fierce yell, as might a pack of dogs that have sighted their
quarry.
</p>
<p>
“To the gates!” was the shout. “Down the drawbridge! We accept the terms
of Gian Maria. We will not die like rats.”
</p>
<p>
“By God, but you shall, if I so will it!” snarled Francesco through his
set teeth. Then turning his head in a fever of impatience “Peppe,” he
shouted, “will you never bring that sword?”
</p>
<p>
The fool came up at that moment, staggering under the weight of a great,
double-edged two-hander, equipped with lugs, and measuring a good six feet
from point to pummel. Francesco caught it from him, and bending, he
muttered a swift order in Peppino's ear.
</p>
<p>
“...In the box that stands upon the table in my chamber,” Gonzaga
overheard him say. “Now go, and bring it to me in the yard. Speed you,
Peppino!”
</p>
<p>
A look of understanding flashed up from the hunchback's eyes, and as he
departed at a run Francesco hoisted the mighty sword to his shoulder as
though its weight were that of a feather. In that instant Valentina's
white hand was laid upon the brassart that steeled his fore-arm.
</p>
<p>
“What will you do?” she questioned, in a whisper, her eyes dilating with
alarm.
</p>
<p>
“Stem the treachery of that rabble,” he answered shortly. “Stay you here,
Madonna. Fortemani and I will pacify them—or make an end of them.”
And so grimly did he say it that Gonzaga believed it to lie within his
power.
</p>
<p>
“But you are mad!” she cried, and the fear in her eyes increased. “What
can you do against twenty?”
</p>
<p>
“What God pleases,” he answered, and for a second put the ferocity from
his heart that he might smile reassurance.
</p>
<p>
“But you will be killed,” she cried. “Oh! don't go, don't go! Let them
have their way, Messer Francesco. Let Gian Maria invest the castle. I care
not, so that you do not go.”
</p>
<p>
Her voice, and the tale it told of sweet anxiety for his fate overruling
everything else in that moment—even her horror of Gian Maria—quickened
his blood to the pace of ecstasy. He was taken by a wild longing to catch
her in his arms—this lady hitherto so brave and daunted now by the
fear of his peril only. Every fibre of his being urged him to gather her
to his breast, whilst he poured courage and comfort into her ear. He
fainted almost with desire to kiss those tender eyes, upturned to his in
her piteous pleading that he should not endanger his own life. But
suppressing all, he only smiled, though very tenderly.
</p>
<p>
“Be brave, Madonna, and trust in me a little. Have I failed you yet? Need
you then fear that I shall fail you now?”
</p>
<p>
At that she seemed to gather courage. The words reawakened her confidence
in his splendid strength.
</p>
<p>
“We shall laugh over this when we break our fast,” he cried. “Come,
Ercole!” And without waiting for more, he leapt down the steps with an
agility surprising in one so heavily armed as he.
</p>
<p>
They were no more than in time. As they gained the courtyard the men came
sweeping along towards the gates, their voices raucous and threatening.
They were full of assurance. All hell they thought could not have hindered
them, and yet at sight of that tall figure, bright as an angel, in his
panoply of glittering steel, with that great sword poised on his left
shoulder, some of the impetuousness seemed to fall from them.
</p>
<p>
Still they advanced, Cappoccio's voice shouting encouragement. Almost were
they within range of that lengthy sword, when of a sudden it flashed from
his shoulder, and swept a half-circle of dazzling light before their eyes.
Round his head it went, and back again before them, handled as though it
had been a whip, and bringing them, silent, to a standstill. He bore it
back to his shoulder, and alert for the first movement, his blood on fire,
and ready to slay a man or two should the example become necessary, he
addressed them.
</p>
<p>
“You see what awaits you if you persist in this,” he said, in a
dangerously quiet voice. “Have you no shame, you herd of cowardly animals!
You are loud-voiced enough where treason to the hand that pays you is in
question; but there, it seems, your valour ends.”
</p>
<p>
He spoke to them now in burning words. He recapitulated the arguments
which yesterday he had made use of to quell the mutinous spirit of
Cappoccio. He assured them that Gian Maria threatened more than he could
accomplish; and so, perhaps, more than he would fulfil if they were so
foolish as to place themselves in his power. Their safety, he pointed out
to them, lay here, behind these walls. The siege could not long endure.
They had a stout ally in Caesar Borgia, and he was marching upon Babbiano
by then, so that Gian Maria must get him home perforce ere long. Their pay
was good, he reminded them, and if the siege were soon raised they should
be well rewarded.
</p>
<p>
“Gian Maria threatens to hang you when he captures Roccaleone. But even
should he capture it, do you think he would be allowed to carry out so
inhuman a threat? You are mercenaries, after all, in the pay of Monna
Valentina, on whom and her captains the blame must fall. This is Urbino,
not Babbiano, and Gian Maria is not master here. Do you think the noble
and magnanimous Guidobaldo would let you hang? Have you so poor an opinion
of your Duke? Fools! You are as safe from violence as are those ladies in
the gallery up there. For Guidobaldo would no more think of harming you
than of permitting harm to come to them. If any hanging there is it will
be for me, and perhaps for Messer Gonzaga who hired you. Yet, do I talk of
throwing down my arms? What think you holds me here? Interest—just
as interest holds you—and if I think the risk worth taking, why
should not you? Are you so tame and so poor-spirited that a threat is to
vanquish you? Will you become a byword in Italy, and when men speak of
cowardice, will you have them say: 'Craven as Monna Valentina's
garrison'?”
</p>
<p>
In this strain he talked to them, now smiting hard with his scorn, now
cajoling them with his assurances, and breeding confidence anew in their
shaken spirits. It was a thing that went afterwards to the making of an
epic that was sung from Calabria to Piedmont, how this brave knight, by
his words, by the power of his will and the might of his presence, curbed
and subdued that turbulent score of rebellious hinds.
</p>
<p>
And from the wall above Valentina watched him, her eyes sparkling with
tears that had not their source in sorrow nor yet in fear, for she knew
that he must prevail. How could it be else with one so dauntless?
</p>
<p>
Thus thought she now. But in the moment of his going, fear had chilled her
to the heart, and when she first saw him take his stand before them, she
had turned half-distraught, and begged Gonzaga not to linger at her side,
but to go lend what aid he could to that brave knight who stood so sorely
in need of it. And Gonzaga had smiled a smile as pale as January sunshine,
and his soft blue eyes had hardened in their glance. Not weakness now was
it that held him there, well out of the dangerous turmoil. For he felt
that had he possessed the strength of Hercules, and the courage of
Achilles, he would not in that instant have moved a step to Francesco's
aid. And as much he told her.
</p>
<p>
“Why should I, Madonna?” he had returned coldly. “Why should I raise a
hand to help the man whom you prefer to me? Why should I draw sword in the
cause of this fortress?”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him with troubled eyes. “What are you saying, my good
Gonzaga?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye—your good Gonzaga!” he mocked her bitterly. “Your lap-dog, your
lute-thrummer; but not man enough to be your captain; not man enough to
earn a thought that is kinder than any earned by Peppe or your hounds. I
may endanger my neck to serve you, to bring you hither to a place of
safety from Gian Maria's persecution, and be cast aside for one who, it
happens, has a little more knowledge of this coarse trade of arms. Cast me
aside if you will,” he pursued, with increasing bitterness, “but having
done so, do not ask me to serve you again. Let Messer Francesco fight it
out——”
</p>
<p>
“Hush, Gonzaga!” she interrupted. “Let me hear what he is saying.”
</p>
<p>
And her tone told the courtier that his words had been lost upon the
morning air. Engrossed in the scene below she had not so much as listened
to his bitter tirade. For now Francesco was behaving oddly. The fool was
returned from the errand on which he had been despatched, and Francesco
called him to his side. Lowering his sword he received a paper from
Peppe's hand.
</p>
<p>
Burning with indignation at having gone unheeded, Gonzaga stood gnawing
his lip, whilst Valentina craned forward to catch Francesco's words.
</p>
<p>
“I have here a proof,” he cried, “of what I tell you; proof of how little
Gian Maria is prepared to carry out his threats of cannon. It is that
fellow Cappoccio has seduced you with his talk. And you, like the sheep
you are, let yourselves be driven by his foul tongue. Now listen to the
bribe that Gian Maria offers to one within these walls if he can contrive
a means to deliver Roccaleone into his hands.” And to Gonzaga's paralysing
consternation, he heard Francesco read the letter with which Gian Maria
had answered his proposed betrayal of the fortress. He went white with
fear and he leant against the low wall to steady the tell-tale trembling
that had seized him. Then Francesco's voice, scornful and confident,
floated up to his ears. “I ask you, my friends, would his Highness of
Babbiano be disposed to the payment of a thousand gold florins if by
bombardment he thought to break a way into Roccaleone? This letter was
written yesterday. Since then we have made a brave display of cannon
ourselves; and if yesterday he dared not fire, think you he will to-day?
But here, assure yourselves, if there is one amongst you that can read.”
</p>
<p>
He held out the letter to them. Cappoccio took it, and calling one
Aventano, he held it out in his turn. This Aventano, a youth who had been
partly educated for the Church, but had fallen from that lofty purpose,
now stood forward and took the letter. He scrutinised it, read it aloud,
and pronounced it genuine.
</p>
<p>
“Whom is it addressed to?” demanded Cappoccio.
</p>
<p>
“Nay, nay!” cried Francesco. “What need for that?”
</p>
<p>
“Let be,” Cappoccio answered, almost fiercely. “If you would have us
remain in Roccaleone, let be. Aventano, tell me.”
</p>
<p>
“To Messer Romeo Gonzaga,” answered the youth, in a voice of wonder.
</p>
<p>
So evil a light leapt to Cappoccio's eye that Francesco carried his free
hand to the sword which he had lowered. But Cappoccio only looked up at
Gonzaga, and grinned malevolently. It had penetrated his dull wits that he
had been the tool of a judas, who sought to sell the castle for a thousand
florins. Further than that Cappoccio did not see; nor was he very
resentful, and his grin was rather of mockery than of anger. He was
troubled by no lofty notions of honour that should cause him to see in
this deed of Gonzaga's anything more than such a trickster's act as it is
always agreeable to foil. And then, to the others, who knew naught of what
was passing in Cappoccio's mind, he did a mighty strange thing. From being
the one to instigate them to treachery and mutiny, he was the one now to
raise his voice in a stout argument of loyalty. He agreed with all that
Messer Francesco had said, and he, for one, ranged himself on Messer
Francesco's side to defend the gates from any traitors who sought to open
them to Gian Maria Sforza.
</p>
<p>
His defection from the cause of mutiny was the signal for the utter
abandoning of that cause itself, and another stout ally came opportunely
to weigh in Francesco's favour was the fact that the half-hour of grace
was now elapsed, and Gian Maria's guns continued silent. He drew their
attention to the fact with a laugh, and bade them go in peace, adding the
fresh assurance that those guns would not speak that day, nor the next,
nor indeed ever.
</p>
<p>
Utterly conquered by Francesco and—perhaps even more—by his
unexpected ally, Cappoccio, they slunk shamefacedly away to the food and
drink that he bade them seek at Fra Domenico's hands.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XX. THE LOVERS
</h2>
<p>
“How came that letter to your hands?” Valentina asked Gonzaga, when
presently they stood together in the courtyard, whither the courtier had
followed her when she descended.
</p>
<p>
“Wrapped round an arbalest-bolt that fell on the ramparts yesterday whilst
I was walking there alone,” returned Gonzaga coolly.
</p>
<p>
He had by now regained his composure. He saw that he stood in deadly
peril, and the very fear that possessed him seemed, by an odd paradox, to
lend him the strength to play his part.
</p>
<p>
Valentina eyed him with a something of mistrust in her glance. But on
Francesco's clear countenance no shadow of suspicion showed. His eyes
almost smiled as he asked Gonzaga:
</p>
<p>
“Why did you not bear it to Monna Valentina?”
</p>
<p>
A flush reddened the courtier's cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders
impatiently, and in a voice that choked with anger he delivered his reply.
</p>
<p>
“To you, sir, who seem bred in camps and reared in guard-rooms, the
fulness of this insult offered me by Gian Maria may not be apparent. It
may not be yours to perceive that the very contact of that letter soiled
my hands, that it shamed me unutterably to think that that loutish Duke
should have deemed me a target for such a shaft. It were idle, therefore,
to seek to make you understand how little I could bear to submit to the
further shame of allowing another to see the affront that I was powerless
to avenge. I did, sir, with that letter the only thing conceivable. I
crumpled it in my hand and cast it from me, just as I sought to cast its
contents from my mind. But your watchful spies, Ser Francesco, bore it to
you, and if my shame has been paraded before the eyes of that rabble
soldiery, at least it has served the purpose of saving Monna Valentina. To
do that, I would, if the need arose, immolate more than the pride that
caused me to be silent on the matter of this communication.”
</p>
<p>
He spoke with such heat of sincerity that he convinced both Francesco and
Valentina, and the lady's eyes took on a softer expression as she surveyed
Gonzaga—this poor Gonzaga whom, her heart told her, she had sorely
wronged in thought. Francesco, ever generous, took his passionate
utterances in excellent part.
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga, I understand your scruples. You do me wrong to think that
I should fail in that.”
</p>
<p>
He checked the suggestion he was on the point of renewing that,
nevertheless, Gonzaga would have been better advised to have laid that
letter at once before Monna Valentina. Instead, he dismissed the subject
with a laugh, and proposed that they should break their fast so soon as he
had put off his harness.
</p>
<p>
He went to do so, whilst Valentina bent her steps towards the dining-room,
attended by Gonzaga, to whom she now sought to make amends for her
suspicions by an almost excessive friendliness of bearing.
</p>
<p>
But there was one whom Gonzaga's high-sounding words in connection with
that letter had left cold. This was Peppe, that most wise of fools. He
hastened after Francesco, and while the knight was disarming he came to
voice his suspicions. But Francesco drove him out with impatience, and
Peppe went sorrowing and swearing that the wisdom of the fool was truly
better than the folly of the wise.
</p>
<p>
Throughout that day Gonzaga hardly stirred from Valentina's side. He
talked with her in the morning at great length and upon subjects poetical
or erudite, by which he meant to display his vast mental superiority over
the swashbuckling Francesco. In the evening, when the heat of the day was
spent, and whilst that same Messer Francesco was at some defensive
measures on the walls, Gonzaga played at bowls with Valentina and her
ladies—the latter having now recovered from the panic to which
earlier they had been a prey.
</p>
<p>
That morning Gonzaga had stood at bay, seeing his plans crumble. That
evening, after the day spent in Valentina's company—and she so sweet
and kind to him—he began to take heart of grace once more, and his
volatile mind whispered to his soul the hope that, after all, things might
well be as he had first intended, if he but played his cards adroitly, and
did not mar his chances by the precipitancy that had once gone near to
losing him. His purpose gathered strength from a message that came that
evening from Gian Maria, who was by then assured that Gonzaga's plan had
failed. He sent word that, being unwilling to provoke the bloodshed
threatened by the reckless madman who called himself Monna Valentina's
Provost, he would delay the bombardment, hoping that in the meantime
hunger would beget in that rebellious garrison a more submissive mood.
</p>
<p>
Francesco read the message to Madonna's soldiers, and they received it
joyously. Their confidence in him increased a hundredfold by this proof of
the accuracy of his foresight. They were a gay company at supper in
consequence, and gayest of all was Messer Gonzaga, most bravely dressed in
a purple suit of taby silk to honour so portentous an occasion.
</p>
<p>
Francesco was the first to quit the table, craving Monna Valentina's leave
to be about some duty that took him to the walls. She let him go, and
afterwards sat pensive, nor heeded now Romeo's light chatter, nor yet the
sonnet of Petrarca that presently he sang the company. Her thoughts were
all with him that had left the board. Scarcely a word had she exchanged
with Francesco since that delirious moment when they had looked into each
other's eyes upon the ramparts, and seen the secret that each was keeping
from the other. Why had he not come to her? she asked herself. And then
she bethought her of how Gonzaga had all day long been glued to her side,
and she realised, too, that it was she had shunned Francesco's company,
grown of a sudden strangely shy.
</p>
<p>
But greater than her shyness was now her desire to be near him, and to
hear his voice; to have him look again upon her as he had looked that
morning, when in terror for him she had sought to dissuade him from
opposing the craven impulse of her men-at-arms. A woman of mature age, or
one riper in experience, would have waited for him to seek her out. But
Valentina, in her sweet naturalness, thought never of subterfuge or of
dalliant wiles. She rose quietly from the table ere Gonzaga's song was
done, and as quietly she slipped from the room.
</p>
<p>
It was a fine night, the air heavy with the vernal scent of fertile lands,
and the deep cobalt of the heavens a glittering, star-flecked dome in a
lighter space of which floated the half-disk of the growing moon. Such a
moon, she bethought her, as she had looked at with thoughts of him, the
night after their brief meeting at Acquasparta. She had gained that north
rampart on which he had announced that duty took him, and yonder she saw a
man—-the only tenant of the wall—leaning upon the embattled
parapet, looking down at the lights of Gian Maria's camp. He was
bareheaded, and by the gold coif that gleamed in his hair she knew him.
Softly she stole up behind him.
</p>
<p>
“Do we dream here, Messer Francesco?” she asked him, as she reached his
side, and there was laughter running through her words.
</p>
<p>
He started round at the sound of her voice, then he laughed too, softly
and gladly.
</p>
<p>
“It is a night for dreams, and I was dreaming indeed. But you have
scattered them.”
</p>
<p>
“You grieve me,” she rallied him. “For assuredly they were pleasant,
since, to come here and indulge them, you left—us.”
</p>
<p>
“Aye—they were pleasant,” he answered. “And yet, they were fraught
with a certain sadness, but idle as is the stuff of dreams. They were
yours to dispel, for they were of you.”
</p>
<p>
“Of me?” she questioned, her heart-beats quickening and bringing to her
cheeks a flush that she thanked the night for concealing.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Madonna—of you and our first meeting in the woods at
Acquasparta. Do you recall it?”
</p>
<p>
“I do, I do,” she murmured fondly.
</p>
<p>
“And do you recall how I then swore myself your knight and ever your
champion? Little did we dream how the honour that I sighed for was to be
mine.”
</p>
<p>
She made him no answer, her mind harking back to that first meeting on
which so often and so fondly she had pondered.
</p>
<p>
“I was thinking, too,” he said presently, “of that man Gian Maria in the
plain yonder, and of this shameful siege.”
</p>
<p>
“You—you have no misgivings?” she faltered, for his words had
disappointed her a little.
</p>
<p>
“Misgivings?”
</p>
<p>
“For being here with me. For being implicated in what they call my
rebellion?”
</p>
<p>
He laughed softly, his eyes upon the silver gleam of waters below.
</p>
<p>
“My misgivings are all for the time when this siege shall be ended; when
you and I shall have gone each our separate way,” he answered boldly. He
turned to face her now, and his voice rang a little tense. “But for being
here to guide this fine resistance and lend you the little aid I can——
No, no, I have no misgiving for that. It is the dearest frolic ever my
soldiering led me into. I came to Roccaleone with a message of warning;
but underneath, deep down in my heart, I bore the hope that mine should be
more than a messenger's part; that mine it might be to remain by you and
do such work as I am doing.”
</p>
<p>
“Without you they would have forced me by now to surrender.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps they would. But while I am here I do not think they will. I burn
for news of Babbiano. If I could but tell what is happening there I might
cheer you with the assurance that this siege can last but a few days
longer. Gian Maria must get him home or submit to the loss of his throne.
And if he loses that your uncle would no longer support so strenuously his
suit with you. To you, Madonna, this must be a cheering thought. To me—alas!
Why should I hope for it?”
</p>
<p>
He was looking away now into the night, but his voice quivered with the
emotion that was in him. She was silent, and emboldened perhaps by that
silence of hers, encouraged by the memory of what he had seen that morning
reflected in her eyes:
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he cried, “I would it might be mine to cut a road for you
through that besieging camp, and bear you away to some blessed place where
there are neither courts nor princes. But since this may not be, Madonna
mia, I would that this siege might last for ever.”
</p>
<p>
And then—was it the night breeze faintly stirring through his hair
that mocked him with the whisper, “So indeed would I?” He turned to her,
his hand, brown and nervous, fell upon hers, ivory-white, where it rested
on the stone.
</p>
<p>
“Valentina!” he cried, his voice no louder than a whisper, his eyes
ardently seeking her averted ones. And then, as suddenly as it had leapt
up, was the fire in his glance extinguished. He withdrew his hand from
hers, he sighed, and shifted his gaze to the camp once more. “Forgive,
forget, Madonna,” he murmured bitterly, “that which in my madness I have
presumed.”
</p>
<p>
Silent she stood for a long moment; then she edged nearer to him, and her
voice murmured back: “What if I account it no presumption?”
</p>
<p>
With a gasp he swung round to face her, and they stood very close, glance
holding glance, and hers the less timid of the two. They thus remained for
a little space. Then shaking his head and speaking with an infinite
sadness:
</p>
<p>
“It were better that you did, Madonna,” he made answer.
</p>
<p>
“Better? But why?”
</p>
<p>
“Because I am no duke, Madonna.”
</p>
<p>
“And what of that?” she cried, to add with scorn: “Out yonder sits a duke.
Oh, sir, how shall I account presumptuous in you the very words that I
would hear? What does your rank signify to me? I know you for the truest
knight, the noblest gentleman, and the most valiant friend that ever came
to the aid of distressed maiden. Do you forget the very principles that
have led me to make this resistance? That I am a woman, and ask of life no
more than is a woman's due—and no less.”
</p>
<p>
There she stopped; again the blood suffused her cheeks as she bethought
her of how fast she talked, and of how bold her words might sound. She
turned slightly from him, and leant now upon the parapet, gazing out into
the night. And as she stood thus, a very ardent voice it was that
whispered in her ear:
</p>
<p>
“Valentina, by my soul, I love you!” And there that whisper, which filled
her with an ecstasy that was almost painful in its poignancy, ended
sharply as if throttled. Again his hand sought hers, which was yielded to
him as she would have yielded her whole life at his sweet bidding, and now
his voice came less passionately.
</p>
<p>
“Why delude ourselves with cruel hopes, my Valentina?” he was saying.
“There is the future. There is the time when this siege shall be done
with, and when, Gian Maria having got him home, you will be free to
depart. Whither will you go?”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him as if she did not understand the question, and her eyes
were troubled, although in such light as there was he could scarce see
this.
</p>
<p>
“I will go whither you bid me. Where else have I to go?” she added, with a
note of bitterness.
</p>
<p>
He started. Her answer was so far from what he had expected.
</p>
<p>
“But your uncle——?”
</p>
<p>
“What duty do I owe to him? Oh, I have thought of it, and until—until
this morning, it seemed that a convent must be my ultimate refuge. I have
spent most of my young life at Santa Sofia, and the little that I have
seen of the world at my uncle's court scarce invites me to see more of it.
The Mother Abbess loved me a little. She would take me back, unless——”
</p>
<p>
She broke off and looked at him, and before that look of absolute and
sweet surrender his senses swam. That she was niece to the Duke of Urbino
he remembered no more than that he was Count of Aquila, well-born, but of
none too rich estate, and certainly no more a match for her in
Guidobaldo's eyes than if he had been the simple knight-errant that he
seemed.
</p>
<p>
He moved closer to her, his hands—as if obeying a bidding greater
than his will, the bidding of that glance of hers, perhaps—took her
by the shoulders, whilst his whole soul looked at her from his eyes. Then,
with a stifled cry, he caught her to him. For a moment she lay, palpitant,
within his arms, her tall, bronze head on a level with his chin, her heart
beating against his heart. Stooping suddenly, he kissed her on the lips.
She suffered it with an unresistance that invited. But when it was done,
she gently put him from her; and he, obedient to her slightest wish,
curbed the wild ardour of his mood, and set her free.
</p>
<p>
“Anima mia!” he cried rapturously. “You are mine now, betide what may. Not
Gian Maria nor all the dukes in Christendom shall take you from me.”
</p>
<p>
She set her hand upon his lips to silence him, and he kissed the palm, so
that laughing she drew back again. And now from laughter she passed to a
great solemnity, and with arm outstretched towards the ducal camp: “Win me
a way through those lines,” said she, “and bear me away from Urbino—far
away where Guidobaldo's power and the vengeance of Gian Maria may not
follow us—and you shall have won me for your own. But until then,
let there be a truce to—to this, between us. Here is a man's work to
be done, and if I am weak as to-night, I may weaken you, and then we
should both be undone. It is upon your strength I count, Franceschino mio,
my true knight.”
</p>
<p>
He would have answered her. He had much to tell her—who and what he
was. But she pointed to the head of the steps, where a man's figure
loomed.
</p>
<p>
“Yonder comes the sentinel,” she said. “Leave me now, dear Francesco. Go.
It is growing late.”
</p>
<p>
He bowed low before her, obedient ever, like the true knight he was, and
took his leave of her, his soul on fire.
</p>
<p>
Valentina watched his retreating figure until it had vanished round the
angle of the wall. Then with a profound sigh, that was as a prayer of
thanksgiving for this great good that had come into her life, she leaned
upon the parapet and looked out into the darkness, her cheeks flushed, her
heart still beating high. She laughed softly to herself out of the pure
happiness of her mood. The camp of Gian Maria became a subject for her
scorn. What should his might avail whilst she had such a champion to
defend her now and hereafter?
</p>
<p>
There was an irony in that siege on which her fancy fastened. By coming
thus in arms against her Gian Maria sought to win her for his wife; yet
all that he had accomplished was to place her in the arms of the one man
whom she had learnt to love by virtue of this very siege. The mellow
warmth of the night, the ambient perfume of the fields were well-sorted to
her mood, and the faint breeze that breathed caressingly upon her cheek
seemed to re-echo the melodies her heart was giving forth. In that hour
those old grey walls of Roccaleone seemed to enclose for her a very
paradise, and the snatch of an old love song stole softly from her parted
lips. But like a paradise—alas!—it had its snake that crept up
unheard behind her, and was presently hissing in her ear. And its voice
was the voice of Romeo Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
“It comforts me, Madonna, that there is one, at least, in Roccaleone has
the heart to sing.”
</p>
<p>
Startled out of her happy pensiveness by that smooth and now unutterably
sinister voice, she turned to face its owner.
</p>
<p>
She saw the white gleam of his face and something of the anger that
smouldered in his eye, and despite herself a thrill of alarm ran through
her like a shudder. She looked beyond him to a spot where lately she had
seen the sentry. There was no one there nor anywhere upon that wall. They
were alone, and Messer Gonzaga looked singularly evil.
</p>
<p>
For a moment there was a tense silence, broken only by the tumbling waters
of the torrent-moat and the hoarse challenge of a sentry's “Chi va là?” in
Gian Maria's camp. Then she turned nervously, wondering how much he might
have heard of what had passed between herself and Francesco, how much have
seen.
</p>
<p>
“And yet, Gonzaga,” she answered him, “I left you singing below when I
came away.”
</p>
<p>
“—To wanton it here in the moonlight with that damned swashbuckler,
that brigand, that kennel-bred beast of a sbirro!”
</p>
<p>
“Gonzaga! You would dare!”
</p>
<p>
“Dare?” he mocked her, beside himself with passion. “Is it you who speak
of daring—you, the niece of Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, a lady of the
noble and illustrious house of Rovere, who cast yourself into the arms of
a low-born vassal such as that, a masnadiero, a bandit, a bravo? And can
you yet speak of daring, and take that tone with me, when shame should
strike you either dead or dumb?”
</p>
<p>
“Gonzaga,” she answered him, her face as white as his own, but her voice
steady and hard with anger, “leave me now—upon the instant, or I
will have you flogged—flogged to the bone.”
</p>
<p>
A moment he stared at her like a man dazed. Then he tossed his arms to
Heaven, and letting them fall heavily to his sides, he shrugged his
shoulders and laughed evilly. But of going he made no shift.
</p>
<p>
“Call your men,” he answered her, in a choking voice. “Do your will on me.
Flog me to the bone or to the death—let that be the reward of all
that I have done, all that I have risked, all that I have sacrificed to
serve you. It were of a piece with your other actions.”
</p>
<p>
Her eyes sought his in the gloom, her bosom heaving wildly in her
endeavours to master herself before she spoke.
</p>
<p>
“Messer Gonzaga,” said she at last, “I'll not deny that you served me
faithfully in the matter of my escape from Urbino——”
</p>
<p>
“Why speak of it?” he sneered. “It was a service of which you but avail
yourself until another offered on whom you might bestow your favour and
the supreme command of your fortress. Why speak of it?”
</p>
<p>
“To show you that the service you allude to is now paid,” she riposted
sternly. “By reproaching me you have taken payment, and by insulting me
you have stamped out my gratitude.”
</p>
<p>
“A most convenient logic yours,” he mocked. “I am cast aside like an
outworn garment, and the garment is accounted paid for because through
much hard usage it has come to look a little threadbare.”
</p>
<p>
And now it entered her mind that perhaps there was some justice in what he
said. Perhaps she had used him a little hardly.
</p>
<p>
“Do you think, Gonzaga,” she said, and her tone was now a shade more
gentle, “that because you have served me you may affront me, and that
knight who has served me, also, and——”
</p>
<p>
“In what can such service as his compare with mine? What has he done that
I have not done more?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, when the men rebelled here——”
</p>
<p>
“Bah! Cite me not that. Body of God! it is his trade to lead such swine.
He is one of themselves. But for the rest, what has such a man as this to
lose by his share in your rebellion, compared with such a loss as mine
must be?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, if things go ill, I take it he may lose his life,” she answered, in
a low voice. “Can you lose more?”
</p>
<p>
He made a gesture of impatience.
</p>
<p>
“If things go ill—yes. It may cost him dearly. But if they go well,
and this siege is raised, he has nothing more to fear. Mine is a parlous
case. However ends this siege, for me there will be no escape from the
vengeance of Gian Maria and Guidobaldo. They know my share in it. They
know that your action was helped by me, and that without me you could
never have equipped yourself for such resistance. Whatever may betide you
and this Ser Franceseo, for me there will be no escape.”
</p>
<p>
She drew a deep breath, then set him the obvious question:
</p>
<p>
“Did you not consider it—did you not weigh these chances—before
you embarked upon this business, before you, yourself, urged me to this
step?”
</p>
<p>
“Aye, did I,” he answered sullenly.
</p>
<p>
“Then, why these complaints now?”
</p>
<p>
He was singularly, madly frank with her in his reply. He told her that he
had done it because he loved her, because she had given him signs that his
love was not in vain.
</p>
<p>
“I gave you signs?” she interrupted him. “Mother in Heaven! Recite these
signs that I may know them.”
</p>
<p>
“Were you not ever kind to me?” he demanded. “Did you not ever manifest a
liking for my company? Were you not ever pleased that I should sing to you
the songs that in your honour I had made? Was it not to me you turned in
the hour of your need?”
</p>
<p>
“See now how poor a thing you are, Gonzaga?” she answered witheringly. “A
woman may not smile on you, may not give you a kind word, may not suffer
you to sing to her, but you must conclude she is enamoured of you. And if
I turned to you in my hour of need, as you remind me, needs that be a sign
of my infatuation? Does every cavalier so think when a helpless woman
turns to him in her distress? But even so,” she continued, “how should all
that diminish the peril you now talk of? Even were your suit with me to
prosper, would that make you any the less Romeo Gonzaga, the butt of the
anger of my uncle and Gian Maria? Rather do I think that it should make
you more.”
</p>
<p>
But he disillusioned her. He did not scruple, in his angry mood, to lay
before her his reasonings that as her husband he would be screened.
</p>
<p>
She laughed aloud at that.
</p>
<p>
“And so it is by such sophistries as these that your presumption came to
life?”
</p>
<p>
That stung him. Quivering with the passion that obsessed him, he stepped
close up to her.
</p>
<p>
“Tell me, Madonna—why shall we account presumption in Romeo Gonzaga
a suit that in a nameless adventurer we encourage?” he asked, his voice
thick and tremulous.
</p>
<p>
“Have a care,” she bade him.
</p>
<p>
“A care of what?” he flashed back. “Answer me, Monna Valentina. Am I so
base a man that by the very thought of love for you I must presume, whilst
you can give yourself into the arms of this swashbuckling bravo, and take
his kisses? Your reasoning sorts ill with your deeds.”
</p>
<p>
“Craven!” she answered him. “Dog that you are!” And before the blaze of
passion in her eyes he recoiled, his courage faltering. She cropped her
anger in mid-career, and in a dangerously calm voice she bade him see to
it that by morning he was no longer in Roccaleone. “Profit by the night,”
she counselled him, “and escape the vigilance of Gian Maria as best you
can. Here you shall not stay.”
</p>
<p>
At that a great fear took possession of him, putting to flight the last
remnant of his anger. Nor fear alone was it, to do him full justice. It
was also the realisation that if he would take payment from her for this
treatment of him, if he would slake his vengeance, he must stay. One plan
had failed him. But his mind was fertile, and he might devise another that
might succeed and place Gian Maria in Roccaleone. Thus should he be amply
venged. She was turning away, having pronounced his banishment, but he
sprang after her, and upon his knees he now besought her piteously to hear
him yet awhile.
</p>
<p>
And she, regretting her already of her harshness, and thinking that
perhaps in his jealousy he had been scarce responsible for what he had
said, stood still to hear him.
</p>
<p>
“Not that, not that, Madonna,” he wailed, his tone suggesting the
imminence of tears. “Do not send me away. If die I must, let me die here
at Roccaleone, helping the defence to my last breath. But do not cast me
out to fall into the hands of Gian Maria. He will hang me for my share in
this business. Do not requite me thus, Madonna. You owe me a little,
surely, and if I was mad when I talked to you just now, it was love of you
that drove me—love of you and suspicion of that man of whom none of
us know anything. Madonna, be pitiful a little. Suffer me to remain.”
</p>
<p>
She looked down at him, her mind swayed between pity and contempt. Then
pity won the day in the wayward but ever gentle heart of Valentina. She
bade him rise.
</p>
<p>
“And go, Gonzaga. Get you to bed, and sleep you into a saner frame of
mind. We will forget all this that you have said, so that you never speak
of it again—nor of this love you say you bear me.”
</p>
<p>
The hypocrite caught the hem of her cloak, and bore it to his lips.
</p>
<p>
“May God keep your heart ever as pure and noble and forgiving,” he
murmured brokenly. “I know how little I am deserving of your clemency. But
I shall repay you, Madonna,” he protested—and truly meant it, though
not in the sense it seemed.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXI. THE PENITENT
</h2>
<p>
A week passed peacefully at Roccaleone; so peacefully that it was
difficult to conceive that out there in the plain sat Gian Maria with his
five-score men besieging them.
</p>
<p>
This inaction fretted the Count of Aquila, as did the lack of news from
Fanfulla; and he wondered vaguely what might be taking place at Babbiano
that Gian Maria should be content to sit idly before them, as though he
had months at his disposal in which to starve them into yielding. The
mystery would have been dispelled had he known that he had Gonzaga to
thank for this singular patience of Gian Maria's. For the courtier had
found occasion to send another letter-carrying shaft into the Duke's camp,
informing him of how and why the last plot had failed, and urging Gian
Maria to wait and trust in him to devise a better scheme for delivering
the castle into his power. He had promised boldly and confidently enough,
and Gian Maria—facts showed—had trusted to that promise of
his, and awaited its fulfilment. But tax his mind though he did
incessantly, no inspiration came to him, no scheme suggested itself by
which he might accomplish his treacherous purpose.
</p>
<p>
He employed the time cunningly to win back Valentina's favour and
confidence. On the morning after his stormy interview with Guidobaldo's
niece, he had confessed himself to Fra Domenico, and approached the
Sacrament. Every morning thereafter he appeared at Mass, and by the piety
and fervour of his devotions became an example to all the others. Now this
was not lost on Valentina, who was convent-bred, and in a measure devout.
She read in this singular alteration of his ways the undoubtable
indication of an altered character. That he had approached the Sacrament
on the morning after his wild words to her, she took to mean that he
repented him the viciousness of the animosity he had entertained that he
continued so extremely devout thereafter she construed into meaning that
his repentance was sincere and persistent.
</p>
<p>
And so she came to ask herself whether, indeed, he had not been as much
sinned against as sinning, and she ended by assuring herself that in a
measure the fault was hers. Seeing him so penitent, and concluding from it
that he was not likely to transgress again, she readmitted him to her
favour, and, little by little, the old friendly state was re-established
and was the sounder, perhaps, by virtue of her confidence that after what
had passed he would not again misunderstand her.
</p>
<p>
He did not, nor did he again allow his optimism and ever-ready vanity to
cozen him with false hopes. He read her with exact precision, and whilst
the reading but served to embitter him the more and render him more
steadfast in his vengeful purpose, it, nevertheless, made him smile the
more sweetly and fawn the more obsequiously.
</p>
<p>
And not content with this, he did not limit his sycophancy to Valentina,
but sought also by a smiling persistence to ingratiate himself with
Francesco. No voice in Roccaleone—not even that of the bully Ercole—was
raised more often or more enthusiastically to praise and glorify their
Provost. Valentina, observing this, and accepting it as another sign of
his contrition for the past and purpose of amendment for the future, grew
yet more cordial towards him. He was not lacking in astuteness, this
pretty Ser Romeo, nor in knowledge of a woman's heart, and the
apprehension of the fact that there is no flattery she prefers to that
which has for object the man she loves.
</p>
<p>
Thus did Gonzaga conquer the confidence and esteem of all during that
peaceful week. He seemed a changed man, and all save Peppe saw in this
change a matter for increased trust and friendship towards him. But the
astute fool looked on and pondered. Such transformations as these were not
effected in a night. He was no believer in any human chrysalis that shall
make of the grub of yesterday the butterfly of to-day. And so, in this
fawning, smiling, subservient Gonzaga, he saw nothing but an object of
mistrust, a fellow to be watched with the utmost vigilance. To this
vigilance the hunchback applied himself with a zeal born of his cordial
detestation of the courtier. But Gonzaga, aware of the fool's mistrust and
watchfulness, contrived for once to elude him, and to get a letter to Gian
Maria setting forth the ingenious plan he had hatched.
</p>
<p>
The notion had come to him that Sunday at Mass. On all sanctified days it
was Monna Valentina's way to insist that the entire garrison, with the
exception of one single sentinel—and this only at Francesco's very
earnest urging—should attend the morning service. Like an
inspiration it came to him that such a half-hour as that would be a most
opportune season in which to throw open the gates of Roccaleone to the
besiegers. The following Wednesday was the feast of Corpus Christi. Then
would be his opportunity.
</p>
<p>
Kneeling there, with head bent in ecstatic devotion, he matured his
treacherous plan. The single sentry he could suborn, or else—if
bribery failed—poniard. He realised that single-handed he might not
lower the cumbrous drawbridge, nor would it be wise, even if possible, for
the noise of it might give the alarm. But there was the postern. Gian
Maria must construct him a light, portable bridge, and have it in
readiness to span the moat and silently pour his soldiers into the castle
through that little gate.
</p>
<p>
And so, the plot matured and every detail clear, he got him to his chamber
and penned the letter that was to rejoice the heart of Gian Maria. He
chose a favourable moment to despatch it, as he had despatched the former
ones, tied about the quarrel of an arbalest, and he saw Gian Maria's
signal—for which the letter had provided—that the plan would
be adopted. Humming a gay measure, jubilant at the prospect of seeing
himself so amply avenged, Gonzaga passed down and out into the castle
gardens to join the ladies in their merry-making over a game of hoodman
blind.
</p>
<p>
Now, however much the Duke of Babbiano may have congratulated himself upon
the ally he possessed in Gonzaga, and the cunning scheme the latter had
devised for placing him in possession of Roccaleone, there came news to
him on the morrow that caused him to rejoice a hundredfold more fervently.
His subjects of Babbiano were in a condition approaching open rebellion,
resulting from the disquieting rumours that Caesar Borgia was arming at
Rome for a decent upon the Duchy, and the continued absence of Gian Maria
in such a season, upon a wooing that they deemed ill-timed. A strong party
had been formed, and the leaders had nailed upon the Palace gates a
proclamation that, unless Gian Maria returned within three days to
organise the defence of Babbiano, they would depose him and repair to
Aquila to invite his cousin, Francesco del Falco—whose patriotism
and military skill were known to all—to assume the crown of Babbiano
and protect them.
</p>
<p>
At the news, and upon reading the proclamation, which Alvari had brought
with him, Gian Maria flew into one of those fits of rage that made his
name a byword in Babbiano. Presently, however, he cooled. There was
Gonzaga yonder, who had promised to admit him to Roccaleone on Wednesday.
That left him time to first possess himself of his reluctant bride, and
then ride hard to Babbiano, to arrive there before the expiry of the three
days' grace his subjects gave him.
</p>
<p>
He conferred with Guidobaldo, and urged that a priest should be in waiting
to wed them so soon as he should have brought her out of the fortress.
Upon that detail they were within an ace of quarrelling. Guidobaldo would
not at first agree to such hasty nuptials; they were unfitting the dignity
and the station of his niece, and if Gian Maria would wed her he must come
to Urbino and let the ceremony be performed by a cardinal. Well was it
then for Gian Maria that he mastered his wonted hastiness and curbed the
hot, defiant retort that rose to his lips. Had he done so, an enduring
rupture between them would probably have ensued; for Guidobaldo was not
one to permit himself to be hectored, and, after all, he amply realised
that Gian Maria had more need of him than he of Gian Maria. And this in
that moment the Duke of Babbiano realised too, and realising it he set
himself to plead where otherwise he might have demanded, to beg as a
favour that which otherwise he might have commanded with a threat. And so
he won Guidobaldo—although reluctant—to his wishes in the
matter, and in his good-nature the Duke of Urbino consented to pocket the
dignity that prompted him to see the ceremony performed with princely
pomp.
</p>
<p>
This being settled, Gian Maria blessed Gonzaga who rendered it all
possible, and came most opportunely to his aid where without him he should
have been forced to resort to cannon and bloodshed.
</p>
<p>
With Gonzaga the only shadow of doubt that remained to mar the perfect
certainty of his success lay in his appreciation of Francesco's daring
character and resourceful mind, and now as if the gods were eager to
favour him to the very last degree—a strange weapon to combat this
was unexpectedly thrust into his hand.
</p>
<p>
It happened that Alvari was not the only messenger who travelled that day
to Roccaleone. There followed him by some hours, the Count of Aquila's
servant, Zaccaria, who rode hard and reached the approaches of the castle
by sunset. His destination being the fortress itself, he was forced to
wait in the woods until night had fallen, and even then his mission was
fraught with peril.
</p>
<p>
It befell that somewhere near the second hour of night, the moon being
overcast at the time—for there were threats of a storm in the sky—the
sentinel on the eastern wall heard a sound of splashing in the moat below,
accompanied by the stertorous breathing of a swimmer whose mouth is not
well above water. He challenged the sound, but receiving no reply he
turned to go and give the alarm, and ran into the arms of Gonzaga, who had
come up to take the air.
</p>
<p>
“Illustrious,” he exclaimed, “there is someone swimming the moat.”
</p>
<p>
“Eh?” cried Gonzaga, a hundred suspicions of Gian Maria running through
his mind. “Treachery?”
</p>
<p>
“It is what I thought.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga took the man by the sleeve of his doublet, and drew him back to
the parapet. They peered over, and from out of the blackness they were
hailed by a faint “Olá!”
</p>
<p>
“Who goes there?” demanded Romeo.
</p>
<p>
“A friend,” came the answer softly. “A messenger from Babbiano with
letters for the Lord Count of Aquila. Throw me a rope, friends, before I
drown in this trough.”
</p>
<p>
“You rave, fool!” answered him Gonzaga. “We have no counts at Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“Surely, sir sentinel,” replied the voice, “my master, Messer Francesco
del Falco, is here. Throw me a rope, I say.”
</p>
<p>
“Messer Fran——” began Gonzaga. Then he made a noise like a man
choking. It was as if a sudden light of revelation had flooded his brain.
“Get a rope,” he harshly bade the sentry. “In the armoury yard. Despatch,
fool!” he added sharply, now fearing interruption.
</p>
<p>
In a moment the man was back, and the rope was lowered to the visitor
below. A few seconds later Zaccaria stood on the ramparts of Roccaleone,
the water dripping from his sodden garments, and gathering in a pool about
his feet.
</p>
<p>
“This way,” said Gonzaga, leading the man towards the armoury tower, where
a lanthorn was burning. By the light of it he surveyed the newcomer, and
bade the sentry close the door and remain within call, without.
</p>
<p>
Zaccaria looked startled at the order. This was scarcely the reception he
had expected after so imperilling his life to reach the castle with his
letter.
</p>
<p>
“Where is my lord?” he inquired, through teeth that chattered from the
cold of his immersion, wondering vaguely who this very magnificent
gentleman might be.
</p>
<p>
“Is Messer Francesco del Falco your lord?” asked Romeo.
</p>
<p>
“He is, sir. I have had the honour to serve him these ten years. I bring
him letters from Messer Fanfulla degli Arcipreti. They are very urgent.
Will you lead me to him?”
</p>
<p>
“You are very wet,” murmured Gonzaga solicitously. “You will take your
death from cold, and the death of a man so brave as to have found a way
through Gian Maria's lines were truly deplorable.” He stepped to the door.
“Olá!” he called to the sentry. “Take this brave fellow up there and find
him a change of raiment.” He pointed to the upper chamber of the tower,
where, indeed, such things were stored.
</p>
<p>
“But my letters, sir!” cried Zaccaria impatiently. “They are very urgent,
and hours have I wasted already in waiting for the night.”
</p>
<p>
“Surely you can wait until you have changed your garments? Your life, I
take it, is of more account than the loss of a few moments.”
</p>
<p>
“But my orders from Messer degli Arcipreti were that I must not lose an
instant.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, si, si!” cried Gonzaga, with a show of good-tempered impatience.
“Give me the letters, then, and I will take them to the Count while you
are stripping those wet clothes.”
</p>
<p>
Zaccaria eyed him a moment in doubt. But he looked so harmless in his
finery, and the expression of his comely face was so winning and honest,
that the man's hesitancy faded as soon as it sprang up. Removing his cap,
he drew from within the crown the letter, which he had placed there to
keep dry. This package he now handed to Gonzaga, who, with a final word of
instruction to the sentry touching the finding of raiment for the
messenger, stepped out to go his errand. But outside the door he paused,
and called the sentry to him again.
</p>
<p>
“Here is a ducat for you,” he whispered. “Do my bidding and you shall have
more. Detain him in the tower till I return, and on no account let him be
seen or heard by anyone.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Excellency,” the man replied. “But what if the captain comes and
finds me absent from my post?”
</p>
<p>
“I will provide for that. I will tell Messer Fortemani that I have
employed you on a special matter, and ask him to replace you. You are
dispensed sentry duty for to-night.”
</p>
<p>
The man bowed, and quietly withdrew to attend to his prisoner, for in that
light he now regarded Zaccaria.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga sought Fortemani in the guard-room below, and did as he had
promised the sentry.
</p>
<p>
“But,” snapped Ercole, reddening, “by whose authority have you done this?
By what right do you send sentinels on missions of your own? Christo
Santo! Is the castle to be invaded while you send my watchmen to fetch
your comfitbox or a book of verses?”
</p>
<p>
“You will remember——” began Romeo, with an air of overwhelming
dignity.
</p>
<p>
“Devil take you and him that sent you!” broke in the bully. “The Messer
Provost shall hear of this.”
</p>
<p>
“On no account,” cried Gonzaga, now passing from anger to alarm, and
snatching the skirts of Fortemani's cloak as the captain was in the act of
going out to execute his threat. “Ser Ercole be reasonable, I beg of you.
Are we to alarm the castle and disturb Monna Valentina over a trumpery
affair such as this? Man, they will laugh at you.”
</p>
<p>
“Eh?” There was nothing Ercole relished less than to be laughed at. He
pondered a moment, and it occurred to him that perhaps he was making much
of nothing. Then:
</p>
<p>
“You, Aventano,” he called, “take your partisan, and patrol the eastern
rampart. There, Messer Gonzaga, I have obeyed your wishes; but Messer
Francesco shall hear of it when he comes his rounds.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga left him. Francesco would not make his rounds for another hour,
and by then it would not matter what Fortemani told him. In one way or
another he would be able to account for his action.
</p>
<p>
He crossed the courtyard, and mounted the steps leading to his own
chamber. Once there, he closed and barred the door. He kindled a light,
and flinging the letter on the table, he sat and contemplated its exterior
and the great red seal that gleamed in the yellow light of his taper.
</p>
<p>
So! This knight-errant, this man whom he had accounted a low-born hind,
was none other than the famous Count of Aquila, the well-beloved of the
people of Babbiano, the beau-ideal of all military folk from Sicily to the
Alps. And he had never suspected it! Dull-witted did he now account
himself. Enough descriptions had he heard of that famous condottiero, that
mirror of Italian chivalry. He might have known that there did not live
two men of such commanding ways as he had seen instanced at Roccaleone.
What was his object there? Was it love of Valentina, or was it——?
He paused, as in his mind he made a swift review of the politics of
Babbiano. A sudden possibility occurred to him that made his eyes sparkle
and his hands tremble with eagerness. Was this but a political scheme to
undermine his cousin's throne, to which Gonzaga had heard it rumoured that
Francesco del Falco was an aspirant? If it were so, what a vengeance would
be his to unmask him! How it must humble Valentina! The letter lay before
him. Within it the true facts would be disclosed. What did his friend
Fanfulla write him?
</p>
<p>
He took the letter up and made a close inspection of the seal. Then
softly, quietly, slowly he drew his dagger. If his suspicions were
unfounded, his dagger heated in the taper should afford him the means to
conceal the fact that he had tampered with that missive. He slipped his
blade under the seal, and worked it cautiously until it came up and set
the letter open. He unfolded it, and as he read his eyes dilated. He
seemed to crouch on his chair, and the hand that held the paper shook. He
drew the candle nearer, and shading his eyes he read it again, word for
word:
</p>
<p>
“MY DEAR LORD COUNT,—I have delayed writing until the time when the
signs I observed should have become more definite, as they have now done,
so that I may delay no longer. This, then, goes by the hand of Zaccaria,
to tell you that to-day has word been sent Gian Maria giving him three
days in which to return to Babbiano, or to abandon all hope of his crown,
of which the people will send the offer then to you at Aquila, where you
are believed to be. So now, my dear lord, you have the tyrant at your
mercy, tossed between Scylla and Charybdis. Yours it is to resolve how you
will act; but I rejoice in being the one to send you word that your
presence at Roccaleone and your stubborn defence of the fortress has not
been vain, and that presently you are to reap the well-earned reward of
it. The people have been stirred to this extreme action by the confusion
prevailing here.
</p>
<p>
“News has reached us that Caesar Borgia is arming, at Rome, a condotta to
invade Babbiano, and the people are exasperated at Gian Maria's continued
absence in such a season. They are short-sighted in this, for they
overlook the results that must attend the alliance with Urbino. May God
protect and prosper your Excellency, whose most devoted servant is
</p>
<p>
“FANFULLA DEGLI AROIPRETI.” <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXII. A REVELATION
</h2>
<p>
“Francesco,” said Valentina, and the name came from her lips as if it were
an endearment, “why that frowning, careworn look?”
</p>
<p>
They were in the dining-room alone, where the others had left them, and
they were still seated at the table at which they had supped. Francesco
raised his dark, thoughtful eyes, and as they lighted now on Valentina the
thoughtfulness that was in them gave place to tenderness.
</p>
<p>
“I am fretted by this lack of news,” he acknowledged. “I would I knew what
is being done in Babbiano. I had thought that ere now Caesar Borgia had
stirred Gian Maria's subjects into some manner of action. I would I knew!”
</p>
<p>
She rose, and coming close to him, she stood with one hand resting upon
his shoulder, her eyes smiling down upon his upturned face.
</p>
<p>
“And shall such a trifle fret you—you who professed a week ago that
you would this siege might last for ever?”
</p>
<p>
“Account me not fickle, anima mia,” he answered her, and he kissed the
ivory fingers that rested on his shoulder. “For that was before the world
changed for me at the magic of your bidding. And so,” he repeated, “I
would I knew what is toward at Babbiano!”
</p>
<p>
“But why sigh over a wish so idle?” she exclaimed. “By what means can news
reach you here of the happenings of the world without?”
</p>
<p>
He pondered a moment, seeking words in which to answer her. A score of
times during that week had he been on the point of disclosing himself, of
telling her who and what he was. Yet ever had he hesitated, putting off
that disclosure until the season should appear more fitting. This he now
considered the present. She trusted him, and there was no reason to remain
silent longer. Perhaps already he had delayed too long, and so he was
about to speak when she started from his side, and crossed hastily to the
window, alarmed by the sound of approaching steps. A second later the door
opened, and Gonzaga appeared.
</p>
<p>
A moment he hesitated in the doorway, looking from one to the other, and
Francesco, lazily regarding him in his turn, noted that his cheeks were
pale and that his eyes glittered like those of a man with the fever. Then
he stepped forward, and, leaving the door open behind him, he advanced
into the room.
</p>
<p>
“Monna Valentina, I have something to communicate to you.” His voice shook
slightly. “Messer—Francesco, will you give us leave?” And his
feverish eyes moved to the open door with an eloquence that asked no
words.
</p>
<p>
Francesco rose slowly, endeavouring to repress his surprise and glanced
across at Valentina, as if awaiting her confirmation or refusal of this
request that he should leave them.
</p>
<p>
“A communication for me?” she marvelled, a slight frown drawing her brows
together. “Of what nature, sir?”
</p>
<p>
“Of a nature as important as it is private.”
</p>
<p>
She raised her chin, and with a patient smile she seemed to beg of
Francesco that he would suffer her to humour this mood of Gonzaga's. In
quick obedience Francesco inclined his head.
</p>
<p>
“I shall be in my chamber until the hour of my rounds, Madonna,” he
announced, and with that took his departure.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga attended him to the door, which he closed after him, and composing
his features to an expression of sorrowing indignation, he came back and
stood facing Valentina across the table.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he said, “I would to Heaven this communication I have to make
to you came from other lips. In the light of what has passed—here at
Roccaleone—through my folly—you—you may think my mission
charged with vindictiveness.”
</p>
<p>
Perplexity stared at him from her eyes.
</p>
<p>
“You fill me with alarm, my good Gonzaga,” she answered him, though
smiling.
</p>
<p>
“Alas it has fallen to my unfortunate lot to do more than that. I have
made the discovery of as foul a piece of treachery here in your fortress
as ever traitor hatched.”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him more seriously now. The vehemence of his tone, and the
suggestion of sorrow that ran through it and gave it so frank an accent,
commanded her attention.
</p>
<p>
“Treachery!” she echoed, in a low voice, her eyes dilating. “And from
whom?”
</p>
<p>
He hesitated a moment, then waving his hand:
</p>
<p>
“Will you not sit, Madonna?” he suggested nervously.
</p>
<p>
Mechanically she seated herself at the table, her eyes ever on his face,
alarm spreading in her heart, born of suspense.
</p>
<p>
“Be seated too,” she bade him, “and tell me.”
</p>
<p>
He drew up a chair, sat down opposite to her, and taking a deep breath:
“Heard you ever of the Count of Aquila?” he inquired.
</p>
<p>
“It were odd if I had not. The most valiant knight in Italy, fame dubs
him.”
</p>
<p>
His eyes were intently on her face, and what he saw there satisfied him.
</p>
<p>
“You know how he stands with the people of Babbiano?”
</p>
<p>
“I know that he is beloved of them.”
</p>
<p>
“And do you know that he is a pretender to the throne of Babbiano? You
will remember that he is cousin to Gian Maria?”
</p>
<p>
“His relationship to Gian Maria I know. That he pretends to the throne of
Babbiano I was not aware. But whither are we straying?”
</p>
<p>
“We are not straying, Madonna,” answered Gonzaga, “we are making a
straight line for the very heart and soul of this treachery I spoke of.
Would you believe me if I told you that here, in Roccaleone, we have an
agent of the Count of Aquila one who in the Count's interest is
protracting this siege with the pretended aim of driving Gian Maria off.”
</p>
<p>
“Gonzaga——” she began, more than half guessing the drift of
his explanation. But he interrupted her with unusual brusqueness.
</p>
<p>
“Wait, Madonna,” he cried, his eyes upon her face, his hand imperiously
raised. “Hear me out in patience. I am not talking idly. Of what I tell
you I am armed with proof and witness. Such an agent of—of the
Count's interests we have among us, and his true object in protracting
this siege, and encouraging and aiding you in your resistance, is to
outwear the patience of the people of Babbiano with Gian Maria, and drive
them in the hour of their approaching peril from Caesar Borgia's armies to
bestow the throne on Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
“Where learnt you this foul lie?” she asked him, her cheeks crimson, her
eyes on fire.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he said, in a patient voice, “this that you call a lie is
already an accomplished fact. I am not laying before you the fruits of
idle speculation. I have upon me the most positive proof that such a
result as was hoped for has already been reached. Gian Maria has received
from his subjects a notification that unless he is in his capital within
three days from this, they will invest the Lord of Aquila with the ducal
crown.”
</p>
<p>
She rose, her anger well controlled, her voice calm.
</p>
<p>
“Where is this proof? No, no; I don't need to see it. Whatever it is, what
shall it prove to me? That your words, in so far as the politics of
Babbiano are concerned, may be true; our resistance of Gian Maria may
indeed be losing him his throne and doing good service to the cause of the
Count of Aquila; but how shall all this prove that lie of yours, that
Messer Francesco—for it is clearly of him you speak—that
Messer Francesco should be this agent of the Count's? It is a lie,
Gonzaga, for which you shall be punished as you deserve.”
</p>
<p>
She ceased, and stood awaiting his reply, and as she watched him his calm
demeanour struck a chill into her heart. He was so confident, so full of
assurance; and that, in Gonzaga, she had learnt to know meant a strong
bulwark 'twixt himself and danger. He sighed profoundly.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, these cruel words of yours do not wound me, since they are no
more than I expected. But it will wound me—and sorely—if when
you shall have learnt the rest you do not humbly acknowledge how you have
wronged me, how grossly you have misjudged me. You think I come to you
with evil in my heart, urged by a spirit of vindictiveness against Messer
Francesco. Instead, I come to you with nothing but a profound sorrow that
mine must be the voice to disillusion you, and a deep indignation against
him that has so foully used you to his own ends. Wait, Madonna! In a
measure you are right. It was not strictly true to say that this Messer
Francesco is the agent of the Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! You are recanting already?”
</p>
<p>
“Only a little—an insignificant little. He is no agent because——”
He hesitated, and glanced swiftly up. Then he sighed, lowered his voice,
and with consummately simulated sorrow, he concluded “Because he is,
himself, Francesco del Falco. Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
She swayed a moment, and the colour died from her cheeks, leaving them
ivory pale. She leaned heavily against the table, and turned over in her
mind what she had heard. And then, as suddenly as it had gone, the blood
rushed back into her face, mounting to her very temples.
</p>
<p>
“It's a lie!” she blazed at him; “a lie for which you shall be whipped.”
</p>
<p>
He shrugged his shoulders, and cast Francesco's letter on to the table.
</p>
<p>
“There, Madonna, is something that will prove all that I have said.”
</p>
<p>
She eyed the paper coldly. Her first impulse was to call Fortemani and
carry out her threat of having Gonzaga whipped, refusing so much as to see
this thing that he so confidently termed a proof; but it may be that his
confidence wrought upon her, touching a chord of feminine curiosity. That
he was wrong she never doubted; but that he believed himself right she was
also assured, and she wondered what this thing might be that had so
convinced him. Still she did not touch it, but asked in an indifferent
voice:
</p>
<p>
“What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“A letter that was brought hither to-night by a man who swam the moat, and
whom I have ordered to be detained in the armoury tower. It is from
Fanfulla degli Arcipreti to the Count of Aquila. If your memory will bear
you back to a certain day at Acquasparta, you may recall that Fanfulla was
the name of a very gallant cavalier who addressed this Messer Francesco
with marked respect.”
</p>
<p>
She took that backward mental glance he bade her, and remembered. Then she
remembered, too, how that very evening Francesco had said that he was
fretting for news of Babbiano, and that when she had asked how he hoped
that news could reach him at Roccaleone, Gonzaga had entered before he
answered her. Indeed, he had seemed to hesitate upon that answer. A sudden
chill encompassed her at that reflection. Oh, it was impossible, absurd!
And yet she took the letter from the table. With knit brows she read it,
whilst Gonzaga watched her, scarce able to keep the satisfaction from
gleaming in his eyes.
</p>
<p>
She read it slowly, and as she read her face grew deathly pale. When she
had finished she stood silent for a long minute, her eyes upon the
signature and her mind harking back to what Gonzaga had said, and drawing
comparison between that and such things as had been done and uttered, and
nowhere did she find the slightest gleam of that discrepancy which so
ardently she sought.
</p>
<p>
It was as if a hand were crushing the heart in her bosom. This man whom
she had trusted, this peerless champion of her cause, to be nothing but a
self-seeker, an intriguer, who, to advance his own ends, had made a pawn
of her. She thought of how for a moment he had held her in his arms and
kissed her, and at that her whole soul revolted against the notion that
here was no more than treachery.
</p>
<p>
“It's all a plot against him!” she cried, her cheeks scarlet again. “It's
an infamous thing of your devising, Messer Gonzaga, an odious lie!”
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, the man that brought the letter is still detained. Confront him
with Messer Francesco; or apply the question to him, and learn his
master's true name and station. As for the rest, if that letter is
insufficient proof for you, I beg that you will look back at facts. Why
should he lie to you? and say that his name was Francesco Franceschi? Why
should he have urged you—against all reason—to remain here,
when he brought you news that Gian Maria was advancing? Surely had he but
sought to serve you he had better accomplished this by placing his own
castle of Aquila at your disposal, and leaving here an empty nest for Gian
Maria, as I urged.”
</p>
<p>
She sank to a chair, a fever in her mind.
</p>
<p>
“I tell you, Madonna, there is no mistake. What I have said is true.
Another three days would he have held Gian Maria here, whilst if you gave
him that letter, it is odds he would slip away in the night of to-morrow,
that he might be in Babbiano on the third day to take the throne his
cousin treats so lightly. Sainted God!” he cried out. “I think this is the
most diabolically treacherous plot that ever mind of man conceived and
human heartlessness executed.”
</p>
<p>
“But—but——” she faltered, “all this is presupposing that
Messer Francesco is indeed the Count of Aquila. May there—may it not
be that this letter was meant for some other destination?”
</p>
<p>
“Will you confront this messenger with the Count?”
</p>
<p>
“With the Count?” she inquired dully. “With Messer Francesco, you mean?”
She shuddered, and with strange inconsistence: “No,” she said, in a
choking voice, her lip twisting oddly at the corner. “I do not wish to see
his face again.”
</p>
<p>
A light gleamed in Gonzaga's eye, and was extinguished on the instant.
</p>
<p>
“Best make certain,” he suggested, rising. “I have ordered Fortemani to
bring Lanciotto here. He will be waiting now, without. Shall I admit
them?”
</p>
<p>
She nodded without speaking, and Gonzaga opened the door, and called
Fortemani. A voice answered him from the gloom of the banqueting-hall.
</p>
<p>
“Bring Lanciotto here,” he commanded.
</p>
<p>
When Francesco's servant entered, a look of surprise on his face at these
mysterious proceedings, it was Valentina who questioned him, and that in a
voice as cold as though the issue concerned her no whit.
</p>
<p>
“Tell me, sirrah,” she said, “and as you value your neck, see that you
answer me truly—what is your master's name?”
</p>
<p>
Lanciotto looked from her to Gonzaga, who stood by, a cynical curl on his
sensual lips.
</p>
<p>
“Answer Monna Valentina,” the courtier urged him. “State your master's
true name and station.”
</p>
<p>
“But, lady,” began Lanciotto, bewildered.
</p>
<p>
“Answer me!” she stormed, her small clenched hands beating the table in
harsh impatience. And Lanciotto, seeing no help for it, answered:
</p>
<p>
“Messer Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
Something that began in a sob and ended in a laugh burst from the lips of
Valentina. Ercole's eyes were wide at the news, and he might have gone the
length of interposing a question, when Gonzaga curtly bade him go to the
armoury tower, and bring thence the soldier and the man Gonzaga had left
in his care.
</p>
<p>
“I will leave no shadow of doubt in your mind, Madonna,” he said in
explanation.
</p>
<p>
They waited in silence—for Lanciotto's presence hindered
conversation—until Ercole returned accompanied by the man-at-arms
and Zaccaria, who had now changed his raiment. Before they could question
the new-comer, such questions as they might have put were answered by the
greeting that passed between him and his fellow-servant Lanciotto.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga turned to Valentina. She sat very still, her tawny head bowed and
in her eyes a look of sore distress. And in that instant a brisk step
sounded without. The door was thrust open, and Francesco himself stood
upon the threshold, with Peppe's alarmed face showing behind him. Gonzaga
instinctively drew back a pace, and his countenance lost some of its
colour.
</p>
<p>
At sight of Francesco, Zaccaria rushed forward and bowed profoundly.
</p>
<p>
“My lord!” he greeted him.
</p>
<p>
And if one little thing had been wanting to complete the evidence against
the Count, that thing, by an odd mischance, Francesco himself seemed to
supply. The strange group in that dining-room claiming his attention, and
the portentous air that hung about those present, confirmed the warning
Peppe had brought him that something was amiss. He disregarded utterly his
servant's greeting, and with eyes of a perplexity that may have worn the
look of alarm he sought the face of Valentina.
</p>
<p>
She rose upon the instant, an angry red colouring her cheeks. His very
glance, it seemed, was become an affront unbearable after what had passed—for
the memory of his kiss bit like a poisoned fang into her brain. An odd
laugh broke from her. She made a gesture towards Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“Fortemani, you will place the Count of Aquila under arrest,” she
commanded, in a stern, steady voice, “and as you value your life you will
see that he does not elude you.”
</p>
<p>
The great bully hesitated. His knowledge of Francesco's methods was not
encouraging.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna!” gasped Francesco, his bewilderment increasing.
</p>
<p>
“Did you hear me, Fortemani,” she demanded. “Remove him.”
</p>
<p>
“My lord?” cried Lanciotto, laying hand to his sword his eyes upon his
master's, ready to draw and lay about him at a glance of bidding.
</p>
<p>
“Sh! Let be,” answered Franeesco coldly. “Here, Messer Fortemani.” And he
proffered his dagger, the only weapon that he carried.
</p>
<p>
Valentina, calling Gonzaga to attend her, made shift to quit the
apartment. At that Francesco seemed to awaken to his position.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, wait,” he cried, and he stepped deliberately before her. “You
must hear me. I have surrendered in earnest of my faith and confident that
once you have heard me——”
</p>
<p>
“Captain Fortemani,” she cried, almost angrily, “will you restrain your
prisoner? I wish to pass.”
</p>
<p>
Ercole, with visible reluctance, laid a hand on Francesco's shoulder; but
it was unnecessary. Before her words, the Count recoiled as if he had been
struck. He stood clear of her path with a gasp at once of unbelief and
angry resignation. An instant his eyes rested on Gonzaga, so fiercely that
the faint smile withered on the courtier's lips, and his knees trembled
under him as he hastened from the room in Valentina's wake.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE ARMOURY TOWER
</h2>
<p>
The rough stones of the inner courtyard shone clean and bright in the
morning sun, still wet with the heavy rains that had washed them
yesternight.
</p>
<p>
The fool sat on a rude stool within the porch of the long gallery, and,
moodily eyeing that glistening pavement, ruminated. He was angry, which,
saving where Fra Domenico was concerned, was a rare thing with
good-humoured Peppe. He had sought to reason with Monna Valentina touching
the imprisonment in his chamber of Messer Francesco, and she had bidden
him confine his attention to his capers with a harshness he had never
known in her before. But he had braved her commands, and astonished her
with the information that the true identity of this Messer Francesco had
been known to him since that day when they had first met him at
Acquasparta. He had meant to say more. He had meant to add the
announcement of Francesco's banishment from Babbiano and his notorious
unwillingness to mount his cousin's throne. He had meant to make her
understand that had Francesco been so minded, he had no need to stoop to
such an act as this that she imputed to him. But she had cut him short,
and with angry words and angrier threats she had driven him from her
presence.
</p>
<p>
And so she was gone to Mass, and the fool had taken shelter in the porch
of the gallery, that there he might vent some of his ill-humour—or
indeed indulge it—in pondering the obtuseness of woman and the
insidiousness of Gonzaga, to whom he never doubted that this miserable
state of things was due.
</p>
<p>
And as he sat there—a grotesque, misshapen figure in gaudy motley—an
ungovernable rage possessed him. What was to become of them now? Without
the Count of Aquila's stern support the garrison would have forced her to
capitulate a week ago. What would betide, now that the restraint of his
formidable command was withdrawn?
</p>
<p>
“She will know her folly when it's too late. It's the way of women,” he
assured himself. And, loving his mistress as he did, his faithful soul was
stricken at the thought. He would wait there until she returned from Mass,
and then she should hear him—all should hear him. He would not
permit himself to be driven away again so easily. He was intently turning
over in his mind what he would say, with what startling, pregnant sentence
he would compel attention, when he was startled by the appearance of a
figure on the chapel steps. Sudden and quietly as an apparition it came,
but it bore the semblance of Romeo Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
At sight of him, Peppe instinctively drew back into the shadows of the
porch, his eyes discerning the suspicious furtiveness of the courtier's
movements, and watching them with a grim eagerness. He saw Romeo look
carefully about him, and then descend the steps on tiptoe, evidently so
that no echo of his footfalls should reach those within the chapel. Then,
never suspecting the presence of Peppe, he sped briskly across the yard
and vanished through the archway that led to the outer court. And the
fool, assured that some knowledge of the courtier's purpose would not be
amiss, set out to follow him.
</p>
<p>
In his room under the Lion's Tower the Count of Aquila had spent a
restless night, exercised by those same fears touching the fate of the
castle that had beset the fool, but less readily attributing his
confinement to Gonzaga's scheming. Zaccaria's presence had told him that
Fanfulla must at last have written, and he could but assume that the
letter, falling into Monna Valentina's hands, should have contained
something that she construed into treason on his part.
</p>
<p>
Bitterly he reproached himself now with not having from the very outset
been frank with her touching his identity; bitterly he reproached her with
not so much as giving a hearing to the man she had professed to love. Had
she but told him upon what grounds her suspicions against him had been
founded, he was assured that he could have dispelled them at a word,
making clear their baselessness and his own honesty of purpose towards
her. Most of all was he fretted by the fact that Zaccaria's presence,
after a coming so long expected and so long delayed, argued that the news
he bore was momentous. From this it might result that Gian Maria should
move at any moment and that his action might be of a desperate character.
</p>
<p>
Now through the ranks of Fortemani's men there had run an inevitable
dismay at Francesco's arrest, and a resentment against Valentina who had
encompassed it. His hand it was that had held them together, his judgment—of
which they had had unequivocal signs—that had given them courage. He
was a leader who had shown himself capable of leading, and out of
confidence for whom they would have undertaken anything that he bade them.
Whom had they now? Fortemani was but one of themselves, placed in command
over them by an event purely adventitious. Gonzaga was a fop whose capers
they mimicked and whose wits they despised; whilst Valentina, though brave
enough and high-spirited, remained a girl of no worldly and less military
knowledge, whose orders it might be suicidal to carry out.
</p>
<p>
Now by none were these opinions more strongly entertained than by Ercole
Fortemani himself. Never had he performed anything with greater reluctance
than the apprehension of Francesco, and when he thought of what was likely
to follow his consternation knew no bounds. He had come to respect and, in
his rough way, even to love their masterful Provost, and since learning
his true identity, in the hour of arresting him, his admiration had grown
to something akin to reverence for the condottiero whose name to the
men-at-arms of Italy was like the name of some patron saint.
</p>
<p>
To ensure the safe keeping of his captive, he had been ordered by Gonzaga,
who now resumed command of Roccaleone, to spend the night in the ante-room
of Francesco's chamber. These orders he had exceeded by spending a
considerable portion of the night in the Count's very room.
</p>
<p>
“You have but to speak,” the bully had sworn, by way of showing Francesco
the true nature of his feelings, “and the castle is yours. At a word from
you my men will flock to obey you, and you may do your will at
Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“Foul traitor that you are,” Francesco had laughed at him. “Do you forget
under whom you have taken service? Let be what is, Ercole. But if a favour
you would do me, let me see Zaccaria—the man that came to Roccaleone
to-night.”
</p>
<p>
This Ercole had done for him. Now Zaccaria was fully aware of the contents
of the letter he had carried, having been instructed by Fanfulla against
the chance arising of his being compelled, for his safety, to destroy it—an
expedient to which he now bitterly repented him that he had not had
recourse. From Zaccaria, then, Francesco learnt all that there was to
learn, and since the knowledge but confirmed his fears that Gian Maria
would delay action no longer, he fell a prey to the most passionate
impatience at his own detention.
</p>
<p>
In the grey hours of the morning he grew calmer, and by the light of a
lamp that he had called Ercole to replenish, he sat down to write a letter
to Valentina, which he thought should carry conviction of his honesty to
her heart. Since she would not hear him, this was the only course. At the
end of an hour—his moribund light grown yellow now that the sun was
risen—his letter was accomplished, and he summoned Ercole again, to
charge him to deliver it at once to Monna Valentina.
</p>
<p>
“I shall await her return from chapel,” answered Ercole. He took the
letter and departed. As he emerged into the courtyard he was startled to
see the fool dash towards him, gasping for breath, and with excitement in
every line of his quaint face.
</p>
<p>
“Quickly, Ercole!” Peppe enjoined him. “Come with me.”
</p>
<p>
“Devil take you, spawn of Satan—whither?” growled the soldier.
</p>
<p>
“I will tell you as we go. We have not a moment to spare. There is
treachery afoot—— Gonzaga——” he gasped, and ended
desperately: “Will you come?”
</p>
<p>
Fortemani needed no second bidding. The chance of catching pretty Messer
Romeo at a treachery was too sweet a lure. Snorting and puffing—for
hard drinking had sorely impaired his wind—the great captain hurried
the fool along, listening as they went to the gasps in which he brought
out his story. It was not much, after all. Peppe had seen Messer Gonzaga
repair to the armoury tower. Through an arrow-slit he had watched him take
down and examine an arbalest, place it on the table and sit down to write.
</p>
<p>
“Well?” demanded Ercole. “What else?”
</p>
<p>
“Naught else. That is all,” answered the hunchback.
</p>
<p>
“Heaven and hell!” roared the swashbuckler, coming to a standstill and
glowering down upon his impatient companion. “And you have made me run for
this?”
</p>
<p>
“And is it not enough?” retorted Peppe testily. “Will you come on?”
</p>
<p>
“Not a foot farther,” returned the captain, getting very angry. “Is this a
miserable jest? What of the treachery you spoke of?”
</p>
<p>
“A letter and an arbalest!” panted the maddened Peppe, grimacing horribly
at this delay. “God, was there ever such a fool! Does this mean nothing to
that thick, empty thing you call a head? Have you forgotten how Gian
Maria's offer of a thousand florins came to Roccaleone? On an arbalest
quarrel, stupid! Come on, I say, and afterwards you shall have my motley—the
only livery you have a right to wear.”
</p>
<p>
In the shock of enlightenment Ercole forgot to cuff the jester for his
insolence, and allowed himself once more to be hurried along, across the
outer court and up the steps that led to the battlements.
</p>
<p>
“You think——” he began.
</p>
<p>
“I think you had best tread more softly,” snapped the fool, under his
breath, “and control that thunderous wheeze, if you would surprise Ser
Romeo.”
</p>
<p>
Ercole accepted the hint, meek as a lamb, and leaving the fool behind him
on the steps, he went softly up, and approached the armoury tower. Peering
cautiously through the arrow-slit, and favoured by the fact that Gonzaga's
back was towards him, he saw that he was no more than in time.
</p>
<p>
The courtier was bending down, and by the creaking sound that reached him
Ercole guessed his occupation to be the winding of the arbalest string. On
the table at his side lay a quarrel swathed in a sheet of paper.
</p>
<p>
Swiftly and silently Ercole moved round the tower, and the next instant he
had pushed open the unfastened door and entered.
</p>
<p>
A scream of terror greeted him, and a very startled face was turned upon
him by Gonzaga, who instantly sprang upright. Then, seeing who it was, the
courtier's face reassumed some of its normal composure, but his glance was
uneasy and his cheek pale.
</p>
<p>
“Sant Iddio!” he gasped. “You startled me, Ercole. I did not hear you
coming.”
</p>
<p>
And now something in the bully's face heightened the alarm in Gonzaga. He
still made an effort at self-control, as planting himself between Ercole
and the table, so as to screen the tell-tale shaft, he asked him what he
sought there.
</p>
<p>
“That letter you have written Gian Maria,” was the gruff, uncompromising
answer, for Ercole reeked nothing of diplomatic issues.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga's mouth jerked itself open, and his upper lip shuddered against
his teeth.
</p>
<p>
“What—— Wha——”
</p>
<p>
“Give me that letter,” Ercole insisted, now advancing upon him, and
wearing an air of ferocity that drove back into Gonzaga's throat such
resentful words as he bethought him of. Then, like an animal at bay—and
even a rat will assert itself then—he swung aloft the heavy arbalest
he held, and stood barring Ercole's way.
</p>
<p>
“Stand back!” he cried; “or by God and His saints, I'll beat your brains
out.”
</p>
<p>
There was a guttural laugh from the swashbuckler, and then his arms were
round Gonzaga's shapely waist, and the popinjay was lifted from his feet.
Viciously he brought down the cross-bow, as he had threatened; but it
smote the empty air. The next instant Gonzaga was hurtled, bruised, into a
corner of the tower.
</p>
<p>
In a rage so great that he felt it draining him of his very strength and
choking the breath in his body, he made a movement to rise and fling
himself again upon his aggressor. But Fortemani was down upon him, and for
all his struggles contrived to turn him over on his face, twisting his
arms behind him, and making them fast with a belt that lay at hand.
</p>
<p>
“Lie still, you scorpion!” growled the ruffler, breathing hard from his
exertions. He rose, took the shaft with the letter tied about it, read the
superscription—“To the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza”—and
with a chuckle of mingled relish and scorn, he was gone, locking the door.
</p>
<p>
Left alone, Gonzaga lay face downward where he had been flung, able to do
little more than groan and sweat in the extremity of his despair, whilst
he awaited the coming of those who would probably make an end of him. Not
even from Valentina could he hope for mercy, so incriminating was the note
he had penned. His letter was to enjoin the Duke to hold his men in
readiness at the hour of the Angelus next morning, and to wait until
Gonzaga should wave a handkerchief from the battlements. At that he was to
advance immediately to the postern, which he would find open, and the
rest, Gonzaga promised him, would be easy. He would take the whole
garrison at their prayers and weaponless.
</p>
<p>
When Francesco read it a light leapt to his eye and an oath to his lips;
but neither glance nor oath were of execration, as Ercole stood expecting.
A sudden idea flashed through the Count's mind, so strange and humorous
and yet so full of promise of easy accomplishment, that he burst into a
laugh.
</p>
<p>
“Now may God bless this fool for the most opportune of traitors!” he
exclaimed, in surprise at which Fortemani's mouth fell open, and the eyes
of Peppe grew very round.
</p>
<p>
“Ercole, my friend, here is a bait to trap that lout my cousin, such as I
could never have devised myself.”
</p>
<p>
“You mean——?”
</p>
<p>
“Take it back to him,” cried the Count, holding out the letter with a hand
that trembled in the eagerness of his spirit. “Take it back, and get him
by fair means or foul to shoot it as he intended; or if he refuses, why,
then, do you seal it up and shoot it yourself. But see that it gets to
Gian Maria!”
</p>
<p>
“May I not know what you intend?” quoth the bewildered Ercole.
</p>
<p>
“All in good time, my friend. First do my bidding with that letter.
Listen! It were best that having read it you agree to join him in his
betrayal of Roccaleone, your own fears as to the ultimate fate awaiting
you at Gian Maria's hands being aroused. Urge him to promise you money,
immunity, what you will, as your reward; but make him believe you sincere,
and induce him to shoot his precious bolt. Now go! Lose no time, or they
may be returning from chapel, and your opportunity will be lost. Come to
me here, afterwards, and I will tell you what is in my mind. We shall have
a busy night of it to-night, Ercole, and you must set me free when the
others are abed. Now go!”
</p>
<p>
Ercole went, and Peppe, remaining, plagued the Count with questions which
he answered until in the end the fool caught the drift of his scheme, and
swore impudently that a greater jester than his Excellency did not live.
Then Ercole returned.
</p>
<p>
“Is it done? Has the letter gone?” cried Francesco. Fortemani nodded.
</p>
<p>
“We are sworn brothers in this business, he and I. He added a line to his
note to say that he had gained my cooperation, and that, therefore,
immunity was expected for me too.”
</p>
<p>
“You have done well, Ercole.” Francesco applauded him. “Now return me the
letter I gave you for Monna Valentina. There is no longer the need for it.
But return to me to-night toward the fourth hour, when all are abed, and
bring with you my men, Lanciotto and Zaccaria.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXIV. THE INTERRUPTED MASS
</h2>
<p>
The morning of that Wednesday of Corpus Christi, fateful to all concerned
in this chronicle, dawned misty and grey, and the air was chilled by the
wind that blew from the sea. The chapel bell tinkled out its summons, and
the garrison trooped faithfully to Mass.
</p>
<p>
Presently came Monna Valentina, followed by her ladies, her pages, and
lastly, Peppe, wearing under his thin mask of piety an air of eager
anxiety and unrest. Valentina was very pale, and round her eyes there were
dark circles that told of sleeplessness, and as she bowed her head in
prayer, her ladies observed that tears were falling on the illuminated
Mass-book over which she bent. And now came Fra Domenico from the sacristy
in the white chasuble that the Church ordains for the Corpus Christi
feast, followed by a page in a clerkly gown of black, and the Mass
commenced.
</p>
<p>
There were absent only from the gathering Gonzaga and Fortemani, besides a
sentry and the three prisoners. Francesco and his two followers.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga had presented himself to Valentina with the plausible tale that,
as the events of which Fanfulla's letter had given them knowledge might
lead Gian Maria at any moment to desperate measures, it might be well that
he should reinforce the single man-at-arms patrolling the walls.
Valentina, little recking now whether the castle held or fell, and still
less such trifles as Gonzaga's attendance at Mass, had assented without
heeding the import of what he said.
</p>
<p>
And so, his face drawn and his body quivering with the excitement of what
he was about to do, Gonzaga had repaired to the ramparts so soon as he had
seen them all safely into chapel. The sentinel was that same clerkly youth
Aventano, who had read to the soldiers that letter Gian Maria had sent
Gonzaga. This the courtier accepted as a good omen. If a man there was
among the soldiery at Roccaleone with whom he deemed that he had an
account to settle, that man was Aventano.
</p>
<p>
The mist was rapidly lightening, and the country grew visible for miles
around. In the camp of Gian Maria he observed a coming and going of men
that argued an inordinate bustle for so early an hour. They awaited his
signal.
</p>
<p>
He approached the young sentinel, growing more and more nervous as the
time for action advanced. He cursed Fortemani, who had selfishly refused
to take an active part in the admission of Gian Maria. Here was a task
that Fortemani could perform more satisfactorily than he. He had urged
this fact on Ercole's attention, but the swashbuckler had grinned and
shook his head. To Gonzaga fell the greater reward, and so Gonzaga must do
the greater work. It was only fair, the knave had urged; and while Gonzaga
was about it, he would watch the chapel door against interruption. And so
Gonzaga had been forced to come alone to try conclusions with the sentry.
</p>
<p>
He gave the young man a nervous but pleasant “Good-morrow,” and observed
with satisfaction that he wore no body armour. His original intention had
been to attempt to suborn him, and render him pliable by bribery; but now
that the moment for action was arrived he dared not make the offer. He
lacked for words in which to present his proposal, and he was afraid lest
the man should resent it, and in a fit of indignation attack him with his
partisan. He little imagined that Aventano had been forewarned by Ercole
that a bribe would be offered him and that he was to accept it promptly.
Ercole had chosen this man because he was intelligent, and had made him
understand enough of what was toward, besides offering a substantial
reward if he played his part well, and Aventano waited. But Gonzaga,
knowing naught of this, abandoned at the last moment the notion of bribing
him—which Ercole had enjoined him, and which he in his turn had
promised Ercole was the course he would pursue.
</p>
<p>
“You seem cold, Excellency,” said the young man deferentially, for he had
observed that Gonzaga shivered.
</p>
<p>
“A chill morning, Aventano,” returned the gallant, with a grin.
</p>
<p>
“True; but the sun is breaking through yonder. It will be warmer soon.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, yes,” answered the other abstractedly, and still he remained by the
sentinel, his hand, under the gay mantle of blue velvet, nervously
fingering the hilt of a dagger that he dared not draw. It came to him that
moments were passing, and that the thing must be done. Yet Aventano was a
sinewy youth, and if the sudden stab he meditated failed him, he would be
at the fellow's mercy. At the thought he shivered again, and his face
turned grey. He moved away a step, and then inspiration brought him a
cruel ruse. He uttered a cry.
</p>
<p>
“What is that?” he exclaimed, his eyes on the ground.
</p>
<p>
In an instant Aventano was beside him, for his voice had sounded alarmed—a
tone, in his present condition, not difficult to simulate.
</p>
<p>
“What, Excellency?”
</p>
<p>
“Down there,” cried Gonzaga excitedly. “There from that fissure in the
stone. Saw you nothing?” And he pointed to the ground at a spot where two
slabs met.
</p>
<p>
“I saw nothing, Illustrious.”
</p>
<p>
“It was like a flash of yellow light below there. What is under us here?
I'll swear there's treachery at work. Get down on your knees, and try if
anything is to be seen.”
</p>
<p>
With a wondering glance at the courtier's white, twitching face, the
unfortunate young man went down on all fours to do his bidding. After all—poor
fellow!—he was hardly intelligent as Fortemani opined.
</p>
<p>
“There is nothing, Excellency,” he said. “The plaster is cracked. But——
Ah!”
</p>
<p>
In a panic of haste Gonzaga had whipped the dagger from its sheath and
sunk it into the middle of Aventano's broad back. The fellow's arms slid
out, and with a long-drawn, gurgling sigh he sank down and stretched
himself horribly on the stones.
</p>
<p>
In that instant the clouds parted overhead and the sun came out in a blaze
of golden glory. High above Gonzaga's head a lark burst into song.
</p>
<p>
For a moment the assassin remained standing above the body of his victim
with head sunk between the shoulders like a man who expects a blow, his
face grey, his teeth chattering, and his mouth twitching hideously. A
shudder shook him. It was the first life he had taken, and that carrion at
his feet filled him with sickly horror. Not for a kingdom—not to
save his vile soul from the eternal damnation that act had earned it—would
he have dared stoop to pluck the dagger from the back of the wretch he had
murdered. With something like a scream he turned, and fled in a panic from
the spot. Panting with horror, yet subconsciously aware of the work he had
to do, he paused a moment to wave a kerchief, then dashed down the steps
to the postern.
</p>
<p>
With trembling fingers he unlocked the door and set it wide to Gian
Maria's men, who, in answer to his signal, were now hurrying forward with
a bridge composed of pine trees, that they had hastily and roughly put
together during the previous day. This, with some efforts and more noise
than Gonzaga relished, was thrust across the moat. One of the men crept
across, and assisted Gonzaga to make fast his end.
</p>
<p>
A moment later Gian Maria and Guidobaldo stood in the castle-yard, and
after them came almost every man of the five score that Gian Maria had
brought to that siege. This was what Francesco had confidently expected,
knowing that it was not his cousin's way to run any risks.
</p>
<p>
The Duke of Babbiauo, whose face was disfigured by a bristling hedge of
reddish stubble—for in obedience to the vow he had made, he now
carried a fortnight's growth of beard on his round face—turned to
Gonzaga.
</p>
<p>
“Is all well?” he asked, in a friendly tone, whilst Guidobaldo
contemptuously eyed the popinjay.
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga assured them that the whole thing had been effected without
disturbing the garrison at their prayers. Now that he deemed himself well
protected his usual serenity of manner returned.
</p>
<p>
“You may felicitate yourself, Highness,” he ventured to say, with a grin,
to Guidobaldo, “that you have reared your niece in devout ways.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you address me?” quoth the Duke of Urbino coldly. “I trust it may not
again be necessary.”
</p>
<p>
Before the look of loathing in his handsome face Gonzaga cringed. Gian
Maria laughed in his piping treble.
</p>
<p>
“Have I not served your Highness faithfully?” fawned the gallant.
</p>
<p>
“So has the meanest scullion in my kitchens, the lowliest groom in my
stables—and with more honour to himself,” answered the proud Duke.
“Yet he does not go the length of jesting with me.” His eye carried a
menace so eloquent that Gonzaga drew back, afraid; but Gian Maria clapped
him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.
</p>
<p>
“Be of good heart, Judas,” he laughed, his pale face a-grin, “I shall find
room for you in Babbiano, and work too, if you do it as well as this.
Come; the men are here now. Let us go forward whilst they are at their
prayers. But we must not disturb them,” he added, more seriously. “I will
not be guilty of an impiety. We can lie in wait for them without.”
</p>
<p>
He laughed gaily, for he seemed in a preposterously good humour, and
bidding Gonzaga lead the way he followed, with Guidobaldo at his side.
They crossed the courtyard, where his men were ranged, armed to the teeth,
and at the door of the archway leading to the inner court they paused for
Gonzaga to open it.
</p>
<p>
A moment the gallant stood staring. Then he turned a face of consternation
on the Dukes. His knees shook visibly.
</p>
<p>
“It is locked,” he announced, in a husky voice.
</p>
<p>
“We made too much noise in entering,” suggested Guidobaldo, “and they have
taken the alarm.”
</p>
<p>
The explanation relieved the growing uneasiness in Gian Maria's mind. He
turned with an oath to his men.
</p>
<p>
“Here, some of you,” his sharp voice commanded. “Beat me down this door.
By the Host! Do the fools think to keep me out so easily?”
</p>
<p>
The door was broken down, and they advanced. But only some half-dozen
paces, for at the end of that short gallery they found the second door
barring their progress. Through this, too, they broke, Gian Maria fiercely
blaspheming at the delay. Yet when it was done he was none so eager to
lead the way.
</p>
<p>
In the second courtyard he deemed it extremely probable that they should
find Valentina's soldiers awaiting them. So bidding his men pass on, he
remained behind with Guidobaldo until he heard word that the inner court
was likewise empty.
</p>
<p>
And now the entire hundred of his followers were assembled there to
overpower the twenty that served Monna Valentina; and Guidobaldo—despite
Gian Maria's scruples—strode coolly forward to the chapel door.
</p>
<hr />
<p>
Within the chapel Mass had started. Fra Domenico at the foot of the altar
had pattered through the Confiteor, his deep voice responded to by the
soprano of the ministering page. The Kyrie was being uttered when the
attention of the congregation was attracted by the sound of steps
approaching the chapel door to the accompaniment of an ominous clank of
steel. The men rose in a body, fearing treachery, and cursing—despite
the sanctity of the place—the circumstance that they were without
weapons.
</p>
<p>
Then the door opened, and down the steps rang the armed heels of the
new-comers, so that every eye was turned upon them, including that of Fra
Domenico, who had pronounced the last “Christe eleison” in a quavering
voice.
</p>
<p>
A gasp of relief, followed by an angry cry from Valentina, went up when
they recognised those that came. First stepped the Count of Aquila in full
armour, sword at side and dagger on hip, carrying his head-piece on the
crook of his left arm. Behind him towered the bulk of Fortemani, his great
face flushed with a strange excitement, a leather hacketon over his steel
cuirass, girt, too, with sword and dagger, and carrying his shining morion
in his hand. Last came Lanciotto and Zaccaria, both fully equipped and
armed at all points.
</p>
<p>
“Who are you that come thus accoutred into God's House to interrupt the
holy Mass?” cried the bass voice of the friar.
</p>
<p>
“Patience, good father,” answered Francesco calmly, “The occasion is our
justification.”
</p>
<p>
“What does this mean, Fortemani?” demanded Valentina imperiously, her eyes
angrily set upon her captain, utterly ignoring the Count. “Do you betray
me too?”
</p>
<p>
“It means, Madonna,” answered the giant bluntly, “that your lap-dog,
Messer Gonzaga, is at this very moment admitting Gian Maria and his forces
to Roccaleone, by the postern.”
</p>
<p>
There was a hoarse cry from the men, which Francesco silenced by a wave of
his mailed hand.
</p>
<p>
Valentina looked wildly at Fortemani, and then, as if drawn by a greater
will than her own, her eyes were forced to travel to the Count. He
instantly advanced, and bowed his head before her.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna, this is no hour for explanations. Action is needed, and that at
once. I was wrong in not disclosing my identity to you before you
discovered it by such unfortunate means and with the assistance of the
only traitor Roccaleone has harboured, Romeo Gonzaga—who, as
Fortemani has just told you, is at this moment admitting my cousin and
your uncle to the castle. But that my object was ever other than to serve
you, or that I sought, as was represented to you, to turn this siege to my
own political profit, that, Madonna, I implore you in your own interests
to believe untrue.”
</p>
<p>
She sank on to her knees and with folded hands began to pray to the Mother
of Mercy, deeming herself lost, for his tone carried conviction, and he
had said that Gian Maria was entering the castle.
</p>
<p>
“Madonna,” he cried, touching her lightly on the shoulder; “let your
prayers wait until they can be of thanksgiving. Listen. By the vigilance
of Peppe there, who, good soul that he is, never lost faith in me or
deemed me a dastard, we were informed last night—Fortemani and I—of
this that Gonzaga was preparing. And we have made our plans and prepared
the ground. When Gian Maria's soldiers enter, they will find the outer
doors barred and locked, and we shall gain a little time while they break
through them. My men, as you will observe, are even now barring the door
of the chapel to impose a further obstacle. Now while they are thus
engaged we must act. Briefly, then, if you will trust us we will bear you
out of this, for we four have worked through the night to some purpose.”
</p>
<p>
She looked at him through a film of tears, her face drawn and startled.
Then she put her hands to her brow in a gesture of bewildered
helplessness.
</p>
<p>
“But they will follow us,” she complained.
</p>
<p>
“Not so,” he answered, smiling. “For that, too, have we provided. Come,
Madonna, time presses.”
</p>
<p>
A long moment she looked at him. Then brushing aside the tears that dimmed
her sight, she set a hand on either of his shoulders, and stood so, before
them all, gazing up into his calm face.
</p>
<p>
“How shall I know that what you say is true—that I may trust you?”
she asked, but her voice was not the voice of one that demands an
overwhelming proof ere she will believe.
</p>
<p>
“By my honour and my knighthood,” he answered, in a ringing voice, “I make
oath here, at the foot of God's altar, that my purpose—my only
purpose—has been, is, and shall be to serve you, Monna Valentina.”
</p>
<p>
“I believe you,” she cried; to sob a moment later:
</p>
<p>
“Forgive me, Francesco, and may God, too, forgive my lack of faith in
you.”
</p>
<p>
He softly breathed her name in such sweet accents that a happy peace
pervaded her, and the bright courage of yore shone in her brown eyes.
</p>
<p>
“Come, sirs!” he cried now, with a sudden briskness that startled them
into feverish obedience. “You, Fra Domenico, cut off your sacerdotals, and
gird high your habit. There is climbing for you. Here, a couple of you,
move aside that altar-step. My men and I have spent the night in loosening
its old hinges.”
</p>
<p>
They raised the slab, and in the gap beneath it was disclosed a flight of
steps leading down to the dungeons and cellars of Roccaleone.
</p>
<p>
Down this they went in haste but in good order, marshalled by Francesco,
and when the last had passed down, he and Lanciotto, aided by others
below, who had seized a rope that he had lowered them, replaced the slab
from underneath, so that no trace should remain of the way by which they
had come.
</p>
<p>
A postern had been unbarred below by Fortemani, who had led the way with a
half-dozen of the men; and a huge scaling ladder that lay in readiness in
that subterranean gallery was rushed out across the moat, which at this
point was a roaring torrent.
</p>
<p>
Fortemani was the first to descend that sloping bridge, and upon reaching
the ground he made fast the lower end.
</p>
<p>
Next went a dozen men at Francesco's bidding, armed with the pikes that
had been left overnight in the gallery. At a word of command they slipped
quietly away. Then came the women, and lastly, the remainder of the men.
</p>
<p>
Of the enemy they caught no glimpse; not so much as a sentry, for every
one of Gian Maria's men had been pressed into the investment of the
castle. Thus they emerged from Roccaleone, and made their way down that
rough bridge into the pleasant meadows to the south. Already Fortemani and
his dozen men had disappeared at the trot, making for the front of the
castle, when Francesco stepped last upon the bridge, and closed the
postern after him. Then he glided rapidly to the ground, and with the
assistance of a dozen ready hands he dragged away the scaling ladder. They
carried it some yards from the brink of the torrent, and deposited it in
the meadow. With a laugh of purest relish Francesco stepped to Valentina's
side.
</p>
<p>
“It will exercise their minds to discover how we got out,” he cried, “and
they will be forced to the conclusion that we are angels all, with wings
beneath our armour. We have not left them a single ladder or a strand of
rope in Roccaleone by which to attempt to follow us, even if they discover
how we came. But come, Valentina mia, the comedy is not finished yet.
Already Fortemani will have removed the bridge by which they entered and
engaged such few men as may have been left behind, and we have the High
and Mighty Gian Maria in the tightest trap that was ever fashioned.”
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXV. THE CAPITULATION OF ROCCALEONE
</h2>
<p>
In the sunshine of that bright May morning Francesco and his men went
merrily to work to possess themselves of the ducal camp, and the first
business of the day was to arm those soldiers who had come out unarmed. Of
weapons there was no lack, and to these they helped themselves in liberal
fashion, whilst here and there a man would pause to don a haubergeon or
press a steel cap on his head.
</p>
<p>
Three sentries only had been left to guard the tents, and of these
Fortemani and a couple of his men had made prisoners whilst the others
were removing the bridge by which the invaders had entered. And now
beneath the open postern by the drawbridge gaped a surging torrent that no
man would have the hardihood to attempt to swim.
</p>
<p>
In that opening, presently, appeared Gian Maria, his face red for once,
and behind him a clamouring crowd of men-at-arms who shared their master's
rage at the manner in which they had been trapped.
</p>
<p>
At the rear of the tents Valentina and her ladies awaited the issue of the
parley that now seemed toward. The bulk of the men were busy at Gian
Maria's cannons, and under Francesco's supervision they were training them
upon the drawbridge.
</p>
<p>
From the castle a mighty shout went up. The men disappeared from the
postern to reappear a moment later on the ramparts, and Francesco laughed
deep down in his throat as he perceived the purpose of this. They had
bethought them of the guns that were mounted there, and were gone to use
them against Valentina's little army. Gun after gun they tried, and a
fierce cry of rage burst forth when they realised by what dummies they had
been held in check during the past week. This was followed by a silence of
some moments, terminated at last by the sound of a bugle.
</p>
<p>
Answering that summons to a parley, and with a last word of injunction to
Fortemani, who was left in charge of the men at the guns, Francesco rode
forward on one of Gian Maria's horses, escorted by Lanciotto and Zaccaria
similarly mounted, and each armed with a loaded arquebuse.
</p>
<p>
Under the walls of Roccaleone he drew rein, laughing to himself at this
monstrous change of sides. As he halted—helmet on head, but beaver
open—a body came hurtling over the battlements and splashed into the
foaming waters below. It was the corpse of Aventano, which Gian Maria had
peremptorily bidden them to remove from his sight.
</p>
<p>
“I desire to speak with Monna Valentina della Rovere,” cried the furious
Duke.
</p>
<p>
“You may speak with me, Gian Maria,” answered Francesco's voice, clear and
metallic. “I am her representative, her sometime Provost of Roccaleone.”
</p>
<p>
“Who are you?” quoth the Duke, struck by a familiar note in that mocking
voice.
</p>
<p>
“Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila.”
</p>
<p>
“By God! You!”
</p>
<p>
“An age of marvels, is it not?” laughed Francesco.
</p>
<p>
“Which will you lose, my cousin—a wife or a duchy?”
</p>
<p>
Rage struck Gian Maria speechless for a moment. Then he turned to
Guidobaldo and whispered something; but Guidobaldo, who seemed vastly
interested now in this knight below, merely shrugged his shoulders.
</p>
<p>
“I will lose neither, Messer Francesco,” roared the Duke. “Neither, by
God!” he screamed. “Neither, do you hear me?”
</p>
<p>
“I should be deaf else,” was the easy answer, “But you are gravely at
fault. One or the other you must relinquish, and it is yours to make a
choice between them. The game has gone against you, Gian Maria, and you
must pay.”
</p>
<p>
“But have I no voice in the bartering of my niece?” asked Guidobaldo, with
cold dignity. “Is it for you, Lord Count, to say whether your cousin shall
wed her or not?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, no. He may wed her if he will, but he will be a duke no longer. In
fact, he will be an outcast with no title to lay claim to, if indeed the
Babbianians will leave him a head at all; whilst I, at least, though not a
duke with a tottering throne, am a count with lands, small but securely
held, and shall become a duke if Gian Maria refuses to relinquish me your
niece. So that if he be disposed to marry her, will you be disposed to let
her marry a homeless vagrant or a headless corpse?”
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo's face seemed to change, and his eyes looked curiously at the
white-faced Duke beside him.
</p>
<p>
“So you are the other pretender to my niece's hand, Lord Count?” he asked,
in his coldest voice.
</p>
<p>
“I am, Highness,” answered Francesco quietly. “The matter stands thus:
Unless Gian Maria is in Babbiano by morning, he forfeits his crown, and it
passes to me by the voice of the people; but if he will relinquish his
claim to Monna Valentina in my favour, then I shall journey straight to
Aquila, and I shall trouble Babbiano no more. If he refuses, and insists
upon this wedding, abhorrent to Monna Valentina, why, then, my men shall
hold him captive behind those walls until it be too late for him to reach
his duchy in time to save the crown. In the meantime I will ride to
Babbiano in his stead, and—reluctant though I be to play the duke—I
shall accept the throne and silence the people's importunities. He can
then endeavour to win your Highness's consent to the union.”
</p>
<p>
For perhaps the first time in his life Guidobaldo was guilty of an act of
positive discourtesy. He broke into a laugh—a boisterous, amused
laugh that cut into Gian Maria's heart like a knife.
</p>
<p>
“Why, Lord Count,” he said, “I confess that you have us very much in your
hands to mould us as you will. Now, you are such a soldier and such a
strategist as it would pleasure me to have about my person in Urbino. What
says your Highness?” he continued, turning now to the almost speechless
Gian Maria. “I have yet another niece with whom we might cement the union
of the two duchies; and she might prove more willing. Women, it seems,
will insist upon being women. Do you not think that Monna Valentina and
this your valiant cousin——”
</p>
<p>
“Heed him not!” screamed Gian Maria, now in a white heat of passion. “He
is a smooth-tongued dog that would argue the very devil out of hell. Make
no terms with the hind! I have a hundred men, and——” He swung
suddenly round. “Let down that drawbridge, cowards!” he bawled at them,
“and sweep me those animals from my tents.”
</p>
<p>
“Gian Maria, I give you warning,” cried Francesco, loudly and firmly. “I
have trained your own guns on to that bridge, and at the first attempt to
lower it I'll blow it into splinters. You come not out of Roccaleone save
at my pleasure and upon my terms, and if you lose your duchy by your
obstinacy, it will be your own work; but answer me now, that I may take my
course.”
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo, too, restrained Gian Maria, and countermanded his order for
the lowering of the bridge. And now on his other side Gonzaga crept up to
him, and whispered into his ear the suggestion that he should wait until
night had fallen.
</p>
<p>
“Wait until night, fool!” blazed the Duke, turning on him, in a fierce joy
at finding one whom he might rend. “If I wait until then, my throne is
lost to me. This comes of sorting with traitors. It is your fault, you
Judas!” he cried more fiercely still, his face distorted; “but you at
least shall pay for what you have done.”
</p>
<p>
Gonzaga saw a sudden flash of steel before his eyes, and a piercing scream
broke from him as Gian Maria's dagger buried itself in his breast. Too
late Guidobaldo put forward a hand to stay the Duke.
</p>
<p>
And so, by a strangely avenging justice, the magnificent Gonzaga sank dead
on the very spot on which he had so cravenly and dastardly poniarded
Aventano.
</p>
<p>
“Throw me that carrion into the moat,” growled Gian Maria, still quivering
with rage that had prompted his ferocious act.
</p>
<p>
He was obeyed, and thus murdered and murderer were united in a common
grave.
</p>
<p>
After the first attempt to restrain Gian Maria, Guidobaldo had looked on
in unconcern, deeming the act a very fitting punishment of a man with
whose treachery he, at least, had never been in sympathy.
</p>
<p>
As he saw the body vanish in the torrent below, Gian Maria seemed to
realise what he had done. His anger fell from him, and with bent head he
piously crossed himself. Then turning to an attendant who stood at his
elbow:
</p>
<p>
“See that a Mass is said for his soul to-morrow,” he solemnly bade him.
</p>
<p>
As if the act had served to pacify him and restore him to his senses, Gian
Maria now stepped forward and asked his cousin, in calmer tones than he
had hitherto employed, to make clear the terms on which he would permit
him to return to Babbiano within the time to which his people limited him.
</p>
<p>
“They are no more than that you relinquish your claim to Monna Valentina,
and that you find consolation—as I think his Highness of Urbino has
himself suggested—in the Lord Guidobaldo's younger niece.”
</p>
<p>
Before he could reply Guidobaldo was urging him, in a low voice to accept
the terms.
</p>
<p>
“What else is there for you?” Montefeltro ended pregnantly.
</p>
<p>
“And this other niece of yours——?” quoth Gian Maria lamely.
</p>
<p>
“I have already passed my word,” answered Guidobaldo.
</p>
<p>
“And Monna Valentina?” the other almost whined.
</p>
<p>
“May wed this headstrong condottiero of hers. I'll not withstand them.
Come; I am your friend in this. I am even sacrificing Valentina to your
interests. For if you persist, he will ruin you. The game is his, my lord.
Acknowledge your defeat, as I acknowledge mine, and pay.”
</p>
<p>
“But what is your defeat to mine?” cried Gian Maria, who saw through
Guidobaldo's appreciation of the fact that such a nephew-in-law as
Francesco del Falco was far from undesirable in the troublous times that
threatened.
</p>
<p>
“It is at least as absolute,” returned Guidobaldo, with a shrug. And in
this vein the Duke of Urbino continued for some moments, till, in the end,
Gian Maria found himself not only deserted by his ally, but having this
ally now combating on his cousin's side and pressing him to accept his
cousin's terms, distasteful though they were. Thus urged, Gian Maria
lamely acknowledged his defeat and his willingness to pay the forfeit.
With that he asked how soon he might be permitted to leave the castle.
</p>
<p>
“Why, at once, now that I have your word,” answered Francesco readily,
whereat treachery gleamed from Gian Maria's eye, to be swiftly quenched by
Francesco's next words. “But lest your men and mine should come to trouble
with one another, you will order yours to come forth without arms or
armour, and you will depose your own. His Highness Guidobaldo is the only
man in whose favour I can make an exception to this condition. Let it be
broken, and I promise you that you will very bitterly regret it. At sight
of the first armed man issuing from those gates, I'll give the word to
fire on you, and your own guns shall work your destruction.”
</p>
<p>
Thus was the second siege of Roccaleone ended almost as soon as it was
begun, and thus did Gian Maria capitulate to the conqueror. The Duke of
Babbiano and his men marched out sheepishly and silently, and took their
way to Babbiano, no word—not even so much as a glance—passing
between Gian Maria and the lady who had been the cause of his
discomfiture, and who blithely looked on at his departure.
</p>
<p>
Guidobaldo and his few attendants lingered after his late ally had gone.
Then he bade Francesco lead him to his niece, in which Francesco readily
obeyed him.
</p>
<p>
The Duke embraced her coldly—still that he embraced her at all after
what was passed augured well.
</p>
<p>
“You will come with me to Urbino, Lord Count?” he said suddenly to
Francesco. “It were best to celebrate the nuptials there. Everything is in
readiness—for all had been prepared for Gian Maria.”
</p>
<p>
A great joy came into Valentina's eyes; her cheeks flushed and her glance
fell; but Francesco scanned the Duke's face with the keen eye of one who
is incredulous of so much good fortune.
</p>
<p>
“Your Highness means me well?” he made bold to ask. Guidobaldo stiffened,
and a frown broke the serenity of his lofty brow.
</p>
<p>
“You have my princely word,” he answered solemnly, at which, with bended
knee, Francesco stooped to kiss his ducal hand.
</p>
<p>
And so they departed on the horses that they kept as the spoils of war.
They made a goodly show, Guidobaldo riding at their head, with Francesco
and Valentina, whilst the rear was brought up by Peppe and Fra Domenico,
who, touched by this epidemic of goodwill, were at last fraternising with
each other.
</p>
<p>
And as they rode it chanced that presently Guidobaldo fell behind, so that
for a moment Francesco and Valentina found themselves alone a little ahead
of the others. She turned to him, a shyness in her brown eyes, a tremble
at the corners of her red lips:
</p>
<p>
“You have not yet said that you forgive me, Francesco,” she complained, in
a timerous whisper. “Were it not seemly that you did since we are to be
wed so soon?”
</p>
<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-AT-ARMS ***</div>
<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 3530-h.htm or 3530-h.zip</div>
<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/3/3530/</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
</div>
<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br />
<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br />
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span>
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
</div>
<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
</div>
<blockquote>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
</div>
</blockquote>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
</div>
<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'>
<div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
</div>
<div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
</div>
<div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
</div>
<div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
</div>
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
</div>
<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
</div>
<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
</div>
<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
</div>
<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
</div>
</body>
</html>
|
