CHAPTER XI. WANDERING KNIGHTS
That taunt of his mother's stirred Gian Maria. He rose from his ducalchair and descended from the dais on which it stood, possessed by atempestuous mood that would not brook him to sit still.
"The braying of an ass?" he muttered, facing Caterina. Then he laughedunpleasantly. "The jaw-bone of an ass did sore execution on oneoccasion, Madonna, and it may again. A little patience, and you shallsee." Next, and with a brisker air, he addressed the four silentcourtiers, "You heard him, sirs," he exclaimed, "How do you say that Ishall 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 counselfor me?" he demanded harshly.
"I had not thought," said Lodi hardily, "that this was a case in whichyour Highness needed counsel. You were drawn to conclude that the Lordof Aquila was a traitor, but from what we have all heard, your Highnessshould now see that he is not."
"Should I so?" the Duke returned, standing still and fixing uponFabrizio an eye that was dull as a snake's. "Messer da Lodi, yourloyalty is a thing that has given signs of wavering of late. Now, ifby the grace of God and His blessed saints I have ruled as a mercifulprince who errs too much upon the side of clemency, I would enjoin younot to try that clemency too far. I am but a man, after all."
He turned from the fearless front presented by the old statesman, toface the troubled glances of the others.
"Your silence, sirs, tells me that in this matter your judgement runsparallel with mine. And you are wise, for in such a case there can bebut one course. My cousin has uttered words to-day which no man has eversaid to a prince and lived. Nor shall we make exception to that rule. MyLord of Aquila's head must pay the price of his temerity."
"My son," cried Caterina, in a voice of horror. Gian Maria faced her ina passion, his countenance grown mottled.
"I have said it," he growled. "I will not sleep until he dies."
"Yet never may you wake again," she answered. And with that preambleshe launched upon his head the bitterest criticism he had ever heard. Bystinging epithets and contemptuous words, she sought to make him see thefolly 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'scoming. He need not precipitate matters by a deed that must lead to arevolt, a rising of the people to avenge their idol.
"You have given me but added reasons," he answered her stoutly. "Thereis no room in my Duchy for a man whose death, if it pleased me toencompass it, would be avenged upon me by my own people."
"Then send him from your dominions," she urged. "Banish him, and all maybe well. But if you slay him, I should not count your life worth a day'spurchase."
This advice was sound, and in the end they prevailed upon him to adoptit. But it was not done save at the cost of endless prayers on the partof those courtiers, and the persuasions of Caterina's biting scorn andprophecies of the fate that surely awaited him did he touch the life ofone so well-beloved. At last, against his will, he sullenly consentedthat the banishment of his cousin should content him. But it was withinfinite bitterness and regret that he passed his word, for his jealousywas of a quality that nothing short of Francesco's death could haveappeased. Certain it is that nothing but the fear of the consequences,which his mother had instilled into his heart, could have swayed him tobe satisfied that the Count of Aquila should be banished.
He sent for Martino and bade him return the Count his sword, and heentrusted the message of exile to Fabrizio da Lodi, charging him toapprise Francesco that he was allowed twenty-four hours' grace in whichto take himself beyond the dominions of Gian Maria Sforza.
That done--and with an exceedingly ill grace--the Duke turned on hisheel, and with a sullen brow he left the ducal chamber, and passed,unattended, to his own apartments.
Rejoicing, Fabrizio da Lodi went his errand, which he discharged withcertain additions that might have cost him his head had knowledge ofthem come to Gian Maria. In fact, he seized the opportunity to againpress upon Francesco the throne of Babbiano.
"The hour is very ripe," he urged the Count, "and the people love youas surely prince was never loved. It is in their interests that I plead.You are their only hope. Will you not come to them?"
If for a moment Francesco hesitated, it was rather in consideration ofthe manner in which the crown was offered than in consequence of anyallurement that the offer may have had for him. Once--that night atSant' Angelo--he had known temptation, and for a moment had listened tothe 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 showeredupon him such admiring love, and whom, as a matter of reciprocity, hewished well, and would have served in any capacity but this. He shookhis head, and with a smile of regret declined the offer.
"Have patience, old friend," he added. "I am not of the stuff that goesto make good princes, although you think it. It is a bondage into whichI would not sell myself. A man's life for me, Fabrizio--a free life thatis not directed by councillors and at the mercy of the rabble."
Fabrizio's face grew sad. He sighed profoundly, yet since it might notbe 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 toinsist with persuasions, which, after all, he clearly saw must in theend prove barren.
"What was the salvation of the people of Babbiano," he murmured, "wasalso your Excellency's, since did you adopt the course I urge therewould be no need to go in banishment."
"Why, this exile suits me excellently well," returned Francesco. "Idlehave I been over-long, and the wish to roam is in my veins again. I'llsee the world once more, and when I weary of my vagrancy I can withdrawto my lands of Aquila, and in that corner of Tuscany, too mean to drawa conqueror's eye, none will molest me, and I shall rest. Babbiano, myfriend, shall know me no more after to-night. When I am gone, and thepeople realise that they may not have what they would, they mayrest content perhaps with what they may." And he waved a hand in thedirection of the doors leading to the ducal chamber. With that he tookhis leave of his old friend, and, carrying in his hand the sword anddagger which Captain Armstadt had returned to him, he repaired brisklyto the northern wing of the Palace, in which he had his lodging.
In the ante-room he dismissed those of his servants who had been takenfrom 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 allready to set out within the hour.
He was no coward, but he had no wish to die just yet if it might behonourably avoided. Life had some sweets to offer Francesco delFalco, and this spurred him to hasten, for he well knew his cousin'sunscrupulous ways. He was aware that Gian Maria had been forced byweight of argument to let him go, and he shrewdly feared that did helinger, his cousin might veer round again, and without pausing to seekadvice a second time, have him disposed of out of hand and reckless ofconsequences.
Whilst Lanciotto was left busy in the ante-room the Count passed intohis bedchamber attended by Zaccaria, to make in his raiment such changesas were expedient. But scarce had he begun when he was interrupted bythe arrival of Fanfulla degli Arcipreti, whom Lanciotto ushered in.Francesco's face lighted at sight of his friend, and he held out hishand.
"What is it that has happened?" cried the young gallant, adding thatwhich showed his question to be unnecessary, for from Fabrizio da Lodihe had had the whole story of what was befallen. He sat himself upon thebed, and utterly disregarding the presence of Zaccaria--whom he knewto be faithful--he attempted to persuade the Count where Fabrizio hadfailed. But Paolo cut him short ere he had gone very far.
"Have done with that," he said, and for all that he said it witha laugh, determination sounded sturdy in his accents. "I am aknight-errant, not a prince, and I'll not be converted from one to theother. 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 runsswifter through my veins since I heard the sentence. It frees me fromBabbiano in an hour when perhaps my duty--the reciprocation of thepeople's love--might otherwise have held me here, and it gives meliberty to go forth, my good Fanfulla, in quest of such adventure asI choose to follow." He threw out his arms, and displayed his splendidteeth in a hearty laugh.
Fanfulla eyed him, infected by the boisterous gladness of his mood.
"Why, true indeed, my lord," he acknowledged, "you are too fine a birdto sing in a cage. But to go knight-erranting----" He paused, and spreadhis hands in protest. "There are no longer dragons holding princessescaptive."
"Alas no. But the Venetians are on the eve of war, and they will findwork for these hands of mine. I want not for friends among them."
Fanfulla sighed.
"And so we lose you. The stoutest arm in Babbiano leaves us in the hourof need, driven out by that loutish Duke. By my soul, Ser Francesco, Iwould I might go with you. Here is nothing to be done."
Francesco paused in the act of drawing on a boot, and raised his eyes tostare a moment at his friend.
"But if you wish it, Fanfulla, I shall rejoice to have your company."
And now the idea of it entered Fanfulla's mind in earnest, for hisexpression had been more or less an idle one. But since Francescoinvited him, why not indeed?
And thus it came to pass that at the third hour of that warm May nighta party of four men on horseback and two sumpter mules passed out ofBabbiano and took the road that leads to Vinamare, and thence into theterritory of Urbino. These riders were the Count of Aquila and Fanfulladegli Arcipreti, followed by Lanciotto leading a mule that bore the armsof those knights-errant, and Zaccaria leading another with their generalbaggage.
All night they rode beneath the stars, and on until some three hoursafter sunrise, when they made halt in a hollow of the hills not far fromFabriano. They tethered their horses in a grove of peaceful laurel andsheltering mulberry, at the foot of a slope that was set with olivetrees, grey, gnarled and bent as aged cripples, and beside the riverEsino at a spot where it was so narrow that an agile man might leap itswidth. Here, then, they spread their cloaks, and Zaccaria unpackedhis victuals, and set before them a simple meal of bread and wine androasted fowl, which to their hunger made more appeal than a banquet atanother season. And when they had eaten they laid them down beside thestream, and there beguiled in pleasant talk the time until they fellasleep. They rested them through the heat of the day, and waking somethree hours after noon, the Count rose up and went some dozen paces downthe stream to a spot where it fell into a tiny lake--a pool deep andblue as the cloudless heavens which it mirrored. Here he stripped offhis garments and plunged headlong in, to emerge again, some momentslater, refreshed and reinvigorated in body and in soul.
As Fanfulla awoke he beheld an apparition coming towards him, a figurelithe and stalwart as a sylvian god, the water shining on the ivorywhiteness of his skin and glistening in his sable hair as the sunlightcaught it.
"Tell me now, Fanfulla, lives there a man of so depraved a mind that hewould prefer a ducal crown to this?"
And the courtier, seeing Francesco's radiant mien, understood perhaps,at last, how sordid was the ambition that could lure a man from such agod-like freedom, and from the holy all-consuming joys it brought him.His thoughts being started upon that course, it was of this they talkedwhat time the Count resumed his garments--his hose of red, his knee-highboots of untanned leather, and his quilted brigandine of plain browncloth, reputed dagger-proof. He rose at last to buckle on his beltof hammered steel, from which there hung, behind his loins, a stout,lengthy dagger, the only weapon that he carried.
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 theelastic sward of broad, green pasture-lands. They crossed the stream ata spot where the widened sheet of water scarce went higher than theirhorses' hocks; then veering to the east they rode away from the hillsfor a half-league or so until they gained a road. Here they turnednorthward again, and pushed on towards Cagli.
As the bells were ringing the Ave Maria the cavalcade drew up beforethe Palazzo Valdicampo, where two nights ago Gian Maria had beenentertained. Its gates were now as readily thrown wide to welcome theillustrious and glorious Count of Aquila, who was esteemed by MesserValdicampo no less than his more puissant cousin. Chambers were set athis 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 todo honour to Francesco. Nor did the generous Valdicampo's manner coolwhen he learned that Francesco was in disgrace at the Court of Babbianoand banished from the dominions of Duke Gian Maria. He expressedsympathetic regret at so untoward a circumstance and discreetlyrefrained from passing any opinion thereupon.
Yet later, as they supped, and when perhaps the choice wines hadsomewhat relaxed his discretion, he permitted himself to speak of GianMaria's ways in terms that were very far from laudatory.
"Here, in my house," he informed them, "he committed an outrage upon apoor unfortunate, for which an account may yet be asked of me--since itwas under my roof that the thing befell, for all that I knew nothing ofit."
Upon being pressed by Paolo to tell them more, he parted with theinformation that the unfortunate in question was Urbino's jester Peppe.At that, Paolo's glance became more intent. The memory of his meetingwith the fool and his mistress in the woods, a month ago, flashed nowacross his mind, and it came to him that he could rightly guess thesource whence his cousin had drawn the information that had led to hisown arrest and banishment.
"Of what nature was the outrage?" he inquired.
"From what Peppe himself has told me it would seem that the fool waspossessed of some knowledge which Gian Maria sought, but on which Peppewas bound by oath to silence. Gian Maria caused him to be secretly takenand carried off from Urbino. His sbirri brought the fellow here, and tomake him speak the Duke improvised in his bedchamber a tratta di corde,which had the desired result."
The Count's face grew dark with anger. "The coward!" he muttered. "Thedastardly craven!"
"But bethink you, sir Count," exclaimed Valdicampo, "that this poorPeppe is a frail and deformed creature, lacking the strength of anordinary man, and do not judge him over-harshly."
"It was not of him I spoke," replied Francesco, "but of my cousin, thatcowardly tyrant, Gian Maria Sforza. Tell me, Messer Valdicampo--what hasbecome of Ser Peppe?"
"He is still here. I have had him tended, and his condition is alreadymuch improved. It will not be long ere he is recovered, but for a fewdays yet his arms will remain almost useless. They were all but tornfrom his body."
When the meal was done Francesco begged his host to conduct him toPeppe's chamber. This Valdicampo did, and leaving Fanfulla in thecompany of the ladies of his house, he escorted the Count to the roomwhere the poor, ill-used hunchback was abed tended by one of the womenof Valdicampo's household.
"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 hisgreat head towards the newcomer's, and sought with melancoly eyes theface of his visitor. At sight of him a look of terror spread itself uponhis countenance.
"My lord," he cried, struggling into a sitting posture, "my noble,gracious lord, have mercy on me. I could tear out this craven tongue ofmine. But did you know what agonies I suffered, and to what a torturethey submitted me to render me unfaithful, it may be that you, yourself,would pity me."
"Why, that I do," answered Francesco gently. "Indeed, could I have seenthe consequences that oath would have for you, I had not bound you byit."
The fear in Peppe's face gave place to unbelief.
"And you forgive me, lord?" he cried. "I dreaded when you enteredthat you were come to punish me for what wrong I may have done you inspeaking. But if you forgive me, it may be that Heaven wi
ll forgive mealso, and that I may not be damned. And that were a thousand pities, forwhat, my lord, should I do in hell?"
"Deride the agonies of Gian Maria," answered Francesco, with a laugh.
"It were almost worth burning for," mused Peppe, putting forth a hand,whose lacerated, swollen wrist bore evidence to the torture he hadsuffered. At sight of it the Count made an exclamation of angry horror,and hastened to inquire into the poor fool's condition.
"It is not so bad now," Peppe answered him, "and it is only inconsequence of Messer Valdicampo's insistence that I have kept my bed. Ican scarce use my arms, it is true, but they are improving. To-morrowI shall be up, and I hope to set out for Urbino, where my dear mistressmust be distressed with fears for my absence, for she is a very kind andtender-hearted lady."
This resolve of Peppe's prompted the Count to offer to conduct himto Urbino on the morrow, since he, himself, would be journeying thatway--an offer which the fool accepted without hesitation and with livelygratitude.