CHAPTER XIII. GIAN MARIA MAKES A VOW
In a measure the events that followed would almost tend to show thatthe fool was right. For even if the notion of besieging Valentina andreducing her by force of arms was not Guidobaldo's own in the firstplace, yet he lent a very willing ear to the counsel that they shouldthus proceed, when angrily urged two days thereafter by the Duke ofBabbiano.
Upon hearing the news Gian Maria had abandoned himself to such a licenceof rage as made those about him tremble from the highest to the meanest.The disappointment of his passion was in itself justification enough forthis; but, in addition, Gian Maria beheld in the flight of Valentina thefrustration of those bold schemes of which had talked so loudly to hiscouncillors and his mother. It was his confidence in those same schemesthat had induced him to send that defiant answer to Caesar Borgia. Asa consequence of this there was haste--most desperate haste--that heshould wed, since wedding was to lend him the power to carry out hisbrave promises of protecting his crown from the Duke of Valentinois,not to speak of the utter routing of the Borgia which he had wildlyundertaken to accomplish.
That the destinies of States should be tossed to the winds of Heavenby a slip of a girl was to him something as insufferable as it had beenunexpected.
"She must be brought back!" he had screeched, in his towering passion."She must be brought back at once."
"True!" answered Guidobaldo, in his serene way; "she must be broughtback. So far, I agree with you entirely. Tell me, now, how the thing isto be accomplished." And there was sarcasm in his voice.
"What difficulties does it present?" inquired Gian Maria.
"No difficulties," was the ironical reply. "She has shut herself up inthe stoutest castle in Italy, and tells me that she will not comeforth until I promise her freedom of choice in the matter of marriage.Clearly, there are no difficulties attached to her being brought back."
Gian Maria showed his teeth.
"Do you give me leave to go about it in my own way?" he asked.
"Not only do I give you leave, but I'll render you all the assistance inmy power, if you can devise a means for luring her from Roccaleone."
"I hesitate no longer. Your niece, Lord Duke, is a rebel, and as a rebelis she to be treated. She has garrisoned a castle, and hurled defianceat the ruler of the land. It is a declaration of war, Highness, and warwe shall have."
"You would resort to force?" asked Guidobaldo, disapproval lurking inhis voice.
"To the force of arms, your Highness," answered Gian Maria, with promptfierceness. "I will lay siege to this castle of hers, and I shall tearit stone from stone. Oh, I would have wooed her nicely had she let me,with gentle words and mincing ways that maidens love. But sinceshe defies us, I'll woo her with arquebuse and cannon, and seek bystarvation to make her surrender to my suit. My love shall put on armourto subject her, and I vow to God that I shall not shave my beard until Iam inside her castle."
Guidobaldo looked grave.
"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 lethunger be your advocate. Even so, I fear me, you will be laughed at byall Italy," he added bluntly.
"A fig for that! Let the fools laugh if they be minded to. What forceshas she at Roccaleone?"
At the question Guidobaldo's brow grew dark. It was as if he hadrecalled some circumstance that had lain forgotten.
"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, akinsman of my Duchess, Messer Romeo Gonzaga."
"Is he with her now?" gasped Gian Maria.
"It would seem he is."
"By the Virgin's Ring of Perugia!" spluttered Gian Maria in increaseddismay. "Do you suggest that they fled together?"
"My lord!" Guidobaldo's voice rang sharp and threatening. "It is of myniece that you are speaking. She took this gentleman with her just asshe took three of her ladies and a page or two, to form such attendanceas befits her birth."
Gian Maria took a turn in the apartment, a frown wrinkling his brow, andhis lips pressed tight. Guidobaldo's proud words by no means convincedhim. But the one preponderating desire in his heart just then wasto humble the girl who had dared to flout him, to make her bend herstubborn neck. At last:
"I may indeed become the laughing-stock of Italy," he muttered, in aconcentrated voice, "but I shall carry my resolve through, and my firstact upon entering Roccaleone will be to hang this knave Gonzaga from itshighest turret."
That very day Gian Maria began his preparations for the expeditionagainst Roccaleone, and word of it was carried by Fanfulla toFrancesco--for the latter had left his quarters at the palace uponhearing of Gian Maria's coming, and was now lodging at the sign of the"Sun."
Upon hearing the news he swore a mighty oath in which he consignedhis cousin to the devil, by whom, in that moment, he pronounced himbegotten.
"Do you think," he asked, when he was calmer, "that this man Gonzaga isher lover?"
"It is more than I can say," answered Fanfulla. "There is the fact thatshe fled with him. Though when I questioned Peppe on this same subjecthe first laughed the notion to scorn, and then grew grave. 'She loveshim not, the popinjay,' he said; 'but he loves her, or I am blind else,and he's a villain, I know.'"
Francesco stood up, his face mighty serious, and his dark eyes full ofuneasy thought.
"By the Host! It is a shameful thing," he cried out at last. "Thispoor lady so beset on every hand by a parcel of villains, each moreunscrupulous than the other. Fanfulla, send for Peppe. We must despatchthe fool to her with warning of Gian Maria's coming, and warning, too,against this man of Mantua she has fled with."
"Too late," answered Fanfulla. "The fool departed this morning forRoccaleone, to join his patrona."
Francesco looked his dismay.
"She will be undone," he groaned. "Thus between the upper and the netherstone--between Gian Maria and Romeo Gonzaga. Gesu! she will be undone!And she so brave and so high-spirited!"
He moved slowly to the casement, and stood staring at the windows acrossthe street, on which the setting sun fell in a ruddy glow. But it wasnot the windows that he saw. It was a scene in the woods at Acquaspartaon that morning after the mountain fight; a man lying wounded in thebracken, and over him a gentle lady bending with eyes of pity andsolicitude. Often since had his thoughts revisited that scene, sometimeswith a smile, sometimes with a sigh, and sometimes with both at once.
He turned suddenly upon Fanfulla. "I will go myself," he announced.
"You?" echoed Fanfulla. "But the Venetians?"
By a gesture the Count signified how little the Venetians weighed withhim when compared with the fortunes of this lady.
"I am going to Roccaleone," he insisted, "now--at once." And striding tothe door he beat his hands together and called Lanciotto.
"You said, Fanfulla, that in these days there are no longer maidens heldin bondage to whom a knight-errant may lend aid. You were at fault, forin Monna Valentina we have the captive maiden, in my cousin the dragon,in Gonzaga another, and in me the errant knight who is destined--Ihope--to save her."
"You will save her from Gian Maria?" questioned Fanfulla incredulously.
"I will attempt it."
He turned to his servant, who entered as he spoke.
"We set out in a quarter of an hour, Lanciotto," said he. "Saddle for meand for yourself. You are to go with me. Zaccaria may remain with Messerdegli Arcipreti. You will care for him, Fanfulla, and he will serve youwell."
"But what of me?" cried Fanfulla. "Do I not accompany you?"
"If you will, yes. But you might serve me better by returning toBabbiano and watching the events there, sending me word of whatbefalls--for great things will befall soon if my cousin returns not andthe Borgia advances. It is upon this that I am founding such hopes as Ihave."
"But whither shall I send you word? To Roccaleone?"
Francesco reflected a moment. "If
you do not hear from me, then sendyour news to Roccaleone, for if I should linger there and we arebesieged, it will perhaps be impossible to send a message to you. Butif--as I hope--I go to Aquila, I will send you word of it."
"To Aquila?"
"Yes. It may be that I shall be at Aquila before the week is out. Butkeep it secret, Fanfulla, and I'll fool these dukes to the very top oftheir unhealthy bent."
A half-hour later the Count of Aquila, mounted on a stout Calabrianhorse, and attended by Lanciotto on a mule, rode gently down towards thevalley. They went unnoticed, for what cared for them the peasants thatsang at their labours in the contado?
They met a merchant, whose servant was urging his laden sumpters upthe hilly road to the city on the heights, and they passed him with acourteous greeting. Farther they came upon a mounted company of noblesand ladies, returning from a hawking party, and followed by attendantsbearing their hooded falcons, and their gay laughter still rang inFrancesco's ears after he had passed from their sight and vanished inthe purple mists of eventide that came up to meet him from the river.
They turned westward towards the Apennines, and pushed on after nighthad fallen, until the fourth hour, when at Francesco's suggestion theydrew rein before a sleepy, wayside locanda, and awoke the host to demandshelter. There they slept no longer than until matins, so that the greylight of dawn saw them once more upon their way, and by the time the sunhad 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 themighty crag that was crowned by the Castle of Roccaleone.
Grim and gaunt it loomed above the fertile vale, with that torrentcircling it in a natural moat, like a giant sentinel of the Apenninesthat were its background. And now the sunlight raced down the slopes ofthe 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, andflashing back from a mullioned window placed high up. Lower it came,revealing grotesque gargoyles, flooding the crenellated battlements andturning green the ivy and lichen that but a moment back had blackenedthe stout, projecting buttresses. Thence it leapt to the ground, anddrove the shadow before it down the grassy slope, until it reachedthe stream and sparkled on its foaming, tumbling waters, scattering ahundred colours through the flying spray.
And all that time, until the sun had reached him and included him in thepicture it was awakening, the Count of Aquila sat in his saddle, withthoughtful eyes uplifted to the fortress.
Then, Lanciotto following him, he walked his horse round the westernside, where the torrent was replaced by a smooth arm of water, forwhich a cutting had been made to complete the isolation of the crag ofRoccaleone. But here, where the castle might more easily have becomevulnerable, a blank wall greeted him, broken by no more than a narrowslit or two midway below the battlements. He rode on towards thenorthern side, crossing a footbridge that spanned the river, and atlast coming to a halt before the entrance tower. Here again the moat wasformed by the torrential waters of the mountain stream.
He bade his servant rouse the inmates, and Lanciotto hallooed in a voicethat nature had made deep and powerful. The echo of it went booming upto scare the birds on the hillside, but evoked no answer from the silentcastle.
"They keep a zealous watch," laughed the Count. "Again, Lanciotto."
The man obeyed him, and again and again his deep voice rang out like atrumpet-call before sign was made from within that it had been heard.At length, above the parapet of the tower appeared a stunted figure withhead unkempt, as grotesque almost as any of the gargoyles beneath, andan owlish face peered at them from one of the crenels of the battlement,and demanded, in surly, croaking tones their business. Instantly theCount recognised Peppe.
"Good morrow, fool," he bade him.
"You, my lord?" exclaimed the jester.
"You sleep soundly at Roccaleone," quoth Francesco. "Bestir that knavishgarrison of yours, and bid the lazy dogs let down the bridge. I havenews for Monna Valentina."
"At once, Excellency," the fool replied, and would have gone upon theinstant but that Francesco recalled him.
"Say, Peppe, a knight--the knight she met at Acquasparta, if you will.But leave my name unspoken."
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, whocame to ask the nature of Francesco's business.
"It is with Monna Valentina," answered him Francesco, raising headand voice, so that Gonzaga recognised him for the wounded knight ofAcquasparta, remembered and scowled.
"I am Monna Valentina's captain here," he announced, with arrogance."And you may deliver to me such messages as you bear."
There followed a contention, conducted ill-humouredly on the part ofGonzaga and scarcely less so on the Count's, Francesco stoutly refusingto communicate his business to any but Valentina, and Gonzaga as stoutlyrefusing to disturb the lady at that hour, or to lower the bridge. Wordsflew between them across the waters of the moat, and grew hotter at eachfresh exchange, till in the end they were abruptly terminated by theappearance of Valentina herself, attended by Peppino.
"What is this, Gonzaga?" she inquired, her manner excited, for the foolhad told her that it was the knight Francesco who sought admittance,and at the very mention of the name she had flushed, then paled, thenstarted for the ramparts. "Why is this knight denied admittance sincehe bears a message for me?" And from where she stood she soughtwith admiring eyes the graceful shape of the Count of Aquila--theknight-errant of her dreams. Francesco bared his head, and bent tothe withers of his horse in courteous greeting. She turned to Gonzagaimpatiently.
"For what do you wait?" she cried. "Have you not understood my wishes?Let the bridge be lowered."
"Bethink you, Madonna," he remonstrated. "You do not know this man. Hemay be a spy of Gian Maria's--a hireling paid to betray us."
"You fool," she answered sharply. "Do you not see that it is the woundedknight we met that day you were escorting me to Urbino?"
"What shall that signify?" demanded he. "Is it proof of his honesty ofpurpose or loyalty to you? Be advised, Madonna, and let him deliver hismessage from where he is. He is safer there."
She measured him with a determined eye.
"Messer Gonzaga, order them to lower the bridge," she bade him.
"But, lady, bethink you of your peril."
"Peril?" she echoed. "Peril from two men, and we a garrison of overtwenty? Surely the man is a coward who talks so readily of perils. Havethe drawbridge lowered."
"But if----" he began, with a desperate vehemence, when again she cuthim short.
"Am I to be obeyed? Am I mistress, and will you bid them lower thebridge, or must I, myself, go see to it?"
With a look of despairing anger and a shrug of the shoulders he turnedfrom her, and despatched one of his men with an order. A few momentslater, with a creaking of hinges and a clanking of chains, the greatbridge swung down and dropped with a thud to span the gulf. Instantlythe Count spurred his horse forward, and followed by Lanciotto rodeacross the plank and under the archway of the entrance tower into thefirst courtyard.
Now, scarcely had he drawn rein there when through a door at the far endappeared the gigantic figure of Fortemani, half-clad and sword in hand.At sight of Francesco the fellow leaped down a half-dozen steps, andadvanced towards him with a burst of oaths.
"To me!" he shouted, in a voice that might have waked the dead. "Ola!Ola! What devil's work is this? How come you here? By whose orders wasthe bridge let down?"
"By the orders of Monna Valentina's captain," answered Francesco,wondering what madman might be this.
"Captain?" cried the other, coming to a standstill and his face turningpurple. "Body of Satan! What captain? I am captain here."
The Count looked him over in surprise.
"Why, then," said he, "you are the very man I seek. I congratulate youon the watch you keep, Me
sser Capitano. Your castle is so excellentlypatrolled that had I been minded for a climb I had scaled your walls andgot within your gates without arousing any of your slumbering sentries."
Fortemani eyed him with a lowering glance. The prosperity of the pastfour days had increased the insolence inherent in the man.
"Is that your affair?" he growled menacingly. "You are over-bold, sirstranger, to seek a quarrel with me, and over-pert to tell me how Ishall discharge my captaincy. By the Passion! You shall be punished."
"Punished--I?" echoed Francesco, on whose brow there now descended ascowl as black as Ercole's own.
"Aye, punished, young sir. Ercole Fortemani is my name."
"I have heard of you," answered the Count contemptuously, "and of howyou 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, noteven 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, andthe immersion may profit you. For I'll swear you've not been washedsince they baptized you--if, indeed, you be a son of Mother Church atall."
"Sangue di Cristo!" spluttered the enraged bully, his face mottled."This to me? Come down from that horse."
He laid hold of Francesco's leg to drag him to the ground, but the Countwrenched it free by a quick motion that left a gash from his spur uponthe captain's hands. Simultaneously he raised his whip, and would havelaid the lash of it across the broad of Fortemani's back--for it hadangered him beyond words to have a ruffian of this fellow's qualityseeking to ruffle it with him--but at that moment a female voice, sternand imperative, bade them hold in their quarrel.
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, followedby Gonzaga, Peppe, and a couple of men-at-arms, descending from thebattlements.
Calm and queenly she stood, dressed in a camorra of grey velvet withblack sleeves, which excellently set off her handsome height. Gonzagawas leaning forward, speaking into her ear, and for all that his voicewas subdued, some of his words travelled down to Francesco on the still,morning air.
"Was I not wise, Madonna, in that I hesitated to admit him? You see whatmanner of man he is."
The blood flamed in Francesco's cheeks, nor did it soften his chagrin tonote the look which Valentina flashed down at him.
Instantly he leapt to the ground, and flinging his reins to Lanciottohe went forward to the foot of that stone staircase, his broad hat slungback upon his shoulders, to meet that descending company.
"Is this seemly, sir?" she questioned angrily. "Does it become you tobrawl with my garrison the moment you are admitted?"
The blood rose higher in Francesco's face, and now suffused his templesand reached his hair. Yet his voice was well restrained as he madeanswer:
"Madonna, this knave was insolent."
"An insolence that you no doubt provoked," put in Gonzaga, a dimpleshowing on his woman's cheek. But the sterner rebuke fell from the lipsof Valentina.
"Knave?" she questioned, with flushed countenance. "If you would nothave me regret your admittance, Messer Francesco, I pray you curb yourwords. Here are no knaves. That, sir, is the captain of my soldiers."
Francesco bowed submissively, as patient under her reproof as he hadbeen hasty under Fortemani's.
"It was on the matter of this captaincy that we fell to words," heanswered, with more humility. "By his own announcement I understood thisnobleman"--and his eyes turned to Gonzaga--"to be your captain."
"He is the captain of my castle," she informed him.
"As you see, Ser Francesco," put in Peppe, who had perched himself uponthe balustrade, "we suffer from no lack of captains here. We have alsoFra Domenico, who is captain of our souls and of the kitchen; myself amcaptain of----"
"Devil take you, fool," snapped Gonzaga, thrusting him roughly from hisperch. Then turning abruptly to the Count: "You bear a message for us,sir?" he questioned loftily.
Swallowing the cavalier tone, and overlooking the pronoun Gonzagaemployed, Francesco inclined his head again to the lady.
"I should prefer to deliver it in more privacy than this." And hiseye travelled round the court and up the steps behind, where was nowcollected the entire company of Fortemani. Gonzaga sneered and tossedhis golden curls, but Valentina saw naught unreasonable in the request,and bidding Romeo attend her and Francesco follow, she led the way.
They crossed the quadrangle, and, mounting the steps down whichFortemani had dashed to meet the Count, they passed into thebanqueting-hall, which opened directly upon the south side of thecourtyard. The Count, following in her wake, ran the gauntlet of scowlsof the assembled mercenaries. He stalked past them unmoved, taking theirmeasure as he went, and estimating their true value with the unerringeye of the practised condottiero who has had to do with the enrolling ofmen and the handling of them. So little did he like their looks that onthe threshold of the hall he paused and stayed Gonzaga.
"I am loath to leave my servant at the mercy of those ruffians, sir. MayI beg that you will warn them against offering him violence?"
"Ruffians?" cried the lady angrily, before Gonzaga could offer a reply."They are my soldiers."
Again he bowed, and there was a cold politeness in the tones in which heanswered her:
"I crave your pardon, and I will say no more--unless it be to deplorethat I may not felicitate you on your choice."
It was Gonzaga's turn to wax angry, for the choice had been his.
"Your message will have need to be a weighty one, sir, to earn ourpatience for your impertinence."
Francesco returned the look of those blue eyes which vainly sought toflash ferociously, and he made little attempt to keep his scorn fromshowing in his glance. He permitted himself even to shrug his shouldersa trifle impatiently.
"Indeed, indeed, I think that I had best begone," he answeredregretfully, "for it is a place whose inmates seem all bent onquarrelling with me. First your captain Fortemani greets me with aninsolence hard to leave unpunished. You, yourself, Madonna, resent thatI should crave protection for my man against those fellows whose looksgive rise for my solicitation. You are angry that I should dub themruffians, as if I had followed the calling of arms these ten yearswithout acquiring knowledge of the quality of a man however much you maydisguise him. And lastly, to crown all, this cicisbeo"--and he spread ahand contemptuously towards Gonzaga--"speaks of my impertinences."
"Madonna," cried Gonzaga, "I beg that you will let me deal with him."
Unwittingly, unwillingly, Gonzaga saved the situation by that prayer.The anger that was fast rising in Madonna's heart, stirred by the proudbearing of the Count, was scattered before the unconscious humour of hercaptain's appeal, in such ludicrous contrast was his mincing speech andslender figure with Francesco's firm tones and lean, active height.She did not laugh, for that would have been to have spoilt all, but shelooked from one to the other with quiet relish, noting the glanceof surprise and raised eyebrows with which the Count received thecourtier's request to be let deal with him. And thus, being turnedfrom anger, the balance of her mind was quick to adjust itself, andshe bethought her that perhaps there was reason in what this knightadvanced, and that his reception had lacked the courtesy that was hisdue. In a moment, with incomparable grace and skill, she had soothedGonzaga's ruffled vanity, and appeased the Count's more sturdyresentment.
"And now, Messer Francesco," she concluded, "let us be friends, and letme hear your business. I beg that you will sit."
They had passed into the banqueting-hall--a noble apartment, whose wallswere frescoed with hunting and pastoral scenes, one or two of whichwere the work of Pisaniello. There were, too, some stray trophies ofthe chase, and, here and there, a suit of costly armour that caught thesunlight pouring through the tall, mullioned windows. At the far endstood a richly carved screen of cedar, and above this appeared thetwisted railing of the minstr
els' gallery. In a tall armchair ofuntanned leather, at the head of the capacious board, Monna Valentinasat herself, Gonzaga taking his stand at her elbow, and Francescofronting her, leaning lightly against the table.
"The news I bear you, lady, is soon told," said the Count. "I would itsquality were better. Your suitor Gian Maria returning to Guidobaldo'scourt, eager for the nuptials that were promised him, has learnt of yourflight to Roccaleone and is raising--indeed will have raised by now--anarmy to invest and reduce your fortress."
Gonzaga turned as pale as the vest of white silk that gleamed beneathhis doublet of pearl-coloured velvet at this realisation of theprophecies he had uttered without believing. A sickly fear possessedhis soul. What fate would they mete out to him who had been the leadingspirit in Valentina's rebellion? He could have groaned aloud at thismiscarriage of all his fine plans. Where now would be the time to talkof love, to press and carry his suit with Valentina and render himselfher husband? There would be war in the air, and bloody work that madehis skin creep and turn cold to ponder on. And the irony of it allwas keenly cruel. It was the very contingency that he had prophesied,assured that neither Guidobaldo nor Gian Maria would be so mad as tocourt ridicule by engaging upon it.
For a second Francesco's eyes rested on the courtier's face, and saw thefear written there for all to read. The shadow of a smile quivered onhis lips as his glance moved on to meet the eyes of Valentina, sparklingas sparkles frost beneath the sun.
"Why, let them come!" she exclaimed, almost in exultation. "This ducaloaf shall find me very ready for him. We are armed at all points. Wehave victuals to last us three months, if need be, and we have no lackof weapons. Let Gian Maria come, and he will find Valentina della Roverenone so easy to reduce. To you, sir," she continued, with more calm, "toyou on whom I have no claim, I am more than grateful for your chivalrousact in riding here to warn me."
Francesco sighed; a look of regret crossed his face.
"Alas!" he said. "When I rode hither, Madonna, I had hoped to serve youto a better purpose. I had advice to offer and assistance if you shouldneed it; but the sight of those men-at-arms of yours makes me fear thatit is not advice upon which it would be wise to act. For the plan I hadin mind, it would be of the first importance that your soldiers shouldbe trustworthy, and this, I fear me, they are not."
"Nevertheless," put in Gonzaga feverishly, clinging to a slender hope,"let us hear it."
"I beg that you will," said Valentina.
Thus enjoined, Francesco pondered a moment.
"Are you acquainted with the politics of Babbiano?" he inquired.
"I know something of them."
"I will make the position quite clear to you, Madonna," he rejoined. Andwith that he told her of the threatened descent of Caesar Borgia uponGian Maria's duchy, and hence, of the little time at her suitor'sdisposal; so that if he could but be held in check before the walls ofRoccaleone for a little while, all might be well. "But seeing inwhat haste he is," he ended, "his methods are likely to be rough anddesperate, and I had thought that meanwhile you need not remain here,Madonna."
"Not remain?" she cried, scorn of the notion in her voice. "Not remain?"quoth Gonzaga timorously, hope sounding in his.
"Precisely, Madonna. I would have proposed that you leave Gian Mariaan empty nest, so that even if the castle should fall into his hands hewould gain nothing."
"You would advise me to fly?" she demanded.
"I came prepared to do so, but the sight of your men restrains me. Theyare not trustworthy, and to save their dirty skins they might throwRoccaleone open to the besiegers, and thus your flight would bediscovered, while yet there might be time to render it futile."
Before she could frame an answer there was Gonzaga feverishly urging herto act upon so wise and timely a suggestion, and seek safety in flightfrom a place that Gian Maria would tear stone from stone. His wordspattered quickly and piteously in entreaty, till in the end, facing himsquarely:
"Are you afraid, Gonzaga?" she asked him.
"I am--afraid for you, Madonna," he answered readily.
"Then let your fears have peace. For whether I stay or whether I go, onething is certain: Gian Maria never shall set hands upon me." She turnedagain to Francesco. "I see a certain wisdom in the counsel of flightyou would have offered me, no less than in what I take to be your advicethat I should remain. Did I but consult my humour I should stay anddeliver battle when this tyrant shows himself. But prudence, too, mustbe consulted, and I will give the matter thought." And now she thankedhim with a generous charm for having come to her with this news andproffered his assistance, asking what motives brought him.
"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 youtended my wounds that day at Acquasparta."
For a second their glances met, quivered in the meeting, and fell apartagain, an odd confusion in the breast of each, all of which Gonzaga,sunk in moody rumination, observed not. To lighten the awkward silencethat was fallen, she asked him how it had transpired so soon that it wasto Roccaleone she had fled.
"Do you not know?" he cried. "Has not Peppe told you?"
"I have had no speech with him. He but reached the castle, himself, latelast night, and I first saw him this morning when he came to announceyour presence."
And then, before more could be said, there arose a din of shouting fromwithout. The door was pushed suddenly open, and Peppe darted into theroom.
"Your man, Ser Francesco," he cried, his face white with excitement."Come quickly, or they will kill him."