CHAPTER IX. THE FOOL-AT-ARMS
That valorous bearing that the Lord Giovanni showed whilst, with MadonnaPaola's glance upon him, his fear of seeming afraid was greater than hisactual fear of our assailants, he cast aside like a mantle once he waswithin the walls of his Castle, and under the eyes of none save the pageand myself, for I followed idly at a respectful distance.
He stood irresolute and livid of countenance, his eagerness to arm andto lead his mercenaries and his knights all departed out of him. It wasthat curiosity of mine to see the sequel to his stout words that had ledme to follow him, and what I saw was, after all, no more than I mighthave looked for--the proof that his big talk of sallying forth to battlewas but so much acting. Yet it must have been acting of such a qualityas to have deceived even his very self.
Now, however, by the main steps, he halted in the cool gloom of thegallery, and I saw that fear had caught his heart in an icy grip and wassqueezing it empty. In his irresolution he turned about, and his gloomyeye fell upon me loitering in the porch. At that he turned to the pagewho followed in obedience to his command.
"Begone!" he growled at the lad, "I will have Boccadoro, there, to helpme arm." And with a poor attempt at mirth--"The act is a madness," hemuttered, "and so it is fitting that folly should put on my armour forit. Come with me, you," he bade me, and I, obediently, gladly, wentforward and up the wide stone staircase after him, leaving the page tospeculate as he listed on the matter of his abrupt dismissal.
I read the Lord Giovanni's motives, as clearly as if they had beenwritten for me by his own hand. The opinion in which I might hold himwas to him a matter of so small account that he little cared that Ishould be the witness of the weakness which he feared was about toovercome him--nay, which had overcome him already. Was I not the one manin Pesaro who already knew his true nature, as revealed by that matterof the verses which I had written, and of which he had assumed theauthorship? He had no shame before me, for I already knew the veryworst of him, and he was confident that I would not talk lest he shoulddestroy me at my first word. And yet, there was more than that in hismotive for choosing me to go with him in that hour, as I was to learnonce we were closeted in his chamber.
"Boccadoro," he cried, "can you not find me some way out of this?" Underhis beard I saw the quiver of his lips as he put the question.
"Out of this?" I echoed, scarce understanding him at first.
"Aye, man--out of this Castle, out of Pesaro. Bestir those wits ofyours. Is there no way in which it might be done, no disguise underwhich I might escape?"
"Escape?" quoth I, looking at him, and endeavouring to keep from myeyes the contempt that was in my heart. Dear God! Had revenge been all Isought of him, how I might have gloated over his miserable downfall!
"Do not stand there staring with those hollow eyes," he cried, angerand fear blending horridly in his voice and rendering shrill its pitch."Find me a way. Come, knave, find me a way, or I'll have you broken onthe wheel. Set your wits to save that long, lean body from destruction.Think, I bid you."
He was moving restlessly as he spoke, swayed by the agitation of terrorthat possessed him like a devil. I looked at him now without dissemblingmy scorn. Even in such an hour as this the habit of hectoring crueltyremained him.
"What shall it avail me to think?" I asked him in a voice that was ascold and steady as his was hot and quavering. "Were you a bird I mightsuggest flight across the sea to you. But you are a man, a very human, avery mortal man, although your father made you Lord of Pesaro."
Even as I was speaking, the thunder of the besiegers reached ourears--such a dull roar it was as that of a stormy sea in winter time.Maddened by his terror he stood over me now, his eyes flashing wildly inhis white face.
"Another word in such a tone," he rasped, his fingers on his dagger,"and I'll make an end of you. I need your help, animal!"
I shook my head, my glance meeting his without fear. I was of twice hisstrength, we were alone, and the hour was one that levelled ranks. Hadhe made the least attempt to carry out his threat, had he but drawn aninch of the steel he fingered, I think I should have slain him with myhands without fear or thought of consequences.
"I have no help for you such as you need," I answered him. "I am but theFool of Pesaro. Whoever looked to a Fool for miracles?"
"But here is death," he almost moaned.
"Lord of Pesaro," I reminded him, "your mercenaries are under armsby your command, and your knights are joining them. They wait for thefulfilment of your promise to lead them out against the enemy. Shall youfail them in such an hour as this?"
He sank, limp as an empty scabbard, to a chair.
"I dare not go. It is death," he answered miserably.
"And what but death is it to remain here?" I asked, torturing him withmore zest than ever he had experienced over the agonies of some poorvictim on the rack. "In bearing yourself gallantly there lies a slenderchance for you. Your people seeing you in arms and ready to defend themmay yet be moved to a return of loyalty."
"A fig for their loyalty," was his peevish, craven answer. "What shallit avail me when I'm slain!"
God! was there ever such a coward as this, such a weak-souled,water-hearted dastard?
"But you may not be slain," I urged him. And then I sounded a freshnote. "Bethink you of Madonna Paola and of the brave things you promisedher."
He flushed a little, then paled again, then sat very still. Shame hadtouched him at last, yet its grip was not enough to make a man of him.A moment he remained irresolute, whilst that shame fought a hard battlewith his fears.
But those fears proved stronger in the end, and his shame was overthrownby them.
"I dare not," he gasped, his slender, delicate hands clutching at thearms of his chair. "Heaven knows I am not skilled in the use of arms."
"It asks no skill," I assured him. "Put on your armour, take a sword andlay about you. The most ignorant scullion in your kitchens could performit given that he had the spirit."
He moistened his lips with his tongue, and his eyes looked dead as asnake's. Suddenly he rose and took a step towards the armour that waspiled about a great leathern chair. Then he paused and turned to me oncemore.
"Help me to put it on," he said in a voice that he strove torender steady. Yet scarcely had I reached the pile and taken up thebreast-plate, when he recoiled again from the task. He broke into atorrent of blasphemy.
"I will not sacrifice myself," he almost screamed. "Jesus! not I. I willfind a way out of this. I will live to return with an army and regain mythrone."
"A most wise purpose. But, meanwhile, your men are waiting for you;Madonna Paola di Santafior is waiting for you, and--hark!--the bellowingcrowd is waiting for you."
"They wait in vain," he snarled. "Who cares for them? The Lord of Pesaroam I."
"Care you, then, nothing for them? Will you have your name written inhistory as that of a coward who would not lift his sword to strike oneblow for honour's sake ere he was driven out like a beast by the meresound of voices?"
That touched him. His vanity rose in arms.
"Take up that corselet," he commanded hoarsely. I did his bidding, and,without a word, he raised his arms that I might fit it to his breast.Yet in the instant that I turned me to pick up the back-piece, a crashresounded through the chamber. He had hurled the breastplate to theground in a fresh access of terror-rage. He strode towards me, his eyesglittering like a madman's.
"Go you!" he cried, and with outstretched arms he pointed wildly acrossthe courtyard. "You are very ready with your counsels. Let me beholdyour deeds, Do you put on the armour and go out to fight those animals."
He raved, he ranted, he scarce knew what he said or did, and yet thewords he uttered sank deep into my heart, and a sudden, wild ambitionswelled my bosom.
"Lord of Pesaro," I cried, in a voice so compelling that it sobered him,"if I do this thing what shall be my reward?"
He stared at me stupidly for a moment. Then he laughed in a silly,crackling fashion.
"Eh?" he queried. "Gesu!" And he passed a hand over his damp brow, andthrew back the hair that cumbered it. "What is the thing that you woulddo, Fool?"
"Why, the thing you bade me," I answered firmly. "Put on your armour,and shut down the visor so that all shall think it is the Lord Giovanni,Tyrant of Pesaro, who rides. If I do this thing, and put to rout therabble and the fifty men that Cesare Borgia has sent, what shall be myreward?"
He watched me with twitching lips, his glare fixed upon me and a faintcolour kindling in his face. He saw how easy the thing might be. Perhapshe recalled that he had heard that I was skilled in arms--having spentmy youth in the exercise of them, against the time when I might flingthe challenge that had brought me to my Fool's estate. Maybe he recalledhow I had borne myself against long odds on that adventure with MadonnaPaola, years ago. Just such a vanity as had spurred him to have me writehim verses that he might pretend were of his own making, moved him nowto grasp at my proposal. They would all think that Giovanni's armourcontained Giovanni himself. None would ever suspect Boccadoro the Foolwithin that shell of steel. His honour would be vindicated, and he wouldnot lose the esteem of Madonna Paola. Indeed, if I returned covered withglory, that glory would be his; and if he elected to fly thereafter,he might do so without hurt to his fair name, for he would have amplyproved his mettle and his courage.
In some such fashion I doubt not that the High and Mighty GiovanniSforza reasoned during the seconds that we stood, face to face andeye to eye, in that room, the cries of the impatient ones below almostdrowned in the roar of the multitude beyond.
At last he put out his hands to seize mine, and drawing me to the lighthe scanned my face, Heaven alone knowing what it was he sought there.
"If you do this," said he, "Biancomonte shall be yours again, if itremains in my power to bestow it upon you now or at any future time. Iswear it by my honour."
"Swear it by your fear of Hell or by your hope of Heaven and the compactis made," I answered, and so palsied was he and so fallen in spirit thathe showed no resentment at the scorn of his honour my words implied, butthere and then took the oath I that demanded.
"And now," I urged, "help me to put on this armour of yours."
Hurriedly I cast off my jester's doublet and my head-dress with itsjangling bells, and with a wild exultation, a joy so fierce as almostto bring tears to my eyes, I held my arms aloft whilst that poor cravenstrapped about my body the back and breast plates of his corselet. I,the Fool, stood there as arrogant as any knight, whilst with his noblehands the Lord of Pesaro, kneeling, made secure the greaves uponmy legs, the sollerets with golden spurs, the cuissarts and thegenouilleres. Then he rose up, and with hands that trembled in hiseagerness, he put on my brassarts and shoulder-plates, whilst I, myself,drew on my gauntlets. Next he adjusted the gorget, and handed me, lastof all, the helm, a splendid head-piece of black and gold, surmounted bythe Sforza lion.
I took it from him and passed it over my head. Then ere I snapped downthe visor and hid the face of Boccadoro, I bade him, unless he wouldrender futile all this masquerade, to lock the door of his closet, andlie there concealed till my return. At that a sudden doubt assailed him.
"And what," quoth he, "if you do not return?"
In the fever that had possessed me this was a thing that had not enteredinto my calculations, nor should it now. I laughed, and from the hollowof my helmet not a doubt but the sound must have seemed charged withmockery. I pointed to the cap and doublet I had shed.
"Why, then, Illustrious, it will but remain for you to complete thechange."
"Dog!" he cried; "beast, do you deride me?"
My answer was to point out towards the yard.
"They are clamouring," said I. "They wax impatient. I had better gobefore they come for you." As I spoke I selected a heavy mace for onlyweapon, and swinging it to my shoulder I stepped to the door. On thethreshold he would have stayed me, purged by his fear of what mightbefall him did I not return. But I heeded him not.
"Fare you well, my Lord of Pesaro," said I. "See that none penetrates toyour closet. Make fast the door."
"Stay!" he called after me. "Do you hear me? Stay!"
"Others will hear you if you commit this folly," I called back to him."Get you to cover." And so I left him.
Below, in the courtyard, my coming was hailed by a great, enthusiasticclamour. They had all but abandoned hope of seeing the Lord Giovanni, solong had he been about his arming. As they brought forward my charger, Isought with my eyes Madonna Paola. I beheld her by her brother--who, itseemed, was not going with us--in the front rank of the spectators.Her cheeks were tinged with a slight flush of excitement, and her eyesglowed at the brave sight of armed men.
I mounted, and as I rode past her to take my place at the head of thatcompany, I lowered my mace and bowed. She detained me a moment, settingher hand upon the glossy neck of my black charger.
"My Lord," she said, in a low voice, intended for my ear alone, "this isa brave and gallant thing you do, and however slight may be your hopeof prevailing, yet your honour will be safe-guarded by this act, andmen will remember you with respect should it come to pass that a usurpershall possess anon your throne. Bear you that in mind to lend you a gladcourage. I shall pray for you, my Lord, till you return."
I bowed, answering never a word lest my voice should betray me; andmusing on the matter of the strange roads that lead to a woman's heart,I passed on, to gain the van.
Two months ago, knowing Giovanni as he was, he had been detestable toher, and she contemplated with loathing the danger in which she stoodof being allied to him by marriage. Since then he had made good use of apoor jester's mental gifts to incline her by the fervour of some versesto a kindlier frame of mind, and now, making good use of that samejester's courage, he completed her subjection by the display of it.She was prepared to wed the Lord Giovanni with a glad heart and a proudwillingness whensoever he should desire it.
But Giacomo was beside me now, and in the quadrangle a silence reigned,all waiting for my command. From without there came such a din as seemedto argue that all hell was at the Castle gates. There were shouts ofdefiance and screams of abuse, whilst a constant rain of stones beatagainst the raised drawbridge.
They thought, no doubt, that Giovanni and his followers were at theirprayers, cowering with terror. No notion had they of the armed force,some six score strong, that waited to pour down upon them. I brisklyissued my command, and four men detached themselves and let down thebridge. It fell with a crash, and ere those without had well grasped thesituation we had hurled ourselves across and into them with the force ofa wedge, flinging them to right and to left as we crashed through withhideous slaughter. The bridge swung up again when the last of Giacomo'smercenaries was across, and we were shut out, in the midst of thatfierce human maelstrom.
For some five minutes there raged such a brief, hot fight as will beremembered as long as Pesaro stands. No longer than that did it take forthe crowd of citizens to realise that war was not their trade, and thatthey had better leave the fighting to Cesare Borgia's men; and so theyfell away and left us a clear road to come at the men-at-arms. Butalready some forty of our saddles were empty, and the fight, thoughbrief, had proved exhausting to many of us.
Before us, like an array of mirrors in the October sun, shone theserried ranks of the steel-cased Borgia soldiers, their lances in rest,waiting to receive us. Their leader, a gigantic man whose head was armedby no more than a pot of burnished steel, from which escaped thelong red ringlets of his hair, was that same Ramiro del' Orca who hadcommanded the party pursuing Madonna Paola three years ago. He was,since, become the most redoubtable of Cesare's captains, and his namewas, perhaps, the best hated in Italy for the grim stories that wereconnected with it.
As we rode on he backed to join the foremost rank of his soldiers, andhis voice--a voice that Stentor might have envied--trumpeted a laugh atsight of us.
"Gesu!" he roared, so that I heard him above the thunder of our hoofs."What has co
me to Giovanni Sforza. Has he, perchance, become a man sinceMadonna Lucrezia divorced him? I will bear her the news of it, my goodGiovanni--my living thunderbolt of Jove!"
His men echoed his boisterous mood, infected by it, and this, I argued,boded ill for the courage of those that followed me. Another moment andwe had swept into them, and many there were who laughed no more, or wentto laugh with those in Hell.
For myself I singled out the blustering Ramiro, and I let him know itby a swinging blow of my mace upon his morion. It was a mostfinely-tempered piece of steel, for my stroke made no impression onit, though Ramiro winced and raised his stout sword to return thecompliment.
"Body of God!" he croaked, "you become a very god of war, Giovanni. Tome, then, my lusty Mars! We'll make a fight of it that poets shall singof over winter fires. Look to yourself!"
His sword caught me a cunning, well-aimed blow on the side of my helm,and thence, glanced to my shoulder. But for the quality of Giovanni'shead-piece of a truth there had been an end to the warring of a Fool.I smote him back, a mighty blow upon his epauliere that shore the steelplate from his shoulder, and left him a vulnerable spot. At that heswore ferociously, and his bloodshot eyes grew wicked as the fiend's. Asecond time he essayed that side-long blow upon my helm, and with suchforce and ready address that he burst the fastening of my visor on theleft, so that it swung down and left my beaver open.
With a cry of triumph he closed with me, and shortened his sword to stabme in the face. And then a second cry escaped him, for the countenancehe beheld was not the countenance he had looked to see. Instead ofthe fair skin, the handsome features and the bearded mouth of theLord Giovanni, he beheld a shaven face, a hooked nose and a complexionswarthy as the devil's.
"I know you, rogue," he roared. "By the Host! your valour seemed toofierce for Giovanni Sforza. You are Bocca--"
Exerting all the strength that I had been gradually collecting, I hurledhim back with a force that almost drove him from the saddle, and risingin my stirrups I rained blow after blow upon his morion ere he couldrecover.
"Dog!" I muttered softly, "your knowledge shall be the death of you."
He drew away from me at last, and during the moments that I spent inreadjusting my visor he sallied, and charged me again. His blusteringwas gone and his face grown pale, for such blows as mine could not havebeen without effect. Not a doubt of it but he was taken with amazementto find such fighting qualities in a Fool--an amazement that musthave eclipsed even that of finding Boccadoro in the armour of GiovanniSforza.
Again he swung his sword in that favourite stroke of his; but this timeI caught the edge upon my mace, and ere he could recover I aimed a blowstraight at his face. He lowered his head, like a bull on the point ofcharging, and so my blow descended again upon his morion, but with aforce that rolled him, senseless, from the saddle.
Before I could take a breathing space I was beset by, at least, a dozenof his followers who had stood at hand during the encounter, neverdoubting that victory must be ultimately with their invincible captain.They drove me back foot by foot, fighting lustily, and performing--itwas said afterwards by the anxious ones that watched us from the Castle,among whom was Madonna Paola--such deeds of strength and prowess asnever romancer sang of in his wildest flight of fancy.
My men had suffered sorely, but the brave Giacomo still held themtogether, fired by the example that I set him, until in the end the daywas ours. Discouraged by the disabling of their captain, so soon as theyhad gathered him up our opponents thought of nothing but retreat; andretreat they did, hotly pursued by us, and never allowed to pause orslacken rein until we had hurled them out of the town of Pesaro, toget them back to Cesare Borgia with the tale of their ignominiousdiscomfiture.