*CHAPTER XXVI*
Amongst all her costly possessions in the Casa Caprona, there had oncebeen none so loved, so treasured, so often consulted by Beatrice as acertain portrait of the little Parablist of San Zeno, which she hadbought straight from the studio of its limner, Messer Antonello daMessina, at that time temporarily sojourning in Milan. This was theartist, pupil of Jan Van Eyck, who had been the first to introduceoil-painting into Italy; and the portrait was executed in the newmedium. It was a work perpetrated _con amore_--one of the many in whichthe exaltation of the moment had sought to express itself in pigments,or marble, or metal. For, indeed, during that short spring of hispromise, Bernardo's flower-face had come to blossom in half the craftsof the town.
Technically, perhaps, a little wan and flat, the head owed something,nevertheless, to inspiration. Through the mere physical beauty of itsfeatures, one might read the sorrow of a spiritual incarnation--thewistfulness of a Christ-converted Eros of the ancient cosmogonies. Herewere the right faun's eyes, brooding pity out of laughter; the rathersquare jaw, and girlish pointed chin; the baby lips that seemed to havekissed themselves, shape and tint, out of spindle-berries; the littlestrutting cap and quill even, so queerly contrasted with the staidsobriety of the brow beneath. It was the boy, and the soul of the boy,so far as enthusiasm, working through a strange medium, could interpretit.
Beatrice, having secured, had hung the picture in a dim alcove of herchamber; and had further, to ensure its jealous privacy from allinquisition but her own, looped a curtain before. Here, then, a dozentimes a day, when alone, had she been wont to pray and confess herself;lust with her finger-tips to charm the barren contours of the face intolife; lay her hot cheek to the painted flesh, and weep, and woo, andappeal to it; seek to soften by a hundred passionate artifices theinflexible continence of its gaze.
But that had been all before the shock and frenzy of her final repulse.Not once since had she looked on it, until...
Came upon her, still crouching self-absorbed, that white morning of theDuke's tragedy; and, on the vulture wings of it, Narcisso.
The beast crept to her, fulsome, hoarse, shaken with a heart-ague. Sheconned him with a contemptuous curiosity, as he stood unnerved,trembling all through, before her.
'Well?' she said at last.
He grinned and gobbled, gulping for articulation.
'It's come, Madonna.'
She half rose on her couch, frowning and impatient.
'What, thou sick fool?'
'Sick!' he echoed loudly; and then his voice fell again. 'Ay, sick todeath, I think. The Duke----'
'What of him?'
'Rides to San Stefano.'
'Does he?'
'He'll not ride home again.'
She stared at him in silence a moment; then suddenly breathed out alittle wintry laugh.
'So?' she whispered--'So? Well, thou art not the Duke.'
He struggled to clear, and could not clear, his throat. His lowforehead, for all the cold, was beaded with sweat.
'All's one for that,' he muttered thickly. 'There's no class incarrion.'
She still conned him, with that frigid smile on her lips.
'Dost mean they'll seek to kill thee too?'
He clawed at his head in a frenzy.
'Ay, I mean it.'
'Why?'
'Why? quotha. Why, won't they have held me till this moment for one ofthemselves?'
'Till this moment?' she murmured. 'Ah! I see; this Judas who hath notthe courage to play out his part.'
'My part!' He almost screamed it at last. 'Was death my part?' Hewrithed and snuffled. 'I tell thee, I've but now left them, on pretenceof going before to the church. Shall I be there? God's death! Let butthis stroke win through and gain the people, and my life's not worth astinking sprat.'
She sank back with a sigh.
'Better, in that case, to have joined thy friends at San Stefano.'
The rogue, staring at her a moment, uttered a mortal cry:--
'Thou say'st it--_thou?_--Judas?--Who made me so?--Show me my thirtypieces--Judas? Ay; and what for wages?--Thy tool and catspaw--I see itall at last--thine and Ludovic's--bled, and my carcass thrown toswine!--Judas? Why, I might have been Judas to some purpose with theDuke--a made man by now. And all for thee foregone; and in the end bythee betrayed. I asked nothing--gave all for nothing--ass--goose--criedquack and quack, as told--decoy to these fine fowl, and, being used, myneck wrung with the rest. Now----'
She put up a hand peremptorily. The fury simmered down on his lips.
'You presume, fellow,' she said. '_I_ betray _thee_?'
She raised her brows, amazed. Too stupendous an instance ofcondescension, indeed.
He slunk down on his knees before her, cringing and praying.
'No, Madonna, no! I spake out of my great madness.'
'Answer me,' she said disdainfully, 'out of thy little reason. Whatwouldst thou of me?'
He lifted his shaking hands.
'Sanctuary, sanctuary. Let me hide here.'
He crawled to her, pawing like a beaten dog.
'Sanctuary,' he reiterated brokenly. 'You owe it me--that at least.I've bided, bided--and ye made no sign--yielded all for guerdon of asweet word, the whiles I thought thyself and Ludovic were stalking thatconspiracy to cut it off betimes. God's death! Not you. And now I knowthe reason. Now comes the reckoning, and I'm left to face it as I will.God's death!' His panic mastered him again. 'What of my substance haveI changed for nothing! There was Bona's ring--I might have lived tenyear on't. And I parted with it--for what? O, you're a serpent,mistress! You worm your way--and get it too. What! Bona may bide alittle, and Simonetta? They're but the bleeding trunk. The head'slopped while I talk.'
His voice rose to a screech--broke--and he grovelled before her.
'Mercy, Madonna. Spare me to be thy slave. All comes thy way--love,and revenge, and power. The boy's dead--the Duke's to die----'
He had roused her at last, and in a flash. She sprang to her feet,white, hardly breathing.
'The boy?' she hissed; 'what boy?'
He whimpered, sprawling:--
'God a' mercy! Lady, lady! the boy, the very boy you sped the ring tokill.'
'Dead!' she whispered.
'Ay,' he snivelled from the ground; 'what would you? dead as lastChildermas--starved to death, in the "Hermit's Cell" they call it, bythe Duke's orders.'
Her fingers battled softly with her throat.
'Dead!' she said again. 'Narcisso, good Narcisso, who hath gulled theewith this lie?'
'No lie,' he answered, squatting, reassured, on his hams. ''Twas MesserTassino, no less, that carried thy token to Vigevano. 'Twas no laterthan yesternight I met our fine cockerel louping from the stews. A' wasdrunk as father Noah--babbled and blabbed, a' did--perked up a's comb,and cursed me for presuming fellowship with a duke's minion. I pliedhim further, e'en to tears and confidence--had it all out of him; howa'd carried the ring for Messer Ludovic, and brought back the deadlyorder. Jacopo nipped the Saint that noon. A's singing in paradisethese days past.'
Beatrice stood and listened. A dreadful smile was on her lips. But,when she spoke, it was with wooing softness.
'Good trust--always the faithful trust. Why, Narcisso, what should I dobetraying thee? We'll work and end together, and take our wages. Dead,do you say? Why, then, all's said. Now go, and tuck thyself within theroof till the storm pass. This lightning's all below. Go, comrade, doyou hear?'
He dwelt a moment only to gasp and mumble out his thanks; then turnedand slouched away.
For minutes she dwelt as he had left her, rigid, smiling, bloodless.Presently, still standing motionless, she moved her lips and wasmuttering:--
'Dead? So swift? Made sure against all chances? Starved? He saidstarved. Not to that I betrayed him. Inhuman hound! Thou mightst havespared him bread!--left sorrow and cold durance to work their lingeringend. What then? Why, Bo
na then--Bona made widow; free to work herwill. Should _I_ be the better?--Dead? was he not always dead to me?Starved to death! O, hell heat Lampugnani's dagger scarlet, that ithiss and bubble in his flesh! Galeazzo! Galeazzo! I'll follow soon tonurse thy pains to ecstasy!'
She fell silent; presently began to sway; then, with a sudden shriek,had leapt upon the picture, and torn aside its curtain.
'Bernardo!' she moaned and sobbed--'Bernardo, I loved thee! O God! heeats me with his eyes. Here, here! fasten with thy starved lips. I'llnot speak or cry, though they burrow to my heart. All thine--holdon--I'll smile and pet mine agony--Bernardo----!'
In the tumult of her passion she heard a sound at the door; caught herbreath; caught herself to knowledge of herself, and, instinctivelyclosing the curtain, stood panting, dishevelled, its hem in her hand.
Someone, something, had entered--a haggard, unshorn ghost of ancientdays. It came very softly, closing the door behind; then, set andsilent, moved upon her. Her pulses seemed to sink and wither.
'Carlo!' she shuddered softly.
It was fearful that the thing never spoke as it came on. Nor did shespeak again. Love that has once joined keeps understanding withoutwords. What has it bred but death? Here was the natural fruit of a sinmatured--she saw it gleam suddenly in his clutch.
She watched fascinated. As he drew near, without a word she slowlyraised her hands, and rent from her bosom its already desecrated veil.Then at last she spoke--or whispered:--
'I'm ready. Here's where you kissed and sighed. Bloody thy bed.'
He took her to his remorseless grasp. She had often thrilled to knowher helplessness therein--wondered what it would be to feel it closed inhate. Now she had her knowledge--and instantly, in an ecstasy ofterror, succumbed to it.
'No, no!' she gasped. 'Carlo, don't kill me!'
Voiceless still, he raised his hand. She gave a fearful scream.
'I never meant it. I'm innocent. Not without a word. Carlo! Carlo!--Iloved him!'
Writhing in her agony, she tore herself free a moment, and sank at hisfeet, rending, as she fell, the curtain from its rings. His back was tothe wall. In a mirror opposite he caught the sudden vision of hisintent, and, looking down upon it, dim and spiritual, the sweet face ofthe Saint.
The dagger dropped from his hand.
The silence of a minute seemed to draw into an age.
Suddenly he was groping and stumbling like a drunken man. Words came tohim in a babble:--
'Let be!--I'll go--spare her?--Where's thy Christ? He forgave too--I'mcoming--answer for me--here!'
And he drove a staggering course from the room.
Tears began to gush from her as she lay prone. Then suddenly, in aquick impulse, she rose to her feet, and re-veiling the picture, turnedwith her back to it.
'Ludovic remains,' she whispered.
Reeling, dancing, to himself it seemed, Carlo passed down the streets.White was on the ground; his brain was thick with whirling flakes; theroar of coming waters tingled in his veins. Sometimes he would pauseand look stupidly at his right hand, as if in puzzle of its emptiness.There should have been something there--what was it?--a knife--a stonefor two birds--Beatrice--and then Galeazzo. What had he omitted? Hemust go back and pick up the thread from the beginning.
The waters came on as he stood, not close yet, but portentous, with athreatening roar. A crying shape, waving a bloody blade, sped towardsand past him.
'Arm, arm, for liberty!' it yelled as it ran. 'Tyranny is dead!'
Carlo chuckled thickly to himself.
'That was Olgiati. What does he with my dagger? I'll go and take itfrom him.'
He turned, swaying, and in the act was swept upon, enveloped, and washedover by the torrent. It stranded him against a wall, where he stoodblinking and giggling in the vortex of a multitudinous roar.
'Murdered! the Duke! Murdered! Close the gates!'
It thundered on and away. He looked at his hand once more; then turnedfor home.