Books: Love at Arms

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CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE ARMOURY TOWER

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.

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.

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.

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restraint of his formidable command was withdrawn?

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

"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."

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.

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.

"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.

"Quickly, Ercole!" Peppe enjoined him. "Come with me."

"Devil take you, spawn of Satan--whither?" growled the soldier.

"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?"

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.

"Well?" demanded Ercole. "What else?"

"Naught else. That is all," answered the hunchback.

"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?"

"And is it not enough?" retorted Peppe testily. "Will you come on?"

"Not a foot farther," returned the captain, getting very angry. "Is this
a miserable jest? What of the treachery you spoke of?"

"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."

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.

"You think----" he began.

"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."

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.

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.

Swiftly and silently Ercole moved round the tower, and the next instant
he had pushed open the unfastened door and entered.

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.

"Sant Iddio!" he gasped. "You startled me, Ercole. I did not hear you
coming."

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.

"That letter you have written Gian Maria," was the gruff, uncompromising
answer, for Ercole reeked nothing of diplomatic issues.

Gonzaga's mouth jerked itself open, and his upper lip shuddered against
his teeth.

"What---- Wha----"

"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.

"Stand back!" he cried; "or by God and His saints, I'll beat your brains
out."

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

"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.

"Ercole, my friend, here is a bait to trap that lout my cousin, such as I
could never have devised myself."

"You mean----?"

"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!"

"May I not know what you intend?" quoth the bewildered Ercole.

"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!"

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.

"Is it done? Has the letter gone?" cried Francesco. Fortemani nodded.

"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."

"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."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE INTERRUPTED MASS

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.

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.

There were absent only from the gathering Gonzaga and Fortemani, besides
a sentry and the three prisoners. Francesco and his two followers.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"You seem cold, Excellency," said the young man deferentially, for he had
observed that Gonzaga shivered.

"A chill morning, Aventano," returned the gallant, with a grin.

"True; but the sun is breaking through yonder. It will be warmer soon."

"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.

"What is that?" he exclaimed, his eyes on the ground.

In an instant Aventano was beside him, for his voice had sounded alarmed
--a tone, in his present condition, not difficult to simulate.

"What, Excellency?"

"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.

"I saw nothing, Illustrious."

"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."

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.

"There is nothing, Excellency," he said. "The plaster is cracked.
But---- Ah!"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Is all well?" he asked, in a friendly tone, whilst Guidobaldo
contemptuously eyed the popinjay.

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.

"You may felicitate yourself, Highness," he ventured to say, with a grin,
to Guidobaldo, "that you have reared your niece in devout ways."

"Did you address me?" quoth the Duke of Urbino coldly. "I trust it may
not again be necessary."

Before the look of loathing in his handsome face Gonzaga cringed. Gian
Maria laughed in his piping treble.

"Have I not served your Highness faithfully?" fawned the gallant.

"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.

"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."

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.

A moment the gallant stood staring. Then he turned a face of
consternation on the Dukes. His knees shook visibly.

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