Books: Love at Arms

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"It is locked," he announced, in a husky voice.

"We made too much noise in entering," suggested Guidobaldo, "and they
have taken the alarm."

The explanation relieved the growing uneasiness in Gian Maria's mind. He
turned with an oath to his men.

"Here, some of you," his sharp voice commanded. "Beat me down this door.
By the Host! Do the fools think to keep me out so easily?"

The door was broken down, and they advanced. But only some half-dozen
paces, for at the end of that short gallery they found the second door
barring their progress. Through this, too, they broke, Gian Maria
fiercely blaspheming at the delay. Yet when it was done he was none so
eager to lead the way.

In the second courtyard he deemed it extremely probable that they should
find Valentina's soldiers awaiting them. So bidding his men pass on, he
remained behind with Guidobaldo until he heard word that the inner court
was likewise empty.

And now the entire hundred of his followers were assembled there to
overpower the twenty that served Monna Valentina; and Guidobaldo--despite
Gian Maria's scruples--strode coolly forward to the chapel door.

* * * * * * *

Within the chapel Mass had started. Fra Domenico at the foot of the
altar had pattered through the Confiteor, his deep voice responded to by
the soprano of the ministering page. The Kyrie was being uttered when
the attention of the congregation was attracted by the sound of steps
approaching the chapel door to the accompaniment of an ominous clank of
steel. The men rose in a body, fearing treachery, and cursing--despite
the sanctity of the place--the circumstance that they were without
weapons.

Then the door opened, and down the steps rang the armed heels of the new-
comers, so that every eye was turned upon them, including that of Fra
Domenico, who had pronounced the last "Christe eleison" in a quavering
voice.

A gasp of relief, followed by an angry cry from Valentina, went up when
they recognised those that came. First stepped the Count of Aquila in
full armour, sword at side and dagger on hip, carrying his head-piece on
the crook of his left arm. Behind him towered the bulk of Fortemani, his
great face flushed with a strange excitement, a leather hacketon over his
steel cuirass, girt, too, with sword and dagger, and carrying his shining
morion in his hand. Last came Lanciotto and Zaccaria, both fully
equipped and armed at all points.

"Who are you that come thus accoutred into God's House to interrupt the
holy Mass?" cried the bass voice of the friar.

"Patience, good father," answered Francesco calmly, "The occasion is our
justification."

"What does this mean, Fortemani?" demanded Valentina imperiously, her
eyes angrily set upon her captain, utterly ignoring the Count. "Do you
betray me too?"

"It means, Madonna," answered the giant bluntly, "that your lap-dog,
Messer Gonzaga, is at this very moment admitting Gian Maria and his
forces to Roccaleone, by the postern."

There was a hoarse cry from the men, which Francesco silenced by a wave
of his mailed hand.

Valentina looked wildly at Fortemani, and then, as if drawn by a greater
will than her own, her eyes were forced to travel to the Count. He
instantly advanced, and bowed his head before her.

"Madonna, this is no hour for explanations. Action is needed, and that
at once. I was wrong in not disclosing my identity to you before you
discovered it by such unfortunate means and with the assistance of the
only traitor Roccaleone has harboured, Romeo Gonzaga--who, as Fortemani
has just told you, is at this moment admitting my cousin and your uncle
to the castle. But that my object was ever other than to serve you, or
that I sought, as was represented to you, to turn this siege to my own
political profit, that, Madonna, I implore you in your own interests to
believe untrue."

She sank on to her knees and with folded hands began to pray to the
Mother of Mercy, deeming herself lost, for his tone carried conviction,
and he had said that Gian Maria was entering the castle.

"Madonna," he cried, touching her lightly on the shoulder; "let your
prayers wait until they can be of thanksgiving. Listen. By the
vigilance of Peppe there, who, good soul that he is, never lost faith in
me or deemed me a dastard, we were informed last night--Fortemani and I--
of this that Gonzaga was preparing. And we have made our plans and
prepared the ground. When Gian Maria's soldiers enter, they will find
the outer doors barred and locked, and we shall gain a little time while
they break through them. My men, as you will observe, are even now
barring the door of the chapel to impose a further obstacle. Now while
they are thus engaged we must act. Briefly, then, if you will trust us
we will bear you out of this, for we four have worked through the night
to some purpose."

She looked at him through a film of tears, her face drawn and startled.
Then she put her hands to her brow in a gesture of bewildered
helplessness.

"But they will follow us," she complained.

"Not so," he answered, smiling. "For that, too, have we provided. Come,
Madonna, time presses."

A long moment she looked at him. Then brushing aside the tears that
dimmed her sight, she set a hand on either of his shoulders, and stood
so, before them all, gazing up into his calm face.

"How shall I know that what you say is true--that I may trust you?" she
asked, but her voice was not the voice of one that demands an
overwhelming proof ere she will believe.

"By my honour and my knighthood," he answered, in a ringing voice, "I
make oath here, at the foot of God's altar, that my purpose--my only
purpose--has been, is, and shall be to serve you, Monna Valentina."

"I believe you," she cried; to sob a moment later:

"Forgive me, Francesco, and may God, too, forgive my lack of faith in
you."

He softly breathed her name in such sweet accents that a happy peace
pervaded her, and the bright courage of yore shone in her brown eyes.

"Come, sirs!" he cried now, with a sudden briskness that startled them
into feverish obedience. "You, Fra Domenico, cut off your sacerdotals,
and gird high your habit. There is climbing for you. Here, a couple of
you, move aside that altar-step. My men and I have spent the night in
loosening its old hinges."

They raised the slab, and in the gap beneath it was disclosed a flight of
steps leading down to the dungeons and cellars of Roccaleone.

Down this they went in haste but in good order, marshalled by Francesco,
and when the last had passed down, he and Lanciotto, aided by others
below, who had seized a rope that he had lowered them, replaced the slab
from underneath, so that no trace should remain of the way by which they
had come.

A postern had been unbarred below by Fortemani, who had led the way with
a half-dozen of the men; and a huge scaling ladder that lay in readiness
in that subterranean gallery was rushed out across the moat, which at
this point was a roaring torrent.

Fortemani was the first to descend that sloping bridge, and upon reaching
the ground he made fast the lower end.

Next went a dozen men at Francesco's bidding, armed with the pikes that
had been left overnight in the gallery. At a word of command they
slipped quietly away. Then came the women, and lastly, the remainder of
the men.

Of the enemy they caught no glimpse; not so much as a sentry, for every
one of Gian Maria's men had been pressed into the investment of the
castle. Thus they emerged from Roccaleone, and made their way down that
rough bridge into the pleasant meadows to the south. Already Fortemani
and his dozen men had disappeared at the trot, making for the front of
the castle, when Francesco stepped last upon the bridge, and closed the
postern after him. Then he glided rapidly to the ground, and with the
assistance of a dozen ready hands he dragged away the scaling ladder.
They carried it some yards from the brink of the torrent, and deposited
it in the meadow. With a laugh of purest relish Francesco stepped to
Valentina's side.

"It will exercise their minds to discover how we got out," he cried, "and
they will be forced to the conclusion that we are angels all, with wings
beneath our armour. We have not left them a single ladder or a strand of
rope in Roccaleone by which to attempt to follow us, even if they
discover how we came. But come, Valentina mia, the comedy is not
finished yet. Already Fortemani will have removed the bridge by which
they entered and engaged such few men as may have been left behind, and
we have the High and Mighty Gian Maria in the tightest trap that was ever
fashioned."

CHAPTER XXV

THE CAPITULATION OF ROCCALEONE

In the sunshine of that bright May morning Francesco and his men went
merrily to work to possess themselves of the ducal camp, and the first
business of the day was to arm those soldiers who had come out unarmed.
Of weapons there was no lack, and to these they helped themselves in
liberal fashion, whilst here and there a man would pause to don a
haubergeon or press a steel cap on his head.

Three sentries only had been left to guard the tents, and of these
Fortemani and a couple of his men had made prisoners whilst the others
were removing the bridge by which the invaders had entered. And now
beneath the open postern by the drawbridge gaped a surging torrent that
no man would have the hardihood to attempt to swim.

In that opening, presently, appeared Gian Maria, his face red for once,
and behind him a clamouring crowd of men-at-arms who shared their
master's rage at the manner in which they had been trapped.

At the rear of the tents Valentina and her ladies awaited the issue of
the parley that now seemed toward. The bulk of the men were busy at Gian
Maria's cannons, and under Francesco's supervision they were training
them upon the drawbridge.

From the castle a mighty shout went up. The men disappeared from the
postern to reappear a moment later on the ramparts, and Francesco laughed
deep down in his throat as he perceived the purpose of this. They had
bethought them of the guns that were mounted there, and were gone to use
them against Valentina's little army. Gun after gun they tried, and a
fierce cry of rage burst forth when they realised by what dummies they
had been held in check during the past week. This was followed by a
silence of some moments, terminated at last by the sound of a bugle.

Answering that summons to a parley, and with a last word of injunction to
Fortemani, who was left in charge of the men at the guns, Francesco rode
forward on one of Gian Maria's horses, escorted by Lanciotto and Zaccaria
similarly mounted, and each armed with a loaded arquebuse.

Under the walls of Roccaleone he drew rein, laughing to himself at this
monstrous change of sides. As he halted--helmet on head, but beaver
open--a body came hurtling over the battlements and splashed into the
foaming waters below. It was the corpse of Aventano, which Gian Maria
had peremptorily bidden them to remove from his sight.

"I desire to speak with Monna Valentina della Rovere," cried the furious
Duke.

"You may speak with me, Gian Maria," answered Francesco's voice, clear
and metallic. "I am her representative, her sometime Provost of
Roccaleone."

"Who are you?" quoth the Duke, struck by a familiar note in that mocking
voice.

"Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila."

"By God! You!"

"An age of marvels, is it not?" laughed Francesco.

"Which will you lose, my cousin--a wife or a duchy?"

Rage struck Gian Maria speechless for a moment. Then he turned to
Guidobaldo and whispered something; but Guidobaldo, who seemed vastly
interested now in this knight below, merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I will lose neither, Messer Francesco," roared the Duke. "Neither, by
God!" he screamed. "Neither, do you hear me?"

"I should be deaf else," was the easy answer, "But you are gravely at
fault. One or the other you must relinquish, and it is yours to make a
choice between them. The game has gone against you, Gian Maria, and you
must pay."

"But have I no voice in the bartering of my niece?" asked Guidobaldo,
with cold dignity. "Is it for you, Lord Count, to say whether your
cousin shall wed her or not?"

"Why, no. He may wed her if he will, but he will be a duke no longer.
In fact, he will be an outcast with no title to lay claim to, if indeed
the Babbianians will leave him a head at all; whilst I, at least, though
not a duke with a tottering throne, am a count with lands, small but
securely held, and shall become a duke if Gian Maria refuses to
relinquish me your niece. So that if he be disposed to marry her, will
you be disposed to let her marry a homeless vagrant or a headless
corpse?"

Guidobaldo's face seemed to change, and his eyes looked curiously at the
white-faced Duke beside him.

"So you are the other pretender to my niece's hand, Lord Count?" he
asked, in his coldest voice.

"I am, Highness," answered Francesco quietly. "The matter stands thus:
Unless Gian Maria is in Babbiano by morning, he forfeits his crown, and
it passes to me by the voice of the people; but if he will relinquish his
claim to Monna Valentina in my favour, then I shall journey straight to
Aquila, and I shall trouble Babbiano no more. If he refuses, and insists
upon this wedding, abhorrent to Monna Valentina, why, then, my men shall
hold him captive behind those walls until it be too late for him to reach
his duchy in time to save the crown. In the meantime I will ride to
Babbiano in his stead, and--reluctant though I be to play the duke--I
shall accept the throne and silence the people's importunities. He can
then endeavour to win your Highness's consent to the union."

For perhaps the first time in his life Guidobaldo was guilty of an act of
positive discourtesy. He broke into a laugh--a boisterous, amused laugh
that cut into Gian Maria's heart like a knife.

"Why, Lord Count," he said, "I confess that you have us very much in your
hands to mould us as you will. Now, you are such a soldier and such a
strategist as it would pleasure me to have about my person in Urbino.
What says your Highness?" he continued, turning now to the almost
speechless Gian Maria. "I have yet another niece with whom we might
cement the union of the two duchies; and she might prove more willing.
Women, it seems, will insist upon being women. Do you not think that
Monna Valentina and this your valiant cousin----"

"Heed him not!" screamed Gian Maria, now in a white heat of passion. "He
is a smooth-tongued dog that would argue the very devil out of hell.
Make no terms with the hind! I have a hundred men, and----" He swung
suddenly round. "Let down that drawbridge, cowards!" he bawled at them,
"and sweep me those animals from my tents."

"Gian Maria, I give you warning," cried Francesco, loudly and firmly. "I
have trained your own guns on to that bridge, and at the first attempt to
lower it I'll blow it into splinters. You come not out of Roccaleone
save at my pleasure and upon my terms, and if you lose your duchy by your
obstinacy, it will be your own work; but answer me now, that I may take
my course."

Guidobaldo, too, restrained Gian Maria, and countermanded his order for
the lowering of the bridge. And now on his other side Gonzaga crept up
to him, and whispered into his ear the suggestion that he should wait
until night had fallen.

"Wait until night, fool!" blazed the Duke, turning on him, in a fierce
joy at finding one whom he might rend. "If I wait until then, my throne
is lost to me. This comes of sorting with traitors. It is your fault,
you Judas!" he cried more fiercely still, his face distorted; "but you at
least shall pay for what you have done."

Gonzaga saw a sudden flash of steel before his eyes, and a piercing
scream broke from him as Gian Maria's dagger buried itself in his breast.
Too late Guidobaldo put forward a hand to stay the Duke.

And so, by a strangely avenging justice, the magnificent Gonzaga sank
dead on the very spot on which he had so cravenly and dastardly poniarded
Aventano.

"Throw me that carrion into the moat," growled Gian Maria, still
quivering with rage that had prompted his ferocious act.

He was obeyed, and thus murdered and murderer were united in a common
grave.

After the first attempt to restrain Gian Maria, Guidobaldo had looked on
in unconcern, deeming the act a very fitting punishment of a man with
whose treachery he, at least, had never been in sympathy.

As he saw the body vanish in the torrent below, Gian Maria seemed to
realise what he had done. His anger fell from him, and with bent head he
piously crossed himself. Then turning to an attendant who stood at his
elbow:

"See that a Mass is said for his soul to-morrow," he solemnly bade him.

As if the act had served to pacify him and restore him to his senses,
Gian Maria now stepped forward and asked his cousin, in calmer tones than
he had hitherto employed, to make clear the terms on which he would
permit him to return to Babbiano within the time to which his people
limited him.

"They are no more than that you relinquish your claim to Monna Valentina,
and that you find consolation--as I think his Highness of Urbino has
himself suggested--in the Lord Guidobaldo's younger niece."

Before he could reply Guidobaldo was urging him, in a low voice to accept
the terms.

"What else is there for you?" Montefeltro ended pregnantly.

"And this other niece of yours----?" quoth Gian Maria lamely.

"I have already passed my word," answered Guidobaldo.

"And Monna Valentina?" the other almost whined.

"May wed this headstrong condottiero of hers. I'll not withstand them.
Come; I am your friend in this. I am even sacrificing Valentina to your
interests. For if you persist, he will ruin you. The game is his, my
lord. Acknowledge your defeat, as I acknowledge mine, and pay."

"But what is your defeat to mine?" cried Gian Maria, who saw through
Guidobaldo's appreciation of the fact that such a nephew-in-law as
Francesco del Falco was far from undesirable in the troublous times that
threatened.

"It is at least as absolute," returned Guidobaldo, with a shrug. And in
this vein the Duke of Urbino continued for some moments, till, in the
end, Gian Maria found himself not only deserted by his ally, but having
this ally now combating on his cousin's side and pressing him to accept
his cousin's terms, distasteful though they were. Thus urged, Gian Maria
lamely acknowledged his defeat and his willingness to pay the forfeit.
With that he asked how soon he might be permitted to leave the castle.

"Why, at once, now that I have your word," answered Francesco readily,
whereat treachery gleamed from Gian Maria's eye, to be swiftly quenched
by Francesco's next words. "But lest your men and mine should come to
trouble with one another, you will order yours to come forth without arms
or armour, and you will depose your own. His Highness Guidobaldo is the
only man in whose favour I can make an exception to this condition. Let
it be broken, and I promise you that you will very bitterly regret it.
At sight of the first armed man issuing from those gates, I'll give the
word to fire on you, and your own guns shall work your destruction."

Thus was the second siege of Roccaleone ended almost as soon as it was
begun, and thus did Gian Maria capitulate to the conqueror. The Duke of
Babbiano and his men marched out sheepishly and silently, and took their
way to Babbiano, no word--not even so much as a glance--passing between
Gian Maria and the lady who had been the cause of his discomfiture, and
who blithely looked on at his departure.

Guidobaldo and his few attendants lingered after his late ally had gone.
Then he bade Francesco lead him to his niece, in which Francesco readily
obeyed him.

The Duke embraced her coldly--still that he embraced her at all after
what was passed augured well.

"You will come with me to Urbino, Lord Count?" he said suddenly to
Francesco. "It were best to celebrate the nuptials there. Everything is
in readiness--for all had been prepared for Gian Maria."

A great joy came into Valentina's eyes; her cheeks flushed and her glance
fell; but Francesco scanned the Duke's face with the keen eye of one who
is incredulous of so much good fortune.

"Your Highness means me well?" he made bold to ask. Guidobaldo
stiffened, and a frown broke the serenity of his lofty brow.

"You have my princely word," he answered solemnly, at which, with bended
knee, Francesco stooped to kiss his ducal hand.

And so they departed on the horses that they kept as the spoils of war.
They made a goodly show, Guidobaldo riding at their head, with Francesco
and Valentina, whilst the rear was brought up by Peppe and Fra Domenico,
who, touched by this epidemic of goodwill, were at last fraternising with
each other.

And as they rode it chanced that presently Guidobaldo fell behind, so
that for a moment Francesco and Valentina found themselves alone a little
ahead of the others. She turned to him, a shyness in her brown eyes, a
tremble at the corners of her red lips:

"You have not yet said that you forgive me, Francesco," she complained,
in a timerous whisper. "Were it not seemly that you did since we are to
be wed so soon?"

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