Books: Love at Arms

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The Count's face grew dark with anger. "The coward!" he muttered. "The
dastardly craven!"

"But bethink you, sir Count," exclaimed Valdicampo, "that this poor Peppe
is a frail and deformed creature, lacking the strength of an ordinary
man, and do not judge him over-harshly."

"It was not of him I spoke," replied Francesco, "but of my cousin, that
cowardly tyrant, Gian Maria Sforza. Tell me, Messer Valdicampo--what has
become of Ser Peppe?"

"He is still here. I have had him tended, and his condition is already
much improved. It will not be long ere he is recovered, but for a few
days yet his arms will remain almost useless. They were all but torn
from his body."

When the meal was done Francesco begged his host to conduct him to
Peppe's chamber. This Valdicampo did, and leaving Fanfulla in the
company of the ladies of his house, he escorted the Count to the room
where the poor, ill-used hunchback was abed tended by one of the women of
Valdicampo's household.

"Here is a visitor to see you, Ser Peppe," the old gentleman announced,
setting down his candle on a table by the bed. The jester turned his
great head towards the newcomer's, and sought with melancoly eyes the
face of his visitor. At sight of him a look of terror spread itself upon
his countenance.

"My lord," he cried, struggling into a sitting posture, "my noble,
gracious lord, have mercy on me. I could tear out this craven tongue of
mine. But did you know what agonies I suffered, and to what a torture
they submitted me to render me unfaithful, it may be that you, yourself,
would pity me."

"Why, that I do," answered Francesco gently. "Indeed, could I have seen
the consequences that oath would have for you, I had not bound you by
it."

The fear in Peppe's face gave place to unbelief.

"And you forgive me, lord?" he cried. "I dreaded when you entered that
you were come to punish me for what wrong I may have done you in
speaking. But if you forgive me, it may be that Heaven will forgive me
also, and that I may not be damned. And that were a thousand pities, for
what, my lord, should I do in hell?"

"Deride the agonies of Gian Maria," answered Francesco, with a laugh.

"It were almost worth burning for," mused Peppe, putting forth a hand,
whose lacerated, swollen wrist bore evidence to the torture he had
suffered. At sight of it the Count made an exclamation of angry horror,
and hastened to inquire into the poor fool's condition.

"It is not so bad now," Peppe answered him, "and it is only in
consequence of Messer Valdicampo's insistence that I have kept my bed. I
can scarce use my arms, it is true, but they are improving. To-morrow I
shall be up, and I hope to set out for Urbino, where my dear mistress
must be distressed with fears for my absence, for she is a very kind and
tenderhearted lady."

This resolve of Peppe's prompted the Count to offer to conduct him to
Urbino on the morrow, since he, himself, would be journeying that way--an
offer which the fool accepted without hesitation and with lively
gratitude.

CHAPTER XII

THE FOOL'S INQUISITIVENESS

In the morning Francesco set out once more, accompanied by his servants,
Fanfulla, and the fool. The latter was now so far restored as to be able
to sit a mule, but lest the riding should over-tire him they proceeded at
little more than an ambling pace along the lovely valleys of the Metauro.
Thus it befell that when night descended it found them still journeying,
and some two leagues distant from Urbino. Another league they travelled
in the moonlight, and the fool was beguiling the time for them with a
droll story culled from the bright pages of Messer Boccaccio, when of a
sudden his sharp ears caught a sound that struck him dumb in the middle
of a sentence.

"Are you faint?" asked Francesco, turning quickly towards him, and
mindful of the fellow's sore condition.

"No, no," answered the fool, with a readiness that dispelled the Count's
alarm on that score. "I thought I heard a sound of marching in the
distance."

"The wind in the trees, Peppino," explained Fanfulla.

"I do not think----" He stopped short and listened and now they all
heard it, for it came wafted to them on a gust of the fitful breeze that
smote their faces.

"You are right," said Francesco. "It is the tramp of men. But what of
that, Peppe? Men will march in Italy. Let us hear the end of your
story."

"But who should march in Urbino, and by night?" the fool persisted.

"Do I know or do I care?" quoth the Count. "Your story, man."

For all that he was far from satisfied, the fool resumed his narrative.
But he no longer told it with his former irresistible humour. His mind
was occupied with that sound of marching, which came steadily nearer. At
length he could endure it no longer, and the apathy of his companions
fired him openly to rebel.

"My lord," he cried, turning to the Count, and again leaving his story
interrupted, "they are all but upon us."

"True!" agreed Francesco indifferently. "The next turn yonder should
bring us into them."

"Then I beg you, Lord Count, to step aside. Let us pause here, under the
trees, until they have passed. I am full of fears. Perhaps I am a
coward, but I mislike these roving night-hands. It may be a company of
masnadieri."

"What then?" returned the Count, without slackening speed. "What cause
have we to fear a party of robbers?"

But Fanfulla and the servants joined their advice to Peppe's, and
prevailed at last upon Francesco to take cover until this company should
have passed. He consented, to pacify them, and wheeling to the right
they entered the border of the forest, drawing rein well in the shadow,
whence they could survey the road and see who passed across the patch of
moonlight that illumined it. And presently the company came along and
swung into that revealing flood of light. To the astonishment of the
watchers they beheld no marauding party such as they had been led to
expect, but a very orderly company of some twenty men, soberly arrayed in
leather hacketons and salades of bright steel, marching sword on thigh
and pike on shoulder. At the head of this company rode a powerfully-
built man on a great sorrel horse, at sight of whom the fool swore softly
in astonishment. In the middle of the party came four litters borne by
mules, and at the side of one of them rode a slender, graceful figure
that provoked from Peppe a second oath. But the profoundest objurgation
of all was wrung from him at sight of a portly bulk in the black habit of
the Dominicans ambling in the rear, who just then was in angry
altercation with a fellow that was urging his mule along with the butt of
his partisan.

"May you be roasted on a gridiron like Saint Lawrence," gasped the irate
priest. "Would you break my neck, brute beast that you are? Do you but
wait until we reach Roccaleone, and by St. Dominic, I'll get your
ruffianly commander to hang you for this ill-seasoned jest."

But his tormentor laughed for answer, and smote the mule again, a blow
this time that almost caused it to rear up. The friar cried out in angry
alarm, and then, still storming and threatening his persecutor, he passed
on. After him came six heavily-laden carts, each drawn by a pair of
bullocks, and the rear of the procession was brought up by a flock of a
dozen bleating sheep, herded by a blasphemant man-at-arms. They passed
the astonished watchers, who remained concealed until that odd company
had melted away into the night.

"I could swear," said Fanfulla, "that that friar and I have met before."

"Nor would you do a perjury," answered him the fool. "For it is that fat
hog Fra Domenico--he that went with you to the Convent of Acquasparta to
fetch unguents for his Excellency."

"What does he in that company, and who are they?" asked the Count,
turning to the fool as they rode out of their ambush.

"Ask me where the devil keeps his lures," quoth the fool, "and I'll make
some shift to answer you. But as for what does Fra Domenico in that
galley, it is more than I can hazard a guess on. He is not the only one
known to me," Peppino added, "There was Ercole Fortemani, a great, dirty,
blustering ruffian whom I never saw in aught but rags, riding at their
heads in garments of most unwonted wholeness; and there was Romeo
Gonzaga, whom I never knew to stir by night save to an assignation.
Strange things must be happening in Urbino."

"And the litters?" inquired Francesco, "Can you hazard no guess as to
their meaning?"

"None," said he, "saving that they may account for the presence of Messer
Gonzaga. For litters argue women."

"It seems, fool, that not even your wisdom shall avail us. But you heard
the friar say they were bound for Roccaleone?"

"Yes, I heard that. And by means of it we shall probably learn the rest
at the end of our journey."

And being a man of extremely inquisitive mind, the fool set his inquiries
on foot the moment they entered the gates of Urbino in the morning--for
they had reached the city over-late to gain admittance that same night,
and were forced to seek shelter in one of the houses by the river. It
was of the Captain of the Gate that he sought information.

"Can you tell me, Ser Capitan," he inquired, "what company was that that
travelled yesternight to Roccaleone?"

The captain looked at him a moment.

"There was none that I know of," said he, "Certainly none from Urbino."

"You keep a marvellous watch," said the fool drily. "I tell you that a
company of men-at-arms some twenty strong went last night from Urbino to
Roccaleone."

"To Roccaleone?" echoed the captain, with a musing air, more attentively
than before, as if the repetition of that name had suggested something to
his mind. "Why, it is the castle of Monna Valentina."

"True, sapient sir. But what of the company, and why was it travelling
so, by night?"

"How know you it proceeded from Urbino?" quoth the captain earnestly.

"Because at its head I recognised the roaring warrior Ercole Fortemani,
in the middle rode Romeo Gonzaga, in the rear came Fra Domenico,
Madonna's confessor--men of Urbino all."

The officer's face grew purple at the news.

"Were there any women in the party?" he cried.

"I saw none," replied the fool, in whom this sudden eagerness of the
captain's awakened caution and reflection.

"But there were four litters," put in Francesco, whose nature was less
suspicious and alert than the wise fool's.

Too late Peppe scowled caution at him. The captain swore a great oath.

"It is she," he cried, with assurance. "And this company was travelling
to Roccaleone, you say. How know you that?"

"We heard it from the friar," answered Francesco readily.

"Then, by the Virgin! we have them. Olá!" He turned from them, and ran
shouting into the gatehouse, to re-emerge a moment later with half-dozen
soldiers at his heels.

"To the Palace," he commanded, and as his men surrounded Francesco's
party, "Come, sir," he said to the Count. "You must go with us, and tell
your story to the Duke."

"There is no need for all this force," answered Francesco coldly. "In
any case, I could not pass through Urbino without seeing Duke Guidobaldo.
I am the Count of Aquila."

At once the captain's bearing grew respectful. He made his apologies for
the violent measures of his zeal, and bade his men fall behind. Ordering
them to follow him, he mounted a horse that was brought him, and rode
briskly through the borgo at the Count's side. And as he rode he told
them what the jester's quick intuition had already whispered to him. The
lady Valentina was fled from Urbino in the night, and in her company were
gone three of her ladies, and--it was also supposed, since they had
disappeared--Fra Domenico and Romeo Gonzaga.

Aghast at what he heard, Francesco pressed his informer for more news;
but there was little more that the captain could tell him, beyond the
fact that it was believed she had been driven to it to escape her
impending marriage with the Duke of Babbiano. Guidobaldo was distraught
at what had happened, and anxious to bring the lady back before news of
her behaviour should reach the ears of Gian Maria. It was, therefore, a
matter of no little satisfaction to the captain that the task should be
his to bear Guidobaldo this news of her whereabouts which from Francesco
and the jester he had derived.

Peppe looked glum and sullen. Had he but bridled his cursed curiosity,
and had the Count but taken the alarm in time and held his peace, all
might have been well with his beloved patrona. As it was, he--the one
man ready to die that he might serve her--had been the very one to betray
her refuge. He heard the Count's laugh, and the sound of it was fuel to
his anger. But Francesco only thought of the splendid daring of the
lady's action.

"But these men-at-arms that she had with her?" he cried. "For what
purpose so numerous a bodyguard?"

The captain looked at him a moment.

"Can you not guess?" he inquired. "Perhaps you do not know the Castle of
Roccaleone."

"It were odd if I did not know the most impregnable fortress in Italy."

"Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for a
garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel
fashion the wishes of his Highness."

At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as
hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips.

"By the Host!" he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. "There
is a maid for you! Do you hear what the captain says, Fanfulla? She
means to resist this wedding by armed force if needs be. Now, on my
soul, if Guidobaldo insists upon the union after this, why, then, he has
no heart, no feeling. As I live, she is a kinswoman that such a warlike
prince might well be proud of. Small wonder that they do not fear the
Borgia in Urbino." And he laughed again. But the captain scowled at
him, and Peppe frowned.

"She is a rebellious jade," quoth the captain sourly.

"Nay, softly," returned Francesco; for all that he still laughed. "If
you were of knightly rank I'd break a lance with you on that score. As
it is----" he paused, his laughter ceased, and his dark eyes took the
captain's measure in a curious way. "Best leave her uncensured, Ser
Capitano. She is of the house of Rovere, and closely allied to that of
Montefeltro."

The officer felt the rebuke, and silence reigned between them after that.

It was whilst Francesco, Fanfulla and Peppe waited in the ante-chamber
for admittance to the Duke that the jester vented some of the bitterness
he felt at their babbling. The splendid room was thronged with a courtly
crowd. There were magnificent nobles and envoys, dark ecclesiastics and
purple prelates, captains in steel and court officers in silk and velvet.
Yet, heedless of who might hear him, Peppe voiced his rebuke, and the
terms he employed were neither as measured nor as respectful as the
Count's rank dictated. Yet with that fairness of mind that made him so
universally beloved, Francesco offered no resentment to the fool's
reproof. He saw that it was deserved, for it threw upon the matter a
light that was new and more searching. But he presently saw further than
did the fool, and he smiled at the other's scowls.

"Not so loud Peppe," said he. "You over-estimate the harm. At worst, we
have but anticipated by a little what the Duke must have learnt from
other sources."

"But it is just that little--the few hours or days--that will do the
mischief," snapped the jester testily, for all that he lowered his voice.
"In a few days Gian Maria will be back. If he were met with the news
that the Lady Valentina were missing, that she had run away with Romeo
Gonzaga--for that, you'll see, will presently be the tale--do you think
he would linger here, or further care to pursue his wooing? Not he.
These alliances that are for State purposes alone, in which the heart
plays no part, demand, at least, that on the lady's side there shall be a
record unblemished by the breath of scandal. His Highness would have
returned him home, and Madonna would have been rid of him."

"But at a strange price, Peppe," answered Franeesco gravely. "Still," he
added, "I agree that I would have served her purpose better by keeping
silent. But that such an affair will cool the ardour of my cousin I do
not think. You are wrong in placing this among the alliances in which
the heart has no part. On my cousin's side--if all they say be true--the
heart plays a very considerable part indeed. But, for the rest--what
harm have we done?"

"Time will show," said the hunchback.

"It will show, then, that I have done no hurt whatever to her interests.
By now she is safe in Roccaleone. What, then, can befall her?
Guidobaldo, no doubt, will repair to her, and across the moat he will
entreat her to be a dutiful niece and to return. She will offer to do so
on condition that he pass her his princely word not to further molest her
with the matter of this marriage. And then?"

"Well?" growled the fool, "And then? Who shall say what may befall then?
Let us say that his Highness reduces her by force."

"A siege?" laughed the Count. "Pooh! Where is your wisdom, fool! Do
you think the splendid Guidobaldo is eager to become the sport of Italy,
and go down to posterity as the duke who besieged his niece because she
resisted his ordainings touching the matter of her wedding?"

"Guidobaldo da Montefeltro can be a violent man upon occasion," the fool
was answering, when the officer who had left them reappeared with the
announcement that his Highness awaited them.

They found the Prince in a very gloomy mood, and after greeting Francesco
with cool ceremony, he questioned him on the matter of the company they
had met yesternight. These inquiries he conducted with characteristic
dignity, and no more show of concern than if it had been an affair of a
strayed falcon. He thanked Francesco for his information, and gave
orders that the seneschal should place apartments at his and Fanfulla's
disposal for as long as it should please them to grace his court. With
that he dismissed them, bidding the officer remain to receive his orders.

"And that," said Francesco to Peppe, as they crossed the ante-chamber in
the wake of a servant, "is the man who would lay siege to his niece's
castle? For once, sir fool, your wisdom is at fault."

"You do not know the Duke, Excellency," answered the fool. "Beneath that
frozen exterior burns a furnace, and there is no madness he would not
commit."

But Francesco only laughed as, linking arms with Fanfulla, he passed down
the gallery on his way to the apartments to which the servant was
conducting them.

CHAPTER XIII

GIAN MARIA MAKES A VOW

In a measure the events that followed would almost tend to show that the
fool was right. For even if the notion of besieging Valentina and
reducing her by force of arms was not Guidobaldo's own in the first
place, yet he lent a very willing ear to the counsel that they should
thus proceed, when angrily urged two days thereafter by the Duke of
Babbiano.

Upon hearing the news Gian Maria had abandoned himself to such a licence
of rage as made those about him tremble from the highest to the meanest.
The disappointment of his passion was in itself justification enough for
this; but, in addition, Gian Maria beheld in the flight of Valentina the
frustration of those bold schemes of which had talked so loudly to his
councillors and his mother. It was his confidence in those same schemes
that had induced him to send that defiant answer to Caesar Borgia. As a
consequence of this there was haste--most desperate haste--that he should
wed, since wedding was to lend him the power to carry out his brave
promises of protecting his crown from the Duke of Valentinois, not to
speak of the utter routing of the Borgia which he had wildly undertaken
to accomplish.

That the destinies of States should be tossed to the winds of Heaven by a
slip of a girl was to him something as insufferable as it had been
unexpected.

"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 brought
back. So far, I agree with you entirely. Tell me, now, how the thing is
to 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 in
the stoutest castle in Italy, and tells me that she will not come forth
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 in
my 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 rebel
is she to be treated. She has garrisoned a castle, and hurled defiance
at the ruler of the land. It is a declaration of war, Highness, and war
we shall have."

"You would resort to force?" asked Guidobaldo, disapproval lurking in his
voice.

"To the force of arms, your Highness," answered Gian Maria, with prompt
fierceness. "I will lay siege to this castle of hers, and I shall tear
it stone from stone. Oh, I would have wooed her nicely had she let me,
with gentle words and mincing ways that maidens love. But since she
defies us, I'll woo her with arquebuse and cannon, and seek by starvation
to make her surrender to my suit. My love shall put on armour to subject
her, and I vow to God that I shall not shave my beard until I am 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 let
hunger be your advocate. Even so, I fear me, you will be laughed at by
all Italy," he added bluntly.

"A fig for that! Let the fools laugh if they be minded to. What forces
has she at Roccaleone?"

At the question Guidobaldo's brow grew dark. It was as if he had
recalled 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, a
kinsman 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 increased
dismay. "Do you suggest that they fled together?"

"My lord!" Guidobaldo's voice rang sharp and threatening. "It is of my
niece that you are speaking. She took this gentleman with her just as
she took three of her ladies and a page or two, to form such attendance
as befits her birth."

Gian Maria took a turn in the apartment, a frown wrinkling his brow, and
his lips pressed tight. Guidobaldo's proud words by no means convinced
him. But the one preponderating desire in his heart just then was to
humble the girl who had dared to flout him, to make her bend her stubborn
neck. At last:

"I may indeed become the laughing-stock of Italy," he muttered, in a
concentrated voice, "but I shall carry my resolve through, and my first
act upon entering Roccaleone will be to hang this knave Gonzaga from its
highest turret."

That very day Gian Maria began his preparations for the expedition
against Roccaleone, and word of it was carried by Fanfulla to Francesco--
for the latter had left his quarters at the palace upon hearing 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 consigned his
cousin to the devil, by whom, in that moment, he pronounced him begotten.

"Do you think," he asked, when he was calmer, "that this man Gonzaga is
her lover?"

"It is more than I can say," answered Fanfulla. "There is the fact that
she fled with him. Though when I questioned Peppe on this same subject
he first laughed the notion to scorn, and then grew grave. 'She loves
him 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 of
uneasy thought.

"By the Host! It is a shameful thing," he cried out at last. "This poor
lady so beset on every hand by a parcel of villains, each more
unscrupulous than the other. Fanfulla, send for Peppe. We must despatch
the 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 for
Roccaleone, to join his patrona."

Francesco looked his dismay.

"She will be undone," he groaned. "Thus between the upper and the nether
stone--between Gian Maria and Romeo Gonzaga. Gesù! she will be undone!
And she so brave and so high-spirited!"

He moved slowly to the casement, and stood staring at the windows across
the street, on which the setting sun fell in a ruddy glow. But it was
not the windows that he saw. It was a scene in the woods at Acquasparta
on that morning after the mountain fight; a man lying wounded in the
bracken, and over him a gentle lady bending with eyes of pity and
solicitude. Often since had his thoughts revisited that scene, sometimes
with a smile, sometimes with a sigh, and sometimes with both at once.

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