By the side of a small bed, in a small room next to the larger one of which I have already spoken in noticing the usual arrangements of a contadino's house, sat our friend Antonio, nearly an hour after his meeting with Giovanozzo. The same man who, some time before, had lain upon the table in the adjoining chamber now occupied the bed; but he was apparently sound asleep. The contadino's Xantippe had informed her husband, or rather Antonio, for whom she entertained much higher veneration, that the "poor soul," as she called Buondoni's retainer, had awoke and spoken quite cheerfully, but that he had now fallen into a more refreshing kind of slumber; and anxious to busy herself about her household affairs, she had willingly left her patient to Antonio's care, upon being assured that they were old companions.
Antonio, as the reader may have remarked, had that curious habit, common to both sages and simpletons, of occasionally giving vent to his thoughts in words, even when there was no one to listen to them--not in low tones, indeed, but in low-muttered murmurs--not in regular and unbroken soliloquy, but in fragments of sentences, with lapses of silent meditation between.
"It is Mardocchi," he said; "it is Mardocchi beyond all doubt. Mightily changed, indeed, he is--but that scar cutting through the eyebrow. I remember giving him the wound that made it with the palla."
He fell into silence again for a few minutes, and then he murmured, "We used to say he would be hanged. So he has fulfilled his destiny, and got off better than most men in similar circumstances." Here came another break, during which the stream of thought ran on still; and then he said, "Now let any one tell me whether it was better for this man to be brought to life again or not. His troubles in this life were all over, he had taken the last hard gasp; the agony, and the expectation, and the fear were all done and over, and now they have all to come over again, probably in the very same way too, for he is certain to get into more mischief, and deserve more hanging, and take a better hold of Purgatory, even if he do not go farther still. He never had but one good quality; he would keep his word with you for good or ill against the devil himself. He had a mighty stubborn will, and once he had said a thing he would do it."
Here came another lapse, which lasted about five minutes, and then Antonio murmured quite indistinctly, "I wonder if he be really asleep! He could feign anything beautifully, and his eyes seemed to give a sort of wink just now. We will soon see." Some minutes of silence then succeeded, and at length Antonio spoke aloud: "No," he said, as if coming to some fixed and firm conclusion, "no; it would be better for him himself to die. The good woman did him a bad service. These Frenchmen will hang him again whenever they catch him, and if there be any inquiry into the death of Buondoni, they will put him on the rack; besides, we may all get ourselves into trouble by conniving at his escape from justice. Better finish it at once while he is asleep, and before he half knows he has been brought to life again."
He then unsheathed his dagger, which was both long and broad, tried the point upon his finger, and gazed at his companion. Still there was no sign of consciousness. The next moment, however, Antonio rose, deliberately pushed back his sleeve from his wrist, as if to prevent it from being soiled with blood, and then raised the dagger high over the slumbering man.
The instant he did so, Mardocchi started up, and clasped his wrist, exclaiming, "Antonio Biondi, what would you do? kill your unhappy friend?"
Antonio burst into a loud laugh, saying, "Only a new way of waking a sleeping man, Mardocchi. The truth is, I have no time to wait till your shamming is over in the regular course. We have matters of life and death to talk of; and you must cast away all trick and deceit, and act straightforwardly with me, that we may act quickly; your own life and safety depend upon it. Now tell me, what did the Lord of Vitry hang you for?"
"His morning's sport, I fancy," answered the man; "but softly, good friend; you forget I hardly know as yet whether I am of this world or another. My senses are still all confused, and you, Antonio--my old playmate--should have some compassion on me."
"So I have, Mardocchi," answered Antonio; "and, as these good people have brought you back to life, I wish to save you from being sent out of it again more quickly than you fancy."
"Where is the danger?" asked Mardocchi, hesitating.
"That is just what I want to discover," said the other; "not vaguely, not generally, but particularly, in every point. General dangers I can see plenty, but I must know all the particular ones, in order to place you in safety. Do you know that your lord, Buondoni, is dead?"
"Ay, so the good woman told me," replied the other; "killed by that young cub of the Viscontis. Curses on him!"
Antonio marked both the imprecation and the expression of countenance with which it was uttered; but he did not follow the scent at once. "Do you know at whose prayer you were cut down?" he asked.
"They tell me at the instance of the Signorina de Rovera," replied Mardocchi; "a young thing I think she is. I saw her once, I believe, with the Princess of Ferrara. If I live, I will find some way to repay her."
"Well, that is just the question," replied Antonio, "if you are to live or die? Hark you, Mardocchi! you must tell me all, if you would have me save you."
"But can you, will you save me?" inquired the man; "and yet why should I fear? The Frenchmen cut me down themselves, I am told."
"Ay, but they are very likely to hang you up again, if they find you out of sight of the pretty lady who interceded for you. Nay, more, Mardocchi: all men believe that you were deep in the secrets of Buondoni and of the Count Regent through him. Now, as you know, the King of France is very likely to put you to the rack if he finds you, to make you tell those secrets; and your good friend Ludovic the Moor, is very likely to strangle you, to make sure that you keep them."
Mardocchi made no reply, for he knew there was much truth in Antonio's words; but, after a moment's pause, the other proceeded, "You must get out of Lombardy as fast as possible, my good friend."
"But where can I go? what can I do?" asked the unhappy man. "I have lost my only friend and patron. I am known all through this part of the country. I almost wish the women had let me alone."
"It might have been better," said Antonio in a meditative tone. "'Once for all' is a good proverb, Mardocchi. However, I think I could help you if I liked; I think I could get you out of Lombardy, and into the Romagna, and find you a good master, who wants just such a fellow as yourself."
"Then do it! do it!" cried Mardocchi, eagerly; "do it for old companionship; do it, because, for that old companionship, I have forgiven more to you than I ever forgave to any other man. Why should you not do it?"
"There is but one reason," answered Antonio, gravely, "and that lies in your own words. When you spoke of Lorenzo Visconti just now, you called down curses upon him. Now he is my lord and my friend. I was placed near him by Lorenzo the Magnificent, and promised I would always help and protect him. Do you think I should be doing either if I aided to save a man who would murder him the first opportunity? I always keep my word, Mardocchi."
"And so do I," answered Mardocchi, gloomily. "Sacchi and the rest told all they knew to the Frenchman, out of fear for their pitiful lives, and they saved themselves. I refused to tell anything, because I had promised not, and they strung me up to the branch of a tree. But I will promise you, Antonio, I will never raise my hand against the young man. I shall hate him ever, but--"
"Let me think," said Antonio; and, after meditating for a moment, he added, "there are ways of destroying him without raising your hand against him: there is the cord. Listen to my resolution, Mardocchi, and you know I will keep it: if you will promise me not to take his life in any way--for I know you right well--I will help you, for old companionship, to escape, and to join a noble lord in the Romagna; but, if you do not promise, I will make sure of you by other means. I have but to speak a word, and you are on the branch of the mulberry-tree again--"
"Stop, stop!" said Mardocchi; "do not threaten me. I am weak--sick--hardly yet alive, but I do not like threats. The crushed adder bites. Let me think: I hate him," he continued, slowly, recovering gradually from the excitement under which he had first spoken. "I shall always hate him, but that is no reason I should kill him. I have never promised to kill him--never even threatened to kill him. If I had, I would do it or die; but I do not like death. I have tasted it, and no man likes to eat of that dish twice. It is very bitter; and I promise you in your own words, Antonio. But you likewise must remember your promise to me."
"Did you ever know me fail?" said the other. "The first thing is to get you well, the next to shave off that long beard and those wild locks, and then, with a friar's gown and the cord of St. Francis, I will warrant I get you in the train of one of these French lords. Can you enact a friar, think you, Mardocchi?"
"Oh, yes," said Mardocchi, with a bitter grin, "I can drink and carouse all night, tell a coarse tale with a twinkling eye, laugh loud at a small jest, and do foul services for a small reward, if it be to save my life; but then I cannot speak these people's language, Antonio."
"All the better--all the better," answered Antonio; "many of them know a little Italian, and hard questions put in a foreign tongue, are easily parried. It would be a good thing for one half of the world if it did not understand what the other half said."
"But who is this good lord to whom you are going to send me?" asked the man. "Is he a courtier or a soldier."
"A little of both," answered Antonio, "but more a man of counsel than either. His name is Ramiro d'Orco."
"Ah! I have heard of him," said Mardocchi. "He puzzles the people about the court. All men think that at heart he has vast ambition, and yet none can tell you why he thinks so. All agree in that, though some think he is a philosopher, some a simpleton."
"Well, well," answered Antonio, "the first thing is for you to recover health and strength, the next to get you safely away, the third to make you known to the Signor Ramiro. He is the sort of man to suit your views. I know him well. He is rich, and, as you say, ambitious. He is wise, too, in a certain way; and though he has not yet found a path to the objects he aims at, he will find one in time, or make one, even were he to hew it through his own flesh and blood. He wants serviceable men about him, and that is the reason I send you to him. If he rises, he will pull you up; if he falls, there is no need he should pull you down with him. But we will converse more to-morrow; to-day you have talked enough, perhaps too much."
"But, Antonio, Antonio," said the other, eagerly catching his sleeve, "you will tell no one that I am here?"
"No one on earth," answered Antonio; and, bidding him farewell, he left him.
The journey of Antonio back to the villa was somewhat longer than it needed to have been. He took devious and circuitous paths, and even turned back for a part of the way more than once. It was not, however, that he fancied himself watched, or that he feared that any one might discover where he had been; but his brain was very busy, and he did not wish his thoughts interrupted till they had reached certain conclusions from which they were distant when he set out. He asked himself if he could really trust to Mardocchi's word, knowing but too well how predominant the desire of revenge is in every Italian heart. He half accused himself of folly in having promised him so much; and though he was, in truth, a good and sincere man, yet the common habits and feelings of his country every now and then suggested that it would be easy to put an end to all doubt and suspicion, if he saw cause, by the use of the Italian panacea, the stiletto. "But yet," he said to himself, "it may be better to take my chance of his good faith, and let him live. I never knew him break his word, and by his means, perhaps, I may penetrate some of Signor Ramiro's purposes in regard to young Lorenzo. I will tie him down to some promise on that point too. He will need my help yet in many ways; and though I will not set a man to betray his master, yet I may well require him to warn his friends."
It was an age and a country in which men dealt peculiarly in subtleties, so much so, indeed, that right and truth were often refined away to nothing, especially in the higher and better educated classes of society. The bravo, indeed, was often a more straightforward and truthful man than the nobleman who employed him. He would own frankly that he was committing a great sin; but then he had faith in the Virgin, and she would obtain remission for him. His employer would find a thousand reasons to justify the deed, and would so pile up motives and necessities in self-defence that it would seem almost doubtful which was most to be pitied, himself or his victim. Antonio was by no means without this spirit of casuistry; and though no man could cut through a long chain of pretences with more trenchant wit than he could, in the case of another, yet he might not unfrequently employ them in his own. He resolved, therefore, not to engage Mardocchi to betray his master's secrets, but only to reveal them when it was necessary that he, Antonio, should know them. The difference, indeed, was very slight, but it was sufficient to satisfy him.
Antonio's mind then naturally reverted to Ramiro d'Orco, and he asked himself again and again what could be the motive which led a man so famous for stoical hardness to show such tenderness and consideration for Lorenzo Visconti. "It may be," he thought, "that this grim old tyrant thinks it a splendid match for his daughter. But then they say she has a magnificent fortune of her own--her dower that of a princess. There must be some other end in view. She is a glorious creature too, midway between Juno and Sappho. Well, we must wait and watch. Heaven knows how it will all turn out. Perhaps, after all, Ramiro has some scheme against one of the princes of Romagna, in which he hopes to engage the King of France through young Lorenzo's influence.--It is so, I think--it is so, surely. He wants serviceable men, too, and asked me if I knew of any. Well, I think I have fitted him with one at least, and he will owe me something for the good turn. But I must hie homeward, and keep these things to myself. No more interfering between Lorenzo and his young love. He bore my warnings badly this morning: I must let things take their course, and try to guide without opposing."
Milan had its attractions even for the gay court of France. It was a devout and dissolute city; and we know how jovially, in some countries and at some times, dissoluteness and devotion have contrived to jog on together. Pastime and penitence, pleasure and penance, alternated among the courtiers of Charles VIII. with very agreeable variety; and it has been whispered that the young king himself was not unwilling either to finger forbidden fruit, or to express contrition afterward. At all events, he wasted many precious days in the Lombard capital. Morning after morning, fresh detachments of his army were sent forward to Pavia, till that city might be considered in possession of his troops; but still the young king lingered, and it was not till nine days after the events we have recorded in the last two or three chapters that the main host of France took its way southward.
How passed the intermediate time with those we have left in the Villa de Rovera? It was very sweetly. We must not dwell upon it, because it was so sweet; but a few words will tell all. Lorenzo almost longed to remain an invalid, that there might be a fair excuse for Leonora's tending; and Leonora feared to see him recover health and strength too soon, lest the order to depart should hurry him away.
Strange tales are told of the effects of Italian poisons in those days, and doubtless much exaggeration mingles with all the accounts we have received, but certain it is, that, though the youth recovered steadily, each day gaining a little, yet his convalescence was slow, and the subtle bane of Buondoni's sword was more or less felt for many after days. Still no order to march arrived, but every day, about noon, the good Lord de Vitry rode over, well attended, from Pavia to inquire after the health of his young friend; and although it is certain that Leonora could have given him more minute accounts of Lorenzo's state, and the old Count de Rovera could have furnished him with juster and more scientific views of Lorenzo's progress towards recovery, it was always Bianca Maria he first asked for. He speedily became a great favorite with the old count nevertheless. There was something in his frank, soldier-like bearing that pleased, and something in his ever merry conversation that amused the old man, so that he began to wish the day far distant when the noble Lord of Vitry would come no more.
Bianca Maria was very happy too, and she gave the rein to happiness without fear. Neither she nor De Vitry ever dreamed that he was making love. She thought herself too young to be the object of passion, and he thought so too. He fancied he should like to have a daughter just like herself, without the slightest change in thought or look--he would not have had a word she said altered--he would not have parted with one ringlet from her head; and she pictured to herself how pleasant it would have been to have an elder brother just like De Vitry.
At the house of the contadino all went on favourably likewise. Antonio visited the place every day, till at length, one morning early, he walked forth with a sandaled friar, who passed round the wall of the podere with him, and mounted a mule which was held by a little peasant-boy. Some ten minutes after, a troop of twenty French lances rode slowly on towards Pavia, and the friar, by Antonio's intercession, was permitted to join himself to the band. The contadino and the contadino's wife were for once satisfied with the same thing.
At length, however, the eventful day arrived when the King of France commenced his march from Milan against Naples. Drum, and trumpet, and pennon, and banderol, and long lines of glittering lances, and gorgeous surcoats, and splendid suits of armour, passed along the road within sight of the Villa Rovera, and though no absolute order had arrived commanding Lorenzo to join his troop and assume the command which had been bestowed upon him, yet, as he gazed upon the passing host from the higher windows, he felt that duty required him to linger no longer, and that the next day, at the latest, he was bound to tear himself away from those who, in the short space of a few weeks, had become so dear to him. He felt sad; and yet there was something to a young and eager mind like his, in the inspiring sight of military array, which had its consolatory influence. He thought of acquiring glory and renown for Leonora's sake, and returning to her with bright fame and a glorious name, with a proud consciousness of courage and of skill in arms. "If we must part--" he said to himself.
If they were to part! That was the consideration most painful, for he had flattered himself every day with the hope that the promised letter of Ramiro d'Orco would arrive, giving him authority to escort his fair promised bride to join her father: and oh! how many enchanted scenes had Fancy fabricated out of the vague shadows of that expected journey! No letter had arrived; the army was on its march; he could delay no longer; and the bitterness of disappointment was added to the bitterness of anticipated separation.
The last troopers of the main host of France disappeared; and Leonora gazed in Lorenzo's eyes, knowing, divining what was passing in his heart, as they stood, together, with Bianca Maria gazing from the neighbouring window.
"You must go, Lorenzo," said the beautiful girl, "you must go, I know it. Fear not to speak the words; Leonora would not keep you from the path of fame and honour if she could. It will be very terrible, but still you must go. I had hoped, indeed--"
"See! see!" cried Bianca Maria: "there are more horsemen coming. It is the king himself and his court; I remember well the array; and there is Count Ludovic, on the monarch's left."
Leonora and her lover turned to the window again, and saw the royal train sweep on towards them. But suddenly the king drew in his rein just opposite the gates. He did not dismount; but a horseman dashed out from the escort, and rode into the court-yard of the villa.
"It is the order," said Lorenzo, in a low voice, "it is the order, and I must run down to receive it."
The two lovely girls followed him quickly; for theirs was an age when nature's impulses have not been curbed and disciplined, restrained and checked, either by the iron rules of a factitious state of society or the harder and more terrible shackles of experience. At the bottom of the great staircase he found the old Count of Rovera speaking with one of the king's officers, out of whose mouth he took the words of the monarch's message, saying, as soon as he saw Lorenzo, "His Majesty the King of France, my young cousin, desires your presence without. He has not time to dismount, this noble gentleman tells me, otherwise he would have honoured our poor house by his presence."
Lorenzo hurried away unbonneted, and the count, looking with a smile at his cousin and granddaughter, said gaily:
"Now would I wager this jewel against a fool's bauble that you girls would give your ears to hear the conference. If so, take the rich peaches Giovanozzo brought just now--one take them on the gold salver, and let the other carry out a cup of our best wine to refresh the monarch after his long ride."
But there is an innate modesty which requires no teaching of art, and Leonora answered:
"I pray you excuse me, sir; they are all men there without, and we should blush to obtrude ourselves upon the gaze of so many eyes."
As she spoke a warm glow came upon the face of Bianca Maria, but it was not her cousin's words that called it there. A shadow darkened the doorway, and the sound of a step well-known to the young girl's ear was heard, which brought the joyous blood from the heart to the cheek in a moment.
"I have stolen away," said De Vitry, "like a thief, and I have been a thief, too, sweet ladies, and my noble lord. Just before I set out from Pavia to meet the king, a courier came from Bologna; and, good faith, when I found out what he carried, I made free to rob him of his bags, not knowing who else might finger them. That letter for you, my lord count--that for you, Signora Leonora; and here is one also for Visconti, which I may as well trust to you also, very sure you will deliver it safely."
"And none for me?" asked Blanche Marie, with a faint smile.
"None--only a message," said De Vitry, while the others busied themselves with their letters they had received; and, as he spoke, he drew the fair young girl aside, adding, "I must deliver it quickly, for I must be back ere I am missed."
What he said to her in that low whisper, who shall tell? Her cheek turned pale, and then glowed crimson red, and her knees shook, and her lips quivered, so as to stop the words that struggled for utterance, and yet there was joy in her eyes. It was as if he had given her the key of some treasury in her own heart which overwhelmed her with the first sight of the riches within.
"A soldier's love, a soldier's hand, a noble name, an honourable name--that is all I have to offer," were the words of De Vitry. "I know I am nearly old enough to be your father; but if you don't mind that, I don't."
He paused a moment as if for an answer, while Blanche Marie stood still trembling and silent; and, with a shade upon his broad, frank brow, he was turning away, when she murmured:
"Stay! stay!" and, drawing the glove from her hand, she put it into his.
"I will carry it into the cannon's mouth," he said, hiding it in his scarf; and then he kissed her hand, and returned to the old count and her fair cousin. "Lady, I must go," he said, taking Leonora's gloved hand, and bending over it. "My lord the count, farewell. We shall all meet again soon, I hope; and, in the meantime, you shall hear no evil of De Vitry, unless some of those foul cannon shot carry off his head. Adieu! adieu!"
In the meantime, Lorenzo had hurried forth, and stood by the side of the king's horse. Charles gazed kindly at him, and inquired after his health, while Ludovic the Moor bent his eyes upon him, but without suffering the slightest shade of enmity to cross his face.
"How goes it with you, fair cousin?" asked the king: "think you that you are able to ride on with the army towards Naples in a day or two?"
"Quite able, sir," answered the young man; "to-morrow, if it should be your Majesty's pleasure."
"Pale--pale," said the monarch, who seemed to have been studying his countenance. "Is that with loss of blood, Lorenzo, or the venom of the sword?"
"I lost little blood, sire," answered the young man; "but the poison was very deadly, and required both skill and careful nursing to bring me through with life."
"Now curses upon the foul heart and foul mind," exclaimed the young king, "that first conceived so dastardly a wickedness as that of smearing a good honest sword-blade with a deadly drug."
The face of Ludovic the Moor turned somewhat white, and his lip curled.
"Your Majesty's curse," he said, "must go somewhat far back, and somewhat low down; for the art was invented long ago, and the man who invented it, if he is to be damned at all, is very well damned by this time."
"Well, then, my curse shall have greater extent, noble sir," replied the king, frowning; "I will add--and curses be upon every one who uses such dark treachery."
The regent did not reply, but there were very angry feelings in his heart; and it is probable that nothing but the knowledge that the dominions over which he ruled, and which he intended should soon be his own in pure possession, were absolutely at the mercy of the French king's soldiery, prevented him from seeking vengeance. Indeed, nothing but fear can account for a man so unscrupulous having endured the mortifications which Charles inflicted upon him during the French stay in Lombardy; but it must be remembered that not only were many of his towns and castles in possession of the French, and others without any preparation for resistance, but that his own person was every hour within reach of the French swords, and that, though not quite a prisoner in his own court, he might become so any moment, if he excited suspicion or gave offence to the young monarch. He endured in silence then, and treasured his vengeance for a future day.
An unpleasant pause succeeded; and then Charles, turning to Lorenzo, continued the conversation, saying, "So you think yourself quite ready to ride. Well, then, join us to-morrow at Pavia, Lorenzo. Methinks no one, however high his station, will venture to assail you when near our own person. Yet, as it is evident from what has already happened, that some one in this land would fain remove you to a better, you shall have a guard with you, and must not walk the streets of Pavia unattended. Where is De Vitry? We will give orders for a part of your troop in his company to join you here to-night."
"He has gone into the villa for a moment, sire," replied Lorenzo, "for the purpose, I believe, of bidding adieu to the good old count, as I presume your majesty marches on speedily."
"Nay, he will have plenty of time hereafter," said Charles; "I shall not leave Pavia for some days. I have matters to inquire into; but, in the mean time, I will give orders for the men to join you to-night; and methinks a score of French lances will be sufficient to protect you from any number of Buondonis who may be inclined or hired to assassinate you."
There was an insulting tone of superiority in the young king's voice and manner, which could not have been very sweet to the Regent Ludovic, but he seemed still to pay no attention to the monarch's words, gazing forward on the road without change of countenance, as if busy with his own thoughts.
"Ah! here comes De Vitry," said the young king. "Mount, mount, my lord marquis. Adieu, my fair cousin Lorenzo. I will give the orders;" and, thus saying, he rode on.
Lorenzo saw the train depart and pass away, receiving many a good-natured greeting from old friends in the king's suite as it filed off along the road. When he returned to the vestibule of the villa with a somewhat gloomy heart, he found the old Count of Rovera, with the two young girl's, still there and apparently in earnest conversation; but Leonora exclaimed, as soon as she saw him, "When must you go, Lorenzo?"
"To-morrow," said the young man sadly.
"Oh, then you will have plenty of time," exclaimed Blanche Marie, addressing her beautiful cousin.
"To do what?" asked Lorenzo.
"To get ready to go with you," answered Leonora, "if you will be troubled with such a companion. Here is a letter for you from my father which will probably explain all. I have had another from him, telling me to come on with you, and join him at Bologna, if you have a sufficient train to render our journey secure; but he says there is little or no danger by the way."
The old Count of Rovera shook his head with a disapproving look, murmuring, "Mighty great danger on the way, I think. On my life, I believe Ramiro is mad; but I must admonish the youth strictly before he goes, and take care that she has plenty of women about her."
"See, De Vitry, that a force of twenty lances be sent from Pavia to our young cousin ere night," said the king; "that will be enough for his protection, my lord regent, I presume?"
"More than enough, sire," replied Ludovic, somewhat sternly. "Himself alone, with a few of his own servants, could pass quite safely--except, indeed, in case of some sudden tumult."
"Which tumults are easily raised in this Italy of yours," replied the young monarch. "It is therefore better he should have a French pennon with him. Methinks, after our alliance, offensive and defensive, no one will dare to attack that, my lord regent."
Ludovic bit his lip, but then he smiled grimly, saying, "Not unless he should chance to encounter the forces of our dear cousin Alphonso, King of Naples, coming to drive the poor Sforzas out of Milan, and give your majesty some trouble in the plains of Lombardy. They would not, methinks, show much reverence for a French pennon, nor even for the banner of France itself."
"'Tis strange we have no news," said Charles, with a shadow on his brow; "our last intelligence dates the 14th of last month, and then the Neapolitan fleet were under full sail."
"It is possible that Prince Frederick, who commands his brother's fleet, may have defeated the Duke of Orleans and landed in Tuscany, sire," observed Ludovic; "in that case we shall hear nothing of the enemy till we see him. May it not be better for me to summon all my forces, and march with your majesty till we are assured the roads are open? I can gather twenty thousand men together, from different garrisons, in eight days, but I have only four thousand now in Pavia."
The king seemed to hesitate; but just then De Vitry, who was riding half a horse's length behind on the king's right, raised his voice, saying bluntly, "Better wait decision till we are in the city, my liege, and then I will tell your majesty why."
"Better wait till then, at all events," said the king, thoughtfully; "but what is your reason, De Vitry?"
"Simply this, my liege," said the good soldier; "in the grey of the morning there came in a courier from Bologna. He said he was bound by his orders to stay in Pavia till your majesty arrived or sent. But he had letters for you, sire, which he would show to no one; and some private letters for the camp, which I took from him. They gave no tidings, however, that I could learn."
"Did he give no intelligence himself?" asked Ludovic, eagerly.
"He was mightily cautious of committing himself, Sir Count," answered De Vitry, drily; "a most discreet and silent messenger, I can assure you."
All parties fell into silence, and rode on for about half a mile at a slow pace, when the count regent turned to the king, saying, "Here I will spur on, so please you, sire. I would fain see that all is rightly prepared to receive you royally. I have been obliged to trust that care to others hitherto; but I would fain confirm the assurances given me by my people, by my own eyesight." Charles bowed his head with a somewhat doubtful look, and Ludovic instantly forced his horse forward with great speed. Some twenty horsemen drew out from the rest of the cavalcade and followed him, and Charles turned his head toward De Vitry with an inquiring look.
"Let him go, sire--let him go," said De Vitry, in a low voice, spurring up to the king's side; "he can do no harm. I have cared for all that. I have so posted our men that he has no more power in Pavia than an Indian has. Lucky that you sent me on as your quarter-master some days before; for I had time to fix on all the commanding spots; and as I passed the army this morning, I gave the leaders instructions, and furnished them with guides to their several quarters. But, what is more important still, if your majesty will bend your ear for a moment, I drew from this courier, upon promise that I would not deprive him of his largesse, but add something on my own part, that the good Duke of Orleans, with his little squadron, had contrived to drive back the whole Neapolitan fleet into Naples. Had he had galleys enough he would have taken half of them, and, perhaps, Prince Frederick into the bargain. As it was, he could only take one galley and sink another. The news is certain, sire; so Signor Ludovic's cunning scheme of joining his men with yours must fail."
"Think you he meant mischief?" asked the young king, whose face had gradually been lighted up as his gallant officer spoke.
"He meant to have the power of doing mischief or not as he pleased," replied De Vitry; "with twenty thousand men, sire, while you had certain enemies and uncertain friends before you, he might have proved a dangerous comrade on the march whenever he chose to turn traitor, which he will do, depend upon it, at the slightest reverse. A man who can shut up his own nephew and ward, with the poor lad's wife and child, in the castle of Pavia, and feed them all three upon slow poison till there is no strength left in any of them, cannot be well trusted, sire."
"Has he done that," exclaimed the young king, with his cheek flushing and his eyes all in a blaze; "has he done that?"
"I have it from the very best authority," replied the other. "I cannot speak from my own knowledge; for they would not let me into the castle; but I have been told so by those who know; and if he were not afraid of letting you see what is going on in that dark old fortress, why should he not assign you the magnificent rooms, where so many Lombard kings and Roman emperors have sat, and put the gates in possession of your troops? The house he has had prepared for your majesty is fine enough; but it is but a citizen's house, after all; and, depend upon it, there are things within the walls of the castle he would not have you see with your own eyes."
"He shall find himself mistaken," said the young king--"he shall find himself mistaken. I will see, and that at once. How many men have we with us now, De Vitry?"
"Some four hundred, I should guess, sire," replied the officer; "but there are a thousand more in the little guard-house square at the gates, ready to escort your majesty to your dwelling."
"That is right! that is right!" said Charles, with a smile; "let us put our horses to a quicker pace, good friend. We will be upon the worthy regent's heels before he expects us."
In three-quarters of an hour, Charles and his escort had reached the gates of Pavia. There was bustle and some disarray among the Lombard soldiers on guard; for the monarch had appeared before he was expected; but they hurried forth from the guard-houses to salute him as he passed, and the French men-at-arms and soldiers in the little square were up and arrayed in a minute. At the entrance of the street leading from the Milan gate into the heart of the city--a street which the reader may well remember, from its gloomy aspect, specially if he have entered Pavia on a rainy day--a gallant party of horsemen, dressed in the robes of peace, advanced to meet the King of France, and, after due salutation, told him they had been sent by the regent to conduct him to his dwelling.
"Good! We will follow you speedily," said the monarch; "but there is one visit we have to pay first, which cannot be omitted. In kingly courtesy and in kindred kindness we are bound to set foot to the ground in Pavia, for the first time, at the dwelling of our young cousin, the Duke Giovan Galeazzo. Lead on to the castle, De Vitry, and let the whole train follow. We will then accompany these good gentlemen to the dwelling prepared for us by the regent's kindness."
Some consternation was apparent among the retainers of the Count Ludovic; they spoke together in whispers; but the young king showed no inclination to wait for the conclusion of their deliberation, and rode on, guided by De Vitry, merely saying to the Lombard nobles, with a somewhat stern look, "Gentlemen, we hope for your escort to the castle."
They did not dare to disobey an invitation which was so like a command; and the whole cavalcade moved onward toward the citadel, with the exception of one small page, who slunk away at the first corner of a street they came to, and was no further seen. It was not long ere the frowning barbican, with its drawbridge and portcullis, appeared before the royal party; and Charles, turning to the retainers, said, with a somewhat bitter smile, "Will you request the warders to open the gates for the King of France, to visit his fair cousin the duke? We must not summon them ourselves, having so many armed men with us; for that might seem too peremptory."
There was a moment of doubt and hesitation, evidently, on the part of the envoys. The men-at-arms nearest the king, who, with the quick wit of Frenchmen, seemed to comprehend the whole situation in a moment, grasped their lances more firmly; and the king's brow began to darken at finding his orders disobeyed. Upon that moment hung the fate of Pavia, and perhaps of Lombardy; but it ended by one of the Lombard nobles riding forward and speaking to the officer at the gates. Whether he heard or not the sound of horses' feet at a gallop, I cannot tell, but certain it is that while he seemed to parley with the soldiers, who were apparently unwilling to open the gates even at his command, Ludovic the Moor, with two or three attendants, dashed into the open space before the barbican, and rode quickly to the front. He had had notice of the young monarch's movements, and his part was decided in a moment.
"How now, sirrah!" he exclaimed, addressing the soldiers beneath the gateway in a loud and angry tone, "do you keep the King of France waiting before the gates like a lackey? Throw open the gates! Down with the drawbridge! My lord king," he continued, with bated breath, "I regret exceedingly that these men should have detained you; but they are faithful fools, and take no orders but from me or my dear nephew. Had your majesty hinted your intention, orders to admit you instantly would have been long since given. I proposed to introduce you to-morrow to the duke, with due ceremony; but you are always determined to take your servants by surprise."
Charles coloured a little, and felt himself rebuked; but when the regent sprang to the ground and would have held his stirrup, he would not permit him, taking the arm of De Vitry, and bowing his head courteously, but without reply. At the gates, De Vitry drew back, suffering the king and Ludovic to pass on; but they had hardly reached the second gates, when the archway of the barbican and the drawbridge were taken possession of by the French soldiers, who began gaily talking to the Italians, though the latter understood not a word they said. The Lombard nobles looked sullen and discontented; but they sat still on their horses, little accustomed to the dashing impudence of the French, and not knowing well what demeanour to assume toward men who came as their friends and allies, but who so soon showed that they considered themselves their masters.
In the mean time, each followed only by a page, the king and the count regent walked on through several dim passages and lofty, ill-lighted halls. Few attendants were observed about, and Ludovic took notice of none of them till he reached a large and apparently more modern saloon, where an old man, somewhat richly dressed, stood at a door on the other side. Him he beckoned up, saying, "Tell my dear nephew, Franconi, that I am bringing his Majesty the King of France to visit him. This royal lord, considering the duke's ill health, dispenses with the first visit. Will your majesty take a cup of wine after your long ride? It will just give the old seneschal time to announce your coming, lest such an unexpected honour should agitate the poor boy too much."
"I thank you, my lord, I am not thirsty," answered the king, drily, "and, for certain reasons given by my physicians, I drink but little wine."
A slight and somewhat mocking smile passed over the hard features of Ludovic, as if he suspected some fear in the mind of Charles, and gloried, rather than felt shame, in an evil reputation. Both remained silent; and in a few minutes the old man returned to usher them into the presence of the young duke.
Oh! what a sad sight it was when the seneschal, now joined by two inferior officers, threw open the door of a chamber at the end of the adjacent corridor, and displayed to the eyes of Charles the faded form of Giovan Galeazzo, the young Duke of Milan, stretched upon a richly-ornamented bed, and covered with a dressing gown of cloth of gold. The corpse of Inez de Castro seemed only the more ghastly from the regal garments which decked her mouldering frame; and the splendour of the apartment, the decoration of the bed, and the glistening bedgown only gave additional wanness to the face of the unhappy Duke of Milan. Once pre-eminently handsome, and with features finely chiselled still, tall and perfectly formed, not yet twenty years of age, he lay there a living skeleton. His cheek was pale as ashes; his brow of marble whiteness; the thin but curling locks of jet black hair falling wildly round his forehead; his lips hardly tinted with red; and a preternatural light in his dark eyes, which gave more terrible effect to the deathly pallor of his countenance.
A sweet, a wonderfully sweet smile played round his mouth when he saw the young King of France; and he raised himself feebly on his elbow to greet him as he approached.
"Welcome, my most noble lord, the king," he said in a weak voice; "this is indeed most kind of your majesty to visit your poor cousin, whom duty would have called to your feet long ago, had not sore sickness kept him prisoner. But, alas! from this bed I cannot move--never shall again, I fear."
Charles seated himself by the unhappy young man's side, and kindly took his hand. They were first cousins; their age was nearly the same, and well might the young monarch's bosom thrill with compassion and sympathy for the unhappy duke.
"I grieve," said the king, "to see you so very ill, fair cousin; but I trust you will be better soon, the heats of summer have probably exhausted you, and----"
Giovan Galeazzo shook his head almost impatiently, and turned a meaning look upon his uncle.
"Has this continued long?" asked the king.
"It began with my entrance into this accursed fortress," replied the youth, "now some two years ago. It has been slow, but very, very certain. Day by day, hour by hour, it has preyed upon me, till there is not a sound part left."
"He fancies that the air disagrees with him," said Ludovic the Moor, "but the physicians say it is not so; and we have had so many tumults and insurrections in the land, that, for his own safety, it is needful he should make his residence in some strong place."
"For my safety!" murmured the unhappy duke; "for my destruction. Tumults, ay, tumults--would I could strike the instigator of them! 'Tis not alone the air, good uncle; 'tis the water also. 'Tis everything I eat and drink in this hateful place."
"The caprice of sickness, believe me, nephew," answered Ludovic, bending his heavy brows upon him. "You are too ill to have appetite."
"Ay, but I have thirst enough," replied the young man; "one must eat and drink, you know, my lord the king. Would it were not so."
"It often happens, I have heard," said Charles, addressing himself to the regent, "that what a sick man fancies will cure him, is of a higher virtue than all medicines--what he believes destructive, will destroy him. He says, I think, he was quite well till he came here."
"Oh, how well!" exclaimed the dying prince; "life was then a blessing indeed, and now a curse. Each breath of air, each pleasant sight or sound, went thrilling through my veins with the wild revelry of joy. The song birds and the flowers were full of calm delight, and a gallop over the breezy hill was like a madness of enjoyment. But now--now--now---how is it all changed now! Verily, as the wise man said, 'The song of the grasshopper is a burden.'"
"We must change all this," said Charles, greatly moved; "we must have you forth from Pavia to some purer air. My own physician shall see you."
The unfortunate young man shook his head, and again turned his eyes upon his uncle with a meaning look.
"It is vain, my lord the king," he said, "or rather it is too late. My sickness has obtained too great a mastery. The subtle enemy has got me completely in his toils--the sickness I mean; he has got me in every limb, in every vein; a little more and a little more each day--do you understand me, sire?--and he will never loose his hold while I have a breath or a pulsation left. But I have a wife, you know, and a child--a fine boy--who is to be Duke of Milan. For them I crave your royal protection. Let them be as your wards--indeed, I will make them so. If--if," he continued, hesitating, and turning a furtive glance towards his uncle; "if I could see your majesty alone, I would communicate my last wishes."
"You shall--you shall see me," said Charles, with a gush of feeling which brought the tears to his eyes. But those feelings were destined to be still more excited.
While he yet spoke there was a noise without, and a woman's voice was heard speaking in high and excited tones.
"Iwillpass," she said, "who dares to oppose me? I will speak with the noble King of France; he is my cousin--he will be my protector."
The moment after the door burst open, and a beautiful young girl--for she was no more--entered, and threw herself at Charles's feet. Her hair had fallen from its bandages, and flowed in beautiful profusion over her neck and shoulders. Her dress, though rich, was torn, as if main force had been employed to detain her, and her eyes were full of the eagerness and fire of a late struggle. Ludovic the Moor turned pale, and two men, who appeared at the door by which she entered, made him a gesture of inquiry, as if asking him whether they should tear her from the king's feet. Ludovic answered not but by a frown; and in the meantime the princess poured forth her tale and her petitions in a voice that trembled with anxiety, and hope, and terror.
"Protect us, oh, my lord the king," she cried, "protect us! Do not raise me; I cannot rise, I will not rise, till you have promised to protect us. Protect us from that man--from that base relative, false guardian, traitor, subject. Look upon my husband, my lord; see him lying there withered, feeble, powerless; and yet but two years ago--oh, how beautiful and strong and active he was! What has done this? What can have done it but drugs mixed with his daily food? Who can have done it but he who seeks to open for himself a way to the ducal seat of Milan? Why is he here confined, a captive in his own dukedom, in his own city, in his own house? Why is he not suffered to breathe the free air, to control his own actions, to name his own officers and servants? Tumults! who instigates the tumults? The people love their prince--have always loved him; cheers and applause went wherever he trod; he passed fearlessly among them as among his brethren, till his kind uncle there, in his tender care for his safety, first stirred up a tumult by one of his own edicts, and then shut his sovereign up in a prison in everything but name. Deliver us, my lord king, from this captivity! Have compassion upon my lord, have compassion upon me, have compassion upon our poor helpless child! If ever your noble heart has burned at a tale of long and unredressed wrong--if ever it has melted at a story of unmerited suffering--if ever your eyes have overflowed at the thought of cruelty shown to a woman and a child--as you are mighty, as you are noble, as you are a Christian, deliver us from the heavy yoke we bear! As king, as Christian, as knight, deliver us!"
"I will--I will," answered Charles, raising her and seating her by him; "by every title you have given me, you have a right to demand my aid, and I am bound to give it. My good cousin the count, this must be seen to at once. I will tarry in Pavia for the purpose of inquiring into these matters, and seeing them rightly regulated before I go hence."
"As your majesty pleases," answered Ludovic, bowing his head with a look of humility. "You will find, upon full inquiry, that I have acted for my nephew's best interests. The lady, poor thing, is somewhat prejudiced, if not distraught; but all these matters can be made perfectly clear when you have time to listen."
The young duke gave him a look of disdain, and she answered, "Ay, perfectly clear, count, if the king will but hear both parties."
"I will, dear lady, doubt it not," answered Charles, tenderly. "Be comforted. No time shall be lost. My cousin here shall be removed to a purer air; my own physician shall visit him. Be comforted."
A smile--the first smile of hope that had visited her lip for many a day--came upon the poor girl's face. "Thank you--oh, thank you, sire," she said.
Well had she stopped there! But she was very young, had no experience of the omnipotence of selfishness with man. Her fate had been a very sad one. She never sang to her child but with tears; and yet all had not taught her that oceans of blood would not bar man from an object of great desire.
"I cannot be comforted, my lord," she answered, "notwithstanding all your generous promises--nay, notwithstanding even their fulfilment, while my poor father, against whom your mighty power is bent--I speak of Alphonso, King of Naples--is in such a case of peril."
Charles's brow darkened; the compassionate look passed away; but still the unhappy girl went on, crushing out in the bosom of the young king the spark of pity which her melancholy situation had lighted. "My poor father, my lord," she continued, "has done nothing to call down your indignation upon him. Let me entreat your mercy on him; let me beseech you to pause and consider ere you ruin a man--a king who has never injured you--nay, who is ready to submit to any terms you are pleased to dictate. Oh, my noble lord, hear me; let me plead not only for my husband and myself, and my child, but for my father and my brother also."
Ludovic the Moor, one of the most subtle readers of the human heart that the world has ever produced, heard her first reference to her father with delight; and his eyes were instantly turned towards the young king's face. He traced but too easily the change of feelings going on. He saw the first spark of irritation produced by the unwelcome topic: he saw her gradually fanning it into a flame by her efforts to change the settled and selfish purpose of the king. He saw the struggle between the sense of justice and a favourite scheme; he saw the anger which a consciousness of wrong, together with a resolution to persevere in wrong invariably produces, growing up in Charles's bosom; and he let her go on without a word, till he perceived that the effect was complete. Then suddenly interposing, he said, "May it please your majesty, such exciting scenes are too much for the feeble health of my poor nephew; I must care for it, if this lady does not. You have heard all she has to say, and if you will mark the duke's countenance, you will perceive, from the change which has taken place, that further discussion now would be dangerous if not fatal. I will therefore beseech your majesty to give this matter further consideration at a future day, and to visit the poor dwelling I have prepared for you."
The king rose; and the poor duchess, perceiving too late the error she had committed, bent down her head upon her hands and wept. Charles took a kindly leave of the young duke, removing the further consideration of his case to that "more convenient season" which never comes, and merely saying to the poor helpless girl, who had pleaded for her father as well as for her husband, "Be comforted, madam. We will see to your protection and future fate."
She raised not her eyes, but shook her head sadly, and the king departed. We all know that when we are dissatisfied with ourselves we are dissatisfied with others; and the young King of France felt as if the duchess had injured him in seeking a justice that he would not grant.
He walked hastily onward, then, somewhat in advance of the count regent. Ludovic followed more slowly, with a slight smile upon his countenance; and the door closed upon the young Duke of Milan and his fate for ever.
Through the long corridor, into the great reception-room, and across it, sped the King of France, displeased with himself and every one. The door was held open by the seneschal till Ludovic had passed it; but the Moor lingered a moment upon the threshold, gave a quick glance around, and whispered in the ear of the seneschal, "Give him a double portion in his wine tonight. We must have no more conferences." Then following the monarch, with a thoughtful look, he aided him to mount his horse, and took his place by his side. Rumours spread through the City of Pavia on the following day that Giovan Galeazzo was in a dying state, and Ludovic confirmed them to the King of France, saying, "I feared the excitement would be too much for his weakened frame."
That night, in the midst of a joyous banquet, the heavy bell of the great church was heard tolling slowly, announcing that another Duke of Milan had gone to his tomb.