There was a little monticule by the road-side just on the Tuscan frontier. At the distance of about three quarters of a mile in front was the small fortified town of Vivizano with its citadel, seeming strong and capable of defence; but the walls were old, especially those of the town, and along the flat, and apparently perpendicular faces of the curtain, the goats, unconscious of danger, were walking quietly along, browsing on those fresh shoots of the caper plant, which frequently appear during a benign autumn. At a distance it seemed that there was not footing even for a goat, but the presence of those animals showed the mortar to have been worn out between the stones; and at one spot the keen eye of Lorenzo Visconti perceived three or four of the bearded beasts of the mountain gathered together as if in conclave. He marked the fact well, for he had learned that nothing should escape a soldier's notice.
He and his party had taken up their position on the little hill in consequence of orders received from the main body, which was coming up rapidly, and no opposition having yet been met with in the course of the march, Leonora and her women sat on their horses and mules beside him, little anticipating any danger.
"It looks a beautiful old place, Lorenzo," said Leonora; "at least at this distance, though one cannot tell what it may be within. But what made the king order you to halt here as soon as you came in sight of the town, instead of marching on as before?"
"I cannot tell," replied her lover, "unless, dear girl, it is that I sent last night to know if I might fall back to confer with your severe relation, the Cardinal Julian de Rovera as to the journey to Bologna. The roads may part here. Do you not see that yellow streak running away through the meadows, and then skirting the foot of the mountain? That may be the highway to Bologna perhaps. The king is always kind and considerate."
"Jesu Maria!" cried Madonna Mariana, "what's that?"
The moment before she spoke a flash, sudden and bright, glanced along a part of the old wall, and after a second or two the loud boom of one the cannons of those days burst upon the ear. Hardly had it ceased when a ball came whizzing by, and ploughed up the earth some fifty yards behind them, and at about the same distance on the right.
"By heavens!--they have fired a falconet at us," exclaimed Lorenzo. "Back, back, dear Leonora; you and your women ride to that cottage behind the point of rock. Nay, delay not, beloved. I will send some men to keep guard."
"I am not afraid," replied Leonora, with a smile, leaning over towards him, and looking up in his face. "Am I not to be a soldier's bride, Lorenzo? I must accustom myself to the sound of cannon. Those good people must fire better ere they frighten me."
"But they frighten me, dear lady," cried Mariana. "Oh, come back, come back! I am sure they fired well enough to come so near us."
"Oh, come back! come back!" cried all the maids in chorus.
"Well, go--go," answered Leonora; "I will join you in a moment or two. I want to see them take another shot."
The women waited for no further permission, but hurried off with all speed, and Lorenzo was still engaged in persuading Leonora to follow them, when a small troop of men-at-arms came galloping up the pass. At their head was De Terrail.
"Halt--halt here, and form upon the company of the Seigneur di Visconti," cried the young Bayard. "My lord, I bear the king's orders to you to advance no further, but to wait for his personal presence. He thought, indeed, you had gone farther than he had commanded when he heard that shot. It was a cannon, was it not?"
"A cannon, and not badly aimed for the first shot," replied Lorenzo; "there is the furrow the ball made."
"For God's sake send the lady to a place of safety," cried Bayard; "what are you thinking of, my friend?"
"I cannot persuade her to go," replied Lorenzo.
"Well, I will--I will," answered Leonora, turning her horse's head. "Farewell, Lorenzo; win fame for your lady's sake--yet be not rash."
Something bright glistened in her eye; and she turned to the cottage where her women had already taken refuge. A small guard was then stationed at the door, and the trumpets of the cavalry were already heard blowing through the pass, but still Lorenzo and his friend had time to exchange a few words before the head of the array appeared.
"What is the king going to do?" asked Lorenzo.
"Attack the town and take it," replied De Terrail. "On my soul, these Tuscans are rather bold to make a stand in such a place as that. But they have good bombardiers it would seem. That ball came far and well."
"Who leads the attack?" asked Lorenzo. "Was anything settled when you came away?"
"Nothing fixed," answered Bayard; "but I fear it will all be left to the Gascons and the Swiss. They are all infantry, you know, and if the place is to be taken by acoup de mainthey must do it, and we support them. The popguns[1]they carry, it is supposed, will do everything."
"Out upon their popguns!" cried Lorenzo. "Good faith, I trust the king will let us have our share; it is my right, I think. I have led during the whole march, and I have heard say, he who does so, is privileged to make the first charge."
"But what would you do?" asked Bayard. "You would not charge those stone walls, would you?"
"No," replied the other; "but I would dismount my men, take none but volunteers, and lead them asenfants perdus. If the king will but consent, I will undertake to carry that place sword in hand, or, at least, be as soon in as any one."
Another shot from the walls, coming still nearer than the preceding ball, interrupted their conversation, and before it could be renewed, the Gascon infantry began to debouche from the path and deploy to the left. Then came the Swiss infantry, and then a body of cavalry, under the Count d'Entragues. All was glitter and display, shining arms, waving banners, nodding plumes, lances and pikes, arquebusses, crossbows, halberts, surcoats of silk and cloth of gold and silver; but what most struck the eyes of the two young soldiers was the admirable array of the Swiss infantry, as every movement and evolution was performed. No rank was broken, no disorder appeared, but shoulder to shoulder, man treading in the step of man, they marched, they wheeled, they deployed, as if the body of which they formed a part was one of those machines which change their form continually at the will of those who manage them, without ever losing their solidity.
At length appeared the magnificent escort of the king, who immediately rode up to the little hill on which Lorenzo was posted, and gazed forward towards the town, while two more shot from the walls were heard, and a slight agitation among the Gascon infantry on the left, told that this time some effect had followed.
At the king's first appearance, Lorenzo had sprung to the ground, and approached his stirrup, but he suffered him to gaze over the scene uninterrupted, till Charles turned his eyes upon him, and said:
"Well, what has happened, my young lord?"
"Nothing, sire, but that they have fired a few shots at us from the walls. I beseech your majesty, as I have led all the way, to let me have my place in the attack. I would fain lead still, if you will permit me to dismount my men, and I think I will show you that gentlemen-at-arms can take a place as well as foot soldiers. I have marked a spot where I will undertake to force an entrance."
"Where? where?" asked the monarch, eagerly.
"I cannot well point it out, sire," replied the young man; "but I can find it if you will permit me."
The king looked round to the superior officers about him, saying in a hesitating tone:
"It is contrary to the order we proposed. What say you, La Tremouille?"
"Why, sire, there must beenfans perdueither taken from the Gascons or some other," replied the great commander.
"Let him go--let him go!" cried De Vitry, gaily; "if the youth will wager his life against his spurs, why let him go, sire."
"Support him by the Swiss, and the Swiss by some men-at-arms, to guard against a sortie, and let him go in God's name," added La Tremouille. "Make haste, Visconti! Select your men well, and call for some ladders from the rear."
"Better summon the place first," said the king.
"It is the rule, sire, and should be done," answered the other; "but methinks these good people imagine they have been summoned already by the answers they send from their walls. There they go again! By my life they are aiming at the royal banner. Pity the artillery is so far behind, or we would answer them in kind. From that youth's eye, however, I think we shall have no need of bombards. He has spied some advantage, I will stake my life."
A trumpet was accordingly sent forward, and was suffered to approach close to the walls; but he returned with the answer that the garrison was strong, had been placed there by the Signoria of Florence, and could not consent to surrender without a stroke struck. In fact, they saw that no artillery was present at the time with the king's army, and did not believe the place could be taken without a breach being made.
In the meantime Lorenzo had addressed a few words to his troop, asking who would accompany him to lead the attack. Such was the confidence he had gained during the march that every man sprung to the ground and professed himself ready, even to the lowest casstelier. Only fifty, however, were selected, and the rest ordered to remain with the horses. Some scaling-ladders were procured, and all was ready to advance when the trumpet returned. A short pause ensued, and then was heard the beat of the drum.
Lorenzo sprang forward; his men came rapidly after, bearing the ladders horizontally; and the Swiss followed with an interval of some fifty yards. A strong body of Gascons, with petards, directed their course towards one of the gates of the town; and a battalion of Swiss moved towards a postern, which had been discovered in the curtain. But Lorenzo was before them all, and lost not an inch of ground. Straight towards what seemed to the eye of the king the most inaccessible spot of the fortress he bent his way, taking advantage of every undulation of the ground to shelter his men from the cannon-balls, which now came somewhat faster than at first, till he arrived within fifty paces of the spot where he had marked the goats climbing and standing. There in a little ravine, which the guns, as they were planted on the walls, could not bear upon, he turned for one moment to the men, exclaiming:
"Here, gentlemen, I have seen the goats go up and down, and surely we can do so too. The lowest part is the most difficult. The ladders--the ladders to the front; now, on with a rush!"
All were active, all were strong. The ditch, then dry, was speedily reached; and the ladders raised. They were too short to approach the summit of the wall, but Lorenzo's keen eye had not deceived him. Where he had seen the goats gathered together several huge stones had fallen; and, from that spot, there was a clear but narrow pathway up. At first it seemed as if he would meet but small resistance; for attacked in three quarters and divided in opinion amongst themselves, the superior officers of the Florentine garrison were consulting whether it would not be better to hang out a white flag and treat for a surrender. But speedily, soldiers came running along the platform above, hand guns and cross-bows were pointed at the ascending party, and large stones were cast down upon their heads. It was too late to treat now: the attack had fully commenced, the struggle was for life or death, and the defenders fought with the energy of despair.
In the meantime there were many and varying feelings in and around the cottage above where Leonora and her women had taken refuge. Fear--for with all the personal courage she had shown, and with an eager longing for his renown, the young girl still felt for her lover's safety. Fear, and hope, and anxious expectations succeeded each other in Leonora's bosom, like the changing aspects of a dream. Now she saw him in imagination mangled and bleeding in the fight; now beheld him carrying the banner of France triumphantly over the worsted foe; now fancied him still detained with the cavalry on the hill, and fretting at inaction.
"Run out--run out, Antonio!" she cried, after bearing the struggle in her heart for some time, "see what has become of your lord, and let me know if he be still on the hill."
"Certainly, Signora, if you desire it," answered the other, "although, thank Heaven, I am one of God's peaceable creatures, and love not cannon-balls more than my neighbours, yet, where not more than one man out of five hundred is likely to be hit during a whole day, I may take my chance for five minutes without gaining the evil reputation of a fighting man."
He went out as he spoke, but stayed more than the five minutes; for to say the truth, he soon became interested in the scene, as he beheld the three bodies of French troops moving down to the assault. He could not, it is true, discover to which body his young lord was attached, but he saw clearly enough that he had left the hill. The horses and the men not engaged had moved towards the rear out of cannon shot, and the little monticule was now occupied only by the king, his Scottish archers and several of his counsellors and immediate attendants.
After watching for a few moments, Antonio glided in amongst the horses till he reached the side of young Bayard, and pulling his surcoat, he said, "Signor de Terrail, will you tell me where Signor Visconti is?"
"There!" answered Bayard, pointing with his hand, "he is leading the centre attack at the head of the forlorn hope."
"God shield us!" exclaimed Antonio, "is he fool enough to plunge into forlorn hopes, when he has got such warm ones in that cottage there?"
"Ah, I had forgot the lady," replied de Terrail, "she must doubtless be anxious."
"Ay, as anxious as a hen who sees her brood of ducklings venture into a pond," answered Antonio.
"Tell her I will come and bring her news from time to time," replied Bayard, "a lady's fears are to be reverenced, my good friend, especially when she nobly sends her lover to the field with strengthening words. Go, and say all goes well, and I will come and bear her tidings."
Thus saying, while Antonio turned back to the cottage, the young hero fixed his eyes upon the small party of his friend, and never lost sight but for a moment or two, when some irregularity of the ground or the masses of the Swiss infantry interposed, of the surcoat of violet and gold, which Lorenzo wore that day.
"They are nearing the wall," said the king aloud, "God send the youth has not deceived himself; but he will be there before the others reach the gates."
"Look, sire, there is a rush!" cried La Tremouille.
"He has got three ladders up by Heaven?" exclaimed de Vitry, "now God speed you, brave heart!"
The Swiss quickened their pace to support, and as they poured in over the rise in the ground hid theenfants perdusfrom sight, and all for a moment or two seemed confusion, while the defenders upon the walls alone appeared distinctly, hurling down masses of stone, and firing upon the assailants from every embrasure. At length, however, a figure appeared on the top of one of the ladders, carrying a banner in his left hand. He sprang, as it appeared at that distance, straight against the side of the wall. But he gained footing there; and then bounded up towards the summit. Another, and another followed; but still the banner bearer was the first; and at length, though surrounded evidently by a crowd of foes, he stood firm upon the parapet and waved the flag proudly in the air, while a gleam of sunshine broke through the cloud of smoke and shone upon the surcoat of violet and gold.
"Visconti for a thousand crowns?" cried Bayard enthusiastically, "he is first in, he has won the town!"
"Are you sure it is he?" demanded the king.
"Certain, sire," replied De Terrail, "I have kept my eye on him all the time. I can see his surcoat distinctly."
"Oh, yes, it is he," said La Tremouille, "the Swiss are pouring up after. The place is taken, and see, they have forced the south gate. But Visconti is first in. His be thelos!"
"Your pardon for a moment, sire," said Bayard, "but by your leave I will carry the tidings to yon cottage behind the angle of the rock. The Signora Leonora d'Orco is waiting anxious there for tidings. She sent Lorenzo forth with the words, 'Win fame for your lady's sake.'"
"And he has won it like a paladin," cried Charles, whom everything that smacked of ancient chivalry kindled quickly into a glow. "In truth did she say so? 'Twas like a noble lady. Shame is me, I had forgotten her in this unexpected resistance. Carry her this ring from me, De Terrail, tell her that Lorenzo has won the town and a pair of spurs this day!"
"And mind, De Terrail," cried De Vitry, "that you kiss her hand when you put the ring on her finger. By my faith it is worth kissing, though I know one still fairer than that."
"Lucky Lorenzo!" thought Bayard as he rode away; but never was man so little envious of another's good fortune, and though he could not but regret that he had not been permitted to take part in the assault, no jealousy of his friend mingled with the sigh that he gave to his own ill luck.
"All goes well--all goes well, Signora," he cried as he approached the cottage door at which Leonora was standing. "Visconti has stormed the town and taken it!"
"Lorenzo--my Lorenzo!" exclaimed Leonora, "so young--he storm the town!"
"He did, dear lady," replied Bayard, "he scaled the walls, he was first upon the parapet. I saw him myself with his banderol in his hand before another soldier entered. The king saw him too, and has sent you this ring, for we all know that it was your love and your words that gave him strength and valour to do all he has done this day."
Leonora could bear no more joy, and she bent down her head and wept, while Bayard gently put the ring upon her finger adding, "His majesty bade me tell you that Lorenzo has won the town and a pair of spurs this day."
"Then he is well--then he is uninjured?" said Leonora.
"He may have a scratch or two perhaps," replied Bayard, "but he can have no serious hurt if I may judge by the way he waved the banderol on the wall when he had gained it."
"Thank God for that also," said the beautiful girl, "but here, if I mistake not, comes his majesty himself."
As she spoke, followed by some half dozen of his guard, and accompanied by an elderly man in the scarlet robes of the highest clerical rank, the monarch rode slowly up and dismounted at the cottage door.
"There is no more to be seen there," he said, approaching Leonora, "the banner of France floats over every tower and gate. So now, fair lady, I have time to pay my knightly devoirs to you; and moreover to introduce you to a near relation, who tells me he has not seen you since you were a child. This is the Cardinal Julian de Rovera."
Leonora made a low obeisance to the king, in whose sweet and somewhat suffering face she saw a spirit of kindness and generous feeling that encouraged her, but knelt before the cardinal and reverently kissed his hand. His was a harsh though handsome countenance, and there was a flash in his dark eye which seemed to betoken a fiery and passionate nature.
"Rise, rise, my child," said he good humouredly enough. "I was much surprised, when a few nights ago, I joined his majesty of France, to hear that you were journeying with so young a cavalier as this Lorenzo Visconti."
"It was by my father's express command, your eminence," replied Leonora, "and besides, as you see, I have not only my own women with me, but also Mona Mariana here, a person of discreet age, sent with me by your uncle the count."
A slight smile, unperceived by the cardinal; passed across the sweet lips of the beautiful girl, as she thought of the amount of Mariana's discretion.
"Well, well, that is all right," said the hasty cardinal, "and how has he comported himself towards you, this young lord?"
"With all care and kindness," answered Leonora.
"Ay, doubtless," he answered, "but with reverence too, I hope--sought to do you no wrong?"
The colour came up into Leonora's cheek, but it was evidently not the blush of shame.
"Lorenzo Visconti is incapable of doing wrong to any one, my Lord Cardinal," she said, "and were he not, the last one, methinks, he would seek to wrong is his promised wife."
"Ay, and has it gone as far as that?" said the cardinal, "pray is this with your father's knowledge."
"With his knowledge and his full consent, my lord," replied Leonora, not a little offended at his close questions and harsh manner before so many witnesses. It must indeed be recollected that Ramiro d'Orco, though cold in manner towards his child, had left her almost to the guidance of her own will, before we can judge of the feelings created by Julian's assumption of authority.
"Well, it is all well, I suppose," replied the old man, "and now, Signora, can you tell me what it is your young protector wants to say to me. Doubtless, you know he wrote to his majesty, here present, requesting to be permitted to fall back in order to confer with me."
"He sought your counsel and directions, my lord," replied Leonora; "the course of the army had been changed, and marched by Parma instead of Bologna. My father had also gone on from Bologna, where I was to have joined him, to Rome, which Lorenzo thought not a fit place for me, and there were many other reasons which he can explain better than I can, why he thought you, sir--reverend as you are, by life and profession--should be consulted as soon as we heard you were near."
A well-pleased smile came upon the face of the old man. "That is as it should be," he said, in a much mollified tone; "this young Lorenzo, my child, seems, as I have heard he is, a youth of great discretion and judgment. You must not think my questions hard; they spring from regard for Ramiro's child. I will see your young lover, and talk with him more."
While this conversation had been passing between the Cardinal of St. Peter's and Leonora, the young King of France had cast himself upon one of the cottage settles, and was speaking quietly with the Duke of Montpensier, D'Entragues, and some other officers who had come with him; but he had heard several of the questions of the cardinal, and he now joined in saying, "You estimate too lightly, my Lord Cardinal, the chivalry of our French knights. Lorenzo Visconti has been brought up at our court, and when a beautiful lady like this is entrusted to his charge, he looks upon her by the laws of chivalry as a sacred relic which he has to bear to some distant shrine."
"No reason for his not kissing the relic," said De Vitry, in a low tone, "indeed, it were but a becoming act of devotion--but who comes here running like a deer?--One of your Majesty's pages; now God send nothing has gone wrong."
"What is it, Martin de Lourdes?" asked the king, as the boy bounded up.
"There is a horseman coming at full speed from the town, sire," said the youth, "he looks like the Seigneur de Visconti, and Monsieur de la Tremouille thought it best to let you know."
"But Lorenzo had dismounted," said the king; "his horse, with the rest of the troop, are up the pass there."
"He could easily find one in the town, sire," said Montpensier. But while they were discussing the matter, Lorenzo himself rode up, and dismounted a few steps from the spot where the king was seated. His surcoat was rent and torn; his crest and helmet hacked with blows, and in one place dented in; but there was no blood or sign of injury about him, and his face was flushed with haste and excitement.
"The town is taken, sire," he said, "but I grieve to say there is no restraining the soldiery. Not only do the rabble of Swiss and Gascons give no quarter to armed men; but they are killing and plundering the unarmed and defenceless."
"Let them kill! let them kill, Visconti!" said the Count d'Entragues. "You must be accustomed to such sights."
"I beseech you, sire, send down a company of men-at-arms, and put a stop to this cruel disorder."
"They deserve punishment for daring to hold out an untenable place," said the young king, sternly, "such is the law of arms; is it not, Montpensier?"
"Assuredly, sire," replied the duke, "no one can claim quarter as a right in a town taken by assault, and if the attempt is made to resist when the place is notoriously untenable, the strict law condemns every one of the garrison to the cord. I should judge, however, that by this time the slaughter has gone far enough to strike terror into the other towns before us. It might, therefore, be as well to send down a few lances to keep the infantry in order."
"De Vitry, you go," said Charles, eagerly, for cruelty was no part of his character, "give my express command to cease from pillage and bloodshed."
"But your Majesty said this youth had won a pair of spurs. I would fain see them on his heels before I go, and here is a fair lady quite ready to buckle them on."
"Go--pray go at once, De Vitry," said Lorenzo, "do not stop to jest on such nonsensical themes. You know not what barbarities are being committed."
"I do not jest at all," replied De Vitry, "but I will go. To hear the boy, one would think I was made up of bad jokes."
"It was no joke, Signor Lorenzo," said the king. "You have taken the first town we have attacked, for I saw you first upon the walls. But go, my Lord Marquis, restore order in the place, and as you pass the hill, send down our banner. We will give him the accolade, even here in his lady's sight, under the royal standard, to encourage others to serve their lady and their king as well as he has done to-day."
It was in the king's tent, on the night after the fall of Vivizano--for so rapid had been the capture of the place that time for a short march towards Sarzana still remained after its fall, and so wild and uncultivated was the country round, so scanty the supply of provisions and fodder, that all were anxious to get into a more plentiful region--it was in the king's tent then, a wide and sumptuous pavilion, that on the night after the capture of Vivizano a council was assembled, amongst the members of which might be seen nearly as many churchmen as soldiers.
It is impossible to narrate a thousandth part of all that took place; messengers and soldiers came and went; new personages were introduced upon the scene; and some of the old characters which had disappeared returned to the monarch's court.
A young man, magnificently dressed, and of comely form and face, sat near to Charles on his right hand; and when Bayard, who was standing with Lorenzo a little behind the king's chair, asked Visconti who the new comer was, Lorenzo answered:
"That is Pierre de Medici. We were old companions long ago; for he is not many years my elder."
"His face looks weak!" said Bayard; "I should not think he was equal to his father."
Lorenzo shook his head with a sigh; and De Terrail continued:
"There is our old friend, Ludovic the Moor, too. He arrived to-day, I suppose. I wonder the king has you here; he was always so anxious to keep you out of his way."
"The camp is a safer place than the court," said Lorenzo; "he cannot well poison me here."
"No, nor stab you either," said Bayard, "that is to say, without being found out. Yet you had better beware; for he has got a notion, I am told, that you may some time or another dispute his duchy with him."
"That is nonsense, De Terrail," replied Lorenzo: "the Duke of Orleans is nearer to the dukedom than I am."
"Ay, but policy might keep the duke out and favour you," said Bayard. "It does not do to make a subject too powerful. But what are they about now? What packet is that which Breconnel is opening and laying its contents before the king?"
"That looks like the papal seal pendant from it," replied Visconti. "Hark! the bishop is about to read it aloud."
The conversation of the two young men had been carried on in a low tone, and many another whispered talk had been going on amongst the courtiers, drowned by the louder sounds which had issued from the immediate neighbourhood of the table at which the king sat; but the moment that the Bishop of St. Malo began to read, or rather to translate aloud, the letters which he held in his hand, and which were written in Latin, every tongue was stilled, and each ear bent to hear.
"His Holiness greets your Majesty well," said the bishop; "but he positively prohibits your advance to Rome under pain of the major censures of the Church. These are his words," and he proceeded in a somewhat stumbling and awkward manner to decipher and render into French the pontifical missive.
The despatch was rather diffuse and lengthy, and while the good bishop went on, an elderly man plainly habited in black, came round and whispered something several times in the king's ear. Charles turned towards him and listened while the prelate went on; and at last the monarch replied, saying something which was not heard by others, and adding a very significant sign. The secret adviser withdrew at once into an inner apartment of the tent, from the main chamber of which it was separated by a crimson curtain. He returned in a moment with a large book, on the wood and velvet cover of which reposed a crucifix and a rosary. The Bishop of St. Malo read on; but without noticing him, the man in black knelt before the king, who immediately laid his hand on the crucifix, and then, after murmuring some words in a subdued tone, yet not quite in a whisper, raised the volume to his lips and kissed it with every appearance of reverence.
The book, the crucifix, and the rosary were then removed as silently as they had been brought, and the reading of the papal brief proceeded without interruption. When the prelate had concluded the reading of the missive which threatened the monarch of France, the eldest son of the Church, with all the thunders of the Vatican if he dared to advance upon Rome, Charles, in his low, sweet voice, addressed the bishop, saying:
"My Lord Bishop, I have but one answer to make to the prohibition of His Holiness, but I trust that answer will be deemed sufficient by all the members of my council, though all are devout men, and some of them peculiarly reverend by profession and by sanctity of life. I should wish an answer written to our Apostolic Father, assuring him of our deep respect and our willingness to obey his injunctions in all matters of religion, where superior duties from which he himself cannot set us free do not interpose; but informing him of a fact which he does not know, that we are bound by a sacred vow sworn upon the Holy Evangelists, and upon a crucifix which contains a portion of the true cross, to visit the shrine of St. Peter before we turn our steps homewards. Is that not sufficient cause, my Lord Cardinal," he continued, looking towards Julian de Rovers, "to pass by all impediments and prohibitions and go forward on our pilgrimage?"
"Sufficient cause," exclaimed the eager and impetuous prelate, "what need of any cause? what need of any vow?"
He paused, almost choked by the impetuosity of his feelings; and a smile which had passed round the council at hearing a vow just taken, alleged as an excuse for disregarding a prohibition issued long before, faded away in eagerness to hear the further reply of a man whose powerful mind and iron will were known to all.
"My lord, the king," he answered, in a calmer tone, after he had recovered breath. "Your vow is all-sufficient, but there are weightier causes even than that solemn vow which call you to Rome. The greatest, the most important task which ever monarch undertook lies before you. A Heresiarch sits in the throne of St. Peter, a man whose private life, base and criminal as it is, is pure compared with his public life--whose guilt, black as it is, as a priest and a pontiff, is white as snow compared with his guilt as the pretended head of the Christian church, in negotiating with, and allying himself to infidels--to the slaves of Mahomed, against Christian men and monarchs, the most devout servants of the holy see. Well may I see consternation, surprise, and even incredulity, on the countenances of all present! But I speak not on rumour, or the vague report of the enemies of Alexander Borgia, calling himself Pope. Happily into my hands have fallen these letters which have passed between him and Bajazet, the Infidel Sultan. They are too long to read now; but I deliver them into the hands of the kings council, and will only state a few of the facts which they make manifest. Thus it appears, from these letters, of which the authenticity is beyond doubt, that this heretical interloper in the chair of St. Peter, has agreed to receive, and does receive an annual pension from Antichrist, and that he has engaged for three hundred thousand ducats to assassinate an unhappy prince of the infidels, named Zizim, who is in his power, to gratify the impious Sultan of the Turks. Let the council read these letters; let them consider them well; let them compare the life and conversation of the man with these acts of the pontiff, and then decide whether it is not the duty of the Most Christian King, not only to march to Rome, but to call a council of the Church Universal, for the trial and deposition of one who holds his seat, not by the grace of God, but by the aid of simony, and the machinations of the devil. My lord the king, I address you as the eldest son of the Church, as the descendant of those who have struggled, and fought, and bled for her; and I call upon you to deliver her from the oppression under which she groans, to eject from her highest place the profane man who has no right to the seat of St. Peter, and to purify the temple and the altar from the desecration of a Borgia."[2]
Charles hesitated for a few moments ere he replied, and two or three of those quiet counsellors, one of whom had previously addressed him, now came separately and spoke to him in low tones over the back of his chair.
"My lord the cardinal," he said at length, "the grave subject your Eminence has brought before us, is of so important a nature that it requires much and calm consideration. Rome is yet far off, and on our march thither we shall have many an occasion to call for your counsel. This subject, surpassing all others in importance, must engage our attention when we can have a more private interview; for it will be needful to avoid in doing our best to purify the Church, the great danger of creating a scandal in the Church itself."
"Wisely spoken, my lord the king," answered the prelate, "but I should like at present to know, who is the messenger who has had the hardihood to bear a prohibition from entering the holy city to the successor of Charlemagne.[3]Can it be one of the Sacred College? If so, why is he not here present?"
"Why, to speak the truth," said the Bishop of St. Malo, with a rueful smile, "his holiness has not altogether shown the respect which is due to his own brief, or to his Majesty's crown, in the choice of a messenger. He who has brought the missive is a common courier. He calls himself, indeed, a gentleman of Rome, and, by the way, he has with him a man who desires to see and speak with your Eminence, for whom, he says, he has letters. They may, perhaps, throw some light upon the question why his holiness did not entrust such an important paper to a more dignified bearer."
To uninstructed ears the words of the good bishop had little special meaning; but intrigue and corruption were then so general, especially in Italian courts, that the Cardinal Julian at once perceived from the language used, a doubt in the mind of some of the king's counsellors as to whether, while declaiming against Alexander, he might not be secretly negotiating with him for his own purposes.
"Let the man be brought in," he said, abruptly. "I know not who should write to me from Rome; but we shall soon see. Good faith! I have had little communication with any one in that city since the taking of Ostia. Let the man be called, I beseech you, my good and reverend lord."
The Bishop of St. Malo spoke to one of the attendants; the man quitted the tent, and some other business was proceeded with, occupying about a quarter of an hour, when a personage was introduced and brought to the end of the table, whom the reader has heard of before. He was a small, thin, wiry man, dressed as a friar. His countenance was not very prepossessing, and his complexion both sallow and sun-burned, except where a thick black beard closely shaved, gave a bluish tint to the skin; and there a great difference of hue in the skin itself, seemed to intimate that the razor had only lately been applied.
"Who are you, sir?" said the cardinal sharply, as soon as his attention had been directed to the new comer, "and what want you with me? I am Julian de Rovera, Cardinal of St. Peter's, if you are seeking that person."
"I am but a poor friar of the Order of St. Francis, Brother Martin by name," replied the man, "and the Signor Ramiro d'Orco, a noble lord now in Rome, hearing that I was journeying to Bologna----"
"But this is not Bologna," said the Cardinal, "nor on the way thither."
"True, your Eminence," answered the other, "but, as I was saying, the Signor Ramiro, hearing that I was going to Bologna, entrusted certain letters to my care for your Eminence, whom he asserted to be his near relation----"
"Ay, ay! cousins--first cousins," said the impetuous prelate, "what then?"
"Why, holy sir," continued the pretended friar, "finding that you were not where the Signor Ramiro thought, and knowing that the letters were important, I joined myself to the messenger of his Holiness and came on hither."
A slight smile passed over the lip of Ludovic the Moor, as the man spoke; and it is not at all improbable that he recognised in the monk a follower of his bravo, Buondoni; but he took no notice, and the cardinal exclaimed:
"Where are these letters? Let me see them, brother."
"They are here, Eminence," answered the man, feeling in the breast of his gown. "This is for you," and he presented one letter to the cardinal, while he held another in his hand.
"And what is that? Who is that for?" asked Julian, sharply.
"That is for the Signora Leonora d'Orco, if I can find her," replied the monk.
"I can find her," said the cardinal; "let me see the letter."
The man hesitated; but the prelate repeated, in a stern tone, "Let me see the letter," and it was handed to him with evident reluctance. Without the slightest ceremony he broke the seal, even before he had examined the letter addressed to himself, and began reading it by the light of the candelabra which stood near him.
The contents seemed by no means to give him satisfaction, and as he was much in the habit of venting his thoughts aloud, it is probable that an oath or two would have found their way to his lips, had he not been restrained, not only by a sense of his sacred calling, but by the presence of so many strangers.
"Santa Maria!" he exclaimed, "did ever man hear! A pretty father truly. Would he cradle a new-born infant in a sow's sty?
"Hark ye, friar! if you reach Rome before me, tell my good cousin that I have too much regard for his wife's child to let her set her foot in the palace of any of the Borgias. Tell him that, being guarded by a noble gentleman and a good soldier, and guided and directed by me, she will be quite safe till she reaches Florence, and that there I shall place her under the matronly care of our cousin, Madonna Francesca Melloni. Now get you gone."
"Your Eminence says nothing of his letter to yourself," said the pretended friar, with a slight sneer. "I will not fail to give him your answer to his letter to his daughter."
"Ha! his letter to myself," said Julian; "I had forgotten that--but doubtless it is of no great importance;--let me see," and he tore open the epistle.
It seemed to afford him less satisfaction than even the other had given; for his face worked, and many a broken sentence burst angrily from his lips; but at length he turned to the messenger, again saying:
"Tell him I will answer this in person--perhaps in the Vatican. Yet stop; say, moreover, 'none but wolves herd with wolves.' Let him mark that; he will understand. There is money for your convent; now get ye gone."
It had not been without some feeling of indignation that Lorenzo had beheld Ramiro d'Orco's letter to his daughter so dealt with; but the conclusion to which the prelate came pleased him well.
The whole interview between the cardinal and the messenger had not occupied much more than about five minutes; but yet it could hardly be called an episode in the council of King Charles, for on some account most of those present seemed to take no inconsiderable interest in what was passing at that part of the table, and all other business was suspended. The eyes of the king and his counsellors were directed now to the prelate, now to the messenger, and the only sounds that interfered with the conversation were some whispered remarks going on amongst the young officers behind.
When the monk was gone, there was a silent pause, as if every one waited for another to open some new topic for discussion, but at length the king said--
"You seem dissatisfied with your cousin's letter, my lord cardinal. Is it of importance?"
"Not in the least, sire," answered Julian; "Ramiro tries to compose what he calls, 'an ancient but really slight difference,' between me and Alexander Borgia. Really slight difference! Oh yes, the saints be praised, it is as slight as the difference between oil and water, or fire and ice. Can the man think that a few soft words, or the offer of two or three towns and castles, can make me look with favour upon a simonise, an adulterer, a poisoner, a heretic, and an abettor of heretics, in the chair of St. Peter? No, no. There is the letter, my lord the king, for your private reading. I have nothing to conceal; I deal in no serpent-like policy; and now, with your Majesty's permission, I will retire. I have not the strength I once had, and I am somewhat weary. If you will allow me I will take the young gentleman, Lorenzo Visconti, with me, as I see him here. We can take counsel together as I go to my tent."
"We are sorry to lose your wisdom at our council, my lord cardinal," replied the king; "but happily our more important business is over. Signor Visconti, conduct his Eminence to his quarters."
"Let me call the torch-bearers, my lord," said Lorenzo, springing to the entrance of the tent, round which a crowd of attendants were assembled. But the impetuous prelate came hard upon his steps, and stood more patiently than might have been expected till his flambeaux were lighted. Two torchbearers and a soldier or two went before, and he followed with Lorenzo by his side, walking slowly along, and keeping silence till they had nearly reached his pavilion.
"Well, young man?" said the cardinal at length, "what think you of my reply to my good cousin Ramiro? Did it satisfy you?"
"Fully, your Eminence," answered the young man; "it was all that I could wish or desire. Indeed I cannot but think that it was a special blessing of God that you were here to rescue me from a terrible difficulty regarding the Signora Leonora."
"How so--how so?" asked the prelate quickly, "you would not have sent her to Rome, would you, even if I had not been here?
"No, my lord cardinal," answered Lorenzo firmly, "but it is a terrible thing to teach a child to disobey a parent. You had spiritual authority and a nearer right, and no one can doubt that you decided justly and well. Had I done the same, all men would have judged that my mere inclinations led me."
"You are wise and prudent beyond your years," said the old man, well pleased, "no use of conference as I told you this morning, there before Vivizano. I make up my mind of men's characters rapidly but seldom wrongly. Here take Ramiro's letter to Leonora, and recount to her all I did. Tell her, that by the altar I serve and the God I worship, and the Saviour in whom I put my trust, I could not consent to her being plunged into a sea of guilt and pollution, such as the world has never seen since the days of Heliogabalus."
"I fear, my lord cardinal, she has retired to rest," said Lorenzo, "but if so I will deliver the letter and your Eminence's words to-morrow."
A slight smile came upon the old man's face; but notwithstanding his sternness and occasional violence, softer and kinder emotions would sometimes spring up from his heart. He crossed himself as if sorry for the mere worldly smile; and then looking up on high, where the stars were sparkling clear and bright, he murmured, "Well, after all, this pure young love is a noble and beautiful thing. Good night, my son, God's benison and mine be upon you."
They had now reached the entrance of his tent and there they parted.