But the Duke was not first out of the city; for he found a stream of townsmen flocking across the bridge; and at the end of the bridge was a gathering of men, huddled close round a peasant who stood in the centre. The pikemen made a way for His Highness; and when the peasant saw him, he ran to him, and resting his hand on the neck of the Duke's horse, as though he could scarce stand alone, he cried, pointing with his hand to the hill that rose to the west, "The Duke Paul, the Duke Paul!" And no more could he say.
"Give him a horse, one of you, and let another lead it," cried the Duke. "And forward, gentlemen, whither he points!"
Thus they set forth, and as they went, the concourse grew, some overtaking them from the city, some who were going on their business or for pleasure into the city turning and following after the Duke and his company. So that a multitude went after Valentine and the peasant, and they rode together at the head. And the Duke said thrice to the peasant, "What of my brother?" But the peasant, who was an old man, did but point again to the hill.
At the foot of the hill, all that had horses left them in charge of the boys who were of the party, for the Duke, presaging some fearful thing, would suffer none but grown men to mount with him; and thus they went forward afoot till they reached the grassy summit of the hill. And then the peasant sprang in front, crying, "There, there!" and all of them beheld the body of Duke Paul, bound to the tree by the embroidered scarf, his head fallen on his breast, and the ivory tablet hanging from the riband of the Order of St. Prisian. And a great silence fell on them all, and they stood gazing at the dead prince.
But presently Duke Valentine went forward alone; and he knelt on one knee and bowed his head, and kissed his brother's right hand. And a shout of indignation and wrath went up from all the crowd, and they cried, "Whose deed is this?" The Duke minded them not, but rose to his feet and laid his hand on the ivory tablet; and he perceived that it was written by Duke Paul; and he read what Paul had written to Antonio; how that he, the Duke, being dead, Antonio should come to his own again, and wed Lucia, and hold foremost place in the Duchy. And, this read, the Duke read also the subscription of Count Antonio—"Witness my hand—Antonioof Monte Velluto." Then he was very amazed, for he had trusted his brother. Yet he did not refuse the testimony of the ivory tablet nor suspect any guile or deceit in Antonio. And he stood dry-eyed, looking on the dead face of Duke Paul. Then, turning round, he cried in a loud voice, so that every man on the hill heard him, "Behold the body of a traitor!" And men looked on him, and from him to the faces of one another, asking what he meant. But he spoke no other word, and went straightway down the hill, and mounted his horse again, and rode back to the city; and, having come to his palace, he sent for his little son, and went with him into the cabinet behind the great hall, where the two stayed alone together for many hours. And when the child came forth, he asked none concerning his uncle the Duke Paul.
Now all the company had followed down from the hill after the Duke, and no man dared to touch the body unbidden. Two days passed, and a great storm came, so that the rain beat on Paul's face and the lightning blackened it. But on the third day, when the storm had ceased, the Duke bade the Lieutenant of the Guard to go by night and bring the body of Paul: and the Lieutenant and his men flung a cloak over the face, and, having thus done, brought the body into the city at the break of day: yet the great square was full of folk watching in awe and silence. And they took the body to the Cathedral, and buried it under the wall on the north side in the shade of a cypress tree, laying a plain flat stone over it. And Duke Valentine gave great sums for masses to be said for the repose of his brother's soul. Yet there are few men who will go by night to the Hill of Duke Paul; and even now when I write, there is a man in the city who has lost his senses and is an idiot: he, they say, went to the hill on the night of the 15th of the month wherein Paul died, and came back mumbling things terrible to hear. But whether he went because he lacked his senses, or lost his senses by reason of the thing he saw when he went, I know not.
Thus died Duke Paul the traitor. Yet, though the Duke his brother knew that what was done upon him was nothing else than he had deserved and should have suffered had he been brought alive to justice, he was very wroth with Count Antonio, holding it insolence that any man should lay hands on one of his blood, and, of his own will, execute sentence upon a criminal of a degree so exalted. Therefore he sent word to Antonio, that if he caught him, he would hang him on the hill from the branches of the tree to which Antonio had bound Paul, and would leave his body there for three times three days. And, this message coming to Antonio, he sent one privily by night to the gate of the city, who laid outside the gate a letter for the Duke; and in the letter was written, "God chooses the hand. All is well."
And Count Antonio abode still an outlaw in the mountains, and the Lady Lucia mourned in the city.
I know of naught by which a man may better be judged than by his bearing in matters of love. What know I of love, say you—I, whose head is grey, and shaven to boot? True, it is grey, and it is shaven. But once it was brown, and the tonsure came not there till I had lived thirty years and borne arms for twelve. Then came death to one I loved, and the tonsure to me. Therefore, O ye proud young men and laughing girls, old Ambrose knows of love, though his knowledge be only like the memory that a man has of a glorious red-gold sunset which his eyes saw a year ago: cold are the tints, gone the richness, sober and faint the picture. Yet it is something; he sees no more, but he has seen; and sometimes still I seem to see a face that last I saw smiling in death. They tell me such thoughts are not fitting in me, but I doubt their doing a man much harm; for they make him take joy when others reap the happiness that he, forestalled by fate's sickle, could not garner. But enough! It is of Count Antonio I would write, and not of my poor self. And the story may be worth the reading—or would be, had I more skill to pen it.
Now in the summer of the second year of Count Antonio's banishment, when the fierce anger of Duke Valentine was yet hot for the presumption shown by the Count in the matter of Duke Paul's death, a messenger came privily to where the band lay hidden in the hills, bringing greeting to Antonio from the Prince of Mantivoglia, between whom and the Duke there was great enmity. For in days gone by Firmola had paid tribute to Mantivoglia, and this burden had been broken off only some thirty years; and the Prince, learning that Antonio was at variance with Duke Valentine, perceived an opportunity, and sent to Antonio, praying him very courteously to visit Mantivoglia and be his guest. Antonio, who knew the Prince well, sent him thanks, and, having made dispositions for the safety of his company and set Tommasino in charge of it, himself rode with the man they called Bena, and, having crossed the frontier, came on the second day to Mantivoglia. Here he was received with great state, and all in the city were eager to see him, having heard how he had dealt with Duke Paul and how he now renounced the authority of Valentine. And the Prince lodged him in his palace, and prepared a banquet for him, and set him on the right hand of the Princess, who was a very fair lady, learned, and of excellent wit; indeed, I have by me certain stories which she composed, and would read on summer evenings in the garden; and it may be that, if I live, I will make known certain of them. Others there are that only the discreet should read; for what to one age is but mirth turns in the mind of the next to unseemliness and ribaldry. This Princess, then, was very gracious to the Count, and spared no effort to give him pleasure; and she asked him very many things concerning the Lady Lucia, saying at last, "Is she fairer than I, my lord?" But Antonio answered, with a laugh, "The moon is not fairer than the sun, nor the sun than the moon: yet they are different." And the Princess laughed also, saying merrily, "Well parried, my lord!" And she rose and went with the Prince and Antonio into the garden. Then the Prince opened to Antonio what was in his mind, saying, "Take what command you will in my service, and come with me against Firmola; and when we have brought Valentine to his knees, I will take what was my father's, and should be mine: and you shall wring from him your pardon and the hand of your lady." And the Princess also entreated him. But Antonio answered, "I cannot do it. If Your Highness rides to Firmola, it is likely enough that I also may ride thither; but I shall ride to put my sword at the service of the Duke. For, although he is not my friend, yet his enemies are mine." And from this they could not turn him. Then the Prince praised him, saying, "I love you more for denying me, Antonio; and when I send word of my coming to Valentine, I will tell him also of what you have done. And if we meet by the walls of Firmola, we will fight like men; and, after that, you shall come again to Mantivoglia;" and he drank wine with Antonio, and so bade him God-speed. And the Princess, when her husband was gone, looked at the Count and said, "Valentine will not give her to you. Why will not you take her?"
But Antonio answered: "The price is too high."
"I would not have a man who thought any price too high," cried the Princess.
"Then your Highness would mate with a rogue?" asked Count Antonio, smiling.
"If he were one for my sake only," said she, fixing her eyes on his face and sighing lightly, as ladies sigh when they would tell something, and yet not too much nor in words that can be repeated. But Antonio kissed her hand, and took leave of her; and with another sigh she watched him go.
But when the middle of the next month came, the Prince of Mantivoglia gathered an army of three thousand men, of whom seventeen hundred were mounted, and crossed the frontier, directing his march towards Firmola by way of the base of Mount Agnino and the road to the village of Rilano. The Duke, hearing of his approach, mustered his Guards to the number of eight hundred and fifty men, and armed besides hard upon two thousand of the townsmen and apprentices, taking an oath of them that they would serve him loyally; for he feared and distrusted them; and of the whole force, eleven hundred had horses. But Count Antonio lay still in the mountains, and did not offer to come to the Duke's aid.
"Will you not pray his leave to come and fight for him?" asked Tommasino.
"He will love to beat the Prince without my aid, if he can," said Antonio. "Heaven forbid that I should seem to snatch at glory, and make a chance for myself from his necessity."
So he abode two days where he was; and then there came a shepherd, who said, "My lord, the Duke has marched out of the city and lay last night at Rilano, and is to-day stretched across the road that leads from the spurs of Agnino to Rilano, his right wing resting on the river. There he waits the approach of the Prince; and they say that at daybreak to-morrow the Prince will attack."
Then Antonio rose, saying, "What of the night?"
Now the night was very dark, and the fog hung like a grey cloak over the plain. And Antonio collected all his men to the number of threescore and five, all well-armed and well-horsed; and he bade them march very silently and with great caution, and led them down into the plain. And all the night they rode softly, husbanding their strength and sparing their horses; and an hour before the break of day they passed through the outskirts of Rilano and halted a mile beyond the village, seeing the fires of the Duke's bivouacs stretched across the road in front of them; and beyond there were other fires where the Prince of Mantivoglia lay encamped. And Bena said, "The Prince will be too strong for the Duke, my lord."
"If he be, we also shall fight to-morrow, Bena," answered Antonio.
"I trust, then, that they prove at least well matched," said Bena; for he loved to fight, and yet was ashamed to wish that the Duke should be defeated.
Then Count Antonio took counsel with Tommasino; and they led the band very secretly across the rear of the Duke's camp till they came to the river. There was a mill on the river, and by the mill a great covered barn where the sacks of grain stood; and Antonio, having roused the miller, told him that he came to aid the Duke, and not to fight against him, and posted his men in this great barn; so that they were behind the right wing of the Duke's army, and were hidden from sight. Day was dawning now: the campfires paled in the growing light, and the sounds of preparation were heard from the camp. And from the Prince's quarters also came the noise of trumpets calling the men to arms.
At four in the morning the battle was joined, Antonio standing with Tommasino and watching from the mill. Now Duke Valentine had placed his own guards on either wing, and the townsmen in the centre; but the Prince had posted the flower of his troops in the centre; and he rode there himself, surrounded by many lords and gentlemen; and with great valour and impetuosity he flung himself against the townsmen, recking little of how he fared on either wing. This careless haste did not pass unnoticed by the Duke, who was a cool man and wore a good head; and he said to Lorenzo, one of his lords who was with him, "If we win on right and left, it will not hurt us to lose in the middle;" and he would not strengthen the townsmen against the Prince, but rather drew off more of them, and chiefly the stoutest and best equipped, whom he divided between the right wing where he himself commanded, and the left which Lorenzo led. Nay, men declare that he was not ill pleased to see the brunt of the strife and the heaviest loss fall on the apprentices and townsmen. For a while indeed these stood bravely; but the Prince's chivalry came at them in fierce pride and gallant scorn, and bore them down with the weight of armour and horses, the Prince himself leading on a white charger and with his own hand slaying Glinka, who was head of the city-bands and a great champion among them. But Duke Valentine and Lorenzo upheld the battle on the wings, and pressed back the enemy there; and the Duke would not send aid to the townsmen in the centre, saying "I shall be ready for the Prince as soon as the Prince is ready for me, and I can spare some of those turbulent apprentices." And he smiled his crafty smile, adding, "From enemies also a wise man may suck good;" and he pressed forward on the right fighting more fiercely than was his custom. But when Antonio beheld the townsmen hard pressed and being ridden down by the Prince of Mantivoglia's knights and saw that the Duke would not aid them, he grew very hot and angry, and said to Tommasino, "These men have loved my house, Tommasino. It may be that I spoil His Highness's plan, but are we to stand here while they perish?"
"A fig for His Highness's plan!" said Tommasino; and Bena gave a cry of joy and sprang, unbidden, on his horse.
"Since you are up, Bena," said the Count, "stay up, and let the others mount. The Duke's plan, if I read it aright, is craftier than I love, and I do not choose to understand it."
Then, when the townsmen's line was giving way before the Prince, and the apprentices, conceiving themselves to be shamefully deserted, were more of a mind to run away than to fight any more, suddenly Antonio rode forth from the mill. He and his company came at full gallop; but he himself was ten yards ahead of Bena and Tommasino, for all that they raced after him. And he cried aloud, "To me, men of Firmola, to me, Antonio of Monte Velluto!" and they beheld him with utter astonishment and great joy. For his helmet was fallen from his head, and his fair hair gleamed in the sun, and the light of battle played on his face. And the band followed him, and, though they had for the most part no armour, yet such was the fury of their rush, and such the mettle and strength of their horses, that they made light of meeting the Prince's knights in full tilt. And the townsmen cried, "It is the Count! To death after the Count!" And Antonio raised the great sword that he carried, and rode at the Marshal of the Prince's palace, who was in the van of the fight, and he split helmet and head with a blow. Then he came to where the Prince himself was, and the great sword was raised again, and the Prince rode to meet him, saying, "If I do not die now, I shall not die to-day." But when Antonio saw the Prince, he brought his sword to his side and bowed and turned aside, and engaged the most skilful of the Mantivoglian knights. And he fought that day like a man mad; but he would not strike the Prince of Mantivoglia. And after a while the Prince ceased to seek him; and a flatterer said to the Prince, "He is bold against us, but he fears you, my lord." But the Prince said, "Peace, fool. Go and fight." For he knew that not fear, but friendship, forbade Antonio to assail him.
Yet by now the rout of the townsmen was stayed and they were holding their own again in good heart and courage, while both on the right and on the left the Duke pressed on and held the advantage. Then the Prince of Mantivoglia perceived that he was in a dangerous plight, for he was in peril of being worsted along his whole line; for his knights did no more than hold a doubtful balance against the townsmen and Antonio's company, while the Duke and Lorenzo were victorious on either wing; and he knew that if the Duke got in rear of him and lay between him and Mount Agnino, he would be sore put to it to find a means of retreat. Therefore he left the centre and rode to the left of his line and himself faced Duke Valentine. Yet slowly was he driven back, and he gave way sullenly, obstinately, and in good order, himself performing many gallant deeds, and seeking to come to a conflict with the Duke. But the Duke, seeing that the day was likely to be his, would not meet him and chose to expose his person to no more danger: "For," he said, "a soldier who is killed is a good soldier; but a chief who is killed save for some great object is a bad chief." And he bided his time and slowly pressed the Prince back, seeking rather to win the battle than the praise of bravery. But when Count Antonio saw that all went well, and that the enemy were in retreat, he halted his band; and at this they murmured, Bena daring to say, "My lord, we have had dinner, and may we not have supper also?" Antonio smiled at Bena, but would not listen.
"No," said he. "His Highness has won the victory by his skill and cunning. I did but move to save my friends. It is enough. Shall I seek to rob him of his glory? For the ignorant folk, counting the arm more honourable than the head, will give me more glory than him if I continue in the fight." And thus, not being willing to force his aid on a man who hated to receive it, he drew off his band. Awhile he waited; but when he saw that the Prince was surely beaten, and that the Duke held victory in his hand, he gave the word that they should return by the way they had come.
"Indeed," said Tommasino, laughing, "it may be wisdom as well as good manners, cousin. For I would not trust myself to Valentine if he be victorious, for all the service which we have done him in saving the apprentices he loves so well."
So Antonio's band turned and rode off from the field, and they passed through Rilano. But they found the village desolate; for report had come from the field that the Duke's line was broken, and that in a short space the Prince of Mantivoglia would advance in triumph, and having sacked Rilano, would go against Firmola, where there were but a few old men and boys left to guard the walls against him. And one peasant, whom they found hiding in the wood by the road, said there was panic in the city, and that many were escaping from it before the enemy should appear.
"It is months since I saw Firmola," said Antonio with a smile. "Let us ride there and reassure these timid folk. For my lord the Duke has surely by now won the victory, and he will pursue the Prince till he yields peace and abandons the tribute."
Now a great excitement rose in the band at these words; for although they had lost ten men in the battle and five more were disabled, yet they were fifty stout and ready; and it was not likely that there was any force in Firmola that could oppose them. And Martolo, who rode with Tommasino, whispered to him, "My lord, my lord, shall we carry off the Lady Lucia before His Highness can return?"
Tommasino glanced at Antonio. "Nay, I know not what my cousin purposes," said he.
Then Antonio bade Bena and Martolo ride on ahead, taking the best horses, and tell the people at Firmola that victory was with the Duke, and that His Highness's servant, Antonio of Monte Velluto, was at hand to protect the city till His Highness should return in triumph. And the two, going ahead while the rest of the band took their mid-day meal, met many ladies and certain rich merchants and old men escaping from the city, and turned them back, saying that all was well; and the ladies would fain have gone on and met Antonio; but the merchants, hearing that he was there, made haste to get within the walls again, fearing that he would levy a toll on them for the poor, as his custom was. At this Bena laughed mightily, and drew rein, saying, "These rabbits will run quicker back to their burrow than we could ride, Martolo. Let us rest awhile under a tree; I have a flask of wine in my saddle-bag." So they rested; and while they rested, they saw what amazed them; for a lady rode alone towards them on a palfrey, and though the merchants met her and spoke with her, yet she rode on. And when she came to the tree where Bena and Martolo were, they sprang up and bared their heads; for she was the Lady Lucia; and her face was full of fear and eagerness as she said, "No guard is kept to-day, even on helpless ladies. Is it true that my lord is near?"
"Yes, he is near," said Bena, kissing her hand. "See, there is the dust of his company on the road."
"Go, one of you, and say that I wait for him," she commanded; so Martolo rode on to carry the news farther, and Bena went to Antonio and said, "Heaven, my lord, sends fortune. The Lady Lucia has escaped from the city, and awaits you under yonder tree."
And when Tommasino heard this, he put out his hand suddenly and caught Antonio's hand and pressed it, saying, "Go alone, and bring her here: we will wait: the Duke will not be here for many hours yet."
Then Antonio rode alone to the tree where Lucia was; and because he had not seen her for many months, he leapt down from his horse and came running to her, and, kneeling, kissed her hand; but she, who stood now by her palfrey's side, flung her arms about his neck and fell with tears and laughter into his arms, saying, "Antonio, Antonio! Heaven is with us, Antonio."
"Yes," said he. "For His Highness has won the day."
"Have not we won the day also?" said she, reaching up and laying her hands on his shoulders.
"Heart of my heart," said he softly, as he looked in her eyes.
"The cage is opened, and, Antonio, the bird is free," she whispered, and her eyes danced and her cheek went red. "Lift me to my saddle, Antonio."
The Count obeyed her, and himself mounted; and she said, "We can reach the frontier in three hours, and there—there, Antonio, none fears the Duke's wrath." And Antonio knew what she would say, save that she would not speak it bluntly—that there they could find a priest to marry them. And his face was pale as he smiled at her. Then he laid his hand on her bridle and turned her palfrey's head towards Firmola. Her eyes darted a swift question at him, and she cried low, "Thither, Antonio?"
Then he answered her, bending still his look on her, "Alas, I am no learned man, nor a doctor skilled in matters of casuistry and nice distinctions. I can but do what the blood that is in me tells me a gentleman should do. To-day, sweetheart—ah, will you not hide your face from me, sweetheart, that my words may not die in my mouth?—to-day our lord the Duke fights against the enemies of our city, holding for us in hard battle the liberty that we have won, and bearing the banner of Firmola high to heaven in victory."
She listened with strained frightened face; and the horses moved at a walk towards Firmola. And she laid her hand on his arm, saying again, "Antonio!"
"And I have fought with my lord to-day, and I would be at his side now, except that I do his pleasure better by leaving him to triumph alone. But my hand has been with him to-day, and my heart is with him to-day. Tell me, sweetheart, if I rode forth to war and left you alone, would you do aught against me till I returned?"
She did not answer him.
"A Prince's city," said he, "should be as his faithful wife; and when he goes to meet the enemy, none at home should raise a hand against him; above all may not one who has fought by his side. For to stand side by side in battle is a promise and a compact between man and man, even as though man swore to man on a holy relic."
Then she understood what he would say, and she looked away from him across the plain; and a tear rolled down her cheek as she said, "Indeed, my lord, the error lies in my thoughts; for I fancied that your love was mine."
Antonio leant from his saddle and lightly touched her hair. "Was that indeed your fancy?" said he. "And I prove it untrue?"
"You carry me back to my prison," she said. "And you will ride away."
"And so I love you not?" he asked.
"No, you love me not," said she; and her voice caught in a sob.
"See," said he; "we draw near to Firmola, and the city gates are open; and, look, they raise a flag on the Duke's palace; and there is joy for the victory that Martolo has told them of. And in all the Duchy there are but two black hearts that burn with treacherous thoughts against His Highness, setting their own infinite joy above the honour and faith they owe him."
"Nay, but are there two?" she asked, turning her face from him.
"In truth I would love to think there was but one," said he. "And that one beats in me, sweetheart, and so mightily, that I think it will burst the walls of my body, and I shall die."
"Yet we ride to Firmola," said she.
"Yet, by Christ's grace," said Count Antonio, "we ride to Firmola."
Then the Lady Lucia suddenly dropped her bridle on the neck of her palfrey and caught Antonio's right hand in her two hands and said to him, "When I pray to-night, I will pray for the cleansing of the black heart, Antonio. And I will make a wreath and carry it to the Duke and kiss his hand for his victory. And I will set lights in my window and flags on my house; and I will give my people a feast; and I will sing and laugh for the triumph of the city and for the freedom this day has won for us: and when I have done all this, what may I do then, Antonio?"
"I am so cruel," said he, "that then I would have you weep a little: yet spoil not the loveliest eyes in all the world; for if you dim them, it may be that they will not shine like stars across the plain and even into the hut where I live among the hills."
"Do they shine bright, Antonio?"
"As the gems on the Gates of Heaven," he answered; and he reined in his horse and gave her bridle into her hands. And then for many minutes neither spoke; and Count Antonio kissed her lips, and she his; and they promised with the eyes what they needed not to promise with the tongue. And the Lady Lucia went alone on her way to Firmola. But the Count sat still like a statue of marble on his horse, and watched her as she rode. And there he stayed till the gates of the city received her and the walls hid her from his sight; and the old men on the walls saw him and knew him, and asked, "Does he come against us? But it was against the Prince of Mantivoglia that we swore to fight." And they watched him till he turned and rode at a foot's pace away from the city. And now as he rode his brow was smooth and calm and there was a smile on his lips.
But when Antonio had ridden two or three miles and came where he had left the band, he could see none of them. And a peasant came running to him in great fright and said, "My lord, your men are gone again to aid the Duke; for the Prince has done great deeds, and turned the fight, and it is again very doubtful: and my lord Tommasino bade me say that he knew your mind, and was gone to fight for Firmola."
Then Antonio, wondering greatly at the news, set his horse to a gallop and passed through Rilano at furious speed, and rode on towards Agnino; and it was now afternoon. Presently he saw the armies, but they seemed to lie idle, over against one another. And, riding on, he met Bena, who was come to seek him. And Bena said, "The Prince and his knights have fought like devils, my lord, and the townsmen grew fearful again when you were gone; and we, coming back, have fought again. But now a truce has sounded, and the Prince and the Duke are meeting in conference between the armies. Yet they say that no peace will be made; for the Prince, taking heart from his sudden success, though he is willing to abandon the tribute, asks something in return which the Duke will not grant. Yet perhaps he has granted it by now, for his men are weary."
"He should grant nothing," cried Antonio, and galloped on again. But Bena said to himself with an oath, "He has sent back the lady! The saints save us!" and followed Antonio with a laugh on his face.
But Antonio, thinking nothing of his own safety, rode full into the ranks of the Duke's Guard, saying, "Where does my lord talk with the Prince?" And they showed him where the place was; for the Prince and the Duke sat alone under a tree between the two arrays. And the Duke looked harsh and resolute, while the Prince was very courteously entreating him.
"Indeed," said he, "so doubtful has the day been, my lord, that I might well refuse to abandon the tribute, and try again to-morrow the issue of the fight. But, since so many brave men have fallen on both sides, I am willing to abandon it, asking of you only such favour as would be conceded to a simple gentleman asking of his friend. And yet you will not grant it me, and thus bring peace between us and our peoples."
Duke Valentine frowned and bit his lip; and the Prince rose from where he had been seated, and lifted his hand to the sky, and said, "So be it, my lord; on your head lies the blame. For to-morrow I will attack again; and, as God lives, I will not rest till the neck of the city of Firmola is under my foot, or my head rolls from my shoulders by your sword."
Then Duke Valentine paced up and down, pondering deeply. For he was a man that hated to yield aught, and beyond all else hated what the Prince of Mantivoglia asked of him. Yet he feared greatly to refuse; for the townsmen had no stomach for another fight and had threatened to march home if he would not make peace with the Prince. Therefore he turned to the Prince, and, frowning heavily, was about to say, "Since it must be so, so let it be," when suddenly the Count Antonio rode up and leapt from his horse, crying, "Yield nothing, my lord, yield nothing! For if you will tell me what to do, and suffer me to be your hand, we will drive the enemy over our borders with great loss."
Then the Prince of Mantivoglia fell to laughing, and he came to Antonio and put his arm about his neck, saying, "Peace, peace, thou foolish man!"
Antonio saluted him with all deference, but he answered, "I must give good counsel to my lord the Duke." And he turned to the Duke again, saying, "Yield nothing to the Prince, my lord."
Duke Valentine's lips curved in his slow smile as he looked at Antonio. "Is that indeed your counsel? And will you swear, Antonio, to give me your aid against the Prince so long as the war lasts, if I follow it?"
"Truly, I swear it," cried Antonio. "Yet what need is there of an oath? Am I not Your Highness's servant, bound to obey without an oath?"
"Nay, but you do not tell him——" began the Prince angrily.
Duke Valentine smiled again; he was ever desirous to make a show of fairness where he risked nothing by it; and he gazed a moment on Antonio's face; then he answered to the Prince of Mantivoglia, "I know the man, my lord. I know him in his strength and in his folly. Do not we know one another, Antonio?"
"Indeed, I know not all your Highness's mind," answered Antonio.
"Well, I will tell him," said Duke Valentine. "This Prince, Antonio, has consented to a peace, and to abandon all claim to tribute from our city, on one condition; which is, that I, the Duke, shall do at his demand what of my own free and sovereign will I would not do."
"His demand is not fitting nor warranted by his power," said Antonio; but in spite of his words the Prince of Mantivoglia passed his arm through his, and laughed ruefully, whispering, "Peace, man, peace."
"And thus I, the Duke, having bowed my will to his, shall return to Firmola, not beaten indeed, yet half-beaten and cowed by the power of Mantivoglia."
"It shall not be, my lord," cried Count Antonio.
"Yet, my lord Duke, you do not tell him what the condition is," said the Prince.
"Why, it is nothing else than that I should pardon you, and suffer you to wed the Lady Lucia," said Duke Valentine.
Then Count Antonio loosed himself from the arm of the Prince and bent and kissed the Prince's hand; but he said, "Is this thing to come twice on a man in one day? For it is but an hour or less that I parted from the lady of whom you speak; and if her eyes could not move me, what else shall move me?" And he told them briefly of his meeting with the Lady Lucia. But Duke Valentine was wroth with the shame that a generous act rouses in a heart that knows no generosity; and the Prince was yet more wroth, and he said to Duke Valentine, "Were there any honour in you, my lord, you would not need my prayers to pardon him."
At this the Duke's face grew very dark; and he cried angrily, "Get back to your own line, my lord, or the truce shall not save you." And he turned to Antonio and said, "Three hours do I give you to get hence, before I pursue."
Antonio bowed low to him and to the Prince; and they three parted, the two princes in bitter wrath, and set again on fighting to the end, the one because he was ashamed and yet obstinate, the other for scorn of a rancour that found no place in himself. But Count Antonio went back to his company and drew it some little way off from both armies; and he said to Tommasino, "The truce is ended, and they will fight again so soon as the men have had some rest;" and he told Tommasino what had passed. Then he sat silent again; but presently he laid hold of his cousin's arm, saying, "Look you, Tommasino, princes are sometimes fools; and hence come trouble and death to honest humble folk. It is a sore business that they fight again to-morrow, and not now for any great matter, but because they are bitter against one another on my account. Cannot I stop them, Tommasino?"
"Aye, if you have five thousand men and not thirty-five—for that is the sum of us now, counting Martolo, who is back from Firmola."
Antonio looked thoughtfully through the dusk of evening which now fell. "They will not fight to-night," he said. "I am weary of this blood-letting." And Tommasino saw that there was something in his mind.
Now the night fell dark again and foggy, even as the night before; and none in either army dared to move, and even the sentries could see no more than a few yards before them. But Antonio's men being accustomed to ride in the dark, and to find their way through mists both in plain and hill, could see more clearly; and Antonio divided them into two parties, himself leading one, and giving the other into Tommasino's charge. Having very securely tethered their horses, they set forth, crawling on their bellies through the grass. Antonio with his party made for the camp of the Prince, while Tommasino and his party directed their way towards the Duke's bivouacs. And they saw the fires very dimly through the mist, and both parties passed the sentries unobserved, and made their way to the centre of the camps. Then, on the stroke of midnight, a strange stir arose in both the camps. Nothing could be seen by reason of the darkness and the mist; but suddenly cries arose, and men ran to and fro; and a cry went up from the Duke's camp, "They are behind us! They are behind us! We are surrounded!" And in the Prince's camp also was great fear; for from behind them, towards where the spurs of Mount Agnino began, there came shouts of "At them, at them! Charge!" And the Prince's officers, perceiving the cries to be from men of Firmola (and this they knew by reason of certain differences in the phrasing of words), conceived that the Duke had got behind them, and was lying across their way of retreat.
Then the Duke, hearing the shouts in his own camp, ran out from his tent; and he was met by hundreds of the townsmen, who cried, "My lord, we are surrounded!" For Antonio's men had gone to the townsmen and shewn them how they might escape more fighting; and the townsmen were nothing loth; and they insisted with the Duke that a body of men on horseback had passed behind them. So the Duke sent out scouts, who could see nothing of the horsemen. But then the townsmen cried, some being in the secret, others not, "Then they have ridden past us, and are making for Firmola. And they will do Heaven knows what there. Lead us after them, my lord!" And the Duke was very angry; but he was also greatly afraid, for he perceived that there was a stir in the Prince's camp also, and heard shouts from there, but could not distinguish what was said. And while he considered what to do, the townsmen formed their ranks and sent him word that they were for Firmola; and when he threatened them with his Guard, they rejoined that one death was as good as another; and the Duke gnawed his nails and went pale with rage. But Count Antonio's men, seeing how well the plan had sped, crept again out from the camp, and returned to where they had tethered their horses, and mounted, each taking a spare horse. And before they had been there long, they heard trumpets sound in the Duke's camp, and the camp was struck, and the Duke and all his force began to retreat on Rilano, throwing out many scouts, and moving very cautiously in the darkness and mist. Yet when they came on nobody, they marched more quickly, even the Duke himself now believing that the Prince of Mantivoglia had of a purpose allowed the stir in his camp to be seen and heard, in order that he might detach a column to Firmola unobserved, and attack the city before the Duke came up. Therefore he now pressed on, saying, "I doubt not that the Prince himself is with the troop that has gone to Firmola." And all night long they marched across the plain, covering a space of eighteen miles; and just before the break of day they came to the city.
Thus did it fall out with the army of Duke Valentine. But the Prince of Mantivoglia had been no less bewildered; for when he sent out men to see what the cries behind the camp meant, he found no man; but he still heard scattered cries among the rising ground, where the hills began. And he in his turn saw a stir in the camp opposite to him. And, being an impetuous Prince, as he had shown both in evil and in good that day, he snatched up his sword, swearing that he would find the truth of the matter, and bidding his officers wait his return and not be drawn from their position before he came again to them; and taking some of his younger knights and a few more, he passed out of his camp, and paused for a moment, bidding those with him spread themselves out in a thin line, in order the better to reconnoitre, and that, if some fell into an ambuscade, others might survive to carry the news back to the camp. And he, having given his order, himself stood resting on his sword. But in an instant, before he could so much as lift the point of his sword from the ground, silent blurred shapes came from the mist, and were in front and behind and round him; and they looked so strange that he raised his hand to cross himself; but then a scarf was thrown over his mouth, and he was seized by eight strong hands and held so that he could not struggle; and neither could he cry out by reason of the scarf across his mouth. And they that held him began to run rapidly; and he was carried out of the camp without the knowledge of any of those who were with him, and they, missing their leader, fell presently into a great consternation, and ran to and from in the gloom crying, "The Prince? Have you seen the Prince? Is His Highness with you? In God's name, has the Prince been this way?" But they did not find him, and they grew more confounded, stumbling against one another and being much afraid. And when the Prince was nowhere to be found, they lost heart, and began to fall back towards their own borders, skirting the base of Agnino. And their retreat grew quicker; and at last, when morning came, they were near the border; but the fog still wrapped all the plain in obscurity, and, robbed of their leader, they dared attempt nothing.
Now the Prince of Mantivoglia, whom his army sought thus in fear and bewilderment, was carried very quickly up to the high ground, where the rocks grew steep and close and the way led to the peak of Agnino. And as he was borne along, some one bound his hands and his feet; and still he was carried up, till at last he found himself laid down gently on the ground. And though he knew no fear—for they of Mantivoglia have ever been most valiant Princes and strangers to all fear—yet he thought that his last hour was come, and, fearing God though he feared nothing else, he said a prayer and commended his soul to the Almighty, grieving that he should not receive the last services of the Church. And having done this, he lay still until the dawning day smote on his eyes and he could see; for the fog that lay dense on the plain was not in the hills, but hung between them and the plain. And he looked round, but saw no man. So he abode another hour, and then he heard a step behind him, and a man came, but whence he could not see; and the man stooped and loosed the scarf from his mouth and cut his bonds, and he sat up, uttering a cry of wonder. For Count Antonio stood before him, his sword sheathed by his side. And he said to the Prince of Mantivoglia, "Do to me what you will, my lord. If you will strike me as I stand, strike. Or if you will do me the honour to cross swords, my sword is ready. Or, my lord, if you will depart in peace and in my great love and reverence, I will give thanks to Heaven and to a noble Prince."
"Antonio, what does this mean?" cried the Prince, divided between anger and wonder.
Then Antonio told him all that he had done: how the Duke was gone back with his army to Firmola, and how the Prince's army had retreated towards the borders of Mantivoglia; for of all this his men had informed him; and he ended, saying, "For since it seemed that I was to be the most unworthy cause of more fighting between two great Princes, it came into my head that such a thing should not be. And I rejoice that now it will not; for the townsmen will not march out again this year at least, and Your Highness will scarce sit down before Firmola with the season now far gone."
"So I am baulked?" cried the Prince, and he rose to his feet. "And this trick is played me by a friend!"
"I am of Firmola," said Antonio, flushing red. "And while there was war, I might in all honour have played another trick, and carried you not hither, but to Firmola."
"I care not," cried the Prince angrily. "It was a trick, and no fair fighting."
"Be it as you will, my lord," said Antonio. "A man's own conscience is his only judge. Will you draw your sword, my lord?"
But the Prince was very angry, and he answered roughly, "I will not fight with you, and I will not speak more with you. I will go."
"I will lead Your Highness to your horse," said Antonio.
Then he led him some hundreds of paces down the hill, and they came where a fine horse stood ready saddled.
"It is not my horse," said the Prince.
"Be not afraid, my lord. It is not mine either," said Antonio smiling. "A rogue who serves me, and is called Bena, forgot his manners so far as to steal it from the quarters of the Duke. I pray you use some opportunity of sending it back to him, or I shall be dubbed horse-stealer with the rest."
"I am glad it is not yours," said the Prince, and he prepared to mount, Antonio holding the stirrup for him. And when he was mounted, Antonio told him how to ride, so that he should come safely to his own men, and avoid certain scouting parties of the Duke that he had thrown out behind him as he marched back to Firmola. And having done this, Antonio stood back and bared his head and bowed.
"And where is your horse?" asked the Prince suddenly.
"I have no horse, my lord," said Antonio. "My men with all my horses have ridden back to our hiding-place in the hills. I am alone here, for I thought that Your Highness would kill me, and I should need no horse."
"How, then, will you escape the scouting parties?"
"I fear I shall not escape them, my lord," said Antonio, smiling again.
"And if they take you?"
"Of a surety I shall be hanged," said Count Antonio.
The Prince of Mantivoglia gathered his brow into a heavy frown, but the corners of his lips twitched, and he did not look at Antonio. And thus they rested a few moments, till suddenly the Prince, unable to hold himself longer, burst into a great and merry peal of laughter; and he raised his fist and shook it at Antonio, crying, "A scurvy trick, Antonio! By my faith, a scurvier trick by far than that other of yours! Art thou not ashamed, man? Ah, you cast down your eyes! You dare not look at me, Antonio."
"Indeed I have naught to say for this last trick, my lord," said Antonio, laughing also.
"Indeed I must carry this knave with me!" cried the Prince. "Faugh, the traitor! Get up behind me, traitor! Clasp me by the waist, knave! Closer, knave! Ah, Antonio, I know not in what mood Heaven was when you were made! I would I had the heart to leave you to your hanging! For what a story will my Princess make of this! I shall be the best-derided man in all Mantivoglia."
"I think not, my dear lord," said Count Antonio, "unless a love that a man may reckon on as his lady-love's and a chivalry that does not fail, and a valour that has set two armies all agape in wonder, be your matters for mirth in Mantivoglia. And indeed, my lord, I would that I were riding to the lady I love best in the world, as Your Highness rides; for she might laugh till her sweet eyes ran tears so I were near to dry them."
The Prince put back his hand towards Antonio and clasped Antonio's hand, and said, "What said she when you left her, Antonio? For with women love is often more than honour, and their tears rust the bright edge of a man's conscience."
"Her heart is even as Our Lady's, and with tears and smiles she left me," said Antonio, and he grasped the Prince's hand. "Come, my lord, we must ride, or it is a prison for you and a halter for me."
So they rode together in the morning on the horse that Bena had stolen from among the choicest of Duke Valentine's, and, keeping cunningly among the spurs of the hills, they were sighted once only from afar off by the Duke's scouts, and escaped at a canter, and came safe to the Prince's army, where they were received with great wonder and joy. But the Prince would not turn again to besiege Firmola, for he had had a fill of fighting, and the season grew late for the siege of a walled town. So he returned with all his force to Mantivoglia, having won by his expedition much praise of valour, and nothing else in the wide world besides; which thing indeed is so common in the wars of princes that even wise men have well-nigh ceased to wonder at it.
But the Princess of Mantivoglia heard all that had passed with great mirth, and made many jests upon her husband; and again, lest the Prince should take her jesting in evil part, more upon Duke Valentine. But concerning Count Antonio and the Lady Lucia she did not jest. Yet one day, chancing to be alone with Count Antonio—for he stayed many days at the Court of Mantivoglia, and was treated with great honour—she said to him, with a smile and half-raised eyelids, "Had I been a man, my lord Antonio, I would not have returned alone from the gates of Firmola. In truth, your lady needs patience for her virtue, Count Antonio!"
"I trust, then, that Heaven sends it to her, madame," said Antonio.
"And to you also," she retorted with a laugh. "And to her trust in you also, I pray. For an absent lover is often an absent heart, Antonio, and I hear that many ladies would fain soften your exile. And what I hear, the Lady Lucia may hear also."
"She would hear it as the idle babbling of water over stones," said Antonio. "But, madame, I am glad that I have some honesty in me. For if there were not honest men and true maids in this world, I think more than a half of the wits would starve for lack of food."
"Mercy, mercy!" she cried. "Indeed your wit has a keen edge, my lord."
"Yet it is not whetted on truth and honesty," said he.
She answered nothing for a moment; then she drew near to him and stood before him, regarding his face; and she sighed "Heigh-ho!" and again "Heigh-ho!" and dropped her eyes, and raised them again to his face; and at last she said, "To some faithfulness is easy. I give no great praise to the Lady Lucia." And when she had said this she turned and left him, and was but little more in his company so long as he stayed at Mantivoglia. And she spoke no more of the Lady Lucia. But when he was mounting, after bidding her farewell, she gave him a white rose from her bosom, saying carelessly, "Your colour, my lord, and the best. Yet God made the other roses also."
"All that He made He loves, and in all there is good," said Antonio, and he bowed very low, and, having kissed her hand, took the rose; and he looked into her eyes and smiled, saying, "Heaven give peace where it has given wit and beauty;" and so he rode away to join his company in the hills. And the Princess of Mantivoglia, having watched till he was out of sight, went into dinner, and was merrier than ever she had shown herself before; so that they said, "She feared Antonio and is glad that he is gone." Yet that night, while her husband slept, she wept.
The opinion of man is ever in flux save where it is founded on the rock of true religion. What our fathers believed, we disbelieve; but often our sons shall again receive it. In olden time men held much by magic and black arts; now such are less esteemed; yet hereafter it may well be that the world will find new incantations and fresh spells, the same impulse flowing in a different channel and never utterly to be checked or stemmed by the censures of the Church or the mocking of unbelievers. As for truth—in truth who knows truth? For the light of Revelation shines but in few places, and for the rest we are in natural darkness, groping along unseen paths towards unknown ends. May God keep our footsteps!
Now towards the close of the third year of his outlawry the heart of Count Antonio of Monte Velluto had grown very sad. For it was above the space of a year since he had heard news of the Lady Lucia, and hard upon two since he had seen her face; so closely did Duke Valentine hold her prisoner in Firmola. And as he walked to and fro among his men in their hiding place in the hills, his face was sorrowful. Yet, coming where Tommasino and Bena sat together, he stopped and listened to their talk with a smile. For Bena cried to Tommasino, "By the saints, my lord, it is even so! My father himself had a philtre from him thirty years ago; and though, before, my mother had loathed to look on my father, yet now here am I, nine-and-twenty years of age and a child born in holy wedlock. Never tell me that it is foolishness, my lord!"
"Of whom do you speak, Bena?" asked Antonio.
"Of the Wizard of Baratesta, my lord. Aye, and he can do more than make a love-potion. He can show you all that shall come to you in a mirror, and make the girl you love rise before your eyes as though the shape were good flesh and blood."
"All this is foolishness, Bena," said Count Antonio.
"Well, God knows that," said Bena. "But he did it for my father; and as he is thirty years older, he will be wiser still by now;" and Bena strode off to tend his horse, somewhat angry that Antonio paid so little heed to his words.
"It is all foolishness, Tommasino," said Antonio.
"They say that of many a thing which gives a man pleasure," said Tommasino.
"I have heard of this man before," continued the Count, "and marvellous stories are told of him. Now I leave what shall come to me in the hands of Heaven; for to know is not to alter, and knowledge without power is but fretting of the heart; but——" And Antonio broke off.
"Ride then, if you can safely, and beg him to show you Lucia's face," said Tommasino. "For to that I think you are making."
"In truth I was, fool that I am," said Antonio.
"But be wary; for Baratesta is but ten miles from the city, and His Highness sleeps with an open eye."
So Antonio, albeit that he was in part ashamed, learnt from Bena where the wizard dwelt on the bridge that is outside the gate of Baratesta—for the Syndic would not suffer such folk to live inside the wall—and one evening he saddled his horse and rode alone to seek the wizard, leaving Tommasino in charge of the band. And as he went, he pondered, saying, "I am a fool, yet I would see her face;" and thus, still dubbing himself fool, yet still persisting, he came to the bridge of Baratesta; and the wizard, who was a very old man and tall and marvellously lean, met him at the door of the house, crying, "I looked for your coming, my lord." And he took Antonio's horse from him and stood it in a stable beside the house, and led Antonio in, saying again, "Your coming was known to me, my lord;" and he brought Antonio to a chamber at the back of the house, having one window, past which the river, being then in flood, rushed with noise and fury. There were many strange things in the chamber, skulls and the forms of animals from far-off countries, great jars, basins, and retorts, and in one corner a mirror half-draped in a black cloth.
"You know who I am?" asked Antonio.
"That needs no art," answered the wizard, "and I pretend to none in it. Your face, my lord, was known to me as to any other man, from seeing you ride with the Duke before your banishment."
"And you knew that I rode hither to-night?"
"Aye," said the wizard. "For the stars told of the coming of some great man; and I turned from my toil and watched for you."
"What toil?" asked Antonio. "See, here is money, and I have a quiet tongue. What toil?"
The wizard pointed to a heap of broken and bent pieces of base metal. "I was turning dross to gold," said he, in a fearful whisper.
"Can you do that?" asked Antonio, smiling.
"I can, my lord, though but slowly."
"And hate to love?" asked Count Antonio.
The wizard laughed harshly. "Let them that prize love, seek that," said he. "It is not for me."
"I would it had been; then had my errand here been a better one. For I am come to see the semblance of a maiden's face."
The wizard frowned as he said, "I had looked for a greater matter. For you have a mighty enemy, my lord, and I have means of power for freeing men of their enemies."
But Count Antonio, knowing that he spoke of some dark device of spell or poison, answered, "Enough! enough! For I am a man of quick temper, and it is not well to tell me of wicked things, lest I be tempted to anticipate Heaven's punishment."
"I shall not die at your hands, my lord," said the wizard. "Come, will you see what shall befall you?"
"Nay, I would but see my lady's face; a great yearning for that has come over me, and, although I take shame in it, yet it has brought me here."
"You shall see it then; and if you see more, it is not by my will," said the wizard; and he quenched the lamp that burned on the table, and flung a handful of some powder on the charcoal in the stove; and the room was filled with a thick sweet-smelling vapour. And the wizard tore the black cloth off the face of the mirror and bade Antonio look steadily in the mirror. Antonio looked till the vapour that enveloped all the room cleared off from the face of the mirror, and the wizard, laying his hand on Antonio's shoulder, said, "Cry her name thrice." And Antonio thrice cried "Lucia!" and again waited. Then something came on the polished surface of the mirror; but the wizard muttered low and angrily, for it was not the form of Lucia nor of any maiden; yet presently he cried low, "Look, my lord, look!" and Antonio, looking, saw a dim, and shadowy face in the mirror; and the wizard began to fling his body to and fro, uttering strange whispered words; and the sweat stood in beads on his forehead. "Now, now!" he cried; and Antonio, with beating heart, fastened his gaze on the mirror. And as the story goes (I vouch not for it) he saw, though very dimly, the face of Lucia; but more he saw also; for beside the face was his own face, and there was a rope about his neck, and the half-shaped arm of a gibbet seemed to hover above him. And he shrank back for an instant.
"What more you see is not by my will," said the wizard.
"What shall come is only by God's will," said Antonio. "I have seen her face. It is enough."
But the wizard clutched him by the arm, whispering in terror, "It is a gibbet; and the rope is about your neck."
"Indeed, I seem to have worn it there these three years, and it is not drawn tight yet; nor is it drawn in the mirror."
"You have a good courage," said the wizard with a grim smile. "I will show you more;" and he flung another powder on the charcoal; and the shapes passed from the mirror. But another came; and the wizard, with a great cry, fell suddenly on his knees, exclaiming, "They mock me, they mock me! They show what they will, not what I will. Ah, my lord, whose is the face in the mirror?" And he seized Antonio again by the arm.
"It is your face," said Antonio; "and it is the face of a dead man, for his jaw has dropped, and his features are drawn and wrung."
The wizard buried his face in his hands; and so they rested awhile till the glass of the mirror cleared; and Antonio felt the body of the wizard shaking against his knee.
"You are old," said Antonio, "and death must come to all. Maybe it is a lie of the devil; but if not, face it as a man should."
But the wizard trembled still; and Antonio, casting a pitiful glance on him, rose to depart. But on the instant as he moved, there came a sudden loud knocking at the door of the house, and he stood still. The wizard lifted his head to listen.
"Have you had warning of more visitors to-night?" asked Antonio.
"I know not what happens to-night," muttered the wizard. "My power is gone to-night."
The knocking at the door came again, loud and impatient.
"They will beat the door down if you do not open," said Antonio. "I will hide myself here behind the mirror; for I cannot pass them without being seen; and if I am seen here, it is like enough that the mirror will be proved right both for you and me."
So Antonio hid himself, crouching down behind the mirror; and the wizard, having lit a small dim lamp, went on trembling feet to the door. And presently he came back, followed by two men whose faces were hid in their cloaks. One of them sat down, but the other stood and flung his cloak back over his shoulders; and Antonio, observing him from behind the mirror, saw that he was Lorenzo, the Duke's favourite.
Then Lorenzo spoke to the wizard saying, "Why did you not come sooner to open the door?"
"There was one here with me," said the wizard, whose air had become again composed.
"And is he gone? For we would be alone."
"He is not to be seen," answered the wizard. "Utterly alone here you cannot be."
When he heard this, Lorenzo turned pale, for he did not love this midnight errand to the wizard's chamber.
"But no man is here," said the wizard.
A low hoarse laugh came from the man who sat. "Tricks of the trade, tricks of the trade!" said he; and Antonio started to hear his voice. "Be sure that where a prince, a courtier, and a cheat are together, the devil makes a fourth. But there is no need to turn pale over it, Lorenzo."
When the wizard heard, he fell on his knees; for he knew that it was Duke Valentine who spoke.
"Look you, fellow," pursued His Highness, "you owe me much thanks that you are not hanged already; for by putting an end to you I should please my clergy much and the Syndic of Baratesta not a little. But if you do not obey me to-night, you shall be dead before morning."
"I shall not die unless it be written in the stars," said the wizard, but his voice trembled.
"I know nothing of the stars," said the Duke, "but I know the mind of the Duke of Firmola, and that is enough for my purpose." And he rose and began to walk about the chamber, examining the strange objects that were there; and thus he came in front of the mirror, and stood within half a yard of Antonio. But Lorenzo stood where he was, and once he crossed himself secretly and unobserved.
"What would my lord the Duke?" asked the wizard.
"There is a certain drug," said the Duke, turning round towards the wizard, "which if a man drink—or a woman, Lorenzo—he can walk on his legs and use his arms, and seem to be waking and in his right mind; yet is his mind a nothing, for he knows not what he does, but does everything that one, being with him, may command, and without seeming reluctance; and again, when bidden, he will seem to lose all power of movement, and to lack his senses. I saw the thing once when I sojourned with the Lord of Florence; for a wizard there, having given the drug to a certain man, put him through strange antics, and he performed them all willingly."
"Aye, there is such a drug," said the wizard.
"Then give it me," said the Duke; "and I give you your life and fifty pieces of gold. For I have great need of it."
Now when Antonio heard the Duke's words, he was seized with great fear; for he surmised that it was against Lucia that the Duke meant to use this drug; and noiselessly he loosened his sword in its sheath and bent forward again to listen.
"And though my purpose is nothing to you, yet it is a benevolent purpose. Is it not, Lorenzo?"
"It is your will, not mine, my lord," said Lorenzo in a troubled voice.
"Mine shall be the crime, then, and yours the reward," laughed the Duke. "For I will give her the drug, and she shall wed you."
Then Antonio doubted no longer of what was afoot, nor that a plot was laid whereby Lucia should be entrapped into marriage with Lorenzo, since she could not be openly forced. And anger burned hotly in him. And he swore that, sooner than suffer the thing to be done, he would kill the Duke there with his own hand or himself be slain.
"And you alone know of this drug now, they say," the Duke went on. "For the wizard of Florence is dead. Therefore give it me quickly."
But the wizard answered, "It will not serve, my lord, that I give you the drug. With my own hand I must give it to the persons whom you would thus affect, and I must tell them what they should do."
"More tricks!" said the Duke scornfully. "I know your ways. Give me the drug." And he would not believe what the wizard said.
"It is even as I say," said the wizard. "And if Your Highness will carry the drug yourself, I will not vouch its operation."
"Give it me; for I know the appearance of it," said the Duke.
Then the wizard, having again protested, went to a certain shelf and from some hidden recess took a small phial, and came with it to the Duke, saying, "Blame me not, if its operation fail."
The Duke examined the phial closely, and also smelt its smell. "It is the same," said he. "It will do its work."
Then Count Antonio, who believed no more than the Duke what the wizard had said concerning the need of his own presence for the working of the drug, was very sorely put to it to stay quietly where he was; for if the Duke rode away now with the phial, he might well find means to give it to the Lady Lucia before any warning could be conveyed to her. And, although the danger was great, yet his love for Lucia and his fear for her overcame his prudence, and suddenly he sprang from behind the mirror, drawing his sword and crying, "Give me that drug, my lord, or your life must answer for it."
But fortune served him ill; for as the Duke and Lorenzo shrank back at his sudden appearance, and he was about to spring on them, behold, his foot caught in the folds of the black cloth that had been over the mirror and now lay on the ground, and, falling forward, he struck his head on the marble rim that ran round the charcoal stove, and, having fallen with great force, lay there like a man dead. With loud cries of triumph, the Duke and Lorenzo, having drawn their swords, ran upon him; and the Duke planted his foot upon his neck, crying, "Heaven sends a greater prize! At last, at last I have him! Bind his hands, Lorenzo."
Lorenzo bound Antonio's hands as he lay there, a log for stillness. The Duke turned to the wizard and a smile bent his lips. "O faithful subject and servant!" said he. "Well do you requite my mercy and forbearance, by harbouring my bitterest enemies and suffering them to hear my secret counsels. Had not Antonio chanced to trip, it is like enough he would have slain Lorenzo and me also. What shall be your reward, O faithful servant?"
When the Wizard of Baratesta beheld the look that was on Duke Valentine's face, he suddenly cried aloud, "The mirror, the mirror!" and sank in a heap on the floor, trembling in every limb; for he remembered the aspect of his own face in the mirror and knew that the hour of his death had come. And he feared mightily to die; therefore he besought the Duke very piteously, and told him again that from his hand alone could the drug receive its potency. And so earnest was he in this, that at last he half-won upon the Duke, so that the Duke wavered. And as he doubted, his eye fell on Antonio; and he perceived that Antonio was recovering from his swoon.
"There is enough for two," said he, "in the phial; and we will put this thing to the test. But if you speak or move or make any sign, forthwith in that moment you shall die." Then the Duke poured half the contents of the phial into a glass and came to Lorenzo and whispered to him, "If the drug works on him, and the wizard is proved to lie, the wizard shall die; but we will carry Antonio with us; and when I have mustered my Guard, I will hang him in the square as I have sworn. But if the drug does not work, then we must kill him here; for I fear to carry him against his will; for he is a wonderful man, full of resource, and the people also love him. Therefore, if the operation of the drug fail, run him through with your sword when I give the signal."
Now Antonio was recovering from his swoon, and he overheard part of what the Duke said, but not all. As to the death of the wizard he did not hear, but he understood that the Duke was about to test the effect of the drug on him, and that if it had no effect, he was to die; whereas, if its operation proved sufficient, he should go alive; and he saw here a chance for his life in case what the wizard had said should prove true.
"Drink, Antonio," said the Duke softly. "No harm comes to you. Drink: it is a refreshing draught."
And Antonio drank the draught, the wizard looking on with parted lips and with great drops of sweat running from his forehead and thence down his cheeks to his mouth, so that his lips were salt when he licked them. And the Duke, having seen that Lorenzo had his sword ready for Antonio, took his stand by the wizard with the dagger from his belt in his hand. And he cried to Antonio, "Rise." And Antonio rose up. The wizard started a step towards him; but the Duke showed his dagger, and said to Antonio, "Will you go with me to Firmola, Antonio?"
And Antonio answered, "I will go."
"Do you love me, Antonio?" asked the Duke.
"Aye, my lord," answered Antonio.
"Yet you have done many wicked things against me."
"True, my lord," said Antonio.
"Is your mind then changed?"
"It is, my lord," said Antonio.
"Then leap two paces into the air," said the Duke; and Antonio straightway obeyed.
"Go down on your knees and crawl;" and Antonio crawled, smiling secretly to himself.
Then the Duke bade Lorenzo mount Antonio on his horse; and he commanded the wizard to follow him; and they all went out where the horses were; and the three mounted, and the wizard followed; and they came to the end of the bridge. There the Duke turned sharp round and rode by the side of the rushing river. And, suddenly pausing, he said to Antonio, "Commend thy soul to God and leap in."
And Antonio commended his soul to God, and would have leapt in; but the Duke caught him by the arm even as he set spurs to his horse, saying, "Do not leap." And Antonio stayed his leap. Then the Duke turned his face on the wizard, saying, "The potion works, wizard. Why did you lie?"
Then the wizard fell on his knees, cursing hell and heaven; for he could not see how he should escape. For the potion worked. And Antonio wondered what should fall out next. But Duke Valentine leapt down from his horse and approached the wizard, while Lorenzo set his sword against Antonio's breast. And the Duke, desirous to make a final trial, cried again to Antonio, "Fling yourself from your horse." And Antonio, having his arms bound, yet flung himself from his horse, and fell prone on the ground, and lay there sorely bruised.
"It is enough," said the Duke. "You lied, wizard."
But the wizard cried, "I lied not, I lied not, my lord. Slay me not, my lord! For I dare not die."
But the Duke caught him by the throat and drove his dagger into his breast till the fingers that held the dagger were buried in the folds of the wizard's doublet; and the Duke pulled out the dagger, and, when the wizard fell, he pushed him with his foot over the brink, and the body fell with a loud splash into the river below.
Thus died the Wizard of Baratesta, who was famed above all of his day for the hidden knowledge that he had; yet he served not God, but Satan, and his end was the end of a sinner. And, many days after, his body was found a hundred miles from that place; and certain charitable men, brethren of my own order, gave it burial. So that he died that same night in which the mirror had shown him his face as the face of a dead man; but whence came the vision I know not.
Then the Duke set Antonio again on his horse, and the three rode together towards Firmola, and as they went, again and again the Duke tested the operation of the drug, setting Antonio many strange, ludicrous, and unseemly things to do and to say; and Antonio did and said them all. But he wondered greatly that the drug had no power over him, and that his brain was clear and his senses all his own; nor did he then believe that the Duke had, in truth, slain the wizard for any reason save that the wizard had harboured him, an outlaw, and suffered him to hear the Duke's counsels: and he was grieved at the wizard's death.