NEXTday there was a secret meeting of the council, of which neither Checco nor his friends knew anything. But it leaked out that they had been discussing terms which Lodovico had offered. And the Duke's proposal was that Riario's children should be surrendered to him and the town ruled by a commission, appointed partly by him, partly by the Forlivesi. About mid-day a servant came and told us that Niccolo Tornielli and the other members of the council were below, seeking admission. Checco went down, and as soon as he saw him Niccolo said,—
'Checco, we have decided that it will be better for us to have charge of the children of Count Girolamo; and therefore we have come to summon you to give them into our hands.'
Checco's answer was short and pointed.
'If that is all you came for, Niccolo, you can go.' ...
At this Antonio Sassi broke in,—
'We shall not go without the children.'
'I imagine that depends on me; and I intend to keep the children.'
'Take care, Checco; remember that you are not our master.'
'And who are you, Antonio, I should like to know?'
'I am a member of the council of Forli, just as you are; no more, no less.'
'No,' said Checco, furiously; 'I will tell you whom you are. You are the miserable cur who pandered to the tyrant and helped him to oppress the people which I liberated; and the people spat upon you! You are the miserable cur who fawned upon me when I had killed the tyrant, and in your slavish adulation you proposed to make me ruler in his stead; and I spat upon you! And now you are afraid again and you are trying to make peace with the Duke by betraying me, and it is from you that come the propositions to give me up to Lodovico. That is what you are! Look at yourself and be proud!'
Antonio was about to give a heated answer, but Niccolo interrupted him.
'Be quiet, Antonio! Now, Checco, let us have the children.'
'I will not, I tell you! I saved their lives, and they are mine by right. They are mine because I killed the Count; because I took them prisoners; because I hold them; and because they are necessary for my safety.'
'They are necessary for our safety, too, and we, the council of Forli, summon you, Checco d'Orsi, to surrender them.'
'And I, Checco d'Orsi, refuse!'
'Then we shall take them by force.'
Niccolo and Antonio stepped forward. Checco whipped out his sword.
'By God, I swear I will kill the first man who crosses this threshold!'
Gradually the people had collected, till behind the councillors there was a formidable crowd. They watched with eagerness the dispute, hailing with joy the opportunity of humiliating their old hero. They had broken out in mocking laughter while Checco was railing at Antonio, now they shouted,—
'The children! Surrender the children!'
'I will not, I tell you!'
They began to hoot and hiss, calling Checco foul names, accusing him of causing all their troubles, naming him tyrant and usurper. Checco stood looking at them, trembling with rage. Niccolo stepped forward once more.
'Give them up, Checco, or it will be the worse for you.'
'Advance one step further and I will kill you!'
The people grew suddenly exasperated; a shower of stones fell on us, and one, striking Checco, caused a long streak of blood to flow down his forehead.
'Give us the children! Give us the children!'
'We will call the guard,' said Antonio.
'The children!' shouted the mob. 'He will kill them. Take them from him.'
There was a rush from behind; the councillors and their supporters were driven forward; they were met by our drawn swords; in another moment it would have been too late, and against two hundred we should have been helpless. Suddenly Bartolomeoappeared at the head of the great staircase with the boys.
'Stop!' he cried. 'Here are the children. Stop!'
Checco turned round to him.
'I will not have them given up. Take them away!'
'I have never asked you anything before, Checco,' said Bartolomeo; 'I have always done as you commanded; but this time I implore you to give way.'
I joined my words to his.
'You must give way. We shall all be massacred.'
Checco stood for a moment undecided, then, without speaking, he turned into a room looking on the court. We took it for consent, and Bartolomeo handed the frightened children to the councillors. A shout of joy broke from the people and they marched off with their prize in triumph....
I sought Checco and found him alone. As he heard the shouts of the people, a sob came from him in the misery of his humiliation.
But Jacopo Ronchi and the two sons of Bartolomeo were sent out to discover what was going on. We could not think what had driven the council to their step; but we felt sure they must have good reasons for acting so courageously. We felt also that we had lost all power, all hope. The wheel had turned, and now we were at the bottom. After several hours, Alessandro Moratini came back and said,—
'The council has been meeting again, and it has been receiving messengers; but that is all I know. Everyone looks upon me with an evil eye and becomes silent at my approach. I ask questions and theysay they know nothing, have seen nothing, heard nothing.'
'Brutes!' said Matteo.
'And for these people we risked our lives and fortunes!' said Bartolomeo.
Checco looked at him curiously; and, like him, I thought of our disinterestedness! Alessandro, having given his news, filled a glass with wine and sat down. We all kept silence. The time went on, and the afternoon began to close; the hours seemed interminable. At last Jacopo Ronchi came panting.
'I have discovered everything,' he said. 'The council has resolved to surrender the town to the Duke, who promises, in return for the children, to forgive everything and allow them to rule themselves, with half the council appointed by him.'
We sprang up with a cry.
'I will not allow it,' said Checco.
'If the conspirators make any disturbance, they are to be outlawed and a price set upon their heads.'
'How far have the negotiations gone?' I asked.
'The messengers have been sent to the Duke now.'
'In that case there is no time to lose,' I said.
'What do you mean?' said Checco.
'We must escape.'
'Escape!'
'Or we shall be taken alive; and you know what to expect from Caterina and Lodovico. Do not think of their promises of pardon.'
'I put no trust in their promises,' said Checco, bitterly.
'Filippo is right,' said Bartolomeo. 'We must escape.'
'And quickly!' I said.
'I cannot throw up the game,' said Checco. 'And without me, what will happen to my supporters?'
'They may find forgiveness in submission. But you can do no good here. If you are in safety, you may be of some assistance. Anyhow, you will have life.'
Checco buried his face in his hands.
'I cannot, I cannot.'
The Moratini and I insisted. We adduced every argument. Finally he consented.
'We must go together,' I said; 'we may have to fight our way through.'
'Yes,' said Scipione. 'Let us meet at the gate by the river—at two.'
'But go there separately. If the people find we are attempting to escape, they will set upon us.'
'I wish they would,' said Matteo. 'It would give me such satisfaction to put my sword into half a score of their fat bellies!'
'There is no moon.'
'Very well; at two!'
The night was cloudy, and if there had been a moon, it would have been covered. A thin, cold rain was falling, and it was pitch dark. When I got to the river gate, four or five of them were already there. We felt too cold and miserable to speak; we sat on our horses, waiting. As new arrivals came, we peered into their faces, and then, on recognising them, bent back and sat on silently. We were all there but Checco. We waited for a time. At last Bartolomeo Moratini whispered to Matteo,—
'Where did you leave Checco?'
'In the house. He told me to go on, saying he would follow shortly. Two horses were saddled besides mine.'
'Whom was the second for?'
'I don't know!'
We waited on. The rain fell thin and cold. It struck half-past two. Immediately afterwards, we heard the sound of hoofs, and through the mist saw a black form coming towards us.
'Is it you, Checco?' we whispered, for the guard of the gate might have heard us. We were standing in a little plot of waste ground, ten yards from the walls.
'I cannot go with you,' said Checco.
'Why?' we cried.
'Ssh!' said Checco. 'I intended to bring my father, but he will not come.'
None of us had thought of old Orso Orsi.
'He says he is too old, and will not leave his native town. I did all I could to persuade him, but he bade me go, and said they would not dare to touch him. I cannot leave him; therefore go, all of you, and I will remain.'
'You must come, Checco; without you we are helpless.'
'And what of your wife and children?'
'Your presence will exasperate the tyrants. You can do no good, only harm.'
'I cannot leave my father unprotected.'
'I will stay, Checco,' I said. 'I am not well known as you are. I will take care of your father, and you can watch over your family and your interests in safety.'
'No, you must go. It is too dangerous for you.'
'Not half so dangerous as for you. I will do my best to preserve him. Let me stay.'
'Yes,' said the others, 'let Filippo stay. He may escape detection, but you would have no chance.'
The clock struck three.
'Come, come; it is getting late. We must be thirty miles away before daybreak.'
We had already arranged to go to Città di Castello, which was my native place, and in case of accident I had given them letters, so that they might be housed and protected for the present.
'We must have you, Checco, or we will all stay.'
'You will take care of him?' said Checco to me at last.
'I swear it!'
'Very well! Good-bye, Filippo, and God bless you!'
They advanced to the gate, and Checco summoned the captain.
'Open the gate,' he said shortly.
The captain looked at them undecisively. I stood behind in the shade, so that I could not be seen.
'If you make a sound, we will kill you,' said Checco.
They drew their swords. He hesitated, and Checco repeated,—
'Open the gate!'
Then he brought out the heavy keys; the locks were turned, the gate growled on its hinges, and one by one they filed out. Then the gate swung back behind them. I heard a short word of command,and the clatter of horses' hoofs. I put the spurs to my own, and galloped back into the town.
In half an hour the bells were ringing furiously; and it was announced from house to house that the conspirators had fled and the town was free.
INthe morning the council met again and resolved that the town should return to its old obedience, and by surrendering without conditions hoped to receive pardon for its offences. Lodovico Moro entered in triumph, and going to the fortress was received by Caterina, who came forth from the citadel and with him proceeded to the cathedral to hear mass. The good Forlivesi were getting used to ovations; as the Countess passed through the streets they received her with acclamation, thronging the road on each side, blessing her, and her mother, and all her ancestors. She went her way as indifferent as when she had crossed the same streets a few days back amid the execrations of her faithful subjects. The keen observers noticed the firm closing of her mouth, which boded no particular good to the Forlivesi, and consequently redoubled their shouts of joy.
The protonotary Savello had mysteriously disappeared when the news of Checco's flight had been brought him; but Caterina was soon informed thathe had taken refuge in a Dominican monastery. A light smile broke over her lips as she remarked,—
'One would rather have expected him to take refuge in a convent.'
Then she sent people to him to assure him of her good will and beg him to join her. The good man turned pale at the invitation, but he dared not refuse it. So, comforting himself with the thought that she dared not harm the legate of the Pope, he clothed himself in all his courage and his most gorgeous robes, and proceeded to the cathedral.
When she saw him she lifted up two fingers and said solemnly,—
'The peace of God be upon you!'
Then, before he could recover himself, she went on,—
'Sir, it has always been my hope that I should some day meet the gentleman whose fame has reached me as the most talented, most beautiful and most virtuous of his day.'
'Madam—' he interrupted.
'Sir, I beseech you bravely to bear your evil fortunes. Do you not know that fortune is uncertain? If the city has been taken from you, it is the will of God, and as a Christian you must with resignation submit yourself to His decrees.'
It was the beginning of her revenge, and one could see how sweet it was. The courtiers were sniggering at Caterina's speech, and Savello was the picture of discomfort.
'Messer Savello,' she proceeded, 'on a previous meeting you made me some very excellent admonitions on the will of God; now, notwithstanding yourorder, I am going to be so bold as to give you some equally excellent lessons on the same subject. If you will take your place by my side, you will have every opportunity of examining the ways of the Almighty, which, as you may remember you remarked, are inscrutable.'
Savello bowed and advanced to the place pointed out to him.
THEfirst thing I had done on returning to the Palazzo Orsi was to strip myself of my purple and fine linen, shave my beard and moustache, cut my hair short, put on the clothes of a serving-man, and look at myself in a mirror. If I had met in the street the image I saw I should have passed on without recognising it. Still I was not dissatisfied with myself, and I smiled as I thought that it would not be too extraordinary if a lady's wench lost her heart to such a serving-man.
I went to the old Orso's apartments, and found everything quiet; I lay down on a couch outside the doors and tried to sleep; but my thoughts troubled me. My mind was with the sad horsemen galloping through the night, and I wondered what the morrow had in store for them and me. I knew a price would be set upon my head, and I had to remain here in the midst of my enemies as the only protection of an old man of eighty-five.
In a little while I heard the bells which told the town that the conspirators had fled, and at last I fellinto a restless sleep. At six I was awakened by a hurry and bustle in the house.... The servants told one another that Checco had gone, and the Countess would come out of the fortress in a little while; and then God only knew what would happen. They cowered about, whispering, taking no notice of the new serving-man who had appeared in the night. They said that the Palace would be given over to the vengeance of the people, that the servants would suffer instead of the master; and soon one of them gave the signal; he said he would not stay, and since his wages had not been paid he would take them with him. He filled his pockets with such valuables as he could find, and going down a back staircase slid out of a little side door and was lost in the labyrinth of streets. The others were quick to follow his example, and the Palace was subjected to a looting in miniature; the old steward stood by, wringing his hands, but they paid no attention to him, thinking only of their safety and their pockets. Before the sun had had time to clear away the early mists, they had all fled; and besides the old man, the house contained only the white-haired steward, a boy of twenty, his nephew, and myself; and Checco had been such a sweet and gentle master!
We went in to the old Orso. He was seated in a large arm-chair by the fireside, huddled up in a heavy dressing-gown. He had sunk his head down in his collar to keep warm, so that one could only see the dead eyes, the nose, and the sunken, wrinkled cheeks; a velvet cap covered his hair and forehead. He was holding his long, shrivelled hands to the fire, and the flames almost shone through them; they trembledincessantly. He looked up at the sound of our entrance.
'Ah, Pietro!' he said to the steward. Then, after a pause, 'Where is Fabrizio?'
Fabrizio was the servant in whose particular charge the Orso had been put, and the old man had become so fond of him that he would take food only from his hand, and insisted on having him near at every moment of the day. He had been among the first to fill his pockets and decamp.
'Why does not Fabrizio come?' he asked querulously. 'Tell him I want him. I will not be neglected in this way.'
Pietro did not know what to answer. He looked about him in embarrassment.
'Why does not Fabrizio come? Now that Checco is master here, they neglect me. It is scandalous. I shall talk to Checco about it. Where is Fabrizio? Tell him to come immediately on pain of my displeasure.'
His voice was so thin and weak and trembling it was like that of a little child ill with some fever. I saw that Pietro had nothing to say, and Orso was beginning to moan feebly.
'Fabrizio has been sent away,' I said, 'and I have been put in his place.'
Pietro and his nephew looked at me. They noticed for the first time that my face was new, and they glanced at one another with upraised brows.
'Fabrizio sent away! Who sent him away? I won't have him sent away.'
'Checco sent him away.'
'Checco had no right to send him away. I ammaster here. They treat me as if I were a child. It is shameful! Where is Fabrizio? I will not have it, I tell you. It is shameful! I shall speak to Checco about it. Where is Checco?'
None of us answered.
'Why don't you answer when I speak to you? Where is Checco?'
He raised himself in his chair and bent forward to look at us, then he fell back.
'Ah, I remember now,' he murmured. 'Checco has gone. He wanted me to go too. But I am too old, too old, too old. I told Checco what it would be. I know the Forlivesi; I have known them for eighty years. They are more fickle and cowardly than any other people in this cesspool which they call God's earth. I have been an exile fourteen times. Fourteen times I have fled from the city, and fourteen times I have returned. Ah yes, I have lived the life in my time, but I am tired now. I don't want to go out again; and besides, I am so old. I might die before I returned, and I want to die in my own house.'
He looked at the fire, murmuring his confidences to the smouldering ashes. Then he seemed to repeat his talk with Checco.
'No, Checco, I will not come. Go alone. They will not touch me. I am Orso Orsi. They will not touch me; they dare not. Go alone, and give my love to Clarice.'
Clarice was Checco's wife. He kept silence for a while, then he broke out again,—
'I want Fabrizio.'
'Will I not do instead?' I asked.
'Who are you?'
I repeated patiently,—
'I am the servant placed here to serve you instead of Fabrizio. My name is Fabio.'
'Your name is Fabio?' he asked, looking at me.
'Yes.'
'No, it is not! Why do you tell me your name is Fabio? I know your face. You are not a serving-man.'
'You are mistaken,' I said.
'No, no. You are not Fabio. I know your face. Who are you?'
'I am Fabio.'
'Who are you?' he asked again querulously. 'I cannot remember whom you are. Why don't you tell me? Can't you see that I am an old man? Why don't you tell me?'
His voice broke into the moan, and I thought he would cry. He had only seen me twice, but among his few visitors the faces of those he saw remained with him, and he recognised me partly.
'I am Filippo Brandolini,' I said. 'I have remained here to look after you and see that no harm happens. Checco wished to stay himself, but we insisted on his going.'
'Oh, you are a gentleman,' he answered. 'I am glad of that.'
Then, as if the talk had tired him, he sank deeper down in his chair and fell into a dose.
I sent Andrea, the steward's nephew, to see what was happening in the town, and Pietro and I sat in the large window talking in undertones. Suddenly Pietro stopped and said,—
'What is that?'
We both listened. A confused roar in the distance; it resembled the raging of the sea very far away. I opened the window and looked out. The roar became louder, louder, and at last we discovered that it was the sound of many voices.
'What is it?' asked Pietro again.
There was a scrambling up the stairs, the noise of running feet. The door was burst violently open, and Andrea rushed in.
'Save yourselves!' he cried. 'Save yourselves!'
'What is it?'
'They are coming to sack the Palace. The Countess has given them leave, and the whole populace is up.'
The roar increased, and we could distinctly hear the shouting.
'Be quick!' cried Andrea. 'For God's sake be quick! They will be here in a moment!'
I looked to the door, and Pietro, seeing my thoughts, said,—
'Not that way! Here is another door which leads along a passage into a side street.'
He lifted the tapestry and showed a tiny door, which he opened. I ran to old Orso and shook him.
'Wake up!' I said; 'wake up and come with me!'
'What is it?' he asked.
'Never mind; come with me!'
I took his arm and tried to lift him out of his chair, but he caught hold of the handles and would not stir.
'I will not move,' he said. 'What is it?'
'The mob is coming to sack the Palace, and if they find you here they will kill you.'
'I will not move. I am Orso Orsi. They dare not touch me.'
'Be quick! be quick!' screamed Andrea from the window. 'The first of them have appeared in the street. In a moment they will be here.'
'Quick! quick!' cried Pietro.
Now the roar had got so loud that it buzzed in one's ears, and every instant it grew louder.
'Be quick! be quick!'
'You must come,' I said, and Pietro joined his prayers to my commands, but nothing would move the old man.
'I tell you I will not fly. I am the head of my house. I am Orso Orsi. I will not fly like a dog before the rabble.'
'For your son's sake—for our sake,' I implored. 'We shall be killed with you.'
'You may go. The door is open for you. I will stay alone.'
He seemed to have regained his old spirit. It was as if a last flame were flickering up.
'We will not leave you,' I said. 'I have been put by Checco to protect you, and if you are killed I must be killed too. Our only chance is to fly.'
'Quick! quick!' cried Andrea. 'They are nearly here!'
'Oh, master, master,' cried Pietro, 'accept the means he offers you!'
'Be quick! be quick!'
'Would you have me slink down a back passage, like a thief, in my own house? Never!'
'They have reached the doors,' cried Andrea.
The noise was deafening below. The gates had been closed, and we heard a thunder of blows; stones were thrown, sticks beaten against the iron; thenthey seemed to take some great instrument and pound against the locks. Again and again the blows were repeated, but at last there was a crash. A mighty shout broke from the people, and we heard a rush. I sprang to the door of the Orso's room and locked and bolted it, then, calling the others to help me, I dragged a heavy chest against it. We placed another chest on the first, and dragged the bedstead up, pushing it against the chests.
We were only just in time, for, like water rushing at once through every crevice, the mob surged up and filled every corner of the house. They came to our door and pushed it. To their surprise it did not open. Outside someone cried,—
'It's locked!'
The hindrance excited them, and the crowd gathered greater outside.
'Break it open,' they cried.
Immediately heavy blows thundered down on the lock and handle.
'For God's sake, come,' I said, turning to Orso. He did not answer. There was no time to lose, and I could not conquer his obstinacy.
'Then I shall force you,' I cried, catching hold of both his arms and dragging him from the chair. He held on as tight as he could, but his strength was nothing against mine. I caught hold of him, and was lifting him in my arms when the door was burst open. The rush of people threw down the barricade, and the crowd surged into the room. It was too late. I made a rush for the little door with Orso, but I could not get to it. They crowded round me with a shout.
'Take him,' I cried to Pietro, 'while I defend you.'
I drew my sword, but immediately a bludgeon fell on it and it smashed in two. I gave a shout and rushed at my assailants, but it was hopeless. I felt a crushing blow on my head. I sank down insensible.
WHENI opened my eyes I found myself on a bed in a darkened room. By my side was sitting a woman. I looked at her, and wondered who she was.
'Who the devil are you?' I asked, somewhat impolitely.
At the words someone else stepped forward and bent over me. I recognised Andrea; then I recollected what had occurred.
'Where is the Orso?' I asked. 'Is he safe?'
'Do you feel better?' he said.
'I am all right. Where is the Orso?' I tried to sit up, but my head swam. I felt horribly sick and sank back.
'What is the matter?' I moaned.
'Only a broken head,' said Andrea, with a little smile. 'If you had been a real serving-man, instead of a fine gentleman masquerading, you wouldn't think twice about it.'
'Have pity on my infirmities, dear boy,' I murmured faintly. 'I don't pretend that my head is as wooden as yours.'
Then he explained.
'When you were beaten down they made a rush for the old master and bore him off.'
'Oh!' I cried. 'I promised Checco to look after him. What will he think!'
'It was not your fault.' At the same time he renewed the bandages round my head and put cooling lotions on.
'Good boy!' I said, as I enjoyed the cold water on my throbbing head.
'When I saw the blows come down on your head, and you fall like a stone, I thought you were killed. With you soft-headed people one never knows!'
'It appears to amuse you,' I said. 'But what happened afterwards?'
'In the excitement of their capture they paid no attention to us, and my uncle and I dragged you through the little door, and eventually carried you here. You are a weight!'
'And where am I?'
'In my mother's house, where you are requested to stay as long as it suits your convenience.'
'And Orso?'
'My uncle went out to see, and reports that they have put him in prison. As yet no harm has been done him. The palace has been sacked; nothing but the bare walls remain.'
At that moment Pietro came in panting.
'Two of the conspirators have been taken.'
'My God, not Checco or Matteo!'
'No; Pietro Albanese and Marco Scorsacana.'
'How did the others escape?'
'I don't know. All I heard was that the horse ofMarco broke down, and Pietro refused to leave him. At a village close to the frontier Pietro was recognised, and they were both arrested and sent here for the sake of the reward.'
'My God!'
'They were brought into the town on asses, with their hands tied behind their backs, and the mob yelled with derision, and threw stones and refuse at them.'
'And now?'
'They have been taken to the prison, and—'
'Well?'
'The execution is to take place to-morrow.'
I groaned. Pietro Albanese and Marco had been like Damon and Pythias. I shuddered as I thought of the fate in store for them. They had been conspicuous in their hatred of the Count, and it was they who had helped to throw the body into the piazza. I knew there would be no forgiveness in Caterina's heart, and all the night I wondered what vengeance she was meditating.
NEXTday I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we went out together.
'No one would mistake you for a gentleman to-day,' he laughed.
My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them; moreover, I had a two days' beard, and my head muffled up in bandages, so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us.
We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature was full of peace and goodwill; but in men's hearts was lust of blood.... A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and her suite. Amid ringingcheers she entered the square, accompanied by her half-brother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello. They took their seats on the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak.
A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps; then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless, his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix.... He was followed by another troop of soldiers, and after them came another bare-headed figure, his hands also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly.
They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the prisoners were left standing before their judges.
'Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,' said the Countess, in a clear, calm voice, 'you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it wasyou who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones of the piazza.'
A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed to take courage.
The Countess turned to Savello.
'Do you not agree that the judgment is just?'
'Most just!' he whispered.
'The protonotary says, "Most just!"' she called aloud, so that all should hear. The man winced.
Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, 'I would ten times rather be in my place than in yours.'
The Countess smiled at the priest and said, 'You see, I carry out the will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.'
She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window, with one end of the rope round his neck.
'Good-bye, sweet friend,' he said to Marco.
'Good-bye, Pietrino,' and Marco kissed him.
Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in mid-air; a horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the rope. From the people came ahuge shout, and they caught the body as it fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful! Oh, God! Oh, God!
Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up, wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a miserable old man, Orso Orsi.
'Oh,' I groaned. 'What are they going to do to him?'
A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made before the stage, and Caterina spoke again.
'Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before your eyes—stone by stone.'
The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked on it. And now it was gone.
The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel woman spoke.
'You have received punishment for yourself, Orso, and now you are to receive punishment for your son. Make room!'
And the soldiers, repeating her words, cried,—
'Make room!'
The people were pushed and hustled back till they were crammed against the house walls, leaving in the centre an enormous empty space. Then a flourish of trumpets, and the people made an opening at the end of the square to allow the passage of a horse and man, the horse—a huge black stallion—prancing and plunging, and on each side a man was holding the bridle. On his back sat a big man, dressed all in flaming red, and a red hood covered his head and face, leaving two apertures for the eyes. A horrified whisper ran round the square.
'The hangman!'
In the centre of the piazza he stopped. Caterina addressed the Orso.
'Have you anything to say, Orso Orsi?'
At last he seemed to hear, he looked at her and then, with all the strength he had, hurled the word at her,—
'Bastard!'
She flushed angrily and made a sign. Two men seized the old man and dragged him off the mule; they caught hold of his legs, throwing him to the ground, and with a thick rope tied his ankles together.
At this I understood. I was seized with sudden horror, and I cried out. Obeying a sudden impulse, I started forward; I don't know what I was going todo; I felt I must protect him or die with him. I started forward, but Andrea threw his arms round me and held me back.
'Let me go,' I said, struggling.
'Don't be a fool!' he whispered. 'What can you do against all these?'
It was no use; I gave way. Oh, God! that I should stand by and see this awful thing and be utterly powerless. I wondered the people could suffer this last atrocity; I thought they must scream and rush to save the wretched man. But they watched—they watched eagerly....
By his feet they dragged him to the horse, and the end of the rope round his ankles they tied to the horse's tail and about the rider's waist.
'Ready?' cried the hangman.
'Yes!' answered the soldiers.
They all sprang back; the hangman dug the spurs into his horse. The people gave a huge shout, and the fiery beast went careering round the square at full tilt. The awful burden dragging behind terrified him, and with head strained forward and starting eyes he galloped madly. The mob urged him on with cries, and his rider dug the spurs in deeply; the pavement was scattered with blood.
God knows how long the wretched man lived. I hope he died at once. At last the brute's furious career was stopped, the ropes were cut, the corpse fell back, and, the people again making passage, horse and rider disappeared. In the middle of the piazza, in a pool of blood, lay a shapeless mass. It was ordered that it should be left there till nightfall as an example to evildoers.
Andrea wanted to come away, but I insisted on staying to see what happened more. But it was the end, for Caterina turned to Savello and said,—
'I do not forget that all power comes from God, Monsignor, and I wish solemnly to render thanks to the Divine Majesty, who has saved me, my children and the State. Therefore, I shall order a grand procession which shall march round the town and afterwards hear mass at the cathedral.'
'It shows, madam,' replied Savello, 'that you are a pious and truly Christian woman.'
WHENit was night and the piazza deserted, Andrea and I and the old steward went out and made our way to the place where the horrible corpse was lying. We wrapped it in a long black cloth and took it up silently, bearing it to the church where for generations the Orsi had been buried. A dark-robed monk met us in the nave and led the way to a door, which he opened; then, as if frightened, left us. We found ourselves in the cloisters. We laid the body down under an arch and advanced into the centre, where was a plot of green scattered over with little crosses. We took spades and began to dig; a thin rain drizzled down and the ground was stiff and clayey. It was hard work and I sweated; I took off my coat and allowed the rain to fall on me unprotected; I was soon wet to the skin. Silently Andrea and I turned up the soil, while Pietro, beneath the cloisters, watched by the body and prayed. We were knee deep now, and still we threw up heavy spadefuls of clay. At last I said,—
'It is enough.'
We climbed out and went to the body. We took it up and bore it to the grave, and reverently we laid it in. Pietro placed a crucifix on the old master's breast, and then we began to pile in the earth.
And so without priests, without mourning, in the dead of night, and by the drizzling rain, was buried Orso Orsi, the great head of the family. In his time he had been excellent in war and in all the arts of peace. He had been noted for his skill in commerce; in politics he had been the first of his city, and, besides, he had been a great and generous patron of the arts. But he lived too long, and died thus miserably.
Next day I set about thinking what I should do. I could be of no more use to anyone in Forli; indeed, I had never been of use, for I had only stood by and watched while those I loved and honoured were being put to cruel deaths. And now I must see that my presence did not harm my kind hosts. Caterina had thrown into prison some fifty of those who had taken part in the rebellion, notwithstanding her solemn promise of amnesty, and I knew well enough that if I were discovered Pietro and Andrea would suffer as severe a punishment as myself. They gave no sign that my presence was a menace to them, but in the woman's eyes, Andrea's mother, I saw an anxious look, and at any unexpected sound she would start and look fearfully at me. I made up my mind to go immediately. When I told Andrea, he insisted on coming with me, and although I painted the danger in lively colours he would not be dissuaded. The next day was market-day, and we resolved to slip out in a cart as soon as the gates wereopened. We would be taken for tradesmen, and no one would pay attention to us.
I was anxious to see what was happening in the town and what people were talking of; but I thought it prudent not to venture out, for my disguise might be seen through, and if I were discovered I knew well what to expect. So I sat at home twiddling my thumbs and chattering with Andrea. At last, getting tired of doing nothing, and seeing the good woman about to scrub out her courtyard, I volunteered to do it for her. I got a broom and a pail of water and began sweeping away vigorously, while Andrea stood in the doorway scoffing. For a little while I forgot the terrible scene in the piazza.
There was a knock at the door. We stopped and listened; the knock was repeated, and as no answer was given, the latch was raised and the door opened. A servant-maid walked in and carefully closed it behind her. I recognised her at once; it was Giulia's maid. I shrank back, and Andrea stood in front of me. His mother went forward.
'And pray, madam, what can I do for you?'
The maid did not answer, but stepped past her.
'There is a serving-man here for whom I have a message.'
She came straight towards me, and handed me a piece of paper; then, without another word, slid back to the door and slipped out.
The note contained four words, 'Come to me to-night,' and the handwriting was Giulia's. A strange feeling came over me as I looked at it, and my hand trembled a little.... Then I began pondering. Why did she want me? I could not think, and it occurredto me that perhaps she wished to give me up to the Countess. I knew she hated me, but I could not think her as vile as that; after all, she was her father's daughter, and Bartolomeo was a gentleman. Andrea looked at me questioningly.
'It is an invitation from my greatest enemy to put myself in her hands.'
'But you will not?'
'Yes,' I said, 'I will.'
'Why?'
'Because it is a woman.'
'But do you think she would betray you?'
'She might.'
'And you are going to take the risk?'
'I think I should be glad to prove her so utterly worthless.'
Andrea looked at me open-mouthed; he could not understand. An idea struck him.
'Are you in love with her?'
'No; I was.'
'And now?'
'Now, I do not even hate her.'
THEnight came, and when everyone had gone to bed and the town was quiet, I said to Andrea, 'Wait for me here, and if I do not come back in two hours you will know—'
He interrupted me.
'I am coming with you.'
'Nonsense!' I said. 'I don't know what danger there may be, and there is no object in your exposing yourself to it.'
'Where you go I will go too.'
I argued with him, but he was an obstinate youth.
We walked along the dark streets, running like thieves round corners when we heard the heavy footsteps of the watch. The Palazzo Aste was all dark; we waited outside a little while, but no one came, and I dared not knock. Then I remembered the side door. I still had the key, and I took it from my pocket.
'Wait outside,' I said to Andrea.
'No, I am coming with you.'
'Perhaps there is an ambush.'
'Two are more likely to escape than one.'
I put the key in the lock, and as I did so my heart beat and my hand trembled, but not with fear. The key turned, and I pushed the door open. We entered and walked up the stairs. Sensations which I had forgotten crowded upon me, and my heart turned sick.... We came to an ante-room dimly lit. I signed Andrea to wait, and myself passed into the room I knew too well. It was that in which I had last seen Giulia—the Giulia I had loved—and nothing was altered in it. The same couch stood in the centre, and on it lay Giulia, sleeping. She started up.
'Filippo!'
'At your service, madam.'
'Lucia recognised you in the street yesterday, and she followed you to the house in which you are staying.'
'Yes.'
'My father sent me a message that you were still here, and if I wanted help would give it me.'
'I will do whatever I can for you.'
What a fool I was to come. My head was in a whirl, my heart was bursting. My God! she was beautiful! I looked at her, and suddenly I knew that all the dreary indifference I had built up had melted away at the first look into her eyes. And I was terrified.... My love was not dead; it was alive, alive! Oh, how I adored that woman! I burned to take her in my arms and cover her soft mouth with kisses.
Oh, why had I come? I was mad. I cursed my weakness.... And, when I saw her standing there, cold and indifferent as ever, I felt so furious a ragewithin me that I could have killed her. And I felt sick with love....
'Messer Filippo,' she said, 'will you help me now? I have been warned by one of the Countess's women that the guard have orders to arrest me to-morrow; and I know what the daughter of Bartolomeo Moratini may expect. I must fly to-night—at once.'
'I will help you,' I answered.
'What shall I do?'
'I can disguise you as a common woman. The mother of my friend Andrea will lend you clothes; and Andrea and I will accompany you. Or, if you prefer, after we have safely passed the gates, he shall accompany you alone wherever you wish to go.'
'Why will you not come?'
'I feared my presence would make the journey more tedious to you.'
'And to you?'
'To me it would be a matter of complete indifference.'
She looked at me a moment, then she cried,—
'No, I will not come!'
'Why not?'
'Because you hate me.'
I shrugged my shoulders.
'I should have thought my sentiments were of no consequence.'
'I will not be helped by you. You hate me too much. I will stay in Forli.'
'You are your own mistress.... Why do you mind?'
'Why do I mind? Shall I tell you?' She came close up to me. 'Because—because I love you.'
My head swam, and I felt myself stagger.... I did not know what was happening.
'Filippo!'
'Giulia!'
I opened my arms, and she fell into them, and I held her close to my heart, and I covered her with kisses.... I covered her mouth and eyes and neck with kisses.
'Giulia! Giulia!'
But I wrenched myself away, and taking hold of her shoulders, said almost savagely.
'But this time I must have you altogether. Swear that you will—'
She lifted her sweet face and smiled, and nestling close up to me, whispered,—
'Will you marry me?'
I kissed her.
'I loved you always,' I said. 'I tried to hate you, but I could not.'
'Do you remember that night at the Palace? You said you had never cared for me.'
'Ah, yes! but you did not believe me.'
'I felt it was not true, but I did not know; and it pained me. And then Claudia—'
'I was so angry with you, I would have done anything to revenge myself; but still I loved you.'
'But, Claudia—you loved her too?'
'No,' I protested, 'I hated her and despised her; but I tried to forget you; and I wanted you to feel certain that I no longer cared for you.'
'I hate her.'
'Forgive me,' I said.
'I forgive you everything,' she answered.
I kissed her passionately; and I did not remember that I too had something to forgive.
The time flew on, and when a ray of light pierced through the windows I started up in surprise.
'We must make haste,' I said. I went into the ante-room and found Andrea fast asleep. I shook him.
'At what time do the gates open?' I asked.
He rubbed his eyes, and, on a repetition of the question, answered, 'Five!'
It was half-past four; we had no time to lose. I thought for a minute. Andrea would have to go to his mother's and find the needful clothes, then come back; it would all take time, and time meant life and death. Then, the sight of a young and beautiful woman might arouse the guard's attention, and Giulia might be recognised.
An idea struck me.
'Undress!' I said to Andrea.
'What?'
'Undress! Quickly.'
He looked at me blankly, I signed to him, and as he was not rapid enough I tore off his coat; then he understood and in a minute he was standing in his shirt while I had walked off with his clothes. I handed them to Giulia and came back. Andrea was standing in the middle of the room, the very picture of misery. He looked very ridiculous.
'Look here, Andrea,' I said. 'I have given your clothes to a lady, who is going to accompany me instead of you. Do you see?'
'Yes, and what am I to do?'
'You can stay with your mother for the present,and then, if you like, you can join me at my house in Città di Castello.'
'And now?'
'Oh, now you can go home.'
He did not answer, but looked at me dubiously, then at his bare legs and his shirt, then again at me. I pretended not to understand.
'You seem troubled, my dear Andrea. What is the matter?'
He pointed to his shirt.
'Well?' I said.
'It is usual to go about in clothes.'
'A broad-minded youth like you should be free from such prejudice,' I answered gravely. 'On such a morning you will find life much pleasanter without hose and doublet.'
'Common decency—'
'My dear boy, are you not aware that our first parents were content with fig-leaves, and are you not satisfied with a whole shirt? Besides, have you not a fine pair of legs and a handsome body; what are you ashamed of?'
'Everyone will follow me.'
'All the more reason to have something to show them.'
'The guard will lock me up.'
'How will the jailor's daughter be able to resist you in that costume!'
Then another idea struck me, and I said,—
'Well, Andrea, I am grieved to find you of so unpoetical a turn of mind; but I will deny you nothing.' I went to Giulia, and taking the clothes she had just cast off brought them to Andrea.
'There!'
He gave a cry of delight, but on seizing them, and discovering petticoats and flounces, his face fell. I leant against the wall and laughed till my sides ached.
Then Giulia appeared, a most fascinating serving-boy....
'Good-bye,' I cried, and hurried down the stairs. We marched boldly to the city gate, and with beating hearts and innocent countenances, passed through and found ourselves in the open country.
THEOrsi and the Moratini had taken my advice and gone to Città di Castello; so it was to that city we directed our way, and eventually reached it in safety. I did not know where Bartolomeo Moratini was, and I did not wish to take Giulia to my own house, so I placed her in a Benedictine convent, the superior of which, on hearing my name, promised to give her guest every care.
Then I went to the old palace which I had not seen for so many years. I had been too excited to get really home to notice anything of the streets as I passed through them; but as I came in view of the well-remembered walls, I stopped, overcome with strange emotions.... I remembered the day when news had been brought me that the old Vitelli, who was then ruler of Castello, had murmured certain things about me which caused my neck to itch uncomfortably—and upon this I had entrusted my little brother to a relative, who was one of the canons of the cathedral, and the palace to my steward, and mounting my horse, ridden off with all possible haste. I had supposed that a few months would calm theangry Vitelli, but the months had lengthened out into years, and his death had come before his forgiveness. But now I really was back, and I did not mean to go away; my travels had taught me caution, and my intrigues at Forli given me enough excitement for some time. Besides, I was going to marry and rear a family; for, as if Fortune could not give scantily, I had gained a love as well as a home, and everything I wished was granted.
My meditations were interrupted.
'Corpo di Bacco!'
It was Matteo, and in a moment I was in his arms.
'I was just asking myself what that fool was staring at this house for, and thinking of telling him it was impolite to stare, when I recognised the house's owner.'
I laughed, and shook his hand again.
'Well Filippo, I am sure we shall be very pleased to offer you hospitality.'
'You are most kind.'
'We have annexed the whole place, but I daresay you will be able to find room somewhere. But come in.'
'Thanks,' I said, 'if you do not mind.'
I found Checco, Bartolomeo and his two sons sitting together. They jumped up when they saw me.
'What news? What news?' they asked.
Then suddenly I remembered the terrible story I had to tell, for in my own happiness I had forgotten everything that went before. I suddenly became grave.
'Bad news,' I said. 'Bad news.'
'Oh, God! I have been foreboding it. Every night I have dreamed awful things.'
'Checco,' I answered. 'I have done all I could; but, alas! it has been of no avail. You left me as a protector and I have been able to protect no one.'
'Go on!'
Then I began my story. I told them how the Council had opened the gates, surrendering unconditionally, and how the Countess had sallied forth in triumph. That was nothing. If there had been no worse news for them than that! But Checco clenched his hands as I related the sacking of his palace. And I told him how old Orso had refused to fly and had been seized, while I had lain senseless on the floor.
'You did your best, Filippo,' said Checco. 'You could do nothing more. But afterwards?'
I told them how Marco Scorsacana and Pietro had been taken prisoners, and led into the town like thieves caught in the act; how the crowd had gathered together, and how they had been brought to the square and hanged from the Palace window, and their bodies torn to pieces by the people.
'Oh, God!' uttered Checco. 'And all this is my fault.'
I told them that the old Orso was brought forward and taken to his palace, and before his eyes it was torn down, stone after stone, till only a heap of ruins marked the site.
Checco gave a sob.
'My palace, my home!'
And then, as if the blow was too great, he bent his head and burst into tears.
'Do not weep yet, Checco,' I said. 'You will have cause for tears presently.'
He looked up.
'What more?'
'Your father.'
'Filippo!'
He started up, and stepping back, stood against the wall, his arms against it, outstretched, with white and haggard face and staring eyes, like a hunted beast at bay.
I told him how they had taken his father and bound him, and thrown him down, and tied him to the savage beast, and how he had been dragged along till his blood spattered on the pavement and his soul left him.
Checco uttered a most awful groan, and, looking up to heaven, as if to call it in witness, cried,—
'Oh, God!'
Then, sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands, and in his agony swayed from side to side. Matteo went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him; but he motioned him aside.
'Let me be.'
He rose from his seat, and we saw that his eyes were tearless, for his grief was too great for weeping. Then, with his hands before him like a blind man, he staggered to the door and left us.
Scipione, the weak man, was crying.