CHAPTER XXV.
THE VENGEANCE OF CORTE.
We buried our dead; and madame slept beneath the ilex, in thecourtyard of the castle, below the north wall. Over her nameless gravewe raised a rude cross, and after it was done, Carillon bade mefarewell. He was going, he said, to bear the story to St. Armande, andwhen he reached it, I wit there was sorrow in the Picard chateau,whence madame took her name. It was with a heart of lead that I rodeinto Sassoferrato, and there, as arranged, made over my prize toHawkwood. The tale of the ducats was complete, and the Englishman,giving me my quittance, held out his hand, saying bluntly--
"I wronged you, Di Savelli; but I know now. We all know, for Bayardhas told us."
I hesitated. Many memories came to me, and there was bitter resentmentin my soul. They had all been too ready to believe. They had flung meforth as a thing too vile to touch, and now--it was an easy matter tohold out a hand, to say, "I am sorry," to think that a civil wordwould heal a hideous wound. The kind world was going to forgive me,because it had wronged me. Such as it was, however, it was the world,and things had made me a little humble. After all, if the positionswere reversed; if I stood in Hawkwood's place, and he in mine, howshould I have acted? I would not like to say.
"Come," said Hawkwood, "let the past be covered. Come back--we wantyou."
"As you will," and I took his grasp; "I will come back in a littletime. Till then adieu!"
"Good-bye!" and we parted.
Five minutes later, I was spurring to Rome, my following at my heels.It was, in a manner, putting my neck on the block, for Bozardo wasprobably making his way thither with all speed, and doubtlessD'Entrangues as well. Recognition was almost certain; but risk or norisk, I was bound to see the cardinal, and tell him my task was done.Little did I think, however, as Castor bore me, with his long, easygallop, across the oak forests of the Nera, that the face of affairsin Rome had been changed in an hour, and that, had I so wished, Imight have, in safety, proclaimed what I had done from the veryhouse-tops. As we came nearer the city, it was evident that there wassome great commotion within, for, from every quarter pillars of dimsmoke rose up in spiral columns, and then spreading out like a fanhung sullenly in the yellow of the sunset. It was clear that houseswere burning, and swords were out. We soon began to meet parties offugitives, hurrying from the city, and making across country in alldirections. They avoided us like the plague, and the mere glint of ourarms was sufficient to make them scatter to right and left, leavingsuch property as they could not bear with them, to the tender merciesof the road-side. Some of my men were eager to ride after therunaways, and question them; but I forbade this, knowing we shouldhear soon enough, and that if there were danger, it would be best tohold together.
"_Per Bacco!_" and Jacopo, riding up beside me, pointed to a blackcloud, which slowly rose, and settled above the vineyards of thePincian Hill, "we had best go with a leaden boot, excellency. There isa devil's carnival in Rome, or I am foresworn."
At this juncture, we turned an abrupt corner of the road, coming upona crowd of fugitives, who seemed to be running forwards, caring littlewhere they went, so that they put a distance between them and Rome.Amongst the throng was a figure I recognised; and in a mean habit,mounted on a mule, which was seized with an obstinate fit, and refusedto budge, although soundly thwacked, I saw the Cardinal of Strigonia.Bidding Jacopo keep the men together, I rode up to him, and asked--
"Can I render your eminence any aid?"
His round eyes, starting out of his head like a runaway hare's,glanced at me in fear, and the stick he bore dropped from his hand, nodoubt much to the satisfaction of the mule. At first he was unable tospeak, for my words seemed to fill the man with terror, and I had torepeat the question, before he stammered out--
"You are mistaken, sir; I am no eminence, but a poor brother of MountCarmel, on my way to Foligno, out of this hell behind me," and heglanced over his shoulder towards Rome.
"I see," I answered with a smile, "but if the poor brother of MountCarmel will look more closely at me, he will see a friend. In short,your eminence, I am Di Savelli."
"_Corpo di Bacco!_ I mean our Lady be thanked. And so it is you,cavaliere! Take my advice, and turn your horse's head to Foligno. Onbeast!" and he kicked at the mule, which moved not an inch.
"I am for Rome, your eminence; but what has happened?"
"Oh, that I had a horse!" he groaned. "What has happened? Everythinghas happened. Alexander is dead or dying. Cesare dead, they say, andburning in Hades by this. Orsini and Colonna at the old game of hammerand tongs----"
"And the Cardinal--D'Amboise?"
"Safe enough I believe, as the Orsini hold the Borgo, and havedeclared for France."
"Trust me, your reverence, you will be safer in Rome than out of it.The whole country will rise at the news, and the habit of Mount Carmelwill not save the Cardinal of Strigonia. Turn back with me, and I willescort you to the Palazzo Corneto."
To make a short story, D'Este agreed after a little persuasion, andthe mule was kind enough to amble back very willingly to Rome. Weplaced his eminence in the centre of our troops, and went onwards,entering the city by the Porta Pinciana, riding along leisurely in thedirection of S. Trinita di Monti, and thence straight on towards theRipetta. It was a work of no little danger to make this last passage,for everywhere bands of plunderers were engaged in gutting the houses,many of which were in flames, and we continually came across deadbodies, or passed houses from which we heard shrieks of agony. Wecould help no one. It was all we could do to keep our own heads on ourshoulders; but by dint of shouting, "_A Colonna!_" with the Colonna,and "_Orsini_! _Orsini!_" with their rivals, and sometimes hitting ashrewd blow or two, we crossed the Ripetta, and in a few minutes weresafe in the Palazzo Corneto.
Here we were received by Le Clerc, who comforted the tremblingStrigonia, with the assurance that an excellent supper awaited him,informing me, almost in the same breath, that D'Amboise was in theVatican. I lost no time in repairing thither, which I did on foot,accompanied by Jacopo alone, and made my way without let or hindranceto the Torre Borgia. Here everything was in the wildest confusion, andthe Spanish soldiers of the Pope were plundering right and left. Istumbled across De Leyva, who, with a few men at his back, was tryingto maintain order. He gladly accepted the offer of my sword, and wedid what we could to prevent the wholesale robbery from going on. In abrief interval of rest, I asked,
"Do you know where D'Amboise is?"
"In the Sistine Chapel, with half-a-dozen others; De Briconnet guardsthe entrance."
"And Alexander?"
"Dead or dying--I do not even know where he is; Don Michele has seizedas much as he can, and carrying Cesare on a litter, has escaped toOstia."
"Then Cesare is not dead----"
"No. Cross of St. James! see that?" and he pointed to a reelingdrunken crowd, full with wine and plunder, who passed by us withyells, into the great reception rooms.
Followed by the few men who remained steady, De Leyva dashed afterthem, and with Jacopo at my heels, I made for the Sistine Chapel. Ireached the Scala Begia, and although I knew the Sistine Chapel wasbut a few feet distant, yet, owing to the darkness that prevailed, Imissed the way, and Jacopo was of course unable to help me. Gropingonwards we came to a small door, and pushing it, found it to openeasily. It led into a narrow, vaulted passage, where the darkness wasas if a velvet curtain of black hung before us. "I like not the lookof this, excellency," said Jacopo, as we halted in front of the door.
"Keep a drawn sword," I answered, "and follow me."
We could only go in single file, and picked our way with the greatestcare, our feet ringing on the stone floor. Except for this, thesilence was intense, and we could hear no sound of the devilryoutside. The passage continued, until we almost began to think it hadno end, but at last the darkness gave way to a semi-gloom, and a faintbar of light gleamed ahead of us. At this we increased our pace,finding a sharp corner, a little beyond which
rose a winding flight ofstairs, ending before a half-open door, through which the dim lightcame. I put my foot on the first of the steps, and was about toascend, when we were startled by hearing a moan of mortal agony,followed by a laugh, so wild and shrill, so exultant, and yet so fullof malice, that it chilled us to the bone. It pealed through the door,and echoed down the passage behind us, until the horrid cadence becamefainter and fainter, finally dying away into the black darkness.
"God save us!" exclaimed Jacopo, "it is a fiend laughing its way tohell."
He went on, with chattering teeth, to adjure me to go no further; butcrossing myself, I bade him be silent, and stepped forwards. Sincethat moan of agony, and terrible laugh of triumph, there was no sound,and I could almost hear my heart beating, as I reached the door.Jacopo had nerved himself to follow me, and stood pale and tremblingat my shoulder, his sword quivering in his shaking hand. I was myselfnot free from fear, for no man may combat with spirits, but after amoment's hesitation, I looked cautiously in. I saw before me a room ofgreat size, dimly lighted by two tall candles, burning on each side ofa massive bedstead, on which lay a man bound, and writhing in thethroes of death. The light, though faint around the room, fell full onthe face of the man, and horribly as the features were changed,distorted as they were, I saw they were those of Alexander, andthat he was in his last agony, alone and friendless in his splendidpalace. Yet not alone, there was another figure in the room. As Ilooked, it stepped out of the gloom of the rich curtains at thewindow, and standing over the bed, laughed again, that terrible laughof devilish joy. At the sound, the dying man moaned through his black,foam-clothed lips, and Corte, for it was he, bent over the body andmocked him.
"Roderigo Borgia, Vicar of Christ, hell yawns for you; but a fewmoments, Borgia, but a few moments of life; think you, that you suffernow? There is more coming--things I even cannot dream of." In the faceof Alexander came so awful a look of entreaty that I could bear it nolonger. I stepped into the room, and putting my hand on Corte'sshoulder, said,
"Come, let him die in peace."
He turned on me with a snarl, but recognising me, laughed again.
"Ha! ha! Let him die in peace. Why, man, you saw her die, and can saythis? But he is going too. It is a week since his doctor, MatthewCorte, bled him for an ague, and touched him with a little knife, justa little pin-prick. He began to die then; but hell is not yet hotenough for him. He dies in too much peace. Why, my dog died in moreagony! But he has felt something. See those torn curtains! See thisdisordered room! He tore those curtains in his madness. He bit at thewood of the chairs, he howled like a dog at the moon, and they tiedhim here, and left him. I alone watch. I will let him die in peace.Ha! ha! It is good. I do not want him to die yet. I give him food, andhe lives. In a little while perhaps he will die. But in peace! ha! ha!I could almost die with laughter, when I hear that. It is too good!Ha! ha!"
I saw it was hopeless to do anything with Corte, and the Pope wasbeyond repair. I might have cut down the madman, but it would haveserved no purpose. For a moment I thought I would pass my swordthrough the Borgia, and free him from pain. It would have been amercy, but I luckily had the sense to restrain myself. Again,Alexander deserved his fate, and a few minutes more or less would makeno difference. So I left the wretch to die the death of a dog, thatbefitted his life, and turning on my heel, went back through thepassage.
Jacopo heaved a sigh of relief as we came out, and I felt a differentman as I ran down the steps of the Scala Regia. Here I met with DeLeyva again, and told him what I had seen.
"The Camerlengo has just gone to him," he answered, referring to thePope, "and you have missed D'Amboise. He has returned to the PalazzoCorneto. I can do nothing here, and am going myself. Do you walk orride? I have no horse."
"Walk," I answered, and the Spaniard linked his arm in mine, as,followed by Jacopo, we took our way back to the cardinal's house.
On reaching I sought D'Amboise at once. He had heard of my arrival,and was awaiting me. After a brief greeting, I told him his businesswas done, and handed him the quittance I had received from Hawkwood.He was mightily pleased, as may be imagined. I felt it my duty toinform him of the death of St. Armande, telling him how it occurred,without in any way disclosing my knowledge of the secret. He was muchaffected.
"It is a sad business," he said, "but we have other things to think ofnow. _Mon Dieu_! _mon Dieu!_" And to this day I am unaware if he knewor not.
But the night was not yet over, and late as it was, there were yetthings to be done. About midnight we heard that Alexander was dead,and a few minutes later Gentil' Orsini hurried to the cardinal. Theyheld a hasty council, and De Briconnet and I were summoned. News hadcome that Cesare had not yet left Ostia, that he was too ill totravel, and D'Amboise and Orsini resolved on a bold stroke. It wasnothing less than the capture of Borgia. Orsini offered to lend twohundred lances for the purpose, but a leader was wanted. He could notgo himself, as his archenemy, Fabrizio Colonna, held all Rome on theleft bank of the Tiber, and was in sufficient force to make a dash forthe Borgo at any moment. The short of it was, that at the cardinal'srecommendation, I received the command, and about two in the morningset out for Ostia. If the ships Cesare had hired had arrived thematter was ended, and we could do nothing; but if not, there was everychance of his surrendering without a blow, as although he had aboutfive hundred men with him, they were not to be relied on, except thehalf-dozen cut-throats who formed his personal guard, and who might betrusted to fight to the last. The luck which had followed me so farfavoured me again, and pressing on as fast as our horses could bearus, we came up with the fugitives in the early morning. Only one ship,too small to hold all, had come, and they were crowded on the banks ofthe Tiber, making every effort to embark. The river-shore was strewnwith the enormous quantity of baggage they had with them, and a sceneof the utmost confusion took place on our arrival. The ship wasdrawing up to the quay, and we could see the litter of the Borgia,surrounded by the few men who meant to fight. The affair was over infive minutes, and Cesare was my prisoner. Seeing how matters stood,the master of the ship anchored in midstream, heedless of the yellsand execrations of the followers of the Borgia, who were not spared bymy men. Indeed, I had great difficulty in keeping Cesare from harm. Hewas in truth very ill, but was able to gasp out as he yielded:--
"_Maldetto!_ It is my fate. I had prepared for everything except beingill." He then lay back in his litter, and spoke no more.
One short and desperate attempt was made to rescue him. About a dozenhorsemen charged right at us, and for a moment it appeared as if theywould succeed. But we were too strong, and although they inflictedsevere loss on us, killing Bande Nere amongst others, they were cutdown, all but one, who led them. This man, seeing all was lost, anddetermined not to be taken himself, galloped to the quay, and strikinghis spurs home, leaped his horse far into the river, and made for thevessel. The stream was running fast and strong, but the good beast,despite his burden, struggled bravely against the flood. To relievethe horse, the cavalier, having torn off his morion, slipped from thesaddle, and with his hand on the pommel, attempted manfully to swimbeside the animal. The weight of his cuirass, however, bore him down.Twice his head sank below the water, twice he rose again and battledwith the flood. Those on the ship made no effort to save him, and weon shore could do nothing. He had now, fighting every inch of his way,drifted astern of the vessel, and someone flung a rope at him. Hishand reached out to clasp it, but missed, and then the under-currentcaught man and horse and dragged them down. He rose yet once again,his white despairing face turned towards us, and with a supreme effortof hate, shook his clenched hand at me, and was gone.
So died Crepin D'Entrangues, the death of a brave man, unyielding andfighting to the last. The yellow Tiber hissed in white foam over thespot where he sank. Perchance the mad currents dragged his body downto the slime of the river-bed, picked it up again in their swirl,tossed it in sport from one to another, and finally flung it to rot onsome lonely bank, where the gulls scream
ed above it, and the foxes ofthe Maremma gnawed at the rusty armour, and snapped and snarled overthe white bones in the moonlight.
The Honour of Savelli: A Romance Page 26