CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCERNING MANY THINGS.
Everyone knows the history of the times, and it is not my intention todilate on this, but merely to set down, without comment, those mattersof state in which Fortune allowed me to play a part. When Cesaresurrendered at Ostia the Borgia were broken for ever, and Valentinoisallowed, after a short confinement, to escape to Spain, where he diedlike a soldier. Now that the game was in their hands, the allies beganto quarrel amongst themselves, the French king to drivel away hisopportunities in gaiety, and the Venetians to step in, in their MostSerene way, and claim a share of the spoils for the Lion of St. Mark.Events moved quickly, the genius of the Great Captain won victoryafter victory for Spain, the death of Francis Piccolomini paved theway for the accession of Rouvere to the Papacy as Julius II., and theHoly League was formed, by means of which the French were finallydriven from Italy. Thus, in a few years, the work of D'Amboise wasscattered to the winds, but long before that time I had sheathed mysword, and concerned myself no more with war.
But on the day that I surrendered my prisoner to D'Amboise and Orsini,the former already in thought sat in St. Peter's Chair, and thelatter, at the very least, imagined himself the Lord of the Romagna. Isent forward couriers, with the news of my success, to the cardinal,and ere we reached Malafede, met with a return messenger fromD'Amboise, bearing a brief note of congratulation, and adding thatColonna had made terms to evacuate the portions of the city he held.The messenger informed me, that the Bailly of Caen had already enteredRome by the Porta Pia, and that, finding himself between two fires,old Fabrizi Colonna had made a virtue of necessity, and by yieldingnow, reserved himself for another day. This enabled me to go back byan easier route than we had come, and as we rode through the OstianGate, I could not help contrasting my present entry to the day whenJacopo and I had reined in our weary steeds to let the Borgia pass,and give his following the road. At the Ponte S. Angelo, I surrenderedmy prisoner to Orsini in person, and truly thought he would have but afew hours more to live, for Gentil' Virginio had a long score tosettle with the Borgia, and a longer memory for a wrong. The blood,too, of Paolo, whom Cesare strangled at Sinigaglia, and that of theCardinal Orsini, whom he brutally murdered in Rome, called aloud forvengeance. Cesare himself seemed to be aware of this, for whereas upto now he had remained in a sullen silence, he found tongue to imploreme, in the most servile manner, not to deliver him to Orsini, and whenI told him I had no option, he tried to creep out of his litter, andlay his cap at the feet of his enemy. Orsini spoke nothing, merelyordering him to be borne to S. Angelo; but as the Borgia shrank backinto his litter, he said with a grim smile that he trusted the dukewould find his entertainment to his liking. How it happened thatCesare came off with a whole skin I never knew, but he did, as I havementioned above, and it surpasses belief. He turned cur at the last,and the low blood showed in him; but he was one of those men who knewhow to be thoroughly bad. Orsini took back his lances, saying he hadneed of them, so that it was with my own few men that I reached thePalazzo Corneto. I must except Bande Nere from this number, and I wastruly sorry for his death, for his was an honest sword. The cardinalreceived me in the little chamber where we had supped withMachiavelli. He had thrown aside his clerical habit and was in mail,but wore his barettina on his head. He was more than kind,congratulating me heartily on my success, going so far as to say thatby capturing Cesare I had given a kingdom to France. I then left himwith further assurances of his goodwill towards me, and saw him nomore for the day.
Towards the small hours of the next morning I was aroused from a deepsleep by Jacopo. Starting up, I inquired what was astir, and was toldthat Defaure, the page, was waiting to see me. I gave orders for hisinstant admission, and, on coming in, he informed me that his eminencedesired my immediate attendance. Telling Jacopo to have Castorsaddled, for I smelt work afoot, I flung myself into my clothes, andhastened to D'Amboise.
He had evidently not slept all night, and was pacing the room inagitation.
"St. Dennis!" he burst out, as I entered, "do you know what they havedone? The king holds a tourney at Arezzo instead of marching on atonce. What is worse, he has granted an extension of the truce toSpain, and Tremouille and the rest of them are off to the junkets.They are making a May-day with those ducats you captured. By God! theywould dance away a kingdom."
"Your eminence has no doubt sent news of the capture of Cesare?"
"That was only yesterday, man," he snapped, "and De Briconnet isriding for his life to the king. But it is about this I sent for you,"he went on rapidly. "De Briconnet may come to harm. Here are otherdespatches. Take them and follow him; overtake him if you can. Whencan you start?"
"Now."
"Good--here are the papers. And this for Tremouille. Adieu!"--and heheld out his hand--"_Monsieur le Compte_."
I started a little at the last words which he uttered in French, buthad no time to ask for explanation or make inquiry. I hurried to myapartments and found Castor ready. Bidding Jacopo follow me to Arezzowith my men as soon as possible, I gave Castor the rein and rode outof Rome. At Citta del Pieve I got my first news of De Briconnet. AtCartona he was but two hours ahead of me, and when on the afternoon ofthe second day I reined in the staggering Castor at the gates of theVilla Accolti, where the king was, I saw in the courtyard a deadhorse, his sides still bleeding from the spur marks, and judged thatDe Briconnet had barely beaten me by a head for all his twelve hours'start. So once again had I entered the Villa Accolti! And as I sprangto the ground, loosed the girths over Castor's heaving flanks, andresigned the reins to a willing groom who led the poor beast to rest,all the past came back to me with a vivid force, and I looked around,almost expecting to meet again the glances of scorn and contempt, tohear once more the hisses, the mockery, and the foul reproach of thatday.
The cardinal was right enough when he said that high junkets were tobe held. And the day seemed to be one of merry-making. Flags wereflying from all parts of the villa, and the wide grounds were full ofthe followers of the court, and the townspeople either watching, orengaged in sports of wrestling, archery, and other games.
For the great ones, however, the out-of-door amusement of the day cameto an end with the dinner-hour, and they were now disportingthemselves within. From the open windows strains of music floated outinto the sunlight and gay figures passed and repassed, or moved in andout of the balcony overhanging the grand entrance which seemed, fromthe constant movement and the brilliant dresses of those who crowdedthereon, to be like a bed of flowers stirring in the wind. As I camebelow the balcony, I did not dare to look up, but with my sword in theloop of my arm and my despatches clenched in my right hand, walked upthe marble steps.
"Post from Rome! Post from the Lord Cardinal!"
The sonorous voice of the ushers pealed this out, and I found myselfat the entrance to the gallery leading to the great hall where I hadbeen tried.
"Not here, sir--to the left." My way was barred by an equerry inviolet and gold.
"Not so, De Brienne, the king receives these despatches in person,"and Bayard had linked his arm in mine.
"But, my lord!"
"I take the blame," and Bayard, blazing in full mail, led me throughthe gallery whose sides were lined with the archers of the ScottishGuard. Archers in name only now, and little as my time was, I couldnot forbear glancing at these fine troops, who, although few innumber, bore an unequalled reputation for service in the field. Thedoors at the entrance to the hall, which were guarded by two giganticmen-at-arms, were opened only at fixed intervals to let people in andout, and by this means an attempt was made to avoid overcrowding.There were a considerable number before us, and having to go slowly,we had time to exchange a few words.
"I suppose De Briconnet has passed in?" I asked, "he could only havejust arrived, for his horse lies dead at the gates."
"I doubt it. All posts are received by De Vesci, whose wrath we aregoing to brave. If De Briconnet came in here direct, h
e was probablystopped and sent to the seneschal's apartments."
"If so, as he was the first-comer, he should present the despatches,"I urged; "I bear but duplicates?"
"There is no time to think of that now," replied Bayard, and as hespoke the doors unfolded, and in a crash of music and the murmur ofvoices, above which now and again trilled a peal of clear femininelaughter, we entered the hall. At first we were unobserved, for theinterest of every one was gathered to the centre of the room, where tothe strains of music a game of chess was being played with livingfigures. The king himself took part in it, and I had good opportunityof observing him. Time had not changed Louis much, although hisreckless life had enfeebled his constitution. He had the features ofhis house, the wide forehead, the oval face, the pointed chin, belowwhich his short brown beard was neatly trimmed. His grey eyes were setsomewhat wide apart, and his hair, which was naturally straight, hewore carefully curled, in a length that all but touched his shoulders.He was dressed in a tight-fitting surcoat of green, with greentrunk-hose and stockings of the same colour. A short cloak, also ofgreen, fell from his shoulder, and below his left knee was bound theribbon of the English Order of the Garter, of which he was very proud.On his head was a velvet cap lapelled in front and on either side, andalive with the light of jewels, with which it was studded. He wasplaying king in the game, Madame de la Tremouille acting as queen, andthe rival king was Tremouille himself, who had for his partner Isabelthe Good, the wife of Gonsaga of Mantua, a princess distinguishedalike for her beauty and her virtue. A little apart from the players,and watching the game with a grave interest, stood Etienne de Vesci,the Seneschal of Beaucaire, who was, after the cardinal, the mostpowerful man in France, and, indeed, was supposed by many to have moreof the king's ear. Close by him were a number of ladies, and I ran myeye amongst them and around the hall, hoping in vain to catch sight ofthe one face I longed to see. Whilst so engaged De Vesci observed me,and seeing the papers in my hand, made an imperious gesture, beckoningme towards him. This I pretended not to observe, and the seneschal,biting his lip, edged his way towards me. It was easy to see from mytravelled and stained appearance, the red on my spurs, and the packetin my hand, that I was the bearer of news.
"Is not monsieur aware," he said in a harsh voice, speaking in French,"that papers for the king should be brought to me?"
"These are for the king's hand," I answered.
"It is enough. Give them to me," and he held forth his hand.
"I have said, my lord, that they are for His Majesty's own hands."
Bayard, who was watching the game now drawing to a close, turned roundat this, and grasping the matter, cut in.
"_Ciel!_ My Lord, let the cavaliere deliver his packet. It will cometo you soon enough. Take a holiday for once."
De Vesci frowned, and was about to make a hot answer, when there was asudden shout and a clapping of hands, and Louis, who had won the game,came forward leading Madame de la Tremouille in triumph. The last movewas made but a few feet from us, and as the king faced round with hispartner he caught sight of our group and called out as he advanced--
"Victory! We have won. Why those black looks, De Vesci? Come andcongratulate us."
With an effort the seneschal smoothed his face, "Victory alwaysattends your majesty, and with so fair a partner defeat would beimpossible," and he bowed with a courtly grace; but the wrinkles ofhis frown were still on his forehead. The duchess grew red withpleasure at the compliment, and Louis clapped his hands like a boy.
"Excellent! Trust a courtier's lip for a soft speech;" and then,observing me, "but what have we here?"
"From Rome, your majesty," and dropping to my knee, I presented mypapers, which the king took irresolutely in his hand.
"_Diable!_" he exclaimed, with an impatient gesture, "from my lordcardinal no doubt?" And he glanced at me.
"Your majesty, and of the most vital import," and I rose.
"I must read them, I suppose. A plague on the cardinal! We were justgoing to the minuet----"
"I will deal with the matter, sire. The papers should have come tome," and De Vesci, saying this in his harsh, grating voice, reachedforth his hand. Usually a perfect master of his temper, he hadsomehow, for once, let it get the better of him; and his closing wordsand manner were almost those of command. Louis, though a brave man,had a weak nature and a hasty temper. A temper that was often arousedto fits of obstinacy, little short of mulish. He caught theseneschal's tone, and perhaps also the suppressed smile that nickeredon the faces of his courtiers. His forehead darkened, "You mistake, mylord, these papers come rightly to me," and turning his back on theseneschal, he tore open the packet.
De Vesci stepped back, white to the lips, and the court gathered roundthe king in silence. Seeing Tremouille at hand, I made bold to step upto him, and give him D'Amboise's note. He glanced at it, and turningto me said, "I gave my word, and it shall be kept. The honour ofTremouille is pledged."
I was at a loss to understand; but had no time to think, for Louissuddenly called out, "Tremouille--Bayard--gentlemen! The Borgia istaken! Rome is ours!"
At once there was a buzz, and a murmur of voices, in eagercongratulation at the glad tidings. Standing alone and apart from all,I could barely see Louis, so closely did the court press around him;but it seemed that Tremouille was urging something on him, and theduchess too, for I caught the flash of the jewels on her fingers, asin her eagerness she laid them on the king's arm. Then Bayard's deepvoice came to me clearly, "If done, 'twere well done quickly, sire."
I do not exactly know how it happened; but I found myself kneelingbefore the king, who stood above me, his drawn sword in his hand.
"M. di Savelli," he said, "one king of France owed you his life,another all but owes you a kingdom. Wear again your cross. It wasnobly won. Take back your knighthood." He laid the blade gently on myshoulder, "for God, for your King, for your Lady. Arise, Sir Knight!"He stretched forth his hand to aid me to my feet, and I stood upagain, with my honour white, in the very hall, almost on the veryspot, whence I had been cast out in ignominy and shame.
I could not speak--I was choked--my eyes were wet with tears. Seeingmy emotion, Louis placed his hand kindly on my shoulder.
"Remember, Di Savelli," he said, "France needs you yet. To the minuet,my lords and ladies--to the minuet!"
And he turned down the hall, not waiting for my thanks. But friendssprang up everywhere. The first to give me her good wishes was theDuchesse de la Tremouille, then came the duke, old Ives d'Alegres, andothers I can scarcely name. It was whilst in their midst that I saw aface I knew well, and Machiavelli came up.
"Late, but not the less warm in my congratulations," he said; "so thegood ship is safe in port at last! We owe you too much for speech, andcan never thank you enough."
"Your excellency is most kind. Is the Lady Angiola well?"
He was silent for a moment, and laughed to himself, as if somethingstirred him. "As well as ever she was," he answered at length, andadded, "You must sup with us this evening. We lodge in the Borgo diSan Vito, and never mind your attire. My wife longs to see you, andthank you in person."
Other friends coming up, our converse was brought to an end, and Imanaged to effect my escape, and take refuge in the pavilion ofBayard, who insisted on my being his guest. I would have willinglyforegone the supper at the Borgo di San Vito, as I was weary; buthaving promised, borrowed a horse from my host, and set out. I reachedthe secretary's lodging, punctually to the hour, and was received byGian, who, after a respectful inquiry concerning my health, ushered meinto an apartment, where, on entering, I found myself alone. I had towait some little time, and wondering at the strangeness of myreception, I walked towards a window, overlooking the private gardensof the house. As I reached it, I heard the rustle of trailinggarments, and turning round beheld Angiola before me. She came up withoutstretched hands, and I took them in mine, and looked into her eyes.Then I found words; they come to every man at the right time, and Ispoke. She made no answer as I pleaded my caus
e, and fearing theworst, I dropped her hands, with a bitter reproach against my age andmy scarred face. When I had done she remained still, with her eyesdown, and there was a silence. Then she looked up again.
"Di Savelli," and her voice was very low, "you say your face isscarred by wounds. Do you know, cavaliere, I would I were a man, thatI too might bear wounds on my face, and looking in my mirror, see howthey became me." And the rest concerns not anyone.
* * * * *
We were married before the end of the truce, and on my wedding day, Ireceived from His Majesty the King, the patents of the county ofFresnoy, in Guienne, a distinction that was extended to me in Italy,by His Holiness Pope Pius III., who, on my purchasing a portion of myancestral estates back from Amilcar Chigi, confirmed to me the titlein my native land. But the gift I valued most of all, was a tari ofAmalfi, to which still clung a shred of the gold link, by which it hadbeen attached to a bracelet. And this was from my wife!
CHAPTER XXVII.
MY LORD, THE COUNT.
_Portion of a letter from the Countess di Savelli to her cousin Vittoria Ordelaffi of Forli_.
* * * * *
It is, as you know, gentle cousin, six years since my lord, havinglost his sword-arm at the storming of Santa Croce, retired to hiscastle of Aquila in the Sabine Mountains, and ceased to help furtherin stirring the times. In truth, he has yielded to my wish in thismatter, and although, in the war of the Holy League, he was offered acommand, Di Savelli, at my entreaty, refused the honour.
The count, my lord, is well, but his wounds troubling him in thewinter, he may no longer follow the wolf in our mountains, yet stillhunts the stag in the Ciminian Forests of our kinsman, Amilcar Chigi,to whom we have been reconciled, and whom we visit yearly.
Last winter we spent in France, at the chateau of the Seigneur deBayard, which lies on the Garonne, and met there, amongst others,Madame de la Tremouille, who is now a widow, the Duke having died of atertian ague at Milan. There also was a very gay and noble gentleman,the Viscompte de Briconnet, who avers that my lord owes him a countyfor having forestalled him in bearing to the king the news of thesurrender of Borgia. My Lord of Bayard, whom the Count thinks aboveall men, visits us in the autumn; and, gentle cousin, come you too,for we are to have a house full. The children are well, and Ugo growsa strong boy, but wilful. He has his father's features, but my eyes.They have just gone a riding, my lord on his great war horse Castor,and Ugo on his little white pony, bred on our farm in the Bergamasque.I see them as I write, going down the avenue.
Your namesake Vittoria, sends you a hundred kisses, and bids you comeand be heartily welcome. I send this by a sure hand, that of my lord'sesquire, Messer Jacopo Jacopi, a faithful servant and a good sword,though his tongue be ever wagging. Give him an answer, to say you arecoming.
* * * * *
THE END.
The Honour of Savelli: A Romance Page 27