‘I am sorry if I was too quick of tongue. The excitement of the moment and my temper made me scarcely responsible.’
Checco looked as if it were a very bitter pill he had been forced to swallow; but the words had a reasonable effect, and the clouds began to clear away. An earnest discussion was commenced on the future movements. The first thing was to send for help against the Duke Lodovico. Savello said he would apply to Rome. Checco counted on Lorenzo de’ Medici, and messengers were forthwith despatched to both. Then it was decided to gather as much victuals as possible into the town, and fortify the walls, so that they might be prepared for a siege. As to the citadel, we knew it was impossible to take it by storm; but it would not be difficult to starve it into surrender, for on the news of the Count’s death the gates had been shut with such precipitation that the garrison could not have food for more than two or three days.
Then Checco sent away his wife and children; he tried to persuade his father to go too, but the Orso said he was too old and would rather die in his own town and palace than rush about the country in search of safety. In the troubled days of his youth he had been exiled many times, and now his only desire was to remain at home in his beloved Forli.
The news of Lodovico’s advance threw consternation into the town, and when cartloads of provisions were brought in, and the fortifications worked at day and night, the brave citizens began to quake and tremble. They were going to have a siege and would have to fight, and it was possible that if they did not sufficiently hide themselves behind the walls, they might be killed. As I walked through the streets, I noticed that the whole populace was distinctly paler.... It was as if a cold wind had blown between their shoulders, and bleached and pinched their faces. I smiled, and said to them, in myself, —
‘You have had the plunder of the Palace and the custom-houses, my friends, and you liked that very well; now you will have to pay for your pleasure.’
I admired Checco’s wisdom in giving them good reasons for being faithful to him. I imagined that, if the beneficent rule of the Countess returned, it would fare ill with those who had taken part in the looting....
Checco had caused his family to leave the town as secretly as possible; the preparations had been made with the greatest care, and the departure effected under cover of night. But it leaked out, and then the care he had taken in concealing the affair made it more talked of. They asked why Checco had sent away his wife and children. Was he afraid of the siege? Did he intend to leave them himself? At the idea of a betrayal, anger mixed itself with their fear, and they cried out against him! And why did he want to do it so secretly? Why should he try to conceal it? A thousand answers were given, and all more or less discreditable to Checco. His wonderful popularity had taken long enough to reach the point when he had walked through the streets amidst showers of narcissi; but it looked as if less days would destroy it than years had built it up. Already he could walk out without being surrounded by the mob and carried about in triumph. The shouts of joy had ceased to be a burden to him; and no one cried ‘Pater Patriæ’ as he passed. Checco pretended to notice no change, but in his heart it tormented him terribly. The change had begun on the day of the fiasco at the fortress; people blamed the leaders for letting the Countess out of their hands, and it was a perpetual terror to them to have the enemy in their very midst. It would have been bearable to stand an ordinary siege, but when they had their own citadel against them, what could they do?
The townspeople knew that help was coming from Rome and Florence, and the general hope was that the friendly armies would arrive before the terrible Duke. Strange stories were circulated about Lodovico. People who had seen him at Milan described his sallow face with the large, hooked nose and the broad, heavy chin. Others told of his cruelty. It was notorious that he had murdered his nephew after keeping him a prisoner for years. They remembered how he had crushed the revolt of a subject town, hanging in the market-place the whole council, young and old, and afterwards hunting up everyone suspected of complicity, and ruthlessly putting them to death, so that a third of the population had perished. The Forlivesi shuddered, and looked anxiously along the roads by which the friendly armies were expected.
Lorenzo de’ Medici refused to help.
There was almost a tumult in the town when the news was told. He said that the position of Florence made it impossible for him to send troops at the present moment, but later he would be able to do whatever we wished. It meant that he intended to wait and see how things turned out, without coming to open war with the Duke unless it was certain that victory would be on our side. Checco was furious, and the people were furious with Checco. He had depended entirely on the help from Florence, and when it failed the citizens murmured openly against him, saying that he had entered into this thing without preparation, without thought of the future. We begged Checco not to show himself in the town that day, but he insisted. The people looked at him as he passed, keeping perfect silence. As yet they neither praised nor blamed, but how long would it be before they refrained from cursing him they had blessed? Checco walked through with set face, very pale. We asked him to turn back, but he refused, slackening his pace to prolong the walk, as if it gave him a certain painful pleasure to drain the cup of bitterness to the dregs. In the piazza we saw two councillors talking together; they crossed over to the other side, pretending not to see us.
Now our only hope was in Rome. The Pope had sent a messenger to say that he was preparing an army, and bidding us keep steadfast and firm. Savello posted the notice up in the market-place, and the crowd that read broke out into praises of the Pope and Savello. And as Checco’s influence diminished Savello’s increased; the protonotary began to take greater authority in the councils, and often he seemed to contradict Checco for the mere pleasure of overbearing and humiliating him. Checco became more taciturn and gloomy every day.
But the high spirits of the townsmen sank when it was announced that Lodovico’s army was within a day’s march, and nothing had been heard from Rome. Messengers were sent urging the Pope to hasten his army, or at least to send a few troops to divert the enemy and encourage the people. The citizens mounted the ramparts and watched the two roads — the road that led from Milan and the road that led to Rome. The Duke was coming nearer and nearer; the peasants began to flock into the town, with their families, their cattle, and such property as they had been able to carry with them. They said the Duke was approaching with a mighty army, and that he had vowed to put all the inhabitants to the sword to revenge the death of his brother. The fear of the fugitives spread to the citizens, and there was a general panic. The gates were closed, and all grown men summoned to arms. Then they began to lament, asking what inexperienced townsmen could do against the trained army of the Duke, and the women wept and implored their husbands not to risk their precious lives; and above all rose the murmur against Checco.
When would the army come from Rome? They asked the country folk, but they had heard of nothing; they looked and looked, but the road was empty.
And suddenly over the hills was seen appearing the vanguard of the Duke’s army. The troops wound down into the plain, and others appeared on the brow of the hills; slowly they marched down and others again appeared, and others and others, and still they appeared on the summit and wound down into the plain. They wondered, horror-stricken, how large the army was — five, ten, twenty thousand men! Would it never end? They were panic-stricken. At last the whole army descended and halted; there was a confusion of commands, a rushing hither and thither, a bustling, a troubling; it looked like a colony of ants furnishing their winter home. The camp was marked out, entrenchments were made, tents erected, and Forli was in a state of siege.
XXIX
THE night fell and was passed without sleep or rest. The citizens were gathered together on the walls, talking anxiously, trying to pierce the darkness to see the rescuing army from Rome. Now and then someone thought he heard the tramp of cavalry or saw a gleam of armour, and then they stoo
d still, holding their breaths, listening. But they heard nothing, saw nothing.... Others were assembled in the piazza, and with them a crowd of women and children; the churches were full of women praying and weeping. The night seemed endless. At last a greater chilliness of the air told them that the dawn was at hand; gradually the darkness seemed to thin away into a cold pallor, and above a bank of cloud in the east appeared a sickly light. More anxiously than ever our eyes turned towards Rome; the mist hid the country from us, but some of the watchers thought they saw a black mass, far away. They pointed it out to the others, and all watched eagerly; but the black mass grew neither larger nor clearer nor nearer; and as great yellow rays shot up above the clouds, and the sun rose slowly, we saw the road stretched out before us, and it was empty, empty, empty.
It was almost a sob that burst from them, and moaningly they asked when help was coming. At that moment a man ascended the ramparts and told us that the protonotary had received a letter from the Pope, in which he informed him that relief was on the way. A cheer broke from us. At last!
The siege began in earnest with a simultaneous attack on the four gates of the town, but they were well defended, and the enemy easily beaten off. But all at once we heard a great sound of firing, and shouts, and shrieks, and we saw flames burst from the roof of a house. In our thought of Lodovico we had forgotten the enemy in our midst, and a terrible panic broke out when it was found that the citadel had opened fire. The Castellan had turned his cannon on the houses surrounding the fortress, and the damage was terrible. The inhabitants hurried out for their lives, taking with them their chattels and fled to safer parts of the town. One house had been set on fire and for a while we feared that others would catch and a general conflagration be added to our woes. People said it was a visitation of God; they talked of Divine vengeance for the murder of the Count, and when Checco hurried to the scene of the fire they did not care to restrain themselves any longer, but broke out into yells and hisses. Afterwards, when the flames had been extinguished and Checco was passing through the piazza, they surrounded him, hooting, and would not let him pass.
‘Curs!’ he hissed, looking at them furiously, with clenched fists. Then, as if unable to contain himself he drew his sword, shouting, —
‘Let me pass!’
They shrank back and he went his way. But immediately he had gone the storm redoubled, and the place rang with their cries.
‘By God,’ said Checco, ‘how willingly I would turn the cannon on them and mow them down like grass!’
They were the first words he had said of the change of feeling....
It was the same with us, when we walked through the streets — Matteo and I and the Moratini — they hissed and groaned at us. And a week before they would have licked our boots and kissed the ground we trod on!
The bombardment continued, outside and in, and it was reported through the town that Lodovico had vowed to sack the place and hang every third citizen. They knew he was the man to keep his word. The murmurs began to grow even louder, and voices were heard suggesting a surrender.... It had occurred to all of them, and when the most timid, driven to boldness by their fear, spoke the word, they looked at one another guiltily. They gathered together in little knots, talking in undertones, suspicious, stopping suddenly if they saw near anyone who was known to be in favour of the party of Liberty. They discussed how to make terms for themselves; some suggested giving up the town unconditionally, others proposed an agreement. At last they spoke of appeasing the Duke by handing over to him the seventeen conspirators who had planned the murder of Girolamo. The thought frightened them at first, but they soon became used to it. They said the Orsi had really had no thought of the common good, but it was for their private ends that they had killed the Count and brought this evil on the town. They railed against Checco for making them suffer for his own ambition; they had lauded him to the skies for refusing the sovereignty, but now they said he had only feigned, and that he intended to seize the city at the first good opportunity. And as to the others, they had helped for greed and petty malice. As they talked they grew more excited, and soon they said it would only be justice to hand over to the Duke the authors of their troubles.
The day passed, and the second night, but there were no signs of the help from Rome.
Another night passed by and still nothing came; the dawn, and the road was as empty as before.
And the fourth night came and went and still there was nothing. Then a great discouragement fell upon the people; the army was on the way, but why did it not arrive? Suddenly here and there people were heard asking about the letter from the Pope. No one had seen the messenger. How had it come? And a horrible suspicion seized the people, so that they rushed to the Palazzo Orsi, asking for Savello. As soon as he appeared they broke out clamorously.
‘Show us the letter!’
Savello refused! They insisted; they asked for the messenger who had brought it. Savello said he had been sent back. None of us had seen letter or messenger; the suspicion seized us too, and Checco asked, —
‘Is there a letter?’
Savello looked at him for a moment, and answered, —
‘No!’
‘Oh God, why did you say there was?’
‘I felt sure the army was on the way. I wanted to give them confidence.’
‘You fool! Now they will believe nothing. You fool, you have muddled everything!’
‘It is you! You told me that the city was firm for the Pope.’
‘So it was till you came with your lies and your treacheries.’
Savello closed his fist, and I thought he was going to strike Checco. A yell burst from the people.
‘The letter! the messenger!’
Checco sprang to the window.
‘There is no letter! The protonotary has lied to you. No help is coming from Rome nor from Florence!’
The people yelled again, and another cry arose, —
‘Surrender! Surrender!’
‘Surrender at your pleasure,’ shouted Checco, ‘but do not think that the Duke will forgive you for stripping the Count and insulting his body and sacking his Palace.’
Savello was standing alone, struck dumb in his rage. Checco turned to him and smiled mockingly.
XXX
NEXT day 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 Bartolomeo appeared at the head of the great staircase with the boys.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 28