by Max Brand
And the girl and Tizzo dropped back until the voice was only a murmur in their ears.
It seemed as though all possibility of lamentation had gone from her. Her pale face, clear and cold as a stone, lifted slightly towards the dim light of the stars. And Tizzo, saying nothing, looked sometimes at the girl he loved and sometimes toward that sworn blood-brother, Giovanpaolo.
He could not tell for which of them his heart ached most.
Giovanpaolo rose and came slowly on towards them, his head bowed. But he straightened himself with a sudden effort and said: “There is no time for grief. None at all. We shall be at the house of my uncle before morning. By mid-day we shall have a hundred lances with us. By night there will be an army. There is no time for grief. But one thing first. You heard the traitor, Grifone — you heard him accuse me, Beatrice, Tizzo?”
“I heard him shout in the hall outside your door,” said Tizzo.
“I swear to you both and to the God who hears the voices of all men — I solemnly swear that I am innocent of that crime.”
“Grifone was mad — mad as a dog to think of such a thing!” said Lady Beatrice.
Giovanpaolo answered: “No. Jealousy will work in the noblest brains, even. The greater the man it overthrows, the greater the human ruin that is spread. And Grifone was always a noble nature and loved his wife as though she were an angel. Beatrice, when I think of this night’s work, I could leave the world and spend the rest of my life in prayer!”
“When I think of this night’s work,” said the girl in a trembling voice, “I could turn myself into a man and spend the rest of my life in armor, with a drawn sword.”
“There will be swords enough,” said Giovanpaolo. “And a melancholy work for them to do, because we must strike against our own kindred, Beatrice, except for Tizzo, the house of the Baglioni would have fallen indeed and the name would have been borne by traitors only.”
“It is true,” said the girl, turning slowly towards Tizzo.
“Whatever ending this adventure may have,” said Giovanpaolo, “we shall be too employed to give way to gratitude, even. But nothing is forgotten. Beatrice, give me your hand.”
She gave it to him.
“And now to Tizzo.”
She extended the other hand to Tizzo and Giovanpaolo, completing the linked circle, was grasping the free hand of Tizzo in his.
“Here we are, three unhoused mortals,” said Giovanpaolo. “But love is a better refuge than walled places and I feel stronger at this moment, and captain of a greater army than ever I have led, when I hold the hands of you two. In you I can have no doubt. In you I have a perfect trust. Do you feel in the same manner?”
“In the same manner,” agreed Tizzo. The girl said nothing, merely smiling upon them.
“Well,” said Giovanpaolo, quietly, “our blood is one blood. Tizzo has proved that, on this night. But what proof have we given to him, Beatrice? What service have we rendered on our side? But where there is a perfect faith, there is no question of services given. There is no accounting. I foresee the day, now, when this red-headed Tizzo will lead us to victory like a battlefield in some terrible fight. I can foresee the day when we enter Perugia again and the gutters run full with blood. And after that day you will not be forgotten, Tizzo.”
He added: “Tell me, Beatrice — have I your hand to give?”
“There is no one else to give me,” said the girl.
“I give you, then, to Tizzo,” said Giovanpaolo. “It is an earnest of a payment to come.”
“Earnest?” cried Tizzo. “It is more than all the stars of heaven poured into my arms!”
“Hush!” said Giovanpaolo.
They listened, and heard far away the rapid ringing of the bells of Perugia, all striking together to beat out the alarm.
It was easy enough to understand what the alarm bells meant. The traitors had paused in the midst of their murders to discover that Giovanpaolo had definitely escaped from the city. And therefore their work remained a headless task. It was all to be done again.
The bells were still ringing when the three turned their backs on the dim city and went steadily away across the darkness of the hills.
THE END
The Storm (1935)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
The magazine in which the novel first appeared in April 1935
The Storm
By GEORGE CHALLIS
Author of “The Great Betrayal,” “The Firebrand,” etc
CHAPTER I.
TIZZO DECIDES.
THE HOSE ON his right leg was orange; on his left leg it was green. His doublet was a puff of yellow and through the slashed sleeves of it appeared the crimson of an undertunic. He wore, not for warmth since the day was mid-summer, but merely from the excess of vanity and fashion, a short cloak which tumbled down from his shoulders and washed about from side to side behind them. And on his head, tilted a shade to an angle, there was a small round hat which was looped about by a fine golden chain.
As though this flare of colors were not enough to attract the eye, his hair was flame-red and glistened in the slant of the afternoon sun. He rode swiftly through the camp of Giovan Paolo and, coming to the tent of the commander, which was distinguished by the long pennon which flew from the peak, he slipped out of the saddle and threw the reins towards one of the men-at-arms who stood guard at the entrance.
The man was struck by the flying leather and allowed the strips to fall.
“Hold the horse, my friend,” said the young fellow in the brilliant clothes. “Announce to Giovan Paolo that Tizzo is entering.”
“Go ask the devil to announce you!” said the guard who had been flicked by the reins.
One of the gentry who lolled under the adjoining olive tree broke into a loud laughter and sat up to watch the brawl.
The guard added: “His Highness, Giovan Paolo, is not to be disturbed.” the man-at-arms tumbled flat on his back while Tizzo disappeared suddenly through the tent entrance. The guard, leaping to his feet, started to rush inside in pursuit, but his companion checked him.
“You’ve made a fool of yourself already,” said the companion. “But if you break in on them now, you’ll be damned for your folly.”
“What do you mean?” asked the first man.
“Why, if you wore ears in your head you ought to have recognized the name. Tizzo is the brightness of which Giovan Paolo is the shadow; he is the warmth in Giovan Paolo’s blood, the light in his eyes, the strength of his right hand. Tizzo, fool, is the man who saved the life of Giovan Paolo on the night of the Great Betrayal and got both him and the Lady Beatrice safely out of the city when men were running about like bloodhounds, lapping up the lives of the Baglioni.”
“You could have told me what he was,” growled the big guard.
“You asked no questions,” said the other. “You brought some of your Swiss cheese with you from the Alps, but you left your wits behind you. And this is Italy, man, where brains are better than sword-blades.”
“Tizzo? Tizzo?” said the man. “Now I think that I recall the name.”
“Pick up the reins of his horse and hold them, then,” said the other man-at-arms, “and the name may be willing to recall you.”
INSIDE the tent, Tizzo saw Giovan Paolo striding up and down, his head a little bent towards the depth of his thought. On the table lay a map. Pieces of armor were stacked on a folding chair. The whole tent
was filled with confusion.
“Why not?” asked Tizzo, walking straight towards the two guards. Compared with their armor-sheathed bulks he seemed very slender and boyish. The sword at his side appeared to be a foolish vaunt. “Is Giovan Paolo sleeping because he’s had too much to drink? If he is, I’ll wake him up. Announce me!”
“Announce you?” said the guard who had spoken before. “Your name may be Firebrand, but you give me no warmth. I’m hot enough in the sun without having a fire at hand. Sit down on your heels and wait for the time of His Highness.”
There was another loud laugh from the nobleman who lounged under the tree, and who now stood up as though expecting something further to happen.
He said, “Here’s a check for Tizzo, at last.”
One of his companions answered: “I wager three ducats to one that he gets into the tent.”
“The guard will see him damned first,” said the first man.
“The guard will be damned himself if he tries to bar the way,” said the other. “I put money on Tizzo.” Young Tizzo, at this moment, stepped straight to the angry guard and said: “Give me your name so that I can remember you.”
“I give my name to my equals,” said the guard, “not to wild-headed young forget-me-nots like you.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll shake hands with you,” said Tizzo.
He caught the big, brown hand of the fighting man as he spoke. The latter tried to wrench his sword-arm free but the effort merely served to jerk Tizzo towards the entrance of the tent. Perhaps he tripped the guard as he passed. It was hard to tell exactly what happened, but the fact was that “Ah, Tizzo,” said Giovan Paolo, hardly turning his fine head towards the interloper, “what is it now? More brawling? More tavern drinking? More duelling? You have put Gismondo of Urbino to bed for a month with one of your sword tricks; the Spaniard from Naples will never see out of both eyes again, they tell me; and Ugo of Camerino will be a lucky man if he ever recovers the use of his left arm.”
“It was only the left arm,” said Tizzo, seriously. “I knew that he was a fellow you put a value on, and that was why I did not teach his right arm the sort of manners it ought to know.”
Giovan Paolo threw himself wearily back into a chair. He shook his head.
“Is the world always no more than a playground for you?” he asked, sadly. “Here we are shut out of Perugia, half of our friends killed, my own family slaughtered like sheep in the middle of the night, and the army which I am raising to retake the city already muttering and growling because I am slow in giving them pay. The men promised to me by the city of Florence have not appeared. All men begin to doubt my fortune. The sky turns black over me; and still you are dancing, drinking, laughing, fighting day and night without a care in the world.”
“I could use some clouds in that same sky,” said Tizzo. “Today is too hot for armor. The guards at your door are stewing under their cuirasses in their own sweat; they have turned as mad as hornets and try to sting your own friends.”
“I heard them trying to keep you out,” smiled Giovan Paolo, “but I knew that they might as well forbid a wild hawk to fly through the blue of heaven. What is it that you want?”
“Time to say farewell to you,” said Tizzo.
“Farewell? You?” said Giovan Paolo.
He rose slowly from his chair. “The rest have fallen away from me,” he said. “And now you? You are leaving?”
His handsome face darkened with sorrow. But he added, suddenly: “Very well. I can understand. You are too bright a butterfly for these dark days. Go where you please, Tizzo, and God go with you. Here — you will need funds for your journey. Help yourself from these—”
He jerked open the top of a small chest which appeared half filled with gold pieces. Then, stepping to the table, he unfastened a little casket awash inside with points of red and yellow and crystal flames. “Here are the last jewels which the Baglioni could collect,” he said. “Fill a pocket with them. God knows you are welcome. If it were not for you, all of us would have died on that night of the Great Betrayal.”
TIZZO lifted a handful of the jewels and let them sift slowly through his fingers, showering back into the casket.
“This stuff will do me no good where I am going,” he said.
“Where are you going, then?” demanded the other, shortly.
“To hell,” said Tizzo.
“Ha?” cried Giovan Paolo.
“To Perugia, I should say,” added Tizzo.
“You? To Perugia? Yes, when we take the city by storm. Yes, then you will go to Perugia. But in the meantime even the stones in the streets would cry out ‘Tizzo!’ and ‘Treason!’ if they felt the falling of your feet.”
I damned and lied with a vengeance and offered to prove my innocence in single combat with Marozzo, but they have seen my swordwork and they shrank from that idea. In brief, out came two eye-witnesses and I was damned at once, and thrown into prison. Here Jeronimo della Penna is letting me lie while he revolves in his mind a punishment savage enough to be equal to my fault. After that, be sure, I shall die.
In dying, as I run my eyes down the years, I shall see no face more dear to me than that of my young companion who never showed his back to a friend. I shall think of you, Tizzo, as I die. Think of me also, a little, as you live.
Farewell,
HENRY OF MELROSE.
CHAPTER II.
THE RING.
GIOVAN PAOLO, WHEN he had finished reading the letter, his voice dropping with an honest reverence as he pronounced the last words, remained for a time with his head bent.
“I know the brave Englishman,” said he, at last. “I know he has been a bulwark of the house of the Oddi. I have seen him in battle and anyone who has watched the work of his sword can remember him easily enough. I know that it was he who allowed us to pass out of the city on the night of the Betrayal. I would give all the jewels and the gold in this place and all I could send for in order to set him free. But that would not help him. Money will not buy a man out of the cruel hands of Jeronimo della Penna. And what can you do, or any other man? We can only pray that we may storm the city and set him free before Jeronimo makes up his mind what form of torment he will use on Melrose.”
“Look!” said Tizzo, and held out a rolled letter which Giovan Paolo pulled open and read aloud:
FRIEND AND FIRE-EATER, MY TIZZO:
I send you this letter by sure hand. I have already rewarded him, but give him plenty of money when he arrives in honor of a dead man. That is myself.
The days went very well immediately after the Great Betrayal. The wine ran in the gutters, so to speak; the people cheered the murderers of the Baglioni; the traitors sat high in the saddle and they remembered Henry of Melrose with a good many favors and quite a bit of money. I began to feel that I might spend a happy time here except for the stench of murder which rises in my heart when I think of the midnight work which has been done in these streets.
However, when I was about to skim the cream off my cup of fortune and go away with it I was suddenly haled before the chiefs of the Great Betrayal — before Jeronimo della Penna, I mean, and Carlo Barciglia. For Grifone Baglioni is no longer accounted anything. Except for him they never would have taken the place, of course, but since the Great Betrayal conscience has been eating his heart; he has turned yellow and is growing old. Every day he goes to the castle of his lady mother and begs her to let him enter and give him her blessing, and every day the Lady Atlanta bars her doors against him and sends him a curse as a traitor instead of a blessing as a son.
So I was before Jeronimo and Carlo alone, and the information against me was dug up by that double-tongued snake of darkness, that hell-hound of a Mateo Marozzo, who hates you so sweetly and who wears on his forehead the cross which you put there with the point of your dagger. If he remains long out of hell, the chief devil will die of yearning.
It is this Marozzo who discovered that on the night of the Great Betrayal it was through my gate that there pas
sed the Lady Beatrice Baglione, accompanied by the main head and brains of the Baglione family, the famous Giovan Paolo, and that firebrand, the hawk-brained wild man, Tizzo, who had snatched those two lives from the slaughter.
Giovan Paolo, after this, merely made a mute gesture and argued no more.
“Beatrice is in the inner tent,” he said. “You will want to say farewell to her?”
“No,” answered Tizzo. “If I see her, I’ll fall out of this resolution of mine and be in love with life again. Tell her so after I have gone.”
“I shall tell her,” said Giovan Paolo. “What is your plan?”
“Simply to enter the city and go to the house of a certain Alberto Marignello, in the little lane off the via dei Bardi. This Marignello is the fellow I have given the money to, the one with the keys to the cellars of della Penna. When I have the keys — why, you see that I’ll not know the next step until I come to take it.”
“Tizzo, you are a dead man!”
“I am,” said Tizzo, cheerfully, “and that is why I have come to say farewell!”
He held out his hands, and Giovan Paolo, with a groan but with no further protest, held out his hands to make that silent farewell.
THE green, the orange, the yellow and the crimson no longer flashed on the body of Tizzo when he came near Perugia in the twilight of that day. His skin, rather fairer than that of most Italians, had been darkened with the walnut stain which he had used on the night of the Great “I must go to him,” answered Tizzo. “Listen to me,” urged Giovan Paolo. “How can one man help him?”
“The man who brought me the letter is an assistant jailer. I’ve bribed him with a fine sum of money. He is going to meet me in Perugia and admit me to the house of Jeronimo, where Melrose lies in one of the great cellars.
He will furnish me with a file to cut through the manacles. After that, I must try to get Melrose away.”