by Max Brand
Tizzo, listening for a moment, started violently.
“They are coming again!” he muttered.
“No. They are walking on guard outside the door. You have startled them, Tizzo, and now they are worried. They fear that you and the devil may come romping, hand in hand, down those stairs, yonder, ready to beat open the door and fly away with me in a cloud of red smoke. They have, in fact, corked the bottle; and inside that bottle you are to die!”
“True!” said Tizzo.
He stood up and stared at the door. “Tell me, now,” asked Melrose. “This is the end. There is no possible escape. Day and night that door will be guarded. And this means that you must surely die. So tell me now how great is your regret that you have come here for a foreigner, a mere Englishman from the barbarous north?” Tizzo said: “Are you tempting me to use some fine words? Well, my lord, I’ll only say that so long as I die in company, with a friend, I cannot ask any more of my life.”
“What is better than a friend?” asked Melrose.
“A blood relation, but I have none.”
“Are you sure?”
“My mother is dead, my lord, as I think I told you. There was never a father to me.”
“Do you remember your mother, Tizzo?”
“I was a very young child when she died.”
“Shall I describe her?”
“You, my lord?”
“A tall, slender girl. Brown-eyed, Tizzo. The grace of a wild deer and the step of a faun. A sweet smile and a gentle heart. A face as calm as prayer. Laughter as bright as the first spring day. And a faith that would have stirred a god and shamed a devil.”
“Did you know her?”
“Do I speak as though I were ignorant, Tizzo?”
“No, my lord.”
“Shall I tell you more about her?”
“Every word is like a life to me!”
“She was a girl so good that she could not expect villainy in others.”
“I have seen such people,” said Tizzo.
“There are tears in your eyes, Tizzo.”
“Well, let them fall, also,” said Tizzo. “I am not ashamed to weep for her. I would have died for her, if God had granted me that much grace.”
“Instead of which, she died for you.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes. You being born out of wedlock, the hate and the scorn of others killed her quickly.”
TIZZO covered his face. Then he said: “If I could find the demidevil, the villain who betrayed her—”
“What would you do?”
“He would be my father,” said Tizzo. “I could only — I could only — curse him and leave him!”
“Aye, perhaps.”
“Did you know him?”
“I knew him very well.”
“Tell me of him, then.”
“That knowledge would only poison your last moments. Tizzo, you are about to die! You should be on your knees, praying.”
“I was never a praying fellow,” said Tizzo. “I would rather listen to a story, even if it is about a villain.”
The baron shook his gray head, without smiling.
“This Englishman—” he began. “Ah, it was an Englishman?” exclaimed Tizzo.
“Yes. I told you that he was my friend.”
“Am I half English?” murmured Tizzo, looking down at himself in wonder.
“Aye. Half at least.”
“That is where I caught the red hair?”
“Your mother’s hair was black as the wing of a raven.”
“Dear God, if I had only known her!”
“But shall I tell you more about your father?”
“Yes. I almost half forgive him if he was a true friend of yours.”
“I said he was a friend, but very often he was a bad companion.”
“Ah?”
“I mean, Tizzo, that there was no constancy to him.”
“That is a bad vice,” said Tizzo, gravely.
“It is,” said the baron. “That fellow would sometimes be serious and sometimes laughing. Out of his laughter he might fall to brawling, and out of his seriousness he might fall to laughing. I never could tell what he would do next.”
“A wild, evil man?” said Tizzo.
“A dancing, drinking, dicing, fighting man,” said the baron.
“For all of those sins, God forgive me!” said Tizzo, sadly. “Now I know from whom I inherit them. Was he cruel?”
“In battle? Yes. Otherwise, no, I should say not. Merciful enough.”
“Charitable?”
“In this way — that he found it hard to refuse a request. If he won a man’s money, he was apt to give half of it back if the fellow laughed at the loss and showed himself a good fellow.”
“I like that,” said Tizzo, adding up the points. “Yes, I like that a great deal. And brave?” he asked, catching his breath a little in a dreadful doubt.
“Brave? Men called him brave,” said the baron. “That is to say, this Englishman I tell you of was a fellow who loved danger as some men love a partner at a dance. He was accustomed to brawling. Sword-shine was more often in his eyes than daylight. He was used to danger, and therefore he loved it for the sake of old neighborliness.”
“Ah?” said Tizzo, smiling suddenly. “I wish that I could have seen him! What was his blood?”
“He was of an old and noble name.”
Tizzo braced back his shoulders and frowned.
“Good, also!” he said.
Then he asked: “And my mother — did he love her?”
“So much, Tizzo, that when he heard of her death he fell on the ground and beat his head against it He was half mad for many days.”
“Was he? Was he in fact?” said Tizzo. “Ah, God, who is to judge the sins of others — who that is as sinful as myself? He was young; she was young; they loved one another. And if they missed the priest—”
“True,” said the baron.
“A brave, kind, wild man,” said Tizzo.
“I would not praise him too highly. He knew no books. Nothing but battle. I have seen him as savage as a mad dog, as headlong as a fighting stallion, as drunk as a fool, and as cruel as a tiger.”
“What shall I think of him?” said Tizzo. “What did you think of him?”
“I have prayed God to forgive his sins. He is still alive.”
“Alive! In the name of Heaven, tell me his name!”
“It will give a point to your hatred of him.”
“I cannot hate my flesh and blood,” said Tizzo. “Tell me his name!”
“His name,” said the baron, “is Henry, Baron of Melrose.”
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.
THIS STORY HAS JUST BEGUN — START IT NOW
TWO royal families, enemies, ruled the town of Perugia, in Old Italy. Their enmity broke out in open warfare, and in a midnight massacre, the house of the Oddi routed the house of the Baglioni. Giovan Paolo, leader of the Baglioni, escaped with his sister, the Lady Beatrice, through the, aid of Tizzo, the Firebrand, a young swordsman from the nearby countryside.
One day Tizzo approached Giovan Paolo at the latter’s camp outside the city and told him that he was leaving, to re-enter Perugia. His friend, Henry, Baron of Melrose, an English soldier who had been in the service of the Oddi, had been clapped in the dungeon of Jeronimo della Penna, chief of the Oddi, after Mateo Marozzo, one of della Penna’s lieutenants, had accused Melrose of helping Tizzo escape the midnight slaughter.
Disguised as a woodcutter, Tizzo entered the city. Unknown to him, the Lady Beatrice, dressed as a young boy, followed him. Tizzo “persuaded” the jailer to give him the keys to della Penna’s dungeons, and went down into them. He found Melrose, but apparently Tizzo had come too late, for already the baron had been put on the rack, and although still alive, he was in a bad state. Nevertheless, Tizzo set to work to release him. It was then that Melrose revealed himself as Tizzo’s father.
CHAPTER X.
DISCOVERED.
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p; THE DIAMOND-HARD EDGES of the file, in the meantime, had freed the other arm of the prisoner, had liberated one leg, and now, as Tizzo listened to the last revelation, the last manacle fell from the baron. He was again master of his limbs — with the slight strength that remained to him. And Tizzo, grasping the hands of his father, stared wildly into his face. Then, throwing back his head, he cried, shutting his teeth to keep back the noise of his joy, “God made the blood in me speak when I first saw you!”
“A dog of a lying servant that I sent into the village those years ago, swore when he returned that both the mother and the child were dead,” said Melrose. “And then I beat my head and groaned a while and said a prayer for two dead souls. But this long time afterwards the wretched scoundrel confessed that he had found the mother dead, indeed, but the child was living. Why had he not told me about it? Because he did not wish to have me chained in one spot to support a son. He wished to be a free traveler and ‘therefore he would have me free also. The villain confessed all this on his death-bed. I rushed back to the town. But how could I find my son? My own hair was red as fire when I was your age. The dying rat of a servant had told me that my dead boy had hair the color of mine, and I trusted that this was the truth. But there was more than one red-headed lad in the town. Which, therefore, was the one of my blood? Why, the first that would cross swords with me and stand to me like a man! Ha, Tizzo! In that little test I nearly had my throat cut by the damned trickery and cunning of your sword play. I never before had met a man with the heart of a knight in armor and the feet of a dancing boy!”
“But how could you make sure that I was he?” asked Tizzo, anxiously.
“By the cry of my blood to you, lad! And then, also, I’ve been back to the village twice. I have been able to trace the Firebrand to the little redheaded foundling. Mother of Heaven, to think that I have missed these years with you! But, ah, Tizzo, do you forgive me for my greatest sin of all?”
“What shall I do except pray with you for the sake of her soul?” asked Tizzo.
Here, as they stared at one another with rejoiced faces, they heard the deadly noise of the big key grating in the lock. Tizzo had barely time to blow out his lantern and thrust it away under the straw. There was no time at all for his own body to be pushed into the bedding out of sight. The waver and throw of the lantern could not help casting one yearning glance towards the open door that might mean liberty. Then he freshened his grip on the handle of the ax and slipped from the side of the rack, stealing forward.
There was a great outcry from two voices, at the same moment.
“Look, your highness! The irons are gone from his hands and ankles!”
“They are, by Heaven!” exclaimed della Penna.
“Witchcraft!” exclaimed one of the men.
“You fool!” shouted della Penna. “Look to yourselves. The witch that did this work is still in the room — a witch that carries the name of Tizzo!”
He drew his sword as he spoke and turned sharply around. The men-at arms, less ready in their heavy armor, swung about also, hardly in time to meet the rush of Tizzo. For his softly shod feet made no noise on the stones. He came like a shadow at them.
Della Penna, seeing that rushing figure, groaned with terror and sprang back behind his armored men. The foremost of them, swaying up his massive halberd, thrust full at Tizzo with the lance-point at the end of the weapon. Tizzo wasted no time in parrying that stroke. A swerve of his body allowed the thrust to waste itself close to his side; then the ax in his hand clanged against the morion of the halberdier.
If that stroke had landed truly it would have ended the life of the soldier; even the glancing force dropped him with a crash, face down and senseless.
A SWORD gleamed at the throat of Tizzo — della Penna thrusting from between the shelter of his two remaining men-at-arms. A side-light already was shimmering across the room when he fled to the shadow cast by the bulky rack. There he crouched, hearing at the door the voice of Jeronimo della Penna saying, “Come in, my friends. You will have a chance to do something more than stand guard now. You will be able to play a little game which will warm your blood for the rest of the night.”
DELLA PENNA, followed by the three guards who had been posted outside the door, crossed the floor of the torture chamber. On the way, the master paused in front of what seemed a suit of complete armor.
“This,” said della Penna, “this, now, might be the trick which would serve for the end of the game.”
He pulled at the shoulder of the armor and it opened wide, showing to the peering eyes of Tizzo a hollow interior set over thickly with needle-sharp bits of steel, projecting inwards.
“But not tonight,” said della Penna. “Not while there is still so much pain to be drawn out of his tendons and joints. My Lady, the Rack, has not finished with him.
“Ah, my lord,” he said, “you are now feeling much recovered, eh? I’ve come to tell you that the cunning rat, Tizzo, has escaped from the house; but because that is a cruel disappointment, I know you will want to make us some amends. You and the rack, eh?”
The long face of della Penna lengthened still more with his laughter. Then, breaking off into a snarl, he commanded, “Pick him up and stretch him on the wheel!”
Two of the men-at-arms instantly laid hold on the prisoner. And Tizzo, saying three brief words of a prayer, step made that sword-point reach empty air, only. The swinging blade of the ax met a downright sword stroke and the brittle steel shivered to pieces. A backward leap foiled the third man-at-arms as he shouted, “Before God, this is no man, but a dancing shadow!”
That same shadow leaped in again; the ax swayed and rang on the helmet, a brief, dull, horrible chopping sound, and the wide blade clove straight down through the skull.
The third warrior, with the mere stump of his sword in hand, turned with a yell of horror and fled. Jeronimo della Penna, unweighted by steel, was racing for the door far before his companion. And as far as that door the vengeance of Tizzo pursued him. Then Tizzo turned back to see that the Baron of Melrose had forced himself to his feet, where he stood swaying, helpless, then make vague steps like the movements of a man half senseless with wine.
Steel rang on stone along the outer passage as one of the fugitives cast away a weapon to lighten his flight. The yelling voices that called for help grew dim around the corners of the corridors.
Tizzo cast one glance at the dead and the senseless forms on the floor. Then he rushed to Melrose and drew one of the big arms over his shoulder.
That towering bulk of manhood which he had always admired so greatly was now a curse to them both; it was an unwieldy mass barely able to move at all and far too ponderous for Tizzo to carry to any distance. He could only help Melrose forward from the torture chamber.
“Go, Tizzo!” pleaded the father. “You see that I cannot be saved. They are raising the house. Every murdering rat of them will come running and swarming on you, in a moment. Save yourself. For my sake. The name of Melrose must not die from the face of the earth. Tizzo — I command you — you have done enough. No son in the world could do more. Now fly — fly! Use those devilish dancing feet of yours! Do you hear? I give you the blessing of my heart. I command you to go!”
“Hush,” said Tizzo. “If my name is Melrose, my blood is Melrose. Will you have me turn from my own blood? Save your breath for the labor. And if we die, you can strike one blow for us both—”
So, panting, he supported the staggering weight of his father up the outer steps, groaning and cursing the slime that made the stones slippery.
It was a terrible labor. The very brain of Tizzo reeled with the might of the effort as he put his shoulder into the weight of the great, helpless body and so bore it upwards. The stairs had no ending. The turns of them would never cease.
And the knees of Tizzo had turned to water before he reached the level of the floor above. It was then that they heard clearly the sounds of the gathering storm overhead.
CHAPTER XI.
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bsp; “A MELROSE!”
DOORS SEEMED TO be opening and shutting, letting out the noises of armored, trampling feet, the familiar dry clashing of steel against stone; voices shouted, far and near; there were so many elements of sound that the whole made a sort of humming roar. There must have been, literally, scores of men running towards the point of danger; and now the tumult opened with thundering violence On the staircase above. Like a flood of water, that throng was descending to sweep away the lives of those two fugitives.
Tizzo, gasping with an effort, hurried the big, shambling form down the corridor to that very cell which he had entered before. He had not locked the door. A mere thrust of the hand opened it now, and they entered as many dancing lights began to strike through the darkness.
There, leaning against the wall, half spent already, Tizzo said, “They will go past us. They will go down to the lowest level. They will not leave the torture chamber till they have searched it. And you and I still have a ghost of a chance.”
“A weak ghost, Tizzo. My lad, I plead for the line of Melrose. Go on — save yourself—”
“You say the words, but your heart is not in them,” said Tizzo.
“It is true,” admitted the Englishman, suddenly. “If you left me, I should know that there was little of my blood in your body. What is death, when two men face it, true to each other?”
“It is nothing. It is a song!” cried Tizzo.
“But, ah, if I could raise my arms to strike one blow in the battle! It is the punishment of Heaven for all my sins — to stand like a sleeping fool while my son fights for my life.”
“You have fought in your turn for mine,” said Tizzo.
“Lord God, Almighty Father,” groaned the Englishman, “forgive my sins and let my hand hold a sword for ten seconds only. Kill me, then. Stamp on me like a poor beast. But let me die fighting!”
The tumult that descended the stairs had now rushed completely past the door of the cell where Tizzo and his father were sheltered for the moment. That door Tizzo now flung open and supported Melrose into the corridor.