Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “Della Penna is not having any building work done in his courtyard — none that I know of,” said another voice.

  “Not in the courtyard,” said Alfredo. “The work is being done inside the house, but the rubbish of the old walls is heaped in the second courtyard.”

  At this, there was a small laugh. The captain said: “Well, get on your way! If della Penna has given you commands, I suppose they must be executed. Otherwise whips will take the skin off my body. And that’s a tune with different words to it. Get on with you!”

  The cart started forward with an other lurch. Again the brake started screaming, but it was a delightful music in the ears of Tizzo. Presently the bumps grew less hard and regular. The wheels were continually rising and descending, making the entire cart rock like a small boat going over waves, so Tizzo could guess that they were voyaging over the ruts and the bumps of the long white road that led among the hills towards the town of Perugia.

  For a long time that journey continued before the cart halted again, and the voice of Alfredo called: “Your highnesses, we are around the shoulder of a hill, and the sight of Perugia is shut off from us. Shall I empty the rubbish here?”

  “Yes, empty it here,” said Tizzo.

  And presently the stuff was being raked away and poured noisily down to the ground beside the road. At last, the three could issue, brushing the dust from their clothes, coughing the dust from their lungs.

  But none of them looked strange to the others. Freedom had given a glory to all three.

  TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.

  THE town of Perugia in Old Italy had been the scene of a bloody midnight battle and massacre, when the royal house of Oddi turned on the Baglioni, the other reigning house, and drove them out side the walls of the city — those who were not killed.

  Leader of the Oddi was Jeronimo della Penna, and his lieutenant was Mateo Marozzo.

  Of the Baglioni who escaped, Giovan Paolo was the leader, and with him were his “sister, Lady Beatrice, and Tizzo, the Firebrand, master swordsman and fearless fighter. Giovan Paolo established a camp near by and laid plans for retaking the city.

  Hearing that his friend, Henry, Baron of Melrose, was being tortured by della Penna, Tizzo slipped into the city and, with the aid of Beatrice and a carter of the name of Alfredo, rescued Melrose, who turned out to be Tizzo’s father. Before returning to Giovan Paolo’s camp, Tizzo made plans with three friends in the city for the opening of one of the gates. They were Luigi Falcone, Tizzo’s foster-father; Antonio Bardi, whose life Tizzo had once saved; and the Lady Atlanta Baglione.

  CHAPTER XV.

  A RECRUIT.

  IN THE TOWN of San Martino in Campo, where the growing forces of Giovan Paolo were gathered, there arrived a rumor which spread like wildfire that four people on mule-back were coming, and that two of them were Lady Beatrice and Tizzo; a third was the famous English warrior, the Baron of Melrose. The whole town buzzed with the wildest excitement, and the four on mule-back arrived with Giovan Paolo in person rushing his horse up to them.

  Men saw him lift his sister off the mule and embrace her.

  The whole camp went wild with excitement and joyous expectation, because of late the news had not been cheerful in the least. Word had come that the lord of Camerino was marching a strong force to assist the traitors who held Perugia. Perhaps he would be strong enough to attack Giovan Paolo in the open field!

  These rumors had mixed, in the last day, with word that the Lady Beatrice was missing from the camp, that Giovan Paolo was half-mad with anxiety, and that Tizzo, the right hand of Giovan Paolo in war, had disappeared on some strange mission. It was said that he had gone, actually, into the city of Perugia itself, but this was generally disbelieved because not even a Tizzo would have been capable of such folly. However, his return rushed a warm confidence into the breast of every man in the camp. San Martino’s bells rang out a frantic welcome, and the cheering made a gay thunder in the sky.

  But Tizzo, before long, was standing in the fine quarters of Giovan Paolo, who had taken over the villa of a rich merchant.

  He on one side of the table, big Henry of Melrose on the other, attacked a great roast of veal with their knives and fingers and drank plentifully of good red wine. Lady Beatrice, still in her boyish costume, walked up and down the room eating, with all the hungry abandon of a true boy, some bits of cold chicken and stopping at the table to sip wine. While Giovan Paolo, work thrust aside for the moment, enriched his eyes with the picture before him.

  There was another member of the group, for a short time, and that was the carter, Alfredo, son of Lorenzo. He, dusty cap in hand, blinked his one eye at Giovan Paolo and was unable to name the reward he expected. He could only say: “Another pair of mules would be a blessing to the four who now work for me, your highness!”

  “You shall have ten pairs of mules,” said Giovan Paolo.

  “No, in the name of God!” cried Alfredo. “For where should I put ten pairs in my shed?”

  “You shall have larger quarters!” exclaimed Giovan Paolo.

  Alfredo shook his head, saying: “Too big a bite of good fortune may choke me. Let me swallow happiness morsel by morsel, my lord. But when Perugia is retaken—”

  “Are you sure that we shall retake it, Alfredo?” asked Giovan Paolo.

  “The wisdom of your lordship will surround it,” said Alfredo, “and the fire of Tizzo will burn a way through the gates. Oh, yes, Perugia will be yours again, and soon! But when it is taken, if I could have the honor of running at the side of Tizzo and watching the ax of his honor at work on the heads of traitors, I would have something that would keep me in talk whenever I sat down to a cup of wine, so long as I live.”

  “You shall not run beside me; you shall ride on the finest warhorse in the camp. What else will you have, Alfredo?” said Tizzo.

  “Leave to go away for a little while and catch my breath,” said Alfredo.

  “So!” said Giovan Paolo, when the carter had gone. “I felt like a one-armed man — I felt like poor young della Penna, Tizzo, when you were gone from me. But why did you go, Beatrice?”

  “Because,” said the girl, “I had to see Tizzo again if only to tell him that his brain is as wild and as dizzy as the color of his hair.”

  “My lord of Melrose,” said Giovan Paolo, “now that you have come to us, you will always be welcome. Your strength will make itself felt when we storm the city. But tell me only one thing: Why did you let Tizzo go this long time without telling him that he is your flesh and blood?”

  “Because like a fool I thought that the time had not yet come,” said the Englishman. “What had the boy got from me? A chance to win hard knocks in the world, only! But I hoped that before long I would be able to give him a house and lands and fine horses and a whole armory of axes and swords and spears and everything else that he prizes most in the world. When I could, one day, take him into that paradise and say: ‘Tizzo, all this is yours; it is your father who gives it!’ Then, when I could do that, I felt that he might incline to forgive me. But, as I said before, I was a fool.”

  “Nothing is folly that has a glorious ending,” answered Giovan Paolo. “When you have eaten, Tizzo, tell me what you have done.”

  “No, Giovan Paolo. I’ll simply tell you what to do. Have your scouts, every day, sharpen their eyes when they ride towards Perugia, and above all, let them look towards the tower of the house of Antonio Bardi. For, one day, many flags will appear on that house, and one of them will be red. In whatever direction that red flag is placed, be sure that the same night the gate towards which it is set will be in the hands of our friends and will be opened. The Lady Atlanta, Luigi Falcone, Bardi, have all been drawn into a pact. They will act for you.”

  “Have you done that?” cried Giovan Paolo. “Then, if only the time comes before the lord of Camerino has advanced his men to the rescue of the “She had to come,” said Tizzo, “in order to show me the trap I was entering, and spring it by throwing herself into danger;
she had to come in order to save my father and myself in the first great moment of danger; she had to come in order with her fine wit to have us both carried safely again out of the town.” town, we have still one chance in three of conquering Perugia!”

  THE lord of Camerino, in fact, did not advance suddenly to the relief of the city of Perugia. He was gathering a strong force, and it was plain that his thought was actually to meet Giovan Paolo in the field and beat him out of it with sheer numbers. Merely to throw his forces into the city was not to his taste.

  And so a few days intervened which were a priceless gift to Henry of Melrose, among the rest. For, every day, he was twenty hours in bed, and four hours on horseback or exercising gingerly with weapons, feeling his way back to a strength which grew momently. And this same leisure time was used by young Tizzo in adoring his Lady Beatrice, in drinking wine with boon companions — for the entire camp was his companion — in playing dice, in riding races against the other youngsters on their finest horses, in fencing, wrestling, running, leaping, practicing with his great blue-bladed ax, in twanging a harp and composing songs to his own music, in the reading of a curious old Greek manuscript which Giovan Paolo, knowing his taste, had presented to him, in thumbing out little models of clay — for one day he swore that he would, be a sculptor like that great broken-nosed genius, Michaelangelo — in sleeping, eating, laughing, laboring, and filling every day to the brim with his abundant activities. For every me-monet his flame-blue eyes were open, they were employed with the first object or the first thought that came his way.

  Lady Beatrice said to him: “Do you love me, Tizzo?”

  He answered: “Love you? No! Love is no word for it. I love your beauty and hate your smallness; I worship your dignity and despise your arrogance; I adore and I detest you. I revere and I scorn you. If you were an inch taller I should spend all my days on my knees giving up offerings to your beauty. If you were a shade more gentle, I should perish from the greatness of my devotion. If you had not the claws of a cat as well as the velvet grace of one, I should die, instantly, because my heart would burst with joy. Therefore, never change, Beatrice!”

  “If there were ten of me,” said the Lady Beatrice, “I might be enough to keep a tenth part of your thoughts for the tenth part of a year. But as it is, you must be off every moment to some other diversion. Where are you going now, you dizzy-wit?”

  “I must keep an appointment, my love,” said Tizzo. “Beatrice, I must go at once to see Giovan Paolo. He wishes to speak with me on a matter of the greatest importance, an affair of the attack, and I am late for the appointment already!”

  But when, five minutes later, Beatrice saw her brother horsed and riding out with a train of companions to train the infantry in pike drill, there was no sign of Tizzo. She said nothing. She was not over bitter. It was perhaps because she understood him so well that she feared so much the future, and yet she could not be angry with him more than five minutes together.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE CHEAT.

  THE APPOINTMENT OF Tizzo had not been to talk war with Giovan Paolo. It had been to play dice at the tavern with a certain Amadeo, a Corsican, a good, sharp blade, a keen eye, with some of the surly Corsican hardness. He was no great friend of Tizzo, except that Tizzo was the friend of everyone, with no more suspicion in his nature than there is rain in an Italian summer sky. He had won a handful of gold florins from this Amadeo the night before and promised him some revenge today.

  In ten minutes the money had been won back by the Corsican, and a little crowd gathered to watch the famous ease with which Tizzo could squander gold. In fact, he was soon at the bottom of his wallet, though it had been well-crammed with money that same morning — a kindness which Giovan Paolo always performed for him. And Tizzo accepted the money with no more shame than he would have felt in pouring diamonds or blood on behalf of any friend. As a rule, he was too busy and too swift in his pleasures to allow shame to catch up with him.

  He was crying, now:— “Hello, Amadeo! I have reached the bottom of my purse in this moment.”

  “Your credit!” said Amadeo, eyeing the other as a falcon would stare at a singing bird. “Your credit, Tizzo, with me is like the credit of an angel! We cast again, I with gold and against your word for anything you please.”

  “Good!” said Tizzo. “Begin.”

  “There is no need for you to throw your money away, my lord,” said a voice beside the table.

  Tizzo, looking up, saw a youth in the middle teens, a soft-eyed, gentlelooking lad who carried in his eyes a certain dignity — of knowledge, perhaps.

  “Ah, you are the apprentice painter, are you?” demanded the Corsican. “What is it that you know about dice?” —

  “In Urbino,” said the other, “we learn how to roll dice when we are children, and so we can always tell a loaded pair.”

  “Loaded?” cried Amadeo. “Loaded dice? You cursed, woman-faced brat—”

  His strong hand was instantly fixed in the long black hair of the lad and a cruel, broad-bladed dagger appeared in his hand. He had dragged the lad far forward across the table sprawling, and the devil in his eyes made him look as though he were about to strike the weapon home.

  There was a general outcry, but not a hand lifted against the Corsican.

  Only, Tizzo said: “If you murder him, Amadeo, I’ll cut your throat for you as surely as there are five toes on your feet.”

  Amadeo, glancing aside with a scowl, saw the dangerous gleam in the eyes of Tizzo, and relaxed his grasp.

  “Do you believe him, Tizzo?” he complained, loudly.

  THE stranger, staggering back to his feet, dropped on the table the two dice which he had scooped up from it.

  “These are the dice he has been using,” he said. “Try them yourself, my lord, and then make up your mind.”

  Tizzo fixed a stern glance on the Corsican.

  “Shall I try them?” he asked. “Shall I roll with them, Amadeo?” Said the Corsican: “How can I tell that they are the same dice which I used?”

  But, though he spoke so bravely, his glance wandered for an instant towards the door of the tavern.

  “They are the same dice,” said Tizzo, quietly. “I can tell by the yellow color and by the way the edges are worn. These are the same dice. It is not possible that he could have carried with him another false set so exactly like yours.”

  Then he added, slowly: “Shall I roll them, to find out whether or not they are loaded?”

  The Corsican, a pale sweat covering his face, was making ready to answer, while the keen eyes of all around the table shone, for no people are so interested in the exposing of a lie as the Italians — when Tizzo exclaimed: “No, I shall not roll them. Amadeo, to what you have won, you are welcome. I have seen you fight, and such a brave man cannot be dishonest!”

  Suddenly Amadeo burst into a loud weeping.

  “I am a villain and a scoundrel!” he cried out.

  It was strange to see his hard, cruel, cunning face break into pieces with the grief of shame.

  Tizzo answered: “You have been my friend before; you shall be my friend now.”

  “I shall be honest!” cried Amadeo. “Here is the money I have so falsely won!”

  “Well,” said Tizzo, “I have learned so much that it is worth a little expenditure. I shall not take the money. It is earned by something else — the goddess of chance, perhaps. Here, my host — let no one pay a score until all of this money has been spent. Take it uncounted, but if you cheat, I’ll return and — well, I’ll return.”

  The host of the tavern, his eyes thrusting out of his head, took up the money with trembling fingers.

  “It shall be spent according to the scores, my lord,” he said. “God has blessed those who drink this month without expense!”

  “Is it so?” said Amadeo, staring at Tizzo.

  “My friend,” said Tizzo, “if I shame a brave man, how do I gain by it?”

  AMADEO, throwing the hood of his cloak over hi
s head, suddenly left the tavern, and Tizzo turned to the dark-faced young man.

  “You are called what?” he asked. “Sanzio, my lord,” said the other. “And the other name?”

  “Raphael.”

  “Raphael, what is your trade?”

  “I am a painter, my lord.”

  “Under whom?”

  “Him whom they already call Perugino.”

  “I have seen his work. A good, noble, rich painter. But, Lord, what broken necks and stupid faces!”

  “The stupidity in the faces is his sense of God, my lord,” said the youth.

  “When you paint, remedy that defect,” said Tizzo.

  “I shall try to, my lord,” said the youth.

  “Paint — why, paint anything, but make it human.”

  “That is my very thought,” said Raphael.

  “Is that your thought? Sit down and drink with me!”

  “I have had enough wine for this day,” said the painter.

  “Sit down and drink!” commanded Tizzo.

  “Yes, my lord,” said the painter, and slipped hurriedly into a chair.

  “What is that bundle under your arm?” asked Tizzo. Then he shouted: “Ho! Mine host! Wine!”

  The best wine of the house was brought on the run.

  “These?” said the boy. “These are drawings which I have made.”

  “Drink first, and then show them to me.”

  “To my lord, the noble knight, Tizzo, said Raphael. His smooth, dark face began to glow as he drank. “And as for these drawings — well, you see them.”

  “Come to my side of the table and point them out.”

  Raphael leaned by the side of the warrior and his femininely slender finger pointed out the drawings which he showed.

  “This,” said Tizzo, “is the lord, Giovan Paolo himself, about to strike a blow!”

  “No, signore” said Raphael, “it is Hector, who is about to strike down Patroculus.”

  “Ha! So?” said Tizzo. “But this is — why, this is my noble father, the Baron of Melrose.”