Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “Wait, Bonfadini!” called Tizzo.

  The poisoner halted, and turned slowly.

  “My lord,” said Tizzo, “I see that I have been a dog to doubt you. But when Malatesta fell a little time ago, I was sure that it was because he had been murdered by your command. And when I looked on the floor for the letter to me which he had been reading, it was gone. But I see now that I have been a fool and that your intentions are kind and honorable to me. I cannot leave you until my time of service is completed.”

  “You must and shall go, Tizzo,” said the duke. “Better to have one free friend than a thousand hired retainers. You must go. Take the Romagnols with you. They love you like a father. They are my parting gift, besides the money in this purse.”

  “I cannot take it, my lord,” said Tizzo, overcome.

  “You shall take it, however. It is yours. And that is not the end of the supply. What, man? Do you think I forget the towers of Urbino, and the rich plains around Forli? Tizzo, to the day of my death, my purse is yours. You have taught me what an honest man can be. Bonfadini, carry my order, and send word to the Lady Beatrice to prepare herself for travel in the morning. She is returning to her family. Captain Tizzo and his father escort her. Good night, Tizzo. You will want this evening to make your preparations. Your company will be under arms and ready for you at dawn. A good voyage to you. I say farewell now, because you know that it’s hard for me to leave my bed in the morning.”

  “My lord, there must be one last service that I can do for you,” said Tizzo.

  “Nothing. Not a thing. Only give my compliments to Giovan Paolo Baglione and tell him he’ll be your brother-in-law before long — that I am sorry he listened to fools and cowards and turned against me. Tell the rest of them that if they wish to meet me in Sinigaglia in a few days, I shall be there with an entirely open mind. I can forget the past, Tizzo. Tell them that. God knows that I’ve been a cruel fellow in my time, and I suppose I can be cruel again. If war has to come, it will be war to the knife. They understand that already. But a bit of quiet conversation might make us all friends.”

  “I remember every word,” said Tizzo, “and I’ll repeat it - exactly. I believe you, and I hope I can make them believe in you, also.”

  “I think you can, Tizzo,” said the duke, calmly. “Go to bed. Sleep well. And away with you in the morning. We’ll see each other often again. Two like you and me cannot live long in one country without meeting often.”

  He stood up and walked to the door with Tizzo, opening it with his own hand.

  “The trouble with the generals,” he said, “is that they’re afraid of the size I’ve grown to — partly with your help. Well, tell them that the greater I grow, the bigger my friends will become, and the better I can crush my enemies. Farewell! Good fortune!”

  And as he closed the door and turned around toward Machiavelli, he found the Florentine leaning forward in his chair, his chin resting on one hand, a faint smile on his face.

  “Do you understand, now?” asked the duke.

  “The Lady Beatrice, also?” said Machiavelli.

  “You can’t understand that?”

  “She’s a beautiful thing, my lord.”

  “She is, Niccolô.”

  “And beauty has a higher price in Italy than all the other virtues. I mean, beauty is a virtue in Italy.”

  “Do you think I am surrendering her foolishly?”

  “You might marry her off to some very great man, my lord.”

  “I could. And I intend to.”

  “Ah? Do you think that the Baglione will send her back into your hands?”

  “They won’t send her. They will drop her into my hands, Niccolô.”

  “There I fail to follow you,” said Machiavelli.

  “Well, then — in the first place what will happen when Tizzo talks to the generals?”

  “I think he may convince them that you mean well. Liars are always persuaded by a greater he. But the most persuasive thing in the world is a lie honestly told by an honest man. Tizzo is honest.”

  “If he were not so honest, he might become a great man in the world, my friend. Yes, I think that Tizzo will draw them all to Sinigaglia like birds into a limed net.”

  “And there?”

  “They must die, Niccolô. They know me too well, they suspect me too much, and already they’ve raised their hands against me. I am about to give Italy a final lesson in statecraft, the greatest it has ever seen.”

  “And Lady Beatrice?”

  “That girl is the only human being — except Machiavelli — who understands me. I can see the men being persuaded by Tizzo. I can see the girl vainly warning them like another Cassandra. I can see the generals riding off to Sinigaglia, and Tizzo along with them, to give them warrant that he meant what he said to me. And I can see Beatrice — she’s a girl all fire, Niccolô — slipping after them. She would follow Tizzo into fire as red as his own hair. And therefore, in Sinigaglia, I expect to hang the generals and take Lady Beatrice again.”

  “And Tizzo?” said the Florentine.

  “My dear Niccolô, why do you ask painful questions?”

  “Of course — of course!” said Machiavelli. “It’s clearly logical that he must die.”

  XXIV. ARRIVAL OF TIZZO

  GIOVAN PAOLO BAGLIONE, young, handsome, smiling, the grim Orsini, three of them, Oliverotto da Ferma, Vitellozzo Vitelli, all sat about a table at the tavern. Oliverotto was paring the rind from his slice of cheese and smiling at his thought; the Orsini drank their wine in silence, being silent men; Vitellozzo held his head high because his pride never left him, even at the table; and Giovan Paolo regarded the others with his own inimitable calm.

  A murmur from the verge of the town swelled suddenly into a strong shouting as voices nearer at hand took up the cry: “Duca! Duca!”

  Vitellozzo looked as though he had been stabbed to the heart. His face withered with pain and with fear.

  “Giovan Paolo!” he called out. “Is Cesare Borgia in Sinigaglia here with us?”

  “Hush! Hush!” cried Oliverotto, who had run to the door and thrown it wide. “You can hear something else!”

  They were able to make it out, cheering and laughter combined, and always the cry, “Duca! Duca! Tizzo! Tizzo!”

  Giovan Paolo began to clap his hands and laughed with happiness.

  “But wait!” called Vitellozzo. “You’re safe enough with Tizzo; yet how about the rest of us? We’ve heard that Tizzo is a blind servant to Cesare Borgia. What if he’s come here to cut our throats and send our heads back to his master in a basket? What about that? We are not bound to Tizzo by long services as you are!”

  “Do you know him?” asked Giovan Paolo.

  “No. I’ve never seen his face.”

  “If you talk to him for five minutes you’ll forget to be afraid. He’s the most honest man in Italy, Vitellozzo. When the Borgia plans his murders, he doesn’t pick Tizzo to execute them. Depend on it. We’re safer than before if we have Tizzo with us.”

  “But what if he’s the vanguard of the Borgia army?”

  “Our outposts would have sent in word that the army is coming,” protested the Baglione. “Wait till you see Tizzo.” The clamor poured echoing down the street and approached the tavern.

  “What’s to be our position here?” exclaimed Oliverotto. “Here we are each with a little army of our own and all, nominally, in the service of Cesare Borgia. And here comes part of - the rest of Borgia’s army to enter the city which we’re holding for him. Now I ask you, what shall we do? Shall we declare open war with Borgia, seize Tizzo and his men as prisoners, and defy the duke and all his hired men? Or shall we attempt to honor the duke in the person of Tizzo? Answer; up brightly, my friends!”

  “There’s no need to,” said Giovan Paolo. “The uproar’s going past us and Tizzo isn’t coming in here, after all.”

  For the shouting of “Duca! Duca!” was in fact streaming on down the street.

  “But if he came this
way, it’s because he wants to see us,” said Vitellozzo. “Why should he go by us?”

  “He has red hair and an unsettled brain,” said Oliverotto. “One can expect anything from him.”

  The youngest of the Orsini remarked, “He is a mongrel-half English and half Italian. What can you expect from him?”

  “Wine, gentlemen? Did I hear you call for wine?” asked a servile voice at the door.

  And in came a figure with a white cap set on the head and a white cloth over the arm, carrying a tray loaded with red wine.

  Giovan Paolo Baglione, at the casement, was listening with bowed, attentive head, to the passing of the clamor down the street.

  “Here — serve the wine!” exclaimed the young Orsini. “I need a drink and I need it badly. Don’t stumble over my foot, you fool.”

  “Keep your feet out of the way, then, you blockhead,” said the other.

  The words jumped Orsini fiercely to his feet, with a hand on his sword, but he saw that the man who had just put down the tray had now thrown off the white cloth, the white cap, and revealed a head of flaming red hair, a light breast-place of steel chased with gold, and a light sword belted high on his hip.

  “Tizzo!” shouted Giovan Paolo from the casement, turning suddenly around. “Be careful, Orsini. Take your hand from your sword. If you try to handle this flame, it will burn you to the bone. Give him your hand. Tizzo, I make you known to my friends. Oliverotto, Vitellozzo, the Orsini. Men you should have known long before this. Why did you come slipping in among us like this?”

  “I beg your pardons,” said Tizzo to them all, “but I came into Sinigaglia with no more than a hundred tough Romagnol peasants behind me and if your highnesses decided to be angry, you could have swallowed me in a single mouthful. So I decided that I would have a look at your faces.”

  “And how do the faces seem to you?” asked the young Orsini darkly.

  “They seem to me like men who are as honest as they have to be,” answered Tizzo, calmly and quickly.

  “I smell an insult in that!” exclaimed Orsini.

  “Your nose is long enough to sniff into corners,” said Tizzo.

  “I’ll stand no more!” shouted Orsini, snatching out his sword. Giovan Paolo, running in, struck down the blade.

  “You shall not fight,” said the Baglione. “Tizzo, what sort of fire-brained foolishness is all this? Orsini, put up your sword! Tizzo, you are to blame!”

  “Am I to blame?” said Tizzo, carelessly. “My lord Orsini, I ask your pardon, if I am to blame. And Giovan Paolo, who is the perfect knight, says that I am at fault. Will you give me your hand?”

  The Orsini stretched out his, grudgingly. But in a moment the atmosphere of the room had lightened a great deal, and Tizzo was saying, “We’ve heard a great deal about hard feelings among you hired soldiers. We’ve heard that you were ready to turn on the Duke of Romagna and try your best weapons against him. Is that the truth? I hope not. I’ve come ahead of his army to find out what’s in your mind.”

  Oliverotto had been dropping the heavy links of a gold chain through his fingers. He stopped this, now, to look up and say, “You’ve rented your hand and your heart and your soul to Cesare Borgia, Tizzo, and every man in Italy knows it. And a lie told about a man’s master is not a sin. However, you see that we can’t take your word.”

  “Suppose that I’m free of the duke?” said Tizzo.

  “If you were free of the duke, still you’d be bound to him,” said Vitellozzo, “because the woman you love is held in his hands.”

  “Shall I prove to you that I’m in fact a free man?” asked Tizzo.

  “Prove it if you can, my friend,” said Oliverotto.

  “Nothing more easy,” said Tizzo.

  It was a big room, low of ceiling, the heavy wooden beams discolored by sooty incrustations, because the fireplace smoked badly. At the farther end two curtained doorways communicated with the rooms beyond; and it was toward these curtains that Tizzo now turned and waved his hand.

  “It’s safe enough, I think,” said he.

  And out of the shadowy curtains two figures came forward into the light. The one had the red face and the huge shoulders of the Baron of Melrose; the other was Lady Beatrice Baglione, covered by the sweeping length of a dark cloak. Giovàn Paolo ran to his sister with an outcry of wonder and of happiness.

  “Is the Borgia drunk?” asked Oliverotto. “Or has Tizzo managed to get his father and the lady away by some sleight or trick?”

  “What do you know of Cesare Borgia?” asked Tizzo.

  “I know murder of him!” stated the older Orsini.

  “So do I,” said Tizzo. “But I also know that he keeps his friends.”

  “We are not friends of his, and we’ve proved it by rebelling against him,” said Oliverotto.

  “Stop the rebellion and he’ll welcome you back in his service. That’s what I’ve come to tell you.

  “Ah, he sent you on before him?” suggested Giovan Paolo. “And you’re to persuade us, and flatter us, and bribe us here and there? Is that it, Tizzo? And Beatrice is even sent along to make us feel that the tiger for once has his fill of meat and is ready to sleep and be petted? Is that the game of it? Beatrice went up to Tizzo and waited for his answer. But he merely laughed at the concern of Giovan Paolo.

  “Not one of you knows what a man he is!” said Tizzo. “What he’s done is partly for himself and partly for the sake of Italy. But the rest of you think of nothing but plundering a town here, or making a rich marriage there. I tell you, there’s no fear in him, either. He doesn’t fear the strength of all of you combined. He’s marching on Sinigaglia now, and you’ll hear his trumpets in the morning. Make up your minds by that time what you intend to do. If you want peace, you shall have it. If you want war, he promises to wash the streets of Sinigaglia with blood.”

  The others stood silent for a moment. Giovan Paolo said, “The truth is this. If we join the duke now, there’s hardly a power in Italy that can stand against us. But if we make him too great, he’ll simply be fattening us before he cuts our throats and roasts us on a fire. Now, my dear lads, think it over wisely and well. Let Beatrice tell us what she thinks of the duke.”

  Beatrice sat in a tall-backed chair and smiled on the generals.

  She said, “I’ll tell you the truth as I see it about him. He likes well enough a man he can use. He’s used Tizzo to capture Forli and Urbino. So of course, he is kind to him. More than kind. He even sends him away and sets him free from danger. I was held as a guarantee of the sword of Giovan Paolo. But he gave me up at once when Tizzo said that he couldn’t leave without me.”

  “Do you make that into a villainy?” demanded Tizzo.

  “I make nothing. But since you’re too honest for the Borgian statecraft, he would try to stretch your honesty far enough to use it for a mask. The rest of you may do as you please, but I’ll plead with Giovan Paolo on my knees not to join this foolish alliance. Cesare Borgia will feast you in the morning and murder you by noon, and I know it by instinct.” Vitellozzo said suddenly, “Actions mean more than words. Consider this. No one has done more than Tizzo for the duke. Forli and Urbino are two prizes worth having in hand. And here is Tizzo contracted for a certain period to the service of the duke but set free the instant he requests it. Not only that, but Beatrice Baglione is freed also, and the father of Tizzo. The rest of you may think what you please, but I say with Plato that virtue can be learned and that the Borgia seems to have learned it. I’m ready to join him again.”

  “Vitellozzo Vitelli, I can see you with your hands tied behind your back and the sword at your throat!” said Lady Beatrice.

  He looked at her with a scowl. He was young. Too much success, too much power in his youth had given him an excess of age in his face. He was dressed with an almost feminine luxury. He kept gripping and relaxing his grasp from the handle of a dagger at the butt of which there was a big emerald, like a great cat’s eye.

  “We take our advice from men, no
t from girls,” said he. You hear what I decide on, all of you. Now you can do as you please.”

  They stared at one another. In all Italy a more priceless crew of cutthroats could not have been gathered, except that Giovan Paolo Baglione was a man of honor as great as his courage. He stood up and threw a cloak over his shoulders.

  “The rest of you can do as you please,” he said. “I leave Singaglia to you and the Borgia. Beatrice, come with me.”

  “Giovan Paolo, I can’t go and leave Tizzo behind us in this trap,” said the girl.

  “Whether you want to or not,” said he, “you must go.” Tizzo went to her and led her by the arm from the room. After he had passed through the door, with Baglione behind him, Vitellozzo said, “You see that Tizzo trusts the Borgia absolutely. Isn’t that proof enough for us?”

  XXV. THE SHREWD MACHIAVELLI

  AND SLOWLY THE heads of the others were nodded.

  THERE WAS trouble with Vitellozzo in the morning. During his sleep of the night he had a vision of Giovan Paolo in which the Baglione warned him with a gloomy brow and a raised finger that he was only one day from the start of a long residence in hell. Paolo Orsini, on the other hand, worked to persuade the general, and finally he consented to start forward with the others to welcome the duke. He refused to ride a horse but said that he wanted a mule under him for the sake of the sure footing.

  What he said on this morning was long remembered by men.

  “When a man quits his instinct and follows his reason, it is time for him to have a surer seat than a horse can give him.” All of the words and actions of Vitellozzo during this day were overclouded by a strange sense of doom. Everything he did or said was recalled afterward by the witnesses.

  When he rode out with the rest of the generals, he kept to the rear on his mule. His head was down and he shook it from side to side now and again. Tizzo, riding the white stallion at his side, said, “Vitellozzo, if you feel the devil elbowing you in the ribs, why don’t you turn back?”

  The hired soldier merely raised his head and stared at Tizzo, with a blank, uncomprehending eye. Afterward Tizzo’s father said to him, “That Vitellozzo is seeing shadows at midday. There will be trouble ahead of us all!”