Both the Bravi were of opinion that a little fruit taken in the morning was cooling to the blood in spring. Trombin had cut a hole in the top of an orange and was solemnly sucking it — a process for which his small round mouth seemed to be expressly formed — and his pink cheeks contracted and expanded like little bellows as he alternately drew in the sweet juice and took breath. Gambardella could not have sucked an orange to save his life, because his long nose was directly in the way; he ate cherries slowly, and looked like a large brown bird of prey pecking at them with his beak.
‘Come in,’ he said between two pecks, as some one tapped at the entrance.
‘I have seen him, sirs,’ Tommaso said, after shutting the door behind him. ‘It is a thousand gold florins in cash, on the Eve of Saint John. I am to meet him behind the Baptistery of the Lateran at the first hour of the night and take him to the house.’
‘Well done!’ said Gambardella.
Trombin nodded his approval, for he was still at work on his orange, and was well aware that if the contact were broken for purposes of speech before the fruit was dry, the perfection of the satisfaction would be seriously compromised.
‘Tommaso,’ Gambardella continued, ‘I think you know Rome well. Are you aware that in the Via di Santa Sabina there is a small house which is almost always uninhabited, except in the month of October, when the owner goes there himself to see his wine made? Do you happen to remember that house?’
‘No, sir,’ answered the ex-highwayman, whose admiration for his employers’ wide knowledge increased daily. ‘But I can easily find it, for I know the road. It is a lonely place.’
‘A very lonely place,’ said Trombin, at last detaching himself from the shrivelled yellow shell which was all that was left of the orange. ‘It is so lonely that I may say there is never any one there, and there is rarely any one within hearing after dark. No thief goes near that road at night, Tommaso, because there is never any one to rob. Most people are fools, Tommaso, and suppose that robbers lurk in lonely and unfrequented spots, where they could not possibly find a purse to cut. Therefore, as we are no fools, Tommaso, but very intelligent persons, we feel quite secure in such places. Do you fully understand my meaning, Tommaso?’
‘I have practised a part of what you preach, sir,’ answered Tommaso with a grin.
‘No doubt. Very good, Tommaso. When you have found the house, go on some distance farther, say a hundred steps or so, and you will see a door in the wall, which evidently gives access to the vineyard. The door was painted red when I last saw it. Perhaps you will find it ajar, but if not, knock two or three times with the head of your stick, not roughly or noisily, but in a sober fashion; and then wait awhile, and if nobody comes, knock again. If you cannot get in to-day, go back to-morrow and the next day. The best time is a little before noon, when the man is not yet at dinner.’
‘Or asleep,’ suggested Tommaso.
‘Precisely. When he lets you in, you will know him because he has a reddish beard that is turning white on the left side. He cultivates the vineyard, and the owner takes half the produce; but for a consideration the man lets the small house in the Via di Santa Sabina to persons who are fond of vineyards and solitude. The only condition is that the shutters of the windows looking on the road must not be opened, lest the owner should pass that way.’
‘I understand, sir,’ said Tommaso, grinning again. ‘I dare say the man is deaf at night.’
‘Only at night, Tommaso, but then completely so,’ answered Trombin. ‘You will say that a gentleman of fortune desires the use of the little house for a week, with the keys, from the twenty-first to the twenty-eighth of June.’
‘At one Apostolic florin a day,’ put in Gambardella.
‘But you must on no account let him know our names,’ said Trombin. ‘You can give him two florins in hand as earnest money — —’
‘One is quite enough,’ interrupted Gambardella.
‘Be guided by your judgment, Tommaso,’ said Trombin, beginning to cut a hole in another orange. ‘I take you to be a sensible and economical person, but we must not lose the use of the house for the sake of a florin or two. For I dare say you have guessed what we need the house for.’
‘Partly, sir, partly. No doubt I am to take the young gentleman there on the Eve of Saint John.’
‘Yes, amongst other things, you will do that. But indeed, Tommaso, you yourself will be surprised at the extraordinary number of things you will do on that evening, all to your great advantage. It is not in my power to tell you everything now, my good fellow, because I am going to enjoy this orange in my usual way, by means of suction. But you shall know all in good time, all in good time, Tommaso!’
Therewith Trombin opened his round eyes to their fullest extent, clapped his lips to the aperture he had cut in the peel, and grasping the fruit firmly with both hands, he began the long and delicious process of extracting the juice.
‘And as you will have to receive the thousand gold ducats from Don Alberto,’ said Gambardella, speaking to Tommaso, ‘you will have a very substantial guarantee in hand. For though we shall never be far from you on that evening, we shall not be able to hinder you from running away and robbing us if you choose to do so.’
‘What have I done to deserve such an insinuation?’ asked the ex-highwayman indignantly, for he felt that his honour was assailed.
‘Nothing whatever,’ answered the Bravo calmly, ‘and I insinuated nothing that should shock your sensibilities, my good man. The profession has two branches, to one of which we belong, while you have followed the other. We take lives, you take purses, and you should not feel any more hurt at my suggesting that you might take mine, than I should if you suggested that I might cut your throat.’
‘That is true, sir.’
Tommaso spoke almost humbly, for he felt that if it should occur to the Bravi to exercise their ‘branch of the profession’ upon him, he should have no more chance of life than a kitten amongst bloodhounds. He was strong and active, no doubt, and could use most weapons fairly well, but he had neither the endurance of his terrible masters, nor their supreme skill in fencing; as for taking them unawares, they never rested without bolting their doors, and when they walked abroad they never heard footsteps behind them without looking round, nor passed the corner of a narrow street without drawing towards the middle of the road far enough to allow room for sword-play. A poor fellow like Tommaso, who had spent his early years as valet to a churchman, would make but a poor figure against such men in a fight; he was proud enough to be allowed to help them, almost without a thought of profit, and their money would be as safe in his hands as it would be in Chigi’s bank.
‘“The profession has two branches. We take lives, you take purses”’ToList
He was ready to obey them blindly, too, which was what they wanted, for the plan they had at last decided upon was a complicated one, and would certainly miscarry if anything went wrong during the night in which it was to be carried out; on the other hand, they did not trust him enough to tell him what they meant to do, though he had to trust to their promises that Ortensia should be already a prisoner in the little house in Via di Santa Sabina when he should bring Don Alberto to the door; and he knew that, if they failed, his only chance of safety would lie in instant flight, before young Altieri could have him laid by the heels in prison. Neither the money nor the papal safe-conduct would be forthcoming until the young noble had actually seen Ortensia in the little house.
After the last words he had spoken, Tommaso quietly prepared to shave Gambardella, while Trombin was finishing the second orange. He had brought hot water with him in a bright copper can, and he now proceeded to tie a large towel round Gambardella’s neck, after which he made a rich lather of Spanish soap, which he conscientiously rubbed into the Bravo’s hard brown cheeks and sinewy throat; last of all, he stropped his razor with the air and flourish of an accomplished barber and set to work.
Trombin finished his orange and looked on.
�
��Did you ever cut a man’s throat while you were shaving him, Tommaso?’ he asked idly.
‘Only once, sir,’ Tommaso answered quietly, and he turned Gambardella’s head a little on one side, in order to get below his jaw.
‘Why did you do it?’ inquired Trombin, dipping the tips of his large pink fingers into a bowl of water and carefully rinsing his lips.
‘It was to save my neck, sir. The man was one of the cleverest sbirri I ever had after me, but he did not know me by sight. It was in the March of Ancona, at a small village near Fermo. He had tracked me all the way from Modena, and he came to the inn on the evening of the third day. He sent for the village barber before he had supper; but the barber was a friend of mine and was hiding me, and he let me go in his place. I told the landlord of the inn that I was the barber’s new apprentice, and so I was admitted to shave the officer in his own room. You see, sir, both our horses were worn out, but his was still far better than mine, so it was safer that he should go no farther. That is the whole story, sir. I was over the frontier before morning.’
Gambardella smiled while Tommaso went on shaving him, and Trombin laughed as if the jest were very good.
‘It was not strictly in your branch of the profession, Tommaso,’ he said, ‘but under the circumstances you acted with great tact. Nevertheless, even in an extreme case, avoid shaving Don Alberto in that manner, for there is no telling what the consequences might be if he were found with his throat cut in the little house in Via di Santa Sabina!’
CHAPTER XVIII
CUCURULLO HAD HIS own opinion of what he saw during those days, and he kept it to himself for some time, though he and Pina talked together a good deal in the evenings over their late supper, in the little room next to the kitchen. The woman had interested the hunchback from the first, and when any one roused his interest he pondered much upon that person’s character and ways, and asked questions with considerable cunning. On the other hand, Pina, who was not given to exhibiting much liking for any one, seemed to have taken a fancy to her fellow-servant — either out of pity for his deformity or from natural sympathy. They treated each other with a good deal of formality, however; Cucurullo, who was a Neapolitan, addressed her as Donna Pina, as if she were a lady born, and she usually called him ‘Sor Antonino,’ as though he were at least a clerk or a small shop-keeper.
‘Tell me,’ he said, one evening when they were eating the salad left over from their masters’ supper, ‘what is your opinion of this young gentleman who admires our mistress?’
‘What opinion can I have?’ asked Pina, picking up a small leaf of lettuce on her two-pronged iron fork; for she ate delicately, and her fine manners were Cucurullo’s despair.
‘This is a wicked world,’ he sighed, rather enigmatically.
‘If you mean also that Don Alberto is one of those who make it so, I am inclined to agree with you,’ Pina answered. ‘I have seen other young gentlemen like him.’
‘You have had great experience of high life, Donna Pina. That is the reason why I asked your opinion. This young gentleman may be like others you have known, but besides that he is very powerful in Rome, and can do what he likes with impunity. He is so much in love with our mistress that he no longer understands, as we say in the South. He has lost his senses.’
‘But he has his wits left,’ observed Pina sharply.
‘And he owes a grudge for that scratch in the arm,’ added Cucurullo thoughtfully.
‘He does not know who gave it to him.’
‘Therefore he means the Lady Ortensia to pay him for it.’
‘Yes,’ Pina answered. ‘That is just like a man. Because he was hurt in serenading a lady, it must needs be her fault, and she must give satisfaction! First, he would like to carry her off to some lonely castle he must have, somewhere in the mountains, and at the end of a week, or a month, he would turn her out of doors and say it served her right because he had been wounded under her window. Yes, Sor Antonino, you may well say that I have some experience of high life!’
Cucurullo heard the bitter note that rang in the last words, and he partly understood, for he had known her long enough to guess that she had a sad story of her own.
‘We ought to watch the signs for the masters,’ he said. ‘They see nothing, hear nothing, and think of nothing but each other. One of these days the young gentleman will lay a snare and they will step into it like a pair of sparrows.’
‘What can we do?’ asked Pina in a dull voice. ‘Whatever is fated will happen.’
‘That is heresy, Donna Pina,’ said Cucurullo gravely, for he was much shocked to hear a fellow-servant express such a highly unorthodox sentiment. ‘It is a heresy condemned by the Fathers of the Church, and especially by Saint Thomas.’
‘He never lived my life!’ objected Pina with a sharp little laugh; and she poured out two fingers of sour white wine and drank it.
‘If the Maestro had thought as you do when I was thrown overboard, I should have drowned,’ said Cucurullo quietly.
‘When did that happen?’ asked Pina, interested at once.
‘It was on a small vessel coming from Naples to Cività Vecchia, five years ago, after my mother died,’ said Cucurullo. ‘I was coming to Rome because I hoped to get some clerk’s work, having had some little instruction, and the Maestro was one of the two or three passengers in the cabin. He was hardly known then, being very young, and indeed he was running away from a Neapolitan princess who was too much in love with him. Well, at first the captain was glad to have me on board, and the crew made much of me, believing that the hunchback would bring them luck and a quick passage. But we had not got as far as Gaeta when a storm came up and we were driven out to sea. It grew worse and worse for two days and nights, and our sails were torn, and other accidents happened, which I did not understand. Then the crew and the captain began to look askance at me, and I heard them say among themselves that I was the wrong kind of hunchback and had the Evil Eye; and just when it seemed as if the weather were moderating, and the sun had shone out for half an hour, the clouds in the south-west got as black as ink, and one could see the white foam driving towards us below them. Then, when the captain saw that there was no time to be lost, he ordered the men to throw me overboard, saying that I was Jonah and Judas Iscariot in one, and that nothing else could save the ship. They took me by my arms and feet and swung me twice and then threw me clean over the side; but I had already shut my eyes and was beginning to say the De profundis as well as I could. I had hardly finished the first versicle when I struck the water, and I was indeed crying unto the Lord out of the depths, for I cannot swim, and my end was clearly at hand.’
‘How awful!’ cried Pina in a low voice.
‘I never was in greater danger,’ said Cucurullo gravely, ‘and my mouth was already full of salt water. But I did not say then “whatever is fated will happen,” Donna Pina, for I was anxious to say the second versicle of the Psalm before I was drowned, and I tried what I could to keep my head up long enough for that. Then, just as a big wave was breaking, I saw something flying through the air, and as it was a dark thing I was afraid it was the devil coming for my soul, because my mother, blessed soul, when she was dying, had recommended me to pay three Carlini which she owed for milk, and I had wickedly forgotten it. But I have since paid it. However, it was not the devil, but Maestro Stradella, who had thrown himself into the sea, as he was, to save my life, only because he had spoken two or three times to me on the voyage. The ship was not going on fast, but though one of the sailors threw him a rope he could not catch it, for he was holding up my head and telling me not to be frightened, as well as he could amongst the waves, and not to catch hold of him, for he would save me. Then the passengers and sailors took a great board ten ells long that was on the deck, and served for landing, and they threw it over; and somehow the Maestro got me to it and we climbed upon it, while the ship was getting farther and farther away, and the black squall was coming nearer and nearer.’
‘The master swims like a w
ater-rat,’ said Pina. ‘I remember that night in Venice, when the Signors of the Night were after him!’
‘Ah, you should have seen him in the sea, God bless him!’ answered Cucurullo. ‘He had the strength and the long wind of a dolphin. When the squall came upon us we held each other fast, sitting astride of the plank, for it was a very heavy one, and did not sink with us. Then came the rain. Lord, how it rained, Donna Pina! You have never seen rain like that!’
‘I remember how it rained that night when the master climbed into our balcony! That was enough for me!’
‘Imagine ten times that, Donna Pina. The wind had blown the plank round, so that we got the rain in our backs, but even then I had to keep my mouth shut to hinder the water from running down my throat! And it must have lasted two hours, but the sea went down like magic in that time, and there was only a long, smooth, swelling motion, and the wind came from another quarter and carried us with it. That was how we were saved.’
‘The ship came back and picked you up, I suppose?’
‘After the squall we did not see the ship again, though the clouds rolled away and the sun shone brightly. She went to the bottom of the sea, Donna Pina, and was never heard of again, but we drifted for many hours, half dead with cold, and were washed upon the Roman shore.’
‘And what was fated, happened,’ said Pina with a smile. ‘For if you had not been thrown overboard you would have been drowned with the rest, Sor Antonino!’
Cucurullo smiled too, very quietly, and helped Pina to the last drumstick left over from a cold chicken.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 1307