CHAPTER VII.
The servants bore Buondoni into the great hall; but it was in vainthey attempted for a moment or two to rouse him into consciousnessagain. There was no waking from the sleep that was upon him. Lorenzo'ssword, thrust home, had passed through and through his body, piercinghis heart as it went. Very different were the sensations of thedifferent persons who gazed upon his great, powerful limbs andhandsome face, as he lay in death before them. Ramiro d'Orco couldhardly be said to feel anything. It was a sight which he had looked onoften. Death, in the abstract, touched him in no way. To see a mantake any one of his ordinary meals or die was the same to him. It wasan incident in the world's life--no more. He had no weak sympathies,no thrilling sensibilities, no fanciful shudderings at the extinctionof human life. A man was dead--that was all. In that man he had nopersonal interests. He knew him not. There had been no likelihood thathe ever would know him; if anything, less probability that that mancould ever have served him, and therefore there seemed nothing toregret. Neither had there been any chance that Buondini could everhave injured him, therefore there could be no matter for rejoicing;but yet, if anything, there was a curious feeling of satisfaction,rather than otherwise, in his breast. Death--the death of others--wasa thing not altogether displeasing to him. He knew not why it was so,and perhaps it sometimes puzzled him, for he had been known to say,when he heard a passing-bell. "Well, there is one man less in theworld! There are fools enough left."
Old men grow hardened to such things, and in the ordinary course ofnature, as their own days become less and less, as life with thembecomes more and more a thing of the past, they estimate the death ofothers, as they would estimate their own approaching fate, butlightly. The old Count Rovera looked with but very little feeling uponthe dead man; but he thought of his young relation Lorenzo, and ofwhat might be the consequences to him. At first, when he rememberedthat this man had been a great favourite with Ludovic the Moor, andthus another offence had been offered by a Visconti to a Sforza, heentertained some fears for the youth's safety. But then therecollection of the King of France's powerful protection gave him moreconfidence, and his sympathies went no farther.
The feelings of Lorenzo himself were very different; but as they weresuch as would be experienced by most young men unaccustomed tobloodshed in looking for the first time upon an enemy slain by theirown hands, we need not dwell much upon them. There was the shudderingimpression which the aspect of death always makes upon young,exuberant life. There was the natural feeling of regret at havingextinguished that which we can never reillume. There was that curious,almost fearful inquiry which springs up in the thoughtful mind at thesight of the dead, when our eyes are not much accustomed to it, "Whatis life?"
While he was still gazing, one of the servants touched the old count'sarm and whispered something to him, "Ha!" cried Rovera; "I am told,Lorenzo, you received a letter to-night, which was sent up to yourroom by one of your men, after we all parted. It was not a challenge,perchance? If so, you should have chosen some other place for yourmeeting than our terrace."
"It was not so, sir," replied Lorenzo, promptly. "I had no previousquarrel with the man. The letter was from his Majesty King Charles.Here it is; you can satisfy yourself."
"My eyes are dim," said the old man; "read it Ramiro."
The Lord of Orco took the paper, and read while one of the servantsheld a flambeau near.
"Well-beloved Cousin"--so ran the note--"It has pleased us to bestowon you the troop of our ordnance, become vacant by the death ofMonsieur de Moustier. We march hence speedily, and the Seigneur deVitry proceeds to-night toward Pavia. As he will not be able to departtill late in the day, we judge it best to advise you, in order to yourpreparation, that he will halt near the Villa Rovera for an hourto-morrow early, and that we expect you will accompany him on hismarch without delay. Fail not as you would merit our favour.
"CHARLES."
Ramiro read the letter aloud, and then, without any comment on thecontents, remarked:
"You have left the impress of your thumb in blood upon the king'smissive, Signor Visconti; you are wounded, mayhap."
"Ah! a scratch--a mere scratch in my right shoulder," answeredLorenzo; "I could not completely parry one of his first thrusts, andhe touched me, but it is nothing."
"Oh, you are hurt, Lorenzo! you are hurt!" cried Bianca Maria, who hadcome down from her chamber, and was standing behind the little circlewhich had gathered round the dead man.
"Get you to bed, child!" said the old count sharply; "these are nomatters for you. Your cousin has but a scratch. Get you to bed, girl,I say; this is a pretty pass, that two men cannot fight without havingall the women in the house for witnesses!"
In the mean time Ramiro d'Orco had raised the left hand of the deadman, in which was still firmly clasped his poniard--his sword hadfallen out of the right when he fell--and, taking a torch from one ofthe servants, he gazed along the blade.
"This dagger is grooved for poison, Conte," he said, addressing hishost in the same quiet, indifferent tone he generally used; "betterlook to the young gentleman's wound."
"I thank you, sir," replied Lorenzo; "but it came from his sword, nothis poniard. I will retire and let my men stanch the bleeding."
"Better, at all events, apply some antidote," said Ramiro; "a littleparsley boiled will extract most poisons, unless they remain too long.It were well to attend to it speedily."
"Well, I will go," replied Lorenzo; "but, I call Heaven to witness, Ihave no blame in this man's death. He attacked me unprovoked, and Ikilled him in self-defence."
"We must take measures to discover how this came about," said thecount, thoughtfully. "Buondoni cannot have come here unattended."
"Better perchance let it rest," said Ramiro d'Orco, "there may bemotives at the bottom of the whole affair that were not well broughtto the surface. I have gathered little from tonight's discourse ofthis youth's history; but he is a Visconti, and that alone may makehim powerful enemies, who had better still be his enemies than yours,father."
"I fear them not," replied the old nobleman; "let diligent inquiry bemade around and on the road to Pavia for any stranger arrived thisnight. Now, Ramiro, come with me for awhile, and we will talk farther.Lights, boys, on there in my cabinet. You are in your night gear,signor; but I will not keep you long ere I let you to your slumbersagain."
"They will be my first slumbers," answered Ramiro. "I had not closenan eye when I heard talking, and singing, and then clashing ofswords--no unusual combinations in our fair land, Signor Rovera."
As he spoke he followed the old count into a small, beautiful room,every panel of which held a picture, of great price then, andinvaluable now as specimens of the first revival of art. When theywere seated and the doors closed, the elder man fell into a fit ofthought, though he had invited the conference, and Ramiro d'Orco spokefirst.
"Who is this young Visconti?" he asked; "and how comes the King ofFrance to give him cousinship?"
"Why, he is the son of that Carlo Visconti who stabbed GaleazzoSforza," answered the count, "and was killed in the church. The boywas carried by some of his relations to his godfather, Lorenzo deMedici, and educated by him."
"Then 'tis Ludovic's doing," said Ramiro; "he has sent this man tomake away with him, though that was a bad return for his father's kindact in lifting him to power. By my faith he should have raised andhonoured the boy. That good stroke of a dagger was worth threequarters of a dukedom to the good prince. But I suppose, from all Ilearn, that the youth is now trying adventure as a soldier."
"Soldier he is under the King of France," answered the old man; "butan adventurer he hardly can be called, for he has large estates inTuscany. When Ludovic seized the regency, he was fain to court Lorenzode Medici for support, and right willingly he agreed to change theestates of his brother's executioner for the lands which his fatherFrancesco had obtained in gratuity from Florence. No, he is wealthyenough, and if he serves, it is but for honour or ambition."
"But how i
s he cousin to the King of France?" asked Ramiro; "it is acousinship of much value as events are passing nowadays."
"Why, do you not recollect?" asked the old man, somewhat testily,"that Valentina Visconti married Louis, brother of Charles the Sixthof France, grandfather of the present Duke of Orleans, who will oneday be King of France too, if the marriage of this young king besterile. Three years have passed without any prospect of another heir,and then the future of this youth, is bright indeed."
"It is," answered Ramiro; and, after a moment's thought, he added, "Isuppose you intend to marry him to your granddaughter?"
"Good sooth, they may do as they like, Ramiro," answered the old man."I have made marriages for my children, and seen none of them happy orsuccessful. Some remorse--at least regret--lies in the thought. I havebut this child left for all kindred, and she shall make her marriagefor herself. I may give advice, but will use no compulsion. In truth,I one time sought her union with Lorenzo, for he is not only full ofpromise, rich, noble, allied to royal houses both of France andEngland, but, with high spirit, there is allied in him a tendernessand love but rarely found. I marked it in him early, when he was pageto that magnificent prince his godfather. The other lads, who loved orseemed to love him, were sure to prosper through his advocacy ofmerits less than his own. In furtherance of my wish, I had Biancabrought up with him in Florence; but, like an unskilful archer, I fearI have overshot my mark. The one is as a brother to the other; and Ibelieve she would as soon marry her brother as Lorenzo. On his part Iknow not what the feelings are. He seems to love her well, but stillwith love merely fraternal, if one may judge by eyes and looks. I'veseen more fire in one glance at Leonora than in poor Lorenzo's lifewas given to any other. But this unfortunate fight may breed mischief,I fear. If Ludovic sent the man to kill him, he will not soon be offthe track of blood. Thank Heaven! he is soon going on."
"I think there is no fear," replied Ramiro, "unless Buondoni's bladewas well anointed. Ludovic is too wise to follow him up too fiercely.We may run down our game eagerly enough upon our own lands, but do notcarry the chase into the lands of another, Signor Rovera."
"As soon as Lorenzo can rejoin the King of France, he is safe,"rejoined the Count, "and methinks, till then, I can take care of him.I know the look of a poisoner or assassin at a street's distance. Onlylet us look to his wound; I have known one of the same scratches end agood strong man's life in a few hours."
"So say I," answered Ramiro, "but I will go out and walk upon theterrace. I feel not disposed to sleep. If you should want me, call mein. I know something of poisons and their antidotes; I studied themwhen I was in Padua; for, in this life, no one knows how often one maybe called upon to practise such chirurgy on his own behalf."
Thus saying, he left the Count de Rovera, and while the other, halfdressed as he was, hurried up to Lorenzo's chamber, Ramiro, with hisusual calm and almost noiseless step, went forth and walked theterrace up and down. For more than an hour he paced it from end toend, with all his thoughts turned inward. "A distant cousin of thisKing of France," he thought, "and almost german to his apparent heir!Wealthy himself and full of high courage! The lad must rise--ay, high,high! He has it in his look. Such are the men upon whose risingfortunes one should take hold, and be carried up with them. It wassurely Leonora's voice I heard talking with him from the windows. Ifso, fortune has arranged all well; yet one must be careful--no toorapid steps. We fly from that which seeks us--run after that whichflies. I will mark them both well, and shut my eyes, and let thingstake their course, or else raise some small difficulties, soonoverleaped, to give the young lover fresh ardour in the chase. Pity heis so young--and yet no pity either. It will afford us time to see howfar he reaches."
With such thoughts as these he occupied himself so deeply that hiseyes were seldom raised from the ground on which he trod. At length,however, he looked up toward the windows; and there was one in whichthe lights still burned, while figures might be seen, from time totime, passing across.
"That must be his chamber," said Ramiro to himself. "I fear the bladewas poisoned, and that it has had some effect. I must go and see.'Twere most unlucky such a chance should escape me. Let me see; whereis that snake-stone I had? It will extract the venom," and, enteringthe house, he mounted the stairs rapidly to Lorenzo's chamber.
He found him sick indeed. The whole arm and shoulder were greatlyswollen; and while the old count stood beside his bed with a look ofanxious fear, a servant held the young man up to ease his troubledrespiration. Lorenzo's face seemed that of a dying man--the featurespale and sharp, the eye dull and glassy.
"Send for a clerk," said the youth; "there is no time for notaries;but I wish my last testament taken down and witnessed."
"Cheer up, cheer up, my good young friend," said Ramiro. "What! youare very sick; the blade was poisoned, doubtless."
"It must be so," said the young man, faintly; "I feel it in everyvein."
"Well, well, fear not," answered Ramiro; "I have that at hand whichwill soon draw out the poison. Here man," he continued, speaking toone of the attendants, who half filled the room, "run to my chamber.On the stool near the window you will find a leathern bag; bring itto me with all speed. You, sir, young page, speed off to the buttery,and bring some of the strongest of the water of life which the houseaffords. It killed the King of Navarre, they say, but it will help togive life to you, Lorenzo."
"The bottigliere will not let me have it, sir," replied the boy.
"Here, take my ring," said the old count; "make haste--make haste!"
The boy had hardly left the room, when the servant first despatchedreturned with the leathern bag for which he had been sent. It was soonopened, and, after some search, Ramiro took forth a small packet, andunfolded rapidly paper after paper, which covered apparently some veryprecious thing within, speaking quietly as he did so:
"This is one of those famous snake-stones," he said, "which, when aman is bitten by any reptile, be it as poisonous as the Egyptian asp,will draw forth the venom instantly from his veins. Heaven knows, butI know not, whether it is a natural substance provided for the cure ofone of nature's greatest evils, or some cunningly invented mithridatecompounded by deep science. I bought it at a hundred times its weightin gold from an old and renowned physician at Padua; and it is ascertain a cure for the case of a poisoned dagger-wound as for the biteof a snake. Ah! here it is! have bare the place where the swordentered."
"Pity it came not a little sooner," said Lorenzo's servant, taking offsome bandages from his master's shoulder; "physic is late for a dyingman."
Ramiro d'Orco gave him a look that seemed to pierce him like a dagger,for the man drew back as if he had been struck, and almost sufferedhis master to fall back upon the bed.
"Hold him up, fool!" said Ramiro, sternly; and, holding the wound,which had been stanched, wide open with one hand till the blood beganto flow again, he placed what seemed a small brownish stone, hardlybigger than a pea, in the aperture, and then bound the bandagestightly round the spot.
"That boy comes not," he said; "some of you run and hasten him."
But ere his orders could be obeyed the page returned, with a largesilver flagon and a Venice glass on a salver.
"Now, Signor Visconti, drink this," said Ramiro, filling a glass andapplying it to his lips.
Lorenzo drank, murmuring,--"It is like fire."
"So is life," answered Ramiro; "but you must drink three times, with ashort interval. How feel you now?"
"Sick, sick, and faint," replied Lorenzo. But some lustre had alreadycome back into his eye; and after a short pause, Ramiro refilled theglass, saying,
"Here, drink again."
The young man seemed to swallow more easily than before, and, in amoment or two after he had drunk, he said in a low voice,
"I feel better. That stone, or whatever it is, seems as it weresucking out the burning heat from the wound. I breathe more freely,too."
"All is going well," replied Ramiro. "One more draught, and, thoughyou be no
t cured, and must remain for days, perchance, in yourchamber, the enemy is vanquished. You shall have cheerful faces andsweet voices round you to soothe your confinement; but you must bevery still and quiet, lest the poison, settling in the wound itself,though we have drawn it from the heart, should beget gangrene. Bianca,your dear cousin, and my child Leonora, shall attend you. Here, drinkagain."
Lorenzo felt that with such sweet nurses he would not mind his wound;but the third draught revived him more than all. His voice regainedits firmness, his eye its light. The sobbing, hard-drawn respirationgave way to easy, regular breathing; and, after a few minutes, hesaid,
"I feel almost well, and think I could sleep."
"All goes aright," said Ramiro; "you may sleep now in safety. Thatmarvellous stone has already drawn into itself all the deadly venomthat had spread through your whole blood. Nothing is wanting but quietand support. Some one sit by him while he sleeps; and if perchance hewakes, give him another draught out of this tankard. Let us all gonow, and leave him to repose."
"I will sit by him, signor," said the man who had been supporting him;"for there be some who would not leave a drop in the tankard bigenough to drown a flea, and I have sworn never to taste _aqua vit?_again, since it nearly burst my head open at Rheims, in France."
Before he had done speaking Lorenzo was sound asleep; and while theservant let his head drop softly on the pillow, the rest silentlyquitted the room.
Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance Page 7