CHAPTER XII.
By the side of a small bed, in a small room next to the larger one ofwhich I have already spoken in noticing the usual arrangements of acontadino's house, sat our friend Antonio, nearly an hour after hismeeting with Giovanozzo. The same man who, some time before, had lainupon the table in the adjoining chamber now occupied the bed; but hewas apparently sound asleep. The contadino's Xantippe had informed herhusband, or rather Antonio, for whom she entertained much higherveneration, that the "poor soul," as she called Buondoni's retainer,had awoke and spoken quite cheerfully, but that he had now fallen intoa more refreshing kind of slumber; and anxious to busy herself abouther household affairs, she had willingly left her patient to Antonio'scare, upon being assured that they were old companions.
Antonio, as the reader may have remarked, had that curious habit,common to both sages and simpletons, of occasionally giving vent tohis thoughts in words, even when there was no one to listen tothem--not in low tones, indeed, but in low-muttered murmurs--not inregular and unbroken soliloquy, but in fragments of sentences, withlapses of silent meditation between.
"It is Mardocchi," he said; "it is Mardocchi beyond all doubt.Mightily changed, indeed, he is--but that scar cutting through theeyebrow. I remember giving him the wound that made it with the palla."
He fell into silence again for a few minutes, and then he murmured,"We used to say he would be hanged. So he has fulfilled his destiny,and got off better than most men in similar circumstances." Here cameanother break, during which the stream of thought ran on still; andthen he said, "Now let any one tell me whether it was better for thisman to be brought to life again or not. His troubles in this life wereall over, he had taken the last hard gasp; the agony, and theexpectation, and the fear were all done and over, and now they haveall to come over again, probably in the very same way too, for he iscertain to get into more mischief, and deserve more hanging, and takea better hold of Purgatory, even if he do not go farther still. Henever had but one good quality; he would keep his word with you forgood or ill against the devil himself. He had a mighty stubborn will,and once he had said a thing he would do it."
Here came another lapse, which lasted about five minutes, and thenAntonio murmured quite indistinctly, "I wonder if he be really asleep!He could feign anything beautifully, and his eyes seemed to give asort of wink just now. We will soon see." Some minutes of silence thensucceeded, and at length Antonio spoke aloud: "No," he said, as ifcoming to some fixed and firm conclusion, "no; it would be better forhim himself to die. The good woman did him a bad service. TheseFrenchmen will hang him again whenever they catch him, and if there beany inquiry into the death of Buondoni, they will put him on the rack;besides, we may all get ourselves into trouble by conniving at hisescape from justice. Better finish it at once while he is asleep, andbefore he half knows he has been brought to life again."
He then unsheathed his dagger, which was both long and broad, triedthe point upon his finger, and gazed at his companion. Still there wasno sign of consciousness. The next moment, however, Antonio rose,deliberately pushed back his sleeve from his wrist, as if to preventit from being soiled with blood, and then raised the dagger high overthe slumbering man.
The instant he did so, Mardocchi started up, and clasped his wrist,exclaiming, "Antonio Biondi, what would you do? kill your unhappyfriend?"
Antonio burst into a loud laugh, saying, "Only a new way of waking asleeping man, Mardocchi. The truth is, I have no time to wait tillyour shamming is over in the regular course. We have matters of lifeand death to talk of; and you must cast away all trick and deceit, andact straightforwardly with me, that we may act quickly; your own lifeand safety depend upon it. Now tell me, what did the Lord of Vitryhang you for?"
"His morning's sport, I fancy," answered the man; "but softly, goodfriend; you forget I hardly know as yet whether I am of this world oranother. My senses are still all confused, and you, Antonio--my oldplaymate--should have some compassion on me."
"So I have, Mardocchi," answered Antonio; "and, as these good peoplehave brought you back to life, I wish to save you from being sent outof it again more quickly than you fancy."
"Where is the danger?" asked Mardocchi, hesitating.
"That is just what I want to discover," said the other; "not vaguely,not generally, but particularly, in every point. General dangers I cansee plenty, but I must know all the particular ones, in order to placeyou in safety. Do you know that your lord, Buondoni, is dead?"
"Ay, so the good woman told me," replied the other; "killed by thatyoung cub of the Viscontis. Curses on him!"
Antonio marked both the imprecation and the expression of countenancewith which it was uttered; but he did not follow the scent at once."Do you know at whose prayer you were cut down?" he asked.
"They tell me at the instance of the Signorina de Rovera," repliedMardocchi; "a young thing I think she is. I saw her once, I believe,with the Princess of Ferrara. If I live, I will find some way to repayher."
"Well, that is just the question," replied Antonio, "if you are tolive or die? Hark you, Mardocchi! you must tell me all, if you wouldhave me save you."
"But can you, will you save me?" inquired the man; "and yet why shouldI fear? The Frenchmen cut me down themselves, I am told."
"Ay, but they are very likely to hang you up again, if they find youout of sight of the pretty lady who interceded for you. Nay, more,Mardocchi: all men believe that you were deep in the secrets ofBuondoni and of the Count Regent through him. Now, as you know, theKing of France is very likely to put you to the rack if he finds you,to make you tell those secrets; and your good friend Ludovic the Moor,is very likely to strangle you, to make sure that you keep them."
Mardocchi made no reply, for he knew there was much truth in Antonio'swords; but, after a moment's pause, the other proceeded, "You must getout of Lombardy as fast as possible, my good friend."
"But where can I go? what can I do?" asked the unhappy man. "I havelost my only friend and patron. I am known all through this part ofthe country. I almost wish the women had let me alone."
"It might have been better," said Antonio in a meditative tone. "'Oncefor all' is a good proverb, Mardocchi. However, I think I could helpyou if I liked; I think I could get you out of Lombardy, and into theRomagna, and find you a good master, who wants just such a fellow asyourself."
"Then do it! do it!" cried Mardocchi, eagerly; "do it for oldcompanionship; do it, because, for that old companionship, I haveforgiven more to you than I ever forgave to any other man. Why shouldyou not do it?"
"There is but one reason," answered Antonio, gravely, "and that liesin your own words. When you spoke of Lorenzo Visconti just now, youcalled down curses upon him. Now he is my lord and my friend. I wasplaced near him by Lorenzo the Magnificent, and promised I wouldalways help and protect him. Do you think I should be doing either ifI aided to save a man who would murder him the first opportunity? Ialways keep my word, Mardocchi."
"And so do I," answered Mardocchi, gloomily. "Sacchi and the rest toldall they knew to the Frenchman, out of fear for their pitiful lives,and they saved themselves. I refused to tell anything, because I hadpromised not, and they strung me up to the branch of a tree. But Iwill promise you, Antonio, I will never raise my hand against theyoung man. I shall hate him ever, but--"
"Let me think," said Antonio; and, after meditating for a moment, headded, "there are ways of destroying him without raising your handagainst him: there is the cord. Listen to my resolution, Mardocchi,and you know I will keep it: if you will promise me not to take hislife in any way--for I know you right well--I will help you, for oldcompanionship, to escape, and to join a noble lord in the Romagna;but, if you do not promise, I will make sure of you by other means.I have but to speak a word, and you are on the branch of themulberry-tree again--"
"Stop, stop!" said Mardocchi; "do not threaten me. I amweak--sick--hardly yet alive, but I do not like threats. The crushedadder bites. Let me think: I hate him," he continued, slowly,recoveri
ng gradually from the excitement under which he had firstspoken. "I shall always hate him, but that is no reason I should killhim. I have never promised to kill him--never even threatened to killhim. If I had, I would do it or die; but I do not like death. I havetasted it, and no man likes to eat of that dish twice. It is verybitter; and I promise you in your own words, Antonio. But you likewisemust remember your promise to me."
"Did you ever know me fail?" said the other. "The first thing is toget you well, the next to shave off that long beard and those wildlocks, and then, with a friar's gown and the cord of St. Francis, Iwill warrant I get you in the train of one of these French lords. Canyou enact a friar, think you, Mardocchi?"
"Oh, yes," said Mardocchi, with a bitter grin, "I can drink andcarouse all night, tell a coarse tale with a twinkling eye, laugh loudat a small jest, and do foul services for a small reward, if it be tosave my life; but then I cannot speak these people's language,Antonio."
"All the better--all the better," answered Antonio; "many of them knowa little Italian, and hard questions put in a foreign tongue, areeasily parried. It would be a good thing for one half of the world ifit did not understand what the other half said."
"But who is this good lord to whom you are going to send me?" askedthe man. "Is he a courtier or a soldier."
"A little of both," answered Antonio, "but more a man of counsel thaneither. His name is Ramiro d'Orco."
"Ah! I have heard of him," said Mardocchi. "He puzzles the peopleabout the court. All men think that at heart he has vast ambition, andyet none can tell you why he thinks so. All agree in that, though somethink he is a philosopher, some a simpleton."
"Well, well," answered Antonio, "the first thing is for you to recoverhealth and strength, the next to get you safely away, the third tomake you known to the Signor Ramiro. He is the sort of man to suityour views. I know him well. He is rich, and, as you say, ambitious.He is wise, too, in a certain way; and though he has not yet found apath to the objects he aims at, he will find one in time, or make one,even were he to hew it through his own flesh and blood. He wantsserviceable men about him, and that is the reason I send you to him.If he rises, he will pull you up; if he falls, there is no need heshould pull you down with him. But we will converse more to-morrow;to-day you have talked enough, perhaps too much."
"But, Antonio, Antonio," said the other, eagerly catching his sleeve,"you will tell no one that I am here?"
"No one on earth," answered Antonio; and, bidding him farewell, heleft him.
The journey of Antonio back to the villa was somewhat longer than itneeded to have been. He took devious and circuitous paths, and eventurned back for a part of the way more than once. It was not, however,that he fancied himself watched, or that he feared that any one mightdiscover where he had been; but his brain was very busy, and he didnot wish his thoughts interrupted till they had reached certainconclusions from which they were distant when he set out. He askedhimself if he could really trust to Mardocchi's word, knowing but toowell how predominant the desire of revenge is in every Italian heart.He half accused himself of folly in having promised him so much; andthough he was, in truth, a good and sincere man, yet the common habitsand feelings of his country every now and then suggested that it wouldbe easy to put an end to all doubt and suspicion, if he saw cause, bythe use of the Italian panacea, the stiletto. "But yet," he said tohimself, "it may be better to take my chance of his good faith, andlet him live. I never knew him break his word, and by his means,perhaps, I may penetrate some of Signor Ramiro's purposes in regard toyoung Lorenzo. I will tie him down to some promise on that point too.He will need my help yet in many ways; and though I will not set a manto betray his master, yet I may well require him to warn his friends."
It was an age and a country in which men dealt peculiarly insubtleties, so much so, indeed, that right and truth were oftenrefined away to nothing, especially in the higher and better educatedclasses of society. The bravo, indeed, was often a morestraightforward and truthful man than the nobleman who employed him.He would own frankly that he was committing a great sin; but then hehad faith in the Virgin, and she would obtain remission for him. Hisemployer would find a thousand reasons to justify the deed, and wouldso pile up motives and necessities in self-defence that it would seemalmost doubtful which was most to be pitied, himself or his victim.Antonio was by no means without this spirit of casuistry; and thoughno man could cut through a long chain of pretences with more trenchantwit than he could, in the case of another, yet he might notunfrequently employ them in his own. He resolved, therefore, not toengage Mardocchi to betray his master's secrets, but only to revealthem when it was necessary that he, Antonio, should know them. Thedifference, indeed, was very slight, but it was sufficient to satisfyhim.
Antonio's mind then naturally reverted to Ramiro d'Orco, and he askedhimself again and again what could be the motive which led a man sofamous for stoical hardness to show such tenderness and considerationfor Lorenzo Visconti. "It may be," he thought, "that this grim oldtyrant thinks it a splendid match for his daughter. But then they sayshe has a magnificent fortune of her own--her dower that of aprincess. There must be some other end in view. She is a gloriouscreature too, midway between Juno and Sappho. Well, we must wait andwatch. Heaven knows how it will all turn out. Perhaps, after all,Ramiro has some scheme against one of the princes of Romagna, in whichhe hopes to engage the King of France through young Lorenzo'sinfluence.--It is so, I think--it is so, surely. He wants serviceablemen, too, and asked me if I knew of any. Well, I think I have fittedhim with one at least, and he will owe me something for the good turn.But I must hie homeward, and keep these things to myself. No moreinterfering between Lorenzo and his young love. He bore my warningsbadly this morning: I must let things take their course, and try toguide without opposing."
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