CHAPTER XXXIX.
"Prefect of Romagna!" said Ramiro d'Orco to himself, walking up anddown his private cabinet in the castle of Imola; "that may create aconflict of jurisdictions with the vicars of the Church. It is anawkward office to give or to hold."
He spoke in a low voice to himself, and though his words were serious,and implied a difficulty of some magnitude, there was an unwontedsmile upon his lip, as if there was something that satisfied him well.
He rang a little silver bell which stood upon the table, and when aservant appeared, ordered him to seek for Father Peter and bring himthither. The man was a long time absent, but Ramiro d'Orco satquietly, with that well-pleased smile on his lip, gazing at somepapers before him, but quite unconscious of the characters with whichthey were covered. What were his meditations, who can say? for somesmiles are not altogether pleasant; and his was far from being benign.
At length the friar appeared--now in reality a friar, for there werestrange transformations in those days; assassins sometimes becamefriars, and friars were not unfrequently assassins.
"Sit, good father, sit," said Ramiro d'Orco, "I have news for you."
"Good news, I hope, my lord," replied Mardocchi. "I have some news foryou, too; but mine is not the best; however, it matters but little."
"Mine matters much," said Ramiro d'Orco. "What think you, Mardocchi?Our friend, Lorenzo Visconti, has been appointed by the pope, at theinstigation of Louis XII., King of France, Prefect of Romagna, and isabout, in this fine weather, to make a tour through the exarchate andthe legations. He must come to Imola of course; and I have lettershere from that high and mighty prince C?sar, Duke of Valentinois,requiring me, by the favour in which I stand with him, to receive theprefect with all due honour, and to make his time pass pleasantly. Wewill do it, Mardocchi--we will do it; for, although there is a verypalpable hint in Borgia's missive that no harm is to be done to thecousin of King Louis, yet, perhaps, we can so manage that he shallfind means to harm himself. He has an army at his back to help C?sarBorgia in carving out a principality from the heart of Italy; but thevicars of the Holy See, and I as the humblest of them, must reverentlycrave his Holiness to spare us the burden of the prefect's troops. Wewill receive him gladly with a noble train, but methinks we cannotadmit an armed French force within our walls."
"Of course," replied Mardocchi, "that would be selling yourself to thedevil without pay. But I should think he would not come to Imola. Hecannot like to show himself before your eyes--and, if he did come, itwould be somewhat painful to the signora your daughter."
"He will come--he will come," replied Ramiro; "and he shall begallantly received. F?tes and festivals shall greet him; he shall haveevery reverence and every joy. He shall be taught to think that we canforget as easily as he can; but he shall find that to slight thedaughter of Ramiro d'Orco is to tread upon an asp. As for my Leonora,she has a proud and a noble heart. I have seen all the struggles--Ihave marked the terrible conflict in her breast, and she has come outvictorious. My word for it, she will meet the young prefect and hisfair wife with all calm courtesy, greet him as an old friend, and seemnever to remember that he betrayed her unsuspecting heart, slightedher love, and left her to disappointment and regret."
"That is all very good for the beginning," said Mardocchi, who wasquite a practical man; "but how does your lordship intend to proceedin the more weighty part of the business? This Lorenzo Visconti is notso easily reached as people might suppose. I told you how he killed myfriend and lord, Buondoni, under the very nose of the Duke of Milan--abetter man than Signor Buondoni never lived--and, if my advice hadbeen taken, and a dagger used instead of a sword, the youth would nothave troubled us any more; but Buondoni was always fond of the sword,and of doing things openly, and so----"
"I know the whole history better than even you do, my friend," repliedRamiro d'Orco; "Buondoni did like the sword, but he liked it wellanointed, and this Lorenzo would have died had I not cured him. Hislife is mine, for I saved it for him; but as to how I shall proceed Icannot yet determine. That must depend upon the time and circumstancesof his coming; but I have thought it needful to have you warned andprepared in the matter; for on your skill and assistance I rely, andyou know I never forget services rendered any more than offencesgiven."
Mardocchi made no answer for a few minutes, but remained gazing insilent thought upon the ornamented floor, until, at length, Ramiroexclaimed:
"You make no answer, friar; what are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking," said Mardocchi slowly, "of what a glorious thing itwould be if we could so entangle him that we could make him not onlyforfeit his own life, but also that honour and renown of which he isso proud. Such things have been done, my lord, and may be done again.I have heard that when Galeazzo was Duke of Milan, he got a cavalierto poison his own sister to save her honour, as he thought, thenproved the crime upon him, and put him to the rack. Now, this Lorenzo,if I have heard rightly, cares little for mere life--nay, would almostthank the man who took it from him."
"Why so?" asked Ramiro, sharply, a sudden doubt flashing across hismind, like a light in a dark night lost again as soon as seen; "whyso, friar?"
"If there be any truth," said Mardocchi, fully on his guard, "in thereports brought by the followers of the great duke from France, thiswife whom he has wedded is as light a piece of vanity as ever made ahusband miserable. Nothing has been proved against her, but there aremany suspicions of her faithlessness. She is ever followed by a trainof lovers, giving her smiles now to the one, now to the other.Visconti feels the wound with all the bitterness of a proud heart, butcannot find the cure. In the meanwhile he bears himself carelessly, asif he thought not of it; but Antonio Pistrucci, Duke C?sar's underpurse-bearer, assured me that the young man was weary of his life, andthat, at the storming of a castle in Navarre, he so clearly sought tolose it that the whole army saw his purpose. What I would infer, mylord, is this: if you give him merely death, you give him what hewants, and he remains unpunished but if you give him dishonour too,you inflict all that other men feel in death, and something morebesides."
"That were hard to accomplish," said Ramiro d'Orco, rising, and pacingbackward and forward in the room; "I see not how it can be done."
"We have time to think, my lord," replied the friar; "leave me todevise a scheme. If my brain be better than a mouldy biscuit, I willfind some means. If I fail, we can always recur to the ordinary plan."
"Well, ingenuity does much," said Ramiro d'Orco; "and, as you say,Mardocchi, there is time to consider our plans well. But you mentionednews you had to bring me: what may be their purport?"
"'Tis no great matter," answered Mardocchi; "but it bears upon thevery subject we have spoken of. As I came hither at your lordship'sorder, I saw, riding in by the Forli gate, no other than an old friendof mine, one Antonio, whom you know well, for he procured me thehonour of your service. I know not whether he is a follower of thisLorenzo still, but I should think he is; and if I can find him in thecity, where he must stop at least to bait his horse, I can perhapsprocure information which may be serviceable."
"Serviceable indeed," replied Ramiro d'Orco, with more eagerness thanhe was accustomed to show; "hasten down, good friar. See where helodges; obtain all the news you can from him. What we most want isinformation of this young man's plans and purposes. That onceobtained, we can shape our own course to meet them. But remember, mygood Mardocchi, this man, this Antonio, is a personage to be treatedwarily. He is shrewd and far-seeing. You must guard well every wordyou say."
"I know him well, my lord," replied Mardocchi. "We were at schooltogether when we were boys, and he is not much changed since. But Iwill not waste time in talking. He was riding fast when I saw him, andperhaps he may only stop to bait his horse and get some food forhimself."
Thus saying, Mardocchi left the room, and proceeded straight from thecastle through the sort of esplanade that lay before the gates, andinto the town. He walked fast, but with a meditative air; and it mustbe remembered th
at he had many things to consider.
When there is in the human heart a consciousness of evil done, thereis always more or less fear; and his first thoughts were directed tocalculate what where the chances of explanations taking place betweenLorenzo Visconti and Ramiro d'Orco if they ever met again on familiarterms.
He soon saw, however, that those chances were small; that Lorenzo, byhis marriage, had placed a barrier between the present and the past,that was not likely to be overleaped; and that while he was certainnever to seek explanations himself, there was as little probability ofRamiro or Leonora either giving or receiving them.
"Besides," he argued, "if all the explanations in the world tookplace, they can prove nothing in the world against me."
The next consideration that presented itself was the promise he madeAntonio to practise nothing against his lord's life; and though it mayseem strange that a man so utterly unscrupulous should attach suchimportance to an adherence to his word, yet we see such anomaliesevery day in human character, and in his case it might easily beexplained, if we had time or space to bestow upon it.
Suffice it, however, to say, in a few words, that this adherence tohis word, once pledged, was the only virtue he had retained throughlife. A stubborn adhesion to his resolutions of any kind hadcharacterized him even as a boy, and it had become a matter of pridewith him to abide by what he had said. The difficulty with him now wasthat Ramiro d'Orco would indubitably require assistance from his ownhand in taking vengeance upon Lorenzo Visconti, if some means couldnot be found to betray the young nobleman into some dangerous actwhich would fall back upon his own head.
This scheme had flashed suddenly through his mind while conversingwith Ramiro; and he saw in it the only means of escaping from thebreach of his word, or the acknowledgment of scruples which he knewwould be treated with contempt. The plan when he first suggested it,was without form or feature; but now his busy and crafty brain eagerlypursued the train, and a thousand schemes suggested themselves, someof which were feasible, some wild and hopeless.
During all this time, however, he forgot not his immediate errand. Hewatched everything passing in the street around him, and looked in atthe two small taverns in the street of the citadel. There was a betterinn, however, on the small square by the bishop's palace, where werealso most of the best houses of the city, and thither Mardocchi benthis way. On reaching it, he entered the great court-yard, and inquiredif any strangers had arrived that day.
"Yes, father," replied the ostler to whom he spoke, "some seven oreight; one gentleman, with four or five servants and three sumptermules, and two or three other persons."
"I will go into the stable and see the horses, my son," saidMardocchi. "You know I am fond of a fine beast, and my own mule hasnot its match in Imola."
The two strolled onward to the stable door, conversing familiarly, aswas the custom with friar and citizen in those days; and Mardocchipassed down the line of stalls, discussing the merits of the horses,till at length he laid his hand upon the haunch of a fine grey barb,saying, "I want to see the man who rode this horse."
"He is within, at dinner in the hall," answered the ostler. "He camehimself to see his horse fed while they got ready for him. He is acareful signor, and marks everything he sees. He told me in a minutethat those other horses belong to the great maestro Leonardo da Vincithough he did not know him, for they passed each other close withoutspeaking."
"I will go in and see him," said the friar; and entering the inn bythe back way, he strolled into the dining-hall with an indifferent andpurposeless look, as if there was no object in his coming.
Antonio was sitting alone at a table, with his back towards the doorby which Mardocchi entered; but the tread of the latter upon therushes which strewed the floor made the other turn sharply round as hecame near.
"Ah! Signor Antonio, is that you?" exclaimed Mardocchi; "why what, inFortune's name, brings you to Imola?"
"Well met, father---father what is your name? for, by my faith, I haveforgotten," cried Antonio, keeping his eye fixed upon him more firmlythan Mardocchi altogether liked; "and what brings you to the Keys ofSt. Peter? I thought that taverns and public-houses were forbidden toyour sacred calling except in time of travel."
"Many things are forbidden that men do," replied Mardocchi, with alaugh; "and my sacred calling does not prevent my throat from gettingdry. I came seeking a small flagon of the wine they have here, whichis the best in Italy. Have you tasted it?"
"Good faith! no," answered Antonio; "I thought not to find anythingworth drinking in this small, dull place."
"Then I will have a big flagon instead of a small one," rejoinedMardocchi, "and you shall share it with me. Here, drawer! drawer!bring me a big flagon of that same old Orvietto wine which I had whenlast I was here. You mistake much, Signor Antonio, both as to the wineand as to the place. It is no dull town, I can tell you, but as gay acity as any in Italy."
"It will be gayer before we have done with it," replied Antonio, "forthere are high doings where my lady is, and she will be here ere manydays are over."
"Indeed!" said Mardocchi; "but taste that wine, my son--taste thatwine, and tell me if ever you drank better. Sour stuff we used to havewhere I passed my novitiate. They were strict in nothing but that,Antonio; but it was the rule of the order that the body must bemortified in some way, and they judged that the wine way was thesafest; for, there being taverns not far off, a man might mend hisdrink when he went out to buy for the convent."
"By my faith! it is good, indeed," said Antonio, after a deep draught;"if the meat be as good as the drink, we shall fare well."
"Nowhere better," replied the friar; "woodcocks with bills that long,and breasts that thick" (and he demonstrated the measures on his armand hand); "beef as fat and as juicy as if it had been cut out of anabbot's sirloin; fish from the Adriatic and the brook for Fridays; andnow and then a wild-boar steak, which would make a hermit break Lent."
"Well then, my lady will fare sumptuously, and I shall be sparedscolding the purveyors, as I was obliged to do at Forli," wasAntonio's reply.
"But you speak only of your lady," remarked Mardocchi; "does not yourlord come likewise?"
"That I cannot tell," answered Antonio; "I only know that she comesfirst, and waits for him here, while he makes a tour through thelegations. He thinks the air of Rome too cool for her health, and, ashe is very careful of her, she comes hither."
There was a sly humour in his speech which Mardocchi well understood;and he asked, "But why did he choose Imola for her residence; becausehe thought it was so dull, as you said just now?"
"He did not choose it," replied Antonio; "no, no, 'twas she. He gaveher the choice of several cities around, and she chose Imola. Sheknew, perhaps, it was the place he would least like; for some of thegood-natured babblers of the court had taken care to tell her ofcertain passages in days past, and also that the lady of his earlylove lived here. Madonna Eloise might think it would give him pain tomeet a dame who had treated him so unkindly, and so she chose Imola."
"Theirs must be a sweet life, by all accounts," said the friar; "Ihave heard a good deal of this matter before from men in thecardinal's train when he went to France. They say she is unfaithful tohim."
"Nay, nay, not unfaithful," replied Antonio, quickly, "but lightenough to make men think her so. But now, my good friend Mardocchi,what makes you interest yourself so much in all this matter? You havegot over all old grudges by this time, I hope."
"No," answered Mardocchi bluntly, "I never forget grudges or promiseseither, Antonio. You tied my hands, or I would have sent your lord toa better world long ago. I could have taken his life in the Frenchcamp, just when he parted from the old Cardinal Julian; for I wasclose behind them both, and nobody would have known it."
"I should," replied Antonio, "for I know your handiwork, Mardocchi,just as a connoisseur knows the touch of a great master's pencil. Butwhy should you bear him ill-will? His sword got you a much bettermaster than Buondoni."
"That
I deny," said Mardocchi; "besides, I am little with this SignorRamiro now; I am but a poor friar, and he is great lord."
"Yes, but you are much with greater lords than he," said Antonio. "Ihave heard of you in Rome, Mardocchi; and I could tell where you wereon certain nights which you wot of; but I am as secret as the grave,my good friend. Now tell me how it fares with the Lady Leonora?"
"Oh, she is well, and gay as a sunbeam," replied Mardocchi; "the lifeand the delight of the city."
"Methinks if I had treated a lover so, first broke his heart and thendriven him to wed without love, I should not be quite so happy," wasAntonio's answer.
"It is strange," said the friar, in a natural tone; "but women arefull of wild caprices."
"That is true, indeed," replied Antonio; "but she might at leasthave written to say she had changed her mind--that her mood wasaltered--that she had seen some one else she loved better."
"Did she never write?" asked the friar.
"He never received her letter, if she did," answered Antonio, in atone so peculiar that Mardocchi's cheek changed colour, notunperceived by his companion. But Antonio instantly sought anothersubject, and the conversation was prolonged for more than an hour. Thewine was very good, and both drank deep; but neither could persuadethe other to pass the bound where the brain becomes unsteady and thetongue treacherous. When they rose to separate, the balance ofknowledge gained, however, was certainly on Antonio's side. He hadtold nothing but what was known, or soon would be known to every one.Neither had the monk in words; but Antonio gathered not hisintelligence from words. It was one of his quaint sayings that no twothings were so opposite as words and facts. But every look, every turnof expression, every doubtful phrase, or endeavour to evade the pointor double round the question, gave him light; and by the timeMardocchi left him, if he had not reached the truth, he had comesomewhat near it.
True, he fancied that the friar had been but Ramiro's instrument inbreaking through the engagement between Leonora and her lover; butthat her letters had been stopped, and probably Lorenzo's intercepted,he did not doubt. To a mind so keen as his this was a sufficient clueto after discoveries; and while Mardocchi hurried back to the citadelto tell Ramiro that Antonio would stay out the day, and was about tohire the great Casa Orsina, next to the bishop's palace, for theprefect's wife--that she would be in Imola in a few days, and thatLorenzo's coming was uncertain, Antonio remained for half an hour inthought.
"No, no," he said to himself, "hers was true love, if ever I beheldit; and he says she is gay, the life and soul of the place. That isunnatural--she loves him still! And he, poor youth, loves her; and isever contrasting her in his mind with this light, half-harlot wife,with whom it has pleased Heaven to curse him. I can see it in his eyeswhen he looks at her--I can see it when she scatters round her smileson the gilded coxcombs of the court. Yet there must be something moreto discover, and, please God, I will discover it."
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