Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance
Page 43
CHAPTER XLIII.
In the court-yard of the castle of Imola were many horses andattendants, and in the great hall various personages of high and lowdegree. A scene very frequent in ancient and modern time, and whichnever loses its terrors, was there going on. It was the trial of a manaccused of a capital offence. The Lord of Imola, possessing, as he hadstipulated, what was then called high and low justice, sat upon theraised seat at the end of the hall, and by his side appeared the youngPrefect of Romagna, whom he had asked to assist him by his advice in acase which seemed to present some difficulties. The hour was abouttwenty minutes after noon, and the testimony had all been taken.
Before the tribunal stood a man, between two guards, of some fortyyears of age, and of a ferocious aspect. But his cheek was pale, andhis eye dim with fear; for he had heard it distinctly proved that hehad been taken in the act of a coldblooded brutal assassination of ayoung girl.
"I refuse this tribunal," he cried, hoarsely. "I do not acknowledgethe power of this court. I am of noble blood, as every one here knows;and you have no authority to sentence me, Ramiro d'Orco."
"What say you, my lord prefect?" asked Ramiro, in his cold, quiettones. "I leave you to pass sentence."
"I can but give an opinion, my lord," replied Lorenzo; "I presume topass no sentence within your vicariate. You have, I know, power ofhigh justice; therefore his claim of nobility in your court can availhim nothing, except in giving him the right to the axe rather than thecord. His guilt is clear. His sentence must, I presume, be death."
"I will order him at once to the block," said Ramiro, sternly.
But Lorenzo interposed.
"Nay, give him time," he said; "I beseech you give him time. Death isa terrible thing to all men, even to those who have lived the purestlives; but, from what we have heard, this unhappy man's soul is loadedwith many a crime. Give him time for thought, for counsel, forrepentance. Abridge not the period of religious comfort. Send him nothot from the bloody deed before the throne of the Almighty Judge."
"How long?" asked Ramiro, somewhat impatiently.
"Allow him four-and-twenty hours for preparation," said Lorenzo. "Itis short enough."
"So be it," said Ramiro d'Orco; "take him hence. Let him have a priestto admonish him; and at this hour to-morrow, do him to death in thecourt-yard by the axe. My lord prefect, will you ride with me? Ourhorses are all ready, and I have again to leave the city for a fewhours. There are some curious things of the olden time by the roadside."
"Willingly," answered Lorenzo, "if we can be back before night, for Iexpect, from day to day, intelligence from the Duke of Valentinois,now lying before Forli."
Ramiro d'Orco assured him that their return would be before sunset;and, descending to the court-yard, they mounted and rode out of theRavenna gate. Each was followed by numerous well-armed servants, and,whether by accident or design, their trains were very equal innumbers.
In the meantime, the unhappy criminal cast himself down upon a bench,and fell into a fit of despairing thought. Even among the hardest andharshest of the human race, there lingers long a certain feeling ofcompassion for intense misery; but yet it is not probable that theguards and attendants of Ramiro d'Orco would have suffered themurderer to sit quietly there, had they not been moved by aninclination to talk over the various events of the day, and hear thescandal of the town and neighbourhood.
The Italian is very fond of scandal; but he loves it not for the sakeof the coarse enjoyment which many others feel in feeding on thefollies of their kind, but rather for the exercise of the fine-edgedwit, the keen but delicate sarcasm of his nation, to which it gives anample field. Even the hard men there present had each his slightsmile, and his light and playful jest at the subject of theirdiscourse. Alas! that subject was the fair wife of Lorenzo Viscontiand her train of French and Roman cavaliers.
They had not been thus engaged five minutes, when suddenly a door justbehind the seat of judgment opened, and the friar, Father Peter,entered, looking eagerly round. The wit and the jest ceased instantly,and the men looked at him in silence, with no very loving aspect. Nonehad any tangible cause of dislike; but men have antipathiesinstinctive, deeply seated, not to be resisted.
With his still noiseless step Mardocchi advanced, stepped down, andasked where Ramiro d'Orco was. They told him that their lord had goneforth by the Ravenna gate, and his countenance fell. He said little,however, for he was very careful of his words; and, after having gazedat the murderer--the only one who seemed to take no notice of him--hewithdrew by the great door. At the head of the staircase he paused andmeditated for several minutes, then descended into the court andsought the great gates. He there halted again, and muttered tohimself--
"Well, no matter? It may be as well that at first there should seem nosuspicion. It will look more natural. Slight causes at first, and thengraver doubts, and then formal inquiries, and then damning proofs.That were the best course. But this Signor d'Orco of mine is sothirsty for his blood, it has been difficult to restrain him hitherto,and he may hurry on too fiercely. As well he should not know the thingtill night. She will be dead by two; by five or six they will be home,and in the interval between I shall have time to prepare the publicmind for the tale of poison--without hinting at her husband, however.Let that come afterwards."
But Mardocchi's plans were destined to be disappointed, in part atleast. He was not allowed time to prepare the public mind, as heproposed; for though, from a vulgar assassin, he had risen by skilland assiduous study to be something like a politician, and his schemeswere often deep and well laid, yet the finest politicians must oftenbe the slaves of circumstances, and sometimes their own cupidityfrustrates their best devised projects.
Friar Peter reached what was called the little piazza, and stopped fora moment to speak with one of the Roman gentlemen who had followedEloise Visconti to Imola. The nobleman asked the monk severalquestions in a low voice. "I really know not what is the lady'smalady," said Mardocchi at length, following out his purpose; "Ishould say it is the effect of a slow poison, but that I know no onehas any cause to put her out of the way."
"Be not too sure of that," replied the other; "she left us in a verysudden way to-day, and the servants told us, retired to her room ill.But as to causes, I could tell you what I overheard, just before shefainted last night. Hark, you, friar!"
But before he could add more, a man in a dusty dress came up and tookMardocchi by the arm, saying, "I wish to speak with you in private,father."
Mardocchi stepped aside with him, and the other continued, in a lowvoice, "Mount your mule instantly and speed to Forli. The duke sendsyou word he has need of you."
"What duke?" asked Mardocchi; "and what token does he send?"
"The Duke Valentinois, to be sure," replied the man; "do you notremember me? I have seen you at the Borgia Palace a dozen times threeyears ago. As for the token, he says, By the horse, and the month, andthe Church of San Bartholomew, come to him!"
"Will not to-morrow do?" asked Mardocchi. "I have matters ofimportance to see to to-day."
"No," replied the other; "Don C?sar says what has to be done must bedone to-night. You have four-and-twenty miles to ride, and it is nownear one hour past noon."
"Well, I will speed," said the friar; "I promised always to be readyat his bidding, and I never fail to keep my word. But I have a letterto write--nay, it is but short--ten words are enough. I will but stepinto this scrivener's and borrow pen and paper. Then I will go for mymule. It is a quick beast and enduring, and I shall reach Forli erenight."
Thus saying, he sped away, and, procuring the means of writing,considered for one moment, and then decided on the words he was to usefor the purpose of conveying his meaning without betraying his secret.
"Illustrious Lord," he wrote at length, "my part of the business isover. I have confessed my penitent and given her the viaticum. It isfor you to discover whether she came to her present state fairly; and,I doubt not, if her chamber is closely searched, and her womenexamined
, enough will be made manifest to fix the guilt upon the rightperson. Go slowly and go surely. I am called suddenly to Forli bycommands I dare not disobey; but, if possible, I will be in Imolaagain ere to-morrow night."
He read the words over more than once, and then saying, "Thatdiscloses nothing," folded the paper and sealed it. His nextconsideration was by whose hands he should convey it to Ramiro d'Orco.The scrivener himself was an old acquaintance; and, after somethought, he decided to entrust the letter to him. Many were theinjunctions he laid upon him to deliver it immediately on the Lord ofImola's return: and then he sought his mule and set out for Forli.
But the scrivener was fond of knowing every one's secrets--it was partof his profession in those days. Thus the seal of the letter was notvery long intact. The contents puzzled the old man. He saw there was adouble meaning; but he could not divise the enigma. "I will find outby-and-bye," he said; and, sitting down, he deliberately took a copyof the letter. Then, by a process still well known in Italy, he sealedit up again, so that no eye could detect that the cover had beenopened.
About half an hour after all this had been done, people were seenhurrying through the streets, and symptoms of agitation and terrorwere apparent in the town.
"What is the matter? what is the matter, Signor Medico?" asked thescrivener, running out from his booth, and catching the sleeve of aphysician who was walking more slowly than the rest.
"The Countess Visconti, the lady of the prefect, has been poisoned,they say," replied the physician. "I know no more about it, for theydid not send for me, or perhaps I might have saved her."
"Then she is dead?" asked the scrivener.
"Ay, dead enough," answered the other, and walked on.
The scrivener had his own thoughts; but the name of Ramiro d'Orco hadbecome somewhat terrible in Imola, and Mardocchi's letter was safelydelivered as soon as that nobleman returned.