CHAPTER XLIV.
The air was balmy, the breeze was fresh and strong, the large massesof clouds, like spirit thrones, floated buoyant over the sky, followedby the dancing sunshine. The manes of the horses waved wildly in thewind, and their wide nostrils expanded to take in the delicious air.The influence of the hour and scene spread to the heart of LorenzoVisconti, and seemed, for the time at least, to banish the thought ofsorrow and of ill. Out of the city, with the wide country betweenImola and Ravenna stretching in deep blue waving lines before hiseyes, the wind refreshing his brow and fanning his cheek, and hisnoble horse bounding proudly under him, a sense of freedom fromearthly shackles and the hard bond of fate came over him. It sparkledin his eye, it beamed upon his lip.
Ramiro d'Orco gazed upon him, and his aspect, more like what it hadbeen in early youth, brought back the thought of other days. Did theysoften that hard, obdurate heart? Did they mollify the stern, darkpurposes within his breast? Oh, no! He only thought, "Soon--verysoon!" And if there was any change in his feelings, it was butinasmuch that the momentary relief--the temporary joy in Lorenzo'saspect promised to give zest to his revenge, and add pangs to thesufferings he hoped to inflict.
Yet he was courteous, gentle--oh, marvellously courteous. To have seenhim, one would have thought he was riding by the side of his dearestfriend; no one could have dreamed that there was one rankling passionin his breast. Grave he was truly, but he was always grave. Theexpression of his countenance, shaded by the long, iron-grey hair, waseven somewhat stern; but his words were smooth, and even kind; andthere was a sort of rigid grace about him, like that of some statues,which gave force to all he said. They rode on (their two trainsmingling together) for about ten miles from Imola, and then Ramiro,pointing with his hand to a low hill on the right, told Lorenzo thatjust beyond that rise there had been lately found a curious ancienttomb, apparently of an earlier date than any known Roman monument.
"We will go and see it," he said; "we shall have plenty of time. 'Tisbut a quarter of a mile from the road."
Lorenzo willingly consented: but when they had passed the rise, andwere turning from the road to the right, some white objects rose overthe slope, and a few steps more showed several lines of tents, withsentries on guard, and horses picketed near.
"Ha! what is this?" exclaimed Ramiro d'Orco, with a look ofdispleasure manifest on his countenance.
"Troops of France, my good lord," replied Lorenzo. "Do you not see thebanners? Probably your relation, the Lord de Vitry, with the auxiliaryforce promised to his Highness the Duke of Valentinois."
"It is strange, my lord prefect, that they should be camped on thisside of Imola," said Ramiro; "they were more needed at Forli,methinks."
He had drawn in his bridle while speaking, as if hesitating whether heshould go on or turn back; but Lorenzo spurred forward at once, andwas already speaking to the sentries, when the other came up.
They were led almost immediately into the camp, and welcomed by DeVitry at the door of his tent.
"Come in, nobles," he said, "come in; you are just in time to crush acup of right French wine with me. Good faith, I and the great maestrowere about to drain the goblet. He has promised to paint me aportrait, Signor Ramiro, of your fair relation, my sweet Blanche; andI tell him if he wants the picture of an angel for any of his greatpictures, he shall have the portrait to copy at his wish."
Something common-place was said by Ramiro d'Orco in reply, and allthree entered the tent, where they found Leonardo da Vinci seated witha cup of wine before him, but in dusty apparel, and with a very graveexpression of countenance. The ceremonious salutations of the day tookplace, and some fine wine of the Rhone was handed round; but De Vitrywas more abrupt and thoughtful than ordinary. At length he rose, andbeckoned Lorenzo aside, saying:
"I want to speak to you, Visconti. How long are you from Forli?"
"But a few days," replied Lorenzo, following him; "I suppose you havestopped the intended succour?"
De Vitry made no answer to this half question, but whisperedhastily----
"I understand it all; everything shall be done as he says. Devil takethat Antonio! what has he gone away for, just at such an emergency?"
"My noble friend, I know not what you mean," replied Lorenzo; "wherehas he gone? what emergency?"
Ere De Vitry could answer, Ramiro d'Orco had risen, and, with a blandsmile upon his lip, was approaching them.
"I crave pardon, noble lords," he said, "but if we pursue not ourjourney soon, signor, we shall not reach Imola ere dark."
"Do not let me detain you," said De Vitry, with his usual frank,soldier-like manner. "Tell the duke, Visconti, that I think all dangerpast, but that I will hold my ground till the last-named day has seenthe sun set, and then retire to Ravenna. My lord of Imola, I ought tohave paid my respects to you yesterday, but we were all tired with along march. Tomorrow, when the sun is declining, I will be with you;but, I beg, no ceremony. I come but scantily attended, and form anddisplay are needless. Will you not taste more wine?"
Both Ramiro and Lorenzo declined; and the former felt well satisfiedwhen he saw the readiness with which the young prefect accompaniedhim, for evil purposes are always suspicious, and he had thought thefew words spoken in private between Lorenzo and De Vitry must havesome reference to himself.
"He suspects nothing," he thought, as they remounted and rode on; "buthow could he? I am too eager. Like a boy chasing a butterfly, or ayouth a woman, I fear the prize will escape me, even when it is withinmy grasp."
The rest of the journey was uninteresting. The two cavaliers soonreached the object to which their steps tended--a small town, orrather village, which Ramiro was fortifying, to command a pass througha morass. The Etruscan tomb was forgotten, and their return to Imolawas made by a narrower and steeper, but much shorter path, whichbrought them to the gates just as the sun had set.
A single lantern, which hung from the vault of the arched gateway,gave them barely light to guide their horses, and as it fell upon thedark countenances of the guard, Lorenzo thought, "It feels likeentering a prison."
At this moment a man stepped out of the shadow and handed Ramirod'Orco a paper, with the one word "important."
"A light! bring me a light!" exclaimed the Lord of Imola; and, withsome difficulty, a torch was lighted at the lantern, and held up sothat he could read. The contents of the letter seemed to puzzle himfor a moment, but gradually his pale cheek flushed, and his eyeflashed with a triumphant light.
"Here we must fain part for the night, my lord prefect," he said. "Youtake to the bishop's square, and I, I am sorry to say, back to thecastle, for business of importance will keep me there to-night. Weshall meet again to-morrow. Good night."
"Good night," replied Lorenzo; and he turned his horse into the streetjust within the walls.
"Oh, my lord, my lord," cried a voice, ere he had ridden a hundredyards, "what news I have to tell you! Alas! alas! my lady is dead."
"Dead!" exclaimed Lorenzo, throwing his horse almost on his haunchesby the suddenness with which he reined him up; "dead! The man is mad!Why, Bazil, what do you mean?"
"Too true, too true, my noble lord," replied the Frenchman; "she diedat two o'clock--quite suddenly. But come up, my lord. 'Tis ill talkingof such things here in the street."
Lorenzo spurred on his horse; and oh! what a tumult of wildfeelings were in his heart; But there was one predominant. It wasregret--almost remorse. He had spoken harshly, he thought--had actedharshly. She had felt it more than he believed she could or would, asher fainting on the previous night had shown. True, she had givenabundant cause for harsh words, and even harsher acts than he hadused. But the cause was forgotten in the thought of one so young, sobeautiful, so full of happy life, being laid suddenly in the coldgrave. A thousand times had he wished that he had never seen her; but,now that she was gone, he would have given his right hand to recallher to life. He reached the palace; he sprang from his horse andrushed in. He heard the confused tale of the servants, and he sprang
up the stairs; but, as he went, his pace slackened. An awe came overhim; and he trod the corridor as if his step could have awakened thedead. With a trembling hand he opened the door, and entered thechamber of death. There were lights at the head and at the feet of thecorpse, with two of Eloise's maids--Giovanetta and another--seated oneon either side. Late autumn flowers were strewed on the fair form ofthe poor girl, cut off in her young spring, and the painful odour ofthe death incense spread a sickly perfume through the room.
Lorenzo approached with slow and silent tread, uncovered the face, andgazed at it for a moment. Then kneeling by the bedside, he took one ofher marble-cold hands in his and pressed his lips upon it. A few tearsfell upon the alabaster skin, and rising, he beckoned Giovanettatoward the adjoining room.
At the door he paused, and said in a low voice--
"You may both retire; but be near at hand; I will watch beside her."
"You, my lord!" exclaimed the girl.
"I," answered Lorenzo: "Why not I? But mark me, lock the door. I willwatch here, and when the priests return, say I will have nothingfarther done till to-morrow. She must lie as she is now. There issomething strange here, girl, on which I must be satisfied."
"Ay, strange indeed," said Giovanetta.
"Well, it must be unravelled before a grain of earth falls upon her,"replied Lorenzo. "Now leave me; I cannot talk more to-night."
"I must tell you my lady's last words," said the girl: "it was hercommand. In the agony of death, she cried, 'My husband! my husband!tell him I never sinned against him as he thought--tell him I havebeen faithful to him.' That is what she said."
"Oh, God! Do not torture me!" cried Lorenzo, waving her away. The girlreturned into the chamber of the dead, and whispered a few words toher companion. Then both rose and retired, locking the door behindthem.
Lorenzo seated himself in the large chair, so that he could seethrough the open door the bed and its inanimate burden. I will notattempt to trace his feelings. Twice he rose, went to the bedside,gazed upon the pale face, and returned to his watching-place; andoften he covered his eyes with his hands. There were various soundswithout--the return of priests--the movements of the servants; but hegave them no heed; and shortly all was silent again.
At length there came a nearer sound. It seemed in the room besidehim--near, very near; and Lorenzo, starting, turned his head. Suddenlyhis arms were seized by two strong men, and a third put his hand uponthe hilt of Lorenzo's sword to prevent him from drawing it. "You areour prisoner, my lord prefect," said one of the men, "charged with themurder of your wife. Come with us without resistance, for resistanceis vain. The palace is in our hands."
Lorenzo gazed round from one to another, and perceived that there wereseveral more figures at the door. He had no thought of resistance,however. Taken by surprise at a moment when his mind was overpoweredwith grief and horror, the fire of his character was quite subdued.
"The murder of my wife!" he said, "the murder of my wife! Who dares tocharge me? Who is mad enough to accuse me?"
"Of that we know nothing, my lord," replied the man who had beforespoken; "but you must come with us."
Silently, and without even caring to take his bonnet from the table,he accompanied his captors, looking round the vacant corridors andhalls with a feeling of desolation words cannot convey. Not one of allhis servants was to be seen; no familiar face presented itself; he wasall alone in the hands of an enemy. The truth had flashed upon hismind at length, but how he knew not. Was it an instinct? was it theaccumulated memories of many little incidents in the past, each nextto nothing by itself, but swelling to a mountain by the piling of onesmall grain upon another, which showed him now, that Ramiro d'Orco washis foe, and had been compassing his destruction? Or was it that adark and terrible--almost prophetic warning, which that same man hadgiven him in the palace of C?sar Borgia, came back to his recollectionthen?
That same man had said that he never forgave--that he neverforgot--that years might pass, circumstances change, the chain betweenthe present and the past seem severed altogether, and yet the memoryof an injury remain the only adamantine link unbroken. Lorenzoremembered the words even then, as they marched him through the cold,dark streets towards the citadel. He remembered, too, that by a fatalerror Ramiro had been led to think he had slighted his alliance,destroyed his daughter's happiness, and treated her with scorn andneglect. And now every courtesy he had received since he came to Imolarecurred to his memory as a menace which he should have heeded, everysmile as a lure which should have been avoided. How could he suppose,he asked himself, that such a man as that would forget so great aninjury? how could he believe that he would so hospitably receive theinjurer without some dark and deadly purpose beneath the smoothexterior?
Thought after thought, all painful, flashed through his brain. Theywere many--innumerable, and, ere he could give them any clear anddefinite order, the gates of the citadel were opened for his entrance,and a few minutes after, the low, damp dungeon of a murderer receivedhim. They left him in solitude and in darkness to all the bitternessof thought; and then all that was to follow presented itself to hismind in full and terrible array--the trial; the death; the disgrace;the blighted name; the everlasting infamy. Oh! for the battle-field,the cannon's roar, the splintering lance, the grinding wound, thedeath of triumph and of glory!
Vain wishes: the heavy iron door was there, barring from every activescene of life; but that was not all he had to suffer that night. Tothe felon's dungeon was to be added the felon's chains. The dooropened, the torchlight flashed in; fetters were placed upon his handsand ankles, and the ring of the chain was fastened to a ring in thewall. The guard withdrew, but left the door ajar, and a narrow line oflight marked the entrance. It grew fainter and fainter as the torchesreceded, and then a human figure, like a dark shadow, crossed thelight as it became broader while some one entered.
Could it be any one to bring him comfort? Oh no. The well-known voiceof Ramiro d'Orco spoke in its cold, calm accents.
"Young man," it said, "you should beware when you are well warned. Mylord prefect, you have to die to-morrow. Make your peace with God, forthere is no help for you on earth. You shall have a fair trial in ourcourt, that all the world may know the proud Lorenzo Visconti has notbeen condemned unjustly, but is truly guilty of the murder of a poordefenceless woman--his own wife--and that history may record the factamong the famous deeds of the great house of Milan. The proofs admitof no doubt; so be prepared; and when the axe is about to fall,remember me and Leonora d'Orco.
"Man, you are deceived!" exclaimed Lorenzo. But Ramiro waited noreply, and the heavy key turned in the open door.
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