The Honour of Savelli: A Romance

"Come," I said, "put an end to this, or you will be run through the ribs. I am going with you."

He gave in with a feminine gesture of agreement.

"The business will not take long-"

"It will take long enough, signore, if you go as you are going," and Corte stood beside us. "Signore," he added, "I have overheard every word of the scene. Do not go as you value your lives. If you do go, go with a strong party."

"Diavolo!" I exclaimed, "an affair of the dagger then!"

St. Armande looked from one to another of us in surprise. "This is a friend, chevalier," I said, "who has done us good service," and turning to Corte, "but we must meet the man-how on earth are we to do so in any force?"

"Look round you," he made answer, "like master, like man-stroll out. You have some swords at your back. Take them with you; but better not go at all. Ah! I see my new master, the Camulengo, looking towards me-be wise and do not go," and Corte moved off to where the Cardinal Ascanio Sforze was seated, surrounded by a little group of courtiers and priests.

"Who is that man?" asked St. Armande.

"I met him under circumstances too long to tell you here," I said, "some other day you may hear all about him. We will however take his advice, and meet Don Michelotto with an extra sword or so at our backs." So saying I took his arm, and we strolled through the apartments, where every one appeared to be giving full rein to his fancy. In fact the beginning of an orgie had set in. Alexander, apparently recovered from the shock of meeting with his son, was at the gaming table, playing heavily, with Giulia Bella at his side. Bayard and Gonsalvo de Cordova were engaged in earnest converse with each other, and Strigonia and D'Amboise were cracking a flask of wine. I heard D'Este say as we passed him-"It is adieu to your eminence after to-night. I am a sheep fat enough for the shambles, and must look to my throat and my fleece."

"You would be wise Strigonia," D'Amboise made answer, "if the shield of France did not cover me, I would not be here another hour. But it is an ill thing to lose a comrade such as you."

"To better times," and the prelate who could only eat, drained his glass to the prelate who could both eat and think.

We now began to hurry a little, and found that Corte was right, for the soldiers who had lined the passage inside the Bronze Gates had taken themselves off, and a considerable numbers of servants and followers were enjoying here the results of piratical raids on the supper tables.

Outside, however, everything was in order, for De Leyva was a thorough soldier. I found both the Spaniard and De Briconnet cursing their luck at being on the guards, and attacking a capon which they were washing down with copious draughts of Falernian. Their duties kept them outside, and it was a poor supper they were making, by the light of torches, seated together on the steps of the Vatican.

"What! out already, cavaliere?" asked De Briconnet. "Is the cardinal going?"

"No, but there is a little business," I answered as I called Jacopo.

"Nom du diable! Can I not come?"

"It would be a relaxation," said De Leyva.

"I am afraid not, gentlemen, although we thank you. Here, Jacopo! Get three of our fellows and follow me. Tell the others to hold their horses."

It was done in a twinkling, and in a few steps, having harked back, we were in the Papal gardens. The casino or summer-house of the Pope was in full light, and we directed our steps there without difficulty. I made two of our men walk in front, Jacopo and the third behind us, and we remained in the middle. Strict orders were given to have swords ready, and to use them at once.

Except for the moonlight, the gardens themselves were not illuminated, and as we tramped along the paths, I thought to myself how easy it would have been for Michelotto to have got rid of both St. Armande and myself, if we had been fools enough to go without escort.

Nothing happened. We reached the casino and waited there a full hour; but there was no sign of Michelotto.

At last I lost patience.

"He never meant to cross a sword with you, chevalier. I can bear witness you were here, and kept tryst. We have escaped a felon's blow however. Come back-it is getting late-even for his eminence." We turned, and made our way back, but it was a good two hours before D'Amboise retired. Bayard had gone on long before, declining all offers of escort. When we reached the palace we found he had arrived safely.

I wished St. Armande a good night, with more respect for him in my heart than I ever felt before, and turned to seek my apartments. Late as it was, however, there was to be no sleep for me, as De Briconnet, whose brain the Falernian had merely made more lively, insisted on accompanying me, and we split another flask, and talked of falconry till the verge of the morning.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE OPAL RING

"His eminence will await the Signor' Donati at supper this evening."

Defaure delivered his message, received his answer, and tripped away, his little page's cap set jauntily on the side of his head, and the haft of his dagger clinking against the silver chain which held it to his belt. As for me, my heart leaped at the words, for I felt sure my business was come, and summoning Jacopo, I gave him the necessary orders to have our men in readiness for an immediate start. I then sought St. Armande, and told him what I expected.

"I am ready," he said simply.

"Very well, then sup lightly, and await me in my apartments."

I turned back, and on reaching my rooms, was surprised to find I had a visitor awaiting me. It was Corte. As I have said, he had cast aside his fantastic dress, and was robed as a doctor. He still kept his heavy book under his arm, and the features of his curious seamed face, and thin bloodless lips, were as pale as if he had arisen from the dead. His eyes alone blazed with an unnatural brilliancy, but he was outwardly calm.

"I came but to see if you were safe, signore, after last night," he said as he took my hand.

"Thanks," I replied, offering him a seat, "we are all quite safe. Nothing happened. The Don was not there, either he had changed his mind, or we were in too strong force."

"A little of both, I should think," he said with a thin smile, as he placed his book on the table. "Signore," he went on, "are you not a little surprised and curious to see me as I am?"

"Well, Messer Corte, I will own to it. But I am honestly glad that Fortune has given the wheel a right turn for you."

"It is not Fortune," he said, "it is something greater. It is Fate. No chance turn of the wheel of a sleeping goddess. When I fled from you, signore, on that day," his voice choked a little, "I came to Rome. Never mind how. Here a great man found me. Great men pick up little things for their purposes sometimes. And Matthew Corte, who is but a little man, knows things the great man does not know. Ho! ho!" and he laughed mirthlessly.

"And that has put crowns in your purse?"

"Yes, crowns in my purse, crowns in my purse," he repeated, and then the old madness came upon him, and he rose and paced the room. "I could have done it last night, made the hilt of my dagger ring against his heart-the devil-the devil. But he is not to die this way-not thus-not thus. He will die as no other man has died, and it will come soon, very soon-Matthew Corte swears this."

He stopped suddenly, and turned to me with the question:

"Have you ever seen a mad dog die?"

"No," I answered, wondering what would come next.

"Well, my dog is dead."

"I am sorry," I began, but he interrupted.

"Dead, I say. Life went from it in writhings and twistings, in screams of agony-the little beast, poor little beast! I would have ended its misery, but I wanted to see. I wanted to find some death so horrible, that it would pass the invention of man. And I have found it, signore. See this toy of a knife! This fairy's dagger!" and he held up a tiny lancet, "only a touch of it, and a man would die as that dog did, in writhings, in twistings, in screams-"

I rose and put my hand on his arm, keeping my eyes steadily on his face.

"Corte," I said, "this is not like you. You are not well. Here is some wine," and I poured him out a goblet of Orvieto. He drained it at a gulp, and sat with his head buried in his hands.

As he sat there the scene in the lonely hut, when I went forth an outcast from Arezzo came back to me, and there rose before me the dim light of the torch, the mad figure of my host, I could almost hear the pattering of the rain and the dying hisses of the log fire without. Then I saw other things as well, and a pity came on me for the man before me. A sudden thought struck me, and acting on the impulse of the moment, I spoke.

"See here, Corte! You are ill, you want rest, quiet. Throw off these dark thoughts, and do what I say. Two miles from Colza, in the Bergamasque, lies a small farm. It is mine. Mine still, though mortgaged. Go there. Ask for the Casino Savelli, and say you have come from me-from Ugo di Savelli. You know my name now, and they will want nothing more from you. Live there until you are better, or as long as you like. The air is pure, in the hills there is the bouqueton for you to hunt, the life is good. Will you do this?"

He lifted his head, and looked at me. Then rising, he placed one hand on each of my shoulders, thin hands they were, with long bony fingers that held like claws.

"Signore," he said with emotion, "Donati or Savelli-whoever you are-you are a good man. I thank you, but it cannot be. Good-bye!" and lifting up his book, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving me a little chilled. I was glad indeed to hear De Briconnet's gay voice a moment later, as he bustled in.

"Sacré nom du Chien!" he exclaimed. "But who is that old madman, cavaliere, who has just left your apartments? I met him on the stairs, muttering curses that would make a dead man's hair stand on end."

"You have hit it, De Briconnet. He is a madman. I have some acquaintance with him, and his story is a sad one. I believe he has found a protector in the Cardinal Sforza."

"A queer sort of pet for his eminence to keep-thanks," and he helped himself to the Orvieto. "Ciel! my head still hums after last night. So your little affair was but a flash in the pan-eh?"

"Yes, there was no blood letting, as I told you last night."

"Oh, I remember-no, I forget, last night is too far back to recall anything with certainty. I want a little exercise. Take pity on me. Come to my rooms, and have a turn with the foils. I have a new pair by Castagni, the Milanese, and want to try them."

"At your service-what! Not another glass! Then come on."

It was something to do, and passed away a full hour. After that I came back to my rooms, and, with an impatient heart, waited for my meeting with D'Amboise. I saw to the packing of a valise, went down and looked at the horses, closely inspected the arms and mounts of my men, who looked capable of anything, and, in one way and another, managed to get through the time, until about the sixth hour, when his eminence supped. I presented myself punctually, and was ushered into an inner apartment which I had not hitherto seen, and where the supper was evidently to be held, for the table was set out there. I was alone at first, and seating myself on a lounge, looked about me. The room was small, but beautifully fitted up, and had all the appearance of being the cardinal's private study. By my side was a table on which was spread a map, with various crosses marked on it in red chalk, the chalk itself lying on the map, where it had been carelessly flung. In front of me was an altar, surmounted by a silver crucifix, bearing an exquisitely carved Christ. Near it, in a corner, leaned a long straight sword, from whose cross handle hung a pair of fine steel gauntlets. Resting on a cushion, placed on a stand, was the cardinal's hat, and behind the stand I could see the brown outline of a pair of riding-boots, and the glitter of burnished spurs. In a corner of the room was a large table, set out with writing materials and covered with papers. Running my eyes over these idly, I finally let them rest on the supper-table which was arranged with lavish profusion. The curtains of the windows were drawn, and the light from eight tall candles, in jewelled holders, fell on the rose and amber of the wine in the quaint flasks, on the cheerful brown crusts of the pasties, on the gay enamelling of the comfitures, and on the red gold of the plate. I noticed, too, that the table was set for three only. It was evidently a private supper, where things were to be discussed, and I became glad, for I felt already a step onwards towards winning back my name, and-I seemed to see in the mirror on the wall to my left, a vision of a woman with dark hair, and dark eyes-

"Your eminence!" I fairly started up. I had not observed the entrance of D'Amboise, until he stood beside me, and touched me lightly on the shoulder.

"Dreaming, cavaliere! I did not think you were so given. I am afraid that, late as I am, I must still keep you from your supper, for I expect another guest. Ha! there he is!"

Indeed, as he spoke the door swung open noiselessly, and Machiavelli entered. He was plainly and simply dressed, and wore no sword, merely a dagger at his side. I thought, however, I caught the gleam of a steel corselet under his vest, as he greeted the cardinal, and D'Amboise's own sapphire was not more brilliant, than the single opal which blazed on the secretary's hand.

"This is the Cavaliere Donati, your excellency," said the cardinal, "but I think you know each other."

Machiavelli extended his hand to me, with his inscrutable smile; but as I met his eyes, I saw that they were troubled and anxious. He, however, spoke with easy unconcern.

"Well met, Messer Donati. I can only say I am sorry we parted so soon. I would have given much to have had you in Florence for a few days more."

"Your excellency is most kind."

"St. Dennis!" said the cardinal, "but are you gentlemen going to exchange compliments, and starve instead of sitting to supper. Burin, are we not ready?" and he turned to his grey-haired major-domo, who had entered the room.

"Your eminence is served," replied the man, and we took our seats on each side of the table, D'Amboise between us.

"You need not wait, Burin, but remain in the passage." Burin stepped out silently, and the cardinal said with an air of apology, "You must not mind so informal a repast, gentlemen; but we have much to discuss-pleasure first, however-my maitre d'hotel has an artist's soul, and he will have a fit if we do not touch this pasty."

The cardinal ate and talked. I now and then put in a word, but the secretary was very silent, and hardly touched anything.

"St. Dennis!" said D'Amboise, "but your excellency is a poor trencherman. And I heard so much of you!"

"Your eminence will excuse me, when I say I have had bad news."

D'Amboise became grave at once. "Let me say how sorry I am. It is not a matter of state?" and he glanced meaningly at the secretary.

"Not in the least; but much worse-a domestic matter. I do not see why I should not tell you. That cursed brigand Baglioni has seized on my ward Angiola Castellani, and holds her a fast prisoner in Perugia."

I felt cold all over to my feet.

"The Lady Angiola?" I exclaimed.

"Precisely," said Machiavelli, drily; "I think you have met."

"But this can be easily remedied," burst in D'Amboise; "a demand from the Signory, a word from France."

"Will not bring the dead to life again," put in the secretary.

"My God!" I burst out, "she is not dead?"

"Worse than that," he said; "it was done by Cesare's orders."

"Then Cesare Borgia will pay with his life for this," I exclaimed.

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and Burin entered, bearing a silver flagon, the stopper of which was made of a quaintly-carved dragon.

"Your eminence ordered this with the second service," he said, placing it before D'Amboise, and retiring.

"I pledge you my word, your excellency, that I will not rest until full reparation has been made for this outrage on an ally of France," said D'Amboise. "I could almost find it in my heart to let loose open war for this."

"We are not ready, your eminence. Rest assured of my thanks, and I will gladly accept your aid; but at present we can do nothing. This, however, has not decreased my zeal for the measures we are planning; and with your permission we will now discuss these, and put aside my private trouble."

For me, I could hardly breathe. A hundred feelings were tossing together within me, all that I could think of was to throw aside everything, to gallop to Perugia, to save her at any cost. The cardinal's voice came to me as from a distance.

"I agree-one glass each of this all round, and then-cavaliere, would you mind handing me those glasses?"

Three peculiar shaped, straw-coloured Venetian glasses were close to me, these I passed onwards mechanically to D'Amboise, and he went on, filling the glasses to the brim with wine from the flagon, as he spoke.

"I admired the rare workmanship of this flagon last night, and his holiness sent it home with me, full to the brim with this Falernian, which Giulia Bella herself poured into it. The wine is of a priceless brand, and our lord was good enough to say, that if I liked it, he would send me all in his cellars if I only let him know."

"We will drink this then, with your eminence's permission, to the success of the undertaking," said the secretary, poising his glass in the air.

"Right," said D'Amboise. "Gentlemen, success to our venture!"

He raised the wine to his lips. I silently did the same.

"Hold!"

We stopped in amaze, and Machiavelli, who had spoken, quietly emptied his glass into a bowl beside him.

"What does this mean?" said the cardinal.

"This, your eminence," and Machiavelli held out his hand, on which an opal was flashing a moment before. The stone was still there, in the gold band on his finger; but it was no longer an opal, but something black as jet, devoid of all lustre.

Startled by the movement, D'Amboise bent over the extended fingers, and I followed his example. The red on the cardinal's cheek went out, and his lips paled as he looked at the ring.

"Poison! Heart of Jesus!" he muttered through pale lips.

"Yes," said Machiavelli, slowly, withdrawing his hand, "the ring tells no lies. Diavolo! Was ever so grim a jest? Asking you to tell him if your eminence liked the wine!"

It was too near a matter to be pleasant, and the hideous jest, and the treachery of Alexander, filled me with a hot anger. It had the effect however of pulling me together at once, the sudden presence of death, and the danger, recalling me to myself, for all my thoughts of Angiola. I breathed a prayer of thanks for our escape. It was a good omen. My luck was not yet run out.

D'Amboise sprang to his feet. "By God!" he said, bringing his clenched fist into the palm of his hand, "the Borgia will rue this day; here, give me those glasses." He seized them, and drawing back the curtains flung them out of the window, where they fell into the court outside, breaking to splinters with a little tinkling crash. Then he emptied out the contents of the flagon, and hurled it into the grate where it lay, its fine work crushed and dented, the two emerald eyes of the dragon on the stopper blinking at us wickedly. This outburst made D'Amboise calmer, and it was with more composure that he struck a small gong, and reseated himself at the table. As he did so Burin entered the room.

"We want a clear table," said the cardinal, "remove these things, and hand me that map."

By the time Burin had done this, his eminence showed no further trace of excitement, except that his lips were very firmly set, and there was a slight frown on his forehead as he smoothed out the roll of the map. One corner kept obstinately turning up, and as Machiavelli quietly put his hand on it to keep it in position, he said, "See! The ring is as it was before."

We looked at the opal, and sure enough the poison-tint was gone, and under the pale, semi-opaque blue of its surface, lights of red, of green, and of orange, flitted to and fro.

"It is wonderful," I said, and D'Amboise smiled grimly to himself. The cardinal placed his finger on the map, where the port of Sinigaglia was marked.

"Is it here he lands?"

"Yes," replied Machiavelli, "and then straight to Rome."

"You have sure information?"

"Yes."

"Then will your excellency instruct M. Donati? As arranged, I pledge an immediate movement on the part of Tremouille, at the first sign of success."

"You have agreed, cavaliere, to undertake the task?" and the secretary turned to me.

"I have, your excellency."

Machiavelli then went on, speaking incisively, wasting no words. "In ten days or thereabouts from now, Monsignore Bozardo, the Papal envoy to the Grand Turk, will land at Sinigaglia and start for Rome. He brings with him a letter and a sum of money, forty thousand ducats. These are for his holiness. Bozardo and the letter may reach, if you like; the ducats must not."

"Where are they to go?"

"To the Duke de la Tremouille."

"I follow."

"Understand that you take this venture at your own risk."

I saw what he meant, if I failed I was to be sacrificed, and my mind was made up. I would accept, with a condition.

"I quite understand-there is one thing."

"What?"

"Ten days is a wide margin. I will stop Bozardo or die; but I propose effecting the release of the Lady Angiola as well."

A glad look came into Machiavelli's eyes; but the cardinal flashed out-

"Nom du diable! What grasshopper have you got in your head? Leave the demoiselle to us. You cannot do two things at once."

"Then with respect to your eminence I decline the affair of the ducats."

D'Amboise looked at me in sheer amazement.

"You decline-you dare;" but Machiavelli interposed.

"A moment, your eminence. Can we get another agent?"

"Not now; it is too late now."

"And we have no money for active measures?"

"Not a livre."

"It seems to me that the cavaliere has us in his hands, and we had better agree. After all he only risks his head twice, instead of once."

D'Amboise bit his lip, and with a frown began to drum on the table with his fingers. I sat silent but resolved, and Machiavelli, rising, went to the writing table, pulling out from his vest a parchment. In this he rapidly wrote something, and dusting it over with drying powder held it to the flame of a candle. Then he turned back leisurely, and, as he resumed his seat, handed me the paper.

"I have just filled in your name on this blank safe-conduct through the Papal States. I took the precaution of obtaining this from Sforza to-day. When can you start?"

"Now, your excellency," and I put the safe-conduct securely by.

"I suppose I must agree," said the cardinal suddenly. "If it fails, all is lost; if it succeeds-"

"There will probably be a new Conclave, your eminence," said Machiavelli.

D'Amboise's forehead flushed dark at the hidden meaning in the Florentine's words. But we all knew that the chair of St. Peter was ever before his eyes; and for this he schemed and saved, although profuse in his habits. George of Amboise never gained his desire; but when he died he left a fortune of eleven millions. This however was yet to be.

I had already arisen to take my leave as Machiavelli spoke, and the cardinal, taking no notice of his last remark, turned to me, with something of his old good temper. Perhaps the hint of Florentine support at the next papal election was not without its softening effect.

"Did I understand you to say you were ready to start at once, cavaliere?"

"Yes, your eminence."

"Then let me wish you good fortune-adieu!"

"Your eminence has my grateful thanks."

I bowed to D'Amboise and the secretary, and withdrew; but as the door swung behind me, I heard Machiavelli's voice.

"The air of Rome does not suit me, your eminence. No, thanks. No more Falernian."

CHAPTER XIX.

EXIT THE ANCIENT BRICO

I had gained my point without waste of words or time, but it was to be my way or not at all. My lady was in dire peril. Against this could I for a moment weigh any thought of myself? What cared I whether France, Spain, or the Borgia ruled in Italy? What mattered it to me whether one crafty statesman held the reins of power, or another outdid him in craft and filched away his bone? My lady was in danger, and my honour might rot, and the Most Christian, the Most Catholic, and Most Holy wolves might tear each other's throats out before I would move a finger, take one step, until she was free. If I had to pull down Baglioni's hold with my hands, I would free her. If a hair of her head was injured I should take such vengeance as man never heard of, and then-my foot caught in the carpeting of the passage, I tripped up and fell heavily, the shock sending stars before my eyes.