*CHAPTER XI*
There was consternation in the castello, for its angel visitant haddisappeared. The evening following upon the episode of the ring saw hisquarters void of him, his household retinue troubled and anxious, andsome others in the palace at least as perturbed. It was not alone thatthe individual sense of stewardship towards so rare a possession filledeach and all with forebodings as to the penalty likely to be exactedshould Galeazzo return to a knowledge of his loss; the loss itself of sosweet and cleansing a personality was blighting. Now, for the firsttime, perhaps, people recognised the real political significance of thatcreed which they had been inclined hitherto merely to pet and humour asthe whimsey of a very engaging little propagandist. How sweet andexpansive it was! how progressive by the right blossoming road offreedom! Where was their silver-tongued guide? And they flew andbuzzed, agitated like a bee-swarm that has lost its queen.
But, while they scurried aimless, a rumour of the truth rose like a foulemanation, and, circulating among them, darkened men's brows and drovewomen to a whispering gossip of terror. So yet another of the Duke'sinhumanities was at the root of this secession! By degrees the secretleaked out--of that living entombment, of the boy's interference, of hisbloody forestalling by the executioner, of his flight, accompanied byhis Fool, from the gates. And now he was gone, whither none knew; butof a certainty leaving the curse of his outraged suit on the house hehad tried to woo from wickedness.
The story gained nothing in relief as it grew. Whispers of that freefeminine bandying with their Parablist's name, of Catherine's childishmockery of a sacred sentiment, deepened the common gloom. It matterednothing to the general opinion that this little vivacious Sforza had butechoed its own bantering mood. Every popular joke that spells disastermust have its scapegoat. And she was not liked. In the absence of herfather there were even venturings of frowning looks her way, which, whenshe observed, the shrewd elfin creature did not forget.
And Bernardo returned not that night, nor during all the following daywas he heard of. Inquiries were set on foot, scouts unleashed, thesbirri warned: he remained undiscovered.
Messer Carlo Lanti went about his business with a brow of thunder.Once, on the second day, traversing, dark in cogitation, a lonely cornerof the castle enceinte, he came upon a figure which, as it were someapparition of his thoughts suddenly materialised, shocked him to astand. The walls in this place met in a sunless, abysmal wedge; and,gathered into the hollow between, the waters of the canal, wellingthrough subterranean conduits, made a deep head for the moat. And here,gazing down at her reflection, it seemed, in that black stone-framedmirror, stood Beatrice.
She was plainly conscious, for all her deep abstraction of the momentbefore, of his approach, yet neither spoke nor so much as turned herhead as he came and stood beside her. It must have been some startlemore than human that had found her nerves responsive to its shock. Herlanguor and indolence seemed impregnable, insensate, revealing no tokenof the passion within. Like the warm, rich pastures which sleep overswelling fires, the placid glow of her cheek and bosom appeared never sofruitful in desire as when most threatening an outburst. Carlo, for allhis rage of suspicion, could not but be conscious of that appeal to hissenses. He frowned, and shifted, and grunted, while she stoodtranquilly facing him and fanning herself without a word. At length hebroke silence:--
'I had wished to see thee alone'--he stared fixedly and significantly atthe water, struggling to bully himself into brutality--'Nay, by God andSt. Ambrose,' he burst out, 'I believe we are well met in this place!'
Not a tremor shook her.
'Alone?' she murmured sleepily. 'Why not? there was not used to be thisceremony between us.'
'I have done with all that,' he cried fiercely. 'I see theenow--myself, at least, in the true light. Harlot! wouldst have turned myhand against the angel that revealed thee! Where is he? Hast strucksurer the second time? I know thee--and if----'
He seized her wrist and turned her to the water. She did not resist orcry out, though her cheek flushed in the pain of his cruel clutch.
'Know me!' she said. 'Didst thou ever know me? Only as the bull knowsthe soft heifer--the nearest to his needs. _Thou_ hast done withme--_thou_! I tell thee, if Fate had made a sacrament of thy passion,yielding the visible sign, I had brought hither the monstrous pledge anddrowned it like a dog. Do we so treat what we love? I am not guilty ofBernardo's death, if that is what you mean.'
He let her go, and retreated a step, glaring at her. Her blood ebbed andflowed as tranquilly as her low voice had stabbed.
'This--to my face!' he gasped. Then he broke into furious laughter.'Art well requited, if it is the truth. Love him! But, dead or alive,he will not love thee--that saint--a wife dishonoured.'
'O noble bull--thou king of beasts!' she murmured.
'Why should I be generous?' he snarled. 'Have I reason to spare thee?Yet I will be generous, an thou art guiltless of this, Beatrice. I haveloved thee, after my fashion.'
'Thou hast. Ah! If I might sponge away that memory!'
'Well, I would fain do the same for his sake.'
'Dog!'
'What!'
'Barest thou talk of love?--thou, who hast rolled me in thine arms, andwaked from sated ecstasy to call me murderess!'
'Had I not provocation, then? Faith, you bewilder me!'
'Poor, stupid brute!'
'Stupid I may be, yet not so blind as woman's folly. Hast borne me once,Beatrice. Well, it is past: I ask nothing of it but thy trust.'
'_My trust!_'
'Ay, when I warn thee. This saint is not for thee. O, I am wide awake!Stupid? like enough; but when a wife, the queenliest, parts with herbetrothal ring----'
She made a quick, involuntary gesture, stepping forward; then assuddenly checked herself, with a soft, mocking laugh.
'O this bull!' she cried huskily--'this precisian of the new cult! Notfor me, quotha, but for another--a saint to all but the highest bidder!'
'Not for you nor any one,' he said savagely.
'What! not Bona either?' she said. 'Be warned by me, rather. Yours isno wit for this encounter. Love is a coil, dear chuck; nobattering-ram. Not for me nor any? Maybe; but the game is in thestrife. Go, find your saint: I know nothing of him.'
'No, nor shall. Be warned, I say.'
'Well, you have said it, and more than once.'
He hesitated, ground his teeth, clapped his hands together, and turning,left her.
Glooming and mumbling, he went back to the palace. A page met him withthe message that the Duchess of Milan desired his attendance. Hefrowned, and went, as directed, to her private closet. He found Bonaalone, busy, or affecting to be busy, over a strip of embroidery. Shegreeted him chilly; but it was evident that nervousness rather thanhauteur kept her seated. He saluted her coldly and silently, awaitingher pleasure. She glanced once or twice at the closed portiere; thenbraced herself to the ordeal with a rather quivering smile.
'This is a sad coil, Messer Carlo.'
He answered gruffly:--
'If I understand your Grace.'
She put the quibble by.
'We, you and I, are in a manner his guardians--accountable to the Duke.'
'I can understand your Grace's anxiety,' he said shortly.
'Nevertheless, it was not I introduced him to the court,' she said.
'But only to some of its secrets,' he responded.
'I do not understand you.'
'It is very plain, Madonna. You gave him the key to that discovery.'
She rose at once, breathing quickly, her cheeks white.
'Ah, Messer! in heaven's name procure me the return of my ring!'
Her voice was quite pitiful, entreating. He looked at her gloomily,gnawing his upper lip.
'Madonna commands? I will do my best to find and take it from him,alive or dead.'
She fell back with a little crying gasp.
'Find him--yes.'
'I thought you loved him?' she gulped.
'Too well,' he answered, 'to be your go-between.'
She uttered a fierce exclamation, and clenched her hands.
'Go, sir!' she said.
He turned at once. She came after him, fawning.
'Good Messer Carlo, dear lord,' she breathed weepingly; 'nay, thou art aloyal and honest friend. Forgive me. We are all in need offorgiveness.'
He faced about again.
'Penitence is blasphemy without reform,' he said.
'Ah me! it is. How well thou hast caught the sweet preacher's style.Hast _thou_ reformed?'
'Ay, in the worst.'
'Thou hast made an enemy of thy mistress? Poor Bembo, poor child! Hewill need a mother.'
'Wouldst thou be that to him?'
'What else? Get me my ring.'
'Beatrice hates him----'
'She would, the wretch, for his parting you and her.'
'Or loves him--I don't know which.'
'Wanton! how dare she?'
'Well, if you will play the mother to him----'
'Is he not a child to adore? Ah me! to be foster-parent to thatboon-comrade of the Christ!'
Carlo looked at her with some satisfaction darkling out of gloom. Hishonest hot brain was no Machiavellian possession; his temper was thetravail of a warm heart. He believed this woman meant honestly; and so,no doubt, she did in her loss, not considering, or choosing not toconsider, the emotionalism of regain.
'Ay, Madonna,' said he, kindling, ''tis the most covetable relation.Who but a Potiphar's wife would associate what we call love with thisJoseph? God! a look of him will make me blush as I were a brat caughtstealing sugar. There is that in him, we blurt out the truth in thevery act of hiding it. A child to adore? Is he not, now, the dear put?and to hearken to and imitate what we can. Ay, and more--to shield withthis arm--let men beware. Only the women harass me, this way and that.Their loves and hates be like twin babes. None but their dam can telleach from the other. Therefore, would ye mother him--'
'Yes--'
'And cherish and protect--'
'Yes--'
'And of your woman's wisdom keep skirts at a distance--'
'I will promise that most.'
'Why, I will bring him back to thee, ring and all, though I turn Milanupside down first.'
He bowed and was going; but she detained him, with sycophant velveteyes.
'Dear lord, so kind and loyal. Tell him that without him we findourselves astray.'
'Ay.'
'Tell him that from this moment his Duchess will aid and abet him in allhis reforms.'
'I will tell him.'
'Ask him--' she hesitated, and turned away her sweet head--'doth he seekto retaliate on his mistress's innocent confidence, that, by absentinghimself, he would turn it to her undoing?'
Carlo grunted.
'By your Grace's leave, an I find him, I will put it my way.'
She acquiesced with a meek, lovely smile, and the words of the Mass:'_Ite, missa est!_'
And when he was gone, she sighed, and looked in a mirror and murmured toherself in a semi-comedy of grief: 'Alas! too weak to be Messalina! Imust be good if he asks me.'
And, being weak, she let her thoughts drift.
A Jay of Italy Page 11
