*CHAPTER XX*
More and more drearily the burden of his long days pressed upon Tassino.He was not built for heroic endurance; and to have to suffer Damocles'fate without the feast was a very death-in-life to him. Here, in thisdingy cabin, was no solace of wine to string his nerves; no charm oflights to scare away bogies; no outlook but upon beastliness andsqualor. He seemed stranded on a mud-bank amidst the ebbing life of thecity, and he despaired that the tide would ever turn and release him.
Listening at his grille, he would often curse to hear the name of hishated rival--'Bembo! Bembe, Bambino!' sing out upon the swarming air.It was the rallying-cry of the new socialism, the popular catchword ofthe moment; and he hugged himself in the thought of what it would spellto Galeazzo on his return, and by what racking and rending andstretching of necks he would mark his appreciation of its utterers'enthusiasm. If the Duke would only come back! Here was the last ofthree who desired, it appeared, each for a very different reason, there-installation of an ogre in his kingdom.
But, in the meanwhile, he cowered in an endless apprehension as to hisown safety, which Ludovico's last visit had certainly done nothing toreassure. On the contrary, it had but served to intensify the gloom ofmystery in which he dwelt. He had since made sundry feeble-artfulattempts to discover from Narcisso what secret attached to the ring,which, it appeared, that amiable peculator was accused of havingfilched, and why Messer Ludovico was so set on possessing it. Needlessto say, his efforts met with no success whatever; and the corrosion of anew suspicion was all that they added to his already palsied nerves.The sick flabbiness and demoralisation of him grew positively pitiful,as he stood day after day at his grille, watching and moping andsnivelling, and sometimes wishing he were dead.
Well, the thicker the mud, the more productive the tide when it comes;but he was fairly sunk to his neck before it floated him out.
One day, gazing down, his attention was attracted to a figure which hadhalted near below his coign of espial. As things went, there was nothingso remarkable in this figure, in its alien speech or apparel, as to makeit arresting otherwise than by reason of its contiguity to himself. Itwas simply that of a crinkled hag, swart, snake-locked, cowled, herdress jingling with sequins, her right hand clawed upon a crutch. Sheappeared, in fact, just an old Levantine hoodie-crow, of the breed whichwas familiar enough to Milan in these cataclysmic days, when all sortsof queer, tragic fowl were being driven northwards from overseas beforea tidal wave of Islamism. For half Christendom was writhing at thistime under the embroidered slipper of the Turk, while other half wasfighting and scratching and backing within its own ranks, in a _sauvequi peut_ from Sultan Mahomet's ever nearer-resounding tread.
From Bosnia and Servia and Hungary; from Negropont and the islands ofthe Greek Archipelago; from new Rome itself, whose desolated houses andmarkets weeping Amastris had been emptied to repeople; from Trebizondand the Crimea, it came endlessly floating, this waste drift of palacesand temples and antique civilisations, which had been wrecked andscattered by that ruthless hate. Ruined merchants and traders;unfrocked satraps; priests of outlandish garb; girl derelicts bloodedand defiled by janissaries; childless mothers and motherlesschildren--scared immigrants all, they wailed and wandered in the towns,denouncing in their despair the creed whose jealousies and corruptionshad delivered them to this pass.
In the first of their coming, a certain indignant sympathy had helped tothe practical amelioration of their bitter lot. Men scowled andmuttered over the histories of their wrongs; took warning for a possibleoverthrow of the entire Christian Church; talked big of sinking alldifferences in a kingdom-wide crusade; and, finally, fell to fisticuffsupon the question of a common commander for this problematic host.After which the immigrants, always flocking in thicker, and making civildifficulties, fell gradually subject to an indifference, not to sayintolerance, which was at least half as great as that from which theyhad fled. Fashion, moreover, began to find in the Ser Mahomet a figuremore and more attractive, in proportion as he approached it, issuingfrom the mists of the Orient. It was ravished with, if it did not wantto be ravished by, those adorable Spahis, with their tinkling jacketsand sashes and melancholy, wicked faces. It adapted prettily to itselfthe caftan, and the curdee, and the turban; re-read Messer Boccaccio'smost Eastern fables; acted them, too, in drawers of rose-coloureddamask, and little talpoes, which were tiny jewelled caps of velvet,cocked, and falling over one ear in a tassel. But by that time the cultof immigrancy was discredited _du haut en das_.
Many of the unhappy wretches were drawn by natural process into suchsinks as 'The Vineyard.' The poor are good to the poor, andpitiful--which is strange--towards any fall from prosperity. In theinstance of this old woman, it was notable how she was humoured of thedrifting populace. The very ladroni, who, outside their own rookery,might have tormented and soused her in the kennel, were content here torally and banter her a little, showing their white teeth to one anotherin jokes whose bent she was none the worse for misapprehending. For shehad not much Italian, it appeared; though what was hers she was turningto the best possible advantage in the matter of fortune-telling.
Tassino saw many brawny palms thrust out for her shrewd conning; echoedfrom his eyrie many of the _Eccomi perdutos_ and _O me beatos_ whichgreeted her broken sallies. She got a mite here and there, and buzzedand mumbled over it, clutching it to her lean bosom. Presently somedistraction, of rape or murder, carried her audience elsewhere, and shewas left temporarily alone. Then Tassino, moved by a sudden impulse,reached down his arm through the grate and tapped her reverend crown.She started, and ducked, and peered up. He whispered out to her:--
'Zitto, old mother! Come up here, and tell me my fortune for money.'
She seemed to hesitate; he signified the way; and lo! on a thought shecame. He met her at the door, and dragged her in.
'Tell me my fortune,' he said, and thrust out a dirty palm.
She pored over it, chuckling and pattering her little incomprehensibleshibboleth. Presently she seemed to pounce triumphantly on a knot. Sheleered up, her hand still clutching his, her hair falling over her eyes.
'Ah-yah!' she muttered. 'Ringa, ringa!' and shook her head.
He shrugged peevishly:--
'What do you mean, old hag?'
'Ringa!' she repeated: 'no ringa, no fortuna.'
He snatched his hand away.
'What ring, thou cursed harridan?'
She shook her head again.
'No know. Ringa--I see it--green cat-stone--hold off Fortuna. Get, andshe change.'
He gnawed his lip, frowning and wondering. There was a ring inquestion, certainly. Could it be possible its possession was connectedsomehow with his personal fortunes? If that were so, here was averitable Pythoness.
Her eyes stared daemonic: she thrust out a finger, pointing:--
'I see, there: green cat-stone: get, and Fortuna change.'
Superstition mastered him. He trembled before her, quavering:--
'How can I? O mother! how can I?'
A voice in the street startled him. He leapt to the window and backagain.
'Narcisso!' he gasped, and ran to bundle out his visitor.
'To-morrow--come again to-morrow--after dark,' he whispered hurriedly.'I shall be alone--I will pay you--' and he drove her forth. Narcissomet her, issuing from the court below. He growled out a malediction,and came growling into the room.
'You keep nice company, Messer.'
'That is not my fault, beast,' answered Tassino pertly. 'When I choosemy own, it is to amuse myself.'
'Well, I hope she amused you?'
'Not so much as I expected. I saw her telling fortunes down below, andcalled her up to read me mine. Acquaint me of the mystery of a certainring I asked her; but, _oime_! she could enlighten me nothing.'
Narcisso leered at him cunningly, and spat.
'It was as well, perhaps. I see th' art set upon that impertinence; andI'll only say again, "
beware!"'
'You may say what you like, old yard-dog,' answered the youth. 'It'syour business, chained up here, to snarl.'
But his fat brain was busy all night with the weird Hecate and hernecromancy. What did this same ring portend to him, and how was hisfate involved in its possession? There _was_ a ring in question,doubtless; but whose? Then, all in an amazed moment inspiration flashedupon him. A green cat-stone! Had he not often seen such a ring onBona's finger? It might indeed be the Duchess's own troth-ring!
He shrunk and cowered at first in the thought of the issues involved insuch a possibility. Was it credible that it had been stolen from her?How could he tell, who had been imprisoned here so long? Only, if itwere true that it had been, and he, Tassino, could secure it fromwhatever ravisher, what a weapon indeed it might be made to prove in hishand!
He exulted in that dream of retribution; had almost convinced himself bymorning that its realisation lay within his near grasp. She, that oldsoothsayer, could surely show him the way to possess himself of what herart had so easily revealed to him for his fortune's talisman. ThisEastern magic was a strange and terrible thing. He would pay her all hehad for the secret!--make crawling love to her, if necessary.
All day he was in a simmer of agitated expectancy; and when dusk at lastgathered and swelled he welcomed it as he had never done before.Fortunately Narcisso went out early, and need not be expected backbetimes. He was engaged, the morrow being the feast of the Conception,to confess and prepare to communicate himself fasting from midnight; andit was a matter of religion with him on such occasions to take in anespecial cargo against the ordeal. Before the streets were dark,Tassino was sitting alone; and so he sat, shuddering and listening, foranother hour.
A step at last on the shallow stair! He held his breath. No, he wasdeceived. Sweating, on tiptoe, he stole to the door and peered out.All was silent, and dark as pitch. Then suddenly, while he looked,there came a muffled tramp and shuffle in the street, and on the instanta figure rose from the well of blackness below, mounting swiftly towardshis door. He had barely time to retreat into the unlighted room beforehe felt his visitor upon him.
'My God!' he quavered; 'who is it? Keep away!' and he backed in ghastlyfear to the wall.
'Hush!' (Ludovico's voice.) 'Are you alone?'
The frightened wretch stole forward a step.
'Messer! I thought you----'
'Never mind,' interrupted the other impatiently. 'Answer me.'
'Quite alone.'
'Humph! I thought you loved the dark less.'
'I--I was about to light the tapers; I swear I was. Wait only onemoment, Messer.'
'Stop. No need. The night's the better confidant. Come here.'
Trembling all through, Tassino obeyed. A smooth hand groped, andfastening on his wrist, pressed a hard, round object into his palm. Hehad much ado not to shriek out.
'What's this?' he gasped.
'Be silent. Have you got it? Put it where it's secure. Well?'
''Tis in the scabbard of my knife, Messer--' (the blade clicked home).
'A good place; keep it there. Now, listen. There's no other here?'
'On my oath, no.'
'Nor on the stair?'
'How can there be between us and Messer's gentlemen?'
'Hark well, then. Thy life depends on it. They 've wind of thee,Tassino.'
'O, O! God pity me!'
'He helps those--you know the saw. 'Tis touch and go--come to this atlast; either they destroy you, or you--them.'
'How? O, I shall die!'
'Wilt thou, then? Well, then, if thou wilt. Yet not so much as thyear-lobe's spark of nerve were needed to forestall and turn the tableson them. They are very fond together, Tassino.'
'Curse them! If I could stab him in the back!'
'Well, why not? Thy scabbard holds the means.'
'My dagger?'
'Better.'
'What?'
'The Duchess's troth-ring.'
'Messer! My God!'
He leapt as if a trigger had clicked at him. Here was to have thegipsy's prophecy, his own fulsome hope, realised at a flash; but withwhat fearful significances for himself. So this had actually been thering of contention, and secured at last--he might have known it wouldbe--by Ludovico.
He gave an absurd little shaky laugh, desperately playful.
'How am I to stab with a ring, Messer?'
'Fool! answer for thyself.'
He was crushed immediately.
'By carrying it to the Duke?' he whispered fearfully.
'It is thy suggestion,' said Ludovico--'not for me to traverse. Well?'
'Ah! help me, Messer, for the Lord's sake. I turn in a maze.'
The Prince's thin mouth creased in the dark.
'Nay, 'tis no affair of mine,' he said. 'I am but friendship's deputy.'
Tassino almost whimpered, writhing about in helpless protest.
'He will thunder at me, "Whence reaches me this?"'
'Likely.'
'What shall I reply then?'
'Do you put the case hypothetically? I should answer broadly, on itsmerits, somehow as follows: "By the right round of intrigue, O Duke,completing love's cycle."'
'O Messer! How am I to understand you?'
'Why, easily--(I speak as one disinterested). Call it the cycle of thering, and thus it runs: _From the husband to the wife; from the wife toher paramour; from the paramour to his doxy; from the doxy back to thehusband_.'
'His doxy? O beast! Hath he a second?'
'Or had. I go by report, which says--but then I 'm noscandalmonger--that a certain lady, Caprona's widow, finds herselfscorned of late.'
'And it comes from her--to me? For what? To destroy them both?'
'A shrewd suggestion. In that case your moods run together.'
'Monna Beatrice! She sends it?'
'Does she? Quote me not for it. It were ill so to requite my over-fondfriendship. Thou hast the ring. I wish thee well with it. Dost mark?'
'I mark, Messer.'
'Why, so. Thou shouldst suffer after-remorse, having dragged in myname; and there is hellbane, so they tell me, in remorse.'
'I will die before I mention thee in it.'
'Well, I can trust the grave. That's to know a friend. So might I addsomething to thy credentials.'
'If it please you, Messer.'
'Why, look you, child, love may very well have its procurer--say a StateSecretary, where love is of high standing. And thence may follow thesubversion of a State. There's a pretender in Milan, they tell me,something an idol of the people--I know not. Only this I ponder: Whatif there be, and he that same idol which the Duchess is reported to haveraised? Would Simonetta, in such case, join in the hymn of praise? Onemight foresee, if he did, a trinity very strong in the public worship.His Grace, I can't help thinking, would find himself _de trop_ here atpresent. You might put it to him--your own way. When will you setout?'
'When?'
'This moment, I 'd advise. To-morrow might mean never. The Duke's atVigevano--less than six leagues away. A good horse might carry theethere by morning. I've such a one in my stables. He'll honour thee forthis service, trust me.'
Tassino's little soul spirted into flame.
'_Viva il duca!_' he piped, and ran to the door.
He drove it before him--it opened outwards--and, descending the darkstairs with his patron, passed into the night.
An hour later he was spurring for Vigevano, while the Prince was engagedin preparing against his own journey to Genoa on the morrow.
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