by Anne Manning
CHAPTER IV.
MOORISH SLAVES.
A clatter of horses' feet in the court-yard announced the arrival of newguests; and when these proved to be noble kinsmen and friends of theDuchess, who had hastened to rally round her in her danger, the Cardinalinly congratulated himself on having been the first comer and therecipient of her first thanks.
The old feudal castle, lately the nest of a few defenceless women, nowresounded with the clank of arms. Nothing could be more graceful thanthe Duchess's reception of her guests. There was just enough of dangerpast, and possibly impending, to give zest to present safety andsociality. The feast was spread in the old ancestral hall, where thefamily plate shone in beaufets ten feet high, music breathed from thegallery amid the pauses in conversation, and the cobwebbed banners wavedheavily overhead in the cool evening air from the Mediterranean, thatstole through the open windows. Giulia's little cloud had entirelydisappeared: it was simple and even needful that she should just nowonly seek to embellish the passing hour; and the Cardinal, as thenoblest dignitary present, fully seconded her as leader of the feast, orrather took the initiative in entertaining and pledging the rest, whileshe had only to sit by, smile, and enjoy it all. The Moorish girl, withsplendid jewels in her ears, stood behind the Duchess with a featherfly-flapper.
Barbarossa's enormities were the favourite theme; there was plenty ofred put in the brush. The streams of blood he had shed would float asquadron; his beard was bright scarlet. He was even worse than hisbrother Horuc had been; and now that he was Dey of Tunis, as well as ofAlgiers, and the ally of Solyman the Magnificent, the world would nothold him! He would swallow Italy, some of these nights, at a snap.
Yet it was astonishing what some of the company were ready to do,single-handed, against him! Only let him come on! _They'd_ show himsomething. The Duchess need not be afraid. Not a hair of her head shouldhe touch.
The next day or two these bold spirits scoured the neighbourhood,and--as Barbarossa was out of sight--they did not spare their bragging.They only wished he would come back, that they might give him hisdeserts. The Cardinal grudged these vapourers their share of Giulia'sear. True, he sat at her right hand; and none of them were younger,braver, handsomer, or wittier than himself. And it was sweet, with allits mixture of bitter, to be here at all; but then, how soon it wouldend! How soon pass into that hungry, never-satisfied abyss of vanished,irreclaimable joys! And then his old feeling of blank, gnawingdissatisfaction returned.
"That Mauritanian slave of yours," he said one day to Giulia, as theyreturned from a reconnoitering party, "is singularly beautiful. Shewould make a good study for Sebastiano. How I wish you knew thatremarkable man! You would delight in his musical attainments. He touchesthe lute and viol with rare perfection, and has composed some exquisitemotets. As a portrait painter he is unrivalled. The Pope is so pleasedwith the likeness he has painted of him, that he has conferred on himthe office of keeper of the papal signet. His verses are charming, andhe is a most excellent companion."
"You excite my curiosity," said the Duchess. "Cannot you invent someexcuse to bring him here?"
"Certainly," said the Cardinal, who was aiming at this very point."There could be no better method than for me to tell him you hadpromised me your picture. This would draw him hither quite easily, aftersuch representations as I should make to him; for you must know,Sebastiano is becoming exceeding coy and difficult, and will only onmuch importunity be prevailed on, now, to paint a portrait. It is reallythe branch in which he excels, and by which he will be known toposterity; but he is slow and irresolute in his execution, and his tastechiefly inclines him to large historical pieces, in which he is excelledby Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. I beseech you, let me send him to paintyour portrait. You will be repaid for your complaisance by becomingacquainted with a really great artist."
"So let it be, then," said the Duchess. "With regard to my Moorish girl,he may introduce her in the background if he will. Beautiful she is,but the crossest patch at times! I pity her, and humour, and perhapsspoil her a little, yet I shrink from her sometimes, for we hardly seemof the same flesh and blood."
"Is she converted?" inquired the Cardinal.
"Baptized," said the Duchess, "but she seems utterly unimpressible as toChristian doctrine. Confess she will not, and when we endeavour toenforce its obligation on her, she answers us in her Arabic jargon, 'Ido not understand.'"
"Is it safe to have her about you?" said the Cardinal.
"I know not that there is any harm in her," said the Duchess, "and shecan be very ingratiating when she likes; but I own, a horrible thoughtcrossed my mind when she and I were escaping through the caverns. 'Whatif she should have brought Barbarossa on us?'"
"That is quite possible," said the Cardinal, gravely. "Has she anyconfederates hereabouts, think you, among her own people?"
"The only other Moor in my establishment is a poor boy whose tongue hasbeen cut out. His own people thus punished him, when he fell into theirhands, for having come over to us; he escaped from them, and knows toowell his own interest to betray us. He is in my stables."
"I do not altogether like this," said De Medici, meditatively; "it wouldbe well to induce the girl to confess, even by a little wholesometorture; for as long as she is unshackeled by Christian obligations, youhave no hold on her."
"Torture, however," said Giulia, "is a course I particularly dislike."
They were now riding into the castle court-yard; and, as the day wasvery warm, she was thirsty, and called for a glass of iced water. Itwas brought her by Cynthia; and at the moment she appeared with thegoblet on a salver, a large Spanish bloodhound, belonging to AlfonsoGonzaga, sprang at her throat.
The poor girl screamed piercingly, and so did the Duchess, who sprangfrom her horse. Gonzaga, brutally laughing and swearing, called the dogoff without success; but the Moorish stable-boy, seizing it by the tail,bit it till his teeth met. The unfortunate Cynthia was released, and shefell swooning into the arms of her compassionate mistress, whose dresswas stained with her blood. She was instantly relieved of her burthen,however, by her _maestro di casa_, Perez, who bore her off to her women,while the hunting-party pressed round Giulia to extol her humanity tothe skies. Turning to the Cardinal she said, expressively--
"She _is_ of the same flesh and blood, after all!" And then went tovisit her poor wounded maiden, and change her dress.
Cynthia, more dead than alive, was laid on a pallet bed, and Caterinawas in anxious attendance on her, while a Jewish physician dressed thewound.
"Do you think she will die?" said the Duchess in a low voice.
"It is impossible, at present," returned he, "to pronounce an opinion."
Cynthia opened her languid eyes, and seeing the Duchess's dress stainedwith her blood, mutely drew it to her lips. Giulia kindly patted herhand, saying--
"My poor girl! Keep quiet; be patient, and you will soon be well," andthen withdrew.
When she re-entered the _sala di compagnia_, her cousin was tellingstories in a loud over-bearing voice, of the feats of his dog in huntingup and pulling down Moors, Jews, and heretics. The brute's ancestors haddistinguished themselves in this line during the repeated massacres inSpain.
"Pray desist, Alfonso," said the Duchess, "or I shall be unable to eatmy dinner."
He laughed, and continued his narrations in a lower voice. This was theCardinal's last day, and he grudged every moment of Giulia's time thatwas devoted to any but himself.
"Is the girl going on well?" said he to her.
"The wound is dressed, but her recovery is considered doubtful by BarHhasdai. Do you disapprove of my employing a Jewish leech?"
"By no means; there are none equal to them. The Spaniards did veryfoolishly, I think, to expel the whole race. There are no suchphysicians, astronomers, or metaphysicians."
"They are sad infidels, however, and Bar Hhasdai is unconverted."
"All the better," said the Cardinal lightly. "I distrust renegades.Better be a good Jew than a bad Chri
stian. In medicine especially, Ibelieve a baptised Jew loses half his virtue; the charm is broken."
"That never occurred to me," said the Duchess. "But I dare say it is so,since you say it."
"Your Jew," observed Ippolito, "will deal kindly by your Moorish girl,for, under the western caliphs, his people were fostered by her people.The prime minister of Abderrahman the Second was a Jew of the same nameas your physician, who probably claims descent from him. The two peoplespromoted each other's prosperity, for the Jews extended their commercewith the East, and supplied them with the sinews of war. The Moors letthem peaceably accumulate wealth, occupy high offices, build synagogues,and cultivate learning, insomuch that there was not a Jewish familywithout a copy of the law; and they all could read it. So that 'theMoor's last sigh' was nearly the last sigh of the Hebrew too. We areprofiting by the short-sightedness of Spain and Portugal. Clement theSeventh permits even the Jews who have been forcibly baptised, to comeand settle in his dominions, without any inquiry into their past lives;and owing to their industry Ancona is becoming a flourishing sea-port.But, Giulia, if this girl is about to die, she had better receive thelast offices of the Church. I should like to receive her confession.Tell her, if she will confess to me, she shall receive a cardinal'sabsolution."
"Are you in earnest?"
"Quite."
This was so high an honour, that the Duchess did not fail to acquaintCynthia with it. But Cynthia had no mind for confession, nor any respectfor a cardinal's absolution. She feigned lethargy, and could not beinduced to admit that she heard or understood anything that was said toher while the Cardinal remained.
"This looks bad," said he. "Can anything be made of the Moorish boy,think you?"
"He is dumb."
"True; but not deaf, I suppose?"
"No."
"Let us have him in, then. I should like to speak to him."
The boy was sent for. He was a sad object, poor lad.
The Cardinal, without any preface, said to him in the _lingua Franca_,which was commonly understood among the Moors--
"Did you send for Barbarossa?" The boy's eyes flashed fire.
"If I have any reason to think you did so, you shall be flayed alive;and I shall be sure to find out."
The boy looked unmoved.
"Your only chance of escaping punishment is your being henceforthinviolably faithful to your mistress. There, go; and be a good boy."
The boy made a salaam and retired.
"There can be no harm," said the Cardinal to Giulia, "in giving him alittle reminder."
Next day the boy was found drowned. Whether he had tried to escape byswimming, or had intentionally ended his life, nobody knew. He could nolonger be a traitor at any rate. But this is anticipating.
