"Or, yet again, do you suppose her finery was afforded her by Caro?—Messer Annibale Caro—who is so much in debt that he is never like to return to Piacenza, unless some dolt of a patron rewards him for his poetaster's labours.
"No, no, my shaveling. It was I who paid—I who was the fool. God! I more than suspected the others. But you. You saint . . . You!"
He flung up his head, and laughed bitterly and unpleasantly. "Ah, well!" he ended, "You are to pay, though in different kind. It is in the family, you see." And abruptly raising his voice he shouted to the men to wait.
Thereafter he rode ahead, alone and gloomy, whilst no less alone and gloomy rode I amid my guards. The thing he had revealed to me had torn away a veil from my silly eyes. It had made me understand a hundred little matters that hitherto had been puzzling me. And I saw how utterly and fatuously blind I had been to things which even Fra Gervasio had apprehended from just the relation he had drawn from me.
It was as we were entering Piacenza by the Gate of San Lazzaro that I again drew my cousin to my side.
"Sir Captain!" I called to him, for I could not bring myself to address him as cousin now. He came, inquiry in his eyes.
"Where is she now?" I asked.
He stared at me a moment, as if my effrontery astonished him. Then he shrugged and sneered. "I would I knew for certain," was his fierce answer. "I would I knew. Then should I have the pair of you." And I saw it in his face how unforgivingly he hated me out of his savage jealousy. "My Lord Gambara might tell you. I scarcely doubt it. Were I but certain, what a reckoning should I not present! He may be Governor of Piacenza, but were he Governor of Hell he should not escape me." And with that he rode ahead again, and left me.
The rumour of our coming sped through the streets ahead of us, and out of the houses poured the townsfolk to watch our passage and to point me out one to another with many whisperings and solemn head-waggings. And the farther we advanced, the greater was the concourse, until by the time we reached the square before the Communal Palace we found there what amounted to a mob awaiting us.
My guards closed round me as if to protect me from that crowd. But I was strangely without fear, and presently I was to see how little cause there was for any, and to realize that the action of my guards was sprung from a very different motive.
The people stood silent, and on every upturned face of which I caught a glimpse I saw something that was akin to pity. Presently, however, as we drew nearer to the Palace, a murmur began to rise. It swelled and grew fierce. Suddenly a cry rose vehement and clear.
"Rescue! Rescue!"
"He is the Lord of Mondolfo," shouted one tall fellow, "and the Cardinal-legate makes a cat's-paw of him! He is to suffer for Messer Gambara's villainy!"
Again he was answered by the cry—"Rescue! Rescue!" whilst some added an angry—"Death to the Legate!"
Whilst I was deeply marvelling at all this, Cosimo looked at me over his shoulder, and though his lips were steady, his eyes seemed to smile, charged with a message of derision—and something more, something that I could not read. Then I heard his hard, metallic voice.
"Back there, you curs! To your kennels! Out of the way, or we ride you down."
He had drawn his sword, and his white hawk-face was so cruel and determined that they fell away before him and their cries died down.
We passed into the courtyard of the Communal Palace, and the great studded gates were slammed in the faces of the mob, and barred.
I got down from my mule, and was conducted at Cosimo's bidding to one of the dungeons under the Palace, where I was left with the announcement that I must present myself tomorrow before the Tribunal of the Ruota.
I flung myself down upon the dried rushes that had been heaped in a corner to do duty for a bed, and I abandoned myself to my bitter thoughts. In particular I pondered the meaning of the crowd's strange attitude. Nor was it a riddle difficult to resolve. It was evident that believing Gambara, as they did, to be Giuliana's lover, and informed perhaps—invention swelling rumour as it will—that the Cardinal-legate had ridden late last night to Fifanti's house, it had been put about that the foul murder done there was Messer Gambara's work.
Thus was the Legate reaping the harvest of all the hatred he had sown, of all the tyranny and extortion of his iron rule in Piacenza. And willing to believe any evil of the man they hated, they not only laid Fifanti's death at his door, but they went to further lengths and accounted that I was the cat's-paw; that I was to be sacrificed to save the Legate's face and reputation. They remembered perhaps the ill-odour in which we Anguissola of Mondolfo had been at Rome, for the ghibelline leanings that ever had been ours and for the rebellion of my father against the Pontifical sway; and their conclusions gathered a sort of confirmation from that circumstance.
Long upon the very edge of mutiny and revolt against Gambara's injustice, it had needed but what seemed a crowning one such as this to quicken their hatred into expression.
It was all very clear and obvious, and it seemed to me that tomorrow's trial should be very interesting. I had but to deny; I had but to make myself the mouthpiece of the rumour that was abroad, and Heaven alone could foretell what the consequences might be.
Then I smiled bitterly to myself. Deny? O, no! That was a last vileness I could not perpetrate. The Ruota should hear the truth, and Gambara should be left to shelter Giuliana, who—Cosimo was assured—had fled to him in her need as to a natural protector.
It was a bitter thought. The intensity of that bitterness made me realize with alarm how it still was with me. And pondering this, I fell asleep, utterly worn out in body and in mind by the awful turmoil of that day.
CHAPTER III
GAMBARA'S INTERESTS
I AWAKENED to find a man standing beside me. He was muffled in a black cloak and carried a lanthorn. Behind him the door gaped as he had left it.
Instantly I sat up, conscious of my circumstance and surroundings, and at my movement this visitor spoke.
"You sleep very soundly for a man in your case," said he, and the voice was that of my Lord Gambara, its tone quite coldly critical.
He set down the lanthorn on a stool, whence it shed a wheel of yellow light intersected with black beams. His cloak fell apart, and I saw that he was dressed for riding, very plainly, in sombre garments, and that he was armed.
He stood slightly to one side that the light might fall upon my face, leaving his own in shadow; thus he considered me for some moments in silence. At last, very slowly, very bitterly, shaking his head as he spoke.
"You fool, you clumsy fool!" he said.
Having drawn, as you have seen, my own conclusions from the attitude of the mob, I was in little doubt as to the precise bearing of his words.
I answered him sincerely. "If folly were all my guilt," said I, "it would be well."
He sniffed impatiently. "Still sanctimonious!" he sneered. "Tcha! Up now, and play the man, at least. You have shed your robe of sanctity, Messer Agostino; have done with pretence!"
"I do not pretend," I answered him. "And as for playing the man, I shall accept what punishment the law may have for me with fortitude at least. If I can but expiate . . ."
"Expiate a fig!" he snapped, interrupting me. "Why do you suppose that I am here?"
"I wait to learn."
"I am here because through your folly you have undone us all. What need," he cried, the anger of expostulation quivering in his voice, "what need was there to kill that oaf Fifanti?"
"He would have killed me," said I. "I slew him in self-defence."
"Ha! And do you hope to save your neck with such a plea?"
"Nay. I have no thought of urging it. I but tell it you."
"There is not the need to tell me anything," he answered, his anger very plain. "I am very well informed of all. Rather, let me tell you something. Do you realize, sir, that you have made it impossible for me to abide another day in Piacenza?"
"I am sorry . . ." I began lamely.
"Present
your regrets to Satan," he snapped. "Me they avail nothing. I am put to the necessity of abandoning my governorship and fleeing by night like a hunted thief. And I have you to thank for it. You see me on the point of departure. My horses wait above. So you may add my ruin to the other fine things you accomplished yesternight. For a saint you are over-busy, sir." And he turned away and strode the length of my cell and back, so that, at last, I had a glimpse of his face, which was drawn and scowling. Gone now was the last vestige of his habitual silkiness; the pomander-ball hung neglected, and his delicate fingers tugged viciously at his little pointed beard, his great sapphire ring flashing sombrely.
"Look you, Ser Agostino, I could kill you and take joy in it. I could, by God!"
His eyes upon me, he drew from his breast a folded paper. "Instead, I bring you liberty. I open your doors for you, and bid you escape. Here, man, take this paper. Present it to the officer at the Fodesta Gate. He will let you pass. And then away with you, out of the territory of Piacenza."
For an instant my heart-beats seemed suspended by astonishment. I swung my legs round, and half rose, excitedly. Then I sank back again. My mind was made up. I was tired of the world; sick of life the first draught of which had turned so bitter in my throat. If by my death I might expiate my sins and win pardon by my submission and humility, it was all I could desire. I should be glad to be released from all the misery and sorrow into which I had been born.
I told him so in some few words. "You mean me well, my lord," I ended, "and I thank you. But . . ."
"By God and the Saints!" he blazed, "I do not mean you well at all. I mean you anything but well. Have I not said that I could kill you with satisfaction? Whatever be the sins of Egidio Gambara, he is no hypocrite, and he lets his enemies see his face unmasked."
"But, then," I cried, amazed, "why do you offer me my freedom?"
"Because this cursed populace is in such a temper that if you are brought to trial I know not what may happen. As likely as not we shall have an insurrection, open revolt against the Pontifical authority, and red war in the streets. And this is not the time for it.
"The Holy Father requires the submission of these people. We are upon the eve of Duke Pier Luigi's coming to occupy his new States, and it imports that he should be well received, that he should be given a loving welcome by his subjects. If, instead, they meet him with revolt and defiance, the reasons will be sought, and the blame of the affair will recoil upon me. Your cousin Cosimo will see to that. He is a very subtle gentleman, this cousin of yours, and he has a way of working to his own profit. So now you understand. I have no mind to be crushed in this business. Enough have I suffered already through you, enough am I suffering in resigning my governorship. So there is but one way out. There must be no trial tomorrow. It must be known that you have escaped. Thus they will be quieted, and the matter will blow over. So now, Ser Agostino, we understand each other. You must go."
"And whither am I to go?" I cried, remembering my mother and that Mondolfo—the only place of safety—was closed to me by her cruelly pious hands.
"Whither?" he echoed. "What do I care? To Hell—anywhere, so that you get out of this."
"I'ld sooner hang," said I quite seriously.
"You'ld hang and welcome, for all the love I bear you," he answered, his impatience growing. "But if you hang blood will be shed, innocent lives will be lost, and I myself may come to suffer."
"For you, sir, I care nothing," I answered him, taking his own tone, and returning him the same brutal frankness that he used with me. "That you deserve to suffer I do not doubt. But since other blood than yours might be shed as you say, since innocent lives might be lost. . . . Give me the paper."
He was frowning upon me, and smiling viperishly at the same time. "I like your frankness better than your piety," said he. "So now we understand each other, and know that neither is in the other's debt. Hereafter beware of Egidio Gambara. I give you this last loyal warning. See that you do not come into my way again."
I rose and looked at him—looked down from my greater height. I knew well the source of this last, parting show of hatred. Like Cosimo's it sprang from jealousy. And a growth more potential of evil does not exist.
He bore my glance a moment, then turned and took up the lanthorn. "Come," he said, and obediently I followed him up the winding, stone staircase, and so to the very gates of the Palace.
We met no one. What had become of the guards, I cannot think; but I am satisfied that Gambara himself had removed them. He opened the wicket for me, and as I stepped out he gave me the paper and whistled softly. Almost at once I heard a sound of muffled hooves under the colonnade, and presently loomed the figures of a man and a mule, both dim and ghostly in the pearly light of dawn—for that was the hour.
Gambara followed me out, and pulled the wicket after him.
"That beast is for you," he said curtly. "It will the better enable you to get away."
As curtly I acknowledged the gift, and mounted whilst the groom held the stirrup for me.
O! it was the oddest of transactions! My Lord Gambara with death in his heart very reluctantly giving me a life I did not want.
I dug my heels into the mule's sides and started across the silent, empty square, then plunged into a narrow street where the gloom was almost as of midnight, and so pushed on.
I came out into the open space before the Porta Fodesta, and so to the gate itself. From one of the windows of the gatehouse, a light shone yellow, and, presently, in answer to my call, out came an officer followed by two men, one of whom carried a lanthorn swinging from his pike. He held this light aloft, whilst the officer surveyed me.
"What now?" he challenged. "None passes out tonight."
For answer I thrust the paper under his nose. "Orders from my Lord Gambara," said I.
But he never looked at it. "None passes out tonight," he repeated imperturbably. "So run my orders."
"Orders from whom?" quoth I, surprised by his tone and manner.
"From the Captain of Justice, if you must know. So you may get you back whence you came, and wait till daylight."
"Ah, but stay," I said. "I do not think you can have heard me. I carry orders from my Lord the Governor. The Captain of Justice cannot overbear these." And I shook the paper insistently.
"My orders are that none is to pass—not even the Governor himself," he answered firmly.
It was very daring of Cosimo, and I saw his aim. He was, as Gambara had said, a very subtle gentleman. He, too, had set his finger upon the pulse of the populace, and perceived what might be expected of it. He was athirst for vengeance, as he had shown me, and determined that neither I nor Gambara should escape. First, I must be tried, condemned, and hanged, and then he trusted, no doubt, that Gambara would be torn in pieces; and it was quite possible that Messer Cosimo himself would secretly find means to fan the mob's indignation against the Legate into fierce activity. And it seemed that the game was in his hands, for this officer's resoluteness showed how implicitly my cousin was obeyed.
Of that same resoluteness of the lieutenant's I was to have a yet more signal proof. For presently, whilst still I stood there vainly remonstrating, down the street behind me rode Gambara himself on a tall horse, followed by a mule-litter and an escort of half a score of armed grooms.
He uttered an exclamation when he saw me still there, the gate shut and the officer in talk with me. He spurred quickly forward.
"How is this?" he demanded haughtily and angrily. "This man rides upon the business of the State. Why this delay to open for him?"
"My orders," said the lieutenant, civilly but firmly, "are that none passes out tonight."
"Do you know me?" demanded Gambara.
"Yes, my lord."
"And you dare talk to me of your orders? There are no orders here in Piacenza but my orders. Set me wide the wicket of that gate. I myself must pass."
"My lord, I dare not."
"You are insubordinate," said the Legate, of a sudden very cold.
>
He had no need to ask whose orders were these. At once he saw the trammel spread for him. But if Messer Cosimo was subtle, so, too, was Messer Gambara. By not so much as a word did he set his authority in question with the officer.
"You are insubordinate," was all he answered him, and then to the two men-at-arms behind the lieutenant—"Ho, there!" he called. "Bring out the guard. I am Egidio Gambara, your Governor."
So calm and firm and full of assurance was his tone, so unquestionable his right to command them, that the men sprang instantly to obey him.
"What would you do, my lord?" quoth the officer, and he seemed daunted.
"Buffoon," said Gambara between his teeth. "You shall see."
Six men came hurrying from the gatehouse, and the Cardinal called to them.
"Let the corporal stand forth," he said.
A man advanced a pace from the rank they had hastily formed, and saluted.
"Place me your officer under arrest," said the Legate coldly, advancing no reason for the order. "Let him be locked in the gatehouse until my return; and do you, sir corporal, take command here meanwhile."
The startled fellow saluted again, and advanced upon his officer. The lieutenant looked up with sudden uneasiness in his eyes. He had gone too far. He had not reckoned upon being dealt with in this summary fashion. He had been bold so long as he conceived himself no more than Cosimo's mouthpiece, obeying orders for the issuing of which Cosimo must answer. Instead, it seemed, the Governor intended that he should answer for them himself. Whatever he now dared, he knew—as Gambara knew—that his men would never dare to disobey the Governor, who was the supreme authority there under the Pope.
"My lord," he exclaimed, "I had my orders from the Captain of Justice."
"And dare you to say that your orders included my messengers and my own self?" thundered the dainty prelate.
"Explicitly, my lord," answered the lieutenant.
"It shall be dealt with on my return, and if what you say is proved true, the Captain of Justice shall suffer with yourself for this treason—for that is the offence. Take him away, and someone open me that gate."
The Strolling Saint (Barnes & Noble Digital Library) Page 16
