The Hill of Venus

by Nathan Gallizier

  CHAPTER V

  WAVES OF DESTINY

  When Francesco waked on the following morning, the June sun touchedthe tree-tops which bounded the western horizon with their delicatefeathery twigs. Throughout the castle of Avellino there was the humand murmur of life. An unusual activity prevailed; the Apulian courtwas preparing to depart, as the long train of horses and jennets drawnup in the courtyard indicated.

  Francesco listened to the dim murmur of familiar voices, and theechoes of laughter which reached his ears as he stood contemplatinghimself undecidedly in a steel mirror that hung from an iron hook uponhis bedroom wall.

  Of what use to deck himself in fine raiment for the last time heshould ever wear it? Sackcloth was henceforth to be his garment;--whatmatter if he went unkempt on the last day in the home he loved?

  But the thought of the part he wished to play, came back to him. Hecould not bear the thought that his companions should know of hisundoing. Despair is concealed more easily for an hour than unrest. Andso Francesco heaved a long heavy sigh and went to the great carvenchest wherein he kept his apparel.

  Slowly, with the demeanor of one whose heart is not in what he does,he arrayed himself in his splendid court costume, as if preparing toshare the gladsomeness of his companions.

  He descended into the courtyard as one walking in a dream, and as in adream his ear caught the sounds of laughter and merriment, such as hadnot resounded in the Castle of Avellino since the days of EmperorFrederick II.

  On every lip were the glad tidings: Conradino had crossed the Alps!Conradino was about to descend into Italy with his iron hosts to claimhis heritage. Like an Angel of Vengeance he would march on to Rome,where the arch-enemy of his house sat enthroned in the chair of St.Peter. From all parts of Italy the Ghibellines were flocking to thebanners of the golden-haired son of Emperor Conrad IV,--Conradino, asthey lovingly called him,--the last Hohenstauffen!

  From the adjoining gardens there came sounds of joyous laughter; themusic of citherns and lyres rippled enchantingly on the soft breeze ofthe morning. It was as if an evil spell had been lifted from the land,but the spell had caught one who could not shake it off, as with stonygaze and quivering lips he walked along, noting the preparations forevents, in which he was to have no further share. He noted it not thatthe grooms and lackeys, pages and squires regarded him curiously, asif wondering at his luxurious attire, so little in keeping with theexigencies of a tedious journey. Hardly he noted the casual greetingof a companion who passed hurriedly, as if bent on his ownpreparations. After rambling aimlessly through the demesne, hebethought himself that the time for repast was at hand, and afterpausing here and there, as if to convince himself that what he saw wasnot the phantom of a mocking dream, he returned to the castle, hisheart heavy with the weight of the impending hour.

  The banqueting-hall in the Castle of Avellino presented a busy scene.A small army of lackeys and pages was at work preparing a repast, thelast the court was to partake ere the Viceroy set out. They were tostart at dusk, owing to the extreme noon-day heat in the plains.

  One great board stretched down the centre of the room, containingplaces enough for every occupant of the building.

  Presently the doors leading into the banqueting-hall turned inward anda throng of court attendants filed into the dimly lighted room. Thesewere followed by an array of visiting mendicants, who never failed toinfest any noble household, and they had scarcely grouped themselvesstanding about the board, when the Viceroy, arm in arm with GalvanoLancia, entered the hall.

  These two seated themselves at the board at once, watching the othersas they entered. The women and their escorts, who had entered laughingand chatting among themselves, grew silent as they beheld the Viceroyalready seated. One girl, garbed in a flowing gown of sea-greendamask, entered the room alone. As she advanced to her place, afterthe prescribed courtesy to the Viceroy, her dark eyes searchinglyscanned the throng of pages. Apparently she did not find among themthe one she sought.

  "Donna Ilaria looks for her errant knight," whispered Galvano Lanciainto the ear of Conrad Capece.

  "Has not Francesco returned?" queried the Viceroy.

  "I hardly expected him before to-day, even if the Grand Master'sillness has not taken a fatal turn."

  "Here are the monks!"

  "And there--at the door--"

  Conrad Capece followed the direction of Lancia's gaze.

  "Francesco!"--he finished with a gasp, staring bewildered at theyouth's dazzling garb, richer even than the Viceroy's.

  There was a sudden round of forbidden whispering among Francesco'scompanions, and significant glances passed between many at the expenseof Ilaria Caselli, for Francesco's entrance had been indeed destinedto create a commotion among the members of the Vice-regal household.

  Conscious to the full that all eyes were upon him, Francesco pausedfor a moment in the doorway. Then he advanced slowly towards the seatof the Viceroy, a bright smile on his lips, a feeling akin to deathfreezing his heart. The grace remained still unspoken, while themonks, eager as their worldly brethren, turned upon their stools togaze at the newcomer.

  Francesco was clad in a tunic made of white cloth, heavily embroideredwith gold, slashed up the sides far enough to reveal the dusky sheenof his black embroidered hose. His belt was of black and gold, and thedagger it held was hilted with gleaming jewels. The dark hair framed aface as white as his garb and the feverish lustre of the deep set eyesmatched the brilliancy of the gems in his belt.

  The finishing touch to Francesco's curious attire, the one which gavethe greatest significance to his appearance, was that which appearedto link him in some way to the most beautiful girl in the hall. It wasa faded rose, which still seemed to cast a crimson shadow upon thegleaming purity of his tunic, the rose he had discarded in his firstfit of despair, until he had bethought himself of a better course.

  Under the wondering or sneering glances of all these eyes, Francesco,seemingly unabashed, advanced to the Viceroy's chair, and, bending aknee, muttered an apology for his delayed arrival.

  Count Capece bade him arise, saying audibly:

  "In truth, Francesco, you shame us all for slovenliness in dress. Sityou here by my side! Your companions yonder have brilliancy enough intheir midst. You shall relieve our soberness!"

  With an amused smile Galvano Lancia made room between himself and theViceroy. There was a faint color in the youth's cheeks, as he hastilydropped into the posture for grace. If no one else at the board hadperceived it, he, at least, had understood the Viceroy's mild rebukefor overdress, and his mortification was sincere. For Count Capece wasdressed in a sombre suit of dark green, unembroidered and unadorned.Galvano Lancia supplemented him in a tunic of deep red, with blackhose and leather belt and pouch, and the other nobles were all attiredin garbs suitable for travel. There was a confused hum and medley ofvoices, but the one all-absorbing topic of discourse was theappearance of Conradino on Italian soil, and the hope of theGhibellines in the final victory of their cause.

  From the first, Francesco was uncomfortable in his new place. In theeyes of his companions, when he could catch them, he read onlycuriosity, mingled in some instances with envy and malice. This wasespecially the case at that part of the board where Raniero Frangipaniwas seated, not too far removed from Ilaria Caselli, although thelatter had dropped her eyes, without so much as vouchsafing him aglance.

  Francesco noted it all, and between the unmistakable gaze of derisionwhich came to him from the Frangipani and his associates, Ilaria'sseeming unconsciousness of his presence, and the well-nigh physicaldiscomfort of being the target of all present, in the seat assigned tohim, he felt ill at ease. Before he had entered the room he hadabsolutely believed in his own ability to act. Now he perceived hismistake. Do what he would, his heart and his expression failed himtogether.

  At last he fixed his eyes upon the figure of her who bore the flowersymbol of their relationship. Evidently the scarlet flower was beingcommented upon from his rightful part of the table, for
he beheldIlaria's color rise. Unexpectedly she turned her head to glancestealthily at the faded petals that burned upon the cold purity of hisvestments. In that glance she met his eyes full upon her. A shadow ofmingled confusion and anger flitted across her face and, snatchingher own rose from her gown, she dropped it on the floor.

  Undoubtedly this performance was calculated to throw Francesco into astate of doubt and anxiety as to her feeling for him. Yet, how littledid she guess the uselessness of that coquetry! What evermore would hehave to do with love or the dallying with it? What woman would beenamored of a sackcloth gown? Yet, at this moment, he perceived thathis feeling for her had rooted deeper than he had admitted to himself.And now it seemed to him that, were his well of bitterness to bedeepened by one jot, it would drive him mad. And as these cobwebs ofthought were spun out in his tired brain, such a black look of despaircame upon his face that Ilaria was even prepared to smile upon himwhen he turned to her again.

  Galvano Lancia also saw that expression, and guessed that theViceroy's idle whim had made the youth uncomfortable enough for thistime. But in his address there was also a courtier's purpose whichCount Capece, who was looking on, understood.

  "Francesco!"

  The youth turned, to find Galvano Lancia's kindly eyes upon him.

  "Your father is better of his illness?"

  "It is well with my father!" Francesco replied laconically.

  As the repast progressed, the situation was becoming almost unbearablefor the son of the Grand Master. Only the desire to avoid constitutingthe target of the almost general curiosity, prompted Francesco toremain at the Viceroy's table. He instinctively knew the eyes ofIlaria to rest upon him and, although not another word had beenspoken, the situation was becoming greatly strained. But he did notwish to exhibit the misery which racked his soul with a thousand pangsbefore the gossiping courtiers and monks. Thus he ate or made apretence at eating in silence. He had become acutely susceptible tothe disagreeable features of his surroundings. The gathering heat andthe heavy odor of meats and wines in the immense room, the flickeringglare of the torches, the shrillness of the many voices, the noises oflaughter which flowed together with the wine,--they all smote hissenses with a sharp sting of irritation, disgust and measurelessregret. So many, many times had he been part of all this. Now it wasgoing from him. The thought and the attempt at its banishment sickenedhim. He leaned upon the table, white and faint. His eyes were closed.He had lost the courage to attempt further concealment. Heinstinctively knew the Frangipani was watching him and there was asuggestion in his gaze which filled him with an inward dread. Howwould Ilaria take it? What would become of her, after he had gone? Heglanced down the board. Flagons of wine and platters of fruit werebeginning to be in great demand. Story-telling and jesting, which werewont to drag out repasts to endless hours, had begun. In the midst ofit all Count Capece arose. His move was not instantly perceived, butwhen he was heard to call upon one of the monks for a blessing, therewas a general stir at the board. The blessing given, the Viceroystarted from the hall, when he found himself accosted by Francesco,who had stumbled blindly after him.

  "May I have a word with you, my lord?"

  Count Capece nodded and Francesco followed him to his private cabinet,the doors of which closed behind him.

  The Viceroy had seated himself and silently beckoned to the youth tobegin.

  With an effort Francesco spoke:

  "I returned from San Cataldo last night, but was denied admittance toyour Grace, wherefore my presence here may have startled you!--"

  There was something like life in Francesco's tone, now the decisivemoment had come, and looking down he carefully noted the face of himwho was to be his judge.

  A silent nod from the Viceroy bade him proceed.

  "By your Grace's leave," he continued, with a marked effort, "thismust be my last day at the Court of Avellino. I am bidden on a longand tedious journey. My father would have me set out upon it at once!I had wished to acquaint your Grace of the matter last night. I cravepermission to quit the royal household, that I may be free to do myfather's bidding."

  Francesco had spoken with marked slowness and precision, that he mightforce himself to maintain his calm demeanor. To his own relief hefinished the speech with no hint of a break in his tone, thoughgravely uncomfortable under the Viceroy's steady, searching gaze.

  Now, with a quiet gentleness that caused him to start painfully, hefelt the latter's hand laid almost tenderly upon his arm. He gave astartled look into the frank, kindly face of the Apulian, and theresponse that met his eyes forced a swift wave of color into hisbloodless cheeks. He would have almost preferred the rude brutality ofAnjou's men to this generosity which left him no weapons for defence.He moved uneasily where he stood, and his breath came fast.

  He was very near to breaking.

  "You have my permission to execute your father's behest," the Viceroyreplied while his eyes were fixed on the face of the youth. "Let butthe office wait its hour! You have heard the tidings which havebrought joy to every Ghibelline heart. You note our preparations todepart. Conradino has crossed the Alps. To him belongs our first duty!We are bound for Pavia!"

  Francesco gave an involuntary start.

  "I also am bound northward!" he said, and wished he had not spoken.

  The Viceroy nodded.

  "The better so! You ride with us!"

  Francesco looked up appealingly. His misery received a new shock fromthe Viceroy's lack of comprehension.

  "I fear that may not be," he faltered, then noting the Viceroy'spuzzled look, he added:

  "The office I am bidden to perform, brooks no delay!"

  Count Capece eyed him curiously.

  "What business may that be, more cogent than our own? On thehoof-beats of our horses hang the destinies of a kingdom! None mayfalter, none may turn back! I pry not into the nature of the officeyou are bidden to perform. Yet all personal interests should besuspended before the one all-absorbing task, that beckons us towardsthe Po!"--

  "This business may not wait!"

  It was almost a wail that broke from Francesco's lips. How could hemake him understand without revealing his father's shame!

  A shadow flitted across the Viceroy's brow.

  "You will move the more swiftly in our train!"

  A choking sensation had seized the youth.

  "It may not be,--I must ride,--alone!" he stammered. All the color hadforsaken his face and his knees barely supported his body.

  "And when shall you return?" asked the Viceroy, feigning acquiescence.

  There was a moment's silence ere Francesco replied:

  "I fear, my lord,--I shall not return!"

  Count Capece started.

  "You speak as if you were about to renounce the Court of Avellinoforever," he replied after a brief pause, charged with apprehension."What is the meaning of this? Why do you tremble? Your father isbetter of his illness! No messenger has reached us from San Cataldo.Is not your presence here proof of his recovery?"

  "When I left my father's side, his sickness was in nowise lessened,"responded Francesco laconically.

  "Not lessened!" exclaimed the Viceroy. "Then how came you here?"

  "At my father's command I am here!"

  "For what purpose?"

  "To acquaint you of my choice--of the Church!"

  He spoke the words in a hard and dry tone.

  Count Capece had arisen. He was hardly less pale than Francesco, butthere was a light in his eyes that burnt into the very soul of theyouth.

  "You said, your choice?"

  "My choice!"

  "Ingrate! Renegade!"

  Francesco bowed his head.

  He no longer attempted to reply, or to vindicate himself. His head hadfallen upon his breast. His hot eyes were closed. His temples throbbeddully. He had known it from the start. They would misjudge him, theywould misjudge his motives. Years of loyalty spent at the Court ofAvellino would not mitigate the judgment of the step he was about totake; they would
rather aggravate it. They believed him bought by theGuelphs. And his lips must remain sealed forever! Dared he divulge hisfather's shame? Dared he cast an aspersion upon the guiltless head ofher who had given him birth and life? A life he had not desired,forsooth, yet one that it was his to bear to the end,--whatever thatend!--

  The Viceroy seemed to await some explanation, some apology--an apologyhe could not give. What would words avail? Had not he, Francesco,bartered his life, his soul, his destiny into eternal bondage? But nowhis misery gave way to his pride. Once again he raised his head; butin his pallid face there lay an expression of haughtiness, ofdefiance, with which he met the Viceroy's hostile gaze.

  "I take my leave, my lord! As for my future life, it is not ofsufficient import to require or merit your consideration."

  The Viceroy pointed silently to the door.

  As one dazed, Francesco crept to his chamber.

  There with a great sob he sank into a settle.

  He gazed about. Nothing seemed altered since the days when he had beenalive. Not a trifle was changed because a human soul, a living humansoul had been struck down. The chamber was just the same as before.Outside the water plashed in the fountain, the birds carolled in thetrees. As for himself,--he was dead, quite dead.

  He sat down on the edge of his couch and stared straight into space.His head ached. The very centre of his brain seemed to burst. It wasall so dull, so stupid,--life so utterly meaningless.

  He remembered he had not spoken with Ilaria. At the very thoughteverything grew black before his vision. Yet he could not leave withthe stigma upon his soul. She at least would understand, she at leastwould pity him. He felt like one looking down into a self-dug grave.

  He arose and stepped to the window.

  It was now past the hour of high noon. The activity in the courtyard,abandoned during the heated term of the day, began gradually torevive. There was no time to be lost.

  Hastily he scratched a few lines on a fragment of vellum which layclose at hand, called an attendant and bade him despatch it at once toIlaria Caselli.

  Then, weary and tired, he gathered together his scant belongings, soscant indeed as not to encumber his steed; then, his arms propped onhis knees, he sat down once more and awaited the coming of dusk.