CHAPTER IV. MONNA VALENTINA
In after years the Lord of Aquila was wont to aver in all solemnity thatit was the sight of her wondrous beauty set up such a disorder in hissoul that it overcame his senses, and laid him swooning at her feet.That he, himself, believed it so, it is not ours to doubt, for all thatwe may be more prone to agree with the opinion afterwards expressedby Fanfulla and the friar--and deeply resented by the Count--that inleaping to his feet in over-violent haste his wound re-opened, and thepain of this, combining with the weak condition that resulted from hisloss of blood, had caused his sudden faintness.
"Who is this, Peppe?" she asked the fool, and he, mindful of the oathhe had sworn, answered her brazenly that he did not know, adding that itwas--as she might see---some poor wounded fellow.
"Wounded?" she echoed, and her glorious eyes grew very pitiful. "Andalone?"
"There was a gentleman here, tending him, Madonna; but he is gone withFra Domenico to the Convent of Acquasparta to seek the necessaries tomend his shoulder."
"Poor gentleman," she murmured, approaching the fallen figure. "How camehe by his hurt?"
"That, Madonna, is more than I can tell."
"Can we do nothing for him until his friends return?" was her nextquestion, bending over the Count as she spoke. "Come, Peppino," shecried, "lend me your aid. Get me water from the brook, yonder."
The fool looked about him for a vessel, and his eye falling upon theCount's capacious hat, he snatched it up, and went his errand. When hereturned, the lady was kneeling with the unconscious man's head inher lap. Into the hatful of water that Peppe brought her she dipped akerchief, and with this she bathed the brow on which his long black hairlay matted and disordered.
"See how he has bled, Peppe," said she. "His doublet is drenched, andhe is bleeding still! Vergine Santa!" she cried, beholding now theugly wound that gaped in his shoulder, and turning pale at the sight."Assuredly he will die of it--and he so young, Peppino, and so comely tobehold!"
Francesco stirred, and a sigh fluttered through his pallid lips. Thenhe raised his heavy lids, and their glances met and held each other. Andso, eyes that were brown and tender looked down into feverish languideyes of black, what time her gentle hand held the moist cloth to hisaching brow.
"Angel of beauty!" he murmured dreamily, being but half-awake as yet tohis position. Then, becoming conscious of her ministrations, "Angel ofgoodness!" he added, with yet deeper fervour.
She had no answer for him, saving such answer--and in itself it waseloquent enough--as her blushes made, for she was fresh from a conventand all innocent of worldly ways and tricks of gallant speech.
"Do you suffer?" she asked at last.
"Suffer?" quoth he, now waking more and more, and his voice soundinga note of scorn. "Suffer? My head so pillowed and a saint from Heavenministering to my ills? Nay, I am in no pain, Madonna, but in a joy moresweet than I have ever known."
"Gesu! What a nimble tongue!" gibed the fool from the background.
"Are you there, too, Master Buffoon?" quoth Francesco. "And Fanfulla?Is he not here? Why, now I bethink me; he went to Acquasparta with thefriar." He thrust his elbow under him for more support.
"You must not move," said she, thinking that he would essay to rise.
"I would not, lady, if I must," he answered solemnly. And then, with hiseyes upon her face, he boldly asked her name.
"My name," she answered readily, "is Valentina della Rovere, and I amniece to Guidobaldo of Urbino."
His brows shot up.
"Do I indeed live," he questioned, "or do I but dream the memories ofsome old romancer's tale, in which a wandering knight is tended thus bya princess?"
"Are you a knight?" she asked, a wonder coming now into her eyes, foreven into the seclusion of her convent-life had crept strange stories ofthese mighty men-at-arms.
"Your knight at least, sweet lady," answered he, "and ever your poorchampion if you will do me so much honour."
A crimson flush stole now into her cheeks, summoned by his bold wordsand bolder glances, and her eyes fell. Yet, resentment had no part inher confusion. She found no presumption in his speech, nor aught thata brave knight might not say to the lady who had succoured him in hisdistress. Peppe, who stood listening and marking the Count's manner,knowing the knight's station, was filled now with wonder, now withmockery; yet never interfered.
"What is your name, sir knight?" she asked, after a pause.
His eyes looked troubled, and as they shot beyond her to the fool, theycaught on Peppe's face a grin of sly amusement.
"My name," he said at last, "is Francesco." And then, to prevent thatshe should further question him--"But tell me, Madonna," he inquired,"how comes a lady of your station here, alone with that poor fraction ofa man?" And he indicated the grinning Peppe.
"My people are yonder in the woods, where we have halted for a littlespace. I am on my way to my uncle's court, from the Convent of SantaSofia, and for my escort I have Messer Romeo Gonzaga and twenty spears.So that, you see, I am well protected, without counting Ser Peppe hereand the saintly Fra Domenico, my confessor."
There was a pause, ended at length by Francesco.
"You will be the younger niece of his Highness of Urbino?" said he.
"Not so, Messer Francesco," she answered readily. "I am the elder."
At that his brows grew of a sudden dark.
"Can you be she whom they would wed to Gian Maria?" he exclaimed, atwhich the fool pricked up his ears, whilst she looked at the Count witha gaze that plainly showed how far she was from understanding him.
"You said?" she asked.
"Why, nothing," he answered, with a sigh, and in that moment a man'svoice came ringing through the wood.
"Madonna! Madonna Valentina!"
Francesco and the lady turned their eyes in the direction whence thevoice proceeded, and they beheld a superbly dazzling figure entering theglade. In beauty of person and richness of apparel he was well worthy ofthe company of Valentina. His doublet was of grey velvet, set off withscales of beaten gold, and revealing a gold-embroidered vest beneath;his bonnet matched his doublet, and was decked by a feather thatsparkled with costly gems; his gold-hilted sword was sheathed in ascabbard also of grey velvet set with jewels. His face was comely as adamsel's, his eyes blue and his hair golden.
"Behold," announced Peppino gravely, "Italy's latest translation of theGolden Ass of Apuleius."
Upon seeing the noble niece of Guidobaldo kneeling there withFrancesco's head still pillowed in her lap, the new-comer cast up hisarms in a gesture of dismay.
"Saints in Heaven!" he exclaimed, hurrying towards them. "Whatoccupation have you found? Who is this ugly fellow?"
"Ugly?" was all she answered him, in accents of profound surprise.
"Who is he?" the young man insisted, his tone growing heated. "And whatdoes he here and thus, with you? Gesu! What would his Highness say?How would he deal with me were he to learn of this? Who is the man,Madonna?"
"Why, as you see, Messer Gonzaga," she answered, with some heat, "awounded knight."
"A knight he?" gibed Gonzaga. "A thief more likely, a prowlingmasnadiero. What is your name?" he roughly asked the Count.
Drawing himself a little away from Valentina, and reclining entirelyupon his elbow, Francesco motioned him with a wave of the hand to comeno nearer.
"I beg, lady, that you will bid your pretty page stand back a little. Iam still faint, and his perfumes overpower me."
Under the mask of the polite request Gonzaga detected the mocking,contemptuous note, and it gave fuel to his anger.
"I am no page, fool," he answered, then clapping his hands together, heraised his voice to shout--"Ola, Beltrame! To me!"
"What would you do?" cried the lady, rising to confront him.
"Carry this ruffian in bonds to Urbino, as is my duty."
"Sir, you may wound your pretty hands in grasping me," replied theCount, in chill indifference.
"Ah! You would threaten me with viol
ence, vassal?" cried the other,retreating some paces farther as he spoke. "Beltrame!" he called again."Are you never coming?" A voice answered him from the thicket, and witha clank of steel a half-dozen men flung themselves into the glade.
"Your orders, sir?" craved he that led them, his eyes wandering to thestill prostrate Count.
"Tie me up this dog," Gonzaga bade him. But before the fellow could movea foot to carry out the order Valentina barred his way.
"You shall not," she commanded, and so transformed was she from theingenuous child that lately had talked with him, that Francesco gaped inpure astonishment. "In my uncle's name, I bid you leave this gentlemanwhere he lies. He is a wounded knight whom I have been pleased totend--a matter which seems to have aroused Messer Gonzaga's angeragainst him."
Beltrame paused, and looked from Valentina to Gonzaga, undecided.
"Madonna," said Gonzaga, with assumed humility, "your word is law withus. But I would have you consider that, what I bid Beltrame do is inthe interest of his Highness, whose territory is infested by thesevagabonding robbers. It is a fact that may not have reached you inyour convent retreat, no more than has sufficient knowledge reached youyet--in your incomparable innocence--to distinguish between rogues andhonest men. Beltrame, do my bidding."
Valentina's foot tapped the ground impatiently, and into her eyes therecame a look of anger that heightened her likeness to her martial uncle.But Peppe it was who spoke.
"For all that there seem to be fools enough, already, meddling in thisbusiness," he said, in tones of mock lament, "permit that I join theirnumber, Ser Romeo, and listen to my counsel."
"Out, fool," cried Gonzaga, cutting at him with his riding-switch, "weneed not your capers."
"No, but you need my wisdom," retorted Ser Peppe, as he leapt beyondGonzaga's reach. "Hear me, Beltrame! For all that we do not doubt MesserGonzaga's keen discrimination in judging 'twixt a rogue and an honestman, I do promise you, as surely as though I were Fate herself, that ifyou obey him now and tie up that gentleman, you will yourself be tied upfor it, later on, in a yet uglier fashion."
Beltrame looked alarmed, Gonzaga incredulous. Valentina thanked Peppewith her eyes, thinking that he had but hit upon a subterfuge to serveher wishes, whilst Francesco, who had now risen to his feet, lookedon with an amused smile as though the matter concerned him nowisepersonally. And then, in the very crux of the situation, Fanfulla andFra Domenico appeared upon the scene.
"You are, well-returned, Fanfulla!" the Count called to him, "Thispretty gentleman would have had me bound."
"Have you bound?" echoed Fanfulla, in angry horror. "Upon what grounds,pray?" he demanded, turning fiercely upon Gonzaga.
Impressed by Fanfulla's lordly air, Romeo Gonzaga grew amazingly humblefor one that but a moment back had been so overbearing.
"It would seem, sir, that my judgment was at fault in esteeming hiscondition," he excused himself.
"Your judgment?" returned the hot Fanfulla. "And who bade you judge? Gocut your milk-teeth, boy, and meddle not with men if you would live tobe a man yourself some day."
Valentina smiled, Peppe laughed outright, whilst even Beltrame and hisfollowers grinned, all of which added not a little to Gonzaga's choler.But scant though his wisdom might be, it was yet enough to dictateprudence.
"The presence of Madonna here restrains me," he answered, with elaboratedignity. "But should we meet again, I shall make bold to show you whatmanhood means."
"Perhaps--if by then you shall have come to it." And with a shrugFanfulla turned to give his attention to the Count, whom Fra Domenicowas already tending.
Valentina, to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, proposed toGonzaga that he should get his escort to horse, and have her litterin readiness, so that they might resume their journey as soon as FraDomenico should have concluded his ministrations.
Gonzaga bowed, and with a vicious glance at the strangers and anangry "Follow me!" to Beltrame and the others, he departed with themen-at-arms at his heels.
Valentina remained with Fanfulla and Peppe, whilst Fra Domenico dressedFrancesco's wound, and, presently, when the task was accomplished, theydeparted, leaving Fanfulla amid the Count alone. But ere she went shelistened to Francesco's thanks, and suffered him to touch her ivoryfingers with his lips.
There was much he might have said but that the presence of the otherthree restrained him. Yet some little of that much she may have seenreflected in his eyes, for all that day she rode pensive, a fond,wistful smile at the corners of her lips. And although to Gonzaga shemanifested no resentment, yet did she twit him touching that mistakeof his. Sore in his dignity, he liked her playful mockery little yet heliked the words in which she framed it less.
"How came you into so grievous an error, Ser Romeo?" she asked him, morethan once. "How could you deem him a rogue--he with so noble a mien andso beautiful a countenance?" And without heeding the sullenness of hisanswers, she would lapse with a sigh once more into reflection--a thingthat galled Gonzaga more, perhaps, than did her gibes.
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