CHAPTER X. THE BRAYING OF AN ASS
When on the morrow, towards the twenty-second hour, the High and MightyGian Maria Sforza rode into his capital at Babbiano, he found the cityin violent turmoil, occasioned, as he rightly guessed, by the ominouspresence of Caesar Borgia's envoy.
A dense and sullen crowd met him at the Porta Romana, and preserved aprofound silence as he rode into the city, accompanied by Alvari andSanti, and surrounded by his escort of twenty spears in full armour.There was a threat in that silence more ominous than any vociferations,and very white was the Duke's face as he darted scowls of impotent angerthis way and that. But there was worse to come. As they rode up theBorgo dell' Annunziata the crowd thickened, and the silence was nowreplaced by a storm of hooting and angry cries. The people becamemenacing, and by Armstadt's orders--the Duke was by now too paralysedwith fear to issue any--the men-at-arms lowered their pikes in order toopen a way, whilst one or two of the populace, who were thrust too nearthe cavalcade by the surging human tide, went down and were trampledunder foot.
Satirical voices asked the Duke derisively was he wed, and where mightbe his uncle-in-law's spears that were to protect them against theBorgia. Some demanded to know whither the last outrageous levy of taxeswas gone, and where was the army it should have served to raise. Tothis, others replied for the Duke, suggesting a score of vile uses towhich the money had been put.
Then, of a sudden, a cry of "Murderer!" arose, followed by angry demandsthat he should restore life to the valiant Ferrabraccio, to Amerini, thepeople's friend, and to those others whom he had lately butchered, orelse follow them in death. Lastly the name of the Count of Aquila rangwildly in his ears, provoking a storm of "Evviva! Live Francesco delFalco!" and one persistent voice, sounding loudly above the others,styled him already "il Duca Francesco." At that the blood mounted toGian Maria's brain, and a wave of anger beat back the fear from hisheart. He rose in his stirrups, his eyes ablaze with the jealous wraththat possessed him.
"Ser Martino!" he roared hoarsely to his captain. "Couch lances and gothrough them at the gallop!"
The burly Swiss hesitated, brave man though he was. Alvaro de' Alvariand Gismondo Santi looked at each other in alarm, and the intrepidold statesman, in whose heart no pang of fear had been awakened by therabble's threatening bay, changed colour as he heard that order given.
"Highness," he implored the Duke, "You cannot mean this."
"Not mean it?" flashed back Gian Maria, his eye travelling from Santi tothe hesitating captain. "Fool!" he blazed at the latter. "Brute beast,for what do you wait? Did you not hear me?"
Without a second's delay the captain now raised his sword, and his deep,guttural voice barked an order to his men which brought their lancesbelow the horizontal. The mob, too, had heard that fierce command, andawakening to their peril, those nearest the cavalcade would have fallenback but that the others, pressing tightly from behind, held them in thedeath-tide that now swept by with clattering arms and hoarse cries.
Shrieks filled the air where lately threats had been loudly tossed. Butsome there were in that crowd that would be no passive witnesses of thisbutchery. Half the stones of the borgo went after that cavalcade, andfell in a persistent shower upon them, rattling like giant hail upontheir armour, dinting many a steel-cap to its wearer's sore discomfort.The Duke himself was struck twice, and on Santi's unprotected scalp anugly wound was opened from which the blood flowed in profusion to dyehis snowy locks.
In this undignified manner they reached, at last, the Palazzo Ducale,leaving a trail of dead and maimed to mark the way by which they hadcome.
In a white heat of passion Gian Maria sought his apartments, and camenot forth again until, some two hours later, the presence was announcedhim of the emissary from Caesar Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, who soughtan audience.
Still beside himself, and boiling with wrath at the indignities hehad received, Gian Maria--in no mood for an interview that wouldhave demanded coolness and presence of mind from a keener brain thanhis--received the envoy, a gloomy, priestly-faced Spaniard, in thethrone-room of the Palace. The Duke was attended by Alvari, Santi, andFabrizio da Lodi, whilst his mother, Caterina Colonna, occupied a chairof crimson velvet on which the Sforza lion was wrought in gold.
The interview was brief, and marked by a rudeness at its close thatcontrasted sharply with the ceremoniousness of its inception. It soonbecame clear that the ambassador's true mission was to pick a quarrelwith Babbiano on his master's behalf, to the end that the Borgia mightbe afforded a sound pretext for invading the Duchy. He demanded,at first politely and calmly, and later--when denied--with arrogantinsistance, that Gian Maria should provide the Duke of Valentinois witha hundred lances--equivalent to five hundred men--as some contributionon his part towards the stand which Caesar Borgia meant to make againstthe impending French invasion.
Gian Maria never heeded the restraining words which Lodi whispered inhis ear, urging him to temporise, and to put off this messenger untilthe alliance with the house of Urbino should be complete and theirposition strengthened sufficiently to permit them to brave the anger ofCaesar Borgia. But neither this nor the wrathful, meaning glances whichhis cunning mother bent upon him served to curb him. He obeyed only thevoice of his headstrong mood, never dreaming of the consequences withwhich he might be visited.
"You will bear to the Duca Valentino this message from me," he said,in conclusion. "You will tell him that what lances I have in Babbiano Iintend to keep, that with them I may defend my own frontiers against hisbriganding advances. Messer da Lodi," he added, turning to Fabrizio andwithout so much as waiting to see if the envoy had anything further tosay, "let this gentleman be reconducted to his quarters, and see that hehas safe conduct hence until he is out of our Duchy."
When the envoy, crimson of face and threatening of eye, had withdrawnunder Lodi's escort, Monna Caterina rose, the very incarnation ofoutraged patience, and poured her bitter invective upon her rash son'shead.
"Fool!" she stormed at him. "There goes your Duchy--in the hollow ofthat man's hand." Then she laughed in bitterness. "After all, in castingit from you, perhaps you have chosen the wiser course, for, as truly asthere is a God in Heaven, you are utterly unfitted to retain it."
"My lady mother," he answered her, with such dignity as he could musterfrom the wretched heap in which his wits now seemed to lie, "you willbe well advised to devote yourself to your woman's tasks, and not tointerfere in a man's work."
"Man's work!" she sneered. "And you perform it like a petulant boy or apeevish woman."
"I perform it, Madonna, as best seems to me, for it happens that I amDuke of Babbiano," he answered sullenly. "I do not fear any Pope's sonthat ever stepped. The alliance with Urbino is all but completed. Letthat be established, and if Valentino shows his teeth--by God we'll showours."
"Aye, but with this difference, that his are a wolf's teeth, and yours alamb's. Besides, this alliance with Urbino is all incomplete as yet. Youhad been better advised to have sent away the envoy with some indefinitepromise that would have afforded you respite enough in which to sealmatters with the house of Montefeltro. As it is, your days are numbered.Upon that message you have sent him Caesar will act at once. For my ownpart, I have no mind to fall a prey to the invader, and I shall leaveBabbiano, and seek refuge in Naples. And if a last word of advice I mayoffer you, it is that you do the same."
Gian Maria rose and came down from the dais, eyeing her in a sort ofdull amazement. Then he looked, as if for help, to Alvari, to Santi,and lastly to Lodi, who had returned while Caterina was speaking. But noword said any of them, and grave were the eyes of all.
"Poor-spirited are you all!" he sneered. Then his face grew dark and histone concentrated. "Not so am I," he assured them, "if in the past I mayhave seemed it sometimes. I am aroused at length, sirs. I heard a voicein the streets of Babbiano to-day, and I saw a sight that has put afire into my veins. This good-tempered, soft, indulgent Duke you knewis gone. The lion is awake at last, and you shall s
ee such things as youhad not dreamt of."
They regarded him now with eyes in which the gravity was increased by alight of fearsome wonder and inquiry. Was his mind giving way under theprodigious strain that had been set upon it that day? If not madness,what else did that wild boasting argue?
"Are you all dumb?" he asked them, his eyes feverish. "Or do you deemthat I promise more than is mine to fulfil. You shall judge, and soon.To-morrow, my lady mother, whilst you journey south, as you have toldus, I go north again, back to Urbino. Not a day will I now waste. Withinthe week, sirs, by God's grace, I shall be wed. That will give us Urbinofor a buckler, and with Urbino comes Perugia and Camerino. But more thanthat. There is a princely dowry comes to us with the Lady Valentina. Howthink you will I spend it? To the last florin it shall go to the armingof men. I will hire me every free condotta in Italy. I will raise mesuch an army as has never before been seen at any one time, and withthis I shall seek out the Duca Valentino. I'll not sit here at homeawaiting the pleasure of his coming, but I'll out to meet him, and withthat army I shall descend upon him as a thunderbolt out of Heaven. Aye,my lady mother," he laughed in his madness, "the lamb shall hunt thewolf, and rend it so that it shall never stand again to prey on otherlambs. This will I do, my friends, and there shall be such fighting ashas not been seen since the long-dead days of Castracani."
They stared at him, scarce believing now that he was sane, andmarvelling deeply whence had sprung this sudden martial fervour in onewhose nature was more indolent than active, more timid than warlike.And yet the reason was not far to seek, had they but cared to follow theline of thought to which he, himself, had given them the clue when hereferred to the voice he had heard, and the sights he had seen in thestreets of Babbiano. The voice was the voice that had acclaimed hiscousin Francesco Duke. That it was through that a fierce jealousy hadfired him. This man had robbed him at once of the love of his peopleand of Valentina, and thereby had set in his heart the burning desireto outdo him and to prove wrong in their preference both his people andValentina. He was like a gamer who risks all on a single throw, and hisstake was to be the dowry of his bride, the game a tilt with the forcesof the Borgia. If he won he came out covered with glory, and not onlythe saviour of his people and the champion of their liberty, but aglorious figure that all Italy--or, at least, that part of it thathad known the iron heel of Valentino--should revere. Thus would heset himself right, and thus crush from their minds the memory of hisrebellious cousin with whom he was about to deal.
His mother turned to him now, and her words were words of caution,prayers that he should adventure on naught so vast and appalling to herwoman's mind, without due thought and argument in council. A servantentered at that moment, and approached the Duke.
"Madonna," Gian Maria announced, breaking in upon her earnest words,"I am fully resolved upon my course. If you will but delay a moment andresume your seat, you shall witness the first scene of this greatdrama that I am preparing." Then turning to the waiting servant: "Yourmessage?" he demanded.
"Captain Armstadt has returned, Highness, and has brought hisExcellency."
"Fetch lights and then admit them," he commanded briefly. "To yourplaces, sirs, and you, my mother. I am about to sit in judgment."
Amazed and uncomprehending, they obeyed his wild gestures, and resumedtheir places by the throne even as he walked back to the dais and sathimself upon the ducal chair. Servants entered, bearing great candelabraof beaten gold which they set on table and overmantel. They withdrew,and when the doors opened again, a clank of mail, reaching them fromwithout, increased the astonishment of the company.
This rose yet higher, and left them cold and speechless, when into thechamber stepped the Count of Aquila with a man-at-arms on either sideof him, marking him a prisoner. With a swift, comprehensive glance thattook in the entire group about the throne--and without manifesting theslightest surprise at Lodi's presence--Francesco stood still and awaitedhis cousin's words.
He was elegantly dressed, but without lavishness, and if he had the airof a great lord, it was rather derived from the distinction of his faceand carriage. He was without arms, and bareheaded save for the gold coifhe always wore, which seemed to accentuate the lustrous blackness ofhis hair. His face was impassive, and the glance as that of a man ratherweary of the entertainment provided him.
There was an oppressive silence of some moments, during which his cousinregarded him with an eye that glittered oddly. At last Gian Maria brokeinto speech, his voice shrill with excitement.
"Know you of any reason," he demanded, "why your head should not beflaunted on a spear among those others on the Gate of San Bacolo?"
Francesco's eyebrows shot up in justifiable astonishment.
"I know of many," he answered, with a smile, an answer which by itssimplicity seemed to nonplus the Duke.
"Let us hear some of them," he challenged presently.
"Nay, let us hear, rather, some reason why my poor head should be soharshly dealt with. When a man is rudely taken, as I have been, it isa custom, which perhaps your Highness will follow, to afford him somereason for the outrage."
"You smooth-tongued traitor," quoth the Duke, with infinite malice, madeangrier by his cousin's dignity. "You choicely-spoken villain! You wouldlearn why you have been taken? Tell me, sir, what did you at Acquaspartaon the morning of the Wednesday before Easter?"
The Count's impassive face remained inscrutable, a mask of patientwonder. By the sudden clenching of his hands alone did he betray howthat thrust had smitten him, and his hands none there remarked. Fabrizioda Lodi, standing behind the Duke, went pale to the lips.
"I do not recall that I did anything there of much account," heanswered. "I breathed the good spring air in the woods."
"And nothing else?" sneered Gian Maria.
"I can bethink me of little else that signifies. I met a lady there withwhom I had some talk, a friar, a fool, a popinjay, and some soldiers.But,"--he shifted abruptly, his tone growing haughty--"whatever I did,I did as best seemed to me, and I have yet to learn that the Count ofAquila must give account of what he does and where he does it. Youhave not told me yet, sir, by what right, or fancied right, you hold meprisoner."
"Have I not, indeed? See you no link between your offence and yourpresence near Sant' Angelo on that day?"
"If I am to apprehend that you have had me brought here with thisindignity to set me riddles for your amusement, I am enlightened and yetamazed. I am no court buffoon."
"Words, words," snapped the Duke. "Do not think to beguile me withthem." With a short laugh he turned from Francesco to those upon thedais. "You will be marvelling, sirs, and you, my lady mother, upon whatgrounds I have had this traitor seized. You shall learn. On the night ofthe Tuesday before Easter seven traitors met at Sant' Angelo to plotmy overthrow. Of those, the heads of four may be seen on the wallsof Babbiano now; the other three made off, but there stands one ofthem--the one that was to have occupied this throne after they hadunseated me."
The eyes of all were now upon the young Count, whilst his own glancestrayed to the face of Lodi, on which there was written a consternationso great that it must have betrayed him had the Duke but chanced to lookhis way. A pause ensued which none present dared to break. GianMaria seemed to await an answer from Francesco; but Francesco stoodimpassively regarding him, and made no sign that he would speak. Atlength, unable longer to endure the silence:
"E dunque?" cried the Duke. "Have you no answer?"
"I would submit," returned Francesco, "that I have heard no question.I heard a wild statement, extravagant and mad, the accusation of onedemented, a charge of which no proofs can be forthcoming, else I takeit you had not withheld them. I ask you, sirs, and you, Madonna," hecontinued, turning to the others, "has his Highness said anything towhich an answer can by any means be necessary?"
"Is it proofs you lack?" cried Gian Maria, but less confidently thanhitherto, and, so, less fiercely. A doubt had arisen in his mind born ofthis strange calm on the part of France
sco--a calm that to Gian Maria'sperceptions seemed hardly the garb of guilt, but belonged rather to onewho is assured that no peril threatens him. "Is it proofs you lack?"quoth the Duke again, and then with the air of a man launching anunanswerable question: "How came you by the wound you had that day inthe woods?"
A smile quivered on Francesco's face, and was gone.
"I asked for proofs, not questions," he protested wearily. "What shallit prove if I had a hundred wounds?"
"Prove?" echoed the Duke, less and less confident of his ground, fearingalready that he had perhaps gone too fast and too far upon the road ofhis suspicions. "It proves to me, when coupled with your presence there,that you were in the fight the night before."
Francesco stirred at that. He sighed and smiled at once. Then assuming atone of brisk command:
"Bid these men begone," he said, pointing to his guards. "Then hear mescatter your foul suspicions as the hurricane scatters the leaves inautumn."
Gian Maria stared at him in stupefaction. That overwhelming assurance,that lofty, dignified bearing which made such a noble contrast withhis own coarse hectoring, were gradually undermining more and morehis confidence. With a wave of his hand he motioned the soldiers towithdraw, obeying almost unconsciously the master-mind of his cousin bywhich he was as unconsciously being swayed.
"Now, Highness," said Francesco, as soon as the men were gone, "beforeI refute the charge you make, let me clearly understand it. From theexpressions you have used I gather it to be this: A conspiracy was laida little time ago at Sant' Angelo which had for object to supplant youon the throne of Babbiano and set me in your place. You charge me withhaving had in that conspiracy a part--the part assigned to me. It is so,is it not?"
Gian Maria nodded.
"You have put it very clearly," he sneered. "If you can make out yourinnocence as clearly, I shall be satisfied that I have wronged you."
"That this conspiracy took place we will accept as proven, although tothe people of Babbiano the proof may have seemed scant. A man, sincedead, had told your Highness that such a plot was being hatched. Hardly,perhaps, in itself, evidence enough to warrant setting the heads of fourvery valiant gentlemen on spears, but no doubt your Highness had otherproofs to which the rest of us had no access."
Gian Maria shivered at the words. He recalled what Francesco had saidon the occasion of their last talk upon this very subject; he rememberedthe manner of his own reception that day in Babbiano.
"We must be content that it is so," calmly pursued Francesco. "Indeed,your Highness's action in the matter leaves no doubt. We will accept,then, that such a plot was laid, but that I had a part in it, that I wasthe man chosen to take your place--need I prove the idleness of such acharge?"
"You need, in truth. By God! you need, if you would save your head."
The Count stood in an easy posture, his hands clasped behind his back,and smiled up at his cousin's pale face and scowling brow.
"How mysterious are the ways of your justice, Cousin," he murmured, withinfinite relish; "what a wondrous equity invests your methods! You haveme dragged here by force, and sitting there, you say to me: 'Prove thatyou have not conspired against me, or the headsman shall have you!' Bymy faith! Soloman was a foolish prattler when compared with you."
Gian Maria smote the gilded arm of his chair a blow for which he was tofind his hand blackened on the morrow.
"Prove it!" he screamed, like a child in a pet. "Prove it, prove it,prove it!"
"And have my words not already proven it?" quoth the Count, in a voiceof such mild wonder and gentle protest that it left Gian Maria gasping.
Then the Duke made a hasty gesture of impatience.
"Messer Alvari," he said, in a voice of concentrated rage, "I think youhad best recall the guard."
"Wait!" the Count compelled him, raising his hand. And now it wasseen that the easy insouciance was gone from his face: the smile hadvanished, and in its place there was a look of lofty and contemptuouswrath. "I will repeat my words. You have dragged me here before you byforce, and, sitting there on the throne of Babbiano, you say: 'Provethat you have not conspired against me if you would save your head.'"A second he paused, and noted the puzzled look with which all regardedhim.
"Is this a parable?" sneered the uncomprehending Duke.
"You have said it," flashed back Francesco. "A parable it is. And if youconsider it, does it not afford you proof enough?" he asked, a note oftriumph in his voice. "Do not our relative positions irrefutably showthe baselessness of this your charge? Should I stand here and yousit there if what you allege against me were true?" He laughed almostsavagely, and his eyes flashed scornfully upon the Duke. "If moreplainly still you need it, Gian Maria, I tell you that had I plotted tooccupy your tottering throne, I should be on it now, not standing heredefending myself against a foolish charge. But can you doubt it? Did youlearn no lesson as you rode into Babbiano to-day? Did you not hear themacclaim me and groan at you. And yet," he ended, with a lofty pity,"you tell me that I plotted. Why, if I desired your throne, my only needwould be to unfurl my banner in the streets of your capital, and withinthe hour Gian Maria would be Duke no more. Have I proved my innocence,Highness?" he ended quietly, sadly almost. "Are you convinced how littleis my need for plots?"
But the Duke had no answer for him. Speechless, and in a sort of dazedhorror, he sat and scowled before him at his cousin's handsome face,what time the others watched him furtively, in silence, trembling forthe young man who, here, in his grasp, had dared say such things to him.Presently he covered his face with his hands, and sat so, as onedeeply in thought, a little while. At last he withdrew them slowly andpresented a countenance that passion and chagrin had strangely ravagedin so little time. He turned to Santi, who stood nearest.
"The guard," he said hoarsely, with a wave of the hand, and Santi went,none daring to utter a word. They waited thus an odd group, all verygrave save one, and he the one that had most cause for gravity. Then thecaptain re-entered, followed by his two men, and Gian Maria waved a handtowards the prisoner.
"Take him away," he muttered harshly, his face ghastly, and passionshaking him like an aspen. "Take him away, and await my orders in theante-chamber."
"If it is farewell, Cousin," said Francesco, "may I hope that you willsend a priest to me? I have lived a faithful Christian."
Gian Maria returned him no answer, but his baleful eye was upon Martino.Reading the significance of that glance, the captain touched Francescolightly on the arm. A moment the Count stood, looking from the Duke tothe soldiers; a second his glance rested on those assembled there; then,with a light raising of his shoulders, he turned on his heel, and withhis head high passed out of the ducal chamber.
And silence continued after he was gone until Caterina Colonna broke itwith a laugh that grated on Gian Maria's now very tender nerves.
"You promised bravely," she mocked him, "to play the lion. But so far,we have only heard the braying of an ass."
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