CHAPTER XVI. GONZAGA UNMASKS
The four great outer walls of Roccaleone stood ranged into a mightysquare, of which the castle proper occupied but half. The other half,running from north to south, was a stretch of garden, broken into threeterraces. The highest of these was no more than a narrow alley underthe southern wall, roofed from end to end by a trellis of vines on beamsblackened with age, supported by uprights of granite, square and roughlyhewn.
A steep flight of granite steps, weedy in the interstices of the oldstone, and terminating in a pair of couchant lions at the base, led downto the middle terrace, which was called the upper garden. This was splitin twain by a very gallery of gigantic box trees running down towardsthe lower terrace, and bearing eloquent witness to the age of that oldgarden. Into this gallery no sun ever penetrated by more than a furtiveray, and on the hottest day in summer a grateful cool dwelt in its greengloom. Rose gardens spread on either side of it, but neglect of late hadleft them rank with weeds.
The third and lowest of these terraces, which was longer and broaderthan either of those above, was no more than a smooth stretch of lawn,bordered by acacias and plane trees, from the extreme corner of whichsprang a winding, iron-railed staircase of stone, leading to an eeriewhich corresponded diagonally with the Lion's Tower, where the Count ofAquila was lodged.
On this green lawn Valentina's ladies and a page beguiled the eventidein a game of bowls, their clumsiness at the unwonted pastime provokingthe good-humoured banter of Peppe, who looked on, and their own stillbetter-humoured laughter.
Fortemani, too, was there, brazening out the morning's affair, which italmost seemed he must have forgotten, so self-possessed and mightily athis ease was he. He was of the kind with whom shame strikes never verydeeply, and he ruffled it gaily there, among the women, rolling hisfierce eyes to ogle them seductively, tossing his gaudy new cloak witha high-born disdain--gloriously conscious that it would not rend inthe tossing, like the cloaks to which grim Circumstance had latelyaccustomed him--and strutting it like any cock upon a dunghill.
But the lesson he had learnt was not likely to share the sameforgetfulness. Indeed, its fruits were to be observed already in themore orderly conduct of his men, four of whom, partisan on shoulder,were doing duty on the walls of the castle. They had greeted his returnamongst them with sneers and derisive allusions to his immersion, butwith a few choicely-aimed blows he had cuffed the noisiest into silenceand a more subservient humour. He had spoken to them in a rasping,truculent tone, issuing orders that he meant should be obeyed, unlessthe disobeyer were eager for a reckoning with him.
Indeed, he was an altered man, and when that night his followers, havingdrunk what he accounted enough for their good, and disregarding hisorders that they should desist and get them to bed, he went in questof Monna Valentina. He found her in conversation with Francesco andGonzaga, seated in the loggia of the dining-room. They had been theresince supper, discussing the wisdom of going or remaining, of fleeingor standing firm to receive Gian Maria. Their conference was interruptednow by Ercole with his complaint.
She despatched Gonzaga to quell the men, a course that Fortemanitreated to a covert sneer. The fop went rejoicing at this proof thather estimate of his commanding qualities had nowise suffered by contrastwith those of that swashbuckling Francesco. But his pride rode him to abitter fall.
They made a mock of his remonstrances, and when he emulated Francesco'smethods, addressing them with sharp ferocity, and dubbing them beastsand swine, they caught the false ring of his fierceness, which wasas unlike the true as the ring of lead is unlike that of silver. Theyjeered him insults, they mimicked his tenor voice, which excitementhad rendered shrill, and they bade him go thrum a lute for his lady'sdelectation, and leave men's work to men.
His anger rose, and they lost patience; and from showing their teethin laughter, they began to show them in snarls. At this his ferocitydeserted him. Brushing past Fortemani, who stood cold and contemptuousby the doorway, watching the failure he had expected, he returned withburning cheeks and bitter words to Madonna Valentina.
She was dismayed at the tale he bore her, magnified to cover his ownshame. Francesco sat quietly drumming on the sill, his eyes upon themoonlit garden below, and never by word or sign suggesting that he mightsucceed where Romeo had failed. At last she turned to him.
"Could you----?" she began, and stopped, her eyes wandering back toGonzaga, loath to further wound a pride that was very sore already. Onthe instant Francesco rose.
"I might try, Madonna," he said quietly, "although Messer Gonzaga'sfailure gives me little hope. And yet, it may be that he has taken thekeen edge from their assurance, and that, thus, an easier task awaitsme. I will try, Madonna." And with that he went.
"He will succeed, Gonzaga," she said, after he had gone. "He is a man ofwar, and knows the words to which these fellows have no answer."
"I wish him well of his errand," sneered Gonzaga, his pretty face whitenow with sullenness. "And I'll wager you he fails."
But Valentina disdained the offer whose rashness was more thanproven when, at the end of some ten minutes, Francesco re-entered, asimperturbable as when he went.
"They are quiet now, Madonna," he announced.
She looked at him questioningly. "How did you accomplish it?" sheinquired.
"I had a little difficulty," he said, "yet not over-much." His eye rovedto Gonzaga, and he smiled. "Messer Gonzaga is too gentle with them. Tootrue a courtier to avail himself of the brutality that is necessarywhen we deal with brutes. You should not disdain to use your hands uponthem," he admonished the fop in all seriousness, and without a trace ofirony. Nor did Gonzaga suspect any.
"I, soil my hands on that vermin?" he cried, in a voice of horror. "Iwould die sooner."
"Or else soon after," squeaked Peppe, who had entered unobserved."Patrona mia, you should have seen this paladin," he continued, comingforward. "Why, Orlando was never half so furious as he when he stoodthere telling them what manner of dirt they were, and bidding them tobed ere he drove them with a broomstick."
"And they went?" she asked.
"Not at first," said the fool. "They had drunk enough to make them verybrave, and one who was very drunk was so brave as to assault him. ButSer Francesco fells him with his hands, and calling Fortemani he bidshim have the man dropped in a dungeon to grow sober. Then, withoutwaiting so much as to see his orders carried out, he stalks away,assured that no more was needed. Nor was it. They rose up, mutteringa curse or two, maybe--yet not so loud that it might reach the ears ofFortemani--and got themselves to bed."
She looked again at Francesco with admiring eyes, and spoke of hisaudacity in commending terms. This he belittled; but she persisted.
"You have seen much warring, sir," she half-asked, half-asserted.
"Why, yes, Madonna."
And here the writhing Gonzaga espied his opportunity.
"I do not call to mind your name, good sir," he purred.
Francesco half-turned towards him, and for all that his mind was workingwith a lightning quickness, his face was indolently calm. To disclosehis true identity he deemed unwise, for all connected with the Sforzabrood must earn mistrust at the hands of Valentina. It was known thatthe Count of Aquila stood high in the favour of Gian Maria, and the newsof his sudden fall and banishment could not have reached Guidobaldo'sniece, who had fled before the knowledge of it was in Urbino. His namewould awaken suspicion, and any story of disgrace and banishment mightbe accounted the very mask to fit a spy. There was this sleek, venomousGonzaga, whom she trusted and relied on, to whisper insidiously into herear.
"My name," he said serenely, "is, as I have told you. Francesco."
"But you have another?" quoth Valentina, interest prompting thequestion.
"Why, yes, but so closely allied to the first as to be scarce worthreciting. I am Francesco Franceschi, a wandering knight."
"And a true one, as I know." She smiled at him so sweetly that Gonzagawas enraged.
"I have
not heard the name before," he murmured, adding:
"Your father was----?"
"A gentleman of Tuscany."
"But not at Court?" suggested Romeo.
"Why, yes, at Court."
Then with a sly insolence that brought the blood to Francesco's cheeks,though to the chaste mind of Valentina's it meant nothing--"Ah!" herejoined. "But then, your mother----?"
"Was more discriminating, sir, than yours," came the sharp answer, andfrom the shadows the fool's smothered burst of laughter added gall toit.
Gonzaga rose heavily, drawing a sharp breath, and the two men stabbedeach other with their eyes. Valentina, uncomprehending, looked from oneto the other.
"Sirs, sirs, what have you said?" she cried. "Why all this war oflooks?"
"He is over-quick to take offence, Madonna, for an honest man," wasGonzaga's answer. "Like the snake in the grass, he is very ready withhis sting when we seek to disclose him."
"For shame, Gonzaga," she cried, now rising too. "What are you saying?Are you turned witless? Come, sirs, since you are both my friends, befriends each with the other."
"Most perfect syllogism!" murmured the fool, unheeded.
"And you, Messer Francesco, forget his words. He means them not. He isvery hot of fancy, but sweet at heart, this good Gonzaga."
On the instant the cloud lifted from Francesco's brow.
"Why, since you ask me," he answered, inclining his head, "if he'll butsay he meant no malice by his words, I will confess as much for mine."
Gonzaga, cooling, saw that haply he had gone too fast, and was thereadier to make amends. Yet in his bosom he nursed an added store ofpoison, a breath of which escaped him as he was leaving Valentina, andafter Francesco had already gone:
"Madonna," he muttered, "I mistrust that man."
"Mistrust him? Why?" she asked, frowning despite her faith in themagnificent Romeo.
"I know not why; but it is here. I feel it." And with his hand hetouched the region of his heart. "Say that he is no spy, and call me afool."
"Why, I'll do both," she laughed. Then more sternly, added: "Get you tobed, Gonzaga. Your wits play you false. Peppino, call my ladies."
In the moment that they were left alone he stepped close up to her,spurred to madness by the jealous pangs he had that day endured. Hisface gleamed white in the candlelight, and in his eyes there was alurking fierceness that gave her pause.
"Have your way, Madonna," he said, in a concentrated voice; "butto-morrow, whether we go hence, or whether we stay, he remains not withus."
She drew herself up to the full of her slender, graceful height, hereyes on a level with Gonzaga's own.
"That," she answered, "is as shall be decreed by me or him."
He breathed sharply, and his voice hardened beyond belief in one usuallyso gentle of tone and manner.
"Be warned, Madonna," he muttered, coming so close that with theslightest swaying she must touch him, "that if this nameless sbirroshall ever dare to stand 'twixt you and me, by God and His saints, I'llkill him! Be warned, I say."
And the door re-opening at that moment, he fell back, bowed, andbrushing past the entering ladies, gained the threshold. Here someonetugged at the prodigious foliated sleeves that spread beside him on theair like the wings of a bird. He turned, and saw Peppino motioning himto lower his head.
"A word in your ear, Magnificent. There was a man once went out for woolthat came back shorn."
Angrily cuffing the fool aside, he was gone.
Valentina sank down upon her window-seat, in a turmoil of mingled angerand amazement that paled her cheek and set her bosom heaving. It was thefirst hint of his aims respecting her that Gonzaga had ever dared letfall, and the condition in which it left her boded ill for his ultimatesuccess. Her anger he could have borne, had he beheld it, for he wouldhave laid it to the score of the tone he had taken with her. But herincredulity that he could indeed have dared to mean that which hersenses told her he had meant, would have shown him how hopeless was hiscase and how affronted, how outraged in soul she had been left by thismoment of passionate self-revealing. He would have understood thenthat in her eyes he never had been, was never like to be, aught but aservant--and one, hereafter, that, deeming presumptuous, she would keepat greater distance.
But he, dreaming little of this as he paced his chamber, smiled at histhoughts, which flowed with ready optimism. He had been a fool to giveway so soon, perhaps. The season was not yet; the fruit was not ripeenough for plucking; still, what should it signify that he had giventhe tree a slight premonitory shake? A little premature, perhaps, butit would predispose the fruit to fall. He bethought him of hernever-varying kindness to him, her fond gentleness, and he lacked thewit to see that this was no more than the natural sweetness that flowedfrom her as freely as flows the perfume from the flower--because Naturehas so fashioned it, and not because Messer Gonzaga likes the smell.Lacking that wit, he went in blissful confidence to bed, and smiledhimself softly to his sleep.
Away in the room under the Lion's Tower, the Count of Aquila, too, pacedhis chamber ere he sought his couch, and in his pacing caught sightof something that arrested his attention, and provoked a smile. In acorner, among his harness which Lanciotto had piled there, his shieldthrew back the light, displaying the Sforza lion quartered with theAquila eagle.
"Did my sweet Gonzaga get a glimpse of that he would have no furtherneed to pry into my parentage," he mused. And dragging the escutcheonfrom amongst that heap of armour, he softly opened his window and flungit far out, so that it dropped with a splash into the moat. That done,he went to bed, and he, too, fell asleep with a smile upon his lips,and in his mind a floating vision of Valentina. She needed a strong andready hand to guide her in this rebellion against the love-at-arms ofGian Maria, and that hand he swore should be his, unless she scornedthe offer of it. And so, murmuring her name with a lingering fervour, ofwhose true significance he was all-nescient, he sank to sleep, norwaked again until a thundering at his door aroused him. And to his stilldormant senses came the voice of Lanciotto, laden with hurry and alarm.
"Awake, lord! Up, afoot! We are beset."
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