CHAPTER XVII. THE ENEMY
The Count leapt from his bed, and hastened to throw wide the door toadmit his servant, who with excited face and voice bore him the newsthat Gian Maria had reached Roccaleone in the night, and was nowencamped in the plain before the castle.
He was still at his tale when a page came with the message that MonnaValentina besought Messer Francesco's presence in the great hall.He dressed in all haste, and then, with Lanciotto at his heels, hedescended to answer her summons. As he crossed the second courtyardhe beheld Valentina's ladies grouped upon the chapel-steps in exciteddiscussion of this happening with Fra Domenico, who, in full canonicals,was waiting to say the morning's Mass. He gave them a courteous "Goodmorrow," and passed on to the banqueting-hall, leaving Lanciottowithout.
Here he found Valentina in conference with Fortemani. She was pacingthe great room as she talked; but, beyond that, there was no sign ofexcitement in her bearing, and if any fear of the issue touched herheart now that the moment for action was at hand, it was wondrouslywell-suppressed. At sight of Francesco, a look that was partly dismayand partly pleasure lighted her face. She greeted him with such a smileas she would bestow in that hour upon none but a trusted friend. Then,with a look of regret:
"I am beyond measure grieved, sir, that you should thus stand committedto my fortunes. They will have told you that already we are besieged,and so you will see how your fate is now bound up with ours. For I fearme there is no road hence for you until Gian Maria raises this siege.The choice of going or remaining is no longer mine. We must remain, andfight this battle out."
"At least, lady," he answered readily, gaily almost, "I cannot shareyour regrets for me. The act of yours may be a madness, Madonna, but itis the bravest, sweetest madness that ever was, and I shall be proud toplay my part if you'll assign me one."
"But, sir, I have no claim upon you!"
"The claim that every beset lady has upon a true knight," he assuredher. "I could ask no better employment for these arms of mine than inyour defence against the Duke of Babbiano. I am at your service, andwith a glad heart, Monna Valentina. I have seen something of war, andyou may find me useful."
"Make him Provost of Roccaleone, Madonna," urged Fortemani, whosegratitude to the man who had saved his life was blent with an admiringappreciation of his powers, of which the bully had had such practicalexperience.
"You hear what Ercole says?" she cried, turning to Francesco with asudden eagerness that showed how welcome that suggestion was.
"It were too great an honour," he answered solemnly. "Yet, if you wereto place in my hands that trust, I would defend it to my last breath."
And then, before she could answer him, Gonzaga entered by the side-door,and frowned to see Francesco there before him. He was a trifle pale,he carried his cloak on the right shoulder, instead of the left, and ingeneral his apparel was less meticulous than usual, and showed signs ofhasty donning. With a curt nod to the Count, and an utter ignoring ofFortemani--who was scowling upon him in memory of yesterday--he bowedlow before Valentina.
"I am distraught, Madonna----" he began, when she cut him short.
"You have little cause to be. Have things fallen out other than weexpected?"
"Perhaps not. Yet I had hoped that Gian Maria would not allow his humourto carry him so far."
"You had hoped that--after the message Messer Francesco brought us?"And she looked him over with an eye of sudden understanding. "Yet youexpressed no such hope when you advised this flight to Roccaleone. Youwere all for fighting then. A martial ardour consumed you. Whence thischange? Is it the imminence of danger that gives it a reality too grimfor your appetite?"
There was a scorn in her words that wounded him as she meant it should.His last night's rashness had shown her the need to leave him in nofalse opinion of the extent of her esteem, and, in addition, those lastwords of his had shown him revealed in a new light, and she liked himthe less by it.
He inclined his head slightly, shame blazing red in his cheeks, thathe should be thus reproved before Fortemani and that upstart Francesco.That Francesco was an upstart was no longer a matter of surmise withhim. His soul assured him of it.
"Madonna," he said, with some show of dignity, ignoring her gibes, "Icame to bear you news that a herald from Gian Maria craves a hearing.Shall I hold parley with him for you?"
"You are too good," she answered sweetly. "I will hear the man myself."
He bowed submissively, and then his eye moved to Francesco.
"We might arrange with him for the safe-conduct of this gentleman," hesuggested.
"There is no hope they would accord it," she answered easily. "Nor couldI hope so if they would, for Messer Francesco has consented to fillthe office of Provost of Roccaleone. But we are keeping the messengerwaiting. Sirs, will you attend me to the ramparts?"
They bowed, and followed her, Gonzaga coming last, his tread heavy as adrunkard's, his face white to the lips in the bitter rage with which hesaw himself superseded, and read his answer to the hot words that lastnight he had whispered in Valentina's ear.
As they crossed the courtyard Francesco discharged the first act of hisnew office in ordering a half-dozen men-at-arms to fall in behind them,to the end that they might make some show upon the wall when they cameto parley with the herald.
They found a tall man on a tall, grey horse, whose polished helm shonelike silver in the morning sun, and whose haubergeon was almost hiddenunder a crimson tabard ornamented with the Sforza lion. He bowed low asValentina appeared, followed by her escort, foremost in which stood theCount of Aquila, his broad castor pulled down upon his brow, so that itleft his face in shadow.
"In the name of my master, the High and Mighty Lord Gian Maria Sforza,Duke of Babbiano, I call upon you to yield, lady, laying down your armsand throwing open your gates."
There followed a pause, at the end of which she asked him was that thesum of his message, or was there something that he had forgotten.The herald, bowing gracefully upon the arched neck of his caracolingpalfrey, answered her that what he had said was all he had been biddensay.
She turned with a bewildered and rather helpless look to those behindher. She wished that the matter might be conducted with due dignity,and her convent rearing left her in doubt of how this might best beachieved. She addressed herself to Francesco.
"Will you give him his answer, my Lord Provost," she said, with asmile, and Francesco, stepping forward and leaning on a merlon of thatembattled wall, obeyed her.
"Sir Herald," he said, in a gruff voice that was unlike his own, "willyou tell me since when has the Duke of Babbiano been at war withUrbino that he should thus beset one of its fortresses, and demand thesurrender of it?"
"His Highness," replied the herald, "is acting with the full sanction ofthe Duke of Urbino in sending this message to the Lady Valentina dellaRovere."
At that Valentina elbowed the Count aside, and forgetting her purpose ofconducting this affair with dignity, she let her woman's tongue deliverthe answer of her heart.
"This message, sir, and the presence here of your master, is but anotherof the impertinences that I have suffered at his hands, and it is thecrowning one. Take you that message back to him, and tell him that whenI am instructed by what right he dares to send you upon such an errand,I may render him an answer more germane with his challenge."
"Would you prefer, Madonna, that his Highness should come himself tospeak with you?"
"There is nothing I should prefer less. Already has necessity compelledme to have more to say to Gian Maria than I could have wished." Andwith a proud gesture she signified that the audience was at an end, andturned to quit the wall.
She had a brief conference with Francesco, during which he consulted heras to certain measures of defence to be taken, and made suggestions,to all of which she agreed, her hopes rising fast to see that here, atleast, she had a man with knowledge of the work to which he had set hishand. It lightened her heart and gave her a glad confidence to look onthat straigh
t, martial figure, the hand so familiarly resting on thehilt of the sword that seemed a part of him, and the eyes so calm;whilst when he spoke of perils, they seemed to dwindle 'neath thedisdain of them so manifest in his tone.
With Fortemani at his heels he went about the execution of the measureshe had suggested, the bully following him now with the faithful wonderof a dog for its master, realising that here, indeed, was a soldier offortune by comparison with whom the likes of himself were no better thancamp-followers. Confidence, too, did Ercole gather from that magnetismof Francesco's unfaltering confidence; for he seemed to treat the matteras a great jest, a comedy played for the Duke of Babbiano and atthat same Duke's expense. And just as Francesco's brisk tone breathedconfidence into Fortemani and Valentina, so, too, did it breathe it intoFortemani's wretched followers. They grew zestful in the reflection ofhis zest, and out of admiration for him they came to admire the businesson which they were engaged, and, finally, to take a pride in the part heassigned to each of them. Within an hour there was such diligentbustle in Roccaleone, such an air of grim gaiety and high spirits, thatValentina, observing it, wondered what manner of magician was this shehad raised to the command of her fortress, who in so little time couldwork so marvellous a change in the demeanour of her garrison.
Once only did Francesco's light-heartedness fail him, and this was when,upon visiting the armoury, he found but one single cask of gunpowderstored there. He turned to Fortemani to inquire where Gonzaga hadbestowed it, and Fortemani being as ignorant as himself upon the subjecthe went forthwith in quest of Gonzaga. After ransacking the castlefor him, he found him pacing the vine-alley in the garden in animatedconversation with Valentina. At his approach the courtier's manner grewmore subdued, and his brows sullen.
"Messer Gonzaga," Francesco hailed him. The courtier, surprised, lookedup. "Where have you hidden your store of powder?"
"Powder?" faltered Gonzaga, chilled by a sudden apprehension. "Is therenone in the armoury?"
"Yes--one small cask, enough to load a cannon once or twice, leaving usnothing for our hand-guns. Is that your store?"
"If that is all there is in the armoury, that is all we have."
Franceseo stood speechless, staring at him, a dull flush creeping intohis cheeks. In that moment of wrath he forgot their positions, and gavenever a thought to the smarting that must be with Gonzaga at the loss ofrank he had suffered since Valentina had appointed a provost.
"And are these your methods of fortifying Roccaleone?" he asked, in avoice that cut like a knife. "You have laid in good store of wine, aflock of sheep, and endless delicacies, sir," he jeered. "Did you expectto pelt the enemy with these, or did you reckon upon no enemy at all?"
Now this question touched so closely upon the truth, that it fired inGonzaga's bosom an anger that for the moment made a man of him. It wasthe last breath that blew into a blaze the smouldering wrath he carriedin his soul.
His retort came fierce and hot. It was as unmeasured and contemptuous asFrancesco's erst recriminations, and it terminated in a challenge tothe Count to meet him on horse or foot, with sword or lance, and that assoon as might be.
But Valentina intervened, and rebuked them both. Yet to Francesco herrebuke was courteous, and ended in a prayer that he should do thebest with such resources as Roccaleone offered; to Gonzaga it wascontemptuous in the last degree, for Francesco's question--which Gonzagahad left unanswered--coming at a moment when she was full of suspicionsof Gonzaga, and the ends he had sought to serve in advising her upon acourse which he had since shown himself so utterly unfitted to guide,had opened wide her eyes. She remembered how strangely moved he had beenupon learning yesterday that Gian Maria was marching upon Roccaleone,and how ardently he had advised flight from the fortress--he that had sobravely talked of holding it against the Duke.
They were still wrangling there in a most unseemly fashion when atrumpet-blast reached them from beyond the walls.
"The herald again," she cried. "Come, Messer Francesco, let us hear whatfresh message he brings."
She led Francesco away, leaving Gonzaga in the shadow of the vines,reduced well-nigh to tears in the extremity of his mortification.
The herald was returned with the announcement that Valentina's answerleft Gian Maria no alternative but to await the arrival of DukeGuidobaldo, who was then marching to join him. The Duke of Urbino'spresence would be, he thought, ample justification in her eyes for thechallenge Gian Maria had sent, and which he would send again when heruncle arrived to confirm it.
Thereafter, the remainder of the day was passed in peace at Roccaleone,if we except the very hell of unrest that surged in the heart of RomeoGonzaga. He sat disregarded at supper that evening, save by Valentina'sladies and the fool, who occasionally rallied him upon his glumness.Valentina herself turned her whole attention to the Count, and whilstGonzaga--Gonzaga, the poet of burning fancy, the gay songster, theacknowledged wit, the mirror of courtliness--was silent andtongue-tied, this ruffling, upstart swashbuckler entertained them witha sprightliness that won him every heart--always excepting that of RomeoGonzaga.
Francesco made light of the siege in a manner that enlivened every soulpresent with relief. He grew merry at the expense of Gian Maria, andmade it very plain that he could have found naught more captivating tohis warlike fancy than this business upon which an accident had embarkedhim. He was as full of confidence for the issue as he was full of eageranticipation of the fray itself.
Is it wonderful that--never having known any but artificial men; men ofcourt and ante-chamber; men of dainty ways and mincing, affected tricksof speech; in short, such men as circumstance ordains shall surroundthe great--Monna Valentina's eyes should open very wide, the better tobehold this new pattern of a man, who, whilst clearly a gentlemanof high degree, carried with him an air of the camp rather than thecamerion, was imbued by a spirit of chivalry and adventure, and ignoredwith a certain lofty dignity, as if beneath his observance, the posesthat she was wont to see characterising the demeanour of the gentlemenof his Highness, her uncle.
He was young, moreover, yet no longer callow; comely, yet with a strongmale comeliness; he had a pleasantly modulated voice, yet one thatthey had heard swell into a compelling note of command; he had the mostjoyous, careless laugh in all the world--such a laugh as endears a manto all that hear it--and he indulged it without stint.
Gonzaga sat glum and moody, his heart bursting with the resentment ofthe mean and the incompetent for the man of brilliant parts. But themorrow was to bring him worse.
The Duke of Urbino arrived next morning, and rode up to the moat inperson, attended only by a trumpeter, who, for the third time, wound anote of challenge to the fortress.
As on the previous day, Valentina answered the summons, attended byFrancesco, Fortemani and Gonzaga--the latter uninvited yet not denied,and following sullenly in her train, in a last, despairing attempt toassert himself one of her captains.
Francesco had put on his harness, and came arrayed from head to footin resplendent steel, to do worthy honour to the occasion. A bunch ofplumes nodded in his helm, and for all that his beaver was open, yetthe shadows of the head-piece afforded at the distance sufficientconcealment to his features.
The sight of her uncle left Valentina unmoved. Well-beloved though hewas of his people, between himself and his niece he had made no effortever to establish relations of affection. Less than ever did he now seekto prevail by the voice of kinship. He came in the panoply of war, asa prince to a rebel subject, and in precisely such a tone did he greether.
"Monna Valentina," he said--seeming entirely to overlook thecircumstance that she was his kinswoman--"deeply though this rebelliongrieves me, you are not to think that your sex shall gain you anyprivileges or any clemency. We will treat you precisely as we would anyother rebel subject who acted as you have done."
"Highness," she replied, "I solicit no privilege beyond that to which mysex gives me the absolute right, and which has no concern with war andarms. I allude to the privilege of
disposing of myself, my hand andheart, as it shall please me. Until you come to recognise that I am awoman endowed with a woman's nature, and until, having realised it, youare prepared to submit to it, and pass me your princely word to urge theDuke of Babbiano's suit no further with me, here will I stay in spiteof you, your men-at-arms, and your paltry ally, Gian Maria, who imaginesthat love may be made successfully in armour, and that a way to awoman's heart is to be opened with cannon-shot."
"I think we shall bring you to a more subjective and dutiful frame ofmind, Madonna," was the grim answer.
"Dutiful to whom?"
"To the State, a princess of which you have had the honour to be born."
"And what of my duty to myself, to my heart, and to my womanhood? Is noaccount to be taken of that?"
"These are matters, Madonna, that are not to be discussed in shouts fromthe walls of a castle--nor, indeed, do I wish to discuss them anywhere.I am here to summon you to surrender. If you resist us, you do so atyour peril."
"Then at my peril I will resist you--gladly. I defy you. Do your worstagainst me, disgrace your manhood and the very name of chivalry bywhatsoever violence may occur to you, yet I promise you that Valentinadella Rovere never shall become the wife of his Highness of Babbiano."
"You refuse to open your gates?" he returned, in a voice that shook withanger.
"Utterly and finally."
"And you think to persist in this?"
"As long as I have life."
The Prince laughed sardonically.
"I wash my hands of the affair and of its consequences," he answeredgrimly. "I leave it in the care of your future husband, Gian MariaSforza, and if, in his very natural eagerness for the nuptials, he usesyour castle roughly, the blame of it must rest with you. But what hedoes, he does with my full sanction, and I have come hither to adviseyou of it since you appeared in doubt. I beg that you will remain therefor a few moments, to hear what his Highness himself may have to say. Itrust his eloquence may prove more persuasive."
He saluted ceremoniously, and, wheeling his horse about, he rode away.Valentina would have withdrawn, but Francesco urged her to remain, andawait the Duke of Babbiano's coming. And so they paced the battlements,Valentina in earnest talk with Francesco, Gonzaga following in moodysilence with Fortemani, and devouring them with his eyes.
From their eminence they surveyed the bustling camp in the plain,where tents, green, brown, and white, were being hastily erected byhalf-stripped soldiers. The little army altogether, may have numbereda hundred men, which, in his vainglory, Gian Maria accounted all thatwould be needed to reduce Roccaleone. But the most formidable portion ofhis forces rolled into the field even as they watched. It was heraldedby a hoarse groaning of the wheels of bullock-carts to the number often, on each of which was borne a cannon. Other carts followed withammunition and victuals for the men encamped.
They looked on with interest at the busy scene that was toward, and asthey watched they saw Guidobaldo ride into the heart of the camp, anddismount. Then from out of a tent more roomy and imposing than the restadvanced the short, stout figure of Gian Maria, not to be recognised atthat distance save by the keen eyes of Francesco that were familiar withhis shape.
A groom held a horse for him and assisted him to mount, and then,attended by the same trumpeter that had escorted Guidobaldo, he rodeforward towards the castle. At the edge of the moat he halted, and atsight of Valentina and her company, he doffed his feathered hat, andbowed his straw-coloured head.
"Monna Valentina," he called, and when she stepped forth in answer, heraised his little, cruel eyes in a malicious glance and showed theround moon of his white face to be whiter even, than its wont--a palloratrabilious and almost green.
"I am grieved that his Highness, your uncle, should not have prevailedwith you. Where he has failed, I may have little hope of succeeding--bythe persuasion of words. Yet I would beg you to allow me to have speechof your captain, whoever he may be."
"My captains are here in attendance," she answered tranquilly.
"So! You have a plurality of them; to command--how many men?"
"Enough," roared Francesco, interposing, his voice sounding hollowfrom his helmet, "to blow you and your woman besieging scullions toperdition."
The Duke stirred on his horse, and peered up at the speaker. But therewas too little of his face visible for recognition, whilst his voice wasaltered and his figure dissembled in its steel casing.
"Who are you, rogue?" he asked.
"Rogue in your teeth, be you twenty times a Duke," returned the other,at which Valentina laughed outright.
Never from the day when he had uttered his first wail had his Highnessof Babbiano heard words of such import from the lips of living man. Apurple flush mottled his cheeks at the indignity of it.
"Attend to me, knave!" he bellowed. "Whatever betide the rest of thismisguided garrison when ultimately it falls into my hands, for you I canpromise a rope and a cross-beam."
"Bah!" sneered the knight. "First catch your bird. Be none so sure thatRoccaleone ever will fall into your hands. While I live you do not enterhere, and my life, Highness, is for me a precious thing, which I'll notpart with lightly."
Valentina's eyes were mirthless now as she turned them upon thatgleaming, martial figure standing so proudly at her side, and seemingso well-attuned to the proud defiance he hurled at the princely bullybelow.
"Hush, sir!" she murmured. "Do not anger him further."
"Aye," groaned Gonzaga, "in God's name say no more, or you'll undo ushopelessly."
"Madonna," said the Duke, without further heeding Francesco, "I give youtwenty-four hours in which to resolve upon your action. Yonder you seethem bringing the cannon into camp. When you wake to-morrow you shallfind those guns trained upon your walls. Meanwhile, enough said. May Ispeak a word with Messer Gonzaga ere I depart."
"So that you depart, you may say a word to whom you will," she answeredcontemptuously. And, turning aside, she motioned Gonzaga to the crenelshe abandoned.
"I'll swear that mincing jester is trembling already with the fear ofwhat is to come," bawled the Duke, "and perhaps fear will show him theway to reason. Messer Gonzaga!" he called, raising his voice. "As Ibelieve the men of Roccaleone are in your service, I call upon you tobid them throw down that drawbridge, and in the name of Guidobaldo aswell as my own, I promise them free pardon and no hurt--saving only thatrascal at your side. But if your knaves resist me, I promise you thatwhen I shall have dashed Roccaleone stone from stone, not a man of youall will I spare."
Shaking like an aspen Gonzaga stood there, his voice palsied and makingno reply, whereupon Francesco leant forward again.
"We have heard your terms," he answered, "and we are not like to heedthem. Waste not the day in vain threats."
"Sir, my terms were not for you. I know you not; I addressed you not,nor will I suffer myself to be addressed by you."
"Linger there another moment," answered the vibrating voice ofthe knight, "and you will find yourself addressed with a volley ofarquebuse-shot. Ola, there!" he commanded, turning and addressing animaginary body of men on the lower ramparts of the garden, to his left."Arquebusiers to the postern! Blow your matches! Make ready! Now, myLord Duke, will you draw off, or must we blow you off?"
The Duke's reply took the form of a bunch of blasphemous threats of howhe would serve his interlocutor when he came to set hands on him.
"Present arms!" roared the knight to his imaginary arquebusiers,whereupon, without another word, the Duke turned his horse and rodeoff in disgraceful haste, his trumpeter following hot upon his heels,pursued by a derisive burst of laughter from Francesco.
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