CHAPTER XXII. A REVELATION
"Francesco," said Valentina, and the name came from her lips as if itwere an endearment, "why that frowning, care-worn look?"
They were in the dining-room alone, where the others had left them, andthey were still seated at the table at which they had supped. Francescoraised his dark, thoughtful eyes, and as they lighted now on Valentinathe thoughtfulness that was in them gave place to tenderness.
"I am fretted by this lack of news," he acknowledged. "I would I knewwhat is being done in Babbiano. I had thought that ere now Caesar Borgiahad stirred Gian Maria's subjects into some manner of action. I would Iknew!"
She rose, and coming close to him, she stood with one hand resting uponhis shoulder, her eyes smiling down upon his upturned face.
"And shall such a trifle fret you--you who professed a week ago that youwould this siege might last for ever?"
"Account me not fickle, anima mia," he answered her, and he kissed theivory fingers that rested on his shoulder. "For that was before theworld changed for me at the magic of your bidding. And so," he repeated,"I would I knew what is toward at Babbiano!"
"But why sigh over a wish so idle?" she exclaimed. "By what means cannews reach you here of the happenings of the world without?"
He pondered a moment, seeking words in which to answer her. A score oftimes during that week had he been on the point of disclosing himself,of telling her who and what he was. Yet ever had he hesitated, puttingoff that disclosure until the season should appear more fitting. This henow considered the present. She trusted him, and there was no reason toremain silent longer. Perhaps already he had delayed too long, and so hewas about to speak when she started from his side, and crossed hastilyto the window, alarmed by the sound of approaching steps. A second laterthe door opened, and Gonzaga appeared.
A moment he hesitated in the doorway, looking from one to the other, andFrancesco, lazily regarding him in his turn, noted that his cheeks werepale and that his eyes glittered like those of a man with the fever.Then he stepped forward, and, leaving the door open behind him, headvanced into the room.
"Monna Valentina, I have something to communicate to you." His voiceshook slightly. "Messer--Francesco, will you give us leave?" And hisfeverish eyes moved to the open door with an eloquence that asked nowords.
Francesco rose slowly, endeavouring to repress his surprise and glancedacross at Valentina, as if awaiting her confirmation or refusal of thisrequest that he should leave them.
"A communication for me?" she marvelled, a slight frown drawing herbrows together. "Of what nature, sir?"
"Of a nature as important as it is private."
She raised her chin, and with a patient smile she seemed to beg ofFrancesco that he would suffer her to humour this mood of Gonzaga's. Inquick obedience Francesco inclined his head.
"I shall be in my chamber until the hour of my rounds, Madonna," heannounced, and with that took his departure.
Gonzaga attended him to the door, which he closed after him, andcomposing his features to an expression of sorrowing indignation, hecame back and stood facing Valentina across the table.
"Madonna," he said, "I would to Heaven this communication I have to maketo you came from other lips. In the light of what has passed--here atRoccaleone--through my folly--you--you may think my mission charged withvindictiveness."
Perplexity stared at him from her eyes.
"You fill me with alarm, my good Gonzaga," she answered him, thoughsmiling.
"Alas it has fallen to my unfortunate lot to do more than that. I havemade the discovery of as foul a piece of treachery here in your fortressas ever traitor hatched."
She looked at him more seriously now. The vehemence of his tone, and thesuggestion of sorrow that ran through it and gave it so frank an accent,commanded her attention.
"Treachery!" she echoed, in a low voice, her eyes dilating. "And fromwhom?"
He hesitated a moment, then waving his hand:
"Will you not sit, Madonna?" he suggested nervously.
Mechanically she seated herself at the table, her eyes ever on his face,alarm spreading in her heart, born of suspense.
"Be seated too," she bade him, "and tell me."
He drew up a chair, sat down opposite to her, and taking a deep breath:"Heard you ever of the Count of Aquila?" he inquired.
"It were odd if I had not. The most valiant knight in Italy, fame dubshim."
His eyes were intently on her face, and what he saw there satisfied him.
"You know how he stands with the people of Babbiano?"
"I know that he is beloved of them."
"And do you know that he is a pretender to the throne of Babbiano? Youwill remember that he is cousin to Gian Maria?"
"His relationship to Gian Maria I know. That he pretends to the throneof Babbiano I was not aware. But whither are we straying?"
"We are not straying, Madonna," answered Gonzaga, "we are making astraight line for the very heart and soul of this treachery I spoke of.Would you believe me if I told you that here, in Roccaleone, we havean agent of the Count of Aquila one who in the Count's interest isprotracting this siege with the pretended aim of driving Gian Mariaoff."
"Gonzaga----" she began, more than half guessing the drift of hisexplanation. But he interrupted her with unusual brusqueness.
"Wait, Madonna," he cried, his eyes upon her face, his hand imperiouslyraised. "Hear me out in patience. I am not talking idly. Of what I tellyou I am armed with proof and witness. Such an agent of--of the Count'sinterests we have among us, and his true object in protracting thissiege, and encouraging and aiding you in your resistance, is to outwearthe patience of the people of Babbiano with Gian Maria, and drive themin the hour of their approaching peril from Caesar Borgia's armies tobestow the throne on Aquila."
"Where learnt you this foul lie?" she asked him, her cheeks crimson, hereyes on fire.
"Madonna," he said, in a patient voice, "this that you call a lie isalready an accomplished fact. I am not laying before you the fruits ofidle speculation. I have upon me the most positive proof that sucha result as was hoped for has already been reached. Gian Maria hasreceived from his subjects a notification that unless he is in hiscapital within three days from this, they will invest the Lord of Aquilawith the ducal crown."
She rose, her anger well controlled, her voice calm.
"Where is this proof? No, no; I don't need to see it. Whatever it is,what shall it prove to me? That your words, in so far as the politicsof Babbiano are concerned, may be true; our resistance of Gian Maria mayindeed be losing him his throne and doing good service to the cause ofthe Count of Aquila; but how shall all this prove that lie of yours,that Messer Francesco--for it is clearly of him you speak--that MesserFrancesco should be this agent of the Count's? It is a lie, Gonzaga, forwhich you shall be punished as you deserve."
She ceased, and stood awaiting his reply, and as she watched him hiscalm demeanour struck a chill into her heart. He was so confident, sofull of assurance; and that, in Gonzaga, she had learnt to know meant astrong bulwark 'twixt himself and danger. He sighed profoundly.
"Madonna, these cruel words of yours do not wound me, since they areno more than I expected. But it will wound me--and sorely--if when youshall have learnt the rest you do not humbly acknowledge how you havewronged me, how grossly you have misjudged me. You think I come toyou with evil in my heart, urged by a spirit of vindictiveness againstMesser Francesco. Instead, I come to you with nothing but a profoundsorrow that mine must be the voice to disillusion you, and a deepindignation against him that has so foully used you to his own ends.Wait, Madonna! In a measure you are right. It was not strictly true tosay that this Messer Francesco is the agent of the Count of Aquila."
"Ah! You are recanting already?"
"Only a little--an insignificant little. He is no agent because----" Hehesitated, and glanced swiftly up. Then he sighed, lowered his voice,and with consummately simulated sorrow, he concluded "Because he is,himself, Francesco
del Falco. Count of Aquila."
She swayed a moment, and the colour died from her cheeks, leaving themivory pale. She leaned heavily against the table, and turned over in hermind what she had heard. And then, as suddenly as it had gone, the bloodrushed back into her face, mounting to her very temples.
"It's a lie!" she blazed at him; "a lie for which you shall be whipped."
He shrugged his shoulders, and cast Francesco's letter on to the table.
"There, Madonna, is something that will prove all that I have said."
She eyed the paper coldly. Her first impulse was to call Fortemani andcarry out her threat of having Gonzaga whipped, refusing so much as tosee this thing that he so confidently termed a proof; but it may be thathis confidence wrought upon her, touching a chord of feminine curiosity.That he was wrong she never doubted; but that he believed himself rightshe was also assured, and she wondered what this thing might be thathad so convinced him. Still she did not touch it, but asked in anindifferent voice:
"What is it?"
"A letter that was brought hither to-night by a man who swam the moat,and whom I have ordered to be detained in the armoury tower. It is fromFanfulla degli Arcipreti to the Count of Aquila. If your memory willbear you back to a certain day at Acquasparta, you may recall thatFanfulla was the name of a very gallant cavalier who addressed thisMesser Francesco with marked respect."
She took that backward mental glance he bade her, and remembered. Thenshe remembered, too, how that very evening Francesco had said that hewas fretting for news of Babbiano, and that when she had asked howhe hoped that news could reach him at Roccaleone, Gonzaga had enteredbefore he answered her. Indeed, he had seemed to hesitate upon thatanswer. A sudden chill encompassed her at that reflection. Oh, it wasimpossible, absurd! And yet she took the letter from the table. Withknit brows she read it, whilst Gonzaga watched her, scarce able to keepthe satisfaction from gleaming in his eyes.
She read it slowly, and as she read her face grew deathly pale. Whenshe had finished she stood silent for a long minute, her eyes uponthe signature and her mind harking back to what Gonzaga had said, anddrawing comparison between that and such things as had been doneand uttered, and nowhere did she find the slightest gleam of thatdiscrepancy which so ardently she sought.
It was as if a hand were crushing the heart in her bosom. This man whomshe had trusted, this peerless champion of her cause, to be nothing buta self-seeker, an intriguer, who, to advance his own ends, had made apawn of her. She thought of how for a moment he had held her in his armsand kissed her, and at that her whole soul revolted against the notionthat here was no more than treachery.
"It's all a plot against him!" she cried, her cheeks scarlet again."It's an infamous thing of your devising, Messer Gonzaga, an odiouslie!"
"Madonna, the man that brought the letter is still detained. Confronthim with Messer Francesco; or apply the question to him, and learnhis master's true name and station. As for the rest, if that letter isinsufficient proof for you, I beg that you will look back at facts. Whyshould he lie to you? and say that his name was Francesco Franceschi?Why should he have urged you--against all reason--to remain here, whenhe brought you news that Gian Maria was advancing? Surely had he butsought to serve you he had better accomplished this by placing his owncastle of Aquila at your disposal, and leaving here an empty nest forGian Maria, as I urged."
She sank to a chair, a fever in her mind.
"I tell you, Madonna, there is no mistake. What I have said is true.Another three days would he have held Gian Maria here, whilst if yougave him that letter, it is odds he would slip away in the night ofto-morrow, that he might be in Babbiano on the third day to take thethrone his cousin treats so lightly. Sainted God!" he cried out. "Ithink this is the most diabolically treacherous plot that ever mind ofman conceived and human heartlessness executed."
"But--but----" she faltered, "all this is presupposing that MesserFrancesco is indeed the Count of Aquila. May there--may it not be thatthis letter was meant for some other destination?"
"Will you confront this messenger with the Count?"
"With the Count?" she inquired dully. "With Messer Francesco, you mean?"She shuddered, and with strange inconsistence: "No," she said, in achoking voice, her lip twisting oddly at the corner. "I do not wish tosee his face again."
A light gleamed in Gonzaga's eye, and was extinguished on the instant.
"Best make certain," he suggested, rising. "I have ordered Fortemanito bring Lanciotto here. He will be waiting now, without. Shall I admitthem?"
She nodded without speaking, and Gonzaga opened the door, and calledFortemani. A voice answered him from the gloom of the banqueting-hall.
"Bring Lanciotto here," he commanded.
When Francesco's servant entered, a look of surprise on his face atthese mysterious proceedings, it was Valentina who questioned him, andthat in a voice as cold as though the issue concerned her no whit.
"Tell me, sirrah," she said, "and as you value your neck, see that youanswer me truly--what is your master's name?"
Lanciotto looked from her to Gonzaga, who stood by, a cynical curl onhis sensual lips.
"Answer Monna Valentina," the courtier urged him. "State your master'strue name and station."
"But, lady," began Lanciotto, bewildered.
"Answer me!" she stormed, her small clenched hands beating the table inharsh impatience. And Lanciotto, seeing no help for it, answered:
"Messer Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila."
Something that began in a sob and ended in a laugh burst from the lipsof Valentina. Ercole's eyes were wide at the news, and he might havegone the length of interposing a question, when Gonzaga curtly badehim go to the armoury tower, and bring thence the soldier and the manGonzaga had left in his care.
"I will leave no shadow of doubt in your mind, Madonna," he said inexplanation.
They waited in silence--for Lanciotto's presence hinderedconversation--until Ercole returned accompanied by the man-at-arms andZaccaria, who had now changed his raiment. Before they could questionthe new-comer, such questions as they might have put were answered bythe greeting that passed between him and his fellow-servant Lanciotto.
Gonzaga turned to Valentina. She sat very still, her tawny head bowedand in her eyes a look of sore distress. And in that instant a briskstep sounded without. The door was thrust open, and Francesco himselfstood upon the threshold, with Peppe's alarmed face showing behind him.Gonzaga instinctively drew back a pace, and his countenance lost some ofits colour.
At sight of Francesco, Zaccaria rushed forward and bowed profoundly.
"My lord!" he greeted him.
And if one little thing had been wanting to complete the evidenceagainst the Count, that thing, by an odd mischance, Francesco himselfseemed to supply. The strange group in that dining-room claiminghis attention, and the portentous air that hung about those present,confirmed the warning Peppe had brought him that something was amiss.He disregarded utterly his servant's greeting, and with eyes of aperplexity that may have worn the look of alarm he sought the face ofValentina.
She rose upon the instant, an angry red colouring her cheeks. His veryglance, it seemed, was become an affront unbearable after what hadpassed--for the memory of his kiss bit like a poisoned fang intoher brain. An odd laugh broke from her. She made a gesture towardsFrancesco.
"Fortemani, you will place the Count of Aquila under arrest," shecommanded, in a stern, steady voice, "and as you value your life youwill see that he does not elude you."
The great bully hesitated. His knowledge of Francesco's methods was notencouraging.
"Madonna!" gasped Francesco, his bewilderment increasing.
"Did you hear me, Fortemani," she demanded. "Remove him."
"My lord?" cried Lanciotto, laying hand to his sword his eyes upon hismaster's, ready to draw and lay about him at a glance of bidding.
"Sh! Let be," answered Franeesco coldly. "Here, Messer Fortemani." Andhe proffered his dagger, the only weapon
that he carried.
Valentina, calling Gonzaga to attend her, made shift to quit theapartment. At that Francesco seemed to awaken to his position.
"Madonna, wait," he cried, and he stepped deliberately before her. "Youmust hear me. I have surrendered in earnest of my faith and confidentthat once you have heard me----"
"Captain Fortemani," she cried, almost angrily, "will you restrain yourprisoner? I wish to pass."
Ercole, with visible reluctance, laid a hand on Francesco's shoulder;but it was unnecessary. Before her words, the Count recoiled as ifhe had been struck. He stood clear of her path with a gasp at once ofunbelief and angry resignation. An instant his eyes rested on Gonzaga,so fiercely that the faint smile withered on the courtier's lips, andhis knees trembled under him as he hastened from the room in Valentina'swake.
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