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The Strolling Saint, a novel by Rafael Sabatini |
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Book 4. The World - Chapter 7. The Papal Bull |
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_ BOOK IV. THE WORLD CHAPTER VII. THE PAPAL BULL And now, that you may understand to the full the thing that happened, it is necessary that I should relate it here in its proper sequence, although that must entail my own withdrawal for a time from pages upon which too long I have intruded my own doings and thoughts and feelings. I set it down as it was told to me later by those who bore their share in it, and particularly by Falcone, who, as you shall learn, came to be a witness of all, and retailed to me the affair with the greatest detail of what this one said and how that one looked. I reached Rome on the fourth day after my setting out with my grim escort, and on that same day, at much the same hour as that in which the door of my dungeon in Sant' Angelo closed upon me, Galeotto rode into the courtyard of Pagliano on his return from his treasonable journey. He was attended only by Falcone, and it so chanced that his arrival was witnessed by Farnese, who with various members of his suite was lounging in the gallery at the time. Surprise was mutual at the encounter; for Galeotto had known nothing of the Duke's sojourn at Pagliano, believing him to be still at Parma, whilst the Duke as little suspected that of the five score men-at-arms garrisoned in Pagliano, three score lances were of Galeotto's free company. But at sight of this condottiero, whose true aims he was far from suspecting, and whose services he was eager to enlist, the Duke heaved himself up from his seat and went down the staircase shouting greetings to the soldier, and playfully calling him Galeotto in its double sense, and craving to know where he had been hiding himself this while. The condottiero swung down from his saddle unaided--a thing which he could do even when full-armed--and stood before Farnese, a grim, dust-stained figure, with a curious smile twisting his scarred face. "Why," said he, in answer, "I have been upon business that concerns your magnificence somewhat closely." And with Falcone at his heels he advanced, the horses relinquished to the grooms who had hastened forward. "Upon business that concerns me?" quoth the Duke, intrigued. "Why, yes," said Galeotto, who stood now face to face with Farnese at the foot of the steps up which the Duke's attendants were straggling. "I have been recruiting forces, and since one of these days your magnificence is to give me occupation, you will see that the matter concerns you." Above leaned Cavalcanti, his face grey and haggard, without the heart to relish the wicked humour of Galeotto that could make jests for his own entertainment. True there was also Falcone to overhear, appreciate, and grin under cover of his great brown hand. "Does this mean that you are come to your senses on the score of a stipend, Ser Galeotto?" quoth the Duke. "I am not a trader out of the Giudecca to haggle over my wares," replied the burly condottiero. "But I nothing doubt that your magnificence and I will come to an understanding at the last." "Five thousand ducats yearly is my offer," said Farnese, "provided that you bring three hundred lances." "Ah, well!" said Galeotto softly, "you may come to regret one of these days, highness, that you did not think well to pay me the price I ask." "Regret?" quoth the Duke, with a frown of displeasure at so much frankness. "When you see me engaged in the service of some other," Galeotto explained. "You need a condottiero, my lord; and you may come to need one even more than you do now." "I have the Lord of Mondolfo," said the Duke. Galeotto stared at him with round eyes. "The Lord of Mondolfo?" quoth he, intentionally uncomprehending. "You have not heard? Why, here he stands." And he waved a jewelled hand towards Cosimo, a handsome figure in green and blue, standing nearest to Farnese. Galeotto looked at this Anguissola, and his brow grew very black. "So," he said slowly, "you are the Lord of Mondolfo, eh? I think you are very brave." "I trust my valour will not be lacking when the proof of it is needed," answered Cosimo haughtily, feeling the other's unfriendly mood and responding to it. "It cannot," said Galeotto, "since you have the courage to assume that title, for the lordship of Mondolfo is an unlucky one to bear, Ser Cosimo. Giovanni d'Anguissola was unhappy in all things, and his was a truly miserable end. His father before him was poisoned by his best friend, and as for the last who legitimately bore that title--why, none can say that the poor lad was fortunate." "The last who legitimately bore that title?" cried Cosimo, very ruffled. "I think, sir, it is your aim to affront me." "And what is more," continued the condottiero, as if Cosimo had not spoken, "not only are the lords of Mondolfo unlucky in themselves, but they are a source of ill luck to those they serve. Giovanni's father had but taken service with Cesare Borgia when the latter's ruin came at the hands of Pope Julius II. What Giovanni's own friendship cost his friends none knows better than your highness. So that, when all is said, I think you had better look about you for another condottiero, magnificent." The magnificent stood gnawing his beard and brooding darkly, for he was a grossly superstitious fellow who studied omens and dabbled in horoscopes, divinations, and the like. And he was struck by the thing that Galeotto said. He looked at Cosimo darkly. But Cosimo laughed. "Who believes such old wives' tales? Not I, for one." "The more fool you!" snapped the Duke. "Indeed, indeed," Galeotto applauded. "A disbelief in omens can but spring from an ignorance of such matters. You should study them, Messer Cosimo. I have done so, and I tell you that the lordship of Mondolfo is unlucky to all dark-complexioned men. And when such a man has a mole under the left ear as you have--in itself a sign of death by hanging--it is well to avoid all risks." "Now that is very strange!" muttered the Duke, much struck by this whittling down of Cosimo's chances, whilst Cosimo shrugged impatiently and smiled contemptuously. "You seem to be greatly versed in these matters, Ser Galeotto," added Farnese. "He who would succeed in whatever he may undertake should qualify to read all signs," said Galeotto sententiously. "I have sought this knowledge." "Do you see aught in me that you can read?" inquired the Duke in all seriousness. Galeotto considered him a moment without any trace in his eyes of the wicked mockery that filled his soul. "Why," he answered slowly, "not in your own person, magnificent--leastways, not upon so brief a glance. But since you ask me, I have lately been considering the new coinage of your highness." "Yes, yes!" exclaimed the Duke, all eagerness, whilst several of his followers came crowding nearer--for all the world is interested in omens. "What do you read there?" "Your fate, I think." "My fate?" "Have you a coin upon you?" Farnese produced a gold ducat, fire-new from the mint. The condottiero took it and placed his finger upon the four letters P L A C--the abbreviation of "Placentia" in the inscription. "P--L--A--C," he spelled. "That contains your fate, magnificent, and you may read it for yourself." And he returned the coin to the Duke, who stared at the letters foolishly and then at this reader of omens. "But what is the meaning of PLAC?" he asked, and he had paled a little with excitement. "I have a feeling that it is a sign. I cannot say more. I can but point it out to you, my lord, and leave the deciphering of it to yourself, who are more skilled than most men in such matters. Have I your excellency's leave to go doff this dusty garb?" he concluded. "Ay, go, sir," answered the Duke abstractedly, puzzling now with knitted brows over the coin that bore his image. "Come, Falcone," said Galeotto, and with his equerry at his heels he set his foot on the first step. Cosimo leaned forward, a sneer on his white hawk-face, "I trust, Ser Galeotto, that you are a better condottiero than a charlatan." "And you, sir," said Galeotto, smiling his sweetest in return, "are, I trust, a better charlatan than a condottiero." He went up the stairs, the gaudy throng making way before him, and he came at last to the top, where stood the Lord of Pagliano awaiting him, a great trouble in his eyes. They clasped hands in silence, and Cavalcanti went in person to lead his guest to his apartments. "You have not a happy air," said Galeotto as they went. "And, Body of God! it is no matter for marvel considering the company you keep. How long has the Farnese beast been here?" "His visit is now in its third week," said Cavalcanti, answering mechanically. Galeotto swore in sheer surprise. "By the Host! And what keeps him?" Cavalcanti shrugged and let his arms fall to his sides. To Galeotto this proud, stern baron seemed most oddly dispirited. "I see that we must talk," he said. "Things are speeding well and swiftly now," he added, dropping his voice. "But more of that presently. I have much to tell you." When they had reached the chamber that was Galeotto's, and the doors were closed and Falcone was unbuckling his master's spurs--"Now for my news," said the condottiero. "But first, to spare me repetitions, let us have Agostino here. Where is he?" The look on Cavalcanti's face caused Galeotto to throw up his head like a spirited animal that scents danger. "Where is he?" he repeated, and old Falcone's fingers fell idle upon the buckle on which they were engaged. Cavalcanti's answer was a groan. He flung his long arms to the ceiling, as if invoking Heaven's aid; then he let them fall again heavily, all strength gone out of them. Galeotto stood an instant looking at him and turning very white. Suddenly he stepped forward, leaving Falcone upon his knees. "What is this?" he said, his voice a rumble of thunder. "Where is the boy? I say." The Lord of Pagliano could not meet the gaze of those steel coloured eyes. "O God!" he groaned. "How shall I tell you?" "Is he dead?" asked Galeotto, his voice hard. "No, no--not dead. But... But..." The plight of one usually so strong, so full of mastery and arrogance, was pitiful. "But what?" demanded the condottiero. "Gesu! Am I a woman, or a man without sorrows, that you need to stand hesitating? Whatever it may be, speak, then, and tell me." "He is in the clutches of the Holy Office," answered Cavalcanti miserably. Galeotto looked at him, his pallor increasing. Then he sat down suddenly, and, elbows on knees, he took his head in his hands and spoke no word for a spell, during which time Falcone, still kneeling, looked from one to the other in an agony of apprehension and impatience to hear more. Neither noticed the presence of the equerry; nor would it have mattered if they had, for he was trusty as steel, and they had no secrets from him. At last, having gained some measure of self-control, Galeotto begged to know what had happened, and Cavalcanti related the event. "What could I do? What could I do?" he cried when he had finished. "You let them take him?" said Galeotto, like a man who repeats the thing he has been told, because he cannot credit it. "You let them take him?" "What alternative had I?" groaned Cavalcanti, his face ashen and seared with pain. "There is that between us, Ettore, that... that will not let me credit this, even though you tell it me." And now the wretched Lord of Pagliano began to use the very arguments that I had used to him. He spoke of Cosimo's suit of his daughter, and how the Duke sought to constrain him to consent to the alliance. He urged that in this matter of the Holy Office was a trap set for him to place him in Farnese's power. "A trap?" roared the condottiero, leaping up. "What trap? Where is this trap? You had five score men-at-arms under your orders here--three score of them my own men, each one of whom would have laid down his life for me, and you allowed the boy to be taken hence by six rascals from the Holy Office, intimidated by a paltry score of troopers that rode with this filthy Duke!" "Nay, nay--not that," the other protested. "Had I dared to raise a finger I should have brought myself within the reach of the Inquisition without benefiting Agostino. That was the trap, as Agostino himself perceived. It was he himself who urged me not to intervene, but to let them take him hence, since there was no possible charge which the Holy Office could prefer against him." "No charge!" cried Galeotto, with a withering scorn. "Did villainy ever want for invention? And this trap? Body of God, Ettore, am I to account you a fool after all these years? What trap was there that could be sprung upon you as things stood? Why, man, the game was in your hands entirely. Here was this Farnese in your power. What better hostage than that could you have held? You had but to whistle your war-dogs to heel and seize his person, demanding of the Pope his father a plenary absolution and indemnity for yourself and for Agostino from any prosecutions of the Holy Office ere you surrendered him. And had they attempted to employ force against you, you could have held them in check by threatening to hang the Duke unless the parchments you demanded were signed and delivered to you. My God, Ettore! Must I tell you this?" Cavalcanti sank to a seat and took his head in his hands. "You are right," he said. "I deserve all your reproaches. I have been a fool. Worse--I have wanted for courage." And then, suddenly, he reared his head again, and his glance kindled. "But it is not yet too late," he cried, and started up. "It is still time!" "Time!" sneered Galeotto. "Why, the boy is in their hands. It is hostage for hostage now, a very different matter. He is lost--irretrievably lost!" he ended, groaning. "We can but avenge him. To save him is beyond our power." "No," said Cavalcanti. "It is not. I am a dolt, a dotard; and I have been the cause of it. Then I shall pay the price." "What price?" quoth the condottiero, pondering the other with an eye that held no faintest gleam of hope. "Within an hour you shall have in your hands the necessary papers to set Agostino at liberty; and you shall carry them yourself to Rome. It is the amend I owe you. It shall be made." "But how is it possible?" "It is possible, and it shall be done. And when it is done you may count upon me to the last breath to help you to pull down this pestilential Duke in ruin." He strode to the door, his step firm once more and his face set, though it was very grey. "I will leave you now. But you may count upon the fulfilment of my promise." He went out, leaving Galeotto and Falcone alone, and the condottiero flung himself into a chair and sat there moodily, deep in thought, still in his dusty garments and with no thought for changing them. Falcone stood by the window, looking out upon the gardens and not daring to intrude upon his master's mood. Thus Cavalcanti found them a hour later when he returned. He brought a parchment, to which was appended a great seal bearing the Pontifical arms. He thrust it into Galeotto's hand. "There," he said, "is the discharge of the debt which through my weakness and folly I have incurred." Galeotto looked at the parchment, then at Cavalcanti, and then at the parchment once more. It was a papal bull of plenary pardon and indemnity to me. "How came you by this?" he asked, astonished. "Is not Farnese the Pope's son?" quoth Cavalcanti scornfully. "But upon what terms was it conceded? If it involves your honour, your life, or your liberty, here's to make an end of it." And he held it across in his hands as if to tear it, looking up at the Lord of Pagliano. "It involves none of these," the latter answered steadily. "You had best set out at once. The Holy Office can be swift to act." _ |
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