This was what was to have happened at this point; this is what caused
Messer Maleotti to have so much show of trouble with his steed. The
little company of Florentine gentlemen were to have joined their forces
with those that rode under the Dragon-flag of Messer Griffo, were to
have ridden with them into the darkness of the wood, and were then and
there incontinently to have been cut to pieces by the mercenaries.
Maleotti, lingering behind to look after that troublesome horse of his,
saw that much of this came very properly to pass. As the Florentines of
the Company of Death came within view and hail of that midway wood,
there rode out to greet them a number of Free Companions, with Messer
Griffo at their head. In the gray of the growing dawn Maleotti could
recognize him very clearly by his height on horseback and his burly
English bulk, and Maleotti, still busy with his horse, could see how the
two forces joined hands, so to speak, and how the free-lances gathered
around the little company of youths from Florence, and, as it were,
swallowed them up in their greater number, and how the whole force, thus
united, disappeared into the darkness of the wood, as the children in
the fairy tale disappear into the mouth of the giant.
Then Maleotti made up his mind that he had seen enough, and
congratulated himself upon his wisdom in holding aloof from that
meeting, for, as he very sensibly reflected, in a scuffle of the sort
that was arranged to follow, your mercenary who is paid to kill is not
always clear-headed enough to distinguish between his properly appointed
victims and a respectable individual like Maleotti, who was a firm
friend and faithful servant of the master butcher. So Maleotti mounted
on his horse, which, now that we were out of sight, had very suddenly
and unexpectedly grown quiet again, and rode off at an easy walking pace
toward Florence, congratulating himself and his master upon a night's
work well done.
Yet Maleotti had to learn that it does not always follow in life that
because the first portion of a carefully prepared plan goes as it was
intended to go, the rest of the plan must necessarily move with equal
success along its appointed lines. Though Maleotti was as sure as if he
had seen it of our slaughter in the forest shambles, there came no
moment in that journey of ours through the darkness of the wood when
Messer Griffo, drawing his sword, thundered an appointed order, and
forces of destruction were let loose upon the Company of Death. On the
contrary, Messer Griffo rode very quietly and pleasantly by the side of
Messer Guido, chatting affably of the affairs of Florence and the
pleasures and advantages of a morning attack, when you take your enemy
by surprise, and ever and anon, to Messer Guido's surprise, leading the
conversation craftily to the name of Monna Vittoria, and dwelling
enthusiastically on her manifold charms and graces. I, still by the side
of Dante, trotted on in the most blissful unconsciousness that if things
had gone as they were intended to go, we should all be lying on the
carpet of the wood with our throats cut.
It was only later that I learned, partly from the lady herself that was
the main cause of the change, and partly from Messer Griffo, in a moment
of confidence over a flask of Lacrima Christi, when all those things
that I am speaking of were as ancient as the Tale of Troy. Julius Cæsar!
what that morning's business might have been, and was meant to be, by
our friend Simone! It seems that Monna Vittoria, being a woman, and
shrewd, and knowing her Simone pretty well, saw clearer through the
device of the Company of Death when it was first hinted at than any of
the feather-headed enthusiasts who were eager to swell its levy. And
being a watchful woman and a cunning and a clever, she soon found out
that Messer Simone was in treaty with Messer Griffo of the Dragon-flag,
and feeling sure that what she might fail to elicit from Simone she
could get from Messer Griffo, she was at pains to make herself
acquainted with that gallant adventurer, and to show him certain favors
and courtesies which won his English heart. So that in a little while
Madonna Vittoria knew all about Simone's purposes, and very pleasantly
resolved to baffle them.
In her opinion, it was a very important point in her game that Dante
should be alive and well, and the wooer of lady Beatrice. So long as
Dante lived to love and be loved, as she, with her cunning intuition,
guessed him to love and be loved, so long there was little likelihood
that Messer Simone would win the girl's hand and his wager, and leave
her, Vittoria, very patently in the lurch. She reasoned rightly that
such a maid as Beatrice would not yield her love while her lover lived,
and she hoped that Messer Folco, for all he liked to play the Roman
father, was in his heart over fond of his daughter to seek to compel her
to a hateful marriage by force. It was, therefore, of the first
importance to Vittoria to thwart the devices of Simone having for their
object the death of Dante, and, to a woman like Vittoria, it was by no
means of the first difficulty to carry out her purpose.
The winning over of Messer Griffo was no very difficult business. He
was paid so much by Messer Simone; it only remained for Monna Vittoria
to pay him more to secure at least a careful consideration of her
wishes. She pointed out to the _condottiere_ that all the advantage lay
for him in doing what she desired and leaving undone what was desired by
Messer Simone. Messer Griffo would serve Florence by preserving the
lives of so many of her best citizens; he would serve Florence by aiding
those citizens in that raid upon Arezzo, from which so much was hoped;
he would serve Florence by saving Messer Simone from the stain of such
unnecessary blood-guiltiness; above all, which to her, and indeed to the
Free Companion, seemed perhaps the most important point in the argument,
he would serve Monna Vittoria.
Messer Griffo had ever an eye for a fine woman, and he was mightily
taken with Monna Vittoria, and made his taking plain in his bluff,
simple, soldierly fashion with a fine display of jewels and gold, which
only served to move Monna Vittoria to laughter, for she had as much as
she cared to have of such trifles, and was not to be purchased so. But
she clinched her bargain with him by assuring him, when she paid into
the hands of a sure and trusted third party the overprice agreed upon,
which was to make Messer Griffo false to Messer Simone, that after the
return to Florence of the Company of Death uninjured by him or his, he
would be a very welcome visitor at her house, and might consider
himself for a season the master of everything it contained. Messer
Griffo was in his way an amorist and in his way an idealist, to the
extent of regarding one pretty woman as more important than another
pretty woman, so he took Monna Vittoria's money and fooled Messer
Simone, and spared the lives of the young Florentine gentlemen, and rode
with them and fought with them, as you shall presently hear.
It is no part of my intention to rehearse all that happened as the
result of our little raid. You can read all about it at great length
elsewhere. It was, as it proved, a very successful little raid. The
Aretines, marching out of their stronghold in good force to assault us,
whom they expected to find marching in all innocence to our doom, were
very neatly and featly taken in ambuscade by us. For, by the advice and
orders of Messer Griffo, who knew his business if ever a soldier of
fortune did, we that were of the Company of Death, we that the men of
Arezzo expected to see, we rode the latter part of our ride alone, as if
indeed we were the only attacking force, the while Messer Griffo
dissimulated his lances easily enough in the woods and valleys adjacent.
And when the Aretines perceived us, they shouted for satisfaction and
made to fall upon us pell-mell, having no heed of order or the
ordinances of war. Then it was, while they were in this hurly-burly,
that Messer Griffo launched his men upon them from the right and from
the left, and that the real business of the day began. For what seemed
to me quite a long space of time, though indeed the whole business
lasted little more than an hour, there was some very pretty fighting,
with the solution of the war-like riddle far from certain. For the
Aretines were more numerous than we expected by a good deal, and, for
all they were taken by surprise, they carried themselves, as I must
confess, with a very commendable display of valor.
To be entirely honest, I must confess that I remember very little about
the skirmish or scuffle or battle or whatever you may please to call it.
There was a great deal of charging and shouting, and though there were a
good many of us engaged on both sides on that field, it seemed to me, at
the time, as if I enjoyed a kind of isolation, and had no immediate, or
at least dangerous, concern with all those swords and lances that were
hacking and thrusting everywhere about me. I have since been told by
tough soldiers that when they were tender novices they felt much the
same as I felt in the clash of their first encounter, felt as if the
whole thing were a business that, however serious and significant to
others, was of no more moment than a pageant or a play to them
themselves that were having their first taste of war. Though I gave and
took some knocks as the others did, and shouted as they shouted, I had
at the time no fear, not because of my valor, but because of a sudden
numbing of my wits, which left me with no intelligence to do otherwise
than charge and shout and lay about me like the rest.
I am glad to record that Dante carried himself valiantly; not, indeed,
that I saw him at all till the tussle was over and such of our enemies
as were left taking to their heels as nimbly as might be. But I had it
on the word of Messer Guido, who could see as well as do, and who told
me the tale, that our friend bore himself most honorably and
courageously in the skirmish, which ended by beating back the
discomfited and diminished Aretines within the shelter of their walls.
It was, indeed, but a petty engagement, yet to those concerned it was as
serious as any pitched battle, and afforded the same chance of a wreath
of laurel or a broken head. And it seems certain that our Dante deserved
the wreath of laurel. He showed a little pale at first, according to
Guido, when the moment came to engage, and it may be that there was a
little trembling of the unseasoned members that was not to be
overmastered. But in a twinkling our Dante was as calm as a tempered
veteran, and in the thickest of the scrimmage he urged himself as
indifferent to peril as if, like Achilles in the old story, he had been
dipped in Styx.
What he told me himself later, as we rode for home, though he spoke but
little of the business and unwillingly, in reply to my eager and
frequent questionings, did but confirm what Guido related. He had, he
admitted frankly, been somewhat scared at first, but instantly he had
thought of his lady, and with that thought all terror fell away from
him, and his one desire became so to carry himself in that encounter as
to be deserving of her esteem. Afterward he told me that while he was in
the tremors of that first and unavoidable alarm he was cheered by a
miracle. You know already how the God of Love, in very person, had
ridden, visible only to the eyes of Dante, by Dante's side that night,
though the vision vanished at the time when the lances of the
Dragon-flag rode out of the sheltering wood to welcome our coming. Well,
now it seems that, when Dante was assailed by that very human, pitiable,
and pardonable pain and frailty, he suddenly became aware again of the
God of Love that was riding hard by him, but this time a little in
front, and this time on a great black war-horse. It seemed to Dante that
the wonderful youth turned a little in his saddle as he rode, and showed
his comely face to Dante and smiled, and it appeared to Dante as if Love
said to him, "Where I go, will not you go too?" And at the sound of
those words, Dante's heart was as hot as fire within his body, and he
carried himself very valiantly in the battle, as every man should that
serves his city and loves a fair woman.
Now if you that read me be at all inclined to wonder why we rode back so
rapidly to Florence on the very top of our victory, I am very ready to
tell you the why. It was Messer Griffo's doing, which is as much as to
say that it was Monna Vittoria's doing, who had laid her commands upon
her trusty Free Companion for her own ends. When the battered Aretines
had scurried back within the shelter of their walls, we would have been
ready and willing enough, we of the Company of Death, to stay and
besiege them. But Messer Griffo would not have it so, and Messer Griffo
was our captain. His orders were that as soon as we were breathed after
our battle--for I like to call it a battle--and had eaten and drunk of
the food and wine with which the mercenaries were plentifully provided,
we should ride back to Florence as briskly as might be, and uplift the
hearts of our fellow-citizens with our joyful tidings of triumph. Which
is why we got back to Florence on the morning of our engagement, as
Monna Vittoria wished, but not so early as Monna Vittoria would have
wished if she had known what was happening in our absence--known what
you are about to know.