The guard at the Porta San Zuan let them go unheeded; one ragamuffin
more or less made no odds. The heart of the new-born Silvestro gave a
great bound as they cleared the gate, and she saw before her the
straight white road with its border of silver stems and the spreading
tent-roof of golden green. These stems were so obviously like the
pillars of a church that Silvestro ventured to remark as much to her
neighbour--a broad-faced, thick fellow, not quite her own height, but
twice as big in the girth. His mouth was large, his eyes were small and
rather hot. He blinked a good deal, was very sulky, and met her advances
with a grunt. "Chi lo sa?" was as far as he would go along with her in
the matter of tree-trunks.
It was annoying. Every one had seemed friendly at first. But being free,
she could not feel daunted long; and at the second bend of the road the
hills sailed into full vision--the solemn hills in a long line of peak
and hollow, velvety, dark, and brooding sleep, like a bank of cloud
edging the pale sky. The frogs were singing vespers in the ditches, the
sharp chorus of the cicalas shrilled on all sides. At the sight of this
enormous calm Silvestro forgot rebuffs. For a murderer he was in a very
cheerful humour; he began to sing; soon he had all the boys (except that
blinker) rapt to attention. Andrea slewed round his bag and pipes and
began upon a winding air; they all sang, going at a trot. The goats
pricked up their ears; they too began to amble; it became a stampede.
The sun went down behind Monte Venda, the bats came flickering out, the
great droning cockchafers dropped on the road like splashes of rain. The
night found them still far from Abano, but still talking and nearly all
friends. Silvestro was hand in hand with Petruccio and another boy,
called Mastino because he was heavy-jowled and underhung. Their tongues
wagged against each other about nothing at all. Silvestro strengthened
his position by hints and shrewd winks, but it was decided that the Jew
should be kept for the night fire. That was too choice a morsel to be
eaten on the road; that must be rolled on the palate, to get the
flavours. It was a pity, certainly, about the pig-eyed boy, who snorted
whenever the exploit was mentioned--but "Never mind him," thought
Silvestro; "I have all the others."
They passed through Abano; Monte Ortone was ahead, a spur of the great
body of the hills.
"There's the hermit's candle," said Petruccio. A twinkling light showed
deep in the trees. "There was a most excellent miracle there--the
Blessed Virgin in a tree. Two girls saw her and thought she was a kite
entangled. But they fetched a priest from Abano, and he knew better. So
then they built an oracle or some such place, and paid a hermit to pray
there. And now, whoever has ague, or is with child, or hath bandy-legged
children, or witch-crossed cows, always goes there; and the hermit cures
them. That was money well laid out, I suppose."
"Per Bacco!" cried Andrea, "I'll tell you some more. Did you ever hear
of Monna Betta's short leg?"
Petruccio cuffed him well. "A palsy on her leg, and a palsy strike
thee," he thundered, "if with thy old women's tales we miss the path! Go
drive the goats in, thick-chops, and stay that clapper of thine till
they ask for a crow-keeper. Move now, be off!"
"'Tis a hard thing, Petruccio," blubbered Andrea, "if one may not tell
the honour of his own land to a stranger."
But Petruccio sent him flying with grit in his ear.
By a brambly path they climbed Monte Ortone--Petruccio first, the others
after him, the newcomer as best might be, then musically the goats. That
round-faced, blinking boy, whom they called Castracane, was behind
Silvestro now, much diverted by her panting efforts to go up without
panting what he could rise on with closed mouth and scarcely any sharper
whistling at the nose.
"Hey, comrade," said he, grinning, "one sees that the Jew's stair was
easier going for thee than Ortone." And he prodded her with his staff.
This was not friendly. Ippolita did her best to humour him. "I go up as
well as I can, Castracane," she said. "But do you go first, if you
will."
"Nay, nay," he replied, with a chuckle; "I make very good practice in
the rear." So saying he caught her ankle in the crook of his staff, and
brought her down into the bushes like a running ram.
Silvestro was hurt in his feelings; all the rest laughed; his late-won
empire seemed slipping. And it was very strange treatment for the Queen
of the Collegio d'Amore, if wholesome. She arrived wet and breathless at
the top, feeling moreover that she must by all means make a friend of
this ugly fellow.
The fire was made, the pot put on, the pot boiled. Then for a time,
though jaws worked like mill-clappers, it was to better purpose than
words. But when the last shred of garlic or last gobbet of pork had been
fished up, when the wine-skin was flabby, the last crust's memory faded
from the toothpick, Petruccio slapped Silvestro on the knee.
"Now, comrade," cried he, "we'll have the Jew for dessert."
"The Jew, the Jew! Now for the Jew!" went the chorus.