That golden Duke of Valentinois had a pompous reception from his august
ally at Nona. Amilcare, riding like Castor, at one with his horse, went
out at the head of his court to meet him. The Centaurs lined the way
with a hedge of steel. Hat in hand, the Duke of Nona rode back with his
guest to the garlanded gates. There, a fluttered choir, all virgins and
all white, strewed flowers; from that point to the Piazza Grande one
song came leaping on the heels of another. On the steps of the Duomo
were the clergy in brocade, a mitred bishop half smothered under his
cope in their midst. The two Dukes dismounted, and hand in hand entered
the church; the organ pealed; the choir burst out with the chant, _Ecce,
Rex tuus venit_; and then (seeing Cesare had once been a Cardinal),
_Ecce Sacerdos magnus_. The smoke of incense went rolling to the roof,
_Te Deum_ spired between the rifts; an Archbishop intoned the Mass of
the Holy Ghost. Cesare, in white satin, golden-headed, red-gold in the
beard, cloaked and collared with the Golden Fleece, knelt in the middle
of the dome; beside him the hawk-faced Amilcare, splendid in silver
armour, knelt also--but stiffly; whereas the Borgia (graceful in all
that he did) drooped easily forward on his _prie-dieu,_ like the
Archangel Gabriel who brought the great tidings to Madonna Maria.
Amilcare, at that rate, was like Michael, his more trenchant colleague,
that "bird of God."
The Bishop, who knew perfectly well why the Duke had come to Nona, and
why Nona's Duke wanted him there, preached a sermon which the saving
Italian virtue of urbanity prevented from being either monstrous or
ridiculous. Before the altar the two lords kissed each other. One of
them had tried and the other was about to try murder as a political
expedient; but that was no reason why good manners should not prevail.
Decent ceremony was always a virtue of the race.
Half an hour before dinner Grifone (who had not been to church) stood
before his mistress, who had not been suffered to go. He had a flagon in
his hands, of silver gilt, like the calyx of a great flower whose stem
was sheathed in the clustered wings of angels, whose base was their
feet. He held it in both hands as if it were a chalice.
Molly, beaten out and white, looked at it dully, but did not seem to see
it.
"Madonna mia," said the youth, "this is the loving-cup which I am to
hand to you after dinner, and which you are to hand to Duke Cesare."
He hardly heard her answer, but judged by the shaping of her lips that
it was, "Well, Grifone?"
"Duke Cesare will ask you to sip of it first, Madonna."
His looks were piercing; yet she was too far gone to be disturbed by
such as those. She even smiled faintly at his emphasis.
"Well, Grifone?" she asked again, in that same dry whisper. "How shall
that be harm to him if I do it?"
Grifone blew out his lips. "Harm, _per Dio_! None at all, but common
prudence on his part. No harm to him, lady; but to you obeying him,
destruction, death!"
Molly stared. Her breath came hollow from her mouth.
"Death, Grifone?" she faltered, and then pored over his face again.
He nodded his words into her.
"Death, Madonnina."
The girl tottered to her feet--had to balance like a rope-dancer to keep
upon them.
"But then--but then--O Saviour!"
She threw her arms up. He thought she would fall, so put one of his
round her waist. He felt her heart knocking like a drum, pressed her
closer, drew her in and kissed her, with a coaxing word or two. She
tried to collect herself--alas! her wits were scattered wide. Her head
drooped to his shoulder.
After that there began the most pitiful business. She was pleading with
him in a whining, wheedling, silly voice, which would have broken down
an Englishman. Grifone himself was pricked. It was like a child,
frightened into slyness, coaxing its mother.
"Dear Grifone, dear Grifone! You will not hand me the cup. Oh, please,
please, please!"
Grifone kissed her. "Why, what can I do?" he said. "My lord has ordered
it so, dear one."
She took no notice of his familiarities; indeed, the tone they lent his
voice may have soothed the poor affectionate wretch. But she only wrung
her hands at his news.
"No, no, no! 'Tis impossible! No, no, he could never do it!"
"I can repeat his words," said the inexorable Grifone; "he said--"
Then she sprang away from him as if he had whipped her, and crouched in
a corner, at bay. She began to rave, seemingly in a high delirium,
pointed at him, wagged her arm at him, mowing the air.
"Never repeat them, never repeat them. I shall die if you do!"
Grifone set down his cup, ran forward and embraced her. "My lovely lady,
my adorable Molly!" he murmured, in a passion of admiration for her
transformed, unearthly beauty.
She noticed nothing of him or his doings, lay lax in his arms. She
stared, gulping down horror; she looked like some shocked Addolorata
come upon the body of her dead Son. And so, perhaps (since all good
women mother their lovers or lords), she was face to face with her dead.
Tears came to blot out her misery; she could not stay their fall. They
anointed also the burning cheeks of young Grifone, and drove him outside
himself with love. He kissed her softly again, with reverence, and
whispered--
"Courage, sweet lady; I shall be with you. I have it all in hand. The
end for you and me shall be happiness undreamed of yet. The Duke comes
in a quarter of an hour." Then he left her alone.
"The affair will go by clockwork," he assured himself. "Neither fast nor
slow, but by clockwork." He had an ingenious mind, and loved mechanics.
X