yet very different from the rough attire Francisco wore. He was very
handsome, of a sunny, pleasant expression, a quality rarely found among
the Italians of Lombardy; and to-day, although prepared for flight, his
blond curls were as carefully arranged as though he still shone at the
court of Milan.
"Messer Francisco is long," he remarked again, and Tomaso turned with a
start.
"He has doubtless met with unexpected difficulty, lord," he said with
some reproach. "Horses must be found--somewhere--for our journey
to-night. Every hour we stay here is dangerous."
"My heart misgives me that I did not accompany him," said Conrad; "we
should all four have kept together."
"Doubtless too many would have hampered him," was the reply.
Tomaso did not add, as he might have done, that Francisco had his doubts
of Conrad's discretion, and had left Tomaso charged to see he committed
no rashness in his absence.
"Thinkest thou he will get the horses?" continued the Count, twirling
his curls through his fingers. "Let us hope he will try naught so mad as
that attempt on the walls of Milan we made two days ago! The saints
preserve us! but I thought it was all over with us! That was a fine
race--tearing through the dark with Visconti's soldiers at our heels!"
Tomaso was hurt at the flippant tone that reflected on Francisco's
judgment.
"It was a gallant attempt," he said, "and all but succeeded; once within
the town, we might have done much."
"And so might Visconti," remarked Conrad airily. "Thou art young,
Tomaso, or thou wouldst see how worse than useless was such a mad
escapade."
"Something had to be done," returned Tomaso, "this inaction was
maddening Messer Francisco."
Conrad smiled and changed the subject.
"Who _is_ this Francisco, thinkest thou?" he asked. "For a mere servitor
at Della Scala's court, he bears a mighty hatred to Visconti."
"He served the Prince, and lost his master and his all in the sack of
Verona. It is not strange he should wish to revenge Della Scala's wrongs
and his own."
"I think him of better birth and station than he claims," said the Count
judicially. "He has the bearing of one gently born."
"I take him for what he calls himself," the boy replied. "I owe him my
life. I would die to serve him, nor would I question him."
"But would remind me that I owe him something too?" laughed Conrad.
"When the time comes to show it, I shall not prove ungrateful."
He seated himself on the table, and idly swinging his legs, looked
around the hut with lazy distaste and seemed to think of dozing.
"Remember we travel to-night, my lord," said Tomaso, annoyed at such
indifference.
"If our good friend gets the horses."
"There is no 'if,' unless we wish to perish," flashed Tomaso. "If
Francisco gets no horses, we must from here on foot."
"I do not oppose it. Rather than be taken into Milan, I will travel on
foot in any other direction till I drop," laughed the Count.
"Thou takest it lightly, my lord," said Tomaso, "thou dost not seem as
eager for revenge as thou wert. Think of the death Visconti doomed thee
to. Thou hast great wrongs to right--wilt thou not return to Milan to
avenge them? Or wilt thou ride away and forget?"
The laugh faded from Count Conrad's face, and his eyes flashed.
"No, Tomaso, I shall not forget," he said; "too well do I recall that
night when I crept down the palace steps with my Lady Valentine.
Visconti met us; parted us; ah, when I think of her face!--she was
forced back to the horror of her life again: I, carried off to die of
slow starvation in my own villa. Yes, yes; if his wrongs are like mine,
Francisco did well the other night when we dashed on Milan; such wrongs
put madness into one. Think of it, Tomaso; bound, gagged, half-crazed at
the misfortune, I was hurried hither, secretly, at night, to be left to
a dog's death in my own villa. Death was what I expected, but I nerved
myself to meet it as a noble should. There is a long low room in yonder
villa, with narrow windows I could scarce get my hand through--all of
stone, and meant for cool in summer heat; into this I was forced,
unbound, left with mock ceremony, and the door locked upon me. Ah! the
sound of that key, Tomaso; they seemed to turn it in my heart, for I
guessed its meaning. I had heard too often of Visconti letting his
prisoners die of hunger, and, as I listened to the soldiers' footsteps
fading in the distance, the cold horror of the truth seized my heart. At
first it seemed impossible that I could starve in my own dwelling. I
mocked my fears; I could force, I could break the window! I laugh now at
my own absurdities. I could do neither, I could do nothing! Terrible
hours followed, Tomaso, terrible hours and terrible days. Still I would
not own the truth, and still, as no one came, I knew it to be true! I
thought of the Lady Valentine, and wondered what her fate might be. I
thought of Germany, and wept to think I should never see it more! Then
one evening, as I lay, I think, half-senseless, I heard the key turn in
the lock, and Visconti entered, followed by Giannotto; two white hounds
slunk at his heels: well I remember. Dear Lord! I was fallen so low in
my misery, I fell at his feet and begged for mercy, for pity, or speedy
death! And he--smiled on me, and bade Giannotto bring food!
"I cursed myself for my weakness, but could have kissed his feet. Then
what happened I hardly know. As in a dream I saw Giannotto lay a
tempting feast; a banquet for one or two, such as I and Visconti had
often shared together! I blessed him with uplifted hands! When all was
set, he turned to me, still smiling.
"'Thou askedst for food,' he said; 'I would not refuse thy last request,
Count Conrad.'
"And he flung one of the hounds a piece of meat: it ate and died!
Without a word they turned and left me, the feast still spread, the dead
hound by the table. Then methinks I lost my wits, and went mad with rage
and agony. When my ravings ceased, I found myself, my hands upon the
food, it almost at my lips. But I resisted; I set it from me; and then
my eyes wandered round the room in blank despair. I saw--the key still
in the lock! I thought it was a vision, a trick of Satan. I crawled
toward the door: I dragged myself along. It was no vision: they had gone
and left me free!" Conrad paused; Tomaso, an absorbed listener, drew a
deep breath.
"What did it mean, lord?" he asked.
"Ask me not, Tomaso," answered Conrad with a lighter air. "They were so
certain I should eat and die, it made them careless, or Giannotto had a
throb of pity. Many kindnesses the knave has had from me. I know not
what it was; such things will happen. I have heard of them when in my
native land from prisoners of war. But all I knew and cared for was that
I was free! At first, indeed, it seemed to promise little good. I crept,
I know not how, into the garden--into the air: the sky was overhead: it
gave me strength: let me but get to the water and I would live.... As by
a miracle I reached the fountain." Again Conrad paused, shuddering at
remembrance of his anguish.
"The fountain?" repeated Tomaso, absorbed in the relation.
"The fountains were poisoned, boy; you know it; it boots not talking of
it; it is all past and done with, and I live, a sound, free man, thanks
to our brave Veronese; though in sooth how he could have saved me, had
he not been a giant, I leave to my good angel to think out"; and Conrad
laughed.
Tomaso looked surprised. He could not understand how Conrad could so
easily shake off his hatred of Visconti, save when the thought was
forced on him.
A silence fell which Conrad was again the first to break.
"The Lady Valentine," he said, following his own train of thought,
rather than addressing his companion, "does she ever think of me?"
Tomaso inwardly wondered how much he thought of her. Save when telling
his tale to Francisco, this was the only time he had named her. It
seemed as if his sufferings and his love alike were to lie lightly on
his mind.
"They say in Milan Lady Valentine is to marry the Duke of Orleans,"
Tomaso ventured presently.
"They say!" echoed Conrad with scorn. "The Frenchman is not even yet in
Italy. Much may have happened ere he is."
Tomaso rose and looked from the doorway anxiously.
"It is close on sundown," he said, "it is time Francisco came."
"It is intolerably wearisome," yawned Conrad. "I would I had gone with
our friend--'twould have been more enlivening than this."
Tomaso's face ill concealed his scorn.
"'Tis a matter of life and death, Count Conrad; even now the soldiers
may at any time return."
With a pleasant smile Von Schulembourg leaped from the table.
"Pardon me, if I vex thee with my seeming carelessness," he said, with
the charm of manner that could always win him friends. "I owe too large
a debt to all of you, to really be so heedless as I seem; but methinks
there is no single thing----"
"Save keep ourselves in readiness, my lord," said Tomaso. "Francisco
charged us to be so disposed that we could leap into the saddle without
a breath's delay."
"I remember," said Count Conrad, lapsing again into an idle mood.
"Methinks our Veronese deliverer issues commands as if well used to it."
The youth made no reply; he was gazing eagerly along the
chestnut-bordered path, sorely impatient for Francisco's return.
"Canst thou play chess?" asked Conrad suddenly.
Tomaso looked around at him in surprise. Did the German noble jest?
Von Schulembourg was again seated on the table, admiring his shapely
hand, which he held against the light.
"Play chess?" repeated Tomaso. "No, my lord."
Count Conrad crossed his legs daintily and sighed.
"It were a splendid chance to teach thee--had we but the men. Thou hast
read old romance, boy? And must remember how the knights and ladies play
at chess? 'Tis a royal game."
He sighed again, and glanced with disdain down at his leather doublet.
"Yet 'twere strange to play chess in this garb," he added, and kicked
the table with his heels in discontent.
Silence again fell, Tomaso still at the door, unheeding of the Count's
complaints, watching anxiously through the gathering dusk.
"By heaven, boy!" Conrad exclaimed suddenly. "Till this moment I had
forgot it. Lady Valentine's gift--thinking of the chessmen brought it to
my mind--I swore never to leave it--with my life! And 'tis behind me in
the villa."
"Behind thee, lord?" cried Tomaso, bewildered and startled at his
excited tones. "Where? What?"
Conrad was on his feet, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"At the villa," he cried. "I know where it is, I will go and fetch it."
"My lord, consider what thou say'st," and Tomaso barred the door with
outstretched arms. "We promised Francisco we would not leave the hut--to
attempt the villa would be simple madness!"
"Why, boy, the villa is close by," laughed Conrad, "and Francisco may
not be back for hours most like; he may hang back till dark. Meanwhile
am I to twirl my thumbs in here, and Lady Valentine's love-gift calling
to me from beyond that wall? Out of my way, Tomaso. The dagger may be
useful, and 'tis beautiful: a handle carved out of a single stone. Lady
Valentine will not forgive my losing it!"
"The Lady Valentine will forgive the loss of a dagger, lord, when thou
help to rescue her from Milan," he said curtly. "But what use to seek
her gift? And give thyself again into the Visconti's power?"
"Tush, Visconti! Visconti!... I have heard the name enough," returned
Count Conrad. "I intend to have my lady's gift--it suits neither my
honor nor my affection to leave it there to be some mercenary's plunder;
and the chessmen too, boy! The set the Emperor gave--ah! you would love
them--silver and ivory--I will bring them too. They will while away more
weary hours such as these. What was I thinking of to leave them there so
long!"
"At any moment Francisco may return, and without thee here time will be
lost; moreover, his orders were that we await him."
At Tomaso's words, Conrad raised his arched eyebrows.
"Order? To thee, maybe; thou art a boy, and of humble station. I am Von
Schulembourg: orders scarcely tally with that name."
He drew his mantle over his despised doublet, and stepped to the door,
putting Tomaso aside and unheeding his entreaties.
"Calm thyself, I shall be back long before the grim Veronese!" he said
airily. "Were there light enough, there would be time to learn the game
before he comes again."
"I will learn from no one who so little knows his duty," cried Tomaso in
hot wrath.
But it was as impossible to anger Conrad as to stop him, and with a
smile on his lips and a good-humored wave of his hand, he was gone.
Gone, absolutely gone, out of sight, into the heart of danger and at the
crucial moment, for a set of chessmen and for a lady's love-gift.
After an undecided pause of utter vexation, Tomaso could not resist the
impulse to start in pursuit after him. But Count Conrad was fleet of
foot; he had disappeared, and Tomaso dared follow no farther, for
Francisco might return at any moment, and to find them both gone would
make bad worse.
And scarcely had he re-entered the hut before he heard the sound of
horses ridden cautiously, and in a few moments more Francisco turned
into the open.
He was mounted, Vittore in front of him, on a powerful black horse, and
leading two others, and his face was animated with his triumph.
"Thou see'st," he said, "we are well provided, though it has taken me
all day. Now, to mount, without pause. Where is the Count?"
"The Count," faltered Tomaso, half-crying with vexation, "the Count----"
"Well, what of him?" said Francisco, pausing keenly.
"He has gone back to the villa--to fetch something. Oh, Messer
Francisco, prevent him I could not--he left but now----"
"Gone back to the villa!" cried Francisco. "Did he rave? Is he in his
senses?"
Tomaso wrung his hands.
"He went to fetch a dagger he remembered and some chessmen."
With a cry of rage Francisco flung himself from his saddle. "Methinks I
left a fool to guard a fool," he said. "Did I not tell thee to see Count
Conrad kept from folly? Our lives are on it!"
Tomaso paled at his displeasure, and faltered out a recital of what had
happened, but Francisco cut him short.
"The thing has happened," he said sternly, "and may cost us dear, but
mine the fault to trust the foreign coxcomb." Never had the two boys
seen him so moved, and they shrank into silence.
Francisco fumed with anger. "We will ride without him," he said at
length; but even while he bade Tomaso mount, and saw to his own girths,
he paused irresolute, and Tomaso was thankful. He did not like to think
of the gay Conrad left to meet his fate alone. He ventured to speak.
"The dagger was a lady's gift," he said--"the Lady Valentine's. He could
not bear to leave it."
"He will have been wishing that he had," said Francisco brusquely; but
his face softened, and he added presently: "He must be brought back, we
cannot wait, and 'tis too dangerous to abandon him--for him and for
ourselves."
He flung the reins to Tomaso, and lifted Vittore to the ground.
"Stretch thy legs the while," he said.
"Shall I go, messer?" asked the boy.
"He will come quicker at my bidding," said Francisco grimly. "Keep open
eyes," he added, "the soldiers must come by the road if come again they
do. Hold thither once and spy, and then return and wait us here. Tether
the horses carefully and water them. They cost me something." He pointed
to his roughly bandaged arm.
Half wild with remorseful vexation, Tomaso watched Francisco go the way
the Count had gone, till his tall figure was lost to view. Then he and
Vittore surveyed each other with anxious eyes.
"Oh, cousin!" cried the boy, "we have had a fearful day!"
"Thou wert fortunate," returned the other bitterly; "Francisco is not
vexed with thee."
But Vittore, full of his tale, was eager rather for a listener than to
himself give sympathy.
"Till noon we found nothing," he said. "Francisco hung around the
farmhouses, but there were naught but sorry jades in every stable that
we peered into, every one we tried, Tomaso, and so we roamed farther and
farther across the plains----"
"But how didst thou ever get such steeds as these?" asked Tomaso,
looking admiringly at the splendid animals, well groomed and well fed,
fresh and vigorous.
"We took them," said Vittore proudly. "We came upon a camp of soldiers
with horses and to spare, and Francisco asked them would they trade with
him, and offered money, but they jeered and shouted and drove us off.
Then Francisco stood before me while I crept up to those three and
loosened their halters. The soldiers drank and sang; some lay and
snored; they thought that we were gone, then suddenly--" his voice
sinking with excitement.
"What happened?" asked Tomaso with interest. "I am glad that thou
show'st thyself a brave lad, Vittore; what happened?"
"They saw us; three of them rushed out; there was a fight, and Francisco
won."
"Won? Against three?" cried Tomaso.
"He scattered them like the wind," said Vittore. "I know not how. He is
a giant. He flung me on this black horse here; he mounted, I had the
halters of the others in my hand. We rushed away. Of one he broke the
head, I think, with his thick staff, and had his arm hit hard, but 'tis
not hurt, he says. Some followed awhile, but they drank too deep; we
left them like men dazed and mad, some falling by the road. It was a
great business, cousin, but I felt no fear; Francisco is a brave, brave
man."
"He is a leader of men, methinks," said Tomaso gravely. "I little doubt
the Count is right; he is more than he appears. Now we will leave the
horses here behind these chestnuts, and step toward the road and
reconnoiter."
CHAPTER NINE
THE RETURN OF THE DEAD
Gripping Vittore's hand, Tomaso looked cautiously up and down the road.
Crouching back in among the wayside trees, they commanded unseen a view
of any who might come or go; and though the days faded fast, it was
still light enough to see many paces off.
"No soldiery about to-night," whispered Tomaso; "they have ridden
farther afield. We will go back, Vittore."
They had turned to retrace their steps when Vittore clutched his
cousin's hand yet tighter, and suppressed an exclamation.
"Look!" he whispered, "a horseman coming toward Milan."
Tomaso looked round nervously, and saw a single rider approaching
swiftly, but casting searching glances around.
As the boys watched, mistrustfully waiting, still in hiding, to see him
safely pass, to their dismay he slackened pace, and finally drew rein
altogether and looked eagerly in their direction.
"Not a movement," breathed Tomaso, and Vittore crouched in silent
fright.
None the less, motionless as they thought themselves, some slight
movement betrayed them, for the rider dismounted, advanced toward their
hiding-place, and softly spoke.
"Who is there? I am a friend," he said.
"He is a Florentine," whispered Vittore joyfully; but Tomaso leaned
against the tree in silence, and even through the gathering dusk, as the
younger boy looked up, he saw that he was pale and trembling.
"Canst thou direct me?" said the stranger. "I can pay thee for thy
services."
"Answer him, Tomaso," Vittore whispered eagerly; "he is a Florentine, he
will not hurt us."
Tomaso made a step forward. "It is some one we know," he said chokingly,
"or my brain is playing me strange tricks."
As he spoke, he put aside the branches that hid them, and stepped
forward. The stranger had guessed their hiding-place unerringly; he
stood close by, his horse's bridle across his arm. He was a slight,
roughly-dressed, but well-formed man of middle age, light in color and
of strong yet delicate features.
"Thou needst not fear me," he began with a smile; then, as the two
figures drew nearer, he paused, and in his turn grew pale and trembled.
Tomaso, tossing his hair back from his face, with parted lips, stepped
close, followed by Vittore.
"Father! Thou dost not know me!"
"Son! Tomaso!" cried the traveler. He seized him by the shoulders with
trembling hands, and scanned eagerly his face.
"Tomaso!" and his voice was shrill with feeling, "Tomaso at last!"
They had not met for many months and years--two at least; the father,
absent at a distant court, serving where chance had led him, for fame
and fortune; the son, growing from boyhood into man in distant Florence.
Since Verona fell, Tomaso had mourned his father as dead, and he, in his
turn, had wandered far, searching for the pair who had started out to
find him.
With stifled sobs of joy, Tomaso clung about his father's neck, and was
clasped to him in frenzied pleasure.
"They said thou wert dead, father!" broke out the youth at last. "I
never thought to see thy face again."
"I thought the same of thee, my son," returned Ligozzi tenderly. "I have
been searching for traces of thee long and wearily. I thought thou must
have perished on thy long journey, having found out Verona had fallen.
But is this Vittore?" He drew to him paternally the boy who, so far, had
watched the scene with wide-eyed curiosity.
"And now, what art thou doing--and where staying?"
As if he feared to lose him, Tomaso held his father tightly by the
sleeve, over which the bridle had been slipped, and Vittore clinging to
the other hand, they drew him forward between them to the place from
which they had come.
"I am glad thou art not dead," said Vittore; "Tomaso grieved for thee
sorely, and so did I."
Tomaso laughed happily. "Grieve! Aye, did we! But now we can rejoice."
"But why this haste?" Ligozzi asked, "where dost thou hurry me?"
"Back, father, whence we came, for I was left in trust. It is a path thy
horse can follow, and I will tell thee what has happened as we go."
Ligozzi followed without further question, too full of joy for speech,
and taking so much pleasure in that it was his son who spoke as for the
moment not to heed too keenly what he said.
But when Tomaso, beginning, boy-fashion, with the last, and not the
first, came to mention of the Visconti's blow, Ligozzi roused to fury.
"Methought I saw a scar across thy face," he said, "yet in this light I
could not see too well. It is only one more wrong to set against the
Visconti's name, one deed the more to be avenged."
Tomaso took the clenched hand and covered it with kisses.
"I can forgive him now," he said, "since thou were not slain when Verona
fell."
"'Twas no fault of the Visconti's that any living soul escaped,"
returned his father. "Still, go on with thy tale, Tomaso; who is this
Francisco, that thou nam'st so oft?"
Tomaso, eager and suddenly light of heart, told all he knew, and ere his
recital ended they had reached the open, and found everything as they
had left it. The horses safe, nothing seemingly disturbed.
"Francisco will be pleased at a helper such as thou, father," said
Tomaso proudly; "thou wilt be of more service in his venture than the
German Count."
"And when this Francisco returns presently, the plan is that we set
forth at once for Ferrara?" asked Ligozzi.
"And meanwhile rest, father, and I will bring thee food. We have already
eaten."
"I, too, my son," answered Ligozzi; but he seated himself on one of the
rough wooden stools and watched Tomaso affectionately, as he brought the
poor horn lantern from the wall. He lit and set it on the table, where
it cast a straggling and wretched light.
"Francisco is surely overlong," he said; "suppose the soldiers think to
search again on their way home from some outlying district?"
"Then there will be another fight," said Vittore, "but Francisco will
get the best of it."
Ligozzi laughed.
"I owe this Francisco much," he said; "he must be a brave man, an his
care saved you both. From Verona, didst thou say?"
"From Verona, father. He said he knew thee, thy name; he is di Coldra;
he knew thee, he has said, and the Della Scala also!"
At Della Scala's name Ligozzi's eyes filled with tears, and his voice
trembled when he spoke.
"_I_ at least knew Della Scala well," he said, "and loved him too." He
paused. "Next to thee, Tomaso," he continued sadly, "his memory has
filled my heart during these weary weeks. I hoped, hope against hope, he
might have escaped even as I did, but there comes no sign he lives."
"Then thou didst not see him perish?" asked Tomaso softly.