moving. Giannotto came within sight of a door, ajar. He marveled at it.
It was thus Conrad von Schulembourg had escaped--through an unlocked
door. Visconti trusted overmuch to the terror of his name.
Giannotto slowly and cautiously pushed it a little further open. It
showed him the outer laboratory, a long low room of gray stone, and lit
by a large window set back a man's height in the wall.
Hanging over a clear charcoal fire, burning in a pan, was an elaborate
silver pot, seeming to quiver in the vapor that shimmered off the fire
underneath.
Around it on the floor stood glasses, vases, jars and goblets, glass,
china and gold.
Save this, the vault-like chamber was void of furniture; only on the
stove near the window lay a pile of things, curiously mixed. They held
Giannotto's eyes. They were not in the laboratory when he worked there.
A man's doublet of white satin, a scent bottle, a spray of roses, a
mask, a poniard, two scarfs intertwisted, and, sparkling on an inlaid
tray, a massive ring--he knew it, he had seen it on Isotta's hand--her
wedding ring; all this thrown among two birds and a hound, stiff and
dead.
Giannotto started a step back. Then his eyes fell on the window-seat,
and even he could scarce suppress a cry.
For Visconti stood there, erect and motionless, so motionless and so one
with the stone beside him, Giannotto had not known him there. From head
to foot he was clad in gray. In his right hand he held a pair of
gloves, turquoise blue, magnificently worked in pearls, and in the other
a small phial filled with a yellow, slow-moving liquid. This he held
high against the light, which fell strong and cold upon his upturned
face and thick, curling red hair, and as Giannotto gazed, fascinated, on
the gleam of his teeth as he smiled with a slow satisfaction. Giannotto
had seen enough. His heart beat quickly. He drew the door to again, and
crept back down the steps unobserved, gaining the outer chamber,
trembling: and there for a moment fell upon his knees, as if in thanks
for a most merciful escape. His thanks were not without their reason.
Hardly was the secretary in his chair again, before a light foot-fall
sounded and Visconti entered.
For one moment Giannotto thrilled with terror, but a covert glance at
the Duke's face reassured him.
"I have this to give you, my lord," he began at once. "It was left in
the Lady Isotta's prison."
Visconti took the parchment.
"By whom left there?" he asked.
"I know not, my lord," said Giannotto. "Luisa brought it, but dared not
leave her post."
His own narrow escape of a moment since had tied up Giannotto's tongue.
"It will not be hard to discover," said Visconti. "Some one who did not
bribe Luisa high enough."
"Mastino della Scala lives," he read again. He handed the parchment back
to the secretary.
"Let the Lady Isotta have it," he said. "It may keep her alive. It looks
to me that she may die, Giannotto, of the bad air and the confinement,"
and he smiled. "I would certainly not have her death. Give her the
parchment." And he handed the parchment back, dismissing Giannotto with
the gesture.
Clearly Visconti was in a mood that held neither comment nor reward,
but one the secretary was glad to escape from so easily. With a deep
obeisance he departed.
"Who bribes the woman to comfort Isotta d'Este? The soldiers are to be
trusted," mused Visconti. "Once I know I will remember it."
He drew from his doublet the velvet gloves of turquoise hue and laid
them on the table.
They were beautiful in their perfect workmanship, huge gauntlets fringed
with pearl and gold, and tasseled at the points with rubies. On the back
was a rich design also in pearl and gold, and they were lined with white
satin, covered in fine silk lace.
Truly they were a work of art. Visconti raised them delicately by the
tassels and looked long at their rich blue, admiringly, and with a
curious expression.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MASTINO DELLA SCALA
In the council chamber of the Estes' summer palace at Ferrara were
gathered the heads of the reigning families of Lombardy.
At a long table, set across one end of the apartment, two men were
seated talking to one another in low voices. They were Ippolito d'Este
and Giacomo Carrara, Duke of Padua. D'Este, a stern, gray-haired man of
fifty or so, with keen eyes and a hard mouth, was talking rapidly,
tapping the while his fingers nervously upon the table.
Carrara, florid, pleasant-mannered, with brilliant black eyes, black
hair, and a ready smile, leaned forward and listened, observing him
keenly. Opposite them, but the length of the table away, a lady with
tired eyes and a patient mouth leaned back in her chair, motionless,
watching the trees seen through the window.
She was Julia Gonzaga, the representative in this gathering in the name
of her infant nephew, of the city of Mantua and its domains, the head of
the fourth and last great family of Lombardy who dared to raise a hand
against the encroachments and the power of Visconti.
But if at this end of the chamber the only sound was low converse, all
subdued and quiet, at the farther end gay voices and bursts of laughter
broke the stillness.
For seated in the broad window-seat, toying with a sprig of myrtle, was
Count Conrad, brilliant and light-hearted, clad in the last extreme of
fashion, resplendent in primrose velvet and mauve silk, with long
scalloped sleeves that swept the ground.
Around his waist was a gold belt suspending, by a jeweled chain, an
orange stuck with cloves and enclosed in a case of silver filigree.
Count Conrad also wore ear-rings, pearl drops that shimmered through his
blond curls, and on each wrist a bracelet; yet even this effeminacy
could not altogether destroy a certain manliness that was the Count's,
spite of an almost seeming wish to disallow it.
Beside him, half-leaning through the window, was a youth of twenty, of
that brilliant beauty too bright to last.
He too was dressed more like an idle courtier of the Valois court than a
fighting noble of the free cities, and the rare charm of his face was
marred by the spoiled affectation of his manner.
"Another war!" laughed Conrad. "I have done naught but fight since I
left Germany. I am on the sick list."
"Not when the war is of thine own seeking," said Vincenzo. "Because thou
needs must fall in love with the Visconti's sister--as if there were not
others as fair and far safer to woo!"
Conrad crossed his legs and glanced critically at the taper points of
his gold shoes.
"'Tis not my wooing of Visconti's sister has caused war," he replied.
"Thy brother-in-law----"
"I beseech thee," cried Vincenzo petulantly, "leave me some little rest
from mention of his name and wrongs! Ever since you rode into Ferrara
some six days ago, there has been naught else talked of but Mastino,
Mastino's wrongs, what we must do for Mastino--till I fair weary at the
name!"
"You would not risk your all to glut his vengeance?" remarked the
Count. "None the less his wife is your sister, and a d'Este."
"No need for the heroics he makes over her, even so. Visconti will not
hurt her, yet we must be hurried into war for it, forsooth!"
"I owe Della Scala my life," returned Conrad airily. "I should be the
last to speak; still, my wrongs are as many and as deep. I love the Lady
Valentine. _I_ have lost my land and my jewels, my house and servants,
yet I am quite ready to settle in some other part of Italy--and forget
Visconti. _I_ do not go about trying to entice other people into _my_
quarrels."
He sniffed at his orange as he spoke, and breaking off the end of the
myrtle, stuck it in his belt.
Vincenzo's beautiful eyes flashed. "Art thou a poltroon then?" he cried
scornfully. "Loved I a lady and she were kept from me, I would not rest
while a stone of the palace that held her remained one on the other."
Conrad raised his eyebrows, startled at the sudden change of front.
"Then you should understand Mastino," he said.
"I hate Mastino. He is wearisome," cried Vincenzo, pettishly. "Still, I
do not love a laggard."
Conrad's reply was checked. Ippolito d'Este had arisen and was calling
them to join him. Reluctantly they rose, Vincenzo with a yawn of
distaste, and approached the table.
Ippolito frowned at Vincenzo's face.
"You would spend all your time in idleness, it seems," he said. "Have
you no interest then in our decision as to the aid Della Scala asks?"
Vincenzo dropped into his seat, seemingly rebuked. "Aid, my father?" he
said. "I knew not it was aid Della Scala asked, methought 'twas all!"
"My proposal is an army," said Giacomo smoothly. "A small army. Let us
see what success Della Scala has with a small army. Our all _is_ much to
ask."
"What say you to that?" asked Ippolito of his son.
"With all my heart," returned Vincenzo. "An army small or large, so long
as it rids us of his gloomy face about court."
"Thou art an insolent boy," interrupted his father sternly. "At thy
sister's wedding thou wert proud that Mastino della Scala stooped to pat
thee on the head. The Duke of Verona was once as much greater than are
we, Vincenzo, than we are higher than a footman. It goes not with
nobility nor with honor to slight the fallen."
Vincenzo blushed under his father's rebuke and sat silent. But Giacomo,
always ready to smooth things over, turned to the Duchess of Mantua.
"And you," he said. "You, lady, what think you of trusting Della Scala
with an army?"
Julia Gonzaga smiled a little wearily.
"Where is he, to speak for himself?" she asked.
"We are waiting for him," Ippolito replied. "He said he would be with
us. He is late," he added testily.
"Doubtless the hour has escaped him," put in Giacomo pleasantly. "The
Duke of Verona will not fail us."
"He will disappoint us--if he turns up," said Vincenzo under his breath.
But Conrad caught the whisper and choked with a suppressed laugh--not
that the remark was funny, but that Count Schulembourg was foolish.
Ippolito's stern eyes were turned on him.
"Is this a council of war?" he asked, "or a gathering of----"
"A council of war," interposed Conrad hastily, with his most winning
smile.
But D'Este looked on him with mistrust; he had no love for the
light-hearted German.
Still Mastino came not, and Giacomo moved with a great show of patience
and forbearance.
"'Tis scarcely the way to treat with us," he said.
"'Tis treatment good enough for those who bear it," breathed Vincenzo,
and Conrad sniffed his orange. Ippolito's brow grew dark; he struck a
gong beside him, and a page appeared.
"Tell my lord of Verona we wait for him." He turned to the others. "'Tis
agreed," he said quickly, "that we furnish Della Scala with a small
army--to be contributed between us."
Carrara moved in silent assent; in Julia Gonzaga's face a faint scorn
showed.
A silence fell, broken only by the tapping of d'Este's fingers on the
polished table.
Then at the farther end of the chamber two pages drew apart the scarlet
curtains and Mastino della Scala entered. Conrad, glancing up, wondered
how even for a moment he could have mistaken him for aught but what he
was, so noble and stately was his bearing.
Conrad and the d'Estes moved at his entrance, but slightly, and kept
their eyes upon him as he walked to the head of the table and there took
his place.
Though by far the plainest in attire, his simple leather doublet in
marked contrast with Conrad's display and Vincenzo's fashion, he took
the head of the council, naturally and unquestioned. So much of the
glory of his former greatness still remained to him.
"And are your councils ended?" he asked. "I would hasten you, my lords.
Still further delay, and Visconti will be first in the field."
He paused, and took his seat in the large black chair, looking keenly at
their faces.
For a moment no one answered, then Giacomo leaned forward with a
deprecating smile.
"My lord of Verona," he said smoothly, "you ask us to venture
everything--and give us five days in which to decide--surely you are not
surprised our answer is not quite ready?"
Mastino della Scala bit his lip to keep back an angry reply.
"Five hours were enough in such a case as this, my lord," he said
quietly.
Now d'Este spoke hastily. "We have come to a resolution, Mastino--one in
which we all agree," and he looked questioningly around upon the others.
No one answered, and, taking silence for consent, Ippolito continued:
"We will aid thee, Mastino, I and Carrara, and the Duchess of
Mantua----"
He paused a little nervously, and Giacomo kept his bright black eyes on
Mastino's face.
"My lord of Ferrara says rightly," he put in smoothly. "I will second
him."
The note of condescension in the Duke of Padua's voice stung Della Scala
sharply; it was only with an effort he controlled himself.
"With what will you aid me?" he asked calmly.
Still d'Este hesitated, for his proposal was mean even in his own eyes,
but Giacomo answered for him in even tones: "We will aid you with an
army of ten thousand men, Lord della Scala, to be recruited from Padua,
Mantua, and Ferrara; well armed and----"
But Della Scala had risen.
"Spare thyself a catalogue of their virtue, my lord of Padua," he said.
"For I refuse thy offer--one well worthy of a Carrara!"
Giacomo paled with anger; his merchant descent was a sore point, and
Mastino's words struck home.
"Refuse!" exclaimed Ippolito. "Ten thousand men!" Della Scala glanced
at him with scorn.
"Ten thousand men!" he echoed. "Yes, I refuse ten thousand men. I
thought thou once loved me, d'Este, and wert too much of a soldier to
dishonor me by such a proposal."
"We can make it more--" began Ippolito.
"Dost thou not think I can see through this?" interrupted Mastino
bitterly. "This offer is but given to get rid of me--a safer way of
dismissing me from the court that once cringed to entertain me than a
plain refusal. Ten thousand men! I thought better of thee, d'Este."
"Then fifty thousand," replied Ippolito, stung by the reproach.
"A royal number," put in Conrad, but Della Scala turned on them in fury.
"No!" he cried. "Not fifty nor a hundred thousand men, to make sport for
Visconti's leisure hours--Visconti who holds nine towns of mine alone,
Visconti who is leagued with France and has the Empire at his heels,
Visconti who has gained Bergamo, Lodi, and Bologna and has half the
mercenaries of Italy in his pay! No, d'Este, I have been too great for
that. Since you so forget what I have been, and who my wife is--I will
leave thee, nor trouble thy peace for men thou canst not give
ungrudgingly. And thou, Carrara, I will leave thee--in thy blind folly,
to wait for Visconti's eye to fall on thee; all thy prudence will not
save thee then. Meanwhile, I will try in the towns of Tuscany if there
be men left in Italy to face a tyrant!"
They sat silent beneath his wrath, and he turned to go, but paused and
looked back to them with a glance they could not meet.
"Only hear this before I go," he said passionately; "there is one thing
thy faint-heartedness shall not touch, one thing I will achieve without
thy aid, though thy meanness leaves me, and that is, at any cost, the
freedom"--his voice trembled--"of Isotta, my wife. I will free her," he
continued sternly. "Before you all I mean it; she shall be saved, even
if mine honor goes to do it."
And he turned away, but Count Conrad rose, roused out of himself by the
excitement Mastino had inspired.
"I will follow thee," he cried.
"What wouldst thou have, Mastino?" cried Ippolito after him,
half-distraught. "What wouldst thou have?"
Della Scala turned in the middle of the chamber, magnificent in his
wrath and pain. "All," he said proudly. "All thou canst give, and above
all, thy trust. I am no boy to be put off with a few soldiers. I need
Modena, Ferrara, Padua, every town of Lombardy that is in thy hands; all
thy money, all thy troops, everything thou canst give--and then I will
crush Visconti. When I fell it was through most foul treachery. I will
league with no half-hearted friends again."
And again he turned to leave, this time Conrad at his heels, when a soft
voice arrested him, Julia Gonzaga's.
"I have this to say before thou leavest us, Della Scala," she said. "All
I have, Mantua and its lands, are at thy disposal, and I am proud so
great a captain as my lord of Verona should command my men."
Mastino turned, his eyes sparkling with joy.
"My greatest thanks for thy gift, lady," he said, "and still more for
the gracious manner of thy giving." And before he could say more
Vincenzo rose impulsively.
"Shall we be outdone by a woman!" he cried, his beautiful face flushed.
"It goes not with our honor, father, we should leave Mantua to fight
Visconti!"
Ippolito no less was roused.
He stepped toward Mastino and held out his hand.
"I ask thy pardon for too much wariness," he said with a faint smile.
"I am as proud now as ever of my relationship to thee, and everything
within my hands is thine to use as thou wilt against Visconti." Mastino
grasped his hand convulsively.
"Thou shalt not repent it," he said, his generous soul melted at once.
"While I live thou shalt not repent."
Meanwhile Giacomo Carrara's prudent brain had rapidly concluded it would
be most to his advantage, at least for the moment, to side openly with
Della Scala, even in this wholesale fashion.
"I too am of the same mind," he said pleasantly and frankly. "All I have
is thine, Della Scala."
"Then in a few days I will march on Verona!" cried Mastino, "and with
thy generous aid I shall recover it! My heart is too full. I cannot
speak my thanks," he continued, "but by my honor and my sword I swear,
thou d'Este, thou Carrara, and thou lady, shall never regret thy trust
in me."
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRAZIOSA'S LOVER
In the courtyard of the painter Agnolo's house in Milan, the sunshine
fell strong and golden, sparkling on the fountain that rose in the
center from its rough stone basin, and throwing the waxen blossoms of
the chestnut into brilliant relief against the sapphire sky.
The courtyard was of stone. Around three sides ran the wall, one with
its door into the street; opposite was a large garden, entered by an
archway, the wicket in which stood always ajar.
The fourth side of the quadrangle was formed by the dwelling-house,
which stood with its back to the ivied walls, itself a long, low
building, the upper half of which, jutting above the lower, was
supported on pillars of carved stone.
Around the bottom wall ran a wide border of plants, some climbing,
others heavy with brilliant blossoms, trailing along the ground, and in
the cool, blue shadows in the recess formed by the projecting story were
large pots of spreading ferns, vivid green, mingled with the spikes of
bright scarlet flowers.
The basin of the fountain in the center was velvet green with moss, and
over the limpid water there spread the flat leaves of water-lilies.
Above the wall rose the sweet-smelling chestnuts, spreading their
fan-like foliage and snowy blossoms, tier upon tier, against the
brilliant sky, and through the low arch, trellised with roses, the
garden stretched, a bewildering mass of color, white, mauve, yellow,
pink, blue and red, into the soft distance, a swaying mass of trees. It
was late afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening, as out of the
house, the door of which stood open, came the little painter. He stepped
into the sunshine, mopping his face and shaking his clothes.
From head to foot he was a mass of green slime, his doublet torn, his
hands scratched, his face hot and perspiring. After a few vain attempts
to remove the dirt that clung to him, he looked around with a rueful
countenance.
"Graziosa!" he called. "Graziosa!"
The lattice of an upper window was thrown open, and Graziosa looked out.
At sight of her father she laughed. "Hast thou been down thy passage
again, father?" she called from the window.
Agnolo made a wry face good-humoredly. "That I have," he returned, "and
fell into a pond at the other end."
"The other end!" echoed his daughter. "Then you got through?"
Vistarnini rubbed his damaged hands together with satisfaction. "Aye,"
he said with a smile, "after tearing my clothes, fighting briers,
stepping on toads, stifling with dust, and pitching on my face in the
dark, I----"
"Fell into a pond!" laughed Graziosa.
"Got to the other end," cried the little painter. "Got to the other
end!" Graziosa disappeared from the window, and came running into the
courtyard, a slender figure in scarlet.
"Got to the other end," repeated Vistarnini breathlessly. "A noble
underground passage, Graziosa, that is what we have discovered, large
enough to admit an army if need were, and with a concealed opening,
leading out through a cave to the midst of----"
"A pond," suggested Graziosa with a glance at his garments.
"A wood--the pond was a mere accessory; a wood, some two miles beyond
the town."
"Then since this end is reached from our house, we are the only ones who
can gain access to it?" said Graziosa.
"We are," returned the painter proudly. "And, Graziosa, we will remain
so."
"Thou mean'st thou wilt tell no one?" asked his daughter.
"No; it will be very useful. I hate to be forever passing the gate,
giving accounts of myself to every saucy soldier. In time of need,
should there be a war, then perchance we can speak of it."
"I think we should speak of it now," said Graziosa thoughtfully. "I
think we should tell the Duke."
"Tell the weathercock!" said Vistarnini. "I tell thee it will be useful;
the tolls nearly ruin me--and now I can bring everything I buy outside
in through the secret passage."
"'Tis scarce honest, father."
Agnolo laughed.
"I discovered it," he said. "No one knew of it, and the Duke can well
spare my tolls."
"Meanwhile change thy dress, father," laughed Graziosa, "and thou always
dost as thou thinkest. I have no more to say."
Then, as Vistarnini moved toward the house, his daughter called after
him softly:
"I may tell Ambrogio, father?"
"Thou may'st do no such thing," returned Agnolo. "His conscience would
prick him--he is overgrave and honest----"
"He is not," said Graziosa indignantly. "I mean--he would not tell--I
am sure he will not tell!"
"And so am I--for he will never know," said Agnolo with a smile. "Now
thy promise, Graziosa, that thou tellest no one, not even thy precious
Ambrogio--and the first thing I smuggle through shall be a new silk gown
for thee!"
Graziosa laughed, and seated herself on the edge of the basin.
"I promise," she called. "But as for the gown, thou couldst have brought
me that in any case!"
Vistarnini turned into the house, and silence again fell on the sunny
courtyard.
Graziosa looked musingly at the gate, then down at her bare arm and
sighed.
Two pet doves whirled down from the chestnuts and strutted across the
courtyard, with a show of white tails.
Graziosa noticed them suddenly, in the midst of her dreaming, and was
rising to get their evening meal, when the little painter, clean and
reclothed, bustled out of the house, carrying a flat dish.
"Here is thy food!" he cried to the birds. "Are ye hungry, little ones?"
And he threw the grain in a golden shower.
"Ambrogio is not here to see thee feed to-day," he continued. "What
makes him late, Graziosa?"
"The way is long," she returned, "from the convent where he works,
father, and the monks grudge him any time away from the altar-piece."
"And the bracelet?" said Agnolo. "He vowed thou shouldst have it back."
"I wish he had not," said the girl in distress. "He will do something
rash, I fear me. How can he get it back from the Visconti palace?"
"He won't get it back," said the little painter cheerfully. "Even a
lover would not be quite so mad as to beard the Visconti for a toy."
"Yet he swore I should have it again. It was rash of me to tell him how
I lost it," replied Graziosa.
"Then he would have thought thou hadst given it to the stone-cutter next
door, and there would have been high words, flashing eyes. 'Ha--ha--come
out and be slain, thou varlet! Skulking dog, thou liest!' then swords
out, and thou lying in a faint--or bewailing the day of thy birth. After
that, thunder and lightning--gore--the brawlers driven into the
street--the soldiers come up--and off we go to prison for disturbing the
streets with our frays."
"You jest too much, father," said Graziosa. "It may be serious if
Ambrogio try to recover the bracelet."
But a light knock on the outer door interrupted her, and with a
heightened color she rose.
"It is he, father!" she whispered. "I knew he would not fail us."
Agnolo hurried forward and drew back the bolts, and truly enough
Ambrogio entered.