But the room was filled now with a wild-faced crowd that would not be
kept back, and from every side echoed the evil tidings.
"Brescia--at dawn to-day Della Scala whirled down on us, flushed with
victory--and in two hours the town fell."
"And Visconti thinks him idle at the d'Este's court!" broke from
Giannotto.
And the crowd filled the chamber with the whisper of dismay and horror,
but from the banqueting room still came the song and the
laughter--Visconti was in blissful ignorance of evil. Who could tell
him? Who would dare?
Well Giannotto knew the fall of Brescia could be only the last of a
series of incredible disasters; so swift as to seem miraculous. Victory
after victory must have fallen to Della Scala before he could have
marched on and taken a place so near Milan; victories following too fast
on one another to have reached Visconti before their culmination. The
news indeed was terrible!
Who would enter the banqueting hall?
All shrank.
"Tis almost certain death," they muttered, and Giannotto smiled.
"The Duke carries deadly weapons."
As he spoke the curtains were pulled aside for a moment as one of the
serving men stepped out, and Giannotto, bending eagerly forward, caught
a glimpse of two faces at the far end of the brilliant table.
Visconti's, laughing, triumphant, insolently handsome, and Valentine's,
set and white, with dangerous eyes.
The curtains fell to again, but Giannotto had a thought.
"Leave it to me, good friends," he said, and passed into the hall.
"The Lady Valentine shall give the news!" That was the secretary's
inspiration. "The Duke dare not touch her, and it will be a pleasure to
her that she may reward." And the crowd, gathering in the anteroom,
waited, bewildered and terrified, to hear the blow had fallen.
"They will stop their song and jest," said the man from Brescia, "let
the Duke once know--" The entry of another, panting and torn,
interrupted him.
"Heaven save Milan!" he gasped. "Verona has fallen!"
* * * * *
The shouts and clatter from the courtyard had penetrated faintly to the
banqueting hall, and Visconti paused a moment, listening.
Valentine listened too, and thought of Conrad.
But the noises died away, and Visconti turned to the Duke of Orleans
with a laugh.
"My soldiers revel in your honor," he said, "and we will drink my
sister's health, my lord."
Valentine's breast heaved. Who was he, to dare to sacrifice her to his
pride and greed? She would not suffer it. Was she not also a Visconti?
As in a dream she heard her health drunk; as in a dream she saw the Duke
of Orleans' foolish look turned toward her in vacant admiration; then
suddenly, with a start, she noticed Giannotto's crafty face. Valentine's
eyes blazed with sudden purpose. She looked down toward the entrance,
and saw, between the curtains, white faces peering and figures
half-thrust forward.
"The Duke of Orleans!" cried Visconti, and the guests again rose.
Valentine rose also, with inspired eyes and crimsoned cheeks.
"The Duke of Orleans!" she cried, lifting her glass, and at the first
words she had spoken they stood silent, in an uneasy expectation. "Will
the Duke of Orleans wait, Visconti, while I give a still nobler toast?"
Her voice rose triumphant. At her words, at the mad defiance of her
bearing, Visconti stood amazed.
"Here is to the one who has taken Brescia and Verona, even from thee,
Visconti; here is to the brave soldier who now marches on Milan--Mastino
della Scala!"
And she raised her glass high, and then turned and flung it at
Visconti's feet.
"The news is true," she said, "and now kill me for it."
And with a stifled cry Visconti's hand was on his dagger, but d'Orleans
flung himself upon him, and caught him by the wrists. Visconti glanced
at him, and at the startled company, not grasping what had happened, and
then the cry, begun no one knew where, went in a growing volume around
the hall.
"Verona has fallen!"
It circled around the table, it passed from lip to lip, from the
white-faced, surging crowd to the brilliant guests, and the company
broke into confusion, and looked into each other's eyes with terror.
"Verona has fallen!"
"A lie!" thundered Visconti. "A lie! my sister has gone mad. Who says
the word again shall die!"
"My lord," said Giannotto, "listen": and into the sudden hush within
came the wild hubbub of the panic-stricken city.
"Verona is fallen! Della Scala marches fast on Milan!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE TUMULT AT THE WESTERN GATE
Mastino Della Scala with his army lay at Serio, a hamlet boasting a
small eminence crowned with a strongly built but insignificant castle.
Some ten miles farther Brescia was held by Julia Gonzaga's army. Only a
few weeks had passed since Della Scala, falling first on Verona, and
taking it, had marched on Milan and almost snatched it from Visconti's
unsuspecting hold. But the alarm given at Valentine's wedding-feast had
come in time. With almost superhuman energy, in two hours' time Visconti
armed the walls and put the city in defense. To surprise a victory was
impossible. Still, the Duke of Verona's army was only some fifteen miles
from the walls, and day by day drew nearer.
Visconti, from the height of proud security, was suddenly, by one move,
placed in a position dangerous indeed. The towns and domains behind
Milan, from that city to Turin, were still his, as were Pavia and
Piacenza, but from Brescia to Verona, and from Modena to Lombardy, save
for a few scattered towns and forts held desperately by Visconti's men,
the whole was in the hands of Della Scala and his allies. Still Milan
was not in a state of siege: men and supplies hurried in from Novara,
Vercelli, and other towns in the Visconti's dominions, and powerful aid
was coming to the Duke of Milan's assistance from the Empire.
Yet in Visconti's eyes this aid, needful as it was, was dearly bought,
for Charles IV., though an ignoble ruler and laughed at by his subjects,
was of an honorable, open disposition, and related by marriage to the
Estes, and the one condition on which he was dispatching to Visconti's
service his soldiers stationed in Switzerland and on the borders, was
that Isotta d'Este should be untouched.
In the bitterness of his rage, Visconti wished he had already slain her;
now, in truth, he dare not. It was no question now of gratifying an
ambition, it was simple fear of losing his own throne, fear of being in
his turn reduced to what he had reduced Della Scala, that made him
respect the wishes of the Empire, and the feeling of the French who
thronged his court.
And the thought that he could not play the best card tyrant ever held,
was rendered doubly bitter by the fact that Della Scala knew him to be
helpless and Isotta safe.
Scheming in his crafty soul for means to outwit Mastino, Visconti
thought of Giacomo Carrara, who held Padua, Treviso, Cremona, Vicenza.
He was Della Scala's ally, but a man of no upright soul.
"Could I gain him," thought Visconti, in his musings, "I could stand
without the Empire, without France, and use my captive as I please and
not as they dictate."
To the Estes and Julia Gonzaga he gave no thought; well he knew they
were not likely to desert Mastino--but Carrara----
Meanwhile, he threw his whole strength against the opposing army,
keeping it at bay, gaining time--and planning.
But Mastino della Scala's object was not to lose time in idle
skirmishes. Brilliant success had fallen to his share, not one reverse
had marred his short campaign, and it is not the policy of the victor to
dally with time, rather to seize the chances each day offers, while yet
fortune smiles on him.
But well Della Scala knew that neither honor, nor pity, nor shame, but
fear alone, would restrain Gian Maria Visconti from venting his hatred
on Isotta d'Este.
Still, he kept up a stout heart. Visconti dare not! To make assurance
doubly sure, he used all his influence at the court of Rome to procure
the aid of the Church against the Duke of Milan.
Many a time had he rendered powerful help to the Pope, and, as his
present position stood, might do so yet again; and the result of his
appeal was a grave embassy from the Pope to Visconti, threatening him
with excommunication and the sword of the Church should he dare to touch
Isotta d'Este.
For the first, Visconti cared little; twice had the Church thrown him
out, and each time he had laughed at it and emerged triumphant; but now
his position was more perilous than it had ever been since he mounted
the throne of Milan, and he dare not treat this mandate of the Church as
he had done the others.
The Pope's temporal power too was great; were that once turned against
him, even with the Empire's aid he could hardly stand; so Visconti
answered them with fair words, pledging his honor for the Duchess of
Verona's life.
One bright summer morning, Visconti sat at the open window of his
palace, thinking.
At the other end of the room the Duke d'Orleans and Tisio were playing
at chess; between these two, during the Duke's enforced stay in Milan, a
friendship had sprung up, and Visconti, weary of his foolish guest, was
well pleased a foolish brother should take him off his hands.
The Frenchman was prepared at once to carry out the contract, marry
Valentine, and depart for France, but Visconti's pride would not permit.
The Duke d'Orleans had witnessed a reverse, he should behold a triumph.
Valentine should leave Italy as befitted his sister, not fly from it as
a fugitive; and the French prince, who in a few weeks had yielded to
Gian's subtle influence and learned both to fear and obey Visconti,
assented meekly to delay, and whiled away the time as best he might.
Visconti sat so motionless and silent that the chess-players were
forgetful of his presence, and their voices rose high.
"My move," said Tisio gleefully. "See, the rook take your knight."
"Your rook could take my knight," returned d'Orleans, "if it were your
move, but as it is mine----"
"You are not watching the game," was the angry rejoinder.
"Your pardon, _my_ move," said the Frenchman calmly, and, with a smile
on his vacant face, he swept up one of Tisio's men.
"My move--and--mate, M'sieu."
With a cry of childish rage, Tisio snatched at the board, spilling the
men onto the floor.
"I love not to play with you," he cried. "I would Count Conrad were
here, he was the one to play with."
D'Orleans laughed.
"Because he always let you win, M'sieu?" he said.
Tisio began to whimper with annoyance, calling loudly on Valentine.
Visconti, aroused, drew the curtains aside, and stepped forward.
D'Orleans was, at his appearance, a little flurried. It was impossible
for his weak brain to meet those eyes and not feel flurried.
"Tisio and I are fallen out again," he said feebly.
Visconti looked at him coldly.
"I would remind you, my lord, Tisio, though an infant, is my brother."
"Gian!" cried Tisio, suddenly noticing him. "Gian! it was my move!"
"Whether it was thy move or no, it does not please me thou shouldst be
annoyed--remember it, my Lord Duke"; and he turned into his inner room.
As he closed the door, his long brooding showed in his face. It was
lined and anxious. The position was a dizzy one: a perilous one: his
dark dress concealed the gleam of chain armor.
His enemies were many, and some powerful, and Visconti took no chances.
At his side hung a dagger, long and sharp, and his fingers were often on
the hilt in readiness. At his old place sat Giannotto.
"I have decided," said Visconti. "I will attempt Carrara."
"You think he is to be bought, my lord?"
"I think he is to be bought," responded Visconti. "At any rate we will
try. He and his force are with Della Scala?"
"And fifteen miles outside our walls," said Giannotto; then at the look
on the Duke's face, he was sorry he had spoken, and shrank together.
"Read what is on the parchment," said Visconti; and the secretary, glad
to have been let off so easily, unwrapt the roll.
Therein Visconti's bribe was plainly set forth:
The town of Cologna, near to Padua, and well fortified, the protection
and close alliance of Milan, and the service of ten thousand trained
mercenaries, together with the right to trade free of toll in Visconti's
dominions----
"And a pair of turquoise gloves," added Visconti, with a change of
tone.
Giannotto glanced up.
"Are they not worth three hundred ducats?" said Visconti, smiling. "Did
not the Pope and Emperor both wish to buy them, and fail?"
Giannotto bowed his head over again and studied the scrip in silence.
Visconti watched him keenly.
He thought, "I know he would betray me for a ducat!--if I were not
Visconti."
He turned to the narrow window, and looked out onto the city spreading
beneath him.
"The Empire," he muttered to himself. "The Empire and the French--I will
awe them and humor them while I must--but let me once gain Carrara--as I
shall--I can dispense with them and deal with Della Scala as I list."
He turned from the window to Giannotto, and his face had lost its lines.
"Well?" he asked. "What think you?"
"This is a master-stroke of temptation, my lord. You have always found
craft a good servant."
"It would not serve me well in thee," said Visconti with a sudden
glance. "Now, see to it that parchment is dispatched, Giannotto, and by
a trusty messenger, and with no delay."
"I will give it to Ricardo with my own hands, my lord," said Giannotto.
"He is the best man we have since Filippo was wounded this morning in a
skirmish by the western gate."
"The western gate?" Visconti looked up quickly.
"It was not worth while bringing to your notice, my lord. A band of the
enemy's soldiers have been skirmishing there."
"They were beaten off without harm to anyone within the gates?"
"The gates were not forced, nor anyone injured--or I should have
acquainted you, my lord," and he waited for possibly some mark of
appreciation; but the Duke motioned curtly to the roll he held, and
Giannotto crept out with bowed shoulders. As the tapestry fell into
place behind him, Visconti approached the black bureau between the
windows, and unlocked one of the long drawers.
In its dusky recess lay a gold box, and Visconti took it out, handling
it carefully.
The light fell in a straight shaft from the narrow window, on the
delicate chasing of the casket, as Visconti placed it on the table, and
as he turned the key and the lid flew back, it gleamed on the emeralds
and diamonds of an elaborate coronet, exquisitely enameled and pointed.
Every inch was covered with precious stones: each point tapering into a
delicate tracery of gold, as fine as lace.
Visconti drew a chair to the table, and leaned back in it, his eyes upon
the jewels; so absorbed was he, he did not heed the opening door nor
Tisio's entrance.
And Tisio scarcely saw his brother, for joy at the little coronet, so
brilliant in the sun's straight ray.
"How dost thou come here, Tisio?" asked his brother, startled; but at
sight of Tisio's vacant, foolish face, he sank back, and noticing his
joy, he smiled--for Tisio was crazed, and remembered nothing of even the
things that gave him pleasure. "Dost thou like it?" he continued,
gratified at the delight in his brother's eyes. "Thy taste in
goldsmiths' work is good, Tisio."
"'Tis beautiful, Gian, wondrous beautiful!" cried Tisio in rapt
admiration.
"I bought it with the price of half a city," said Gian. "And hold it
cheap."
The words had no meaning for Tisio, as his brother knew: he only voiced
his own pride in the lovely bauble.
"And wilt thou wear it?" asked Tisio.
The Duke laughed good-humoredly.
"Not I, Tisio; still soon--when Della Scala's crushed--thou shalt see it
worn by some one--some one whose face will outshine these stones,
Tisio."
"Whose will it be?" asked his brother childishly.
"A lady, Tisio; and when this coronet is on her head, she will be
Visconti's wife and the Duchess of Milan!"
He paused on the word, and looked at Tisio; but there was no wonder in
his brother's eyes, his gaze held by the flashing stones.
"Now, by Saint Mark!" cried Visconti suddenly. "This is no time to be
maundering with a toy and an idiot."
He put the little coronet back and locked the casket.
"How comest thou to be alone, Tisio? Where is thy page?"
As he spoke he returned the casket to the bureau. Tisio, in eager
curiosity, looked over his shoulders into the open drawer. There lay the
turquoise-colored gloves.
"Oh!" cried Tisio joyously. "The beautiful, beautiful gloves!"
And before Gian could stop him, he had caught them up.
Visconti snatched them from him; at the same moment came a clamoring
upon the door. It was Giannotto knocking lustily.
"Now, who beats down the door?" cried the Duke, and waiting for no
further summons, Giannotto entered. The Duke, starting, thrust the
turquoise gloves into his doublet.
"What is it now, Giannotto? Did I not say that I was coming?"
"My lord, it presses. De Lana would see you--there has been fierce
fighting outside the walls--the army clamors for you----"
"Lead the way," said Visconti shortly; and, preceded by his secretary,
he returned hastily toward his council chamber.
The anteroom, brilliant in pink stone and gold, the great hall itself,
flaring in painted walls and dazzling stained-glass windows, were full
of people--courtiers, soldiers, artists, and craftsmen.
Gian Visconti kept neither the open court nor the free table of his
father; he was neither lavish in his hospitality, save when it suited
his own ends, nor liberal in his rewards; still he loved, encouraged,
and jealously exacted the homage of all artists. Woe be to the painter
or poet who took his painting or poetry to any other in Milan save the
Duke himself!
There were many there to-day, eager-eyed among the throng, among them
the German architect of the glorious new church; but to-day Visconti
passed unheeding through them. The city was at war.
He stepped into the council chamber unannounced, followed solely by
Giannotto.
The great gilt ornate room was full of Milanese and foreigners, allies
or guests of Visconti.
"You look grave, my lords," cried Visconti, his gray eyes wide, "and
fearful. I had not thought you of so poor a courage. Yet, since you are
so faint of heart, I come to tell you from my own lips that I ride
against Verona to-day! Have you forgotten, my lords, that a Visconti
still rules Milan?"
There was no answer from the splendid throng; they had complained much
of late--but not to his face.
"Have you no thanks for so much comfort?" laughed Visconti. "Let all
those who may care to follow make them ready, and let those who care
not--stay to make us welcome from a victory. Come, De Lana."
He turned away with his hand on his favorite captain's arm.
To a man the crowded assembly flocked to follow.
"Ah!" Visconti turned again.
"A crushed foe is scarcely to be feared! Have I not set my standard in
the market-place of Verona? Have I not dragged a hostage from Della
Scala's palace? Lords of Milan, am I not Visconti?"
With one voice they broke into loud shouts.
"To the city walls! to the city walls! Down with Della Scala! To the
city walls!"
And while the cry still sounded, before the enthusiasm could abate,
Visconti, armed and mounted, rode at the head of some thousand
mercenaries and Milanese, to the farthest rampart of the city.
D'Orleans had not volunteered. The French duke remained in the
well-guarded palace, of which the Lady Valentine was left the governor
during the Duke's absence, an office she had often filled before
quarrels had sprung up between her and her brother, and while he held
Milan against his father and she was his counselor and ally.
For a few brief hours, power again was hers, for Visconti had not
weakened her authority yet--outwardly at least. She could do nothing.
She thought of her helplessness with bitterness. All day long she set
herself to revolving schemes of escape--some way whereby to avail
herself of the confusion into which Milan had been thrown--some means to
outwit her brother.
She could not rest for her anxious thoughts. The Visconti palace was
near the walls, and Valentine, stepping onto the open balcony, looked
through the clustered pillars over the flat house-roofs to the distant
country where the advancing army lay.
The air was heavy. From the streets came the sound of tumult, noise, and
hurry: the walls were manned.
"There is to be some fighting," murmured Valentine.
She shaded her eyes from the sun that, beating on the red brickwork of
the palace, gave back a blinding glare.
"Oh, may God grant that victory may fall," she murmured, "where Count
Conrad draws his sword!"
It was evening before Visconti returned, weary from his survey of his
men, victorious after a fierce skirmish with some of Verona's
mercenaries, led by Mastino's trusted Captain Roccia.
The palace that till then had lain so quiet was suddenly a wild
confusion, a babel of noises, shouts, and trampling of horses.
Strange, flaring lights were thrown across the courtyard; the torches
flung ragged, straggling rays upon the sides of the palace, falling
grotesquely on the griffins that grinned either side the arched door,
falling across the long rows of straight windows, and, for a second, on
Valentine Visconti's pale face, looking eagerly below.
"Dogs of Veronese!" cried Visconti, turning his wild eyes toward the
prisoners. "They have cost us a wild hour!"
And he had been in the thick of it; his rich armor was dented, the
embroidered surtout torn to rags: Visconti's blood was up. In a fight,
even the Torriani could not say he lacked anything save prudence.
Without alighting, he took from his head his ponderous helmet with the
viper crest, and gave it to his page.
"We have given Roccia a taste of our quality!" he laughed, and pulled
his gauntlets off. "Where is De Lana?"
"I am here, lord," said Giannotto.
He stood at the Duke's saddle, looking around him in confusion.
"What news, Giannotto?" cried Visconti. "Thy pallid face seems too ready
to welcome me. Let me dismount."
"Hear me first," entreated the secretary, "before you dismount--before
anything--lord!"
"Quick with thy news then--stand back, De Lana, I must hear this rogue."
Giannotto drew closer.
"My lord, at noon to-day, Rinalta, the Tuscan captain, rode in. While
Roccia was engaging you, some mercenaries forced one of the gates, and
before they could be driven back, a house was broken into, some
prisoners made----"
The Duke fixed his widening eyes upon the speaker, and Giannotto shrank.
"What gate?" he asked. "What house? What prisoners?"
"The western gate, lord, and Agnolo Vistarnini's house!"
With a sound of fury Visconti struck at his secretary violently, with
the ends of his bridle.
"And I was not told before!"
"It was held too small a fray, lord," said the secretary. "Could I tell
my Lady Valentine one gate was more to you than another? I besought her
to send to you--I besought them all--could I tell them why?"
Even as he spoke De Lana rode up resolutely.
"More men are needed at the western gate," he said; "the Germans have
returned. I will lead them."
"No!" cried Visconti; "I, De Lana."
The soldier looked surprised.
"You, lord? There is no need----"
"It is my will," Visconti answered fiercely. "At once, to the western
gate!"
At his cry the soldiers flung themselves again into the saddle, and
those who still sat their horses gathered up their reins.
"Your helmet, lord," cried the startled squire; but Visconti swept him
aside and rushed bareheaded forward, De Lana and his troop of horsemen
after him in a wild riot of sound and light.
Giannotto stood bewildered in the doorway; nothing left of the wild
tumult that had filled the spaces save echoing shouts and tramping
hoofs.
"Visconti is mad," he thought. "He has ridden off almost unarmed! Now--I
wonder what may happen before he return from the western gate--the night
is dark and--dangerous."
And with a thoughtful glance up at the cloudy sky, Giannotto slowly
withdrew.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A PRISONER FROM MILAN
Mastino Della Scala was proving himself. He had come to within fifteen
miles of Milan.
Verona was his again; that was in itself enough to justify his allies'
confidence.
Of them Julia Gonzaga's force and Ippolito d'Este's army lay at Brescia,
ready at any moment to advance.