his support was Carrara, Duke of Padua's contingent, led by the Duke in
person.
Between the two forces, a quarter of a mile outside Della Scala's camp,
was the castle of Brescia, at one time an occasional residence of
Barnabas, Visconti's father, and now a gloomy fortress, with an evil
reputation; for Barnabas, driven from Milan by his son, had died
there--with his wife--of fever it was said. In a gorgeous tent in the
midst of Della Scala's camp sat Conrad von Schulembourg and the younger
d'Este.
It was the slumbrous hour after noon; the air heavy with an approaching
storm, and Conrad lounged languidly on a low divan, playing with his
dagger. The war, although success had fallen to his leader, had already
begun to weary this indolent cavalier, and even the sight of Milan in
the distance, where Valentine was imprisoned, could not keep him from
whining at the hardness of his fate. A parchment lay near him on the
seat, and from time to time he made some pretense of looking at it:
pretense only.
In Della Scala's force Conrad held third command under the Duke of
Padua, who was immediately under Mastino; but Conrad's post was largely
a sinecure, for though in the battle the Count's gallant courage roused
Della Scala's warmest praise, he recognized that his capacity for
generalship was small.
None the less Della Scala trusted him completely. His heart full of his
one object, elated by his successes, eagerly keeping his allies
together, Della Scala had small leisure to notice Conrad's stifled yawns
when the council of war was held, or the fact that he gave more thought
to playing cards and chess with Vincenzo than to the discipline and
efficiency of the men under his orders.
For the fiftieth time he put the parchment down and turned to Vincenzo,
who lay along the floor, eating nuts and hurling the shells at the legs
of the sentry visible through the flaps set wide back for coolness. To
make the soldier jump at a telling shot was more just then to Vincenzo
than the taking of Milan.
"I would there were some one else to read these dispatches," said
Conrad. "I love not this part of soldiering. When, think you, will there
be another city to be taken, Vincenzo?"
"There was fighting yesterday outside Milan," returned the boy. "Thou
shouldst have gone."
"I asked the Prince to let me, but as usual I was bade stay at my post."
And Conrad rose with a sigh of outraged virtue and adjusted the points
of his rose-colored doublet.
"Asked the Prince!" mocked Vincenzo; "thou shouldst have gone without
asking him."
"A dash on the walls," said Conrad, "that is what we need, not this
idleness and skirmishing. I long to grasp my sword and fly to my Lady
Valentine's rescue--but the Prince----"
"Tell me not," said Vincenzo. "I know Mastino always counsels prudence,
and I am weary of it."
"The Prince knows more of it than we, doubtless," admitted Conrad.
"Nevertheless these parchments may wait while I have a game of chess
with thee."
"May they, Count Conrad? And is chess thy notion truly?" said Mastino's
voice without, and unannounced he entered the tent, followed by Tomaso's
father, Giorgio Ligozzi.
He was from head to foot in armor.
His eyes fell on Vincenzo, and his face darkened.
"For shame, Vincenzo," he said, with scorn. "Thou art no longer a child,
to indulge in these page's tricks, and much I marvel Count Conrad should
allow thee such license."
Vincenzo rose sullenly.
"Leave us," continued Della Scala with angry eyes. "And learn from
yonder soldiers to play the man, and wear a leathern jacket with more
grace than a silken doublet. I am ashamed of thee, Vincenzo."
D'Este's beautiful face flushed crimson.
"'Tis not always the leathern jacket comes out best at time of need, my
lord," he said defiantly. "Try me in it in a fight."
Della Scala's glance softened; he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder
gently.
"Thou art a d'Este and my brother, Vincenzo. I do not fear thy behavior
in battle, only learn the harder part--to bear thyself while waiting."
Vincenzo was melted, but not caring to show it before Conrad, left the
tent without reply.
"He hath the makings of a soldier in him for all his willfulness. I pray
you pardon his present idleness, my lord, and hold me as the cause,"
said Conrad. "I should have roused him sooner."
Mastino glanced around. It was the first time he had entered the
German's abode, and the lavishness of its appointments were not to his
taste.
"This is an hour of great need, Count," he said gravely. "The downfall
of Visconti cannot mean to you what it does to me--it cannot mean so
much to any man--but am I not right in thinking it means all to you to
see the Lady Valentine Visconti free?"
"All! All I care for under heaven. By all the saints, Prince, I will
give my right arm to serve your cause, since it serves her," cried
Conrad.
Della Scala's brown eyes observed him keenly.
"I will ask a service of you, Count," he said; "not thy right hand, nor
any feat of knight-errantry, but something full as difficult to render."
"Even if it be living on roots in a dungeon, I will do it!"
And, excited at the thought of some adventure, Count Conrad waited
expectantly, his hand upon his sword.
The Prince smiled sadly.
"I fear it is a harder task than that, Count Conrad, and so distasteful
that I would not burden you with it were there any other worthy to
entrust with it," he said. "But all the men here are
mercenaries--Captain Vanvitelli is a boor; Ligozzi goes with me to
Brescia, whither I am instantly bound to confer with Ferrara."
"Prince, I am proud to execute your commands," interrupted Conrad
eagerly.
Della Scala turned to Ligozzi, who stood silent behind him.
"See that no one listens," he said; and as Ligozzi disappeared and
Mastino drew nearer to him, the Count fell back, impressed by the
eagerness of the noble face.
But the Prince took him by the hand affectionately.
"Dost thou remember the huts outside thy villa, Conrad--and Francisco
who rescued thee? I am giving thee a trust. For his sake wilt thou be
faithful?"
"To the death!" cried Conrad. "Prince, I will be faithful to the death!"
"Count," said Mastino earnestly, "I return from Brescia to-morrow,
bringing d'Este up with me to join in an assault on Milan that will make
the city ours, I trust, within a week. Of necessity I leave Carrara for
these hours in command--almost all the men are his providing--but," his
voice sank still lower, "I do not completely trust him--I doubt his
loyalty. I have misgivings as to the use he may make of my absence,
therefore," he paused and laid his hand on Conrad's shoulder, "I leave
you, Count von Schulembourg, privately in charge. Watch him--never leave
him out of your sight till my return."
"Good! I understand! I swear!" cried Conrad again.
Mastino Della Scala looked into his eyes.
"I trust thee," he said simply. "Thou knowest how my wife's safety lies
on my soul--and if Carrara play false, we are well-nigh ruined. These
weeks have I had him under Ligozzi's eyes, day and night, and now thou
must take my place." Conrad kissed Mastino's hand in silence, his
emotional nature overcome to tears.
"Come, my lord, the time wears," said Ligozzi, and Della Scala turned to
leave.
At the entrance he looked back.
"Remember, I trust thee, and thee solely, Conrad," he said. As he
dropped the flap behind him, he turned to Ligozzi.
"Will he be worthy of it, Ligozzi?" he said. "But I must perforce trust
him when there is no other."
Outside the Duke's tent, his escort was in readiness to start, and his
white horse stood waiting, held by Tomaso.
"After all, my lord," whispered Ligozzi, "Carrara _may_ not be false."
Mastino shook his head. "He only waits the opening," he said. "What does
console me," he added, "is that I shall be back to-morrow." And he
looked toward Milan as he spoke.
"Ligozzi," he continued wistfully, "how long the time seems since I saw
her. The last words I heard her speak are forever in my ears: 'While
thou livest I fear nothing'; and I live, Ligozzi. Sometimes I am ashamed
of it!"
"You live to free her, my lord," said Ligozzi softly.
Mastino mounted in silence. "Yes, I live for that," he said, after the
pause.
He turned and saw Tomaso watching him.
"Yes, thou shalt come with us," he smiled; "only mount in haste. The
time wears on."
At this moment, foremost among a little group of horsemen, Carrara
cantered toward him, black-eyed, smiling, richly dressed, a plumed cap
between his smooth white fingers.
"Farewell, Carrara," said Mastino. "Count von Schulembourg is second in
command. I leave all to your discretion, subject to my orders already
given."
Giacomo bowed, but made no reply other than his smiling eyes. His
meditated treasons were ripe for execution, and he could scarce contain
himself at the good fortune of it; Visconti's messenger had reached him
the same day that Della Scala rode away. There remained only Conrad.
"Till to-morrow at noon," murmured Carrara, repeating Della Scala's last
words, as he watched him ride away. "An attack on Milan, in less than a
week! You are mad for a woman's silly face--in less than a week I shall
have joined Visconti."
Visconti understood the art of bribery, and knew whom to bribe.
Carrara, only waiting in the hope of it, had caught eagerly at the bait,
and by the returning messenger had agreed to join Visconti and leave
Della Scala shorn of more than half his forces. And Mastino, by his
absence, had made it child's play. As Carrara returned now to his own
tent, thinking and scheming, a captain of mercenaries galloped up.
"The prisoners, my lord, captured by some of Count von Schulembourg's
men, in the scuffle outside Milan yesterday, are being brought into the
camp--is it to you or to him we bring them?"
Carrara fingered his bridle.
"Take them to the castle," he said at last. "I myself will see them
presently."
He glanced over his shoulder at Count Conrad's tent. The embroidered
entrance was closed, the black and yellow eagles fluttered idly over
it--there was no sign of the young German.
The Duke of Padua smiled.
"Are those the prisoners?" he asked, pointing to a little group of
soldiers guarding a few men.
"Yes, my lord. We had almost forced the gates--when a band rushed out
and there was a desperate struggle; we were driven back, and these
fellows, in the heat of victory, followed too far. Then we turned and
had them, and brought them in for ransom. They seemed worth it."
"I will go and view them," said Carrara suddenly, and he cantered his
horse toward the little group.
The noise of the prisoners' arrival was spreading, still there was no
sign of Count Conrad, and again the treacherous Carrara smiled. But in a
moment more the smile had faded. He noticed among the prisoners a face
he surely knew.
Prudence was Giacomo Carrara's ruling quality, and helped him now to
keep his wits.
"That fellow yonder," he said, pointing, "he with the red hair--who is
he? Has he told his quality?"
"'Twas he who led the chase," was the answer, "screaming like a madman.
He is the squire of some nobleman, and gave out he thought we had his
master captive."
Carrara breathed heavily.
"I know something of him, unless I much mistake; a dangerous rogue and
spy--place him apart, well guarded--in a separate compartment. Pinion
him. To-night we will put him to the question."
And again he glanced toward the German's tent. Conrad had not appeared,
and the prisoners wound away out of sight into what was once Barnabas
Visconti's summer residence, and where Barnabas Visconti not long since
had died.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FOR A GAME OF CHESS
The day was wearing into evening when Conrad gave a last look in the
little polished mirror hanging on the tapestried walls of his tent, and
prepared to set out on a tour of inspection, including a visit to
Carrara, who in this moment's interval, he thought, could not have gone
astray.
Della Scala had been gone four hours or more, but to the light-hearted
German it seemed he had only an instant ago turned from his tent.
He had employed the time in writing some verses (in imitation of the
fashionable Petrarch, a production with which he was perfectly
satisfied, and put aside to be fair copied by some one, a better adept
in spelling than himself), in teaching Vittore to dance, and in changing
his doublet.
Count Conrad was very careful of his doublets. He had a great many, and
kept them carefully locked in the large coffer that stood at the head of
his tent bed.
The one he donned to-day was elegant in the extreme; peacock purple over
an under garment of rose, curiously slashed with cream. Vittore, who had
become his page, was silent at the magnificence.
Conrad sighed as he smoothed the ruffles at his wrists to think that it
might not be the latest mode. He felt far from civilization, though only
twice seven miles outside Milan, and secretly regretted that Valentine
Visconti had ever dazzled him into the imprudence of losing her
brother's favor and with it the joys of a splendid court. Still he had
exquisite leathern shoes with points a yard long, caught up and fastened
by a chain to his knee; also a cap, garnished with a ruby and a curling
feather, and, taking it from Vittore, he stepped out to begin his
espionage of Carrara.
"Vittore, follow me," he said. "I have it in trust to see this
black-browed duke gets into no mischief. Also," he continued, "'tis in
my mind to find Vincenzo. Della Scala was severe this noon. I fear me
the boy has gone to practice sword-play."
The camp was quiet and tranquil. It struck Conrad, however, that many of
Carrara's men were engaged with their horses and in packing the wagons;
but carried on so openly, in broad daylight, it aroused no suspicions on
the part of the easy Von Schulembourg, who made toward Carrara's tent,
singing gayly.
The air was heavy, the sky black about the horizon.
"There will be a storm to-night, Vittore. Let me see, art thou afraid of
thunder?" and as he spoke, the Count passed without ceremony into
Carrara's tent.
The Duke was there, but not expecting Conrad, and as he raised his eyes
at his sudden entrance, his look would have struck any save the
light-hearted fop as strained and anxious; but the German had personally
no doubt of Carrara, and the Duke's ready smile deceived him utterly.
"So your men move to-night, my lord?" he said. "The Prince never
mentioned it to me."
"It was a final resolve," answered Carrara. "I have my orders here," and
he tapped a parchment beside him.
"Ah!" Conrad never even took the parchment up, but glanced through the
opening of the tent at the threatening sky. "You move nearer Milan, of
course?"
Giacomo kept his black eyes on the floor.
"Nearer Milan," he replied. "Yes; but we do not break camp until the
morning, Count. You and the rest remain here to join the Prince."
Carrara looked also out into the thunder-laden air, but not at the
sky--at the castle, frowning black above the encampment.
"An officer of mine," said Conrad carelessly, "said something to me of
some prisoners."
"Yonder at the castle, Count. Will you question them with me?" asked
Giacomo smoothly.
"Question them!" laughed the Count. "You may have that task, my
lord!--and I shall know then where you are," he added under his breath.
Carrara kept his eyes down, lest even Conrad should see the excitement
in them.
"Possibly even I may not question them to-night, Count," he returned
with a smile. "I intend to rest now, as we march at dawn."
Conrad rose, with a pleasant feeling of having done his duty, though in
his heart a little annoyed that Della Scala had not trusted him with the
movement of the army.
"The thought of his wife has made him crazy," he said to himself.
"Giving Giacomo credit for treachery, still he entrusts him with orders
he withholds even the knowledge of from me." And leaving Carrara, he
went in search of Vincenzo.
Giacomo sat silent till the Count's laughter had died away in the
distance, then rose with a passionate exclamation at his own luck and
Mastino's blindness.
Without a question the Count (left in trust, Carrara knew as plainly as
if he had been told) had swallowed his lies, and left him to do as he
pleased while he reveled with Vincenzo d'Este. Seeking the entrance once
more, Carrara looked out into the heavy evening.
In that great castle Visconti was a prisoner.
Though with his own eyes he had seen Gian Visconti bound between the
soldiers, he could not rest for his impatience to see him again and have
it confirmed before any other eyes should recognize this rare prize.
To-night Carrara's army was to desert to Milan. That had been already
arranged with Visconti's disguised messenger. It should still desert,
but Visconti was now a prisoner, his life in Carrara's hands--there must
be slightly other terms between them.
To be in a position to dictate to such a man! Giacomo stood in the
gathering dusk, waiting for the dark, his eyes on the castle that held
Gian Galeazzo Maria Visconti, Duke of Milan--a prisoner.
* * * * *
"The storm nears: how hot, good St. Hubert, how hot!" And Conrad tossed
the damp curls back from his forehead. The entrance of his tent was
flung open to admit what little air there might be, showing to the
soldiers without Conrad and Vincenzo bending over a game of chess; on a
table near were flasks of wine and elegant glasses; along the floor
Vittore lay, half in a heavy sleep.
The tent was lit by jeweled lamps, and by their dull light Vincenzo's
beauty shone with an almost unearthly brilliancy. He was clothed in
white, his thick black hair falling about his shoulders.
Evidently Mastino's reproof was already forgotten. He leaned forward
with flushed cheeks and parted lips, eager and intent on a victory at
chess; war and the price of it far from his thoughts.
"Hark!" said Conrad. "Thunder!"
A low rumble filled the tent, d'Este took no heed.
"I take thy knight," he said, "it ruins thee."
Conrad laughed, he did not take the game so seriously.
"I will visit Carrara," he said, rising, "and go the rounds."
"Thou wilt finish the game," said Vincenzo angrily. "Does it pall the
moment thou failest to win?"
"My faith, I fail when it palls. But doubtless thou wilt win yet, if
thou dost not grow too hot," and Conrad fanned the boy with the points
of his sleeves.
Vincenzo's lustrous eyes flashed.
"Doubtless I shall, Count," he drew from his finger an emerald ring,
"and I will stake this on it."
He dropped it on the table with a rattle, and Conrad was animated at
once.
"And I this," he cried, "my forfeit if the game is not mine in four
moves!"
He placed his pearl thumb-ring beside Vincenzo's emerald.
"Four moves!" cried Vincenzo scornfully, and leaned back with shining
eyes. Conrad reached for the glasses with a glance of good humor at the
dozing page.
"A night from the infernal regions!" he said, as he poured out the wine.
"How does Visconti feel to-night? Methinks some kinsfolk of his from
below are abroad."
Vincenzo emptied his glass and moved.
Conrad emptied his and counter-moved. "I hope thy emerald was not a
lady's gift," he laughed.
Vincenzo bit his lip, reflected long, and moved again.
Conrad turned to the slender flasks and lifted them, one after the
other; empty all.
"Vittore!" he called. "Vittore!"
The boy rose, rubbing his eyes, half-dazed.
"Bring us more wine, Vittore." Conrad turned to the board again and
laughed at Vincenzo's intent face. "My move," he said; his plump hand
hesitated scarcely a breath. "Check, Messer Vincenzo."
"This is no light to play by," cried Vincenzo, and in annoyance he moved
with too little thought.
Conrad waited provokingly till fresh wine had been brought and drunk,
patted Vittore's head, and turned to the game again.
"Mate, Messer Vincenzo, in three moves." And he leaned back with the
calm air of a conqueror.
Vincenzo rose in a passion, dashing his glass to the ground.
"I question thy fair play," he cried.
"And I thy discretion," returned the Count, and his eyes were suddenly
wrathful. "Thou art a child, and canst not play; and so like a child cry
out: 'You cheat.'"
"I said no word of cheating," returned Vincenzo. "Is the accusation one
you are accustomed to, Count Conrad?"
Conrad crimsoned. "Play another time with thy equals, boy, and take
better care not to insult thy betters!"
"Betters!" And Vincenzo laughed in reckless scorn, his hand on his
toy-like dagger. "A d'Este demeans himself to play with thee--thou
German upstart!"
But Conrad was to be moved no more. With a smile more provoking than any
reply he picked up the rings and slipped them on his finger.
But Vincenzo, hot-tempered and passionate, sprang forward with boyish
passion.
"Thou shalt not have the emerald," he cried.
"Must I fight for it?" smiled Conrad, and glanced at Vincenzo's little
dagger. "The emerald seems worth it--only I should be afraid of hurting
thee." And as he spoke he poured out more wine, drinking it gracefully.
"I will fight only with an equal," said Vincenzo.
Conrad turned on him, and for all his smile his blue eyes were dark.
"Thou reckless boy!" he said. "The Germans are the lords of Italy. What
is thy family but a fief to the Emperor?"
Vittore had watched the scene in terror. Tomaso had let him know Della
Scala had left Schulembourg in trust, and he felt his master was hardly
acting as the Duke had meant. In childlike fashion, eager to stop the
quarrel, he spoke his thoughts.
"My lord," he said, "shall I not accompany you to the Duke of Padua's
tent, as the Prince commanded?"
"Commanded!" cried Vincenzo, catching at the words. "Aye, Count Conrad,
remember my brother's commands!"
"I remember none," returned the Count haughtily. "What dost thou mean,
boy?"
But Vittore lost his courage under the angry glance.
"Only, my lord, what you said," he stammered, "about keeping watch upon
the Duke of Padua."
"So you were left as a spy?" sneered Vincenzo, "is that it? Make haste,
Count Conrad, hurry to Carrara's tent as you were told, and see what he
is doing."
Conrad, flushed with wine, allowed the boyish sneer to goad him into
fury.
"I play the spy at no one's bidding," he said. "I do not leave my tent
to-night." And he flung himself on the couch.
"But what did the Duke order? It will go ill with you when he hears of
disobedience," sneered Vincenzo.
"Let it go well or ill, I will not leave my tent to-night on any errand,
save I choose." And Count Conrad's words were heard by another than
Vincenzo and Vittore, Giacomo Carrara, who listened outside.
The storm-wind was beginning to howl and the rain to fall in heavy
drops, but the Duke of Padua only thanked his good fortune for such
propitious weather, as he turned away and made rapidly toward the castle
to question the prisoners.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE TERRORS OF THE NIGHT
The storm had risen, the low whispering of the wind, the distant rumbles
of the thunder, gathering unheeded, burst suddenly into a tempest.
Its very fury spoke it brief, yet many cowered and shrank before it, as
if its termination must be the termination of the world. And to no one
did it strike more fear than to the solitary prisoner in the castle of
Brescia--Gian Visconti. In obedience to Carrara's orders, he had been
placed in a separate chamber, as far from the other prisoners as space
allowed. His chamber was a circular, vault-like space, once serving as
antechamber to a gloomy suite of rooms beyond, in which Barnabas
Visconti had chosen to beguile the summer heat. The doors of this suite
were locked; Gian Visconti himself had locked them, when he and his
father last came there together. This vault-like room was high and
ill-lit, and, in the blackness of the storm, pitch dark. Visconti sat
underneath one of the windows, whither he had dragged the wooden stool,
the sole furniture the place contained; his face was buried in his
hands, and he writhed in horror.
The wind howled and tore at the locked doors, making them creak and
groan; the thunder shook the building; and at every fresh convulsion
Visconti shrieked aloud in unison.
The lightning, flashing blue through the crevices, seemed to play about
that inner door, and he cowered from the sight, and bit at his fingers
in a fierce endeavor to resist the madness seizing him.