in that ponderous door, and ridden from the deed he had done, shouting
through the midnight. He thought then never to return, and here he was,
thrust in alone, and his madness on him. Visconti staggered from his
seat, groping blindly.
The blackness seemed to whirl with faces and clutching, tearing fingers;
he knew not where he was--he could see nothing--blackness and
space--seemingly unbounded.
Another flash revealed to him that he had drawn near that inner door--in
the instant it was visible; it seemed to open and shut--quickly.
Visconti fell back against the wall, and wrestled with his terrors as if
they were some living thing, and again with savage teeth he bit into his
flesh.
But the floor was opening beneath him, opening into gulfs deep and still
deeper, bottomless.
"I am mad!" said Visconti, and shrieked and howled with the storm. It
did not help him; he heard hurrying feet through all the alarm of the
tempest, hurrying to him behind that locked door. Let him not look, for
what he feared to see the dark could not conceal--and now they were at
the door, and now they were fitting a key.
"Keep away!" he yelled.
Then he stood, hushed, with bated breath, eyes starting into the
blackness, listening. And through the dark he heard the creaking and
twisting of the key, the slow opening of a heavy door, the groaning of
the hinges as it opened, slowly.
The wind howled in a wild gust, and suddenly through the narrow window
there showed the black sky torn in two by the lightning flash. As it
circled the chamber, Visconti raised his head--the door was open. And
through the opening two faces peered--they were not human
faces--Visconti knew them when they were.
Utter blackness followed upon the vivid flash, and the thunder crashed
and rolled, and at last the rain came with a mighty roar.
"I am in hell!" yelled Visconti. "I am dead, and in hell!" And maniac
shrieks rose. He dragged himself to the narrow slit that made the
window, and some of the heavy rain-drops were dashed in upon his face.
"I am alive!" he cried, "alive! It does not rain in hell!" He dropped,
and lay prone along the ground. After awhile he rose, and began groping
for the outer door.
The walls seemed to rock and twist, but on his face and hand was the
cold splash of the rain, and Visconti kept a hold upon his self-control,
saying between his teeth: "A light; if I can get a light."
He found the door, and struck upon it with the fury of madness.
There was no response: Again he struck and shouted. The worst had gone
by, but only to leave his thoughts centered on one idea: to see a human
face and in the light.
Suddenly, in the midst of his blows, the door opened, showing a
glimmering light, and in the entrance the figure of a soldier, who
looked fearfully around the chamber.
"I thought it was the fiend himself who called!" he said, and crossed
himself.
Visconti clutched his arm. "It was the fiend," he said. "Legions of
them--the place is haunted! Give me a light!"
The soldier shrank back in horror at his words, at his hardly human
eyes.
"Santa Maria!" he muttered. "I have heard evil tales of this castle,
the storm too is fearful----"
"Give me a light," said Visconti; "give me a light!"
"None of the prisoners have lights--it is forbidden----" began the man,
but Gian Maria cut him short.
"A light, I say!" and he put his blood-marked hand upon the other's
shoulder.
"Thou heardst the fiend scream--and it _was_ the fiend. Wilt thou give
me a light?"
The frightened soldier shrank from him anew.
"Thou art distraught," he cried with a paling face.
Visconti laughed wildly. "Do I not say so? Give me the lantern!" and he
held out his finger, on which there blazed a splendid ring. "Would any
ordinary prisoner wear a ring like this? I tell thee it is a coal from
hell, and I will give it thee--for thy lantern. See, how it shines; try
if it will burn thee to the bone," and he stripped it from his finger,
dropping it on the pavement at the soldier's feet.
"Truly," gasped the soldier, looking at him, "thou art no ordinary man,
and as for thy gems--whether they be coals or no, thou shalt have the
lantern."
He stepped across the threshold as he spoke, a little fearfully, and
placed the lantern in the niche cut to receive it in the wall.
"Thou wilt be getting it down and firing thyself with it," he remarked.
"For thou art clean distraught, methinks."
Visconti made no reply, he had noticed that _both_ the inner doors were
shut.
"And as I must answer for thee," continued the soldier, "I will secure
thee with this," and stepping back into the passage, he returned with a
rope and advanced toward the prisoner.
The Duke rose with flashing eyes.
"Remember thou art the devil, messer," said the soldier soothingly,
"and naught can really hold thee."
Visconti felt for the dagger that no longer hung by his side, then
showed the soldier his fingers, red and still bleeding.
"The teeth that met there can meet in thine," he snarled, and his eyes
were like a wolf's.
The soldier stepped back, then with a sudden thought pointed to the
light.
"Stay unbound then, and I will take that away again," he said, and again
advanced.
Visconti suffered his arms to be bound together at the elbows, nor did
he seem to heed when the soldier left him, and the great door fell to
once more in silence.
The storm had sobbed itself away, leaving only the steady patter of the
rain. The chamber had light, and the sight of a human face had restored
Visconti.
Once more he felt his hold on life and on reality, and he turned from
that closed door with its superstitious horror to face real terror and a
staggering mischance.
Milan! he had left Milan in an hour of need--and with no one to check
Valentine. Only within the last few weeks had he known what she was
capable of. What might she not attempt once she realized his absence?
Giannotto too, and the Duke d'Orleans! What of their sincerity? He had
left not one man within the city whom he could trust implicitly.
Then he considered his own plight. Clearly they did not know him; none
the less they had him. He ground his teeth at the thought of Della
Scala's triumph.
His art of bribery occurred to him, and he remembered with a savage
vexation how he had flung a jewel to his jailer for a light: A jewel
that might have purchased freedom. Still, it was in his madness; he
might be thankful he had not shouted aloud his name--and his crimes.
Suddenly, with a start of recollection, it occurred to him anew that he
had been placed apart. Then Carrara _had_ recognized him. The cords
around Visconti's arms began now to torture him: he was weak from lack
of food and mad excitement. Thoughts of Carrara vanished. He saw the
face of the girl on whose account he had risked his dukedom.
"Graziosa!" he cried, but the face looked at him unseeingly. "You know
me!" as if in appeal. "Graziosa, you know me!" The face suddenly
distorted, as if with horror. Visconti shrank from it--and she was gone.
"What frightened her? Those other faces," Visconti whispered to himself,
then roused himself with a harsh laugh. "Will Carrara come?" He fixed
his eyes on the lamp, then on the door. And presently he heard the
subdued bustle of arrival, the great door clang; the ringing answers of
the soldiers; then outside his own door hushed and respectful
voices--the door opened, shut, and Visconti saw his visitor.
A man, black-eyed, florid, richly dressed in velvet, well armed,
unattended, and carrying the castle keys--Giacomo Carrara. He stood in
amazement, and shrank back half-afraid, though the guard had warned him.
"Visconti!" he cried. "What has happened?"
The sickly light of the lantern showed him a white, haggard face, with
wild, bloodshot eyes, the hair hanging lank and damp about its forehead,
the plain doublet gashed and torn, hands and face smeared with blood.
But, at sight of the man he hoped to buy, Visconti's face took on a more
human look.
"You have seen my messenger?"
"Hush!" and Giacomo looked around cautiously. "Yes, I have seen him, and
dispatched my answer."
"My offer suits you?" said Visconti grimly.
"It suited me, Visconti, till just now," returned the other. "It suited
me to such purpose that my men even now await my orders to desert to
Milan."
"Ah!" Visconti said. "And what of it now?" he added, looking around
again, the old subduing spirit in his glance.
"What of it? It shall still be done, only," Carrara smiled, "there is an
unforeseen addition to the bargain. Not only do you need my men,
Visconti; I think, as well, you need your liberty."
"And so the price is higher. Is that what you would say? Unloose my arm.
It shall not be forgotten in the bribe," he sneered.
Carrara advanced and undid the rope in silence. He knew Visconti was
unarmed.
Visconti gasped with relief as the torture was removed.
"And now," he said, taking at once the mastery, "how do matters stand
between us? Be wary; be brief."
Rapidly Giacomo told him how, with the desertion, half Mastino's army
would be gone; how Padua was to be given into the hands of Visconti's
generals, and how Count Conrad played at chess.
Visconti hated the smooth traitor who was waiting to drive a hard
bargain with his necessity--and his freed hand went to his doublet: the
turquoise gloves had not been lost.
"And now, your terms?" he said.
The Duke of Padua hesitated a moment--even with Visconti in his power he
hesitated.
"Those you refused two years ago," he said. "When we warred with Pavia."
Visconti remembered. Two years ago, when he had been by half not so
great as he stood now, he had refused them in scorn--they meant half his
dominions--they would place Carrara on a level with himself.
"Well?" he said, "and if I refuse?"
"A prisoner does not refuse--his liberty," smiled Giacomo. He could
afford to smile.
Visconti controlled himself.
"And if I accept--you take my word, all I have to give--a prisoner's
word?"
"A Visconti's word," corrected Carrara. "Nay, lord, I think I shall need
more than that."
"What more can I give?" he asked. "You waste the time, Carrara."
Giacomo was playing with the keys in his hand.
"Yourself, Visconti," he returned calmly. "The army only waits for me to
march on Milan, leaving Della Scala stripped of half his force. You will
go with it, Visconti, as my prisoner. My army will conduct you into
Milan--where I shall not leave you till the terms I offer are fulfilled.
Then, Visconti, but not till then, we will together ruin Della Scala."
Visconti was silent.
"Come," continued Carrara, "shall it be so--or will you wait and meet
Della Scala and Count Conrad?"
"I accept your terms," said Gian, and rose to his feet. "I accept,
Carrara."
Giacomo's eyes shone. With trembling fingers he unbuttoned his long
black velvet cloak and flung it on Visconti's shoulders.
"We must hasten; even now the tipsy German may think to visit the
castle." And he selected a key from the bunch in his hand, and advanced
toward the inner door. Visconti started forward, with staring eyes.
"Not that way!" he cried.
Carrara turned in surprise, the key in the lock.
"'Tis the only way, Visconti. Are you thinking we could pass unnoticed,
you and I together?"
Gian, deathly white, sank back obstinately against the wall.
"I will not go that way," he said. "I will not go that way."
"He is in his mad fit again," thought Giacomo; aloud he said soothingly:
"Come, lord, this is the only way; will you rather wait to see Verona's
face when he discovers you? What is wrong with this way?" he added in
vexation as Visconti made no movement. "Quick! the moments fly!"
Gian stepped forward with an effort.
"'Tis my fancy," he said. "Idle, truly, at such a moment. Open the door,
Carrara."
The key ground in the lock--as Visconti had heard it once before that
night turned on the other side.
Carrara paused, however, and having taken the lamp from the niche, put
it down with a smile, and drew a parchment from his belt.
"I had forgotten," he said. "I will leave this, else Verona will miss
the point of the jest; we will tell him what a brave catch his
lieutenant hath allowed to escape the snare." And with the end of his
dagger he drove the paper into the crevice of the stone. "I never loved
Verona," he added, with an evil smile.
But Visconti had not heard, nor was he heeding him; his eyes were
riveted upon the door.
Again Padua raised the lantern above his head.
The glimmering light fell faintly on a dark chamber, and dimly lit a
large black couch from which the tapestry coverlet was half dragged off.
Visconti peered an instant over his rescuer's shoulder eagerly, then
fell back.
"I cannot," he said sullenly. "I will stay and face Della Scala--I
cannot pass that way."
Carrara turned and looked at him keenly.
"What do you know of these chambers, that you are afraid to pass them,
Visconti?" he asked.
"'Tis no matter what I know--I will not pass them," cried Visconti,
fiercely, and clutched at the rough wall as if to keep himself from
being made to enter them even by force. Giacomo looked into the chamber
curiously; the lantern showed only parts of it, and that dimly--an empty
audience chamber, stiff chairs against the wall, the couch, dust on the
floor and shadows in the arras--nothing more; and Carrara turned
impatiently.
"I risk my life for this," he said. "What do you think it will mean,
Visconti, if I am found helping you escape?"
He stepped across the threshold, and flashed the lantern around.
"Nothing!" he laughed over his shoulder. "Nothing," but as he advanced
he paused a moment, and lifted up a corner of the dragged coverlet,
"save that this coverlet is riddled as if with dagger-thrusts," he
added, "and the floor seems stained"--he sank his voice--"with blood."
He looked back at Visconti, standing in the doorway, and with a sudden
fear of him his hand sought his sword.
"Whom did you murder here, Visconti?" he asked, awestruck. "Whoever it
was," he added presently, "I would not lose my life for fear of them,
seeing they are dead."
In a second Visconti was by his side, gripping his arm, and Carrara,
startled, shrank, and kept his hand upon his dagger.
"I do not fear them," whispered Visconti, in his ear. "Nor you."
And he hurried across the chamber, Carrara at his heels.
Room after room they traversed, deserted, gloomy, and unopened since
that night.
"Hurry!" breathed Visconti. "Shall we never see the blessed sky again?"
And snatching the keys, he pushed on, taking every door and turning
with a certainty that showed he knew them well.
"At last!" he cried, as they stepped out into the air.
They were at the back of the castle, on a ledge overhung with ivy, and
overlooking a narrow flight of steps, the masonry half-ruined and
overgrown with flowers.
The storm was over, a few great clouds tore across the sky, but the moon
was clear and serene, the night calm and peaceful.
The cool air blew around Visconti's damp hair, and stirred the dark ivy
leaves, glistening with the rain. Beneath them lay the tents, a large
body of men, half the army, silently and swiftly preparing for flight.
"Some have gone already," said Giacomo. "These wait for me and you,
Visconti: come," and stepping past him he led the way.
There was no one to observe them save Giacomo's men, that he had been
careful to station there; but when they had gained the bottom, and
Carrara would have passed on, Visconti caught at his sleeve and drew him
behind a clump of elder.
"The German!" he whispered, and they waited, breathless.
A soft voice was gayly singing, and the words of the song came clearly
through the night.
"Heinrich was my bosom friend,
White feather and purple cloak:
Now that folly's at an end,
His the flame and mine the smoke!"
"He comes this way," said Carrara. "If he takes to questioning where I
am----"
"If he takes to coming nearer," smiled Visconti, "I shall be obliged
to--kill him."
"We parted for a silken knot,
White feather and purple cloak:
Whose fault it was I have forgot,
His the flame and mine the smoke!"
The last words were lost in a burst of laughter, as Conrad and Vincenzo,
each mounted on a white horse, and attended by an escort with torches,
rode past, back to their tents.
So close they came, that Visconti, with gleaming eyes, leaned forward,
longing to strangle the singer with one of those long curls that hung
around his laughing, careless face.
But Carrara was relieved.
"As long as he does not inquire for me," he said. "But even then my
officers understand."
Visconti smiled grimly; he was to pay for that.
"Now!" he said, and as Conrad's German song and Vincenzo's wild laughter
passed, Visconti and Giacomo stepped out from behind the bushes and
looked after them, the freedom of one secured, the treachery of the
other well-nigh accomplished.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GIACOMO CARRARA'S REWARD
The dawn was breaking, the sky streaked and barred with cold gray light,
and along the winding road to Milan rode the Visconti and Carrara, the
army before them.
It had been accomplished, without demur, openly and completely; behind
them they left the Veronese and Mantuan troops, over whom Giacomo had no
command--and Count Conrad, laughing in his folly.
Quite near to them lay Milan--and Visconti rode in silence, wondering
what had befallen in the city; wondering, and fearing Valentine had
revealed too much of his own spirit; he was afraid of her.
Along the distant horizon the gray walls of the city began to be visible
across the flat plain, and Visconti's eyes lit at sight of his city, and
he turned to Carrara impulsively.
"Give me a sword, Carrara," he said. "'Tis not fitting I should enter
Milan weaponless."
"The Milanese will so rejoice to see you, my lord," returned Padua,
"they will never notice----"
"That I come as a prisoner?" flashed Visconti, but the next moment he
laughed and urged on his horse. "But what care I how, so long as I do
re-enter Milan? Now, with you as my ally, Carrara, I can crush Della
Scala without France or the Empire; and together, as ye say, we will
rule Lombardy."
Carrara rode abreast of him, glancing at him keenly.
"Even now he will try to outwit me," he thought, and resolved he would
not be outdone in cunning for the lack of care.
"How came it you were captured?" he added, "and in this guise?"
"The chances of war," laughed Visconti. "Foolishly I went myself to
defend the gates, and pursued Della Scala's men too far."
But this candor did not deceive Carrara. "Foolish indeed!" he smiled.
"Your hurry excelled your prudence, lord." And he wondered what was the
truth.
"You have cause to thank heaven no one knew you," he continued.
"They were German boors," answered Visconti, "Count Conrad's men, and
there was nothing to tell my degree. Yet, had they looked a little
closer, they might have found one thing that would have told them I was
different from what I seemed--these."
And he drew out of his doublet the turquoise gloves.
Even in that cold, faint light they showed brilliant and beautiful, and
Carrara gazed at them in wonder.
"As I was summoned," continued Visconti, dreamily, "I was looking at
them. Are they not beautiful, Carrara? Two years they took to make, and
cost more than I care to tell. Each turquoise is flawless, and set by
Antonio Fressi himself."
"And is this a gift for some one?" asked Carrara, and he looked keenly
into Visconti's face.
"It was one of my bridal gifts to the Duke d'Orleans. I must honor him,
Carrara, although I love him not," said Visconti simply. "But now I will
offer it to one to whom I owe my life. Take the gloves, a gift from me,
Giacomo." And he turned in the saddle and held them with a winning smile
to Carrara, who, mistrustful, looked at him doubtingly and keenly.
"Thou wilt not refuse my gift?" and Visconti looked at him proudly.
"Let it seal our bargain, Carrara. Take it, for the sake of the goodwill
with which it is offered."
Carrara's ruling quality was prudence, and all Visconti's seeming
guilelessness did not deceive him; still, he hesitated, considering
where the trap lay.
Then, as he glanced down at the gloves, his eyes caught the gleam on the
hilt of his dagger, and a thought struck him.
"He means to make me put them on," he thought, "and snatch the sword
meanwhile"; and he smiled to think Visconti could be so simple.
"Thank thee for thy gift, Visconti, and for the goodwill that offers
it," he said, with an ingenuousness equal to Visconti's, and reaching
out his hand, he took the gloves, meaning to have the gift and outwit
Visconti also.
Gian's manner had lost its gloom and wildness, he seemed light of heart
and in a pleasant mood.
"They are riding-gloves," he cried. "Wear them into Milan, Carrara."
"Ah," thought Giacomo, "I see the plot. Thou wouldst snatch a weapon
while my hands are busy," and, priding himself on his cunning, he deftly
slipped them on his hands, keeping his elbow on his sword-hilt and his
watchful eyes upon Visconti.
"A beautiful dawn," said Gian softly, seeming to take no heed of
Carrara's clever maneuvering; his eyes were fixed on the sunrise behind
Milan. "All pearl and silver, blushing into life anon; about the time
when I shall enter Milan."
And he fixed his eyes on Giacomo with a strange expression.
"When _we_ shall enter Milan," corrected Carrara. "The sun will be
faintly high: these marches are toilsome." And he glanced down proudly
at the beautiful gauntlets on his hands, calculating what the pearls
and turquoises might be worth, picked off, and vain at having outwitted
Visconti.
"The promise of the day!" said Visconti, dreamily and sadly. "Hath it
never struck thee how that promise never is fulfilled? Day after day,
since the world began, something in the mystery of the dawn is
promised--something the sunset smiles to see unfulfilled--something men
have been ever cheated of--something men will never know--the promise of
the dawn!"
The road began now to be fringed with poplars, and in the faint light
the colors of the wayside flowers were visible.
They rode awhile in silence. Carrara looked back at the small rearguard
in the distance, and before him along the road to his army blackening
the plain, and then again at Visconti.
"Either he is always mad or----"
With a sharp exclamation he fell forward on his horse's neck, but
recovered himself instantly. Visconti turned to him, still with that
far-away look in his eyes.
"The road is stony," he said. "Thy horse stumbled?"
"Fool or devil?" Carrara was still wondering, and, looking at Visconti's
face, he almost thought him a fool.
"You and I," cried Visconti, with a sudden change, "together, Carrara!
Lords of Lombardy!"
And he struck his horse into a gallop so unexpectedly that Carrara had
difficulty to keep abreast with him.
"I have been so long away!" he cried. "Haste! I long to be in my city
again. Valentine--and others--will be grieving. Haste!"
And he still urged his horse.
Carrara, galloping at his side, suddenly reeled in the saddle, with a
cry of anguish.
"Faster!" cried Visconti. "Faster!"
With an effort Carrara kept his horse to the pace, but his face was
deathly, his lips set. Visconti never looked at him; his gaze was toward
Milan and the sunrise.
Suddenly Carrara cried aloud. "Not so fast, Visconti, not so fast!"
But Gian flew along the level road.
"Milan!" he cried, "on to Milan!"
Carrara swayed forward to grasp Visconti's cloak, but he shook him off
with a laugh.
"What ails you, Carrara? The army waits, you must ride faster still if
you mean to ride into Milan to-day with me."
But Carrara was clutching at the neck of his doublet with staring eyes.
"My heart!" he gasped. "I suffocate--ah----!"
And he rode on blindly.
"Your heart?" laughed Visconti, drawing rein a little. "Do your
treacheries stop its beating? You suffocate?--Do your lies choke you?"
A cry of mortal agony broke from the unhappy Carrara.
"Stop!" he gasped; "I am--dying--stop----"
Then his glazing eyes fell on the brilliant blue gloves he wore, and he
sat upright with a scream of rage.
"The gloves! the gloves!" And with his remaining strength he tried to
tear them off. "O fool! A Visconti!... I might--have known----"
Frantically he pulled at them, while Visconti, now moving almost at a
walk, looked dreamily ahead at the fast nearing city.
"Fiend!" cried Carrara wildly. "Fiend!"
And he lurched forward, falling heavily onto the road, where he lay,
convulsed, the turquoise gloves still on his hands.
Gian Maria drew rein now, and looked down at him, his face no longer
indifferent, as he looked down into the white and contorted countenance
of the dying man.