hours, the silence and suggestion oppressed her till she could have
screamed--but she had risked too much to retreat.
There was an inlaid bureau, and a coffer beneath it; she opened the
bureau and sought again; rings, daggers, treasures from Della Scala's
collections, uncut gems, powders, scents, rosaries, charms,
missals--only no hint of what she looked for.
On top of the coffer was a roll of drawings, the plans of the new
church, several parchments, petitions, specimens of marble from the new
quarries, carvings, mail gauntlets--Valentine swept them off on to the
floor, and then threw the coffer open.
It was full of clothes--upon the velvet of the topmost mantle lay the
small bunch of master-keys.
Valentine grasped it, and hid it in the little pocket at her side.
She had all she needed now, and was turning in relief to go, when,
struck by another thought, she bent again over the coffer, lifted the
contents out on to the floor.
Visconti's doublets were mostly too splendid for her purpose, but she
seized the plainest, wrapped it in her mantle, snatched one of the
daggers from the table. Then making rapidly through the rifled room,
with a breathless prayer of gratitude for safety, she stealthily pushed
open the door on to the balcony, and saw the sunlight and her page's
eager face.
"Shut the door," she whispered. "Climb up and shut the top bolt."
The boy obeyed.
"No one has been?"
"No, lady; you have been quick."
"Quick!" gasped Valentine. "I thought I had been years."
She unclasped her mantle and gave it to the boy. "Take that back to my
room--say I was too hot--give it to Costanza--she alone is in my
confidence, as thou knowest; let no one stop thee--and listen--by
to-morrow we shall be outside the gates."
The page turned away with her mantle on his arm, and Valentine leaned
against the wall, and with her hand upon her heart, took a moment to
steady herself; then with excited eyes, but even steps, she too walked
slowly along the balcony toward the banqueting hall.
* * * * *
"The Duke has not returned," said de Lana.
He spoke a little anxiously, and looked around at the others who filled
the council chamber, a few nobles, and the principal captains of the
army and the mercenaries who defended Milan.
"Meanwhile, from whom do I take my orders? Who commands in Milan?"
"I cannot answer you, my lord," said Giannotto. "The Duke left no
orders, at least with me."
"The Duke expected not to be gone so long," said Martin della Torre.
"And ill it will be for him if he stays _too_ long."
"Meanwhile," cried de Lana again, "to whom are we to look?"
The two pages announced the Lady Valentine.
The men glanced at one another.
"The Lady Valentine," repeated Giannotto to de Lana. "She may tell us
what to do."
Not that he did not well know what terms of jeopardy she stood on with
the Duke--but it was a shifting of responsibility that he welcomed.
All in the room rose to their feet to greet Valentine.
She was leaning on d'Orleans' arm, Adrian and her women following.
She looked regal, glorious. There was a fine color in her cheeks.
De Lana kissed her hand. She did not wait for him to speak, her eyes
wandered over the assembled faces.
"I have not come before, my lords," she said, "because I thought the
Duke might at any moment be again among us; but now, hearing you were
gathered here and that there was some question of the Duke's pleasure in
his absence as to who should issue orders for him, I am come to answer
it in person."
She drew nearer the head of the table, d'Orleans dropping a step behind.
"My lords, the Duke left me in power; in any absence he may make,
enforced or at his pleasure, I rule in Milan."
"You, lady!" cried Giannotto, the words forced from him in his great
surprise.
"I," answered Valentine. "Though I am no man--I am a Visconti. Has not
the Duke left me in charge before, de Lana?"
She turned to the captain as she spoke.
"In the late war with Florence--yes, lady."
Valentine smiled.
"Still, I need not ask you to believe me on that only--lest any should
be doubtful, I have proofs."
"Methinks they are needed before we take the law from thee, lady," said
Martin della Torre, roughly.
Valentine looked at him. "What is this, Lord della Torre?" she replied.
And she laid Visconti's signet ring and seal upon the table.
Giannotto choked his wonder back.
"Does the Duke give these to any save those he trusts--and these?" She
showed the keys lying on her open hand: the key of the armory, the
treasury, the prisons: the master-keys of the whole palace.
"He gave them to me--when, Adrian?"
"Yesterday morning, lady."
"Yesterday morning. Had he not left too hastily even for speech, he
would have made it public; doubtless he thought you would accept my
word--and these proofs."
There was silence.
"Are you convinced, lords?" asked Valentine.
"I am," said Giannotto, bowing to hide the twinkle in his ugly eyes; and
the others, each according to his fashion, murmured an assent.
"And now I will take upon me my brother's duties," continued Valentine.
"For you, de Lana, I have no commands; only look well to the arming of
the walls, let not my brother say we were idle in his absence; I would
have the soldiers in readiness to guard against a surprise--and
meanwhile I ask your company."
De Lana bowed.
"On a visit to Della Scala's wife. She is a priceless hostage, and ill
would it suit with our safety even if aught befell her."
"You would visit her yourself, lady?"
"Aye, myself, since with me lies the power and so the responsibility,
and I would not shirk it. Lords," she continued generally, "we can do
little else but wait--only hold yourselves in readiness--for the Duke's
sake and the honor and security of Milan!"
She put her hand on d'Orleans' arm again and left the room, followed by
de Lana and Giannotto.
"Now, I had almost forgot, my lord," she said, pausing with a smile. "My
page, his sister and his brother, would leave Milan to-morrow for
Brescia--what for, Adrian? Indeed, I have forgot--but I have the Duke's
permission, and would only ask your countersign upon this passport."
She spread before the captain a parchment bearing Visconti's signature.
"This is no time to be leaving Milan, boy," said de Lana.
"Our father is sore sick at Brescia," returned Adrian. "Dying, my lord."
De Lana smiled.
"A long and dangerous journey to make for a sick father."
"There is money in the matter for these children, and it is my
pleasure," said Valentine.
De Lana bent over the parchment, and affixed his name, and in that
second, Valentine glancing at Giannotto, their eyes met, and the
secretary understood. He had meant to hasten to Visconti's rooms; he
meant now not to. De Lana gave the parchment back, and Valentine handed
it to Adrian.
"And now, Lord d'Orleans, will you come with us to Isotta's prison?"
"Truly," said de Lana, "the lady is as firmly guarded as at any time. I
have looked to that."
"Desperation is a great sharpener of the wits, my lord," smiled
Valentine Visconti. "When life and liberty are at stake, the weakest
will venture--and accomplish much."
"Indeed, I think with the lady," put in Giannotto, "that too much zeal
cannot be shown for anything so near to the Duke's heart as this."
De Lana shrugged.
"We will go, lady."
Half an hour later Giannotto and the captain waited in the guard-room of
Isotta's prison.
Valentine, one of her women and the page, had entered the prison itself.
The Duke's signet had passed through all the formidable barriers. It was
late, almost dark.
"This shows a malice in the lady I do not like," said de Lana. "What
need she to triumph over her brother's victim?"
"She is a Visconti," returned the secretary. "She has something of the
Duke's temper and his strangeness--there may be in it curiosity also."
"Curiosity?"
"To behold for herself if Isotta d'Este be as fair as she is--to spy
into her brother's treatment of his prisoners."
"Have you seen the lady, my lord?"
"I?--never," replied de Lana. "Nor do I greatly care to."
Giannotto made no reply; he felt unusually placid and content. He saw
plainly enough that Valentine was outwitting her brother, and as he
hated the Duke and admired his sister, he would help her with all his
power as long as he ran no risks. Visconti had not left _him_ in
charge--and for asking no untimely questions, Valentine would reward him
well.
With some excitement he awaited her return.
"She is a long time," said de Lana impatiently.
"She has her brother's daring," thought Giannotto. "And yet--she would
hardly dare that--hardly."
The door of Isotta's prison was opened and Valentine came out, followed
by her attendants--dark-cloaked figures keeping in the shadow. Adrian
closed and bolted the door behind them as she slowly stepped down into
the room.
"The prisoner is sick," said Valentine. "Not dangerously so, I hope; we
would not have her die in my brother's absence. She has fallen asleep
and must not be disturbed. Where is her woman?"
Luisa shuffled forward.
"You will not rouse your prisoner until my return with a physician," she
continued. "She sleeps. I will return or send; till then let no one
pass those doors, nor you yourself."
The page and Valentine's two women still stood on the steps in the
shadow.
"Come," said Valentine suddenly. "Much as I am relieved to see my
brother's hostage in such security, this is gloomy dark--come,
Costanza."
The two ladies moved forward, one weeping sadly, keeping her hands to
and fro her face.
"The poor lady hath unnerved her," said Valentine with a sharp word of
reproof, and she crossed to d'Orleans.
"Now it seems to me," said de Lana to Giannotto, "that only one lady
entered with the Princess."
"Your eyes deceived you," smiled Giannotto. "I am trained to watch; I
saw two enter." De Lana was silent. The two ladies had joined the few
others left by the outer door, the soldier kept his eyes upon the one
who wept.
Valentine was talking gayly to d'Orleans, and led the way across the
garden. "On your life I charge you to guard the prisoner," she said to
the captain and the soldiers. "She means more to the Duke than his own
life almost--more most certainly than any other," she added meaningly.
De Lana, watching keenly, still kept his eyes, as they crossed the
garden, upon that second lady, who puzzled him, and with a soldier's
indiscretion he whispered his fears to Giannotto.
"My Lady Valentine," said the secretary smiling, "my lord here thinks
you entered the prison with one lady and came out with two!"
Valentine laughed.
"And who, think you, was my second woman, then, lord? Isotta d'Este?
Nay, I will satisfy you."
"Indeed, lady," began de Lana hastily, but Valentine cut him short.
"Come here, Costanza."
The girl came forward.
"Now hold the torch higher, Adrian," laughed Valentine.
The light fell on Costanza's face.
"Is that Isotta d'Este, Giannotto?" she asked.
"Nay," smiled the secretary.
"Now, Giuletta, come hither thou," said Valentine. The other lady
stepped forward and threw back her hood.
"Now, my lord, Giannotto shall satisfy you--is this Isotta d'Este?"
The secretary did not flinch.
"My lord," he said, "you must know Della Scala's wife well enough, if by
hearsay only. Look yourself. This is not she."
They moved on again, de Lana uneasily convinced.
"Ma foi," said the silent d'Orleans suddenly. "It is growing very damp.
These Italian nights are most unhealthy." And so they passed into the
palace.
That night a light tap was heard by Giannotto, sitting in his room, and
Adrian entered and put two emerald earrings and a bag of ducats on the
table.
"For the lapse of memory," he whispered, and went as softly and as
swiftly as he had come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE DUKE'S RETURN
Having succeeded so far, Valentine had little fear; it was now an almost
easy matter for her to accomplish the remainder of her plan.
She had the palace keys in her possession, and they unlocked secret
doors, and more than one hidden entry and private way, entries and ways
she knew well, and yet otherwise could not have used.
Soon after that dawn that saw Carrara fall by the wayside, Isotta d'Este
and Valentine slipped from the palace; aided by Costanza, and joined by
Adrian in the long gallery, they passed through the secret door that led
through winding passages to the old part of the building, and thence by
another entrance almost beneath the walls themselves.
Valentine wore a page's suit, her upper lip darkened, a heavy cloak,
with a hood such as was worn in traveling, drawn about her, and by her
side Visconti's dagger.
Despite her anxiety, her passionate desire to frustrate her brother's
tyranny, her wild eagerness to be free and outside Milan, Valentine
almost enjoyed the part that she was playing; she swaggered more than
Adrian, and looked with some scorn on the weakness of Mastino's wife,
who wept with her happiness.
The thought of Gian's rage and discomfiture was very sweet to Valentine,
almost as sweet as the thought of Conrad in Della Scala's camp, and the
happy life of freedom coming.
Rapidly they traversed the narrow street that led to the gate,
Valentine erect and joyful, Isotta leaning on her arm, happy too, with a
deeper happiness, but faint and bewildered from her long imprisonment,
nervous and fearful of every sound.
Behind them strode Adrian, with eager eyes and swelling heart--the Lady
Valentine had smiled on him!
But the lady's thoughts were not on the page. With every step to
freedom, Count Conrad's blue eyes and merry laugh rose before her the
more clearly, and she remembered that last time she had essayed escape,
and he had near given her, for all he knew, his life. He was in Della
Scala's camp.
But, hasten as she might, Isotta dragged her on yet faster. Her
eagerness was pitiful to see; Valentine looked down at her white face
and trembling lips, and with a sudden impulse stooped and kissed her.
It was still so early that the streets were empty, save at the gate
where soldiers clustered, but they took small heed, for the three looked
no unusual figures.
"Now the passports," whispered Valentine. "Adrian must show them, but do
ye stand ready, Isotta, to answer if they question. I dare not, lest
they know my face. Remember, Adrian, an escort meets us half a league
away, and 'tis a quiet village that we travel to."
Isotta d'Este steadied herself against the wall, and grasping
Valentine's hand, followed Adrian toward the soldiers on guard.
"Stand to thy part now, Adrian," said Valentine; "remember 'tis our
lives."
A growing knot of men stood outside the guard-room; there seemed to be
some great excitement; ringing orders, loud talk, increasing bustle. No
one took heed of the three, nor even noticed them, and only after a
delay at which Isotta's heart sickened could Adrian find an officer to
whom to show the passports.
He glanced them over hastily. "They seem to be in order," he said, then
suddenly turned to the woman of the three:
"What do ye do leaving Milan, mistress, when the country is in arms,
with no escort save two boys?"
She hesitated, and Valentine stepped forward quietly.
"Our father is sick," she said, "and 'tis a pressing question of
inheritance. Our kinsfolk promise us an escort."
The officer shrugged his shoulders.
"'Tis your own lives," he said. "Later in the day ye can go. Not now.
There is an army coming, and the Duke in front of it."
Valentine stood still and calm.
"Our father is very ill," she said: "if we are not in time, we may be
beggared. Our passports were signed by the Duke himself. We demand to
go."
But the officer had hardly heard her. A fresh detachment of soldiers had
ridden up, and the man's thoughts and eyes were engaged in half a dozen
places.
Half mad, Isotta sprang forward, shaking off Valentine's restraining
hand.
"We must pass, we must through this moment," she cried. "Let us through,
and we'll make it worth thy while."
At the eagerness of her tone the officer turned, surprised.
"Ye are very anxious," he said.
"For the love of Heaven, a matter of life or death!" said Isotta, and in
her despair she would have knelt, only Valentine dragged her back beside
her.
"It is very serious," she said. "After the Duke has entered, we may
leave?" she asked. "Indeed, ye cannot stay us."
"Aye, leave after the Duke has entered, but now, clear yourself away;
my lord comes apace, some allies with him----" and with a wave of his
halberd he swept them back.
Valentine flushed at his tone, yet drew back, her hand on the page's
shoulder.
But Isotta struggled free and again rushed forward.
"I will pass!" she cried wildly. "I will! I have not got so far to be
stopped now!"
"Oh! thy madness!" murmured Valentine.
But Isotta had rushed to the very gate itself, and was only forced back
by the pikes at her breast.
The officer looked at the group with mistrust.
"What is this?" he said. "What means this passion?"
"She is half distraught," said Valentine. "Beggary is no small matter,
messer. We will be quiet, though, I promise you, until the Duke is
past----" And to Isotta at her side she whispered, holding her hand
tight, "Thou wilt ruin all; control thyself."
But the unfortunate Isotta was calm enough now; she followed Valentine
without resistance.
And now Carrara's army had reached the gates, and fell back to await
Visconti. The whole city was in tumult, the streets filling with excited
people; there was mad shouting, the clash of arms. "A Visconti! a
Visconti!"
"We shall be crushed to death," said Adrian. "I must find you shelter,
lady," and he looked around eagerly.
"The Duke--the Duke!" and the great gates began to open.
"It is useless!" cried Valentine, "and as well die this way as another."
"There is a door here," said Isotta; and turning with difficulty, they
saw indeed a door, deep set in the wall and closely shut.
In desperation, Adrian knocked loudly. "A Visconti!" shouted the
soldiers. "A Visconti!"
They were fast being hemmed in by the crowd, soldiers were pouring
through the gates in companies, strange soldiers, the new allies; and as
Valentine beheld them in strength and numbers, and heard them shout her
brother's name, she felt her last desperate throw was lost.
"A Visconti!"
"Knock on the door again," cried Isotta, "knock again."
Cavalry was passing, going at a trot, so close, the hoofs were almost in
their faces, the foam flew over their mantles.
Then in wild confusion they pressed back against the door; passing
close, a host of pennons waved from glittering spears, the tossing of
horses' heads, the champing of their bits, a clamor of noises, deafening
shouts, a hurry of the cavalcade, and then--suddenly a horse drawn up
close to the shrinking group in the shadow of the doorway, and a rider
looking down at them.
Wild with terror, Isotta flung herself against the door, which yielded.
Valentine looked up at the man who had stopped--saw her brother's face.
"Ah, my sister," he said between his teeth; and Valentine, scarce
knowing what she did, fled after Isotta, the page behind, closing the
door upon Visconti.
In the pleasant courtyard was a girl, dressed in scarlet, who rose,
surprised at their disordered aspect.
"'Tis only a moment gained," cried Valentine, hoarsely. "He will
follow!"
Isotta turned to Graziosa in an agony. "For the love of Heaven hide
us--for the love of Heaven, from Visconti!"
"Hide us!" said Valentine bitterly. "Hide us from Visconti!"
And Graziosa thought of the secret passage.
"I will help you," she said. "I and my father do not love Visconti----"
"Quick, maiden," cried the page. "I see the spears are motionless
outside. I will guard the door."
"They will kill thee," cried Isotta. "Thou art too young."
But Valentine turned to the boy and gave him her beautiful hand. "Guard
the door, gain us a moment, Adrian--for me," she said, and hurried
across the sunny courtyard, followed by Graziosa and Isotta.
"For me!" repeated Adrian, and set himself before the door proudly, with
flashing eyes and dagger drawn. He was only a boy, a page, she a
princess, but he could set his life against her smile, and think himself
well paid.
Graziosa, panting with excitement, hurried them into the house, and into
the lower room from which the secret passage opened. The pleasant little
home was still half dismantled from the recent attack of the Germans,
the neat trimness of the cool chambers gone.
At their entrance Agnolo came forward in alarm, but at his daughter's
hurried explanation, turned willingly to the secret door he kept well
concealed. For the little painter took no thought of what it must mean
to shelter any from Visconti's wrath.
"Quick!" cried Valentine imperiously. "How long can one page keep that
door?"
"The poor boy!" moaned Isotta, hanging half lifeless upon Valentine's
arm. "Unhappy boy--they will kill him!"
Valentine looked at her with scorn.
"Canst thou think of a page now?" she cried. "Think of Della Scala.
Quick!"
But the door would not yield, and while Agnolo struggled with the
spring, a crash was heard, a cry, the ring of armor and the tramp of
feet.
"The door is down," said Valentine. "We are lost."
"I cannot move the spring," cried Agnolo.
"Quick! quick!" shrieked Graziosa, but even as she spoke, the chamber
door burst open and a man stepped in; there were others at his heels,
but he entered alone.
Agnolo, starting back, dropped his concealments into place and trembled
for his secret and these poor folk who had not escaped Visconti.
The man who entered was in black, it was all that could be seen in the
dark, disordered chamber, but Valentine needed no light to tell her who
it was. Isotta sank to the ground, shrieking wildly.
"Oh, father, father!" cried Graziosa, agonized, "save them!"
The newcomer laid his hand on Valentine's shoulder, she standing calm
and erect, and turned his face to Graziosa.
"From me?" he said, and his voice was very sweet. "From me, Graziosa?"
"Ambrogio! Ambrogio!" cried the girl. "What do _you_ here?"
Valentine would have spoken scornfully, but Visconti turned his eyes on
her, and she dared not. The courtyard was full of armed men.
"Ambrogio!" repeated the painter in dismay. "What does this mean?"
Visconti laughed pleasantly, but his hand tightened on his sister's
shoulder.
"It means, thy daughter hath found a lover worthy of her in Visconti."
Visconti! As in a flash the little painter saw explained a thousand
things that had perplexed him. Visconti! His quickly working brain had
grasped it and summed it up before Graziosa could even realize she
heard aright. She stared there silent, with a piteous look upon her
face. Visconti turned to his prisoners.
"Take Isotta d'Este back to her prison," he said, curtly, and a group of
soldiers advanced.
Isotta clung to Valentine in an agony.
"At last!" said Visconti, in her ear, "at last thy calm fails thee!"
And then he stood aside watching, while she implored in turn Valentine
and Agnolo to save her, in incoherent words of anguish.
"I cannot bear it!" she cried. "I have borne it too long! O God, have
pity on me! Have pity on me, I have not the courage to face it again. I
have not the courage!"
Visconti turned to her in a savage triumph of hate he scarcely troubled
to conceal.
"Find thy courage again, where thou found'st it before," he said. "Thy
husband is not dead, although he leaves thee to pine in prison. He may
remember thee even yet."
Isotta sprang up at the taunt, wild-eyed.
"Keep thy face away from me!" she shrieked. "Ye have slain him! Kill me
too!"
Then, seeing resistance useless, and those who would have saved her
helpless, Della Scala's unhappy wife surrendered quietly; only, as she
crossed the courtyard with her guard, and saw the tree-tops wave above
the walls and the sky that was outside Milan, a cry rose that made the
hardened soldiers wince.
"Mastino! Oh, Mastino!"
Visconti watched her out of sight, then turned again to Graziosa, his
hand still on his sister's shoulder.
"Graziosa," he murmured.
But the girl made no answer; she was huddled on the bench that ran
along the wall, looking out with frightened eyes.
As he spoke she shuddered, and crouched closer to the wall.
But Agnolo answered, and Visconti, serene in his pride, did not notice
the painter's tone.