submissively. "For our mission, Prince, is secret."
"He is my friend," said Mastino, shortly. "And now these terms of
peace?"
"The Duke is weary of the war," said de Lana. "He hath powerful allies,
my lord."
"And the choice of means to crush me," interposed Mastino, his bright
eyes fell on the speaker, "are in his hands, you would say? Perhaps; and
yet, messer, I ask for no quarter from Gian Visconti." De Lana bowed.
"Nor could he offer it, my noble lord; only terms as between equals."
Mastino smiled bitterly.
"That is generous in Gian Visconti, seeing we are not--equals."
Giannotto wished the Duke could have heard both words and tone.
Visconti's birth was a sore point with him. The secretary wondered if
there might be found a safe way of repeating them. De Lana flushed a
little under Mastino's steady gaze and quiet scorn of the master who had
sent him.
"The Duke of Milan sends by us this," he said, and laid the parchment
before Mastino. "These are his terms, my lord."
But Della Scala did not drop his eyes to it.
"What are these terms?" he said.
"They are set forth there, my lord," began Giannotto.
"So you have forgotten what they are, or did Visconti not tell you?" and
Della Scala handed the roll to the secretary. "When you have read it,
tell me what Gian Visconti says."
He leaned back, his eyes still on them.
Giannotto bit his lips in vexation.
"Spare Visconti's loving greetings. To the point, in a few words,"
continued Della Scala, as the secretary still hesitated.
"Then, my lord, this: the Duke of Milan will leave you Verona, where you
may rule under his protection, provided you now put into his hands every
other town you or your allies now, singly or together, hold."
Mastino flushed and half rose.
"Gian Visconti might have spared these insults," he said sternly, "and
you yourself the relating of them. When have I so shown myself such that
your master should think I could betray Lombardy to keep one town? Get
back, I have no answer save I have left you your lives."
De Lana fingered the parchment nervously.
"That is not all, my lord," he began, and stopped suddenly. "I cannot
say it," he murmured to Giannotto.
Della Scala beat his feet upon the floor impatiently.
"Do you think I am afraid to hear?" he said. "Still, it may be spared. I
see, Gian Visconti's spirit is not peace but insult. On no terms will I
treat with him."
"On no terms?" repeated Giannotto.
"On no terms of insult," said Mastino coldly. "I favor Visconti too much
in listening so long. Leave me and take your lives back for answer."
"Better listen, perchance, my lord, before refusing," said Giannotto.
"It is the Duke's interest to offer you these terms; methinks it will be
no less yours to at least consider them."
De Lana stood silent, his eyes upon the ground. After this, give him
plain soldiering.
"What plot has Visconti hatched now?" asked Della Scala. "What more has
he to say?"
Giannotto's pale eyes twinkled unpleasantly.
"Only this: Visconti bids me tell Della Scala, Duke of Verona, that if
he refuse his terms we take them instantly to my Lord of Este; also he
bids me remind my Lord Della Scala that he hold the Duchess of Verona,
my lord's dear wife."
Ligozzi drew a deep breath and looked at Della Scala; he had not quite
expected this.
But Della Scala rose with a white face and stared at the two
ambassadors, incredulous.
"Surely even Visconti will not use that against me?" he said.
"Visconti must have the towns; Visconti holds your wife. The rest is for
you to reflect upon, my lord: or, since you refuse all terms, we will
take them to my Lord of Este. Perhaps he will give up the towns and save
his daughter." And Giannotto turned toward the entrance.
"Stay!" cried Mastino, in an agony. "Stay! your terms again----"
He dropped back into his seat with wild eyes on Giannotto. All his calm
had fled, his pride was cowed: the secretary noted it, well pleased, but
De Lana shrank from his changed look.
"This is what Visconti offers, my lord," repeated the secretary
smoothly: "Give up all the cities, forts, and soldiers under your
command, and the Duke forthwith makes an honorable return to you of the
Duchess he holds captive, giving you leave to hold Verona under fief to
him, doing yearly homage for it--he garrisoning it. If, however, my
lord, you refuse----"
"If I refuse?" cried Della Scala, leaning forward. "If I refuse?"
"Visconti's prisons are unwholesome; for some weeks the Duchess has
pined; it is feared, without instant liberty----"
Giannotto paused a moment, and lightly shrugged his shoulders.
"In a word, my lord, if you refuse--the Duchess dies."
A terrible silence fell, no one moved or spoke, the lazy flapping of the
tent struggling on its cords was the only sound. Della Scala sat rigid,
looking at Giannotto, all power of thought struck out of him.
"Shall we take these terms to d'Este--shall we offer him his daughter
for his towns?" said Giannotto softly.
D'Este! D'Este was not the man to place his daughter before his
states--Mastino knew it; Visconti knew it.
"No! no!" he cried, with sudden vehemence, "I will."
He put his hand to his forehead with a dazed expression and whispered
something to himself.
Ligozzi, standing erect behind his chair, touched him gently on the
shoulder.
"Send them away, my lord," he whispered. "Let them not remain here--send
them away."
"With a refusal?"
Della Scala lifted his white face. "With a refusal?" he muttered
stupidly.
"With what else?" said Giorgio firmly. "With what else?"
Giannotto moved a little nearer and spoke with a sickly smile.
"Our answer may wait. The Duke of Milan gives a day in which my Lord of
Verona may decide upon his answer."
"Give them their answer now," whispered Ligozzi, eagerly. "Do not let
them imagine for one moment that you hesitate."
Mastino did not heed him; he sat as if frozen.
"Leave me to--" the words died on his lips. "Leave me--to answer--I will
give you my answer--anon."
De Lana and Giannotto moved in silence to the far end of the tent.
"Visconti is a fiend," said de Lana, with a gesture of revolt. "Santa
Maria, I wish I had never seen this Della Scala. His face will haunt
me."
Giannotto smiled.
"Thou hast not been in Visconti's service long," he said, "and what have
these things to do with us?"
"But this is inhuman," returned de Lana. "Della Scala hath a winning
face. I might have been a better man if I had sold my sword to him."
"This way, messers," said Ligozzi. "I will come to you presently." And
the flap of the tent fell-to behind Visconti's messengers. Mastino sat,
his head dropped into his hands.
"My lord----"
Ligozzi put his hand upon his master's arm.
"My lord----"
Mastino raised his head and looked at him; his face was distorted, his
eyes unnaturally bright.
"Give them their answer, my lord," said Ligozzi. "Every moment gives
them a triumph. Send it now."
"Now," cried Mastino, hoarsely. "They gave me till to-night--surely,
Ligozzi, they gave me till to-night."
"Thou dost not need until to-night, my lord. Visconti asked thy honor."
"And offered me," said Della Scala slowly, "Isotta."
Ligozzi looked at him horror-struck; an awful thought was breaking on
him.
The eyes of the two men met; Ligozzi's was steady, but Mastino's
flinched.
Neither spoke for some moments, Ligozzi at last incredulously.
"You cannot mean--to accept?" Mastino was silent. "Oh, no," cried
Ligozzi, passionately. "You are not yourself. For the love of Heaven
let me go and tell them to depart."
And he started forward, but Mastino caught him by the arm.
"Stay, Ligozzi; I command it."
"Then you yourself will tell them? Oh, it is impossible that _thou_
couldst fall!"
"Impossible?" Mastino rose with clenched hands. "I think it is
impossible that I could let her die."
Ligozzi looked at his changed face.
"The cities are not yours, my lord; the soldiers are not yours--would
you be a traitor, Della Scala?"
Mastino winced.
"I would save my wife," he muttered, his face turned aside.
"Your wife! A woman!" cried Ligozzi. "Gian Visconti will burn in hell
for tempting you, but, by all the saints, so will you, my lord, if you
accept such terms."
Mastino was roused. The energy of Ligozzi broke the bonds of his dull
agony. He turned, also passionately.
"Have I not prayed and implored for this--only this--her life and her
return? Have I not sworn and vowed I would recover her--at _any_ cost?
Have I not warned them of it--and she shall not die! She shall not die!
What care I for the cities! Did I not warn them? She shall not die!"
He fell to pacing the tent wildly, but Ligozzi stood in his place,
bitter sorrow, deep anger in his face.
"Think what it means," he said sternly.
"I will not," cried Mastino. "I will be baited and hounded no more. What
has their grudging help done for me? I tell thee I warned them, I would
hold them as nothing when it came to saving her."
"Still, they trust you," returned Ligozzi. "Listen, Della Scala; I
speak in the cause of honor--you _shall_ hear, you _shall_ know what it
means, before you lend yourself to such a thing for love of a woman! It
will give all Lombardy to Visconti, it and hundreds to the sword; it
will mean the burning of cities to the ground; it will mean the misery
of half Italy! It will give a mad tyrant to rule over thousands who are
at present free--it will send d'Este and Vincenzo to prison--to shame,
misery, death perchance--it will strip Julia Gonzaga of everything--and
is she not as young and fair and good as Isotta d'Este--and did she not
trust you with her all? And yourself? What will it make of you? What
triumph will it not give Visconti to see you fall? Have you kept your
name high so long to make it a by-word now? Beyond redemption will you
be dishonored, Della Scala--an outcast, a traitor--to hold a little fief
at Visconti's pleasure, the mirth of your enemies, the scorn of your
one-time friends."
Mastino broke into a wild exclamation. "I will hear no more! I will hear
no more!"
"I must wound you to save you," continued Ligozzi. "Against yourself I
will persuade you; my love cannot see you do this thing. Oh, remember
yourself! A man, a prince; no hothead of a boy. This black offer will be
the turning point and strengthen you. No man's cause is bettered by such
means as this. All Italy will rise to cry shame on Visconti--heaven
itself will turn against him and make you firm to overthrow him!"
"And Isotta!" said Mastino fiercely. "Isotta will be slain!"
"She is one woman--how many as fair and good as she will perish if Della
Scala betrays Lombardy! She is one woman against the fate of half
Italy."
"She is my wife!" cried Della Scala desperately; "that one woman is my
wife! Thou hast forgotten!"
"Forget it too, my lord; for your own honor's sake, forget it too."
"Ligozzi, Ligozzi," whispered Mastino, "thou canst not mean it: deliver
up to die by _Visconti's hands_ the woman I--love!"
"If they hanged her from the ramparts where I must watch her die, they
should not move me," said Ligozzi grimly. "But--by all the saints, I
would take my revenge."
"Aye!" said Della Scala bitterly. "But perchance it would not be given
thee to take revenge--perchance thou wouldst fall lower and lower, and
be crushed after all and have gained nothing! Ah, Ligozzi, is this the
beginning? Have I not pitted courage and high purpose, and honorable
dealing and a righteous cause, against craft and cruelty and force? And
to what end? Visconti triumphs. Always Visconti! What availed honor and
faith when Visconti's cunning and Count Conrad's folly made the plans of
weeks naught! Again, undaunted, I said I will succeed in the face of
failure, I will succeed! What happened? Visconti had a handsome face;
what mattered it his cause was bad? Again we failed! And what since!
Half my men are dead against the walls of Milan! And now, am I to choose
again what thou callest honor, am I to leave Isotta to die by his
dishonoring hands--oh, canst thou think of it!--and then be crushed at
his leisure for all my reward? Am I so tied by tradition as that? Does
not Visconti fling all laws, all humanity, all honor to the winds--can I
fight him within the bounds of a boy's code of honor? The time comes,
Ligozzi, when such things hold one no longer--the soul thrusts them
asunder and does what it must, regardless of the laws of men! I must
save her. Here is my chance and, fair or foul, I take it. I cannot think
of the welfare of unknown thousands; what are they to me? Cities pass
under Visconti's rule and cities are snatched from him--am I
responsible for the fate of Lombardy? Men fight, betray, deceive and lie
for wealth, ambition, and revenge--and common folk pay the price--shall
I consider it too closely if they suffer once in a cause like mine? I
tell thee, Ligozzi, I would hold it cheap to save her from Visconti with
the misery of all Italy."
Ligozzi's eyes did not move from Della Scala's face.
"Thou art striving to blind thyself, Della Scala. Oh, my lord," he
resumed, "because others are dishonorable will ye be so also? And what
do ye say of common folk?--not common folk alone will ye sacrifice, but
d'Este----"
"He has helped me half-heartedly--and is she not his daughter? Yet at a
word from Visconti he would league with him behind my back," cried Della
Scala.
"I do not think so," said Ligozzi, firmly. "But Julia Gonzaga, who
trusted you--what have you to say to her?"
"Naught!" cried Mastino, distracted. "Naught! save that I do not love
her--let he who does look to her--as I will to Isotta!"
"And she!" said Ligozzi, resorting desperately to his last argument,
"will she not turn from the liberty bought at such a price? Is she not
the daughter of a noble house? Has she not been taught to consider death
preferable to dishonor--if she was asked, what would she not choose?"
Mastino's breast heaved.
"Ah--but I cannot ask her. If I could--Ligozzi, if I could go to her and
look into her eyes, and say 'I promised, give me back my promise, for
only on terms thou wouldst spurn can I save thee,' she would
understand--she would die with a smile, as I should--and that I could
do. But to let her die a slow death--a dishonored death! Wilt thou
remember it is Visconti! His lies in her ears--knowing nothing of my
struggles! thinking herself forsaken, yet hoping against hope, and ever
coming to her belief I would not let it be, till one day it was! Ah! I
cannot do it! I cannot do it!"
He threw himself on the chair again and hid his face. "She loves me," he
said brokenly. "It seems strange, Ligozzi--that she should--care--for
me. God knows, I have no charm such as Visconti has. I cannot please, I
am clumsy and uncouth compared to those she had around her--and yet she
chose me. 'While thou art alive I fear nothing,' were the last words I
heard her say, and I shall leave her to curse the day she met and
trusted me to save her from a villain. What commonest foot soldier I
have would leave the woman that he loves to die Visconti's way? Ah,
Heaven have mercy! For what crime is this a punishment!"
"Then you will accept these terms for her release?" said Ligozzi. "I
will plead with you no more, my lord--only, if you do this thing, I, who
am your faithful servant, I, who ever loved and worshiped you, can serve
you no longer--it is too terrible a thing--I cannot stay and see it
done!"
Mastino's head was bent forward, his hands clenched so tightly that the
flesh was broken, his whole attitude so hopeless in its agony that
Ligozzi feared for his reason.
"Oh, my lord!" he cried passionately, and flung himself on his knees by
Mastino's side. "Oh, my dear, dear lord! Thou wilt choose the noble
part, I know! Thou wilt not let Visconti triumph, for this is all a
devilish plot to make thee dishonored, to make thee betray thy
trust--foil him--say no!"
Mastino made no answer, and Ligozzi too lapsed into silence, rising from
his knees softly....
How hot it was, how hot! Ligozzi felt dizzy--he wished the sun would
cease blazing down--he wished Della Scala would move--had he persuaded
him? Mastino raised his head.
"Bring them back," he said slowly, "I will see them now."
Ligozzi's heart beat high. "He has won--over himself at least he has a
victory!" he thought--but looking on Della Scala's haggard face, he
ventured no speech.
Mastino sat erect--his hands on the table in front of him, his eyes on
the floor. Visconti's envoys entered.
Giannotto, glancing at Mastino and then at Ligozzi keenly, saw that
there Visconti had an adverse advocate. But the strained silence on them
all was hard to break. They were uneasy, like men before a great grief,
or in the presence of one about to die--it was difficult to treat the
matter as an ordinary one, or to ask a decision from that tortured man
before them.
Even Giannotto's heart failed him, and he stayed near the entrance,
abashed and afraid, but with a fear different from that with which he
fawned upon Visconti. Visconti's moods and motives he could
understand--to some extent they were his own, on his own level,--but
this man--some things were beyond the Duke of Milan's secretary, and for
the first time in his life he felt it. Mastino himself broke that
hideous silence. He raised his head, and with a little affectionate
movement Ligozzi laid his hand on his master's arm as if to strengthen
him.
"I have considered," said Della Scala, in a hard voice. He paused a
moment, but a moment only. "I have considered, and my answer is: I will
accept Visconti's terms--my wife against the towns."
"Oh, dear lord!" breathed Ligozzi. It was the only sound; the Milanese
were silent, almost as if they too winced to hear the words.
Mastino rose, with defiance in his burning eyes.
"I accept--every city in my hands, every soldier--all--against my
wife--I accept Visconti's terms."
Ligozzi's hand had dropped from his shoulder, the clink of metal was
heard through the heavy silence, without a word he stepped forward and
laid his sword on the table before the Prince, then turned toward the
entrance.
"Ligozzi!" cried Mastino, incredulous. "Not thou, Ligozzi--not thou, my
friend!"
He held out his hand imploringly, regardless of the eyes upon him.
Ligozzi stopped and turned, answering Della Scala's wistful look by one
of bitter scorn and pain.
"I had that sword from an honorable Prince--I go to weep that I should
have to return it to a traitor!"
"Ligozzi!" Mastino staggered back, his extended, rejected hand fell
against his side. "Thou might'st have spared me that before _these_--for
the sake of the old days--Ligozzi--" he said, steadying himself. Ligozzi
did not turn; with a hard face he walked across the tent--without a look
back, without a word or a sign, he was gone.
Mastino watched his only friend depart, with straining eyes, that then
he covered for a moment as if to shut out what they had seen. But the
next moment he turned proudly to the messengers.
Giannotto was alone. The soldier, de Lana, had vanished.
Mastino started forward with a cry, but the secretary interposed: "My
lord," he said smoothly, "our duty is our duty. There is no harm
intended, there shall no harm be done; but of what value is your consent
to my Lord Visconti's terms, if your _friend_ should speak of it?"
Mastino fell back. A swift beginning.
"Your lady's safety, my lord," said Giannotto, "depends on your friend's
silence. He has left his sword. There will be no bloodshed."
There was a silence, then Mastino looked up and spoke hoarsely.
"Begone! and take my answer to Visconti. I accept and will carry out his
terms; my wife against the towns."
"Only remember, my lord," and the secretary smoothed his hands together
nervously, "any attempt on Milan, any movement on your part, and the
offer is null and void and the Duchess dies."
"Begone!" screamed Mastino, "take my answer and begone!"
Giannotto turned and went softly out of the tent.
* * * * *
It was done--it was done--beyond redemption had he fallen; he had
chosen--there was no turning back.
Mastino della Scala sat alone and stared in the face of what he had
done. These few moments were his; then he must go and lie to his
officers, deceive his men, weaken his towns, destroy his forts--prepare
to place them in Visconti's hands. He must send false messages to the
Estes and to Julia Gonzaga--lie and deceive and betray! But he had saved
his wife from Visconti--his wife--Isotta.
Outside he heard familiar voices, officers and men; his Veronese, still
glad to trust his leadership; and he was to betray and trick them into
shame.
"Can I carry it through, can I go forth with a calm face and lie to
them--my soldiers!" he cried in agony. "But her life--her dear life--her
more than life--hangs upon my falsity!"
He thought of the beautiful free towns of Italy: his Verona he had
rescued once; proud Ferrara; Mantua that had never felt any yoke but
that of the Gonzaga's; Pavia; all the haughty fair towns that had
scorned Visconti. What would Visconti's vengeance on them be? Mastino
could hardly believe he had done this thing. Yet were the choice given
again, he would choose the same--he would choose the same!
The sultry breeze blew back the opening, showing the deep blue sky and
near-lying tents; a company of soldiers galloped by carrying the
standard of Verona--the ladder of the Scaligeri.
How soon would that banner be torn from the walls of Verona and the
Viper take its place?
"My city!" cried Mastino, "my city!" and his head sank forward on his
out-thrown arms, while his shoulders heaved with sobs.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE WEDDING
Seven days had passed.
In Milan there was much rejoicing, in its streets and palaces much
splendor; it was the Lady Valentine's wedding day.
Among the throng outside the church of San' Apollinare, the eager crowd
that fought and battled for a better chance of seeing the splendid
procession, was a monk, seemingly a wandering friar, who pressed his
face against the cold marble walls in the silent vexation of an utter
disappointment. It was Conrad.
He had failed in his mad mission; success from the first had been
hopeless; he had not redeemed himself. He had not helped Della Scala, he
had not rescued Valentine--he had failed.
A dozen different plans had been formed--equally futile and impossible
to carry out. Who could outwit Visconti in his own city? Bitterly Conrad
regretted the false hopes conveyed in that whisper in this very church.
Perhaps she had trusted to them, and here was her wedding day and he was
standing outside helpless!
He knew it pure folly, this risking his life for nothing, and what had
brought him there he could scarcely tell; but under his monk's habit he
had a concealed dagger.
He felt desperate, wounded badly in both heart and pride. It was not so
much for love of Valentine Visconti--that had ever been more fancy than
aught else--it was the sense of failure--of self-humiliation; a bitter
sense of how Visconti laughed at him. Far better a fine, romantic death
than disgrace one side, defeat the other. In fact a fine, romantic death
in a lady's cause would be decidedly gratifying. With this new thought
of it struggling in his mind, Count Conrad suddenly turned from the wall
and forced lustily through the crowd to the church steps.
He was there none too soon. A sudden wild shout from the crowd, a
movement of the soldiers keeping guard, told him they were leaving the
church. The pushing, struggling people were well kept back by the stout
halberds; but Conrad, partly by virtue of his dress, but rather by the
strength of his squared arms, managed to force to the front, where he
stood close behind the stalwart figure of a German mercenary.
Conrad glanced at the blond hair and mild blue eyes. "Friend," he
whispered in German, leaning forward, "have consideration for a German
father who will say many prayers for thee--in his native tongue."
The soldier turned.
"Quick," said Conrad, "a place next thee, my friend."
The soldier smiled at the friar's curiosity, and allowed him vantage;
and Conrad, stationed near the foot of the steps, looked up them eagerly
to the brilliant group issuing from the church doors.