While the conversation which I have narrated in the preceding chapter
was going on in the rooms above, one of a very different character,
though relating to the same topic, took place below. We need not be
very long detained in its detail, but there were certain parts therein
which must be related. The scene was a small room near that sort of
buttery window at which Italian nobles have in all times been
accustomed to sell or retail the produce of their estates. The
interlocutors were our friend Antonio and the pretended friar
Mardocchi, and after the first greetings, the substantial conversation
began, by the former gently reproaching him of whom he had aided to
cheat the cord, with not having visited him when in the French camp at
Vivizano.
"Ah! how did you know I was there?" asked Mardocchi. "Why, I was only
one night in all."
"I know everything that happens within a hundred miles of me," replied
Antonio, who had discovered the great benefit of assuming more
knowledge than he possessed, "you had not been five minutes in the
camp before I knew it. But why did you not come?"
"I have told you already," answered Mardocchi. "I was but one night in
the camp, and I got such rough usage from that old cardinal of the
devil, that I was glad to get out by daybreak."
"Ay, he has no smooth tongue, I wot," answered Antonio; "if he licks
his cubs with that when they are born, they will go into the world
skinless. But how liked the excellent Signor Ramiro the answer he got
to his letter?"
"I know little of his liking," answered the other. "He is not like my
good deceased lord, Buondoni, who would tell me this or that, or swear
or stamp in my presence as if there were no one there but himself.
This man keeps all, or thinks he keeps all, to himself; but one thing
I have found out, and that I like him for, because in that he is like
myself. If a man does him a good turn he never forgets it; and if a
man does him an injury he does not forget that either."
"I suppose not," replied Antonio, "he is a good lord in many things,
and all the wiser for keeping his secrets to himself. In all the world
he cannot find any one who can keep them as well. Then he did not show
any anger when he found the Signora Leonora was not coming?"
"Not a whit," answered Mardocchi; "he only said, 'it is well; it is
very well.'"
The conversation was then turned to other subjects by Antonio
demanding if his companion did not think that the Signor Ramiro had
laid his egg in a wrong nest when he attached himself to the Borgias.
"Not at all," answered Mardocchi; "they are men who are not afraid of
doing anything; if one way does not answer they take another; and such
men are sure to succeed."
He then went on to give his view of the situation of the Pope and the
King of France, to which Antonio, who had come for the purpose of
learning all he could, listened attentively. It was somewhat different
from the view of Cæsar Borgia, and to say the truth, somewhat more
extended; for he contemplated amongst the pope's resources both poison
and the dagger. Indeed he had not studied under Buondoni without
improvement; for he clearly showed Antonio that it would be perfectly
possible to destroy almost all the king's army in Rome by poisoning
the wells.
"But, good Heaven! you would poison all the people likewise!" cried
Antonio.
"And no great harm either," said Mardocchi, gruffly: "did you not
hear how the beasts last night were cheering and vivaing those French
heretics? But if the Holy Father in his mercy chose to spare them, he
could easily do it by sending the monks and priests amongst them to
tell them which wells were poisoned and which not."
"I forgot that," said Antonio, "and the scheme does seem a feasible
one. But I hope, my dear friar, that if you have recourse to it, you
will let me know where it is safe to drink. I, in return, will promise
that when those who are left of the French army--for I must tell you
that one half of them have had no knowledge of water since their
baptism--when those that remain sack and fire the city, I will bring
you out as my own particular friend, and save you from being impaled
or burned. These French gentlemen who drink nothing but wine are not
tender, I can tell you, and if they found their friends die poisoned,
you would soon see a pope dancing in the middle of a bonfire, and the
whole College of Cardinals writhing upon lance-heads."
"Oh! they will not try the trick," said Mardocchi, with a countenance
somewhat fallen, "at least, they would try all other measures first. I
doubt not that if his Holiness will give up Zizim to King Charles that
will settle all differences."
"And who is Zizim?" asked Antonio.
"Why, do you not know?" exclaimed Mardocchi; "that shows the king's
secrets are well kept in his own camp. Hark ye!" and lowering his
voice he went on to explain to his companion not only who the
unfortunate Zizim was, but the object which the King of France was
supposed to have in view in seeking to obtain possession of his
person. The tale was full of scandal to Christian ears, but seemed to
shock Mardocchi not in the least; and as it was somewhat long, as he
told it, it shall be abridged for the reader's benefit. Zizim was the
brother of the Sultan Bajazet, some indeed say, his elder brother. At
all events he was his competitor for the throne of Turkey. Their
respective claims had been settled for a time at least by arms. Zizim
defeated, was fortunate enough to escape from the vengeful policy of
the Ottoman race, and first took refuge, it would seem, with the
Knights of St. John at Rhodes. He thence sailed to France, and
appeared for a short time at the court of Charles. The pope, however,
who was alternately the ally and enemy of every prince around him, at
that time actually contemplated a new crusade, and believed, or
affected to believe, that Zizim, appearing in his brother's
territories, supported by a considerable force, might subserve his
plans, by destroying the Ottoman dominions. This at least was his
excuse for inviting the unhappy prince from Paris to Rome. Charles
consented to his departure, but upon the express stipulation that
Alexander should give him up to France whenever he was required. With
the usual mutability of the Papal councils at that time, however, but
a few months elapsed ere Alexander was the friend and ally of Bajazet,
and the life of Zizim was placed in no slight peril. Charles had in
vain required that the pope should fulfil his engagement by sending
the Turkish prince back to France. It must not, however, be supposed
that the French king was actuated solely by compassion for the
unfortunate exile. He too had ambitious ends to attain, and he too
imagined that Zizim might assist in the execution of his schemes.
History leaves no doubt that the conquest of Naples, though the
primary, was not the ultimate object of Charles's expedition into
Italy. The wildest of chimeras possessed his brain, and he imagined
that the whole Turkish empire was destined to fall before his
inefficient means and inexperienced sword. Naples was to be, in fact,
but a step to Constantinople. Flatterers and poets combined to raise
the young king's vain intoxication to the highest pitch, and we find
one of the latter singing of the conquest of Turkey as an event almost
accomplished.
The pope, however, had very different views. So long as he detained
the Turkish prince in a sort of honourable imprisonment, a pension of
forty thousand gold ducats was his from Bajazet, and as soon as he
thought fit to capitalize that annuity by putting Zizim to death,
three hundred thousand ducats were promised to him. To take the prince
from him was like tearing out his entrails; but upon that point
Charles was resolute, and Mardocchi, as well as Cardinal Borgia, was
wise enough to see that the time was come when the monarch's demand
must be granted.
Such was the tale which had been poured into Antonio's ear, when steps
were heard slowly descending the great staircase, and, on looking out,
he perceived his young lord just about to issue from the gates.
So deep was the fit of thought into which all he had heard and seen
that morning had thrown Lorenzo, that he was not aware for some time
that Antonio was near him. He turned over and over in his mind the
statements of Cardinal Borgia. He tried to discover a flaw in his
reasoning--an improbability in his assertions; but all was reasonable,
all was probable; and the peril to the king and his army was so clear
that he felt himself bound, even at the risk of being thought
intrusive, to lay the whole picture, which had been given him, before
the monarch.
From such thoughts he turned to the consideration of the character of
Borgia himself. Strange to say, although he had been at first both
offended and disgusted by the cardinal's demeanour, the impression now
was favourable rather than otherwise. Indeed, such was the case with
all men brought for any length of time under his fascination. The most
clear-sighted, the most wise, those who knew him best, those who had
most cause to shun and dread him, fell an easy prey to his serpent
tongue, if once they could be brought to listen. Witness the Vitelli
and the Orsini, Gravina, and Oliverotto da Fermo, all lead to death by
his specious eloquence.
It is no wonder that one with so little experience as Lorenzo, and who
had no reason to fear or doubt him, but the vague rumours and
insinuations which were current in the various cities through which he
had lately passed, should feel the influence of his extraordinary
powers when brought to bear upon him.
"It is a pity," he thought, "that a man of such boundless energy and
ability, should give himself up at any time to the effeminate and
luxurious habits which he seems to indulge in when not roused to
action."
But Lorenzo little dreamed that the effeminate and luxurious habits
went hand in hand with the darkest vices and the most fearful crimes.
The character of the man might puzzle him: it might, and did perhaps,
inspire doubt, and even suspicion; but the doubt was unmingled with
horror, the suspicion had no definite form.
He was still deep in thought when a voice close behind him, said:
"You are going wrong, my lord, if you are seeking either your own
quarters or the king's."
"Oh, is that you, Antonio?" said Lorenzo; "I did not know you were so
near. Which way then?"
"To the right, my lord," replied the man; "but indeed, my lord, in
this city you should always know who is so close behind you. I have
been within stiletto length of you for the last ten minutes."
"But no one will try to hurt me here, Antonio," said his lord. "Ay,
here we are! Glide quickly in, see if you can ascertain whether the
king has heard mass yet, and if he has, find out if he is alone."
Antonio passed the guard and entered the palace, while Lorenzo spoke a
few words with the officer on duty. In a minute or two the man
returned, and answered that the king was quite alone.
"He is waiting for the bishop in his cabinet," said Antonio, "but the
prelate is always either long at his sleep or at his prayers, and the
chamberlain says he won't be there this half-hour."
"Wait here for me, then," said Lorenzo, and entered.