CHAPTER VII

THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE BRANDISHED LANCE

I

THE QUEST

Robert Devreux, Earl of Essex, was in one of his worst moods as he

strode the deck of his flag-ship in Cadiz Bay on a certain June morning

in 1596.

And yet this favourite of Fortune stood then at the summit of his

career, having by a brilliant assault taken the city for England, while

a letter whose seal he had just broken assured him of the doting

infatuation of England's Queen.

It was precisely this letter, as he now explained to his friend, which

occasioned his dissatisfaction.

"You will not refuse me, Will," he pleaded, "since I can not undertake

the quest, you must go in my stead. These papers contain negotiations

of such delicacy that Henry of Navarre dared not send them overland

through France, and my word is pledged to him to deliver them personally

into the hands of the Grand Duke Ferdinando de' Medici, at his villa in

Rome.

"When I met the King at Boulogne, on our first night out, this seemed an

easy thing to do, for I had reason to believe that our cruise would

extend to Italy. But now in the hour of my victory, when I have sacked

Cadiz, I open the Queen's letter (which was not to be read until the

accomplishment of that task), and find that, instead of being permitted

to proceed, I must first sail at once for England; and all forsooth

because of her love and impatience to reward the valour of her

favourite! Can such a summons be disregarded? Assuredly not; but my

honour and the fate of the Protestant cause in France hang upon your

decision.

"Since it means so much," replied the other, "assuredly I will not fail

you. But why may I not do this under my own name, as your authorised

messenger?"

"Because the Grand Duke expects the Earl of Essex, the accredited deputy

of the King of France. The deputy of a deputy would have no prestige

with him, and would not even be admitted as guest at the villa. And it

is with its lady, mark you, that your true errand lies.

"These negotiations have to do with the marriage of Henry of Navarre to

the Grand Duke's niece Marie de' Medici. Ferdinando will make and break

treaties as suits his advantage. The lady's heart must be gained, she

must be made so ardently to desire this marriage that she will refuse

all other suitors. In short you must woo and win her for the King of

France. For such a task you have every qualification. You possess a

knowledge of the Italian language and the understanding of its

temperament and character which comes from sympathy. The Italians will

not need to know that you bear the name of Brandilancia to recognise

that you are the embodiment of the type of chivalry dreamed of by their

poets. Beware, however, of receiving or giving too much love, for report

hath it that the heiress of the Medici is surpassingly beautiful."

Brandilancia smiled somewhat bitterly. "You should know," he said, "that

my heart is in England and though my love should remain forever

unrequited, it can never be given to another."

"An excellent safeguard, in the present business," the Earl replied

cheerily, "so here are all objections overcome, and may you have many a

merry experience to recount when next we meet in England."

Hand met hand upon that compact, and while one Earl of Essex pursued his

homeward course another in a swift sailing pinnace flew eastward bound

upon adventures of which the archives of the English Admiralty preserve

no record.

As the young adventurer Brandilancia, who was to play the part of the

true Essex, rode up the hill crowned by the Villa Medici he was struck

by the resemblance of the massive retaining walls to those of some

medieval fortress. As such they had served in ancient days, holding the

villa safe in their protecting embrace from any uprising of the populace

of Rome, while on the side toward the Campagna they had withstood more

than one siege of the Goths. But high aloft, near the summit of this

cliff of natural rock and hewn stone the inhospitable windowless expanse

was broken by a row of arched openings, and silhouetted against the dark

void of one of these he caught a glimpse of a face framed in golden

hair.

Though so far above him the lady, who had been gazing down the road from

sheer ennui, had noticed the graceful figure of the cavalier, and had

watched his approach until he halted with upturned face beneath her

window. At that instant a little fan opening as it fell, dropped from

her hand and fluttered in the light breeze, like a bird with a broken

wing, beyond the road and into the ravine at its side.

Instantly Brandilancia sprang from his horse and, vaulting over the low

embankment, clambered down the incline. A smiling contadina, who was

beating out her linen on the margin of a basin of water, assisted him in

his search, but having found the fan she was so curious in regard to its

donor that Brandilancia endeavoured to divert her attention by plying

her with questions concerning the locality. From her replies he learned

that the washing pool was fed from an old aqueduct which passed under

the Villa Medici on its way to supply the fountains of Rome.

"See, Signor," she said, pointing out a nail-studded oaken door

concealed in the angle of a huge abutment, "they say that if that door

were not bolted on the inside one might enter the tunnel which brings

the water through the hill from its source miles away. There is a

legend, too, that a Roman princess who lived up yonder, centuries ago,

betrayed the secret to the barbarians, who came through the tunnel and

sacked Rome."

Brandilancia paid little heed to this information, not dreaming that he

would one day be indebted to it for escape from the villa which he was

now so blithely entering. Climbing back to the roadway he waved the fan

above his head and was greeted by a light clapping of hands from the

lofty window. Who could the lady be? He would ascertain in time, and

until he did so it was pleasant to reflect that some one within the

villa was interested in his coming and had wafted him this welcome.

He had need of hospitality for he was faint from the ride from Ostia in

the heat of an Italian June. The beautiful gardens glowed in dazzling

sunshine which the scintillating jets of the fountains reflected and

intensified. The statues seemed to shrink from the blinding light into

their niches in the great square-cut hedges, and the tessellated

pavement was hot beneath his tread.

Every detail of the antique relievi which the facade of the palace had

been designed to display was brought out by the intense illumination. In

its lavish ornamentation and elegant proportions the building suggested

a carved ivory cabinet, but one rifled of its jewels, for except for the

keeper of the gate-lodge, to whom he had tossed his bridle, he had met

no guards. The great doorway stood invitingly open, but Brandilancia

hesitated to enter and looked about for some means of announcing his

presence.

"Is the villa under some enchantment?" he asked himself. "If so some imp

or sprite should lurk hereabouts and now make its appearance."

As if in answer to this mental question a peal of elfish laughter

greeted his ear,--a mirthless, falsetto cackle, like that of a parrot,

and half hidden behind one of the great marble lions in the shade of the

loggia he discerned a grotesque little creature, with the figure of a

child and a woman's face, old in its expression of slyness and

malignity.

Brandilancia started, although he knew that it was the custom of Italian

princes to maintain dwarfs in their households. This woman, probably a

dependent, was dressed like a princess. Her dress though soiled was of

stiff brocade embroidered with gold thread, and the high lace ruff,

which made her swarthy complexion darker by contrast with its whiteness,

was edged with seed pearls.

"Come in, my lord," she croaked. "The Grand Duke regretted that, obliged

to be temporarily in Florence, he could not receive you, but awaiting

his return the villa is at your service, and the Grand Duchess and the

Signorina will endeavour to make the time pass pleasantly."

He followed her, wondering as to her position. "How did you know me?" he

asked. "You are expected," she replied, "and no one but an Englishman

would have called at the hour of the siesta. Shall I show your worship

to your own room, or will you await the ladies in the library?" His hand

was on the little fan, and he was striving to frame some question whose

answer would enlighten him as to the giver, but the dwarf's last word

caught his ear, and acted like the scent of spirits upon a man thirsting

for drink.

"To the library, by all means," he replied eagerly, and, as the heavy

portieres were drawn aside, the tiny creature at his side and even the

golden-haired woman who had greeted his coming so graciously were for

the moment clean forgotten, for he comprehended that one of his dearest

hopes, long thwarted but never entirely relinquished, the hidden

personal motive which had been the determining factor in his acceptance

of this mission, was now about to be realised. The immense room from

floor to cornice was walled with books: the writings of the fathers of

the church--huge folios hasped in brass and ornamented with priceless

illuminations--side by side with pagan literature, Greek manuscripts,

and volumes of the Roman classics, while all the new harvest of the

Italian Renaissance, in every department then known, had been carefully

garnered. But high above the marshalled works of the poets, which his

fingers lingeringly caressed as he passed them by, Brandilancia had

detected a row of small volumes, and a thrill of triumphant delight shot

through his frame as he climbed the step-ladder and with eager fingers

plucked them from their niches.

For here were the novelli of Boccaccio, Masaccio, and Bandello, of

Giraldi Cinthio and Ser Giovanni Fiorentino and of many another writer

of romantic tales of whimsical gaiety, of intrigue, or of tragedy, and

Brandilancia was a playwright gifted with a most exceptional genius for

adaptation. He had read a few of these tales and had realised that they

contained admirable material for dramatisation, but now by a turn of the

wheel of Fortune the entire inexhaustible mine of absorbing plot of

piquant situation and contrasting characters, slightly sketched but

waiting only the touch of genius to spring into life, lay open before

him.

With a sigh of supreme satisfaction he sank into the nearest chair and

read like one under the influence of some hypnotic spell.

The secretary of the Grand Duke entered the library, shuffled about

noisily, coughed, and even addressed him, but the reader was unconscious

of his presence.

Curious as to what so enthralled the stranger the man of the ink-horn

tiptoed behind him, read the title over his shoulder, and laughed aloud.

Brandilancia surprised, laid down the volume and demanded the cause of

this demonstration.

"Pardon me, Signor," replied the secretary, "but I could not refrain,

your absorption pays me a great compliment for I am the author of that

book."

"You, sir?" exclaimed the half incredulous reader.

"I, Celio Malespini, Secretary to his Excellency, the Grand Duke, a man

of letters who has tried his quill in sundry other fields, as well."

"Then, Signor Malespini, accept my congratulations, for this story of

the company of the Calza of Venice is one of the merriest I have ever

read, and makes me eager to see their festival. Have you written other

books as entertaining?"

"I have as yet written no others," replied Celio, flattered and wholly

won by the stranger's praise, "but since you care for my poor efforts I

can lay before your worship those of other authors more worthy of your

attention."

From inconspicuous nooks and corners he dragged them forth and piled

them before the appreciative Brandilancia, who forgot all else until a

servant announced that his hostesses would receive him in the grand

salon a half hour before the hour of dining.

Even then he would have turned again to the fascinating volumes had not

the valet's added information that the luggage of the Signor was in his

room reminded him that dinner in such a house was a function and not

simply an opportunity for absorbing the provender necessary to sustain

life.

Fortunately, Brandilancia was an accomplished actor as well as writer,

and his theatrical experience had taught him to make quick changes not

only of costume, but of mental points of view and characteristics, and

Essex's wardrobe became him no more than the grace and manner of the

gallant young nobleman which he assumed with equal ease.

The transformation effected within the next hour was even deeper than

this, for as his eyes met those of Marie de' Medici he knew that here,

either for good or evil, was a woman destined to exert a compelling

influence upon his life.

It was not love, he told himself, for he was on his guard against that

passion. She did not impress him as beautiful. Her eyes were overbold

and searching but cold; but her bearing arrogant at first, softened as

the days went by into a frank comradeship, and he discovered that she

possessed a cultured and an appreciative mind.

Hitherto Brandilancia had hidden a sensitive heart craving the sympathy

that no woman had ever given him, under a gay and sportive exterior

which made him a prince of good fellows, a man's man, and a loyal lover

of his comrades, though they were far from appreciating his genius and

his aims. But every serious conversation held with his young hostess

confirmed him in his delusion that he had found a friend capable of

understanding him. That she did not as yet wholly do so was the fault of

his cursed disguise, which confused her perceptions of his real

character with preconceived ideas of Essex. He longed to reveal himself

to her, and did so to a greater degree than he realised.

Especially was this the case upon one memorable morning when, piqued

that he should spend so much time in the library, she had followed him

to that retreat.

She had found him absorbed in Luigi da Porto's novel _La Giulietta_, "a

pitiable history that occurred at Verona in the time of Bartolommeo

Scala," and she watched him slyly for some minutes amused by his

preoccupation before interrupting his feast.

"Ah!" she exclaimed at length in pleased surprise, "you have chanced

upon my favourite of all the books in my uncle's library. How many tears

have I shed for these poor lovers but chiefly because I knew no Romeo so

brave and noble and handsome to tempt me to die for him, or so devoted

as to die for me. That was when I was a child of ten, my lord. I have

learned since that such love exists only in novels, and have ceased to

cry for it."

"You are very cynical, sweet lady," he replied, "and unkind to the

novelists, whom I hold in worshipful esteem."

"And I also esteem them. It is precisely because the life they tell of

is so different from my own, in which nothing ever happens, that a

book-cover is for me a magic door by whose opening I escape out of the

unendurable present. Even more than the novels do I love the plays, and

to see them acted is better than to read them, best of all it must be to

act in one. Ah! that would indeed be like living another life."

"True, dear lady," he answered eagerly, "but there is a form of

diversion which to my mind is the most fascinating of all, and that is

the writing of a drama, for in so doing we create a little world of our

own, and control the destinies of the men and women whom we bring into

being."

She shrugged her shoulders. "But I care only to be the author of my own

role."

"And what," he asked, "would you choose that role to be?"

"I would be a Princess beloved by the King of the greatest nation in the

world. Beloved, mark you, not bargained for, but sought out personally

by the King who should love me for myself alone, a manifestly impossible

plot even for a play."

"On the contrary, 't is a good one. Let us collaborate now in the

planning of such a scheme. Let us suppose that for political reasons the

King could not come in his proper person, but having learned to love you

from report, were to seek you out incognito. Let us also imagine him so

happy as to win your love. Would you be capable of the devotion which

you demand of him?"

"Would I wed such a King whom I had learned to love, though in disguise?

Most certainly."

"Ah! dear lady, you wilfully disregard the point I make. Would you wed

this true lover, not knowing that he was a King? Let me put it still

more strongly. Would you give yourself to the _man_ you loved knowing

that he was not of royal birth?"

"Ah! that is a different question; but I answer yes, for I am certain

that my intuitions are so true that I could never love a man who was not

in every sense a King."

He smiled indulgently. "So be it, we will write such a drama and show

the world how true love pierces all disguise, and knowing its own,

challenges all dangers."

She listened eagerly, but she attributed an interpretation which he had

not intended to his perfectly simple suggestion. Placing her own

personality out of the question was impossible for one so absorbed in

self as this egoistic young creature. If Henry of Navarre were but like

his Ambassador how easy it would be to love him! and suddenly it flashed

through her mind that they were indeed one and the same. What other

signification could be placed upon this supposititious drama which they

were to evolve together?

Intrigue ran in her blood and distorted her perceptions. Transparent

frankness was incomprehensible to her, and it appealed to her romantic

imagination that the King of France should come like the hero of some

wonder-tale disguised as his own envoy extraordinary to see and woo his

princess.

Had she confided this wild idea to the experienced Malespini or to her

companion, the dwarf Leonora, whose shrewd intellect was out of all

proportion to her stunted body, she might easily have been disabused of

her error; but with an overweening confidence in the accuracy of her own

judgment she determined to weigh every sentence uttered by the man who

purported to be the Earl of Essex and draw her own conclusions as to his

identity.

To a mind preconvinced, proofs were not wanting. Brandilancia, fancying

that the little fan had fallen from the hand of Marie de' Medici by

accident, naively offered to return it. Her face clouded. "Then you do

not care to keep my first gift?" she pouted.

"Your gift? _May_ I then keep it?" he asked delighted.

"In exchange for the ring you wear," she replied, and he laid it in her

hand.

She examined with curiosity the device engraved upon the seal, a

gauntleted hand holding a lance in rest.

"Essex gave me that ring," he said thoughtlessly, for he was too excited

to measure his own words. "I value it, not because I have a right to the

arms it bears, but because he thought me a true knight errant eager for

any enterprise of honour and gallantry."

"Essex gave it. Then you are not Essex?" she asked smiling.

"'T was but a slip of the tongue," he replied confusedly. "It was the

King of France who presented it to me when I joined him with the English

auxiliaries at the siege of Rouen. We were much in each other's company,

not only in the main business of fighting, but in hawking and hunting in

the neighbourhood. It was the enemy's country, and this gave zest to our

escapades." He spoke rapidly but he could not distract her attention

from his inadvertent admission.

"Yes," she commented thoughtfully, "I have heard that you were friends

and comrades in many a wild adventure. Tell me more of the King, since

you of all others should know him best."

[Illustration: _Neurdein_

Henri IV. receiving the portrait of Marie de Medici

P. P. Rubens

From the series of paintings ordered by her for the Palace of the

Luxembourg]

"I know, dear lady, that he loves you."

"How can that be since he has never seen me?"

"Love enters the heart through many strange portals, and Henry of

Navarre knows you better than you suspect. Your portrait sent him by

your uncle is engraved upon his heart. Love gives a mysterious power of

second sight, and I doubt not that the King of France sees you at this

moment even as I do, and that Marie de' Medici is for him as for me the

embodiment of all womanly perfection."

"The Grand Duchess is approaching," she said in a low voice, "and Henry

of Navarre is a forbidden topic--talk of anything else--talk of art."

The subject was apropos, for they were in the garden and Ferdinando's

collection of masterpieces was all about them, but the Grand Duchess had

caught his closing phrase.

"Who is it," she asked drily, "who has the honour of being the

embodiment of the Earl of Essex's ideal of womanly perfection?"

"The Medicean Venus," Brandilancia replied unhesitatingly, with a wave

of the hand which took in that famous statue and also the lady at his

side.

The Grand Duchess sniffed, she was silenced but not deceived, and she

remained at her niece's side through the remainder of the afternoon.

As several guests joined them and discussed with great connoisseurship

the merits of the sculpture Brandilancia's thoughts wandered to his

host. "What manner of man was this Ferdinando de' Medici who had

converted his garden pleasance into a museum?"

Mentally reviewing what he had heard of the Grand Duke it seemed that

all that was most admirable in the race must focus in its present

representative. But Marie de' Medici had let fall a disquieting remark

which pointed to another side to his character. "See, your grace," she

had said to Brandilancia, "here is a favourite play of mine, _Il Moro di

Venezia_, a sad tragedy but it stirs one's blood to read it. Perhaps it

stirs mine because it is not long since tragedies like that have been

enacted in my own family. Love and jealousy and revenge are a part of

our heritage, and at times I long to come into my birthright, for such

existence as I now lead is not life."

This half-revelation so impressed Brandilancia that he could not expel

it from his mind, and when next alone with the secretary, Malespini, he

begged for an explanation.

"Tell me something," he begged, "of the character of the Grand Duke. I

do not ask you to divulge private matters, but only such as are public

property and with which I would be acquainted were I not so newly

arrived in Italy."

Malespini gave him a compassionate glance. "I thought that all the world

knew that my master was a child of Satan," he replied coolly. "The

Signorina told you truly. He caused the death of his two sisters-in-law,

and was responsible for the murder of his own sister, goading her

husband the Duke of Bracciano to the act. It is commonly reported also

that the Signorina's father, the former Grand Duke of Tuscany, together

with his wife, Bianca Capello, were poisoned by Ferdinando, though he

made the act appear to be that of the murdered Duchess."

"And what," asked the horrified Brandilancia, "was the motive of this

crime?"

"Is it not apparent? Ferdinando de Medici, then a cardinal, had just

failed in his candidacy for the pontificate (outwitted by that fox

Montalto). If he could not be pope it suited him as well to be Grand

Duke of Tuscany."

"If this is true is the Signorina safe in his power?"

"So long as their interests are the same, Signor. And you who are the

friend of Henry of Navarre should know that the Grand Duke is anxious to

place his niece upon the throne of France. Should she set her will

against her uncle's ambition he would scruple at no perfidity or crime.

You wonder why I, who am in his service, should tell you this. It is

because I am strangely drawn to you. From the moment I saw that you

appreciated what I had written, that we spoke the same language, strove

after the same ideals, I was yours heart and soul. They talk of love at

first sight, a foolish matter between man and woman, but when two men

recognise that they are congenial spirits it is the most natural and

inevitable thing in all the world. And so I tell you again, be on your

guard for your personal safety. If, however unjustly, any distrust of

you should be awakened in the mind of the Grand Duke, if he imagined

that the Signorina had learned to care for you, then your life, and hers

as well, would not be worth one soldo."

This conversation occasioned the guest of the villa serious thought. It

obtruded itself in the very tales of intrigue, passion, and murder which

he read to drive it from his mind, those fascinating novelli with their

records of bloody hereditary vendettas, of innocent or guilty lovers

alike done to death by indiscriminating cruelty.

"Truly," he thought, "in Italy a woman's kiss and that of a poniard go

often in such close company that the sweet woman's mouth which lets love

in almost touches the red mouth of the wound which lets life out."

Though not so definitely explained, he had felt the presence of danger

before; but so long as it threatened himself alone it added a spice of

excitement to the adventure; now, however, that he realised what grave

consequences the least indiscretion on his part might bring upon Marie

de' Medici herself, he determined to be doubly circumspect.

With this intention he held himself aloof from the superb mundane life

of the villa, and, retiring to the library, occupied himself in

translating and rearranging old plays. But all day as he wrote, though

half unconsciously, his thoughts were with his fair hostess, and always

at the hour of the siesta of the Grand Duchess Marie de' Medici was with

him in person. It was on the second morning of his seclusion that she

had tapped at the door and offered her aid in his work; thus converting

the very means by which he sought to avoid her into a stratagem for the

uninterrupted enjoyment of her society.

Had Brandilancia been more sophisticated, it might have struck him as

exceptional that a princess who been brought up in the strictest

conventionality should have granted the privilege of such intimate

association even to so exalted a personage as the Earl of Essex. He

believed her confidence due to girlish innocence, and was more than ever

determined to protect her from himself. Leonora was always on guard in

the ante-room, and joined them whenever she heard the sound of

approaching footsteps. It surprised this world-wise little sentinel that

on none of these occasions had the young man appeared to have taken any

advantage of his opportunity, and she was irritated by the amused

condescension with which he treated her. He could never realise that

this grotesque and tiny creature was not an uncanny child, and he had

nicknamed her good-humouredly The Owlet, on account of her large round

eyes.

"I had not thought the Earl of Essex so blind," she said to him one day

when they chanced to be alone.

"My eyes are not fashioned to see in the dark like yours, Owlet," he

replied. "Tell me what it is you see."

"Many things, but the plainest of all to me is that whoever you may be

you are not the Earl of Essex."

He was off his guard, and his expression confirmed her suspicions. She

laughed maliciously, and her face, always sly and old beyond her years,

was absolutely repulsive now as it reflected her gloating sense of her

advantage.

"Put your mind at rest, my lord," she said, mockingly. "Your secret is

safe in my keeping. I do not know your aims, but if you will take me

into your confidence you are sure of success. I am only dangerous when I

am angered. Why should you not succeed? The Signorina is completely

infatuated with you. If we make her believe that you have assumed the

character of the Earl of Essex from love of her she will readily forgive

you that deceit. Together we can accomplish anything and everything, for

you have a winning way with women, and I have brains--yes, more than you

give me credit for--and this doll-faced girl shall make our fortunes.

When we have sucked the coffers of the Medici dry, take me with you to

your own country, and I will be your faithful accomplice there also,

for, misshapen and hideous as I am, I love you, my beautiful adventurer;

yes, with a devotion of which my mistress is not capable, for she is

vain and shallow and selfish. Oh, why did God give her the form of an

angel and put my soul in the body of a demon?"

Brandilancia, up to this point speechless with astonishment, had not

been able to interrupt her, and the dwarf had climbed to the table,

where, perched at his elbow, she had poured her confidences into his

ear; but as she drew his face to hers with her small claw-like hands he

forgot all considerations of policy in an unconquerable repulsion, and

wrenched himself rudely from her.

"Imp!" he exclaimed, "your soul matches your body. You are hideous

through and through."

The look which she gave him was full of malignity. "You shall live to

learn that the good-will of a devil is better than her ill-will," she

said, as she slipped from the table and left the room.

Brandilancia's uneasy compunction which immediately followed his hasty

exclamation was soon effaced by the dwarf's apparent forgiveness. "We

were both indiscreet," she said to him the following day; "let us forget

and be friends."

But Leonora would not forget, and the young man had lost his

opportunity of making her his friend.

She immediately carried her doubts to her mistress. "The man is not the

Earl of Essex," she asserted. "He is some base impostor, I know not

whom, but I will make him declare himself ere long."

Marie de' Medici was silent, but her thoughts were voluble. Since it had

pleased her royal lover to come incognito she would betray him to no one

nor even allow him to suspect that she had penetrated his disguise, but

would flatter the King by feigning that she loved him for himself alone,

and would exert every endeavour to make him sincerely her lover.

In spite of the injunction of the Grand Duchess, they often spoke of

Henry of Navarre, and Brandilancia in the desire to forward the mission

upon which he had been sent, told of Henry's unhappy wedded life,

expressing with great frankness his own detestation of the craft and

cruelty of Catherine de' Medici and the levity of her daughter

Marguerite of Valois.

"You forget," Marie de' Medici had replied, "that they are my

kinswomen."

"I forget many things in your presence which I should remember," he had

replied. "Sometimes even that I, too, am a married man and, knowing you

as I do, I can not blame the King of France that he is seeking, through

divorce, freedom from a marriage into which he was half tricked, half

forced, and that he is willing to risk salvation for the hope of your

love."

That answer pleased her well. She had no doubt now that he loved her,

and did not hesitate to assure him in many covert ways that the feeling

was reciprocated. Brandilancia would have been blind indeed not to have

recognised her admiration, but he believed it merely appreciation of his

genius, whereas her mind was too limited to comprehend it. She was in

love with the possibility of being a queen upon such easy terms,

delighted to find that the necessary husband was no uncouth tyrant but a

man of winsome personality whose delicate assiduities were ever present

and yet never over passed the restraints of deference.

It would have been difficult for two persons to have more utterly

misunderstood each other. Brandilancia had reached the full maturity of

his mental powers. His genius had created many charming women, but the

ideal for which his lonely heart yearned had only gradually taken shape

in his mind, and the heroine which he now gave to literature marked an

epoch in his career.

He had found the plot of his drama sketched in part in one of the

novelli of Ser Giovanni; but the conception of an aristocratic yet

gracious lady gifted with all perfection, with which he replaced the

siren of Belmont, was not, as he supposed, a portrait from life of Marie

de' Medici. The character sprang directly from his own intense longing,

and by some unreasoning reflex action, his mind endowed the woman who

happened to be near him with qualities which he created and which she

unhappily did not possess.

The idol which he worshipped was absolutely the work of his own hands,

for it was not until his imagination had cheated his eyes, and he had

begun to look at Marie de' Medici through its flattering lenses that he

thought her beautiful. And yet at the age of twenty she possessed very

real attractions: a southern blond, not milky-veined, like the pale

maidens of the north, but with all the gold of the hot sunshine in her

hair, and the rich blood glowing through her fair skin like flame in an

alabaster lamp. Superbly modelled, but lithe and tall, she carried

regally the sumptuous opulence with which nature had endowed her, and

the soft curve of her shoulders, throat, and bosom had not as yet

blossomed into the plethora which Rubens depicted with so gloating a

brush. Nor was she precisely the same as when Brandilancia had looked

upon these charms unmoved. All arrogance and self-confidence were gone

or lay buried under the most appealing of coquetry, a shy tenderness

apparently born of irresistible impulse showing itself in little wilful

sallies, a glance or touch, seemingly instantly regretted, and followed

by alternations of reticence. He admitted her bewitching but had no idea

that he was himself bewitched. His was a literary passion. He was a

student of life as well as of books, and he had never before had the

opportunity of studying such glorious examples of both at close range.

He completed his portrait of his ideal heroine Portia, the noblest that

he ever depicted, and found to his surprise that quite another type of

woman was forming itself in his mind. Powerful outside influences

mingled their impressions with the long-stifled hunger in his heart. He

was not in love with his hostess, but he was starving for love, and each

book that he read, every object of art that he looked upon, and nature

itself was steeped with the charm and passion of Italy. If he tossed

aside Boccaccio and his too suggestive _confreres_ to seek refreshment

in the garden it was only to find himself face to face with the famous

statue of the most seductive of all women, she who made Caesar her slave

and Antony her "floor-cloth."

She obtruded herself upon him everywhere, for his very bed

was hanged

With tapestry of silk and silver,

the story

Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman.

He had read with Marie de' Medici the history of the Egyptian Queen, and

had brooded over it until against his will something of the fascination

of the "Serpent of Old Nile" invested his comrade, and the name of

Antony ever after called up in her memory also the inspired face of her

fellow-student in the dangerous science of love.

Realising vaguely the influence which like some mephitic perfume, an

opiate of the soul, emanated from the purely literary reconstruction of

such a character, he laid it aside for the heart-breaking story of

Giulietta, whose very innocence moved him still more profoundly.

It was midsummer, the quivering July heat brought out the pungent scent

of the freshly clipped box-hedges, and set the mad flood stirring as in

the brief action of the play. During the day the white glare drove the

guests of the garden festivals into the shadiest recesses of the cypress

labyrinths. The flowers themselves seemed to have vanished from the

parterres, or, like the Cereus, bloomed only at night, plainly visible

under the luminous sky, when the nightingales vied with the viols of the

serenaders.

On such a night as this Brandilancia, who had been reading late, closed

his book and, after the departure of the last reveller, stepped upon the

terrace to cool his brain heated by inspiration. A kindred restlessness

brought Marie de' Medici to her balcony and he recklessly sprang upon a

marble bench which almost enabled him to touch her hand.

"Listen, dearest lady," he said, "it is your favourite story, which I

have re-written with my own heart's blood."

Enthralled, though only half comprehending, Marie de' Medici listened as

he poured forth in impassioned improvisation lines which from that day

to this no one who has ever loved has heard untouched. The actor's

training gave to the burning words of the poet artistic expression

worthy of the most finished theatrical production, and as such they

lacked not their due appreciation and applause though from a most

undesired audience. A low chuckling and a clapping of hands greeted the

close of the recital, and the two successful impersonators of Romeo and

Juliet saw to their confusion that the scene had been witnessed by a

burly man-at-arms, who now stalked from the shadow of a group of

cypresses.

"Bravo!" he cried, "da Groto himself did not act that play so well, when

I saw him years since in the Farnese theatre at Parma. But you have

taken liberties with the lines and, per Bacco! have improved them.

Whoever you may be you are too good an actor for such paltry

assistance."

"And I know no one better qualified to pronounce upon a play than

Captain Radicofani," replied Marie de' Medici, reappearing from the

interior of her chamber whither she had retreated on the appearance of

the intruder. "It is odd that you should have chanced so opportunely

upon us as we were rehearsing our little comedy. My lord of Essex,

permit me to present Captain Tuzio Radicofani, as brave a soldier as

ever wielded sword, and one loyally attached to my uncle's service. What

news do you bring from the Grand Duke, Captain? Will he soon return to

us?"

"The Earl of Essex?" the other repeated in surprise disregarding for

the moment Marie de' Medici's questions. "It is rare indeed to find one

of Fortune's favourites so variously talented. His Excellency the Grand

Duke, though he enumerated both your physical and mental accomplishments

with great particularity spoke not of play-acting."

Brandilancia did not relish the shrewd look in the half-closed eyes, nor

did he fancy the bullet-shaped close-cropped head with its overweight of

occiput and bull-dog jaw, but he replied courteously, "such trifling

diversion on the part of an idle man is surely less remarkable than its

appreciation by one of action like yourself."

"The Grand Duke would also have been surprised," the soldier continued,

"could he have assisted at this little scene. Your highness does himself

discredit in referring to the performance as trifling, for, by the

Blood, I never saw so accomplished an actor. The Signorina's talent

likewise astonished me, though it was confined to mere pantomime, one

might have thought it the languishing of a love-sick girl. By your

favour, Signorina, there are indeed certain letters in my saddle-bags

which my groom has in charge, but the varlet has gone to his supper in

the servants' hall. I, too, am hungry and will seek the steward. The

letters, with your Highness's permission, shall be presented on the

morrow, which indeed is almost here."

They entered the villa together in apparent friendliness, but it was

with a sense of impending evil that Brandilancia retired to his room.

Was it simply that the man had interrupted them at a moment when in

spite of Marie de' Medici's tactful greeting no audience was desired, or

was there something sinister in his coming? The more Brandilancia

reflected the less he liked the familiarity which amounted to an

assumption of authority. Radicofani's voice had not rung true. "The

fellow suspects me. Nay, he knows that I am not the Earl of Essex,"

groaned the young man, as he tossed upon his bed; "and if his creature

knows, then the Grand Duke knows also, and who can guess on what errand

this villain comes? He pretended to believe that we were rehearsing a

comedy, but he doubtless places the worst possible construction upon the

scene which he has just witnessed. Was it a comedy, or am I in earnest?

Ah! I have deliberately fallen into the trap against which Malespini

warned me. I have lingered too long in this fool's paradise. Love and

its penalty have stricken me in the same instant. Thank Heaven! no

thought of this madness of mine can have entered the pure mind of my

lady. Until this night I have breathed no word that could have betrayed

it, and even now she doubtless thinks my ravings those of a poet. I will

leave the villa to-morrow, lest my further presence here should bring

trouble upon her."

Even as he formed the resolution a slight sound caught his ear, the

cautious opening and closing of the door which led from the ante-chamber

of his bedroom into the outer hall, the only means of communication

between his own room and other parts of the villa. A light shone between

the folds of the portiere, and there were sounds of some one moving

about softly in the ante-room. Springing from his bed, Brandilancia

seized his sword.

"Who is there?" he demanded.

"'T is I, Radicofani," and the tapestries parted, disclosing the form of

the Captain, towering beyond a camp-bed which had been spread across the

doorway.

"I should have informed your worship," he apologised smugly, "that I

sleep here to-night. Put up your sword, and rest assured that no one

shall pass this room without my license."

"And could they give you no better lodging than that?" asked

Brandilancia.

"Room in plenty," the Captain replied, "but it is on the Grand Duke's

orders that I act as your body-guard, and I enter upon my duties at

once, for I am responsible for your safety."

The prisoner inquired no further, but letting fall the portiere, threw

himself upon his bed confounded. His resolution to leave the villa had

been made too late.

But the morning brought a fresh access of hope, as Brandilancia noticed

between the widely-drawn curtains that the obstructing truckle-bed had

been set against the wall and that his guard had left his post.

The dwarf Leonora, who was the only occupant of the dining hall when he

descended, stole to his side and bade him await the Signorina in the

belvedere in the upper garden.

Here Marie de' Medici presently joined him.

"My lord," she said, between her quick panting, for she was out of

breath with running, "I shame to tell you, but you must leave us at

once, indeed you should have done so long since."

"It is what I had upon my mind to say to you, sweet lady," he replied.

"I have an appointment to meet at Venice ten days hence, and must leave

my papers for the Grand Duke and proceed upon my journey, much as it

irks me to tear myself from your company."

"Then you know not that my uncle has sent Radicofani to take you to

Florence?"

"The Grand Duke does me honour, and under other circumstances I would

gladly accept his further hospitality; but his Highness will understand

that Robert Devreux is not free to follow his own inclinations."

"No, you are not free," she answered hastily. "Read this letter which

Radicofani gave to my aunt this morning and which I purloined from her

writing-cabinet. Nay, hesitate not but read, for it concerns you

vitally." At her command he read:

"_To the Grand Duchess Christina de' Medici._

"MOST HONOURED AND DEAR SPOUSE:

"Your letter informing me of the arrival at the villa of a person

purporting to be the Earl of Essex has occasioned me great concern

inasmuch as the fellow is undoubtedly an impostor.

"His Eminence, Don Jerome Osorio, Bishop of Algarve, who arrived in

this city some five days since, asserts positively that on the date

upon which this rascal presented himself at the Villa Medici the

Earl of Essex personally conducted the sack of the town of Faro in

southern Portugal, and, having feloniously carried the bishop's

library on board the English flag-ship, he forth-with set sail for

the open ocean, evidently upon his return voyage for England.

"Imagine, therefore, my anxiety on learning that you have given

harbourage to some rascal, who having by base practises learned

that the Earl had an errand with me, now usurps his name and

credit. I send this letter by my trusty servitor, Radicofani, whom

I have charged to bring the villain with all speed to me that I may

examine him by the question and learn his motives in assuming this

disguise. If he has brought with him any papers (some of which he

may easily have stolen from the Earl of Essex) see to it that

Radicofani obtains possession of them before the rascal's

suspicions are aroused. I tremble when I think how he may have

practised upon your unsuspicious nature, and what villainies he may

already have accomplished, or rather I would thus tremble did I not

know that you inherit the resolution of the race of Lorraine,

which, even when a mistake has been committed, knows how to wring

success from disaster. Confiding thus in your courage and your

woman's wit, I remain,

"Your loving husband,

"FERDINANDO.

"P.S. For the better furtherance of my desires confide my

suspicions to no one not even to my niece, but take leave of this

caitiff with all ceremony as though he were indeed him whom he

represents."

Brandilancia paled slightly, but not at the danger in which he stood.

"The Grand Duke is correct in his suspicions," he said, "I have lied to

you, I am not the Earl of Essex."

She smiled enigmatically. "You have known it all along?" he exclaimed.

"Then I am a poorer actor than I thought."

"Nay, you acted your part well, but early in our acquaintance I knew you

for a nobler man than the Earl of Essex. I have no guess as to the

station to which you may have been born, but you are fitted to play a

knightly part, on a far different stage from this, my King among men."

"And when I have won my crown," he replied, "the world shall know that

it was your faith in me which nerved me to the effort, for I shall lay

it at your feet, my Queen, the only woman who has ever really understood

or cared for me." His arms were about her and she was sobbing in the

excitement of her triumph. "Yes, yes," she cried, "you will come again,

but now you must fly. What am I that I should hold you thus when you

stand in danger of your life?"

"Have no fear for me dear lady," he replied. "The Grand Duke is

fair-minded, and will not fail to credit my assertions when I explain

why I undertook this adventure."

"My uncle believes nothing without absolute proof. Such chivalrous

motives as yours would seem to him incredible. If you fail to convince

him of your identity he will execute you as a common rogue. If you prove

it he will use every inch of his advantage ere you escape his clutches.

You must fly, but how? On learning an hour since, that Radicofani had

descended to the city, I ordered our horses for a ride only to learn

that he had left strict orders at the stables and at the gates of the

villa that you were not to be allowed to leave the grounds. My friend,

you are a close prisoner. Think fast. What can you do?"

"Nothing, dear lady, but trust that since I have committed no crime I

shall not receive the treatment of a criminal."

"What loss of time is this?" exclaimed Leonora as she suddenly made her

appearance from behind the hedge. "Here I have stood on guard for half

an hour by the sun-dial and you have wasted it in idle chatter. I tell

you, Signor, my mistress is right, you are as good as a dead man if you

trust to the Grand Duke; but take the advice of the Owlet and we will

foil him nicely."

For an instant a suspicion flashed across his mind that her apparent

friendliness was untrustworthy. It was she, he suspected, who had

ushered Radicofani into the garden on the previous evening, or at least

had failed to give warning of his approach. But he dismissed these

thoughts as unworthy.

"What expedient do you suggest Leonora?" he asked.

"Do you not recognise that contadina," the dwarf replied, "the one

standing between the fountain and the parapet yonder? She is a friend of

yours and will help me save you."

"A friend of mine!" Brandilancia repeated wonderingly.

Leonora laughed maliciously. "Have you forgotten possessing yourself of

a little fan which my mistress dropped, quite by accident, from a window

on the day of your arrival, and that you were assisted in finding it by

the laundress of the villa? The artful jade has a better memory. She

does not fail to remind me of the incident and to inquire for you

whenever she calls for the linen. I have been obliged to stop her mouth

with more than one coin to keep her from blabbing to the Grand Duchess.

However that incident proves to have been all for the best. Her cart is

at the kitchen door, she is waiting there at my orders. Summon her to

your room, purchase and don the costume which she now wears. With her

kerchief shading your face no one will recognise you, and you will drive

away in triumph throned upon her hampers, until well beyond the city

when you can turn the donkey loose and catch the Venetian post."

[Illustration: View from the Garden of the Villa Medici]

His laugh rang out boyishly. "The adventure of Bucciolo, which I read to

the Signorina, from the tales of Ser Giovanni suggested that expedient,"

he said. "It were a good motive for a roaring farce, but I must consider

the dignity of the name I bear."

"Nay speak it not," entreated Marie de' Medici in a whisper, throwing

her arms about his neck. "I heard a step upon the gravel."

He regarded her wonderingly, "Let who will hear," he persisted. "It

shall never be said that the Earl of Essex slunk from danger in a

wench's petticoats."

"Well spoken, I like you the better for that," laughed a loud voice, and

Captain Radicofani parting the shrubbery suddenly appeared,

interrupting, for the second time, their confidences. "How

unsuspectingly you children fell into my trap," he sneered. "I knew that

the Signorina would warn you. You were acting a tableau I presume just

now as you held her in your embrace. A pretty scene, i' faith, but one

of which the Grand Duke will not be amused to hear. I had hoped to learn

still more of the libretto of this little play, but you know more of

mine. We will make no further pretence, and lest I lose you by further

shilly-shallying, we will start upon our journey at once.

"Until we are well upon our way, Signorina, may I beg you, and Leonora

also, to remain in your own suite of apartments and to attempt to hold

no communication with this gentleman?"

Marie de' Medici bowed haughtily. "I shall employ the time in writing my

uncle how unwarrantably Captain Radicofani exceeds his orders," she

replied as she swept angrily from the belvedere.

Seeing that the indignation of her mistress merely amused the

condottiere the dwarf took a cajoling tone. "At least your highness will

remain to luncheon," she said insinuatingly.

"That invitation I am powerless to refuse," replied the Captain, "but

you may order it served in this gentleman's chamber, whither I will now

conduct him."

With a disconcerting chuckle Radicofani suited his action to the word,

and busied himself with preparations for the journey, taking care,

however, as he strode from ante-room to bed-chamber to keep his prisoner

constantly in sight. The latter's hope of escape had reached a low ebb

when Malespini knocked timidly. He had brought certain papers which the

Signor had left in the library. Captain Radicofani received the

secretary distrustfully and bestowed the papers among his own effects.

"I will look them over," he commented, "and if innocent pass them on to

our friend before we arrive in Florence."

Malespini retreated deferentially, but, once outside the door he

executed a silent war-dance as an outlet for his rage. In its eccentric

evolutions he hurtled against a servant bringing the luncheon, and fully

half of the viands poured like an avalanche down the stairs. While the

man strove to gather up the broken crockery the secretary snatched the

tray and with ill-concealed triumph re-entered the apartment.

"Is this all you have brought?" grumbled the disappointed Captain.

"Truly," replied the wily Malespini, "this light collation was intended

solely for his highness the Earl of Essex, who I hear must keep his

room. For your lordship dinner awaits in the banquet-room, where the

Grand Duchess has ordered a boar's-head, stuffed with sage and onions,

together with a pasty of pheasants, and where she will serve you with

her own hands a stirrup-cup of the Grand Duke's oldest vintage."

Captain Radicofani sprang up with alacrity, but noticing that Malespini

was edging nearer to his friend, ordered the secretary gruffly to pass

out before him.

"Behind the bed," said Malespini in a low voice to the prisoner, as he

lighted one of the tapers in the mantel candelabra, "and take all of

these candles, _all_ or you are lost."

"Idiot," shouted the Captain; "it is not yet noon. What need of lights?

Play me no tricks, but leave the room."

Springing from his chair as soon as the door had closed behind

Radicofani, Brandilancia examined the huge state-bedstead, and with a

little exertion trundled it forward. Behind its tapestry hangings a

secret door, suspected only by a crack in the wainscotting, opened

beneath his prying fingers, and revealed a spiral staircase leading

downward into pitchy darkness. Comprehending Malespini's admonition, he

hastily appropriated the candles, and, drawing the bedstead into its

place behind him, descended the dizzily circling steps. Eighty-seven he

counted, twisting round and round within the turret, and then he paused,

for he distinctly heard the sound of rushing water. The air had become

moist as well as cool, and the steps were green and slippery with moss.

Advancing with more caution, he presently found himself in a vaulted

passage a little higher than his head, where a narrow pathway followed a

conduit of dark water, which reflected the flame of his candle in a

thousand glancing sparkles.

II

IN WHICH IT IS DEMONSTRATED THAT IT IS SOMETIMES EASIER TO SET OUT UPON

A QUEST THAN TO RETURN THEREFROM

It was the Aqua Virgo, the old subterranean aqueduct built by the

Emperor Claudius, that pierced the hill beneath the Villa Medici, in

which Brandilancia now found himself. If he turned to the left he knew

he would soon find egress through the doorway to which the chance

fluttering of Marie de' Medici's fan had led him. But this would be to

appear upon the streets of Rome in open day, and to run the risk of

seizure by Radicofani's guards. Moreover, Malespini's advice to provide

himself with so many candles was significant, and Brandilancia

unhesitatingly chose the longer way, not doubting that it would finally

lead him into the open country.

The stream at his side was of considerable volume and flowed with great

swiftness, while the shelf upon which he was advancing was hardly more

than ten inches broad. Both it and the wall were slimy with dampness,

giving no secure hold to hand or foot. The pathway mounted steadily, and

apparently pursued a straight course, but no opening showed itself in

the distance, and the light of his taper penetrated but a little way

into the blackness. As he glanced backward his shadow loomed in a

gigantic and almost unrecognisable form, following him waveringly like a

malevolent spirit. His footsteps woke hollow reverberations; the water

gurgled and sobbed, and an odor suggestive of the tomb added to the

impression that he was wandering in some unexplored catacomb. He could

proceed but slowly, and the low temperature chilled him to the bone, but

he pushed on resolutely as it seemed to him for interminable hours. "I

shall go mad," he thought, "if there is no change in this deadly

monotony," and at that instant the vault echoed with the beat of

hurrying footsteps.

Brandilancia could see the distant flare of torches, and he knew that

his candle was as plainly visible to his pursuers. He dared not

extinguish it, but quickened his pace to a run, slipping, almost falling

into the water as he dashed recklessly forward. Suddenly, but not an

instant too soon, he halted before a void. The pathway had disappeared;

another step and he would have plunged into a reservoir of unknown depth

which yawned without a barrier before him.

As he lifted his candle and peered across the wide expanse he saw that

the tunnel was closed directly opposite him by a wall of solid masonry,

and in his dismay almost a minute elapsed before he discovered to the

left an open archway which indicated that the tunnel here turned at an

angle. But how should he cross to this doorway? The coping which

separated the cistern from the canal in the centre of the tunnel was too

narrow and the water poured over it noisily. He was about to attempt

swimming when he noticed that he was standing upon a plank, evidently

placed here to be used as a bridge. He retreated a few steps and pushed

it cautiously forward. It reached across the cistern and rested upon the

sill of the arched doorway.

In the brief interval thus consumed the footsteps had gained upon him

and in the light of the approaching torches he plainly recognised

Radicofani, who shouted to him to surrender. Thus beset he ventured the

crossing, but the plank was rotten and broke under his weight, falling

with him into the reservoir. He struck out in the direction in which he

imagined the archway to be, by good fortune found it by feeling along

the wall, and clambered upon the ledge which ran along the side of the

conduit as in the first tunnel.

He had suffered no other harm than the thorough wetting and the loss of

his candles, and the torches of his pursuers, who had now reached the

opposite side of the cistern, showed that the tunnel was slightly wider

than its opening, and that by hugging the wall he was not visible to

Radicofani. The latter had heard the splash and regarded the water

dubiously.

"Have you gone to the bottom?" he shouted, but Brandilancia was wisely

silent. "If not," cried the Captain, "and you are hiding yonder within

hearing, let me tell you that you will die like a rat in a sewer unless

you give yourself up at the entrance to that tunnel, where you will find

me waiting for you."

Drenched to the skin Brandilancia's teeth chattered with the physical

cold, and fear numbed his heart. "What if Radicofani spoke the truth?"

But to carry out his threat the Captain must retrace his steps and ride

to the spot where the aqueduct entered the hill. How far he had

proceeded Brandilancia could not guess, possibly half or three-fourths

of the way. If so there was hope of reaching the opening before

Radicofani, and he hurried on with what speed he could consistent with

groping his way with hands and feet in the total darkness. The exertion

stirred his blood but the tunnel seemed to have no end. His hands were

worn and bleeding with clinging to the rough wall, and a great lassitude

was stealing over him when he caught a faint glimmer of light like that

of a star, not the lurid glow of a candle or torch but the blessed white

light of day. It was the longed-for opening, though still far away. He

thought that he had out-distanced Radicofani and stumbled on, exultation

giving him new strength when a sudden eclipse of this star of hope made

him crouch motionless, grovelling close to the earth. A man's head and

shoulders were silhouetted blackly against the brightness. The man

peered cautiously into the tunnel, and listened; but neither hearing nor

seeing anything, presently withdrew.

Was it Radicofani? Were workmen preparing to wall up the exit? Ought he

to make a sudden rush for life and liberty?

Every instinct prompted him to this resolution, and he crawled

cautiously forward to within a few feet of the opening. Again the man

appeared, with a sudden bound Brandilancia was upon him and both rolled

in a life-and-death struggle upon the ground.

So dazed was he by the glare of the full light of day, so nearly crazed

with desperation that he did not recognise the voice that implored him

to cease his blows, or realise that his supposed antagonist was the

friendly Malespini, who, on the instant that Radicofani had discovered

and descended the secret staircase, had slipped his guards and ridden to

Brandilancia's succour on the swiftest horse obtainable in Rome.

Hastily exchanging his own mire-besmirched garments for the secretary's

unobtrusive suit, Brandilancia, with many apologies for his onslaught,

listened to Malespini's explanations of a circuitous route by which he

could avoid Radicofani, ride to Orte, and, leaving the horse at the inn

stables, take the diligence on the following day for Venice. Malespini's

suggestions, acceptable in themselves, were gratifyingly supplemented by

a tender letter from Marie de' Medici and a purse well filled with gold.

"Of the money I have fortunately no need," Brandilancia replied, "but

the care of your mistress for my safety and your own pains in my behalf

command my eternal gratitude. You shall both hear from me from Venice,

and so farewell."

Malespini's scheme seemed at first likely to be crowned with success,

and having secured his seat in the Venetian post, Brandilancia naturally

imagined his troubles at an end; but shortly after leaving Orte, where

the road turns to the eastward for its climb over the Apennines, the

lumbering vehicle came to a sudden halt. Shouts and oaths without, the

shrieks of a woman at his side, and the opening of the door by a masked

man, formidably armed, sufficiently explained the situation.

The passengers on dismounting were relieved of their purses by the

bandits, but, with the exception of Brandilancia, were allowed to

proceed upon their journey. No explanation was offered for this

discrimination, but there was something familiar in the figure of the

leader, who, after pointing out Brandilancia, had ridden rapidly on in

advance of his men, and the captive wondered at the excellent

accoutrements of the band and the good quality of the horse which he was

compelled to mount.

They struck at once into a wild mountain gorge, avoiding villages and

farms, and when at noon the brigands halted for refreshments in a

little wood, and removed their masks, Brandilancia recognised no

familiar faces.

Remounting, the brigands pursued their way up a steep bridle path, their

destination a strong castle, perched high on a spur of the mountain. The

prisoner's heart sank as he noted its isolation and strength, for here a

captive might remain for years and finally die undiscovered.

But Brandilancia had not reckoned on the cupidity of his host. His

capture had been planned not by hatred, but in the hope of ransom, as

was explained to him by the brigand chief, into whose presence he was

led upon his arrival at the stronghold.

The man still wore his mask, but at the first word which he uttered

Brandilancia to his astonishment recognised the condottiere Radicofani.

Accosted by name, the Captain removed his mask, and coolly confronted

his prisoner.

"It is as well," he said, "that you should understand the situation.

Your flight and apparent escape remove my accountability to the Grand

Duke for your person. I should not have troubled myself further about

you, were it not that upon my empty-handed return to the villa the

Signorina Marie de' Medici very indiscreetly taunted me with having

allowed a far more important personage than the Earl of Essex to slip

unrecognised through my fingers. Just who you are she did not see fit to

divulge; but I gathered that you are of sufficient consequence for your

friends to be willing to pay handsomely for your release. You may

therefore write to them, and I will see that your letters reach their

destination on condition that you advise the fulfilment of my demands."

"The Signorina has unwittingly misled you," Brandilancia replied. "The

Grand Duke was right in his belief that the Earl of Essex had sailed for

England, but though I am his accredited representative, as I hope to

prove to your master if you will convey me to him, I am a man of no

wealth and one whom the world will not miss."

"Tush! my fine fellow; it is useless to attempt to deceive me, and it is

against your own interest; for you can make better terms with me than

with the Grand Duke, who is by far a greater brigand than your present

host."

Thus admonished Brandilancia resigned himself to the inevitable, and

wrote two letters; the first to the Earl of Essex, expressing his regret

that he had not been able to personally present to Ferdinando de'

Medici the papers entrusted to him instead of sending them by the hand

of Radicofani. While reporting his captive condition, he begged his

friend to be at no expense or trouble for his redemption, beyond an

explanation to the Grand Duke that he had undertaken the mission upon

proper authority and should be allowed to return.

Having dashed off this missive at fever heat Brandilancia paused, pen in

hand, moodily regarding the blank sheet before him until gruffly

reminded by Radicofani that he must either write or give over the

attempt.

He started at the command, for in imagination he had been far away in a

thatch-roofed cottage behind hawthorne hedges, where Anne, faithful

Anne, had so often welcomed her wild lover. Their wills had clashed

after their marriage. She had objected unreasonably when his career led

him to London, had been sceptical as to his success, and even, so it

seemed to him, as to his genius. There had been angry reproaches and

bitter recriminations, but at heart he had never doubted her affection

and had always intended to convince her of his own when he could also

prove that in following the call of his talent he had acted for her best

interest. His stay at the Villa Medici and its very hostess seemed to

him now a hallucination whose passing left no trace upon his sober

senses, but could Anne understand this? If she believed him erring was

the high-spirited wife capable of forgiveness? He saw himself condemned

and shame-stricken before the tribunal of her unswerving rectitude but

none the less he ventured his plea in lines that had been forming

themselves, as always when he was under the stress of emotion, with the

clarity and perfection of a crystal born from the drip and ooze of some

dark cavern.

It is of all his sonnets the one which rings most true, ending with its

appeal for reconciliation after long estrangement.

"Your heart

My home of love; if I have ranged,

Like him that travels, I return again!"

He was not certain that he would be permitted to rejoin her, but he

would not sadden Anne by his foreboding. His heart had returned to its

allegiance; this was the important thing, and this she should know.

"I leave you now," said Radicofani as Brandilancia handed him the

letters, "for I must make speed to wait upon the Grand Duke at Florence.

Regard yourself as my guest rather than as a prisoner. I leave only a

few old servants charged to make you as comfortable as the ruinous

condition of this old castle of my ancestors will permit. The length of

your stay is conditioned only upon the promptitude of your friends in

complying with my conditions. I see that your letters are written in

English. No matter, I have no desire to pry into your private affairs

and shall send them by the earliest opportunity."

Brandilancia bowed ceremoniously, but sank exhausted into his chair. He

was shivering in a violent chill, the first stages of Roman fever,

brought on by his experiences in the subterranean aqueduct. For weeks he

tossed upon his pallet alternately freezing and burning, much of the

time delirious--now wandering with Anne through English meadows with

"daisies pied" and "babbling of green fields"--and anon scorching the

wings of his soul in the flame of Italian beauty and passion.

With the passing of the fever he eagerly demanded an interview with

Radicofani but was informed that the Captain was still at Florence. He

had written that no response of any kind had been received from either

of the letters sent to England, though ample time had elapsed for their

arrival. Brandilancia was not, however, to be set at liberty on this

account, and days lengthened to weeks and weeks to months and he was

still a prisoner.

The lofty situation of the castle far above the malaria of the valleys,

swept by every wind of heaven, had completed his cure, and as he paced

the sightly platform he found himself hungering for liberty and action.

In this reflux of returning health and energy, on one exhilarating

morning in early spring, when all nature seemed calling to him to

escape, Brandilancia hailed with gratitude the arrival of the secretary

Malespini bringing the almost despaired of tidings that his prison doors

were open and he was at last free to depart.

"The Grand Duke has commanded this," Brandilancia asked, "through the

intervention of my faithful friend the Earl of Essex?"

"Not so," Malespini responded drily. "You may thank friends nearer at

hand, for the Grand Duke knows as little of your existence as your

English friends apparently care for it."

"Then it is the Signorina who has effected my deliverance?"

Malespini shook his head. "The Signorina believes, as we all did until

recently, that you made your escape to your own country. She is entirely

absorbed at present with her approaching marriage, for your embassy was

successful. Your papers, which Radicofani carried to the Grand Duke,

initiated negotiations that have been carried to a successful

termination. The Duke of Nevers, who is a Gonzaga, and a cousin of the

Marquis of Mantua has come to Italy, as proxy of the French king, to

betroth the Signorina."

"May she have all happiness," Brandilancia exclaimed fervently, "but to

whom then do I owe my release?"

"Partly to the friend now before you, but in great measure also to one

whom you will hardly guess, that little package of ruse and malice

Leonora Dosi."

"Not the Owlet!"

"My friend you might have rotted in this mountain dungeon but for her

cleverness, and Radicofani's stupidity. The Grand Duke sent him a

fortnight since to escort us all from the Villa Medici to Mantua, where

the Marchioness Eleonora de' Medici Gonzaga is preparing a brilliant

fete in honour of her sister's approaching marriage. On the way

Radicofani, who is loquacious in his cups, bragged to Leonora of how

neatly he had captured you. The Owlet took counsel with me, and together

we so intimidated the Captain with threats to report him to the Grand

Duke, convincing him at the same time of your utter insignificance (for

Leonora declares that you confessed to her mistress in her presence that

you were not the Earl of Essex), that he consented to your release.

"By good luck I am commissioned to present a comedy in the palace and am

now supposed to be travelling in search of artists to assist in the

performance. You shall return with me in that capacity. Though the

Signorina knows not as yet of your presence in Italy she will be

rejoiced to see you again and will speed you on your homeward

journey,--for Mantua is on your way to Venice whence you told me you

would take ship."

"I would be overjoyed to carry out your plan, my good friend," replied

Brandilancia, "but shall I be safe? I have found such difficulty in

tearing myself away from the hospitalities of Italy that I am wary of

accepting further entertainment."

"I wonder not at your reluctance, but with the Gonzagas at Mantua you

will be beyond the power of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who though he is

indeed expected to attend the festivities, will never suspect that you

played another role at his Roman villa. The play is to be acted in part

by noble amateurs, and the Signorina herself will take the principal

part. It is the comedy which you dramatised from Ser Giovanni's story of

the heiress of Belmont, for nothing else would suit the Signorina. You

shall impersonate the successful lover. There have been many aspirants

for that role but I have held it for you. Can you resist my lord?"

"No, Malespini, I cannot resist, for I am indeed what you would have me

seem, a simple player. I will go with you since you need my service, and

will bid your mistress and the Owlet also a grateful farewell."

Thus, though he had thought never again to see the woman who had so

powerfully influenced his imagination and because he honestly believed

her influence at an end, Brandilancia ventured himself again within its

domain.

Tranquil, lily-starred lakes, blue as the heavens they mirror, lapped

with caressing ripples the foundations of the immense Gonzaga palace and

gave it the same enchanting environment on the morning of his arrival as

to-day. Its rosy walls glowed in the morning light like a cluster of

pink lotus-blossoms, while, a little apart from the main group of

buildings, a slender tower shot into the air, and suspended from its

summit, like some bell-shaped flower which droops its head, an iron

cage was sharply etched against the glowing sky.

"Is that a beacon?" asked Brandilancia. "If so, though unlighted, I

accept it as a good omen, as it were a signal hung out for my welcome."

"Heaven forfend that it should have aught to do with you, my lord, or

you with it," replied Malespini. "The flame of many a poor fellow's life

has gone out in that sinister cresset; but think not of it, for my lady

awaits you within the palace. You are to learn how the Medici love, not

how they hate."

Through interminable apartments regal with paintings and statues,

collected earlier in the century by Isabella d'Este Gonzaga, the

secretary led Brandilancia to the small writing-room of the Marchesa.

Marie de' Medici was standing alone at the window gazing at the

darkening lake. She turned as he entered, and her cry, "At last you have

returned, at last, O my beloved!" broken by sobs and wild caresses, made

good Malespini's promise.

She believed that the King of France, instead of sending the promised

proxy, had himself returned to betroth her at the approaching festival,

when he would doubtless declare himself publicly. Since it pleased him,

to make further proof of her affection, she accepted his confession that

he was only a poor comedian with apparent faith and with protestations

of unshaken love. She told him of the despair with which she faced her

brilliant future, of the loathing which overcame her at the thought of

any husband but himself; and she begged him to rescue her from so

hideous a fate.

How could he brutally tell so adorable a creature that the burning

words, which he had spoken on the night before his flight from the Villa

Medici, were but a poetic rhapsody, inspired by a frenzy which had

passed with the glamour that evoked it? He strove instead to recall her

to a sense of her own position, and he urged every consideration of

honour and of interest, apparently with some success; for she became

calmer, and promised to do whatever he desired, if he would but remain

and sustain her through the ordeal of her betrothal.

He believed himself abandoned by the woman whom he had loved, but his

heart was cold. He told himself that he would live henceforth without

love, but would endeavour in purest friendship to save this woman who

leaned on him for strength from making shipwreck of her life. They met

constantly in the intimacy of rehearsals, and as these proceeded

personal sentiments were occasionally introduced into the lines.

[Illustration: Choosing the Casket

From the painting by F. Barth. Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.]

"Ah, me! this word choose," Marie de' Medici exclaimed on one occasion.

"I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike. So is the

will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father."

On the evening of the final presentation of the play she startled

Brandilancia by laying her hand in his as she interpolated the

declaration: "My spirit commits itself to yours to be directed, as by

her lord, her governor, and king."

The play ended, she led him to a portico overlooking the lake.

"I have only a moment," she said, "while I am supposed to be dressing

for the dance which follows. You doubtless recognised in the small dark

man seated at my uncle's side the Duke of Nevers, and you have probably

informed him of your presence here; but my uncle little suspects that we

have anticipated their negotiation. Now surely is the proper time to

announce yourself. Wait in the ante-room of the Marquis, it adjoins the

library, and after the Grand Duke has set his signature to the

settlement, and the Duke of Nevers is about to sign for the King of

France, enter, take the pen from his hand, and sign for yourself. If you

wish I will accompany you, and we will confess that we are already

affianced. Why do you hesitate? Surely this is now the only thing to

do."

He gazed at her in uncomprehending astonishment. "Nay, dearest lady," he

protested, "put this wild fancy from your mind. Your uncle would never

accept me as your suitor; you would gain only dishonour by such a

course. Bid me farewell, and forget me in the glory of your new life;

and God help us both."

"Nay, I can not, I can not give you up," she cried passionately her arms

about his neck, "you have made me love you. I shall die if you leave

me."

"If this is true," he stammered, "if by some miracle you do indeed love

me beyond all earthly considerations, and your heart is great enough to

sacrifice all for the devotion of a heart that will at least be loyal,

then fly with me from this world of shame and cruelty, to some paradise

beyond the power of all who know us."

"Fly," she repeated in bewilderment, "and leave your kingdom, your

crown?"

"Oh! what is fame, what is honour," he cried, "to love like yours?

Listen, it is perfectly feasible. When I parted with my friends at Cadiz

Essex told me he would return with the fleet as soon as he could refit,

and cruise about the Azores, hoping to intercept the Spanish

treasure-fleet. He should be there at this time, and Raleigh with him.

But Raleigh purposed after aiding his friend in his enterprise to

continue his voyage to the new world, where he has planted a colony. In

Venice we can take passage with some merchant-man and join Raleigh at

Flores. Come with me, my Queen to the new world, where we will found a

new dynasty, for I can wait for my kingdom. I can write my plays and my

poems there, in some lodge in the forest, and years hence, when cities

have sprung up in that wilderness great actors will give them

presentation before men who can appreciate them, who will honour our

memory and glory that we were Americans."

She regarded him with eyes widening with alarm. "Surely you are mad,"

she said, "to throw away the Crown of France for which you have fought

so bravely."

"The crown of bay and laurel for which I am fighting has no root in

France, sweetheart, but in English soil," he replied wonderingly.

"Good God!" she cried, "then you are not--not Henry of Navarre?"

"Nay, how could that be possible? I am, as I long since told you, only a

simple English playwright who, much against his will, came hither on the

business of his friend the Earl of Essex. If you love me not I would to

God that I had never so come, since, by some strange delusion, I have

troubled your pure heart and have brought upon myself grief, and

dishonour.

"But forgive me, sweet lady, this madness shall be as though it had not

been, soon forgotten by you and safely hidden in the deepest chamber of

my heart."

For a moment she gazed at him astounded, for her mind refused to credit

the truth. In despite of his words she believed that he was putting her

disinterestedness to a supreme test which she must not fail. She clung

to him convulsively. "I love you, you alone," she declared, "and I will

go to El Dorado. I will meet you to-morrow at this hour at the

water-gate of the palace. I will come in the Gonzaga barge, and we will

flee together to Venice, and thence whither you will."

As she spoke the door leading into the palace was flung open, and the

Grand Duke followed by courtiers and ladies came toward them.

"Ah! here are our actors," he exclaimed, "bring the laurel crowns. This

for my niece and this for the gifted artist who has honoured our

festival. Come forward Brandilancia and receive the token of our

appreciation." But as the wreath was presented the Grand Duchess caught

her husband's arm, exclaiming: "Ferdinando, this is the false Earl of

Essex who deceived us all in Rome. Ask Radicofani, ask your niece, she

cannot have failed to recognise him."

"Nay, ask the French envoy," replied Marie de' Medici, "his Highness the

Duke of Nevers will tell you whom we have the honour to entertain as our

guest."

"I, Mademoiselle," exclaimed the representative of the French King,

"truly, I have never before looked upon his face."

"Declare yourself Sire, I beseech of you," Marie de' Medici implored,

and Brandilancia answered calmly:

"I am the authorised representative of the Earl of Essex. Brandilancia

is the Italian equivalent of my name, which in English is plain Will

Shakespeare. That I am an actor and playwright you have graciously

conceded, and that is the only distinction which I have ever claimed."

His words carried overwhelming conviction to the brain of the deluded

girl, and she sank fainting into the arms of the man whom she had so

misunderstood and who was still far from comprehending the cause of her

emotion.

"Leave my niece to the care of her women," the Grand Duke commanded

sternly. "Radicofani, is this indeed the rogue who slipped from your

clutches?"

"It is, my lord," replied that worthy, as he grasped the actor's arm.

"Then consign him to the hospitalities of our sky-parlour. In the cage

suspended from that tower, young man, you may await my investigation of

your case."

From his lofty outlook in the iron cage, dizzily suspended between earth

and heaven, our adventurer obtained a new and wider view. The palace and

its life dwindled to a speck. Far away to the north he could discern the

white summits of the mountains that cradle the blue lake of Garda, while

at his feet the Mincio flowed peacefully toward the Adriatic, where a

good ship (on which, but for his folly in pausing at Mantua, he might on

the morrow be voyaging homeward) was impatiently tugging at her

moorings. Fool that he was, he had made his bed and must lie on it. It

was a very uncomfortable bed at the present moment, for he could

neither stretch himself at full length nor stand erect, but sat with his

hands clasping his knees and his head bowed upon them. How long must he

retain this cramped position? Malespini's words came to him with

sinister emphasis. Would he be left here until starvation released him

from agony and his bones bleached in the sun? The Angelus chimed from

the belfries, the only structures which reached his plane, and gave him

a sense of human companionship, but the tones of the bells sounded thin

in the empty air, and his loneliness increased with their cessation. The

sun climbed the heavens and beat unmercifully upon his unprotected head,

but just as his thirst became intolerable and he groaned in agony, a

low, chuckling laugh replied from a window in the tower near his cage,

and turning his head he saw the malicious face of the dwarf Leonora

Dosi. Repugnant as she was to him he greeted her appearance now, for it

flashed through his mind that she might have brought him some message

from Marie de' Medici.

"It is good of you, Signorina," he said, "to think of me in my trouble;

or is it perchance your mistress who has sent you?"

He could not have asked a question which would have angered her more.

"My mistress may not have clean forgotten her singing-bird," she

replied, "but she has forgotten to order that his cage should be

supplied with water and seed cups, and I cajoled Radicofani till he let

me supply this neglect."

As she spoke she held aloft a flask of water whose crystal clearness

seemed to Brandilancia's blood-shot eyes the most desirable thing in all

the world.

"Ah! Signorina how can I ever thank you? and how can you get it to me?"

"Oh! I have thought of that. See I have brought a pole long enough to

reach your cage, and the bottle is so slender that it will pass between

the bars."

She attached the flask to one end of the pole with tantalising

deliberation, pausing after it was fastened to pour and drink a glass of

the water with expressive gusto. The gurgle of the liquid was more than

the tortured man could bear. "Dear Signorina for the love of Heaven be

quick. I die of thirst."

"Oh! no, Signor, one does not die so soon, or with so little suffering.

Men in your predicament have been known to live three days before they

went mad, and four more before they died."

"You hell cat!" he cried, "have you come to gloat over and increase my

agony?"

"That is not a pretty name," she said slowly, "I like better the 'dear

Signorina' with which you honoured me just now. You are too hasty,

Signor Brandilancia, too hasty in your conclusions, and in speaking them

forth. It might strike a wiser man in your situation that it would be

worth while not to antagonise a friend who has come to serve you. In

proof that you have misunderstood my motives I now pass you the water.

It was good? You would like more? Presently. It is not well to drink too

much when one is as thirsty as you are, besides I want to talk with you.

Do you realise that you are in a very serious position?"

"Have I been condemned to death?"

"Not so. There will be no trial, no execution. You will simply be

forgotten, left here to die. The Grand Duke believes you to be the lover

of his niece. That fact would not in the least distress him, were it not

for her approaching marriage, which he fears may be interrupted by some

rash act on your part."

"Tell the Grand Duke, if you come from him, and the Signorina also to

have no fear, that madness is past. If I am released I will repair to

England and never trouble her again."

Scorn curled the dwarf's lips. "Think you, the Duke would trust your

promise? And as for the Signorina she desires nothing of the sort, for

she loves you passionately."

"Poor lady," he groaned. "But for me she might have reconciled herself

to her destiny, wretch that I am to break the heart of one who loves me.

Tell her from me, that if she desires me to do so, and God in His mercy

delivers me from this bed of death I will keep my promise to snatch her

from the fate she dreads, and we will begin the new life in the new

world of which we dreamed."

The face of the dwarf was contorted with merriment which made it the

more hideous.

"Is the life of a savage in the wilderness a fit one for a daughter of

the Medici?" she demanded. "You need neither of you die or forego a

single luxury which your hearts desire, if you will gather your wits

together and listen to me.

"Possibly you think that I have no influence with the Grand Duke, but if

so you greatly mistake. I know the secret of my parentage, and have so

disposed matters that my death would bring it to light. Ferdinando de'

Medici will grant any request of mine. I am to go to Paris, not as the

servant but as the Lady in Waiting of the Queen of France. Will it

please you to join her train as Manager of her Royal Theatre and

Purveyor of Sports to the French Court? You could then enjoy the society

of the Queen without scandal."

His heart was hot with indignation but he restrained his anger. "If

indeed," he said, "there is no escape from this loathed marriage for

that sweet lady, I shall pray that no memory of me may ever intrude upon

her happiness. Surely what you suggest is as impossible as it is

infamous. The Grand Duke would never allow me to follow his niece to

Paris."

"The Grand Duke cares not one whit what his niece may choose to do after

she is once securely married. What I suggest is perfectly possible. I

have taken a fancy to you, Brandilancia. If I ask the Grand Duke to give

you to me as my husband he will not refuse me; on the contrary it will

be a welcome solution of the problem before him. If perchance any

inconvenient inquiries should in future be made by England concerning

your welfare he will be spared all responsibility. His niece will have

the plaything she desired, and will no longer mope. He will have secured

my gratitude and can trust me to preserve the conventionalities; and as

for you, my popinjay, your fortune is made. Do not fancy that you will

remain a mere montebank. You shall exchange your cap and bells for a

ducal coronet, chateaux jewels, honours, wealth in what form you will

shall be yours. You will be King in everything but name. Henry of

Navarre shall in reality be nothing but your condottiere, and I will not

be _exigeante_. I know that I am misshapen, hideous. I ask only a little

gratitude."

That word stopped his mouth, for he was about to curse her as a minister

of Satan, but a touch of pity softened his anger and contempt.

"You know not what you ask," he said. "She would despise me, and I would

abhor myself. Let me die without forfeiting her respect."

"_She!_" the dwarf sneered, and was suddenly silent. Her keen insight

told her that if she betrayed to this strangely constituted man that the

scheme had originated with her mistress he would loathe where he now

pitied and every chance of success be lost.

"What were you about to say?" he asked.

"Only that you little know the love you slight. She would forgive you

anything but desertion. Yours is a strange code of honour, that can win

the affection of a noble lady and then throw it lightly away. I am going

now. Once for all I ask, will you accept my offer?"

"And tempt that innocent soul to a life of perfidy and shame?--God send

me death quickly and spare me such villainy as that."

"Your prayer will not be answered," she sneered. "Death will come, but

not quickly,--unless you beat your brains out against the bars of your

cage, and before that you will shriek and call for me, but I will not

come. You have known how the women of the Medici love. Learn now how

they hate."

Her footsteps died away and despair settled upon his heart. How long,

how long, he asked himself, must he endure this agony before death would

come to his release.

The dwarf had left food and water on the window-sill in plain sight but

beyond his reach. He closed his eyes but the odour of the viands reached

him and increased his faintness. The hours lagged on, and toward evening

a light breeze sprang up and he fell into a troubled sleep which

somewhat dulled his suffering. From this he was rudely awakened by the

swaying and jolting of his cage, and he realised that it was being

hauled hastily and not too gently into the tower.

Men dragged him from it, a physician gave him a reviving draught and

assisted him down the staircase at whose foot he fell into the arms of

the faithful Malespini.

"Is it she, who has rescued me?" he asked as the secretary seated him in

a row-boat which shot toward the palace.

"Nay, you are released by the Grand Duke's orders," Malespini replied.

"I bring you great news, Signor. A gentleman has arrived from England

who demands your safe return in the Queen's name. Even the Medici could

not gainsay a summons signed 'Elizabeth' and emphasised by one of her

Majesty's ships of war. Say naught of the hospitality just accorded you,

I beseech you, until well out of Italy, else you may excite the English

admiral who is the bearer of the Queen's message to some rash act, for

he seems to me a man of short temper, and it were well that the Grand

Duke in his chagrin were not tried too far."

"The English Admiral!" repeated the astonished Brandilancia,--"sent for

me by Queen Elizabeth. It is not possible!" But, as the torchlight fell

upon the gallant figure impatiently pacing the landing which they were

approaching, he cried "Miracle of God! it is indeed Essex!"

"It is I, Will, of a surety," replied the other. "Did you think I would

suffer you to die in the trap into which you had ventured for love of

me? I have been consumed with anxiety, especially after the Grand Duke

in answer to my importunity assured me that you left the Villa Medici

months since and that he was ignorant of your whereabouts. I had

quarrelled with the Queen when that news arrived, and she had ordered me

to the Azores. I asked for an audience, but she would not receive me,

and I left England determined to push on to Italy without her knowledge

and rescue you _vi et armis_."

"You should not have done that, my good friend. Elizabeth has beheaded

men for slighter disregard of her authority."

"I outran not my orders, Will, for I had scarcely left England when a

swift sailing packet overtook me with letters from the Queen, one for

the Grand Duke desiring your immediate return, the other my instructions

to use all despatch in securing your person."

"But if you received no letter from me and had no speech with the Queen,

I do not understand how her Majesty learned of my predicament."

"Through your wife, Will. When I returned to England from my expedition

to Cadiz she sought me out, and demanded why I had not brought you.

Then, as the time passed by at which I had told her she might expect

you, it seems she grew wild with anxiety, and, journeying to London,

laid the matter before the Queen, who admires your talent as a

playwright and has herself some ambition in that direction. Anne, the

artful wench, very tactfully persuaded her Majesty that, with you for a

collaborator, she might write a comedy which would redound to her

eternal fame. Therefore, our royal mistress bids you think of some plot

which shall bring again upon the boards that arch-rogue, John Falstaff.

I am to bring you to Windsor Castle, where you are to prepare this

masterpiece, at the Queen's dictation (Heaven save the mark!), in time

for its presentation before the Court during the Twelfth Night

festivities."

"And Anne, whom I thought so indifferent to my career, to my very

existence, did this for me?"

"Yes, Will, 't is a good girl and a handsome, and one you have not

treated overly well, as it seems to me; but you will make it all up over

your Christmas pudding."

As he spoke the great clock of the palace slowly clanged midnight, and

Brandilancia turned white and caught Essex's arm for support. "Would to

God that I might go with you," he groaned; "would that I had never come

to Italy upon your cursed business. I stand here a doubly perjured man.

How, I scarcely know (for I swear I set not about it cold-bloodedly), I

have won the love of the peerless Marie de' Medici. For me she has

discarded the King of France, and has promised to meet me at this spot

and at this very hour and fly with me to El Dorado. I left her stricken

to the heart by my misfortunes. If I desert her now her death will be

upon my head. See you not the Gonzaga barge is approaching in which she

promised to forsake the world with me."

"Make yourself easy on the score of my mistress," exclaimed Malespini.

"You have kept your appointment, but when she made hers she had no

intention of keeping it with a man of your quality. Under a strange

hallucination she has fancied all along that you were the King of

France, and her fainting fit was occasioned by her dismay and

humiliation on discovering that you were only the king of poets. I will

not say that she did not find you agreeable. She was pleased when she

learned that your friend had arrived in time to rescue you, and ere she

left for Florence this afternoon bade me wish you _bon voyage_, and to

thank you for much merry entertainment."

The Earl of Essex whistled softly, and an expression of infinite relief

relaxed the contorted features of Brandilancia. "I have learned how the

women of the Medici love," he murmured. "Thank God, our English women

love in a different fashion."

[Illustration: COLONNA]