A FOOL'S CAP AND A SORE HEART.
I was not so dense as to fail to grasp the extent of the peril I had
escaped, or to fully realise the evil strength of the temptation,
which came upon me as suddenly as a sneeze. It is rare in matters of
this kind for wicked thoughts to be of slow growth; they spring at
once to life, full-armed. I thanked God in my heart that I was able to
sweep aside the base desire, which covered my soul like a black cloud,
and refrained from taking advantage of madame's momentary weakness. I
could not but see I was to blame myself.
I, the elder and the stronger, should have foreseen the probable
consequences of a friendship such as ours, and my sorrow for her was
mixed with the deepest regret for my part in the transaction. I
banished all idea of attacking D'Entrangues through his wife,
wondering at the littleness of spirit which had ever conceived such a
thought. If it were possible, I would have kicked myself. Perhaps such
victory as I gained over my heart was due to the secret springs of my
vanity being touched, to the fear of the loss of my self-respect, and
this mingling with my pity and regret, gave me the strength to win at
the moment of temptation. It is difficult to tell; I have lived long
enough in the world to know that the mysteries of the heart will
remain veiled to the end. Occasionally we may lift the curtain a
little, but more no man has done.
What had happened, however, explained clearly to me the motive for
D'Entrangues' conduct. He, at any rate, must have seen, long before
either of us, how affairs stood with the wife whose life he
embittered; but he made no effort to save her, contenting himself with
striking an assassin's blow, which had taken from him the last shred
of respect madame may have felt for him, and which had in part
recoiled on his own head. Be this as it may, his stroke was
successful, in that to all intents and purposes it had utterly blasted
me. I was worse than dead. It was no ordinary revenge. In those
troublous times, a blow from a dagger could have easily rid him of a
wife of whom he was sick, or a man whom he hated, and no one would
have thrown the matter in his teeth. But with devilish cruelty, he
inflicted wounds which could never heal, and left his victims to live.
It was impossible to hit such a man back, in a way to make him feel to
the utmost extent the agony he had administered; the only thing was to
take from him his worthless life: this he doubtless valued most of all
things, and I meant to deprive him of it, if he stood at the altar of
Christ. Moved by such thoughts, and with my cloak drawn well over the
lower part of my face, I hastened towards the Roman Gate, reaching it
just as it was to be closed for the night. In fact, as I passed out,
the huge doors came together behind me with a groaning, and at the
same time I heard the dull boom of the evening gun from the camp,
followed immediately by the distant peals of the trumpets of the
cavalry brigade.
The sun had now set, and night came apace; a grey haze enveloped the
town behind me; above, in the deep violet of the sky, a few stars were
shining, soon to be dimmed by the rising moon; from the east a bank of
clouds was rapidly approaching, the advance guard of a storm from the
Adriatic. To the west, there was still light enough to see the Chiana,
lying like a silver thread, flung carelessly to earth in long folds,
and the rugged outlines of the roadless Chianti hills stood up in
fantastic shapes against the horizon. South-east was the peak of Monte
Eavulto; due west, beyond Bucine, Mount Luco was yet visible. I halted
for a moment, hesitating what course to take; whether to cross the
swamps of the Chiana valley, and make my way over the Ambra to
Montevarchi, and on to Florence; or to skirt the camp, cross the Arno
at one of the fords between Laterine and Giove, and go on through the
Prato Magno.
As the crow flies, Florence was but a few leagues distant; but I
obviously would have to journey by side-paths, over hill and across
valley to avoid observation, and this would occupy at least two days,
unless my travels were permanently stopped by my being cut off by a
privateering party from the camp, or by any other untoward accident.
Neither contingency was unlikely, for the writ of the king ran barely
a league from the army, and the country was full of banditti. In fact,
for a half-pistole one might have had a priest's throat cut. I decided
on the former route. So muffling myself well in my cloak, for the wind
blew chill, with my sword resting in the loop of my arm, I set forward
at a round pace, and avoiding the camp, directed my steps towards
Bucine. As far as Chiani I knew the road. Beyond that there was
nothing but quagmire and swamp; still I had little doubt of finding my
way by the moon, which would soon show, and if, perchance, I fell in
with nighthawks, well then, there was little to be gained from me but
hard knocks; and it would be an opportunity to test the temper of the
blade I had purchased from Don Piero, the armourer.
In this mind I pressed on, intending to lie at Bucine for the night,
or, if no better accommodation offered, to sleep as a soldier should,
wrapped in my cloak, with the sky for a roof. As I went on, I found I
was relying a little too much on my knowledge of the road, and a blue
mist, which rose from the ground, made it impossible to pick my way by
landmarks. Stumbling along, I took a good two hours to do what should
have been done in one, and, by the time I reached Chiani, began to
think it would be well to reconsider my decision in regard to making
Bucine that night. It was then that I suddenly remembered that Chiani
was held by a piquet of Swiss infantry, and any attempt to enter would
be impossible, as the gates were doubtless shut. I was a little put
out, for had I only recollected the fact before, I might have been
saved the extra mile or so of hard work I had to reach within a few
yards of Chiani, merely for the pleasure of turning back. The moon,
come out by this time, shone fitfully through the bank of clouds,
which was shifting uneasily overhead, and the wind, rising steadily,
marked rain. I stirred myself all the faster, for I was in no mind to
add a wetting to my misfortunes, and a drop or two of rain that caught
me, showed I had but little leisure to lose. I made out a narrow
cattle track, and hurried along this; but before I covered a mile the
moon was obscured, and the wind dropped. It now began to rain, and the
darkness was so thick, that I could only just follow the road. Soon
the track died away into nothing, and I found myself floundering, over
my ankles in mud, and up to the waist in wet rushes. At any moment I
might strike a quicksand, with which these marshes abound, so I used
my sword as a search-pole, stepping only where I found foot-hold, a
dozen inches or so below the surface of the bog. In this perplexity,
imagine my relief to see the blaze of a fire shoot up beyond a small
rising ground before me, and throw an arc of light into the darkness,
against which the falling rain glittered like fine wires of silver. I
shouted aloud and to my joy got an answer.
"Who is there? What is the matter?"
"A traveller," I replied, "who has lost his way in this cursed swamp.
Whoever you are, you will make a friend and find a reward if you lead
me out of this."
"Come straight on, there is no danger beyond getting your feet wet."
"They are that already," I answered, and pressed on, having absolutely
to force my way through the wet rushes, which wound themselves round
me impeding my progress terribly. Moreover, so sticky was the slime
below, that I thought every moment it would pull the boots off my
feet. Struggling on in this manner for a hundred yards or more, guided
by the fire, and an occasional shout from my unknown friend, I at last
touched hard ground, and with a "Thank heaven!" got out of the swamp,
and found myself at the foot of the hillock, behind which the fire was
blazing.
"Which way to Bucine?" I called out.
"Are you out of the swamp?"
"Yes!"
"Then come round the shoulder of the hill to your right, and follow
your nose. You will find shelter here. Bucine you could never reach
to-night, and a dog should not be out in this weather."
"True, friend," I muttered, and with a loud "thanks" to the apparently
hospitable unknown, I followed his directions, and rounding the
hillock, saw before me, spluttering in the rain, a huge fire of
pine-logs, at the entrance to a hut of the rudest description. Inside,
I perceived a sitting figure, over which the light from the fire
alternately cast a glare, and then left it in darkness. I made my way
to the open door, which hung back on hinges of rope, and entered
without further ceremony.
"Humph!" snorted my host, without moving from his position. "I said it
was no night for a dog to be out, I did not say anything of a wolf."
This change of tone was not so surprising, for dripping wet, covered
with mud, and white with fatigue, my general appearance was but little
calculated to re-assure any one. Yet, as I hung my cloak on a rough
wooden peg which caught my eye, I could not help laughing in mockery
as I answered:
"Wolves, friend, come to wolves' lairs."
He took no notice of my remark; but pointing to a heap of rushes
opposite to him, said, "Sit down there." He then rose, and went
towards the fire with an unlit torch in his hand. This gave me some
opportunity of observing him. I saw he was of spare, but elastic
figure. His head was bare, and his white hair hung in matted locks
over a lean neck to his shoulders. His dress was fantastic, and
entirely out of place with his surroundings. It consisted of a tight
fitting jerkin of parti-coloured velvet, with puffed breeches to
match, pulled over thick black hose. On his feet were the ordinary
sandals of the peasantry, and, as he stooped to light the torch-wood,
I saw his face was seamed with wrinkles, and that his lips moved
rapidly, as if he was speaking, although no sound issued from them. He
did not delay about his business; but hastened in, and sticking the
torch in a hole in the floor between us, resumed his seat, and said
abruptly--
"Let me look at you?"
Apparently his scrutiny was satisfactory, and I did nothing to
interrupt him.
"Hungry?"
"No. All that I ask is to be allowed to rest here till to-morrow."
"That is well, for I have no food to offer you; but here is some wine
in this skin."
He reached to a corner and pulled out a small wineskin. This he placed
before me with the single word "drink."
"No, thanks." The whole manner and aspect of the man were so peculiar,
that, although I was much fatigued, I judged it prudent to decline.
His quick eye seemed to read my thoughts, for he laughed a little
bitterly as he said--
"Tush, man! There is no fear. You bear too long a sword to have a
purse worth the picking, and you are not supping," a look of hate
passed over his features as he dropped out slowly, "with the Borgia.
See, I will give you a toast--Revenge." He took a pull at the skin and
flung it to me.
"I drink to that," I said, tasting the wine in my turn. Here then was
another who, like me, sought for consolation in vengeance. We sat in
silence for some minutes, each absorbed in his own thoughts. The heat
from the fire had warmed the hut so, that the blue steam began to rise
from my damp clothes. My companion reclined on his elbow tracing some
diagram on the floor with a poniard, which from its shape was
evidently of Eastern make. The rain, which now increased in violence,
had almost quenched the log-fire, and was invading our shelter, for
the roof began to leak. There being no wind the torch burned steadily,
throwing sufficient light for us to distinguish each other. I began to
wonder what manner of man this was before me, dressed in a motley of
court-fool and peasant, and my curiosity was aroused to such an
extent, that for the time I forgot my own troubles. Nevertheless I
made no sign of inquiry, knowing there is no means so sure of
obtaining information as to seem not to desire it. My new friend
kept his eyes fixed on the point of his dagger, the muscles of his
queer-webbed face twitching nervously. At length he became conscious
of my scrutiny, for lifting his eyes, he looked me in the face, and
then made a motion of his hand towards the wine-skin.
"No more, thanks."
"There will be that left for to-morrow before we start."
"Then you also are a traveller?"
"If you so put it; but I have been here for a week."
"An odd retreat to choose."
"Any hole will do for a rat."
"True; but we were wolves a moment ago," I smiled.
"I did not say I was," he replied drily, "but you looked wolf all over
when you came in. Give me your hand."
I stretched out my hand, and he held my open palm near the torch, bent
over it, and examined the lines keenly.
"Yes," he muttered half to himself, "strong fingers that can close
over a sword-hilt, a soldier too, and one who has seen wars. Too much
conscience ever to be great. You will never die a prince as Sforza
did. Stay--what do I see? A man changed to a wolf--no--wolf you will
never be. A bitter enemy, a woman who loves you, and a free heart for
yourself. Sorrow and danger, bale and ruth, then calm waters and
peace. There! Are you satisfied? If the devil does not upset this, it
is the map of your life. Can you read mine?"
"No," I replied, withdrawing my hand, and somewhat surprised at the
general accuracy of this man's knowledge of my past. Yet, I could not
help crossing myself as I thought of his allusion to the foul fiend.
"Ay!" he sneered, "cross yourself. Peter and Paul are old and blind.
They do not see. Pray if you like. God is too far above the stars to
hear you. Go on your knees and beat at the skies with your
lamentations. You will surely see the light of a seraph's wings. Do I
not know--have I not seen the deep? Some day you will know, too."
He stopped as suddenly as he burst out, and betook himself to his old
trick of moving his lips rapidly, forming words without any sound. I
began to think I was with a madman, and rapidly cast up the chances of
a struggle. I was physically the stronger, but armed as he was, with
an unsheathed dagger, the odds were against me. Perhaps it would be
prudent to begin the assault myself, and taking him by surprise,
overpower him. When, however, I came to consider that I was in a
manner his guest, that he had shown me kindness, and given no signs of
personal violence, I was ashamed of my fears.
"You say you are going to Bucine?" He asked the question in his usual
abrupt manner; but his tone was composed.
"It lies on my road."
"And on mine, too. Shall we travel together? I could point out the
way."
"Certainly. It is very good of you."
"Well, it is time to sleep, and the torch has burnt to an end."
As he spoke he stretched himself out at full length, and, turning his
back to me, appeared to sink at once into slumber. I watched him for
some time by the embers of the torch, wondering if I was wise in
accepting his companionship, and then, overpowered by fatigue, lost
myself in sleep, heedless of the rain, which dripped in twenty places
through the roof.
I slept profoundly, until aroused by my shoulder being gently shaken,
and looking up, beheld my host, as I must call him, bending over me. I
thought I had slept for a few minutes only, and saw to my surprise
that it was well in the morning, and the sun shone brightly. All
traces of cloud were gone, though soft billows of mist rolled over the
olive gardens, and vineyards of Chianti grape, that stretched towards
Montevarchi.
"Heavens, man! How you sleep! I was right when I hinted you had a good
conscience."
I scrambled up with a hasty Good-morning; and a few minutes
afterwards, having finished the remains of the wine in the skin, we
started off in the direction of Bucine. My companion had politely
never inquired my name, and I had been equally reticent. He placed on
his head a silken fools'-cap, and the bells on it jingled incessantly
as he walked along with a jaunty air, at a pace that was remarkable
for a man of his age. He seemed to have lost the melancholy that
possessed him during the night, and conversed in so cheerful and
entertaining a manner, that in spite of myself, I was interested and
withdrawn from my unhappy thoughts. He kept up his mood to Bucine
where, notwithstanding our strange appearance, we attracted, to my
relief, less attention than I imagined we should draw.
With appetites sharpened by our walk, we did full justice to the meal
I ordered at the only hostel in the place. Here I played host, as a
return for my entertainment, and in conversation my acquaintance said
that he was bound for Florence. I told him that also was my point, and
invited him to bear me company on the road, to which he willingly
agreed. I made an attempt here to hire a horse; but not even a donkey
was procurable, all available carriage having been seized upon for the
army. So once more descending the hill on which Bucine is situated, we
forded the river and continued our journey.
At the albergo we heard that a body of troops were foraging along the
banks of the Arno, and resolved to make a detour, and, crossing Monte
Luco, to keep on the sides of the Chianti hills, if necessary avoiding
Montevarchi altogether. My companion maintained his high spirits until
we reached the top of the spur of Monte Luco, known to the peasantry
as the Virgin's Cradle. Here we stopped to breathe and observe the
view. I looked back across the Chiana valley, and let my eye run over
the landscape which stretched as far as the Marches. In the blue
splash, to the south of the rugged and conical hill of Cortona, I
recognised Trasimene, and beyond it lay Perugia. I turned to call my
friend's attention to the scene, and at first did not perceive where
he was. Another glance showed him standing on the edge of the cliff, a
little to my left, shaking his clenched hand in the direction of
Perugia, whilst on his face was marked every sign of sorrow and hate.
Curious to see what this would result in, I made no attempt to attract
his attention, but in a moment he shook off the influence which
possessed him, and rejoined me with a calm brow. We thereupon
continued our journey with this difference, that my companion was now
as silent as hitherto he had been cheerful. My own dark thoughts too
came back to roost, and in a gloom we descended the Cradle, pushing
our way through the myrtle with which it was covered, and walked on,
holding Montevarchi to our right.
We kept a sharp look-out for the foragers, and seeing no signs of
them, made up our minds, after some consultation, to risk going to
Montevarchi, which we reached without mishap a little after noon. It
was not my intention to halt there more than an hour or so, which I,
hoping I would have better luck than at Bucine, intended to spend in
trying to hire an animal of some kind to ride.
We stopped at the Bell Inn, near the gate, and after a deal of
bargaining, which consumed a good hour, the landlord agreed to hire me
his mule for two crowns. The rascal wanted ten at first. Just as the
matter was settled a dozen or so of troopers rode in, and, spying the
mule, in the twinkling of an eye claimed it for carriage purposes.
It was in vain the landlord protested that it was his last beast, that
it had been hired to the noble cavaliere, meaning me, and many other
things beside. The soldiers were deaf to his entreaties, and although
I had more than a mind to draw on the villains, I had the good sense
to restrain myself, for the odds were too many against me. I therefore
hid my chagrin under a smile, and the mule was led away amidst the
lamentations of mine host, who was further put out of pocket by a
gallon or so of wine, which the troopers consumed, doubtless in honour
of the prize they had taken, neglecting in the true fashion of the
_compagnes grandes_ to pay for it. It was a fit lesson to the
landlord, for had he not, in his cupidity, haggled for an hour over
the hire of the animal, he might have been the richer by two crowns
and still owned his mule. Thus it is that avarice finds its own
punishment.
On going off, the leader of the troop, a man whom I knew by sight and
by reputation as a swashbuckler, if ever there was one, made me a mock
salute, saying, in allusion to my quietness in surrendering my claim
to the mule, "Adieu, Messer Feather-Cap--may your courage grow as long
as your sword." This taunt I swallowed ruefully, and immediately set
about my departure. My companion, who was not mixed up in the
altercation, joined me silently, and we followed in the direction
taken by the troopers, pursued by the maledictions of the innkeeper,
who vented his spleen on us as the indirect cause of his misfortune.
The foragers, who owing to the warmth of the weather had all removed
their breast-plates, which were slung to their saddles, were going at
a walking pace; and it was amusing to see how the mere sight of their
presence cleared the streets. Noting, however, that they did not
appear to be bent on personal injury, we did not think it necessary to
go out of our course, or delay our departure until they left the town,
and as we walked fast and they went slowly, by the time they reached
the main square, we were not more than a dozen yards behind them.
At this moment we noticed the figure of a woman, apparently blind, for
she was guided by a little dog attached to a string. The poor creature
was crossing the pavement almost in front of the leader of the troop,
and as she was right in the path of the troopers, we attempted to warn
her by shouting, and she stooped irresolutely, hardly knowing which
way to turn. The troop leader, without making any effort to avoid her,
rode on in a pitiless manner, and she was flung senseless to the
ground. In this her hood fell back, uncovering her face, and my
companion, suddenly uttering a loud cry, ran forward, and seizing her
in his arms, began to address her with every term of endearment, in
the manner of a father to his child.
The troopers halted--discipline it will be observed was not great--and
one of them with rough sympathy called to my friend to bear the girl,
for so she looked, to the fountain, at the same time that their
commander gave a loud order to go on, and to leave off looking at a
fool and a beggar. I had, however, made up my mind there was a little
work for me, and, drawing my sword, stepped up to the swashbuckler's
bridle, and asked for a five minutes' interview there and then.
He burst into a loud laugh, "_Corpo di Bacco!_ Here is Messer
Feather-Cap with his courage grown. Here! two of you bind him to the
mule."
But the men with him were in no mood to obey, and one of them openly
said--
"It is always thus with the ancient Brico."
"Do you intend to give me the pleasure I seek," I asked, "or has the
ancient Brico taken off his heart with his corselet?"
For a moment it looked as if he were about to ride at me: but my sword
was ready, and I was standing too close to him for any such treachery
to be carried off. Flinging the reins, therefore, to the neck of his
horse, he dismounted slowly and drew his sword. A number of the
townsfolk, attracted by the scene, so far forgot their fear of the
foragers as to collect around us, and in a few moments a ring was
formed, one portion of which was occupied by the troopers.
Brico took his stand so as to place the sun in my eyes, a manifest
unfairness, for we should have fought north and south; yet I made no
objection, and unclasping my cloak let it fall to the ground behind
me.
"_A vous!_" he called out, and the next moment we engaged in the lower
circle, my opponent, for all his French cry, adopting the Italian
method, and using a dagger to parry. For a few seconds we tried to
feel each other, and I was delighted with the balance of my sword. It
did not take me a half minute to see that he was a child in my hands,
and I began to rapidly consider whether it would be worth the candle
to kill him or not. Brico, who had commenced the assault with a stamp
of his foot, and a succession of rapid thrusts in the lower lines,
became aware of his weakness as soon as I did, and began to back
slowly. I twice pricked him over the heart, and his hand began to
shake, so that he could hardly hold his weapon.
"Make way there," I called out mockingly, "the ancient would like to
run a little."
Maddened by this taunt, he pulled himself together and lunged
recklessly at me in tierce; it was an easy parry, and with a strong
beat I disarmed him. He did not wait, but with the rapidity of a hare
turned and fled, not so fast, however, but that I was able to
accelerate his departure with a stroke from the flat of my sword.
"Adieu, ancient Brico!" I called out after him as he ran on, followed
by a howl of derision from the crowd, in which his own men joined.
It was lucky that I adopted the course of disarming him, for had the
affair ended otherwise, I doubt not but that the men-at-arms would
have felt called upon to avenge their leader, poltroon as he was. As
it happened they enjoyed his discomfiture, and an old trooper called
out to me--
"Well fought, signore--you should join us--there is room for your
sword under the banner of Tremouille. What--no--I am sorry; but go in
peace, for you have rid us of a cur."
Saying this, they rode off, one of their number leading the ancient's
horse by the bridle.
I turned now to look for my companion. He was nowhere to be seen, and
on inquiry I found that he had lifted the girl up, and supporting her
on his arm, the two, followed by the dog, had turned down by the
church, and were now not in view. It would, no doubt, have been easy
to follow, and as easy to trace them; but I reasoned that the man must
have purposely done this to avoid me; and after all it was no business
of mine. I therefore returned my sword to its sheath and walked on.