VISCONTI FAITH
If Facino Cane's eyes grew wide in astonishment to see his countess
ushered into that mean chamber by Carmagnola, wider still did they grow
to behold the man who accompanied her and to consider their inexplicable
conjunction. For this man was Giovanni Pusterla of Venegono, cousin to
that Pusterla who had been castellan of Monza, and who by Gian Maria's
orders had procured the assassination of Gian Maria's mother.
The rest is a matter of history upon which I have already touched.
In a vain attempt to mask his own matricide, to make the crime appear as
the work of another, Gian Maria had seized the unfortunate castellan who
had served his evil will too faithfully and charging him with the crime
caused him barbarously and without trial to be done to death.
Thereafter, because he perceived that this did not suffice to turn the
public mind from the conviction of his own horrible guilt, Gian Maria
had vowed the extermination of the Pusterla family, as a blood-offering
to the manes of his murdered mother. It was a Pusterla whom he had
hunted with his dogs into the arms of Bellarion in the meadows of
Abbiategrasso, and that was the fifth innocent member of the family whom
he had done to death in satisfaction of his abominable vow.
This Pusterla of Venegono, who now led the Countess Beatrice into her
husband's presence, was a slight but vigorous and moderately tall man of
not more than thirty, despite the grey that so abundantly mingled with
his thick black hair. His shaven countenance was proud and resolute,
with a high-bridged nose flanked perhaps too closely by dark eyes that
glowed and flashed as in reflection of his superabundant energy of body
and of spirit.
Between himself and Facino there was esteem; but no other link to
account for his sudden appearance as an escort to the Lady Beatrice.
From the settle which he occupied, his ailing leg stretched upon it, the
amazed Facino greeted them by a rough soldier's oath on a note of
interrogation.
The Countess, white and lovely, swept towards him.
'You are ailing, Facino!' Concern charged her murmuring voice as she
stooped to receive his kiss.
His countenace brightened, but his tone was almost testy.
To discuss his ailments now was but to delay the explanation that he
craved. 'That I ail is no matter. That you should be here ... What
brings you, Bice, and with Venegono there?'
'Aye, we take you by surprise,' she answered him. 'Yet Heaven knows
there would be no need for that if ever you had heeded me, if ever you
had used your eyes and your wits as I bade you.'
'Will you tell me what brings you, and leave the rest?'
She hesitated a moment, then swung imperially to her travelling
companion.
'Tell him, Messer da Venegono.'
Venegono responded instantly. He spoke rapidly, using gestures freely,
his face an ever-shifting mirror of his feelings, so that at once you
knew him for a brisk-minded, impulsive man. 'We are here to speak of
what is happening in Milan. Do you know nothing of it, my lord?'
'In Milan? Despatches reach me weekly from his highness. They report
nothing that is not reassuring.'
The Countess laughed softly, bitterly. Venegono plunged on.
'Is it reassuring to you that the Malatesta of Rimini, Pandolfo, and his
brother Carlo are there with an army five thousand strong?'
Facino was genuinely startled. 'They are moving against Milan?'
Again the Countess laughed, and this time Venegono laughed with her.
'Against it?' And he launched his thunderbolt. 'They are there at the
express invitation of the Duke.' Without pausing for breath he completed
the tale. 'On the second of the month the Lady Antonia Malatesta was
married to Duke Gian Maria, and her father has been created Governor of
Milan.'
A dead silence followed, broken at last by Facino. The thing was utterly
incredible. He refused to believe it, and said so with an oath.
'My lord, I tell you of things that I have witnessed,' Benegono
insisted.
'Witnessed? Have you been in Milan? You?'
Venegono's features twisted into a crooked smile. 'After all there are
still enough staunch Ghibellines in Milan to afford me shelter. I take
my precautions, Lord Count. But I do not run from danger. No Pusterla
ever did, which is why this hell-hound Duke has made so many victims.'
Appalled, Facino looked at him from under heavy brows. Then his lady
spoke, a faint smile of bitter derision on her pale face.
'You'll understand now why I am here, Facino. You'll see that it was no
longer safe in Milan for Facino's wife: the wife of the man whose ruin
is determined and to be purchased by the Duke at all costs: even at the
cost of putting his neck under Malatesta's heel.'
Facino's mind, however, was still entirely absorbed by the main issue.
'But Gabriello?' he cried.
'Gabriello, my lord,' said Venegono promptly, 'is as much a victim, and
has been taken as fully by surprise, as you and every Ghibelline in
Milan. It is all the work of della Torre. To what end he strives only
himself and Satan know. Perhaps he will lead Gian Maria to destruction
in the end. It may be his way of resuming the old struggle for supremacy
between Visconti and Torriani. Anyhow, his is the guiding brain.'
'But did that weak bastard Gabriello never raise a hand ...'
'Gabriello, my lord, has gone to earth for his own safety's sake in the
Castle of Porta Giovia. There Malatesta is besieging him, and the city
has been converted into an armed camp labouring to reduce its own
citadel. That monster Gian Maria has set a price upon the head of the
brother who has so often shielded him from the just wrath of the Commune
and the people. There is a price, too, upon the heads of his cousins
Antonio and Francesco Visconti, who are with Gabriello in the fortress,
together with many other Ghibellines among whom my own cousin Giovanni
Pusterla. Lord!' he ended passionately, 'if the great Galeazzo could but
come to life again, to see the filthy shambles his horrible son has made
of the great realm he built!'
Silence followed. Facino, his head lowered, his brows knitted, was
drawing a geometrical figure on the table with the point of a knife.
Presently whilst so engaged he spoke, slowly, sorrowfully.
'I am the last of all those condottieri who were Gian Galeazzo's
brothers-in-arms; the last of those who helped him build up the great
state which his degenerate son daily dishonours. His faithless,
treacherous nature drove the others away from him one by one, each
taking some part of his dominions to make an independent state for
himself! I alone have remained, loyally to serve and support his
tottering throne, making war upon my brother condottieri in his defence,
suffering for him and from him, for the sake of his great father who was
my friend, for the sake of the trust which his father left me when he
died. And now I have my wages. I am sent to restore Alessandria to the
pestilential hands of these false Visconti from which it has been
wrested, and whilst I am about this errand, my place is usurped by the
greatest Guelph in Italy, and measures are taken to prevent my ever
returning.' His voice almost broke.
There was a long-drawn sigh from the Countess. 'There is no need to tell
you more,' she murmured. 'You begin to open your eyes, and to see for
yourself at last.'
And then Venegono was speaking.
'I come to you, Facino, in the name of all the Ghibellines of Milan, who
look to you as to their natural leader, who trust you and have no hope
save in you. Before this Guelphic outrage they cringe in terror of the
doom that creeps upon them. Already Milan is a city of blood and horror.
You are our party's only hope, Milan's only hope in this dreadful hour.'
Facino buried the knife-blade deep in the table with sudden violence,
and left it quivering there. He raised at last his eyes. They were
blood-injected, and the whole expression of his face had changed. The
good-nature of which it habitually wore the stamp had been entirely
effaced.
'Let God but heal this leg of mine,' he said, 'and from my hands the
Visconti shall eat the fruits of treachery until they choke them.'
He stretched out his hand as he spoke towards the crucifix that hung
upon the wall, making of his threat a solemn vow.
Bellarion, looking beyond him, at the Countess, read in the covert
exultation of her face her assumption that her greed for empire was at
last promised gratification and her insensibility that it should be
purchased on terms that broke her husband's heart.