THE MULETEER
It wanted less than an hour to dawn when the mule-train came up to the
southern gate of Alessandria, and its single leader disturbed the
silence of the night by a shrill whistle thrice repeated.
A moment later a light showed behind the grating by the narrow postern
gate, built into the wall beside the portcullis. A voice bawled a
challenge across the gulf.
'Who comes?'
'Messenger from Messer Girolamo,' answered the muleteer.
'Give the word of the night.'
'Lodi triumphant.'
The light was moved, and presently followed a creaking of winches and a
rattle of heavy chains. A great black mass, faintly discernible against
the all-encompassing darkness, slowly descended outwards and came to
rest with a thud almost at the very feet of the muleteer. Across that
lowered drawbridge the archway of the guard-house glowed in light, and
revealed itself aswarm with men-at-arms under the jagged teeth of the
raised portcullis.
The muleteer spoke to the night. He took farewell of men who were not
with him, and called instructions after some one of whom there was no
sign, then drove his laden mules across the bridge, and himself came
last into the light between the men-at-arms drawn up there to ensure
against treachery, ready to warn those who manned the winches above in
the event of an attempt to rush the bridge.
The muleteer, a tall fellow, as tall as Lorenzaccio, but much younger,
dressed in a loose tunic of rough brown cloth with leg-clothing of the
same material cross-gartered to the knees, found himself confronted by
an officer who thrust a lantern into his face.
'You are not Lorenzaccio!'
'Devil take you,' answered the muleteer, 'you needn't burn my nose to
find that out.'
His easy impudence allayed suspicion. Besides, how was a besieged
garrison to suspect a man who brought in a train of mules all laden with
provisions?
'Who are you? What is your name?'
'I am called Beppo, which is short for Giuseppe. And to-night I am the
deputy of Lorenzaccio who has had an accident and narrowly escaped a
broken neck. No need to ask your name, my captain. Lorenzaccio warned me
I should meet here a fierce watch-dog named Cristoforo, who would want
to eat me alive when he saw me. But now that I have seen you I don't
believe him. Have you anything to drink at hand, my captain? It's a
plaguily thirsty night.' And with the back of his hand the muleteer
swept the beads of sweat from his broad, comely forehead, leaving it
clean of much of the grime that elsewhere disfigured his countenance.
'You'll take your mules to the Communal,' the captain answered him
shortly, resenting his familiarity.
Day was breaking when Messer Beppo came to the Communal Palace and drove
his mules into the courtyard, there to surrender them to those whom he
found waiting. It was a mixed group made up of Vignate's officers and
representatives of the civic government. The officers were
well-nourished and vigorous, the citizens looked feeble and emaciated,
from which the muleteer inferred that in the matter of rationing the
citizens of Alessandria were being sacrificed to the soldiery.
Messer Beppo, who for a muleteer was a singularly self-assertive fellow,
demanded to be taken at once to the Lord Giovanni Vignate. They were
short with him at first for his impudence until he brought a note almost
of menace into his demand, whereupon an officer undertook to conduct him
to the citadel.
Over a narrow drawbridge they entered the rocca, which was the heart of
that great Guelphic fortress, and from a small courtyard they ascended
by a winding staircase of stone to a stone chamber whose grey walls were
bare of arras, whose Gothic windows were unglazed, and whose vaulted
ceiling hung so low that the tall muleteer could have touched it with
his raised hand. A monkish table of solid oak, an oaken bench, and a
high-backed chair were all its furniture, and a cushion of crimson
velvet the only sybaritic touch in that chill austerity.
Leaving him there, the young officer passed through a narrow door to a
farther room. Thence came presently a swarthy man who was squat and
bowlegged with thick, pouting lips and an air of great consequence. He
was wrapped in a crimson gown that trailed along the stone floor and
attended by a black-robed monk and a tall lean man in a soldier's
leathern tunic with sword and dagger hanging from a rich belt.
The squat man's keen, haughty eyes played searchingly over the muleteer.
'I am to suppose you have a message for me,' he said, and sat down in
the only chair. The monk, who was stout and elderly, found a place on
the bench, leaning his elbows on the table. The captain stationed
himself behind Vignate, whilst the officer who had brought Messer Beppo
lingered in the background by the wall.
The tall young muleteer lounged forward, no whit abashed in the presence
of the dread Lord of Lodi.
'His excellency the Cardinal of Desana desires you to understand, my
lord, that this mule-train of victuals is the last one he will send.'
'What?' Vignate clutched the arms of his chair and half raised himself
from his seat. His countenance lost much of its chill dignity.
'It isn't that it's no longer safe; but it's no longer possible.
Lorenzaccio, who has had charge of these expeditions, is a prisoner in
the hands of Facino. He was caught yesterday morning, on his way back
from Alessandria. As likely as not he'll have been hanged by now. But
that's no matter. What is important is that they've found us out, and
the cordon is now so tightly drawn that it's madness to try to get
through.'
'Yet you,' said the tall captain, 'have got through.'
'By a stratagem that's not to be repeated. I took a chance. I stampeded
a dozen mules into Facino's lines near Aulara. At the alarm there was a
rush for the spot. It drew, as I had reckoned, the men on guard between
Aulara and Casalbagliano, leaving a gap. In the dark I drove through
that gap before it was repaired.'
'That was shrewd,' said the captain.
'It was necessary,' said Beppo shortly. 'Necessary not only to bring in
these provisions, but to warn you that there are no more to follow.'
Vignate's eyes looked out of a face that had turned grey. The man's bold
manner and crisp speech intrigued him.
'Who are you?' he asked. 'You are no muleteer.'
'Your lordship is perspicacious. After Lorenzaccio was taken, no
muleteer could have been found to run the gauntlet. I am a captain of
fortune. Beppo Farfalla, to serve your lordship. I lead a company of
three hundred lances, now at my Lord Cardinal's orders at Cantalupo. At
my Lord Cardinal's invitation I undertook this adventure, in the hope
that it may lead to employment.'
'By God, if I am to be starved I am likely to offer you employment.'
'If your lordship waits to be starved. That was not my Lord Cardinal's
view of what should happen.'
'He'll teach me my trade, will he, my priestly brother?'
Messer Beppo shrugged. 'As to that, he has some shrewd notions.'
'Notions! My Lord Cardinal?' Vignate was very savage in his chagrin.
'What are these notions?'
'One of them is that this pouring of provisions into Alessandria was as
futile as the torment of the Danaides.'
'Danaides? Who are they?'
'I hoped your lordship would know. I don't. I quote my Lord Cardinal's
words; no more.'
'It's a pagan allusion out of Appollodorus,' the monk explained.
'What my Lord Cardinal means,' said Beppo, 'is that to feed you was a
sheer waste, since as long as it continued, you sat here doing nothing.'
'Doing nothing!' Vignate was indignant. 'Let him keep to his Mass and
his breviary and what else he understands.'
'He understands more than your lordship supposes.'
'More of what?'
'Of the art of war, my lord.'
And my lord laughed unpleasantly, being joined by his captain, but not
by the monk whom it offended to see a cardinal derided.
And now Beppo went on: 'He assumes that this news will be a spur you
need.'
'Why damn his impudence and yours! I need no spur. You'll tell him from
me that I make war by my own judgment. If I have sat here inactive, it
is that I have sat here awaiting my chance.'
'And now that the threat of starvation will permit you to sit here no
longer, you will be constrained to go out and seek that chance.'
'Seek it?' Vignate was frowning darkly, his eyes aflame. He disliked
this cockerel's easy, impudent tone. Captains of fortune did not usually
permit themselves such liberties with him. 'Where shall I seek it? Tell
me that and I'll condone your insolence.'
'My Lord Cardinal thinks it might be sought in Facino's quarters at
Pavone.'
'Oh, yes; or in the Indies, or in Hell. They're as accessible. I have
made sorties from here--four of them, and all disastrous. Yet the
diasters were due to no fault of mine.'
'Is your lordship quite sure of that?' quoth Messer Beppo softly,
smiling a little.
The Lord of Lodi exploded. 'Am I sure?' he cried, his grey face turning
purple and inflating. 'Dare any man suggest that I am to blame?'
'My Lord Cardinal dares. He more than suggests it. He says so bluntly.'
'And your impudence no doubt agrees with him?'
'Upon the facts could my impudence do less?' His tone was mocking. The
three stared at him in sheer unbelief. 'Consider now, my lord: You made
your sallies by day, in full view of an enemy who could concentrate at
whatever point you attacked over ground upon which it was almost
impossible for your horse to charge effectively. My Lord Cardinal thinks
that if you had earlier done what the threat of starvation must now
compel you to do, and made a sally under cover of night, you might have
been upon the enemy lines before ever your movement could be detected
and a concentration made to hold you.'
Vignate looked at him with heavy contempt, then shrugged: 'A priest's
notion of war!' he sneered.
The tall captain took it up with Messer Beppo. Less disdainful in tone,
he no less conveyed his scorn of the Cardinal Girolamo's ideas.
'Such an action would have been well if our only aim had been to break
through and escape leaving Alessandria in Facino's hands. But so ignoble
an aim was never in my Lord Vignate's thoughts.' He leaned on the tall
back of his master's chair, and thrust out a deprecatory lip. 'Necessity
may unfortunately bring him to consider it now that ...'
Messer Beppo interrupted him with a laugh.
'The necessity is no more present now than it has ever been. Facino Cane
will lie as much at your mercy to-morrow night as he has lain on any
night in all these weeks of your inaction.'
'What do you say?' breathed Vignate. 'At our mercy?' The three of them
stared at him.
'At your mercy. A bold stroke and it is done. The line drawn out on a
periphery some eighteen miles in length is very tenuous. There are
strong posts at Marengo, Aulara, Casalbagliano, and San Michele.'
'Yes, yes. This we know.'
'Marengo and San Michele have been weakened since yesterday, to
strengthen the line from Aulara to Casalbagliano in view of the
discovery that Alessandria has been fed from there. Aulara and
Casalbagliano are the posts farthest from Pavone, which is the strongest
post of all and Facino's quarters.'
Vignate's eyes began to kindle. He was sufficiently a soldier, after
all, to perceive whither Messer Beppo was going. 'Yes, yes,' he
muttered.
'Under cover of night a strong force could creep out by the northern
gate, so as to be across the Tamaro at the outset, and going round by
the river fall upon Pavone almost before an alarm could be raised.
Before supports could be brought up you would have broken the force that
is stationed there. The capture of Facino and his chief captains, who
are with him, would be as certain as that the sun is rising now. After
that, your besiegers would be a body without a head.'
Followed a silence. Vignate licked his thick lips as he sat huddled
there considering.
'By God!' he said, and again, after further thought, 'By God!' He looked
at his tall captain. The captain tightened his lips and nodded.
'It is well conceived,' he said.
'Well conceived!' cried Beppo on that note of ready laughter. 'No better
conception is possible in your present pass. You snatch victory from
defeat.'
His confidence inspired them visibly. Then Vignate asked a question:
'What is Facino's force at Pavone? Is it known?'
'Some four or five hundred men. No more. With half that number you could
overpower them if you took them by surprise.'
'I do not run unnecessary risks. I'll take six hundred.'
'Your lordship has decided, then?' said the tall captain.
'What else, Rocco?'
Rocco fingered his bearded chin. 'It should succeed. I'd be easier if I
were sure the enveloping movement could be made without giving the
alarm.'
Unbidden the audacious Messer Beppo broke into their counsel.
'Aye, that's the difficulty. But it can be overcome. That is where I can
serve you; I and my three hundred lances. I move them round during the
day wide of the lines and bring up behind Pavone, at Pietramarazzi. At
the concerted hour I push them forward, right up against Facino's rear,
and at the moment that you attack in front I charge from behind, and the
envelopment is made.'
'But how to know each other in the dark?' said Rocco. 'Your force and
ours might come to grips, each supposing the other to be Facino's.'
'My men shall wear their shirts over their armour if yours will do the
same.'
'Lord of Heaven!' said Vignate. 'You have it all thought out.'
'That is my way. That is how I succeed.'
Vignate heaved himself up. On his broad face it was to be read that he
had made up his mind.
'Let it be to-night, then. There is no gain in delay, nor can our
stomachs brook it. You are to be depended upon, Captain Farfalla?'
'If we come to terms,' said Beppo easily. 'I'm not in the business for
the love of adventure.'
Vignate's countenance sobered from its elation. His eyes narrowed. He
became the man of affairs. 'And your terms?' quoth he.
'A year's employment for myself and my condotta at a monthly stipend of
fifteen thousand gold florins.'
'God of Heaven!' Vignate ejaculated. 'Is that all?' And he laughed
scornfully.
'It is for your lordship to refuse.'
'It is for you to be reasonable. Fifteen thou ... Besides, I don't want
your condotta for a year.'
'But I prefer the security of a year's employment. It is security for
you, too, of a sort. You'll be well served.'
'Ten thousand florins for your assistance in this job,' said Vignate
firmly.
'I'll be wishing you good morning,' said Messer Beppo as firmly. 'I know
my value.'
'You take advantage of my urgent needs,' Vignate complained.
'And you forget what you already owe me for having risked my neck in
coming here.'
After that they haggled for a full half-hour, and if guarantees of
Messer Beppo's good faith had been lacking, they had it in the tenacity
with which he clung to his demands.
At long length the Lord of Lodi yielded, but with an ill grace and with
certain mental reservations notwithstanding the bond drawn up by his
monkish secretary. With that parchment in his pocket, Messer Beppo went
gaily to breakfast with the Lord Vignate, and thereafter took his leave,
and slipped out of the city to carry to the Cardinal at Desana the news
of the decision and to prepare for his own part in it.
It was a dazzling morning, all sign of the storm having been swept from
the sky, and the air being left the cleaner for its passage.
Messer Beppo smiled as he walked, presumably because on such a morning
it was good to live. He was still smiling when towards noon of that same
day he strode unannounced into Facino's quarters at Pavone.
Facino was at dinner with his three captains, and the Countess faced her
lord at the foot of the board. He looked up as the newcomer strode to
the empty place at the table.
'You're late, Bellarion. We have been awaiting you and your report. Was
there any attempt last night to put a victualling party across the
lines?'
'There was,' said Bellarion.
'And you caught them?'
'We caught them. Yes. Nevertheless, the mule-train and the victuals won
into Alessandria.'
They looked at him in wonder. Carmagnola scowled upon him. 'How, sir?
And this in spite of your boast that you caught them?'
Bellarion fixed him with eyes that were red and rather bleary from lack
of sleep.
'In spite of it,' he agreed. 'The fact is, that mule-train was conducted
into Alessandria by myself.' And he sat down in the silence that
followed.
'Do you say that you've been into Alessandria?'
'Into the very citadel. I had breakfast with the squat Lord of Lodi.'
'Will you explain yourself?' cried Facino.
Bellarion did so.