SEVERANCE
The Knight Bellarion rode alone in the hot glow of an August afternoon
through the moist and fertile meadowland between Alessandria and San
Michele. He was dejected by the sterility of worldly achievement and
mourned the futility of all worldly endeavour. In endeavour, itself, as
he had to admit from his own experience, there was a certain dynamic
entertainment, affording an illusion of useful purpose. With achievement
the illusion was dispelled. The purpose grasped was so much water in the
hands. Man's greatest accomplishment was to produce change. Restlessness
abode in him none the less because no one state could be shown to be
better than another. The only good in life was study, because study was
an endeavour that never reached fulfilment. It busied a man to the end
of his days, and it aimed at the only true reality in all this world of
shams and deceits.
Messer Bellarion conceived that in abandoning the road to Pavia and
Master Chrysolaras he had missed his way in life. Nay, further, his
first false step had been taken when driven by that heresy of his,
rooted in ignorance and ridiculous, he had quitted the monastery at
Cigliano. In conventual endeavour, after all, there was a definite
purpose. There, mortal existence was regarded as no more than the
antechamber to real life which lay in the hereafter; a brief novitiate
wherein man might prepare his spirit for Eternity. By contrast with that
definite, peaceful purpose, this world of blindly striving, struggling,
ever-restless men, who addressed themselves to their span of mortal
existence as if it were to endure forever, was no better, no more
purposeful, and of no more merit in its ultimate achievement, than a
clot of writhing earthworms.
Thus Messer Bellarion, riding by sparkling waters in the dappled shade
of poplars standing stark against the polished azure of the summer sky,
and the very beauty with which God had dressed the world made man's
defilement of it the more execrable in his eyes.
Emerging from the screen of poplars, he emerged also from his gloomy
reflections, dragged thence by the sight of a lady on a white horse that
was gaily caparisoned in blue and silver. She was accompanied by a
falconer and attended by two grooms whose liveries in the same colours
announced them of the household of Messer Facino Cane, Count of
Biandrate, and now by right of conquest and self-election Tyrant of
Alessandria. For in accepting his tacit dismissal from the Duke of
Milan, Facino had thrown off his allegiance to all Visconti and played
now, at last, for his own strong hand.
Bellarion would have turned another way. It had become a habit with him
whenever he espied the Countess. But the lady hailed him, consigning the
hooded falcon on her wrist into the keeping of her falconer, who with
the grooms fell back to a respectful distance as Bellarion, reluctantly
obedient, approached.
'If you're for home, Bellarion, we'll ride together.'
Uncomfortable, he murmured a gratified assent that sounded as false as
he intended that it should.
She looked at him sideways as they moved on together. She spoke of
hawking. Here was fine open country for the sport. A flight could be
followed for miles in any direction, moving almost as directly along the
ground as the birds moved in the air above. Yet sport that day had been
provokingly sluggish, and quarries had been sought in vain. It would be
the heat, she opined, which kept the birds under cover.
In silence he jogged beside her, letting her prate, until at last she
too fell silent. Then, after a spell, with a furtive sidelong glance
from under her long lashes, she asked him a question in a small voice.
'You are angry with me, Bellarion?'
He was startled, but recovered instantly. 'That were a presumption,
madonna.'
'In you it might be a condescension. You are so aloof these days. You
have avoided me as persistently as I have sought you.'
'Could I suppose you sought me?'
'You might have seen.'
'If I had not deemed it wiser not to look.'
She sighed a little. 'You make it plain that it is not in you to
forgive.'
'That does not describe me. I bear no malice to any living man or
woman.'
'But what perfection! I wonder you could bear to stray from Heaven!' It
was no more than an impulsive display of her claws. Instantly she
withdrew them. 'No, no. Dear God, I do not mean to mock at you. But
you're so cold, so placid! That is how you come to be the great soldier
men are calling you. But it will not make men love you, Bellarion.'
Bellarion smiled. 'I don't remember to have sought men's love.'
'Nor women's, eh?'
'The fathers taught me to avoid it.'
'The fathers! The fathers!' Her mockery was afoot again. 'In God's name,
why ever did you leave the fathers?'
'It was what I was asking myself when I came upon you.'
'And you found no answer when you saw me?'
'None, madonna.'
Her face whitened a little, and her breath came shorter.
'You're blunt!' she said, and uttered a little laugh that was hard and
unpleasant.
He explained himself. 'You are my Lord Facino's wife.'
'Ah!' Her expression changed again. 'I knew we should have that. But if
I were not? If I were not?' She faced him boldly, in a sudden eagerness
that he deemed piteous.
The solemnity of his countenance increased. He looked straight before
him. 'In all this idle world there is naught so idle as to consider what
we might be if it were different.'
She had no answer for a while, and they rode a little way side by side
in silence, her attendants following out of earshot.
'You'll forgive, I think, when I explain,' said she at last.
'Explain?' he asked her, mystified.
'That night in Milan ... the last time we spoke together. You thought I
used you cruelly.'
'No more cruelly than I deserve to be used in a world where it is
expected of a man that he shall be more sensible to beauty than to
honour.'
'I knew it was honour made you harsh,' she said, and reached forth a
hand to touch his own where it lay upon the pommel. 'I understood. I
understand you better than you think, Bellarion. Could I have been angry
with you then?'
'You seemed angry.'
'Seemed. That is the word. It was necessary to seem. You did not know
that Facino was behind the arras that masked the little door.'
'I hoped that you did not.'
It was like a blow between the eyes. She snatched away her hand. Brows
met over staring, glaring eyes and her nether lip was caught in sharp
white teeth.
'You knew!' she gasped at last, and her voice held all the emotions.
'The arras quivered, and there was no air. That drew my eyes, and I saw
the point of my lord's shoe protruding from the curtain's hem.'
Her face held more wickedness in that moment than he would have thought
possible to find wed with so much perfection.
'When ... When did you see? Was it before you spoke to me as you did?'
'Your thoughts do me poor credit. If I had seen in time should I have
been quite so plain and uncompromising in my words? I did not see until
after I had spoken.'
The explanation nothing mollified her. 'Almost I hoped you'd say that
the words you used, you used because you know of Facino's presence.'
After that, he thought, no tortuous vagaries of the human mind should
ever again astonish him.
'You hoped I would confess myself a bloodless coward who uses a woman as
a buckler against a husband's righteous wrath!'
As she made no answer, he continued: 'Each of us has been defrauded in
his hopes. Mine were that you did not suspect Facino's presence, and
that you spoke from a heart at last aroused to loyalty.'
It took her a moment fully to understand him. Then her face flamed
scarlet, and unshed tears of humiliation and anger blurred her vision.
But her voice, though it quivered a little, was derisive.
'You spare me nothing,' she said. 'You strip me naked in your brutal
scorn, and then fling mud upon me. I have been your friend,
Bellarion--aye, and more. But that is over now.'
'Madonna, if I have offended ...'
'Let be.' She became imperious. 'Listen now. You must not continue with
my Lord Facino because where he goes thither must I go, too.'
'You ask me to take my dismissal from his service?' He was incredulous.
'I beg it ... a favour, Bellarion. It is yourself have brought things to
the pass where I may not meet you without humiliation. And continue
daily to meet you I will not.' Her ready wicked temper flared up.
'You'll go, or else I swear ...'
'Swear nothing,' he thundered, very suddenly aroused. 'Threaten, and you
bind me to Facino hand and foot.'
Instantly she was all soft and pleading. A fool she was.
Nevertheless--indeed, perhaps because of it--she had a ready grasp of
the weapons of her sex.
'Oh, Bellarion, I do not threaten. I implore ... I ...'
'Silence were your best agent now.' He was curt. 'I know your wishes,
and ...' He broke off with a rough wave of his hand. 'Where should I
go?' he asked, but the question was addressed to Fate and not to her.
She answered it, however.
'Do you ask that, Bellarion? Why, in this past month since Alessandria
fell your fame has gone out over the face of Italy. The credit for two
such great victories as those of Travo and Alessandria is all your own,
and the means by which you won them are on every man's tongue.'
'Aye! Facino is generous!' he said, and his tone was bitter.
'There's not a prince in Italy would not be glad to employ you.'
'In fact the world is full of places for those we would dismiss.'
After that they rode in silence until they were under the walls of the
city.
'You'll go, Bellarion?'
'I am considering.' He was very grave, swayed between anger and a
curious pity, and weighing other things besides.
In the courtyard of the citadel he held her stirrup for her. As she came
to earth, and turned, standing very close to him, she put her little
hand on his.
'You'll go, Bellarion, I know. For you are generous. This, then, is
farewell. Be you fortunate!'
He bowed until his lips touched her hand in formal homage.
As he came upright again, he saw the square-shouldered figure of Facino
in the Gothic doorway, and Facino's watching eyes, he thought, were
narrow. That little thing was the last item in the scales of his
decision.
Facino came to greet them. His manner was pleasant and hearty. He
desired to know how the hawking had gone, how many pheasants his lady
had brought back for supper, how far afield she had ridden, where
Bellarion had joined her, and other similar facts of amiable commonplace
inquiry. But Bellarion watching him perceived that his excessively ready
smile never reached his eyes.
Throughout supper, which he took as usual in the company of his captains
and his lady, Facino was silent and brooding, nor even showed great
interest when Carmagnola told of the arrival of a large body of
Ghibelline refugees from Milan to swell the forces which Facino was
assembling against the coming struggle, whether defensive or offensive,
with Malatesta and Duke Gian Maria.
Soon after the Countess had withdrawn, Facino gave his captains leave.
Bellarion, however, still kept his place. His resolve was taken. That
which the Countess claimed of him as a sacrifice to her lacerated
vanity, he found his sense of duty to Facino claiming also, and his
prudent, calculating wits confirming.
Facino raised heavy eyes from the contemplation of the board and leaned
back in his chair. He looked old that night in the flickering
candle-light. His first words betrayed the subject upon which his
thoughts had been lingering.
'Ha, boy! I am glad to see the good relations between Bice and yourself.
I had fancied a coolness between you lately.'
'I am the Countess's servant, as I am yours, my lord.'
'Aye, aye,' Facino grunted, and poured himself wine from a jug of beaten
gold. 'She likes your company. She grudged you once, when I sent you on
a mission to Genoa. I'm brought to think of it because I am about to
repeat the offence.'
'You wish me to go to Boucicault for men?' Bellarion showed his
surprise.
Facino looked at him quizzically. 'Why not? Do you think he will not
come?'
'Oh, he'll come. He'll march on Milan with you to smash Malatesta, and
afterwards he'll try to smash you in your turn, that he may remain sole
master in the name of the King of France.'
'You include politics in your studies?'
'I use my wits.'
'To some purpose, boy. To some purpose. But I never mentioned
Boucicault, nor thought of him. The men I need must be procured
elsewhere. Where would you think of seeking them?'
And then Bellarion understood. Facino wanted him away, and desired him
to understand it, which was why he had dragged in that allusion to the
Countess. Facino was made reticent by his deep love for his unworthy
lady; his need for her remained fiercely strong, however she might be
disposed to stray.
Bellarion used his wits, you see, as he had lately boasted.
Why had Facino spied that night in Milan? Surely because in the
relations between Bellarion and the Countess he had already perceived
reason for uneasiness. That uneasiness his spying had temporarily
allayed. Yet not so completely but that he continued watchful, and now,
at the first sign of a renewal of that association, it took alarm.
Though Facino might still be sure that he had nothing to avenge, he
could be far from sure that he had nothing to avert.
A great sorrow welled up from Bellarion's heart. All that he now was,
all that he possessed, his very life itself, he owed to Facino's
boundless generosity. And in return he was become a thorn in Facino's
flesh.
'Why, sir,' he said slowly, smiling a little as if in deprecation, 'this
matter of levies has been lately in my thoughts. To be frank, I have
been thinking of raising a condotta of my own.'
Facino sat bolt upright in his surprise. Clearly his first emotion was
of displeasure.
'Oho! You grow proud?'
'I have my ambitions.'
'How long have you nursed this one? It's the first I hear of it.'
Blandly Bellarion looked across at him, and bland was his tone.
'I matured the conceit as I rode abroad to-day.'
'As you rode abroad?'
Facino's eyes were intently upon his face. It conserved its blandness.
The condottiero's glance flickered and fell away. They understood each
other.
'I wish you the luck that you deserve, Bellarion. You've done well by
me. You've done very well. None knows it better than I. And it's right
you should go, since you've the sense to see that it's best for ...
you.'
The colour had faded from Bellarion's face, his eyes were very bright.
He swallowed before he could trust himself to speak, to play the comedy
out.
'You take it very well, sir--this desertion of you. But I'm your man for
all my ambition.'
Thereafter they discussed his future. He was for the Cantons, he
announced, to raise a body of Swiss, the finest infantry in the world,
and Bellarion meant to depend on infantry. As a parting favour he begged
for the loan of Stoffel, who would be useful to him as a sponsor to his
compatriots of Uri and the Vierwaldstaetter. Facino promised him not
only Stoffel himself, but fifty men of the Swiss cavalry Stoffel had
latterly recruited, to be a nucleus of the condotta Bellarion went to
raise.
They pledged each other in a final cup, and parted, Facino to seek his
bed, Bellarion in quest of Stoffel.
Stoffel, having heard the proposal, at once engaged himself, protesting
that the higher pay Bellarion offered him had no part in the decision.
'And as for men, there's not one of those who fought with you on the
bluff above the Trebbia but will want to come.'
They numbered sixty when they were called up, and with Facino's consent
they all went with Bellarion on the morrow. For, having decided upon
departure, there was no reason to delay it.
Betimes in the morning Bellarion had business with a banker of
Alessandria named Torella with whom Vignate's ransom was deposited in
return for certain bills of exchange negotiable in Berne. Thereafter he
went to take his leave of Facino, and to lay before him a suggestion,
which was the fruit of long thinking in the stillness of a wakeful
night. He was guilty, he knew, of a duplicity, of serving ends very
different, indeed, from those that he pretended. But his conscience was
at ease, because, although he might be using Facino as a tool for the
performance of his ultimate secret aims, yet the immediate aims of
Facino himself would certainly be advanced.
'There is a service I can perhaps do you as I go,' said Bellarion at
parting. 'You are levying men, my lord, which is a heavy drain upon your
own resources.'
'Prisoners like Vignate don't fall into the hands of each of us.'
'Have you thought, instead, of seeking alliances?'
Facino was disposed to be hilarious. 'With whom? With the dogs that are
baying and snarling round Milan? With Estorre and Gian Carlo and the
like?'
'There's Theodore of Montferrat,' said Bellarion quietly.
'So there is, the crafty fox, and the price he'll want for his
alliance.'
'You might find it convenient to pay it. Like myself, the Marquis
Theodore has ambitions. He covets Vercelli and the lordship of Genoa.
Vercelli would be in the day's work in a war on Milan.'
'So it would. We might begin hostilities by occupying it. But Genoa,
now ...'
'Genoa can wait until your own work is done. On those terms Montferrat
comes in with you.'
'Ha! God's life! You're omniscient.'
'Not quite. But I know a great deal. I know, for instance, that Theodore
went to Milan at Gabriello's invitation to offer alliance to Gian Maria
on those terms. He left in dudgeon, affronted by Gian Maria's refusal.
He's as vindictive as he's ambitious. Your proposal now might tickle
both emotions.'
This was sound sense, and Facino admitted it emphatically.
'Shall I go by way of Montferrat and negotiate the alliance for you with
Messer Theodore?'
'You'll leave me in your debt if you succeed.'
'That is what Theodore will say when I propose it to him.'
'You're sanguine.'
'I'm certain. So certain that I'll impose a condition. Messer Theodore
shall send the Marquis Gian Giacomo to you to be your esquire. You'll
need an esquire in my place.'
'And what the devil am I to do with Gian Giacomo?'
'Make a man of him, and hold him as a guarantee. Theodore grows old and
accidents often happen on a campaign. If he should die before it's
convenient, you'll have the sovereign of Montferrat beside you to
continue the alliance.'
'By God! You look ahead!'
'In the hope of seeing something some day. I've said that the Regent
Theodore has his ambitions. Ambitious men are reluctant to relinquish
power, and in a year's time the Marquis Gian Giacomo will be of age to
succeed. Have a care of him when he's with you.'
Facino looked at him and blew out his cheeks. 'You're bewildering
sometimes. You seem to say a hundred things at once. And your thoughts
aren't always nice.'
Bellarion sighed. 'My thoughts are coloured by the things they dwell
on.'