In the morning Francesco set out once more, accompanied by his servants,
Fanfulla, and the fool. The latter was now so far restored as to be able
to sit a mule, but lest the riding should over-tire him they proceeded
at little more than an ambling pace along the lovely valleys of the
Metauro. Thus it befell that when night descended it found them still
journeying, and some two leagues distant from Urbino. Another league
they travelled in the moonlight, and the fool was beguiling the time
for them with a droll story culled from the bright pages of Messer
Boccaccio, when of a sudden his sharp ears caught a sound that struck
him dumb in the middle of a sentence.
“Are you faint?” asked Francesco, turning quickly towards him, and
mindful of the fellow's sore condition.
“No, no,” answered the fool, with a readiness that dispelled the Count's
alarm on that score. “I thought I heard a sound of marching in the
distance.”
“The wind in the trees, Peppino,” explained Fanfulla.
“I do not think----” He stopped short and listened and now they all
heard it, for it came wafted to them on a gust of the fitful breeze that
smote their faces.
“You are right,” said Francesco. “It is the tramp of men. But what
of that, Peppe? Men will march in Italy. Let us hear the end of your
story.”
“But who should march in Urbino, and by night?” the fool persisted.
“Do I know or do I care?” quoth the Count. “Your story, man.”
For all that he was far from satisfied, the fool resumed his narrative.
But he no longer told it with his former irresistible humour. His mind
was occupied with that sound of marching, which came steadily nearer.
At length he could endure it no longer, and the apathy of his companions
fired him openly to rebel.
“My lord,” he cried, turning to the Count, and again leaving his story
interrupted, “they are all but upon us.”
“True!” agreed Francesco indifferently. “The next turn yonder should
bring us into them.”
“Then I beg you, Lord Count, to step aside. Let us pause here, under
the trees, until they have passed. I am full of fears. Perhaps I am a
coward, but I mislike these roving night-hands. It may be a company of
masnadieri.”
“What then?” returned the Count, without slackening speed. “What cause
have we to fear a party of robbers?”
But Fanfulla and the servants joined their advice to Peppe's, and
prevailed at last upon Francesco to take cover until this company should
have passed. He consented, to pacify them, and wheeling to the right
they entered the border of the forest, drawing rein well in the shadow,
whence they could survey the road and see who passed across the patch
of moonlight that illumined it. And presently the company came along
and swung into that revealing flood of light. To the astonishment of
the watchers they beheld no marauding party such as they had been led to
expect, but a very orderly company of some twenty men, soberly arrayed
in leather hacketons and salades of bright steel, marching sword
on thigh and pike on shoulder. At the head of this company rode a
powerfully-built man on a great sorrel horse, at sight of whom the
fool swore softly in astonishment. In the middle of the party came four
litters borne by mules, and at the side of one of them rode a slender,
graceful figure that provoked from Peppe a second oath. But the
profoundest objurgation of all was wrung from him at sight of a portly
bulk in the black habit of the Dominicans ambling in the rear, who just
then was in angry altercation with a fellow that was urging his mule
along with the butt of his partisan.
“May you be roasted on a gridiron like Saint Lawrence,” gasped the irate
priest. “Would you break my neck, brute beast that you are? Do you
but wait until we reach Roccaleone, and by St. Dominic, I'll get your
ruffianly commander to hang you for this ill-seasoned jest.”
But his tormentor laughed for answer, and smote the mule again, a blow
this time that almost caused it to rear up. The friar cried out in
angry alarm, and then, still storming and threatening his persecutor, he
passed on. After him came six heavily-laden carts, each drawn by a pair
of bullocks, and the rear of the procession was brought up by a flock of
a dozen bleating sheep, herded by a blasphemant man-at-arms. They passed
the astonished watchers, who remained concealed until that odd company
had melted away into the night.
“I could swear,” said Fanfulla, “that that friar and I have met before.”
“Nor would you do a perjury,” answered him the fool. “For it is that fat
hog Fra Domenico--he that went with you to the Convent of Acquasparta to
fetch unguents for his Excellency.”
“What does he in that company, and who are they?” asked the Count,
turning to the fool as they rode out of their ambush.
“Ask me where the devil keeps his lures,” quoth the fool, “and I'll
make some shift to answer you. But as for what does Fra Domenico in that
galley, it is more than I can hazard a guess on. He is not the only
one known to me,” Peppino added, “There was Ercole Fortemani, a great,
dirty, blustering ruffian whom I never saw in aught but rags, riding at
their heads in garments of most unwonted wholeness; and there was Romeo
Gonzaga, whom I never knew to stir by night save to an assignation.
Strange things must be happening in Urbino.”
“And the litters?” inquired Francesco, “Can you hazard no guess as to
their meaning?”
“None,” said he, “saving that they may account for the presence of
Messer Gonzaga. For litters argue women.”
“It seems, fool, that not even your wisdom shall avail us. But you heard
the friar say they were bound for Roccaleone?”
“Yes, I heard that. And by means of it we shall probably learn the rest
at the end of our journey.”
And being a man of extremely inquisitive mind, the fool set his
inquiries on foot the moment they entered the gates of Urbino in the
morning--for they had reached the city over-late to gain admittance that
same night, and were forced to seek shelter in one of the houses by the
river. It was of the Captain of the Gate that he sought information.
“Can you tell me, Ser Capitan,” he inquired, “what company was that that
travelled yesternight to Roccaleone?”
The captain looked at him a moment.
“There was none that I know of,” said he, “Certainly none from Urbino.”
“You keep a marvellous watch,” said the fool drily. “I tell you that a
company of men-at-arms some twenty strong went last night from Urbino to
Roccaleone.”
“To Roccaleone?” echoed the captain, with a musing air, more attentively
than before, as if the repetition of that name had suggested something
to his mind. “Why, it is the castle of Monna Valentina.”
“True, sapient sir. But what of the company, and why was it travelling
so, by night?”
“How know you it proceeded from Urbino?” quoth the captain earnestly.
“Because at its head I recognised the roaring warrior Ercole Fortemani,
in the middle rode Romeo Gonzaga, in the rear came Fra Domenico,
Madonna's confessor--men of Urbino all.”
The officer's face grew purple at the news.
“Were there any women in the party?” he cried.
“I saw none,” replied the fool, in whom this sudden eagerness of the
captain's awakened caution and reflection.
“But there were four litters,” put in Francesco, whose nature was less
suspicious and alert than the wise fool's.
Too late Peppe scowled caution at him. The captain swore a great oath.
“It is she,” he cried, with assurance. “And this company was travelling
to Roccaleone, you say. How know you that?”
“We heard it from the friar,” answered Francesco readily.
“Then, by the Virgin! we have them. Olá!” He turned from them, and ran
shouting into the gatehouse, to re-emerge a moment later with half-dozen
soldiers at his heels.
“To the Palace,” he commanded, and as his men surrounded Francesco's
party, “Come, sir,” he said to the Count. “You must go with us, and tell
your story to the Duke.”
“There is no need for all this force,” answered Francesco coldly.
“In any case, I could not pass through Urbino without seeing Duke
Guidobaldo. I am the Count of Aquila.”
At once the captain's bearing grew respectful. He made his apologies for
the violent measures of his zeal, and bade his men fall behind. Ordering
them to follow him, he mounted a horse that was brought him, and rode
briskly through the borgo at the Count's side. And as he rode he told
them what the jester's quick intuition had already whispered to him.
The lady Valentina was fled from Urbino in the night, and in her company
were gone three of her ladies, and--it was also supposed, since they had
disappeared--Fra Domenico and Romeo Gonzaga.
Aghast at what he heard, Francesco pressed his informer for more news;
but there was little more that the captain could tell him, beyond
the fact that it was believed she had been driven to it to escape her
impending marriage with the Duke of Babbiano. Guidobaldo was distraught
at what had happened, and anxious to bring the lady back before news of
her behaviour should reach the ears of Gian Maria. It was, therefore, a
matter of no little satisfaction to the captain that the task should be
his to bear Guidobaldo this news of her whereabouts which from Francesco
and the jester he had derived.
Peppe looked glum and sullen. Had he but bridled his cursed curiosity,
and had the Count but taken the alarm in time and held his peace, all
might have been well with his beloved patrona. As it was, he--the one
man ready to die that he might serve her--had been the very one to
betray her refuge. He heard the Count's laugh, and the sound of it was
fuel to his anger. But Francesco only thought of the splendid daring of
the lady's action.
“But these men-at-arms that she had with her?” he cried. “For what
purpose so numerous a bodyguard?”
The captain looked at him a moment.
“Can you not guess?” he inquired. “Perhaps you do not know the Castle of
Roccaleone.”
“It were odd if I did not know the most impregnable fortress in Italy.”
“Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for
a garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel
fashion the wishes of his Highness.”
At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as
hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips.
“By the Host!” he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. “There
is a maid for you! Do you hear what the captain says, Fanfulla? She
means to resist this wedding by armed force if needs be. Now, on my
soul, if Guidobaldo insists upon the union after this, why, then, he has
no heart, no feeling. As I live, she is a kinswoman that such a warlike
prince might well be proud of. Small wonder that they do not fear the
Borgia in Urbino.” And he laughed again. But the captain scowled at him,
and Peppe frowned.
“She is a rebellious jade,” quoth the captain sourly.
“Nay, softly,” returned Francesco; for all that he still laughed. “If
you were of knightly rank I'd break a lance with you on that score. As
it is----” he paused, his laughter ceased, and his dark eyes took the
captain's measure in a curious way. “Best leave her uncensured, Ser
Capitano. She is of the house of Rovere, and closely allied to that of
Montefeltro.”
The officer felt the rebuke, and silence reigned between them after
that.
It was whilst Francesco, Fanfulla and Peppe waited in the ante-chamber
for admittance to the Duke that the jester vented some of the bitterness
he felt at their babbling. The splendid room was thronged with a courtly
crowd. There were magnificent nobles and envoys, dark ecclesiastics
and purple prelates, captains in steel and court officers in silk and
velvet. Yet, heedless of who might hear him, Peppe voiced his rebuke,
and the terms he employed were neither as measured nor as respectful as
the Count's rank dictated. Yet with that fairness of mind that made him
so universally beloved, Francesco offered no resentment to the fool's
reproof. He saw that it was deserved, for it threw upon the matter a
light that was new and more searching. But he presently saw further than
did the fool, and he smiled at the other's scowls.
“Not so loud Peppe,” said he. “You over-estimate the harm. At worst,
we have but anticipated by a little what the Duke must have learnt from
other sources.”
“But it is just that little--the few hours or days--that will do the
mischief,” snapped the jester testily, for all that he lowered his
voice. “In a few days Gian Maria will be back. If he were met with the
news that the Lady Valentina were missing, that she had run away with
Romeo Gonzaga--for that, you'll see, will presently be the tale--do you
think he would linger here, or further care to pursue his wooing? Not
he. These alliances that are for State purposes alone, in which the
heart plays no part, demand, at least, that on the lady's side there
shall be a record unblemished by the breath of scandal. His Highness
would have returned him home, and Madonna would have been rid of him.”
“But at a strange price, Peppe,” answered Franeesco gravely. “Still,” he
added, “I agree that I would have served her purpose better by keeping
silent. But that such an affair will cool the ardour of my cousin I do
not think. You are wrong in placing this among the alliances in which
the heart has no part. On my cousin's side--if all they say be true--the
heart plays a very considerable part indeed. But, for the rest--what
harm have we done?”
“Time will show,” said the hunchback.
“It will show, then, that I have done no hurt whatever to her
interests. By now she is safe in Roccaleone. What, then, can befall her?
Guidobaldo, no doubt, will repair to her, and across the moat he will
entreat her to be a dutiful niece and to return. She will offer to do
so on condition that he pass her his princely word not to further molest
her with the matter of this marriage. And then?”
“Well?” growled the fool, “And then? Who shall say what may befall then?
Let us say that his Highness reduces her by force.”
“A siege?” laughed the Count. “Pooh! Where is your wisdom, fool! Do you
think the splendid Guidobaldo is eager to become the sport of Italy,
and go down to posterity as the duke who besieged his niece because she
resisted his ordainings touching the matter of her wedding?”
“Guidobaldo da Montefeltro can be a violent man upon occasion,” the fool
was answering, when the officer who had left them reappeared with the
announcement that his Highness awaited them.
They found the Prince in a very gloomy mood, and after greeting
Francesco with cool ceremony, he questioned him on the matter of the
company they had met yesternight. These inquiries he conducted with
characteristic dignity, and no more show of concern than if it had been
an affair of a strayed falcon. He thanked Francesco for his information,
and gave orders that the seneschal should place apartments at his and
Fanfulla's disposal for as long as it should please them to grace
his court. With that he dismissed them, bidding the officer remain to
receive his orders.
“And that,” said Francesco to Peppe, as they crossed the ante-chamber
in the wake of a servant, “is the man who would lay siege to his niece's
castle? For once, sir fool, your wisdom is at fault.”
“You do not know the Duke, Excellency,” answered the fool. “Beneath that
frozen exterior burns a furnace, and there is no madness he would not
commit.”
But Francesco only laughed as, linking arms with Fanfulla, he passed
down the gallery on his way to the apartments to which the servant was
conducting them.