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THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO
by
ANTHONY HOPE
Author of The Prisoner of Zenda, etc.
With Photogravure Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick
New York
D. Appleton and Company
1895
Copyright, 1895,
By Anthony Hope.
Copyright, 1895,
By D. Appleton and Company.
_TO THE HONOURABLE SIR HENRY HAWKINS._
_MY DEAR SIR HENRY_:
_It gives me very great pleasure to be allowed to dedicate this book
to you. I hope you will accept it as a token of thanks for much
kindness, of your former Marshal's pleasant memory of his service,
and of sincere respect for a clear-sighted, firm, and compassionate
Judge._
_Your affectionate cousin,_
_A. H. H._
_London, August, 1895._
[Illustration: _Behold! She is free._ (Chapter V.)]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--HOW COUNT ANTONIO TOOK TO THE HILLS 1
II.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE TRAITOR PRINCE 39
III.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE PRINCE OF MANTIVOGLIA 71
IV.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE WIZARD'S DRUG 116
V.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE SACRED BONES 158
VI.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE HERMIT OF THE VAULT 202
VII.--COUNT ANTONIO AND THE LADY OF RILANO 245
VIII.--THE MANNER OF COUNT ANTONIO'S RETURN 290
THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO.
CHAPTER I.
HOW COUNT ANTONIO TOOK TO THE HILLS.
Countless are the stories told of the sayings that Count Antonio spoke
and of the deeds that he did when he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. For
tales and legends gather round his name thick as the berries hang on a
bush, and with the passage of every succeeding year it grows harder to
discern where truth lies and where the love of wonder, working together
with the sway of a great man's memory, has wrought the embroidery of its
fancy on the plain robe of fact. Yet, amid all that is of uncertain
knowledge and so must rest, this much at least should be known and
remembered for the honour of a noble family, how it fell out that Count
Antonio, a man of high lineage, forsook the service of his Prince,
disdained the obligation of his rank, set law at naught, and did what
seemed indeed in his own eyes to be good but was held by many to be
nothing other than the work of a rebel and a brigand. Yet, although it
is by these names that men often speak of him, they love his memory; and
I also, Ambrose the Franciscan, having gathered diligently all that I
could come by in the archives of the city or from the lips of aged folk,
have learned to love it in some sort. Thus I am minded to write, before
the time that I must carry what I know with me to the grave, the full
and whole truth concerning Antonio's flight from the city and the Court,
seeking in my heart, as I write, excuse for him, and finding in the
record, if little else, yet a tale that lovers must read in pride and
sorrow, and, if this be not too high a hope, that princes may study for
profit and for warning.
Now it was in the tenth year of the reign of Duke Valentine over the
city of Firmola, its territories and dependent towns, that Count Antonio
of Monte Velluto--having with him a youthful cousin of his, whom he
loved greatly, and whom, by reason of his small stature and of a boyish
gaiety he had, men called Tommasino--came from his own house on the hill
that fronts the great gate of the city, to the palace of the Duke, with
intent to ask His Highness's sanction for his marriage with the Lady
Lucia. This lady, being then seventeen years of age, loved Antonio, and
he her, and troth had been privily plighted between them for many
months; and such was the strength and power of the love they bore the
one to the other, that even to this day the old mock at young lovers who
show themselves overfond, crying, "'Tis Lucia and Antonio!"
But since the Lady Lucia was an orphan, Antonio came now to the Duke,
who enjoyed ward-ship over her, and setting out his passion and how that
his estate was sufficient and his family such as the Duke knew, prayed
leave of His Highness to wed her. But the Duke, a crafty and subtle
prince, knowing Antonio's temper and the favour in which he was held by
the people, counted not to augment his state and revenues by the gift of
a bride so richly dowered, but chose rather to give her to a favourite
of his, a man in whose devotion he could surely trust and whose
disposition was to serve his master in all things fair and foul, open or
secret. Such an one the Duke found in the Lord Robert de Beauregard, a
gentleman of Provence, who had quitted his own country, having been
drawn into some tumult there, and, having taken service with the Duke,
had risen to a great place in his esteem and confidence. Therefore, when
Antonio preferred his request, the Duke, with many a courteous regretful
phrase, made him aware that the lady stood promised to Robert by the
irrevocable sanctity of his princely pledge.
"So forget, I pray you, my good cousin Antonio," said he, "forget, as
young men lightly can, this desire of yours, and it shall be my charge
to find you a bride full as fair as the Lady Lucia."
But Antonio's face went red from brow to chin, as he answered: "My
gracious lord, I love the lady, and she me, and neither can wed another.
As for my Lord Robert, your Highness knows well that she loves him not."
"A girl's love!" smiled the Duke. "A girl's love! It rains and shines,
and shines and rains, Antonio."
"It has shone on me since she knew a man when she looked on him," said
Antonio.
And Tommasino, who stood by, recking as little of the Duke as of the
Duke's deerhound which he was patting the while, broke in, saying
carelessly, "And this Robert, my lord, is not the man for a pretty girl
to love. He is a sour fellow."
"I thank you for your counsel, my lord Tommasino," smiled the Duke. "Yet
I love him." Whereat Tommasino lifted his brows and patted the hound
again. "It is enough," added the Duke. "I have promised, Antonio. It is
enough."
"Yes, it is enough," said Antonio; and he and Tommasino, having bowed
low, withdrew from the presence of the Duke. But when he got clear
outside of the Duke's cabinet, Antonio laid his hand on Tommasino's
shoulder, saying, "It is not well that Robert have her."
"It is mighty ill," said Tommasino.
And then they walked in silence to the city gate, and, in silence
still, climbed the rugged hill where Antonio's house stood.
But the Duke sent for Robert de Beauregard into his cabinet and said to
him: "If you be wise, friend Robert, little grass shall grow under your
feet this side your marriage. This Antonio says not much; but I have
known him outrun his tongue with deeds."
"If the lady were as eager as I, the matter would not halt," said Robert
with a laugh. "But she weeps and spits fire at me, and cries for
Antonio."
"She will be cured after the wedding," said the Duke. "But see that she
be well guarded, Robert; let a company of your men watch her. I have
known the bride to be missing on a marriage day ere now."
"If he can touch her, he may wed her," cried Robert. "The pikemen are
close about her house, and she can neither go in nor come forth without
their knowledge."
"It is well," said the Duke. "Yet delay not. They are stubborn men,
these Counts of Monte Velluto."
Now had the Lady Lucia been of a spirit as haughty as her lover's, it
may be that she would have refused to wed Robert de Beauregard. But she
was afraid. When Antonio was with her, she had clung to him, and he
loved her the more for her timidity. With him gone and forbidden to come
near her, she dared not resist the Duke's will nor brave his
displeasure; so that a week before the day which the Duke had appointed
for the wedding, she sent to Antonio, bidding him abandon a hope that
was vain and set himself to forget a most unhappy lady.
"Robert shall not have her," said Antonio, putting the letter in his
belt.
"Then the time is short," said Tommasino.
They were walking together on the terrace before Antonio's house, whence
they looked on the city across the river. Antonio cast his eye on the
river and on the wall of the Duke's garden that ran along it; fair
trees, shrubs, and flowers lined the top of the wall, and the water
gleamed in the sunshine.
"It is strange," said Antonio, musing, "that one maiden can darken for a
man all the world that God lights with his sun. Yet since so it is,
Tommasino, a man can be but a man; and being a man, he is a poor man, if
he stand by while another takes his love."
"And that other a stranger, and, as I swear, a cut-throat," added
Tommasino.
When they had dined and evening began to come on, Antonio made his
servants saddle the best horses in his stable--though, indeed, the
choice was small, for Antonio was not rich as a man of his rank counts
riches--and the two rode down the hill towards the city. But, as they
went, Antonio turned once and again in his saddle and gazed long at the
old gray house, the round tower, and the narrow gate.
"Why look behind, and not forward?" asked Tommasino.
"Because there is a foreboding in me," answered Antonio, "that it will
be long before that gate again I pass through. Were there a hope of
persuading you, Tommasino, I would bid you turn back, and leave me to go
alone on this errand."
"Keep your breath against when you have to run," laughed Tommasino,
pricking his horse and tossing his hair, dark as Antonio's was fair,
back from his neck.
Across the bridge they rode and through the gates, and having traversed
the great square, came to the door of Lucia's house, where it rose
fronting the Duke's palace. Here Antonio dismounted, giving his bridle
into Tommasino's hand, and bade the servants carry his name to the Lady
Lucia. A stir arose among them and much whispering, till an old man,
head of the servingmen, came forward, saying: "Pardon, my lord, but we
are commanded not to admit you to the Lady Lucia;" and he waved his hand
towards the inner part of the porch, where Antonio saw a dozen or more
pikemen of the Duke's Guard drawn across the passage to the house; and
their pikes flashed in the rays of the setting sun as they levelled them
in front of their rank.
Some of the townsmen and apprentice lads, stout fellows, each with a
staff, had gathered now around Antonio, whom they loved for his feats of
strength and his liberal gifts to the poor, and, understanding what was
afoot, one came to him, saying: "There are some, my lord, who would
enter with you if you are set on entering," and the fellow's eyes
sparkled; for there was a great enmity in the town against the pikemen,
and a lusty youth with a stick in his hand is never loth to find a use
for it.
For a moment Count Antonio hesitated; for they flocked closer to him,
and Tommasino threw him a glance of appeal and touched the hilt of his
sword. But he would not that the blood of men who were themselves loved
by mothers, wives, and maids, should be shed in his quarrel, and he
raised his hand, bidding them be still.
"I have no quarrel with the pikeman," said he, "and we must not fight
against His Highness's servants."
The faces of the townsmen grew long in disappointment. Tommasino alone
laughed low, recognising in Antonio's gentleness the lull that heralds a
storm. The Count was never more dangerous than when he praised
submission.
"But," continued Antonio, "I would fain see the Lady Lucia." And with
this he stepped inside the porch, signing to Tommasino to stay where he
was; but the lad would not, and, leaping down, ran to his kinsman and
stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
Thus they stood facing the line of pikemen, when suddenly the opposing
rank opened and Robert de Beauregard himself came through. Starting
slightly on sight of Antonio, he yet bowed courteously, baring his head,
and Antonio, with Tommasino, did the like.
"What is your desire, my lord?" asked Robert.
"I have naught to ask of you," answered Antonio, and he took a step
forward. Robert's hand flew to his sword, and in a moment they would
have fought. But now another figure came forward with uplifted hand. It
was the Duke himself, and he looked on Antonio with his dark smile, and
Antonio flushed red.
"You seek me, Antonio?" asked the Duke.
"I seek not your Highness, but my plighted wife," said Antonio.
Duke Valentine smiled still. Coming to Antonio, he passed his arm
through his, and said in most friendly fashion: "Come with me to my
house, and we will talk of this;" and Antonio, caught fast in the choice
between obedience and open revolt, went frowning across the square, the
Duke's arm through his, Robert on the Duke's other side, and, behind,
Tommasino with the horses. But as they went, a sudden cry came from the
house they left, and a girl's face showed for an instant, tear-stained
and pallid, at an open window. A shiver ran through Antonio; but the
Duke pressing his arm, he went still in silence.
At the door of the palace, a lackey took the horses from Tommasino, and
the four passed through the great hall and through the Duke's cabinet
beyond and into the garden; there the Duke sat down under the wall of
the garden, near by the fish-pond, and turning suddenly on Antonio,
spoke to him fiercely; "Men have died at my hands for less," said he.
"Then for each of such shall you answer to God," retorted Antonio, not
less hotly.
"You scout my commands in the face of all the city," said the Duke in
low stern tones. "Now, by Heaven, if you seek to see the girl again, I
will hang you from the tower of the gate. So be warned--now--once: there
shall be no second warning."
He ceased, and sat with angry eyes on Antonio; and Robert, who stood by
his master, glared as fierce. But Antonio was silent for a while, and
rested his arm on Tommasino's shoulder.
"My fathers have served and fought for your fathers," said he at last.
"What has this gentleman done for the Duchy?"
Then Robert spoke suddenly and scornfully: "This he is ready to do, to
punish an insolent knave that braves His Highness's will."
Antonio seemed not to hear him, for he did not move but stood with eyes
bent on the Duke's face, looking whether his appeal should reach its
mark. But Tommasino heard; yet never a word spoke Tommasino either, but
he drew off the heavy riding-glove from his left hand, and it hung
dangling in the fingers of his right, and he looked at the glove and at
Robert and at the glove again.
"I would his Highness were not here," said Tommasino to Robert with a
smile.
"Hold your peace, boy," said Robert, "or the Duke will have you
whipped."
Youth loves not to be taunted with its blessed state. "I have no more to
say," cried Tommasino; and without more, caring naught now for the
presence of the Duke, he flung his heavy glove full in Robert's face,
and, starting back a pace, drew his sword. Then Antonio knew that the
die was cast, for Tommasino would gain no mercy, having insulted the
Duke's favourite and drawn his sword in the Duke's palace; and he also
drew out his sword, and the pair stood facing the Duke and Robert de
Beauregard. It was but for an instant that they stood thus; then Robert,
who did not lack courage to resent a blow, unsheathed and rushed at the
boy. Antonio left his cousin to defend himself, and, bowing low to the
Duke, set his sword at the Duke's breast, before the Duke could so much
as rise from his seat.
"I would not touch your Highness," said he, "but these gentlemen must
not be interrupted."
"You take me at a disadvantage," cried the Duke.
"If you will swear not to summon your guard, I will sheath my sword, my
lord; or, if you will honour me by crossing yours on mine, you shall
draw yours."
The place where they sat was hidden from the palace windows, yet the
Duke trusted that the sound of the clashing steel would bring aid;
therefore, not desiring to fight with Antonio (for Duke Valentine loved
to scheme rather than to strike), he sat still, answering nothing. And
now Tommasino and Robert were engaged, Robert attacking furiously and
Tommasino parrying him as coolly as though they fenced for pastime in
the school. It was Tommasino's fault to think of naught but the moment
and he did not remember that every second might bring the guard upon
them. And Antonio would not call it to his mind, but he said to the
Duke: "The boy will kill him, sir. He is a finer swordsman than I, and
marvellously active."
Then the Duke, having been pondering on his course, and knowing
Antonio--sitting there with the Count's sword against his breast--did
by calculation what many a man braver in fight had not dared to do.
There was in truth a courage in it, for all that it was born of
shrewdness. For, thus with the sword on his heart, fixing a calm glance
on Antonio, he cried as loudly as he could, "Help, help, treason!"
Antonio drew back his arm for the stroke; and the Duke sat still; then,
swift as thought, Antonio laughed, bowed to Duke Valentine and, turning,
rushed between the fighters, striking up their swords. In amazement they
stood for a moment: Antonio drove his sword into its sheath, and, while
Robert was yet astounded, he rushed on him, caught him by the waist,
and, putting forth his strength, flung him clear and far into the
fish-pond. Then seizing Tommasino by the arm he started with him at a
run for the great hall. The Duke rose, crying loudly, "Treason,
treason!" But Antonio cried "Treason, treason," yet louder than the
Duke; and presently Tommasino, who had frowned at his pastime being
interrupted, fell a-laughing, and between the laughs cried "Treason,
treason!" with Antonio. And at the entrance of the hall they met a
dozen pikemen running; and Antonio, pointing over his shoulder, called
in tones of horror, "Treason, treason!" And Tommasino cried, "The Duke!
Help the Duke!" So that they passed untouched through the pikemen, who
hesitated an instant in bewilderment but then swept on; for they heard
the Duke's own voice crying still "Treason, treason!" And through the
hall and out to the portico passed the cousins, echoing their cries of
"Treason!" And every man they met went whither they pointed; and when
they leapt on their horses, the very lackey that had held them dropped
the bridles with hasty speed and ran into the palace, crying "Treason!"
Then Antonio, Tommasino ever following, and both yet crying "Treason!"
dashed across the square; and on the way they met the pikemen who
guarded the Lady Lucia, and the townsmen who were mocking and snarling
at the pikemen; and to pikemen and townsmen alike they cried (though
Tommasino hardly could speak now for laughter and lack of breath),
"Treason, treason!" And all to whom they cried flocked to the palace,
crying in their turn, "Treason, treason!" so that people ran out of
every house in the neighbourhood and hurried to the palace, crying
"Treason!" and every one asking his neighbour what the treason was. And
thus, by the time in which a man might count a hundred, a crowd was
pushing and pressing and striving round the gate of the palace, and the
cousins were alone on the other side of the great square.
"Now thanks be to God for that idea!" gasped Tommasino.
But Antonio gave not thanks till his meal was ended. Raising his voice
as he halted his horse before the Lady Lucia's house, he called loudly,
no longer "Treason!" but "Lucia!" And she, knowing his voice, looked out
again from the window; but some hand plucked her away as soon as she had
but looked. Then Antonio leapt from his horse with an oath and ran to
the door, and finding it unguarded, he rushed in, leaving Tommasino
seated on one horse and holding the other, with one eye on Lucia's house
and the other on the palace, praying that, by the favour of Heaven,
Antonio might come out again before the crowd round the Duke's gates
discovered why it was, to a man, crying "Treason!"
But in the palace of the Duke there was great confusion. For the
pikemen, finding Robert de Beauregard scrambling out of the fish-pond
with a drawn sword in his hand, and His Highness crying "Treason!" with
the best of them, must have it that the traitor was none other than
Robert himself, and in their dutiful zeal they came nigh to making an
end of him then and there, before the Duke could gain silence enough to
render his account of the affair audible. And when the first pikemen
were informed, there came others; and these others, finding the first
thronging round the Duke and Robert, cried out on them for the traitors,
and were on the point of engaging them; and when they also had been with
difficulty convinced, and the two parties, with His Highness and Robert,
turned to the pursuit of the cousins, they found the whole of the great
hall utterly blocked by a concourse of the townsmen, delighted beyond
measure at the chance of an affray with the hated pikemen, who, they
conceived, must beyond doubt be the wicked traitors that had risen in
arms against the Duke's life and throne. Narrowly indeed was a great
battle in the hall averted by the Duke himself, who leapt upon a high
seat and spoke long and earnestly to the people, persuading them that
not the pikemen, but Antonio and Tommasino, were the traitors; which the
townsmen found hard to believe, in part because they wished not to
believe ill of Antonio, and more inasmuch as every man there knew--and
the women and children also--that Antonio and Tommasino, and none else
of all the city had raised the alarm. But some hearkened at last; and
with these and a solid wedge of the pikemen, the Duke and Robert, with
much ado, thrust their way through the crowd and won access to the door
of the palace.
In what time a thousand men may be convinced, you may hope to turn one
woman's mind, and at the instant that the Duke gained the square with
his friends and his guards, Count Antonio had prevailed on the Lady
Lucia to brave His Highness's wrath. It is true that he had met with
some resistance from the steward, who was in Robert's pay, and had
tarried to buffet the fellow into obedience; and with more from an old
governess, who, since she could not be buffeted, had perforce to be
locked in a cupboard; yet the better part of the time had to be spent in
imploring Lucia herself. At last, with many fears and some tears, she
had yielded, and it was with glad eyes that Tommasino saw the Count come
forth from the door carrying Lucia on his arm; and others saw him also;
for a great shout came from the Duke's party across the square, and the
pikemen set out at a run with Robert himself at their head. Yet so soon
as they were started, Antonio also, bearing Lucia in his arms, had
reached where Tommasino was with the horses, and an instant later he was
mounted and cried, "To the gate!" and he struck in his spurs, and his
horse bounded forward, Tommasino following. No more than a hundred yards
lay between them and the gate of the city, and before the pikemen could
bar their path they had reached the gate. The gate-wardens were in the
act of shutting it, having perceived the tumult; but Tommasino struck
at them with the flat of his sword, and they gave way before the
rushing horses; and before the great gate was shut, Antonio and he were
on their way through, and the hoofs of their horses clattered over the
bridge. Thus Antonio was clear of the city with his lady in his arms and
Tommasino his cousin safe by his side.
Yet they were not safe; for neither Duke Valentine nor Robert de
Beauregard was a man who sat down under defeat. But few moments had
passed before there issued from the gate a company of ten mounted and
armed men, and Robert, riding in their front, saw, hard on a mile away,
the cousins heading across the plain towards the spot where the spurs of
Mount Agnino run down; for there was the way of safety. But it was yet
ten miles away. And Robert and his company galloped furiously in
pursuit, while Duke Valentine watched from the wall of the garden above
the river.
Now Count Antonio was a big man and heavy, so that his horse was weighed
down by the twofold burden on its back; and looking behind him, he
perceived that Robert's company drew nearer and yet nearer. And
Tommasino, looking also, said, "I doubt they are too many for us, for
you have the lady in your arms. We shall not get clear of the hills."
Then Antonio drew in his horse a little and, letting the bridle fall,
took the Lady Lucia in both his arms and kissed her, and having thus
done, lifted her and set her on Tommasino's horse. "Thank God," said he,
"that you are no heavier than a feather."
"Yet two feathers may be too much," said Tommasino.
"Ride on," said Antonio. "I will check them for a time, so that you
shall come safe to the outset of the hill."
Tommasino obeyed him; and Antonio, riding more softly now, placed
himself between Tommasino and the pursuers. Tommasino rode on with the
swooning lady in his arms; but his face was grave and troubled, for, as
he said, two feathers may be overmuch, and Robert's company rode well
and swiftly.
"If Antonio can stop them, it is well," said he; "but if not, I shall
not reach the hills;" and he looked with no great love on the unhappy
lady, for it seemed like enough that Antonio would be slain for her
sake, and Tommasino prized him above a thousand damsels. Yet he rode on,
obedient.
But Antonio's scheme had not passed undetected by Robert de Beauregard;
and Robert, being a man of guile and cunning, swore aloud an oath that,
though he died himself, yet Tommasino should not carry off Lucia.
Therefore he charged his men one and all to ride after Tommasino and
bring back Lucia, leaving him alone to contend with Antonio; and they
were not loth to obey, for it was little to their taste or wish to
surround Antonio and kill him. Thus, when the company came within fifty
yards of Antonio, the ranks suddenly parted; five diverged to the right,
and four to the left, passing Antonio in sweeping curves, so far off
that he could not reach them, while Robert alone rode straight at him.
Antonio, perceiving the stratagem, would fain have ridden again after
Tommasino; but Robert was hard upon him, and he was in peril of being
thrust through the back as he fled. So he turned and faced his enemy.
But although Robert had sworn so boldly before his men, his mind was not
what he had declared to them, and he desired to meet Antonio alone, not
that he might fight a fair fight with him, but in order treacherously to
deceive him--a thing he was ashamed to do before his comrades. Coming up
then to Antonio, he reined in his horse, crying, "My lord, I bring peace
from His Highness."
Antonio wondered to hear him; yet, when Robert, his sword lying
untouched in its sheath, sprang from his horse and approached him, he
dismounted also; and Robert said to him: "I have charged them to injure
neither the Lady Lucia nor your cousin by so much as a hair; for the
Duke bids me say that he will not constrain the lady."
"Is she then given to me?" cried Antonio, his face lighting up with a
marvellous eagerness.
"Nay, not so fast," answered Robert with subtle cunning. "The Duke will
not give her to you now. But he will exact from you and from me alike
an oath not to molest, no, not to see her, for three months, and then
she shall choose as she will between us."
While he spoke this fair speech, he had been drawing nearer to Antonio;
and Antonio, not yet convinced of his honesty, drew back a pace. Then
Robert let go hold of his horse, unbuckled his sword, flung it on the
ground, and came to Antonio with outstretched hands. "Behold!" said he;
"I am in your mercy, my lord. If you do not believe me, slay me."
Antonio looked at him with searching wistful eyes; he hated to war
against the Duke, and his heart was aflame with the hope that dwelt for
him in Robert's words; for he did not doubt but that neither three
months, nor three years, nor three hundred years, could change his
lady's love.
"You speak fair, sir," said he; "but what warrant have I?"
"And, save your honour, what warrant have I, who stand here unarmed
before you?" asked Robert.
For a while Antonio pondered; then he said, "My lord, I must crave your
pardon for my doubt; but the matter is so great that to your word I dare
not trust; but if you will ride back with your men and pray the Duke to
send me a promise under his own hand, to that I will trust. And
meanwhile Tommasino, with the Lady Lucia, shall abide in a safe place,
and I will stay here, awaiting your return; and, if you will, let two of
your men stay with me."
"Many a man, my lord," returned Robert, "would take your caution in bad
part. But let it be so. Come, we will ride after my company." And he
rose and caught Antonio's horse by the bridle and brought it to him;
"Mount, my lord," said he, standing by.
Antonio, believing either that the man was true or that his
treachery--if treachery there were in him--was foiled, and seeing him to
all seeming unarmed, save for a little dagger in his belt which would
hardly suffice to kill a man and was more a thing of ornament than use,
set his foot in the stirrup and prepared to mount. And in so doing he
turned his back on Robert de Beauregard. The moment for which that
wicked man had schemed and lied was come. Still holding Antonio's
stirrup with one hand, he drew, swift as lightning, from under his
cloak, a dagger different far from the toy in his belt--short, strong,
broad, and keen. And that moment had been Antonio's last, had it not
chanced that, on the instant Robert drew the dagger, the horse started a
pace aside, and Antonio, taken unawares, stumbled forward and came near
falling on the ground. His salvation lay in that stumble, for Robert,
having put all his strength into the blow, and then striking not Antonio
but empty air, in his turn staggered forward, and could not recover
himself before Antonio turned round, a smile at his own unwariness on
his lips.
Then he saw the broad keen knife in the hand of Robert. Robert breathed
quickly, and glared at him, but did not rush on him. He stood glaring,
the knife in his hands, his parted lips displaying grinning teeth. Not a
word spoke Antonio, but he drew his sword, and pointed where Robert's
sword lay on the grass. The traitor, recognising the grace that allowed
him to take his sword, shamed, it may be, by such return for his own
treachery, in silence lifted and drew it; and, withdrawing to a distance
from the horses, which quietly cropped the grass, the two faced one
another.
Calm and easy were the bearing and the air of Count Antonio, if the
pictures of him that live drawn in the words of those who knew him be
truthful; calm and easy ever was he, save when he fought; but then it
seemed as though there came upon him a sort of fury akin to madness, or
(as the ancients would have fabled) to some inspiration from the God of
War, which transformed him utterly, imbuing him with a rage and rushing
impetuosity. Here lay his danger when matched with such a swordsman as
was little Tommasino; but for all that, few cared to meet him, some
saying that, though they called themselves as brave as others, yet they
seemed half appalled when Count Antonio set upon them; for he fought as
though he must surely win and as though God were with him. Thus now he
darted upon Robert de Beauregard, in seeming recklessness of receiving
thrusts himself, yet ever escaping them by his sudden resource and
dexterity and ever himself attacking, leaving no space to take breath,
and bewildering the other's practised skill by the dash and brilliance
of his assault. And it may be also that the darkness, which was now
falling fast, hindered Robert the more, for Antonio was famed for the
keenness of his eyes by night. Be these things as they may, in the very
moment when Robert pricked Antonio in the left arm and cried out in
triumph on his stroke, Antonio leapt on him and drove his sword through
his heart; and Robert, with the sword yet in him, fell to the ground,
groaning. And when Antonio drew forth the sword, the man at his feet
died. Thus, if it be God's will, may all traitors perish.
Antonio looked round the plain; but it grew darker still, and even his
sight did not avail for more than some threescore yards. Yet he saw a
dark mass on his right, distant, as he judged, that space or more.
Rapidly it moved: surely it was a group of men galloping, and Antonio
stood motionless regarding them. But they swept on, not turning whither
he stood; and he, unable to tell what they did, whether they sought him
or whither they went, watched them till they faded away in the darkness;
and then, leaving Robert where he lay, he mounted his horse and made
speed towards the hills, praying that there he should find his cousin
and the Lady Lucia, escaped from the pursuit of the Duke's men. Yet had
he known what those dimly discerned riders bore with them, he would have
been greatly moved at all costs and at every hazard to follow after them
and seek to overtake them before they came to the city.
On he rode towards the hills, quickly, yet not so hastily but that he
scanned the ground as he went so well as the night allowed him. The moon
was risen now and to see was easier. When he had covered a distance of
some two miles, he perceived something lying across his path. Bending to
look, he found it to be the corpse of a horse: he leapt down and bent
over it. It was the horse Tommasino had ridden; it was hamstrung, and
its throat had been cut. Antonio, seeing it, in sudden apprehension of
calamity, cried aloud; and to his wonder his cry was answered by a
voice which came from a clump of bushes fifty yards on the right. He ran
hastily to the spot, thinking nothing of his own safety nor of anything
else than what had befallen his friends; and under the shelter of the
bushes two men of the Duke's Guard, their horses tethered near them,
squatted on the ground, and, between, Tommasino lay full length on the
ground. His face was white, his eyes closed, and a bloody bandage was
about his head. One of the two by him had forced his lips open and was
giving him to drink from a bottle. The other sprang up on sight of
Antonio and laid a hand to his sword-hilt.
"Peace, peace!" said Antonio. "Is the lad dead?"
"He is not dead, my lord, but he is sore hurt."
"And what do you here with him? And how did you take him?"
"We came up with him here, and surrounded him; and while some of us held
him in front, one cut the hamstrings of his horse from behind; and the
horse fell, and with the horse the lady and the young lord. He was up in
an instant; but as he rose, the lieutenant struck him on the head and
dealt him the wound you see. Then he could fight no more; and the
lieutenant took the lady, and with the rest rode back towards the city,
leaving us charged with the duty of bringing the young lord in so soon
as he was in a state to come with us."
"They took the lady?"
"Even so, my lord."
"And why did they not seek for me?"
The fellow--Martolo was his name--smiled grimly; and his comrade,
looking up, answered: "Maybe they did not wish to find you, my lord.
They had been eight to one, and could not have failed to take you in the
end."
"Aye, in the end," said Martolo, laughing now. "Nor," added he, "had the
lieutenant such great love for Robert de Beauregard that he would
rejoice to deliver you to death for his sake, seeing that you are a
Monte Velluto and he a rascally----"
"Peace! He is dead," said Count Antonio.
"You have killed him?" they cried with one voice.
"He attacked me in treachery, and I have killed him," answered Antonio.
For a while there was silence. Then Antonio asked, "The lady--did she go
willingly?"
"She was frightened and dazed by her fall, my lord; she knew not what
she did nor what they did to her. And the lieutenant took her in front
of him, and, holding her with all gentleness, so rode towards the city."
"God keep her," said Antonio.
"Amen, poor lady!" said Martolo, doffing his cap.
Then Antonio whistled to his horse, which came to his side; with a
gesture he bade the men stand aside, and they obeyed him; and he
gathered Tommasino in his arms. "Hold my stirrup, that I may mount,"
said he; and still they obeyed. But when they saw him mounted, with
Tommasino seated in front of him, Martolo cried, "But, my lord, we are
charged to take him back and deliver him to the Duke."
"And if you do?" asked Antonio.
Martolo made a movement as of one tying a noose.
"And if you do not?" asked Antonio.
"Then we had best not show ourselves alive to the Duke."
Antonio looked down on them. "To whom bear you allegiance?" said he.
"To His Highness the Duke," they answered, uncovering as they spoke.
"And to whom besides?" asked Antonio.
"To none besides," they answered, wondering.
"Aye, but you do," said he. "To One who wills not that you should
deliver to death a lad who has done but what his honour bade him."
"God's counsel God knows," said Martolo. "We are dead men if we return
alone to the city. You had best slay us yourself, my lord, if we may not
carry the young lord with us."
"You are honest lads, are you not?" he asked. "By your faces, you are
men of the city."
"So are we, my lord; but we serve the Duke in his Guard for reward."
"I love the men of the city as they love me," said Antonio. "And a few
pence a day should not buy a man's soul as well as his body."
The two men looked at one another in perplexity. The fear and deference
in which they held Antonio forbade them to fall on him; yet they dared
not let him take Tommasino. Then, as they stood doubting, he spoke low
and softly to them: "When he that should give law and uphold right deals
wrong, and makes white black and black white, it is for gentlemen and
honest men to be a law unto themselves. Mount your horses, then, and
follow me. And so long as I am safe, you shall be safe; and so long as I
live, you shall live; and while I eat and drink, you shall have to drink
and eat; and you shall be my servants. And when the time of God's
will--whereof God forbid that I should doubt--is come, I will go back to
her I love, and you shall go back to them that love you; and men shall
say that you have proved yourselves true men and good."
Thus it was that two men of the Duke's Guard--Martolo and he whom they
called Bena (for of his true name there is no record)--went together
with Count Antonio and his cousin Tommasino to a secret fastness in the
hills; and there in the course of many days Tommasino was healed of the
wound which the Lieutenant of the Guard had given him, and rode his
horse again, and held next place to Antonio himself in the band that
gathered round them. For there came to them every man that was
wrongfully oppressed; and some came for love of adventure and because
they hoped to strike good blows; and some came whom Antonio would not
receive, inasmuch as they were greater rogues than were those whose
wrath they fled from.
Such is the tale of how Count Antonio was outlawed from the Duke's peace
and took to the hills. Faithfully have I set it down, and whoso will may
blame the Count, and whoso will may praise him. For myself, I thank
Heaven that I am well rid of this same troublesome passion of love that
likens one man to a lion and another to a fox.
But the Lady Lucia, being brought back to the city by the Lieutenant of
the Guard, was lodged in her own house, and the charge of her was
commended by the Duke into the hands of a discreet lady; and for a while
His Highness, for very shame, forbore to trouble her with suitors. For
he said, in his bitter humour, as he looked down on the dead body of
Robert de Beauregard: "I have lost two good servants and four strong
arms through her; and mayhap, if I find her another suitor, she will rob
me of yet another stalwart gentleman."
So she abode, in peace indeed, but in sore desolation and sorrow,
longing for the day when Count Antonio should come back to seek her. And
again was she closely guarded by the Duke.