THE MANNER OF COUNT ANTONIO'S RETURN.
In all that I have written concerning Count Antonio, I have striven to
say that only which is surely based on truth and attested by credible
witness, and have left on one side the more marvellous tales such as the
credulity of ignorance and the fond licence of legend are wont to weave.
But as to the manner of his return there is no room for uncertainty, for
the whole account of it was recorded in the archives of the city by
order of Duke Valentine the Good, son and successor to that Duke who
outlawed Antonio; to which archives I, Ambrose, have had full access;
and I have now free permission to make known so much of them as may
serve for the proper understanding of the matter. And this same task is
one to which I set my pen willingly, conceiving that the story is
worthy of being known to every man in the Duchy; for while many may
censure the things that Antonio did in the days of his sojourn in the
hills, there can, I think, be none that will not look with approval on
his bearing in this last hap of fortune. Indeed he was a gallant
gentleman; and if, for that, I forgive him his sins too readily, in like
manner may our good St. Prisian intercede that my sins be forgiven me.
Five years had the Count dwelt in the hills; five years had the Lady
Lucia mourned in the city; five years had Duke Valentine laid plans and
schemes. Then it fell out that a sickness came upon the city and the
country round it; many died, and more were sore stricken but by the
mercy of God narrowly escaped. Among those that suffered were the Duke
himself, and at the same time a certain gentleman, by name Count Philip
of Garda, a friend of Antonio's, and yet an obedient servant to the
Duke. Now when Antonio heard that Philip lay sick, he sent to him a rich
gift of choice meats and fruits by the hand of Tommasino. And Tommasino
came with six of the band and delivered the gift, and might have ridden
back in all safety, as did the six who came with him. But Philip had a
fair daughter, and Tommasino, caught by her charms, made bold to linger
at Philip's house, trusting that his presence there would not be known
to the Duke, and venturing his own neck for the smiles of red lips and
the glances of bright eyes, as young men have since this old world
began. But one of the Duke's spies, of whom he maintained many, brought
word to him of Tommasino's rashness; and as Tommasino at last rode forth
privily in the evening, singing a love-song and hugging in his bosom a
glove that the lady had suffered him to carry off, he came suddenly into
an ambush of the Duke's Guard, was pulled violently from his horse, and
before he could so much as draw his sword, behold, his arms were seized,
and the Lord Lorenzo stood before him, with doffed cap and mocking
smile!
"My glove is like to cost me dear," said Tommasino.
"Indeed, my lord," answered Lorenzo, "I fear there will be a reckoning
for it." Then he gave the word, and they set Tommasino bound on his
horse, and rode without drawing rein to the city. And when the Duke
heard the next morning of Tommasino's capture, he raised himself on his
couch, where he lay in the shade by the fish-pond under the wall of his
garden. "This is sweet medicine for my sickness," said he. "On the third
day from now, at noon, he shall die. Bid them raise a great gibbet in
front of my palace, so high that it shall be seen from every part of the
city and from beyond the walls; and on that gibbet Tommasino shall hang,
that all men may know that I, Valentine, am Duke and Lord of Firmola."
And he lay back again, pale and faint.
But when word came to Antonio that Tommasino was taken, he withdrew
himself from the rest of the band who were lamenting the untoward
chance, and walked by himself to and fro for a long while. And he gazed
once on the picture of the Lady Lucia which was always round his neck.
Then he sat down and wrote a letter to the Duke, saying, "My gracious
lord, I am here with fifty men, stout and brave fellows; and if my
cousin dies, there shall be no peace in the Duchy. But my heart is heavy
already for those that have died in my quarrel, and I may not endure
Tommasino's death. Therefore let Tommasino go, and grant full pardon and
oblivion to him and to all who are here with me, and swear to do this
with a binding oath; and then I will come and deliver myself to you, and
suffer such doom as seems good to Your Highness. May Almighty God
assuage Your Highness's sickness and keep you in all things.--ANTONIO of
Monte Velluto." And this letter he sent to the Duke Valentine, who,
having received it, pondered long, but at last said to Lorenzo, "I do
not love to let Tommasino go, nor to pardon these lawless knaves; yet
for five years I have pursued Antonio and have not taken him. And I am
weary, and the country is racked and troubled by our strife."
"With Antonio dead, all would be quiet, my lord," said Lorenzo.
Then the Duke's eyes flashed and he said, "It shall be so. And bid them
strengthen the gibbet, for Antonio is a large man; and he shall surely
hang on it."
Now Lorenzo was somewhat grieved, for he esteemed Antonio; yet he obeyed
the Duke's commands, and took from the Duke a letter for Antonio,
wherein His Highness swore to all that Antonio asked, and bade him come
alone or with one companion only into the city on the day that had been
before appointed for the hanging of Tommasino. And, further, the Lord
Lorenzo gathered together all the pikemen and every man that served the
Duke, and placed them all on guard, and proclaimed that any man besides
found carrying arms in the city should be held as the Duke's enemy. For
he feared that the townsmen who loved Antonio would attempt something on
his behalf. But when the townsmen saw the great force that Lorenzo had
gathered, they dared attempt nothing, although they were sore grieved
and lamented bitterly. And the Lady Lucia, looking from the window of
her house, beheld those who were erecting the gibbet, and wept for her
lover. As for Tommasino, when he heard that he was not to be hanged,
but to be set free, and Antonio to suffer death in his stead, he was
like a man mad, and his rage and grief could not be restrained; for he
declared that he would not live if Antonio died, and did not cease to
reproach himself bitterly. Therefore the Lord Lorenzo held him confined
in his own house, lest he should do himself some harm, or endeavour by
some desperate device to prevent Antonio from fulfilling his purpose;
but he treated him with all courtesy, for he was sorry for his plight.
Now Count Antonio feared his companions and did not dare to tell them of
what he had done, lest their obedience should fail under a strain so
great, and they should by force prevent his going to the city. Therefore
he told them to rest quiet in their camp, while he, with Bena, went
about certain necessary business; and he bade them farewell, enjoining
them most strictly to do nothing against the Duke.
"For," said he, "although I may not tell you fully what the business is
on which I go, yet I have good hope that His Highness is favourably
inclined to you, and that in a short space you will receive from him
pardon for all your offences. And that pardon I charge you to accept
with gratitude, and, having accepted it, be thenceforward loyal servants
to His Highness."
"But will the Duke pardon you also, my lord, and the Lord Tommasino?"
asked Martolo.
"He will pardon Tommasino also," answered Antonio. "And be assured that
I shall suffer nothing." And having said this, he shook every man by the
hand, thanking them for the love and service they had shown him; and he
and Bena were accompanied by all of them to the foot of Mount Agnino;
and there, in the early morning of the appointed day, Antonio mounted
his horse and rode with Bena into the plain. And as they rode, Bena said
to him, "My lord, why does the Duke grant this pardon?"
"Because I give him what he asks as the price of it, Bena," answered
Antonio; and they rode on for a while. But when Bena saw that Antonio
turned his horse not towards Rilano, but directly across the plain
towards Firmola, he said, "My lord, whither are we riding?"
"We are riding to the city, Bena," answered Antonio. "There is no cause
for fear; we go by leave and on the invitation of His Highness."
"But will he let us go again?" asked Bena.
"You will be free to go when you will," answered Antonio, "and me the
Duke will himself send forth from the city when I am ready to go." For
Lorenzo had promised in the Duke's name that Antonio's body, after it
had hung three days on the gibbet, should be carried from the city to
the church of St. Prisian at Rilano, and there interred with fitting
ceremony.
"Yet I do not like this ride of ours," grumbled Bena.
"Nay, I like it not myself," said Antonio, smiling. "But for the good of
my cousin and of all our company, we must go forward." And he stopped
for a moment and added, "Swear to me, Bena, by St. Prisian, to obey in
all I bid you in the city to-day, and not to draw your sword unless I
draw mine."
"Do I not always obey you, my lord?" asked Bena.
"But swear to me."
"Well, then, I swear," said Bena, "though in truth, my lord, your word
is full as strong to me as any oath, whether by Prisian or another." For
this man whom they called Bena was a godless man, and one that held holy
things in light esteem. But he was a fine fighter and a loyal servant,
and God's mercy is infinite. It may be his heart was turned at last;
though indeed I have found no record of it.
"My lord, will you see my Lady Lucia in the city?" asked Bena.
"I trust at the least to see her face at her window," answered Antonio.
"Will you have speech with her, my lord?"
"If His Highness will grant me that favour, Bena."
"Ah, I know now why you smiled, my lord, as you rode, just now. It will
be a bright day for you." And Bena laughed.
"Indeed," said Antonio, "I trust that the day may be bright for me. Yes,
bright as the light of heaven."
"There is no light brighter than the eyes of the girl a man loves," said
Bena.
"Yes, there is one," said Antonio. But Bena did not understand his
meaning.
Thus they rode till it wanted only two hours of noon; and then they were
within five miles of the city, and Bena, looking, beheld the great
gibbet rising above the walls of the city and standing forth grim and
black in front of the marble face of the Cathedral.
"What is that, my lord," he cried, "which towers above the walls of the
city?"
"Is it not enough to know when we come there?" answered Antonio.
Then Bena sighed, and said to Antonio, "I find it in my heart, my lord,
to be half sorry that the Duke pardons us; for we lived a fine merry
life in the hills. Yet it will be pleasant to live at ease: and we have
adventures enough to tell our sweethearts, aye, and our children too,
when we grow old, and they come round us and ask us for stories of our
youth. I hope my boys will be good at a fight, my lord, and serve your
sons as I have served you."
"It may be God's will that I leave no sons to bear my name, Bena."
"I do not think that," said Bena with a laugh.
They were now passing the hill on which stood the blackened walls of
Antonio's house, which Duke Valentine had burnt.
Bena cried out at the sight. "You will need to spend much in rebuilding
it," said he.
"Perhaps His Highness has provided another dwelling for me," said
Antonio.
"To-night he will surely lodge you, my lord, in his own palace, or, may
be, with my Lord Lorenzo."
"Wherever it may be, I shall sleep soundly," said Antonio.
Now they were come near to the city, and they saw a body of pikemen
coming out to meet them, the Lieutenant of the Guard at the head. And
when they met, the Lieutenant bowed to Antonio, who greeted him most
courteously; and the pikemen spread themselves in front and behind and
on both sides of Antonio and Bena, and thus they went on towards the
bridge and the city gate. But Bena eyed the pikemen with no love, and
moved restlessly in his saddle. "These fellows," said he to Antonio,
"hem us in, my lord. Shall I make my horse threaten their toes a little,
so that they may give us more room?"
"Let them be," said Antonio. "It is not for long, Bena."
At the entrance of the gate stood Lorenzo, awaiting the Count, and there
they dismounted, and Antonio passed through the gate with Lorenzo, Bena
being close to him on the other side. And when Bena saw the great force
of pikemen, and, behind their ranks, a mighty throng of people, and when
he saw the tall gibbet and understood what it was, suddenly his face
went red and his hand flew to his sword.
But Antonio caught his arm, saying, "My sword is not drawn, Bena."
"My lord, what does it mean?" cried Bena in a loud voice, so that
Lorenzo heard and stayed his steps and looked at Bena. "Does he not
know?" he asked of Antonio.
"He does not know yet," said Antonio. And to Bena he said, "I have need
of your sword, Bena. Give it me."
"My sword, my lord?"
"Yes, your sword."
Bena looked at him with wondering frightened eyes; but slowly he
unbuckled his sword from his belt and gave it to Antonio. And Antonio
unbuckled his own sword also and gave them both to the Lieutenant of the
Guard, saying, "Sir, I pray you to restore Bena's to him in the evening,
and mine to me when I go forth to Rilano."
But Bena clutched at Antonio's arm, crying again, "What does it mean, my
lord?"
Then Antonio took him by the hand and said, "Are we to be afraid now of
what we have often faced together with light hearts, Bena?"
"Are we to die?" asked Bena.
"You are to live and beget those brave boys, Bena. But it is otherwise
with me," said Antonio.
Then the Lord Lorenzo, who had looked in Bena's eyes, signed to four
pikemen to come near, and they came and stood near Bena; for Lorenzo
feared that he would not suffer Antonio to die without seeking to save
him or to die with him.
"Nay, let him alone," said Antonio. "You will obey me of your free-will,
Bena?"
"Yes, my lord," said Bena; and he looked up at the gibbet; and then he
caught Antonio's hand and kissed it a score of times; and he began to
sob as a child sobs. And the Guard, among whom were some that had felt
his arm, marvelled to see him thus moved.
"Let us go on," said Antonio. "It is hard on noon, and I must keep my
tryst with His Highness."
"His Highness awaits my lord by the fish-pond in the garden," said
Lorenzo; and he led Antonio to the palace and brought him through the
great hall and so to the fish-pond; and by it the Duke lay propped on
pillows, yet very richly arrayed; and his little son sat by him. Now
Lorenzo stood aloof, but Antonio came, and, kneeling, kissed the Duke's
hand, and then rose and stood before the Duke. But the boy cried, "Why,
it is my Lord Antonio! Have you come back to live in the city, my Lord
Antonio? Ah, I am glad of it!"
"Nay, I have not come to live in the city, my little lord," said
Antonio.
"Whither do you go then?" asked the boy.
"His Highness sends me on a journey," said Antonio.
"Is it far?"
"Yes, it is far," said Antonio with a smile.
"I wish he would send another and let you stay; then we could play at
robbers again in the great hall," said the little Duke. "Father, can you
find no other lord to go in Antonio's place?"
The Duke turned his face, pale and wasted with sickness, and his eyes,
that seemed larger and deeper than they had been before, upon his son.
"I can send none but Antonio," said he. And calling to Lorenzo, he bade
him take the boy. But the boy went reluctantly, telling Antonio that he
must return speedily. "For you promised," said he, "to teach me how to
use my sword." And the Duke signed with his hand to Lorenzo, who lifted
the boy and carried him away, leaving Antonio alone with the Duke.
"I have set my seal to the pardons as I swore," said the Duke; "and
Tommasino shall be free this evening; and all that he and the rest have
done against me shall be forgotten from this hour. Have you any cause of
complaint against me?"
"None, my lord," said Count Antonio.
"Is there anything that you ask of me?"
"Nothing, my lord. Yet if it be Your Highness's pleasure that I should
have speech with the Lady Lucia and with my cousin, I should be well
pleased."
"You will see them yonder in the square," said the Duke. "But otherwise
you shall not see them."
Then Lorenzo returned, and he led Antonio to a chamber and gave him meat
and wine; and while Antonio ate, the Lord Archbishop, having heard that
he was come, came in great haste; and the venerable man was very urgent
with Antonio that he should make his peace with Heaven, so that, having
confessed his sins and sought absolution, he might be relieved of the
sentence of excommunication under which he lay, and be comforted with
the rites of the Church before he died.
"For there are many wild and wicked deeds on your conscience," said the
Archbishop, "and above all, the things that you did touching the Abbot
of St. Prisian, and yet more impiously touching the Sacred Bones."
"Indeed I have many sins to confess," said Antonio; "but, my Lord
Archbishop, concerning the Abbot and concerning the Sacred Bones I have
nothing to confess. For even now, when I stand on the threshold of
death, I can perceive nothing that I did save what I could not leave
undone."
Then the Archbishop besought him very earnestly, and even with tears;
but Antonio would own no sin in these matters, and therefore the
Archbishop could not relieve him from his sentence nor give him the holy
comforts, but left him and returned to his own house in great distress
of spirit.
The Lord Lorenzo now came again to Antonio and said to him, "My lord,
it wants but a few moments of noon." Therefore Antonio rose and went
with him; and they came through the great hall, and, a strong escort
being about them, took their stand at the foot of the palace steps. Then
the Duke was borne out on his couch, high on the shoulders of his
lackeys, and was set down on the topmost step: and silence having been
proclaimed, the Duke spoke to Antonio; but so weak was his voice that
none heard save those who were very near. "Antonio of Monte Velluto,"
said he, "it may be that in God's purposes I myself have not long to
live. Yet it is long enough for me to uphold and vindicate that princely
power which the same God has committed to my hands. That power you have
outraged; many of my faithful friends you have slain; against both me
and the Church you have lifted your hand. Go then to your death, that
men may know the fate of traitors and of rebels."
Antonio bowed low to His Highness; but, not being invited by the Duke to
speak, he said naught, but suffered Lorenzo to lead him across the
square; and as he went, he passed where four pikemen stood by Bena,
ready to lay hold on him if he moved; and Bena fell on his knees and
again kissed Antonio's hand. And Antonio, passing on, saw two young
lords, followers of Lorenzo. And between them stood Tommasino; their
arms were through Tommasino's arms and they held him, though lovingly,
yet firmly; and he had no sword.
"May I speak with Tommasino?" asked Antonio.
"His Highness has forbidden it," said Lorenzo; but Antonio paused for a
moment before Tommasino; and Tommasino, greatly moved, cried piteously
to him that he might die with him. And Antonio kissed him, and, with a
shake of his head, passed on. Thus then he came to the gibbet, and
mounted with Lorenzo on to the scaffold that was underneath the gibbet.
And when he was seen there, a great groan went up from the people, and
the apprenticed lads, who were all gathered together on the left side of
the gibbet, murmured so fiercely and stirred so restlessly that the
pikemen faced round, turning their backs towards the scaffold, and laid
their pikes in rest.
Then the hour of noon struck from the clock in the tower of the
Cathedral; and the Master of the Duke's Household, who stood by the
couch of his master, turned his eyes to the Duke's face, seeking the
signal for Antonio's death; which when he received, he would sign to the
executioner to set the rope round the Count's neck; for the man stood by
Antonio with the rope in his hand, and Antonio was already in his shirt.
But when the Master of the Household looked at the Duke, the Duke made
him no signal; yet the Duke had not fainted from his sickness, for he
was propped on his elbow, his face was eager, and his gaze was set
intently across the square; and his physician, who was near, spoke to
him softly, saying, "My lord, they await the signal."
But the Duke waved him aside impatiently, and gazed still across the
square. And, seeing His Highness thus gazing intently, the Master of the
Household and the physician and all the rest who were about the Duke's
person looked also; and they saw the Lady Lucia coming forth from her
house, clad all in white. Antonio also saw her from where he stood on
the scaffold, for the people made a way for her, and the pikemen let her
pass through their ranks; so that she walked alone across the middle of
the great square; and the eyes of all, leaving Antonio, were fixed upon
her. Her face was very pale, and her hair fell on her shoulders; but she
walked firmly and swiftly, and she turned neither to right nor left, but
made straight for the spot where the Duke lay. And he, seeing her
coming, moaned once, and passed his hand thrice across his eyes, and
raised himself yet higher on his arm, leaning towards her over the side
of the couch. Again he passed his hand across his brow; and the
physician regarded him very intently, yet dared not again seek to rouse
his attention, and imposed silence on the Master of the Household, who
had asked in low tones, "What ails His Highness?" Then the Lady Lucia,
having reached the foot of the steps, stood still there, her eyes on the
Duke. Very fair was she, and sad, and she seemed rather some beautiful
unsubstantial vision than a living maiden; and though she strove to
form words with her lips, yet no words came; therefore it was by her
muteness that she besought pity for herself and pardon for her lover.
But the Duke, leaning yet further towards her, had fallen, but that the
physician, kneeling, passed his arm round his body and held him up; and
he said in low hoarse tones and like a man that is amazed and full of
awe, and yet moved with a gladness so great that he cannot believe in
it, "Who is it? Who is it?"
And the Lady Lucia still could not answer him. And he, craning towards
her, spoke to her in entreaty, "Margherita, Margherita!"
Then indeed all marvelled; for the name that the Duke spoke was the name
by which that Princess who had been his wife and was dead had been
called; and they perceived that His Highness, overcome by his sickness,
had lost discernment, and conceived the Lady Lucia to be not herself but
the spirit of his dead love come to him from heaven, to which delusion
her white robes and her death-like pallor might well incline him. And
now the wonder and fear left his face, and there came in place of them a
great joy and rapture, so that his sunk eyes gleamed, his lips quivered,
and he beckoned with his hand, murmuring, "I am ready, I am ready,
Margherita!" And while this passed, all who were too distant to hear the
Duke's words wondered that the signal came not, but supposed that the
Lady Lucia had interceded for Count Antonio, and that His Highness was
now answering her prayer: and they hoped that he would grant it. And
Antonio stood on the scaffold between the Lord Lorenzo and the
executioner; and his eyes were set on Lucia.
Then the Duke spoke again to the Lady Lucia, saying, "I have been
lonely, very lonely. How pale your face is, my sweet! Come to me. I
cannot come to you, for I am very sick." And he held out his hand
towards her again.
But she was now sore bewildered, for she could not understand the words
which His Highness used to her, and she looked round, seeking some one
who might tell her what they meant, but none moved from his place or
came near to her; and at last she found voice enough to say in soft
tones, "Antonio, my lord, the Count Antonio!"
"Aye, I know that you loved him," said the Duke. "But since then he has
done great crimes, and he must die. Yet speak not of him now, but come
here to me, Margherita."
Then, with wavering tread, she came towards him, mounting the first of
the steps, and she said, "I know not what you would, my lord, nor why
you call me by the name of Margherita. I am Lucia, and I come to ask
Antonio's life."
"Lucia, Lucia?" said he, and his face grew doubtful. "Nay, but you are
my Margherita," he said.
"No, my lord," she answered, as with trembling uncertain feet she
mounted, till she stood but one step below where his couch was placed;
and then she fell on her knees on the highest step and clasped her
hands, crying, "Have mercy, my lord, have mercy! Think, my dear lord,
how I love him; for if he dies, I must die also, my lord. Ah, my lord,
you have known love. You loved our sweet Lady Margherita; was not her
name now on your lips? So I love Antonio, so he loves me. Ah, my lord,
Christ Jesus teaches pity!" And she buried her face in her hands and
sobbed.
Then the Duke, his physician and now the Master of the Household also
supporting him, stretched himself over the edge of his couch, and,
putting out his hand with feverish strength, plucked the Lady Lucia's
hands away from her face and gazed at her face. And when he had gazed a
moment, he gave a great cry, "Ah, God!" and flung his arms up above his
head and fell back into the arms of his physician, who laid him down on
his couch, where he lay motionless, his eyes shut and his chin resting
on his breast. And all looked at the physician, but he answered, "Nay,
he is not dead yet."
"Why tarries the signal?" asked Antonio of Lorenzo on the scaffold.
"It must be that the Lady Lucia beseeches him for your life, my lord,"
answered Lorenzo. "Indeed heartily do I wish the Duke would hearken to
her prayer."
"He will not turn for her," said Antonio.
But presently the report of what had passed spread from those round the
Duke to the pikemen, and they, loving a marvel as most men do, must
needs tell it to the people, and a murmur of wonder arose, and the
report reached the guards at the scaffold, who came and told Lorenzo, in
the hearing of Antonio, of the strange delusion that had come upon the
Duke.
"He must be sick to death," said Lorenzo.
"I pray not," said Count Antonio. "For though he is a stern man, yet he
is an able and just prince, and this fancy of his is very pitiful."
"Do you spare pity for him?" asked Lorenzo.
"Shall I not pity all who have lost their loves?" answered Antonio with
a smile, and his eye rested on the form of the Lady Lucia kneeling by
the Duke's couch.
For hard on half an hour the Duke lay as he had fallen, but at last, his
physician having used all his skill to rouse him, he opened his eyes;
and he clutched his physician's hand and pointed to Lucia, asking, "Who
is she?"
"It is the Lady Lucia, my lord," answered the physician.
"And there was none else?" asked the Duke in a low tremulous whisper.
"I saw no other, my lord."
"But I saw her," said the Duke. "I saw her even as I saw her last, when
she lay on her bed and they took the child out of her dead arms."
"It was the weakness of your malady, my lord, that made the vision
before your eyes."
"Alas, was it no more?" moaned the Duke. "Indeed, I am very weak; there
is a blur before my eyes. I cannot see who this lady is that kneels
before me. Who is she, and what ails her?" And having said this in
fretful weary tones, he lay back on his pillow gasping.
Then the Master of the Household came forward and said to him, "My lord,
this is the Lady Lucia, and she kneels before your Highness praying for
the life of Count Antonio, because she loves him."
Now the name of Count Antonio, when spoken to him, moved the Duke more
than all the ministrations of his physician; he roused himself once
again, crying, "Antonio! I had forgotten Antonio. Does he still live?"
"Your Highness has not given the signal for his death."
"Have I not? Then here----"
He moved his hand, but with a great cry the Lady Lucia sprang forward
and seized his hand before he could raise it, kneeling to him and
crying, "No, no, my lord, no, no, no!" And the Duke had no strength to
fling her off, but he gasped, "Free me from her!" And the Master of the
Household, terrified lest in her passion she should do violence to His
Highness, roughly tore her hands from the Duke's hand, and the Duke,
released, sat up on his couch, and he said, in a strange hard voice that
was heard of all, even to the scaffold, and yet seemed not the voice
that they knew as his, "Let Antonio----" But then he stopped; he choked
in his throat, and, catching at his shirt, tore it loose from him. "Let
Antonio!"----he cried again. "Let Antonio!"----And he sat there for an
instant; and his eyes grew dim, the intelligence departing from them;
once again he opened his lips, but nothing came from them save a gasp;
and with a thud he fell back on his pillows, and, having rolled once on
his side, turned again on his back and lay still. And a great hush fell
on every man in the square, and they looked in one another's faces, but
found no answer.
For Valentine, Duke and Lord of Firmola, was dead of his sickness at the
moment when he had sought to send Antonio to death. Thus marvellously
did Heaven in its high purposes deal with him.
"His Highness is dead," said the physician. And the Master of the
Household, as his duty was, came to the front of the Duke's couch, and,
standing there before all the people, broke the wand of his office, and
let the broken fragments fall upon the marble steps; and he cried aloud,
"Hear all of you! It hath pleased Almighty God to take unto Himself the
soul of the noble and illustrious Prince, Valentine, Duke and Lord of
Firmola. May his soul find peace!"
But there came from the people no answering cry of "Amen," as, according
to the custom of the Duchy, should have come. For they were amazed at
the manner of this death; and many crossed themselves in fear, and women
sobbed. And Lorenzo, standing on the scaffold by Antonio, was struck
with wonder and fear, and clutched Antonio's arm, crying, "Can it be
that the Duke is dead?" And Antonio bowed his head, answering, "May
Christ receive his soul!"
Then the Master of the Household came forward again and cried, "Hear all
of you! According to the high pleasure and appointment of Almighty God,
the noble and illustrious Prince, Valentine, Second of that Name, is
from this hour Duke and Lord of Firmola; whom obey, serve, and honour,
all of you. May his rule be prosperous!"
And this time there came a low murmur of "Amen" from the people. But
before more could pass, there was a sudden commotion in the square
before the scaffold. For Bena, seeing what was done, and knowing that
the Duke was dead, had glanced at the pikemen who stood near; and when
he saw that they looked not at him but towards where the Master of the
Household stood, he sprang forward and ran like a deer to the scaffold;
and he leapt up to the scaffold before any could hinder him, and he
cried in a mighty loud voice, saying, "By what warrant do you hold my
lord a prisoner?"
Then the apprentices raised a great cheer and with one accord pressed
upon the pikemen, who, amazed by all that had passed, gave way before
them; and the apprentices broke their bounds and surged like a billow of
the sea up to the foot of the scaffold, shouting Antonio's name; and the
young lords who held Tommasino came with him and broke through and
reached the scaffold; for they feared for Lorenzo, and yet would not let
Tommasino go: and Lorenzo was sore at a loss, but he drew his sword and
cried that he would slay any man that touched Antonio, until the right
of the matter should be known.
"Indeed, if you will give me a sword, I will slay him myself," said
Antonio. "For I stand here by my own will, and according to the promise
I gave to the Duke; and if there be lawful authority to hang me, hang
me; but if not, dispose of me as the laws of the Duchy bid."
"I have no authority," said Lorenzo, "save what the Duke gave; and now
he is dead."
Then the Count Antonio fastened his shirt again about his neck and put
on his doublet; and he signed to Bena to stand on one side of him, and
he bade the young lords loose Tommasino. And he said to Lorenzo, "Let us
go together to the palace." And now he was smiling. Then they came down
from the scaffold and passed across the square, a great multitude
following them. And when they came to the steps of the palace, the
Duke's body was covered with a rich brocaded cloth that some hand had
brought from his cabinet; and the little Duke stood there with his hand
in the Master of the Household's hand; and the child was weeping
bitterly, for he was very frightened; and over against him stood the
Lady Lucia, motionless as though she had been turned to stone; for the
strange thing that had come about through her approaching of the Duke
had bewildered her brain. But when the boy saw Antonio he let go the
hand he held and ran to Antonio and leapt into his arms. Then Antonio
lifted him and showed him to the people, who hailed him for Duke; and
Antonio set him down and knelt before him and kissed his hand. And the
child cried, "Now that my father is dead, Antonio, you must not go on
your journey, but you must stay with me. For if I am Duke, I must learn
to use my sword without delay, and no man but you shall teach me."
"Shall I not go on my journey, my lord?" asked Antonio.
"No, you shall not go," said the little Duke.
Then Antonio turned to the lords who stood round and said, "Behold, my
lords, His Highness pardons me."
But the lords doubted; and they said to Antonio, "Nay, but he does not
know what he does in pardoning you."
"He understands as well, I think," said Antonio, "as his father
understood when he sent me to death. Indeed, my lords, it is not
children only who know not what they do." And at this speech Tommasino
smiled and Bena laughed gruffly. But the lords, bidding Antonio rest
where he was till they returned, retired with the little Duke into the
palace, and sent word hastily to the Archbishop that he should join
them there and deliberate with them as to what it might be best to do.
And when they were thus gone in, Antonio said, "I may not move, but the
Lady Lucia is free to move."
Then Tommasino went to the lady and spoke to her softly, telling her
that Antonio desired to speak with her; and she gave Tommasino her hand,
and he led her to Antonio, who stood within the portico, screened from
the sight of the people. And there they were left alone.
But meanwhile the whole body of the townsmen and the apprentices had
gathered before the palace, and their one cry was for Antonio. For the
fear of the Duke being no longer upon them, and the pikemen not knowing
whom to obey and being therefore disordered, the people became very
bold, and they had stormed the palace, had not one come to Antonio and
implored him so show himself, that the people might know that he was
safe. Therefore he came forward with the Lady Lucia, who was now no more
bewildered, nor petrified with fear or astonishment, but was weeping
with her eyes and smiling with her lips and clinging to Antonio's arm.
And when the people saw them thus, they set up a great shout, that was
heard far beyond the city walls; and the apprenticed lads turned and ran
in a body across the square, and swarmed on to the scaffold. And then
and there they plucked down the gibbet and worked so fiercely that in
the space of half an hour there was none of it left.
And now the Archbishop with the lords came forth from the council
chamber, and the little Duke with them. And they caused the servants to
remove the body of the dead Duke, and they set his son on a high seat,
and put a sceptre in his hand. And the Archbishop offered up a prayer
before the people; and, having done this, he turned to Antonio and said,
"My Lord Antonio, most anxiously have His Highness and we of his Council
considered of this matter; and it has seemed to us all--my own in truth
was the sole reluctant voice, and now I also am brought to the same
mind--that whereas the virtuous purposes of princes are meet to be
remembered and made perpetual by faithful fulfilment after their death,
yet the errors of which they, being mortal, are guilty should not
overlive them nor be suffered to endure when they have passed away. And
though we are not blind to your offences, yet we judge that in the
beginning the fault was not yours. Therefore His Highness decrees your
pardon for all offences against his civil state and power. And I myself,
who hold authority higher than any earthly might, seeing in what this
day has witnessed the finger of God Himself, do not fight against it,
but will pray you, so soon as you may fit yourself thereunto by prayer
and meditation, to come in a humble mind and seek again the blessing of
the Church. For in what you did right and in what you outstepped right,
God Himself must one day judge, and I will seek to judge of it no more."
"My lord," said Antonio, "I have done much wrong. Yet I will own no
wrong in the matter of the Abbot nor in that of the Sacred Bones."
But the lord Archbishop smiled at Antonio, and Antonio bent and kissed
the ring that was on his finger; and the old man laid his hand for a
moment on Antonio's head, saying, "It may be that God works sometimes in
ways that I may not see."
Thus then it was that the Count Antonio was restored to his place, and
came again to Firmola; and, having been relieved of the sentence of
excommunication that had been laid upon him, he was wedded in the
Cathedral to the Lady Lucia as soon as the days of mourning for the Duke
had passed. And great was the joy in the city at their wedding; for
every maid and every man saw in the triumph of Antonio's love a sign of
the favour of Heaven to those who love with a pure and abiding passion.
So they made great feasts, and were marvellously merry; and Bena let not
the day go by without plighting his troth to a comely damsel, saying
with a twinkle in his eye that the Count Antonio would have need of his
sons, whose services he had promised to him as they rode together across
the plain on the morning when Antonio had supposed that he was to die.
Nor would Bena give any other reason whatsoever for the marriage.
Nevertheless it is likely that there were others. But whether Bena
fulfilled his promise I know not; for, as I have said, so little is
known concerning him that his true name does not survive, and it has
proved an impossible thing to discover whether any of his descendants
yet live in Firmola. If it chance that they do, I trust that they fight
as well, and serve as loyally, and pray better than he. But Martolo has
left those that bear his name, and a great-grandson of his is at this
very time huntsman to the Monastery of St. Prisian, where I have seen
and talked with him many times.
The task which I laid upon myself thus finds its end. For there is no
need for me to tell of the after-deeds of Count Antonio of Monte
Velluto, nor how, in the space of a few months, he was chosen by all the
lords to be Ruler and Protector of the State during the infancy of the
Duke; in which high office he did many notable deeds, both of war and
peace, and raised the Duchy to a great height of power, and conferred
many favours on the townsmen of Firmola, whom he loved and cherished
because they had not forsaken him nor ceased to love him during all the
years that he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. And he built again his house
on the hill which Duke Valentine had burnt, and dwelt there with Lucia,
and with Tommasino also, until Tommasino took to wife that same lady for
whose sake he had lingered and thus fallen into the hands of the lord
Lorenzo, and went and dwelt at Rilano, where those of his house still
dwell. But when the young Duke came of an age to reign, the Count
Antonio delivered his charge into his hand, yet continued to counsel
him, and was very high in authority. And neighbouring princes also
sought his aid and his counsel, and he was greatly honoured of all men.
Thus if there were aught in his youth that merits censure, it may be
held that he blotted out the shame of it by his after-life, for his
later days were filled with honourable service to his Prince and to his
country.
Yet the heart of man is a vain thing; for when I, who am known to have
learnt all that can be recovered from the mists of past times concerning
Count Antonio, am asked--and whether it be by men or women, by boys or
girls, aye, or by toddling infants--to tell them a tale of the great
Count Antonio, it is not of the prudent ruler, nor of the wise
counsellor, nay, nor even of the leader of the Duke's army, that they
would hear, but always of Antonio when he was an outlaw, banned by his
Prince and by the Church, living by the light of his own heart and by
the strength of his own hand, secured only by the love and duty of the
lawless men who followed him, and risking his life every day and every
hour for the sake of the bright eyes of that lady who waited for him in
the city. And when I, thinking to check this perversity, bid them look
rather on his more worthy and sober days, they answer with a laugh, "But
why, father, do you not write the story of those more worthy and sober
days?" Nor will they believe when I say that it is but because the deeds
of those days are elsewhere recorded. In good truth, I believe that in
our hearts we love a lawless man! Here, then, ye perverse children, are
the stories; they are all that you shall have from me. Read them; may
they teach you to be true comrades, faithful lovers of one maid, and,
since strife must needs come until God's pleasure bring peace to reign
on earth, able, when occasion calls, to give and take good blows. Aye,
never laugh. I have said it. A Churchman is a man.