And now, that you may understand to the full the thing that happened,
it is necessary that I should relate it here in its proper sequence,
although that must entail my own withdrawal for a time from pages upon
which too long I have intruded my own doings and thoughts and feelings.
I set it down as it was told to me later by those who bore their share
in it, and particularly by Falcone, who, as you shall learn, came to be
a witness of all, and retailed to me the affair with the greatest detail
of what this one said and how that one looked.
I reached Rome on the fourth day after my setting out with my grim
escort, and on that same day, at much the same hour as that in which the
door of my dungeon in Sant' Angelo closed upon me, Galeotto rode into
the courtyard of Pagliano on his return from his treasonable journey.
He was attended only by Falcone, and it so chanced that his arrival was
witnessed by Farnese, who with various members of his suite was lounging
in the gallery at the time.
Surprise was mutual at the encounter; for Galeotto had known nothing
of the Duke's sojourn at Pagliano, believing him to be still at Parma,
whilst the Duke as little suspected that of the five score men-at-arms
garrisoned in Pagliano, three score lances were of Galeotto's free
company.
But at sight of this condottiero, whose true aims he was far from
suspecting, and whose services he was eager to enlist, the Duke heaved
himself up from his seat and went down the staircase shouting greetings
to the soldier, and playfully calling him Galeotto in its double sense,
and craving to know where he had been hiding himself this while.
The condottiero swung down from his saddle unaided--a thing which
he could do even when full-armed--and stood before Farnese, a grim,
dust-stained figure, with a curious smile twisting his scarred face.
“Why,” said he, in answer, “I have been upon business that concerns your
magnificence somewhat closely.”
And with Falcone at his heels he advanced, the horses relinquished to
the grooms who had hastened forward.
“Upon business that concerns me?” quoth the Duke, intrigued.
“Why, yes,” said Galeotto, who stood now face to face with Farnese at
the foot of the steps up which the Duke's attendants were straggling.
“I have been recruiting forces, and since one of these days your
magnificence is to give me occupation, you will see that the matter
concerns you.”
Above leaned Cavalcanti, his face grey and haggard, without the heart to
relish the wicked humour of Galeotto that could make jests for his own
entertainment. True there was also Falcone to overhear, appreciate, and
grin under cover of his great brown hand.
“Does this mean that you are come to your senses on the score of a
stipend, Ser Galeotto?” quoth the Duke.
“I am not a trader out of the Giudecca to haggle over my wares,” replied
the burly condottiero. “But I nothing doubt that your magnificence and I
will come to an understanding at the last.”
“Five thousand ducats yearly is my offer,” said Farnese, “provided that
you bring three hundred lances.”
“Ah, well!” said Galeotto softly, “you may come to regret one of these
days, highness, that you did not think well to pay me the price I ask.”
“Regret?” quoth the Duke, with a frown of displeasure at so much
frankness.
“When you see me engaged in the service of some other,” Galeotto
explained. “You need a condottiero, my lord; and you may come to need
one even more than you do now.”
“I have the Lord of Mondolfo,” said the Duke.
Galeotto stared at him with round eyes. “The Lord of Mondolfo?” quoth
he, intentionally uncomprehending.
“You have not heard? Why, here he stands.” And he waved a jewelled hand
towards Cosimo, a handsome figure in green and blue, standing nearest to
Farnese.
Galeotto looked at this Anguissola, and his brow grew very black.
“So,” he said slowly, “you are the Lord of Mondolfo, eh? I think you are
very brave.”
“I trust my valour will not be lacking when the proof of it is needed,”
answered Cosimo haughtily, feeling the other's unfriendly mood and
responding to it.
“It cannot,” said Galeotto, “since you have the courage to assume that
title, for the lordship of Mondolfo is an unlucky one to bear, Ser
Cosimo. Giovanni d'Anguissola was unhappy in all things, and his was
a truly miserable end. His father before him was poisoned by his best
friend, and as for the last who legitimately bore that title--why, none
can say that the poor lad was fortunate.”
“The last who legitimately bore that title?” cried Cosimo, very ruffled.
“I think, sir, it is your aim to affront me.”
“And what is more,” continued the condottiero, as if Cosimo had not
spoken, “not only are the lords of Mondolfo unlucky in themselves, but
they are a source of ill luck to those they serve. Giovanni's father had
but taken service with Cesare Borgia when the latter's ruin came at the
hands of Pope Julius II. What Giovanni's own friendship cost his friends
none knows better than your highness. So that, when all is said, I think
you had better look about you for another condottiero, magnificent.”
The magnificent stood gnawing his beard and brooding darkly, for he
was a grossly superstitious fellow who studied omens and dabbled in
horoscopes, divinations, and the like. And he was struck by the thing
that Galeotto said. He looked at Cosimo darkly. But Cosimo laughed.
“Who believes such old wives' tales? Not I, for one.”
“The more fool you!” snapped the Duke.
“Indeed, indeed,” Galeotto applauded. “A disbelief in omens can but
spring from an ignorance of such matters. You should study them, Messer
Cosimo. I have done so, and I tell you that the lordship of Mondolfo
is unlucky to all dark-complexioned men. And when such a man has a mole
under the left ear as you have--in itself a sign of death by hanging--it
is well to avoid all risks.”
“Now that is very strange!” muttered the Duke, much struck by this
whittling down of Cosimo's chances, whilst Cosimo shrugged impatiently
and smiled contemptuously. “You seem to be greatly versed in these
matters, Ser Galeotto,” added Farnese.
“He who would succeed in whatever he may undertake should qualify
to read all signs,” said Galeotto sententiously. “I have sought this
knowledge.”
“Do you see aught in me that you can read?” inquired the Duke in all
seriousness.
Galeotto considered him a moment without any trace in his eyes of the
wicked mockery that filled his soul. “Why,” he answered slowly, “not in
your own person, magnificent--leastways, not upon so brief a glance. But
since you ask me, I have lately been considering the new coinage of your
highness.”
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the Duke, all eagerness, whilst several of his
followers came crowding nearer--for all the world is interested in
omens. “What do you read there?”
“Your fate, I think.”
“My fate?”
“Have you a coin upon you?”
Farnese produced a gold ducat, fire-new from the mint. The condottiero
took it and placed his finger upon the four letters P L A C--the
abbreviation of “Placentia” in the inscription.
“P--L--A--C,” he spelled. “That contains your fate, magnificent, and
you may read it for yourself.” And he returned the coin to the Duke, who
stared at the letters foolishly and then at this reader of omens.
“But what is the meaning of PLAC?” he asked, and he had paled a little
with excitement.
“I have a feeling that it is a sign. I cannot say more. I can but point
it out to you, my lord, and leave the deciphering of it to yourself, who
are more skilled than most men in such matters. Have I your excellency's
leave to go doff this dusty garb?” he concluded.
“Ay, go, sir,” answered the Duke abstractedly, puzzling now with knitted
brows over the coin that bore his image.
“Come, Falcone,” said Galeotto, and with his equerry at his heels he set
his foot on the first step.
Cosimo leaned forward, a sneer on his white hawk-face, “I trust, Ser
Galeotto, that you are a better condottiero than a charlatan.”
“And you, sir,” said Galeotto, smiling his sweetest in return, “are, I
trust, a better charlatan than a condottiero.”
He went up the stairs, the gaudy throng making way before him, and he
came at last to the top, where stood the Lord of Pagliano awaiting
him, a great trouble in his eyes. They clasped hands in silence, and
Cavalcanti went in person to lead his guest to his apartments.
“You have not a happy air,” said Galeotto as they went. “And, Body of
God! it is no matter for marvel considering the company you keep. How
long has the Farnese beast been here?”
“His visit is now in its third week,” said Cavalcanti, answering
mechanically.
Galeotto swore in sheer surprise. “By the Host! And what keeps him?”
Cavalcanti shrugged and let his arms fall to his sides. To Galeotto this
proud, stern baron seemed most oddly dispirited.
“I see that we must talk,” he said. “Things are speeding well and
swiftly now,” he added, dropping his voice. “But more of that presently.
I have much to tell you.”
When they had reached the chamber that was Galeotto's, and the doors
were closed and Falcone was unbuckling his master's spurs--“Now for my
news,” said the condottiero. “But first, to spare me repetitions, let us
have Agostino here. Where is he?”
The look on Cavalcanti's face caused Galeotto to throw up his head like
a spirited animal that scents danger.
“Where is he?” he repeated, and old Falcone's fingers fell idle upon the
buckle on which they were engaged.
Cavalcanti's answer was a groan. He flung his long arms to the ceiling,
as if invoking Heaven's aid; then he let them fall again heavily, all
strength gone out of them.
Galeotto stood an instant looking at him and turning very white.
Suddenly he stepped forward, leaving Falcone upon his knees.
“What is this?” he said, his voice a rumble of thunder. “Where is the
boy? I say.”
The Lord of Pagliano could not meet the gaze of those steel coloured
eyes.
“O God!” he groaned. “How shall I tell you?”
“Is he dead?” asked Galeotto, his voice hard.
“No, no--not dead. But... But...” The plight of one usually so strong, so
full of mastery and arrogance, was pitiful.
“But what?” demanded the condottiero. “Gesu! Am I a woman, or a man
without sorrows, that you need to stand hesitating? Whatever it may be,
speak, then, and tell me.”
“He is in the clutches of the Holy Office,” answered Cavalcanti
miserably.
Galeotto looked at him, his pallor increasing. Then he sat down
suddenly, and, elbows on knees, he took his head in his hands and spoke
no word for a spell, during which time Falcone, still kneeling, looked
from one to the other in an agony of apprehension and impatience to hear
more.
Neither noticed the presence of the equerry; nor would it have mattered
if they had, for he was trusty as steel, and they had no secrets from
him.
At last, having gained some measure of self-control, Galeotto begged to
know what had happened, and Cavalcanti related the event.
“What could I do? What could I do?” he cried when he had finished.
“You let them take him?” said Galeotto, like a man who repeats the thing
he has been told, because he cannot credit it. “You let them take him?”
“What alternative had I?” groaned Cavalcanti, his face ashen and seared
with pain.
“There is that between us, Ettore, that... that will not let me credit
this, even though you tell it me.”
And now the wretched Lord of Pagliano began to use the very arguments
that I had used to him. He spoke of Cosimo's suit of his daughter, and
how the Duke sought to constrain him to consent to the alliance. He
urged that in this matter of the Holy Office was a trap set for him to
place him in Farnese's power.
“A trap?” roared the condottiero, leaping up. “What trap? Where is this
trap? You had five score men-at-arms under your orders here--three score
of them my own men, each one of whom would have laid down his life for
me, and you allowed the boy to be taken hence by six rascals from the
Holy Office, intimidated by a paltry score of troopers that rode with
this filthy Duke!”
“Nay, nay--not that,” the other protested. “Had I dared to raise a
finger I should have brought myself within the reach of the Inquisition
without benefiting Agostino. That was the trap, as Agostino himself
perceived. It was he himself who urged me not to intervene, but to let
them take him hence, since there was no possible charge which the Holy
Office could prefer against him.”
“No charge!” cried Galeotto, with a withering scorn. “Did villainy ever
want for invention? And this trap? Body of God, Ettore, am I to account
you a fool after all these years? What trap was there that could be
sprung upon you as things stood? Why, man, the game was in your hands
entirely. Here was this Farnese in your power. What better hostage than
that could you have held? You had but to whistle your war-dogs to
heel and seize his person, demanding of the Pope his father a plenary
absolution and indemnity for yourself and for Agostino from any
prosecutions of the Holy Office ere you surrendered him. And had they
attempted to employ force against you, you could have held them in check
by threatening to hang the Duke unless the parchments you demanded were
signed and delivered to you. My God, Ettore! Must I tell you this?”
Cavalcanti sank to a seat and took his head in his hands.
“You are right,” he said. “I deserve all your reproaches. I have been a
fool. Worse--I have wanted for courage.” And then, suddenly, he reared
his head again, and his glance kindled. “But it is not yet too late,” he
cried, and started up. “It is still time!”
“Time!” sneered Galeotto. “Why, the boy is in their hands. It is hostage
for hostage now, a very different matter. He is lost--irretrievably
lost!” he ended, groaning. “We can but avenge him. To save him is beyond
our power.”
“No,” said Cavalcanti. “It is not. I am a dolt, a dotard; and I have
been the cause of it. Then I shall pay the price.”
“What price?” quoth the condottiero, pondering the other with an eye
that held no faintest gleam of hope.
“Within an hour you shall have in your hands the necessary papers to set
Agostino at liberty; and you shall carry them yourself to Rome. It is
the amend I owe you. It shall be made.”
“But how is it possible?”
“It is possible, and it shall be done. And when it is done you may count
upon me to the last breath to help you to pull down this pestilential
Duke in ruin.”
He strode to the door, his step firm once more and his face set, though
it was very grey. “I will leave you now. But you may count upon the
fulfilment of my promise.”
He went out, leaving Galeotto and Falcone alone, and the condottiero
flung himself into a chair and sat there moodily, deep in thought, still
in his dusty garments and with no thought for changing them. Falcone
stood by the window, looking out upon the gardens and not daring to
intrude upon his master's mood.
Thus Cavalcanti found them a hour later when he returned. He brought
a parchment, to which was appended a great seal bearing the Pontifical
arms. He thrust it into Galeotto's hand.
“There,” he said, “is the discharge of the debt which through my
weakness and folly I have incurred.”
Galeotto looked at the parchment, then at Cavalcanti, and then at the
parchment once more. It was a papal bull of plenary pardon and indemnity
to me.
“How came you by this?” he asked, astonished.
“Is not Farnese the Pope's son?” quoth Cavalcanti scornfully.
“But upon what terms was it conceded? If it involves your honour, your
life, or your liberty, here's to make an end of it.” And he held
it across in his hands as if to tear it, looking up at the Lord of
Pagliano.
“It involves none of these,” the latter answered steadily. “You had best
set out at once. The Holy Office can be swift to act.”