We went home rather troubled. Savello was walking alone, very angry,
with a heavy frown between his eyes, refusing to speak.... Checco was
silent and angry too, half blaming himself for what he had done, half
glad, and Bartolomeo Moratini was by his side, talking to him. Matteo
and I were behind with the children. Bartolomeo fell back and joined us.
'I have been trying to persuade Checco to apologise to Savello, but he
will not.'
'Neither would I,' said Matteo.
'If they quarrel, it will be the worse for the town.'
'If I were Checco, I would say that the town might go to the devil, but
I would not apologise to that damned priest.'
When we reached the Palazzo Orsi a servant came out to meet us, and told
Checco that a messenger was waiting with important news. Checco turned
to Savello, and said gloomily,--
'Will you come? It may need some consultation.'
The protonotary did not answer, but walked sulkily into the house.
After a few minutes, Checco came to us, and said,--
'The Duke of Milan is marching against Forli with five thousand men.'
No one spoke, but the expression on the protonotary's face grew darker.
'It is fortunate we have preserved the children,' said Bartolomeo. 'They
will be more useful to us alive than dead.'
Savello looked at him; and then, as if trying to mend the breach, but
rather against his will, said ungraciously,--
'Perhaps you were right, Checco, in what you did. I did not see at the
moment the political wisdom of your act.'
He could not help the sneer. Checco flushed a little, but on a look from
Bartolomeo answered,--
'I am sorry if I was too quick of tongue. The excitement of the moment
and my temper made me scarcely responsible.'
Checco looked as if it were a very bitter pill he had been forced to
swallow; but the words had a reasonable effect, and the clouds began to
clear away. An earnest discussion was commenced on the future movements.
The first thing was to send for help against the Duke Lodovico. Savello
said he would apply to Rome. Checco counted on Lorenzo de' Medici, and
messengers were forthwith despatched to both. Then it was decided to
gather as much victuals as possible into the town, and fortify the
walls, so that they might be prepared for a siege. As to the citadel, we
knew it was impossible to take it by storm; but it would not be
difficult to starve it into surrender, for on the news of the Count's
death the gates had been shut with such precipitation that the garrison
could not have food for more than two or three days.
Then Checco sent away his wife and children; he tried to persuade his
father to go too, but the Orso said he was too old and would rather die
in his own town and palace than rush about the country in search of
safety. In the troubled days of his youth he had been exiled many times,
and now his only desire was to remain at home in his beloved Forli.
The news of Lodovico's advance threw consternation into the town, and
when cartloads of provisions were brought in, and the fortifications
worked at day and night, the brave citizens began to quake and tremble.
They were going to have a siege and would have to fight, and it was
possible that if they did not sufficiently hide themselves behind the
walls, they might be killed. As I walked through the streets, I noticed
that the whole populace was distinctly paler.... It was as if a cold
wind had blown between their shoulders, and bleached and pinched their
faces. I smiled, and said to them, in myself,--
'You have had the plunder of the Palace and the custom-houses, my
friends, and you liked that very well; now you will have to pay for your
pleasure.'
I admired Checco's wisdom in giving them good reasons for being faithful
to him. I imagined that, if the beneficent rule of the Countess
returned, it would fare ill with those who had taken part in the
looting....
Checco had caused his family to leave the town as secretly as possible;
the preparations had been made with the greatest care, and the departure
effected under cover of night. But it leaked out, and then the care he
had taken in concealing the affair made it more talked of. They asked
why Checco had sent away his wife and children. Was he afraid of the
siege? Did he intend to leave them himself? At the idea of a betrayal,
anger mixed itself with their fear, and they cried out against him! And
why did he want to do it so secretly? Why should he try to conceal it? A
thousand answers were given, and all more or less discreditable to
Checco. His wonderful popularity had taken long enough to reach the
point when he had walked through the streets amidst showers of narcissi;
but it looked as if less days would destroy it than years had built it
up. Already he could walk out without being surrounded by the mob and
carried about in triumph. The shouts of joy had ceased to be a burden to
him; and no one cried 'Pater Patriae' as he passed. Checco pretended to
notice no change, but in his heart it tormented him terribly. The change
had begun on the day of the fiasco at the fortress; people blamed the
leaders for letting the Countess out of their hands, and it was a
perpetual terror to them to have the enemy in their very midst. It would
have been bearable to stand an ordinary siege, but when they had their
own citadel against them, what could they do?
The townspeople knew that help was coming from Rome and Florence, and
the general hope was that the friendly armies would arrive before the
terrible Duke. Strange stories were circulated about Lodovico. People
who had seen him at Milan described his sallow face with the large,
hooked nose and the broad, heavy chin. Others told of his cruelty. It
was notorious that he had murdered his nephew after keeping him a
prisoner for years. They remembered how he had crushed the revolt of a
subject town, hanging in the market-place the whole council, young and
old, and afterwards hunting up everyone suspected of complicity, and
ruthlessly putting them to death, so that a third of the population had
perished. The Forlivesi shuddered, and looked anxiously along the roads
by which the friendly armies were expected.
Lorenzo de' Medici refused to help.
There was almost a tumult in the town when the news was told. He said
that the position of Florence made it impossible for him to send troops
at the present moment, but later he would be able to do whatever we
wished. It meant that he intended to wait and see how things turned out,
without coming to open war with the Duke unless it was certain that
victory would be on our side. Checco was furious, and the people were
furious with Checco. He had depended entirely on the help from Florence,
and when it failed the citizens murmured openly against him, saying that
he had entered into this thing without preparation, without thought of
the future. We begged Checco not to show himself in the town that day,
but he insisted. The people looked at him as he passed, keeping perfect
silence. As yet they neither praised nor blamed, but how long would it
be before they refrained from cursing him they had blessed? Checco
walked through with set face, very pale. We asked him to turn back, but
he refused, slackening his pace to prolong the walk, as if it gave him a
certain painful pleasure to drain the cup of bitterness to the dregs. In
the piazza we saw two councillors talking together; they crossed over to
the other side, pretending not to see us.
Now our only hope was in Rome. The Pope had sent a messenger to say that
he was preparing an army, and bidding us keep steadfast and firm.
Savello posted the notice up in the market-place, and the crowd that
read broke out into praises of the Pope and Savello. And as Checco's
influence diminished Savello's increased; the protonotary began to take
greater authority in the councils, and often he seemed to contradict
Checco for the mere pleasure of overbearing and humiliating him. Checco
became more taciturn and gloomy every day.
But the high spirits of the townsmen sank when it was announced that
Lodovico's army was within a day's march, and nothing had been heard
from Rome. Messengers were sent urging the Pope to hasten his army, or
at least to send a few troops to divert the enemy and encourage the
people. The citizens mounted the ramparts and watched the two roads--the
road that led from Milan and the road that led to Rome. The Duke was
coming nearer and nearer; the peasants began to flock into the town,
with their families, their cattle, and such property as they had been
able to carry with them. They said the Duke was approaching with a
mighty army, and that he had vowed to put all the inhabitants to the
sword to revenge the death of his brother. The fear of the fugitives
spread to the citizens, and there was a general panic. The gates were
closed, and all grown men summoned to arms. Then they began to lament,
asking what inexperienced townsmen could do against the trained army of
the Duke, and the women wept and implored their husbands not to risk
their precious lives; and above all rose the murmur against Checco.
When would the army come from Rome? They asked the country folk, but
they had heard of nothing; they looked and looked, but the road was
empty.
And suddenly over the hills was seen appearing the vanguard of the
Duke's army. The troops wound down into the plain, and others appeared
on the brow of the hills; slowly they marched down and others again
appeared, and others and others, and still they appeared on the summit
and wound down into the plain. They wondered, horror-stricken, how large
the army was--five, ten, twenty thousand men! Would it never end? They
were panic-stricken. At last the whole army descended and halted; there
was a confusion of commands, a rushing hither and thither, a bustling, a
troubling; it looked like a colony of ants furnishing their winter home.
The camp was marked out, entrenchments were made, tents erected, and
Forli was in a state of siege.