The piazza or square in front of the Cathedral was the only open space
in which the children of Spinalunga had room to play. Spinalunga means
a Long Spine or Ridge of rock, and the castello or little walled town
which bore that name was built on the highest peak of the ridge, inside
strong brown stone walls with square towers. So rough and steep was
this portion of the ridge that the crowded houses, with their red roofs
and white gables, were piled up one behind another, and many of the
streets were narrow staircases, climbing up between the houses to the
blue sky.
On the top the hill was flat, and there the Cathedral stood, and from
her niche above the great west entrance the beautiful statue of the
Madonna with the Babe in her arms looked across the square, and over
the huddled red roofs, and far away out to the hills and valleys with
their evergreen oaks and plantations of grey olives, and bright
cornfields and vineyards.
On three sides the town was sheltered by hills, but a very deep ravine
separated them from the ridge, so that on those three sides it was
impossible for an enemy to attack the town. On the nearest hills great
pine woods grew far up the slopes, and sheltered it from the east winds
which blew over the snowy peaks.
Now on the southern side of the square stood the houses of the Syndic
and other wealthy citizens, with open colonnades of carved yellow
stone; and all about the piazza at intervals there were orange-trees
and pomegranates, growing in huge jars of red earthenware.
This had been the children's playground as long as any one could
remember, but in the days of the blessed Frate Agnolo the Syndic was a
grim, childless, irascible old man, terribly plagued with gout, which
made him so choleric that he could not endure the joyous cries and
clatter of the children at their play. So at last in his irritation he
gave orders that, if the children must play at all, it would have to be
in their own dull narrow alleys paved with hard rock, or outside beyond
the walls of the castello. For their part the youngsters would have
been glad enough to escape into the green country among the broom and
cypress, the red snapdragon and golden asters and blue pimpernels, but
these were wild and dangerous times, and at any moment a troop of
Free-lances from Pisa or a band of Lucchese raiders might have swept
down and carried them off into captivity.
They had therefore to sit about their own doors, and the piazza of the
Cathedral became strangely silent in the summer evenings, and there was
a feeling of dulness and discontent in the little town. Never a whit
better off was the Syndic, for he was now angry with the stillness and
the deserted look of the square.
In the midst of this trouble the blessed Brother Agnolo came down from
his hermitage among the pine woods, and when he heard of what had taken
place, he went straightway to the Syndic and took him to task, with
soft and gracious words.
"Messer Gianni, pain I know will often take all sweetness out of the
temper of a man, but in this you are not doing well. There is no child
in Spinalunga but would readily forego all his happy play to give you
ease and solace, but in this way they cannot help you. By sending them
away you do but cloud their innocent lives, and you are yourself none
the better for their absence. Were it not wiser for you to seek to
distract yourself in their harmless merry-making? I may well think
that you have never watched them at their sports; but if you will bid
them come back to-day, and will but walk a little way with me, you
shall see that which shall give you content and delight so great, that
never again will you wish to banish them, but will rather pray to have
their companionship at all times."
Now the Frate so prevailed on the Syndic that he gave consent, and bade
all the children, lass and lad, babe and prattler, come to the square
for their games as they used to do. And leaning with one hand on his
staff, and with the other on the shoulder of Brother Agnolo, he moved
slowly through the fruit-trees in the great jars to the steps of the
Cathedral.
Suddenly the joy-bells began to ring, and the little people came
laughing and singing and shouting from the steep streets and staircases
and alleys, and they raced and danced into the piazza like Springtime
let loose, and they chased each other, and caught hands and played in
rings, and swarmed among the jars, as many and noisy as swallows when
they gather for their flight over sea in the autumn-tide.
"Look well, Messer Gianni," said the Frate, "and perceive who it is
that shares their frolics."
As the Brother spoke the eyes of the Syndic were opened; and there,
with each little child, was his Angel, clothed in white, and
white-winged; and as the little folk contended together, their Angels
contended with each other; and as they ran and danced and sang, so ran
and danced and sang their Angels. Which was the laughter of the
children, and which that of the Angels, the Syndic could not tell; and
when the plump two-year-olds tottered and tumbled, their Angels caught
them and saved them from hurt; and even if they did weep and make a
great outcry, it was because they were frightened, not because they
were injured, and straightway they had forgotten what ailed them and
were again merrily trudging about.
In the midst of this wonderful vision of young Angels and bright-eyed
children mingling so riotously together, the Syndic heard an
inexpressibly joyous laugh behind him. Turning his head, he saw that
it was the little marble Babe in the arms of the Madonna. He was
clapping his hands, and had thrown back his head against his mother's
bosom in sudden delight.
Did the Syndic truly see this? He was certain he did--for a moment;
and yet in that same moment he knew that the divine Babe was once more
a babe of stone, with its sweet grave face and unconscious eyes; and
when the Syndic turned again to watch the children, it was only the
children he saw; the Angels were no longer visible.
"It is not always given to our sinful eyes to see them," said Brother
Agnolo, answering the Syndic's thought, "but whether we see them or see
them not, always they are there."
Now it was in the autumn of the same year that the fierce captain of
Free-lances, the Condottiere Ghino, appeared one moonlight night before
the gates of Spinalunga, and bade the guard open in the name of Pisa.
As I have said, the little hill-town could only be attacked on the
western side, on account of the precipitous ravine which divided it
from the hills; but the ridge before the gate was crowded with eight
hundred horsemen and two thousand men-at-arms clamouring to be
admitted. Nothing daunted, the garrison on the square towers cried
back a defiance; the war-bell was sounded; and the townspeople, men and
women, hurried down to defend the walls.
After the first flight of arrows and quarrels the Free-lances fell back
out of bowshot, and encamped for the night, but the hill-men remained
on the watch till daybreak. Early in the morning Ghino himself rode up
the ascent with a white flag, and asked for a parley with the Syndic.
"We are from Pisa," said the Condottiere; "Florence is against us; this
castello we must hold for our safety. If with your good-will, well and
good!"
"We are bound by our loyalty to Florence," replied the Syndic briefly.
"The sword cuts all bonds," said the Free-lance, with a laugh; "but we
would gladly avoid strife. Throw in your lot with us. All we ask is a
pledge that in the hour of need you will not join Florence against us."
"What pledge do you ask?" inquired the Syndic.
"Let twenty of your children ride back with us to Pisa," said the
Free-lance. "These shall answer for your fidelity. They shall be
cherished and well cared for during their sojourn."
Who but Messer Gianni was the angry man on hearing this?
"Our children!" he cried; "are we, then, slaves, that we must needs
send you our little ones as hostages? Guards, here! Shoot me down
this brigand who bids me surrender your children to him!"
Bolts flew whizzing from the cross-bows; the Free-lance shook his iron
gauntlet at the Syndic, and galloped down the ridge unharmed. The
Syndic forgot his gout in his wrath, and bade the hill-men hold their
own till their roofs crumbled about their ears.
Then began a close siege of the castello; but on the fourth day Frate
Agnolo passed boldly through the lines of the enemy, and was admitted
through the massive stone gateway which was too narrow for the entrance
of either cart or waggon. Great was the joy of the hill-men as the
Brother appeared among them. He, they knew, would give them wise
counsel and stout aid in the moment of danger.
When they told him of the pledge for which the besiegers asked, he only
smiled and shook his head. "Be of good cheer," he said, "God and His
Angels have us in their keeping."
Thoughtfully he ascended the steep streets to the piazza, and, entering
the Cathedral, he remained there for a long while absorbed in prayer.
And as he prayed his face brightened with the look of one who hears
joyful news, and when he rose from his knees he went to the house of
the Syndic, and spoke with him long and seriously.
At sunset that day a man-at-arms went forth from the gates of the
castello with a white flag to the beleaguering lines, and demanded to
be taken into the presence of the captain. To him he delivered this
message from the Syndic: "To-morrow in the morning the gate of
Spinalunga will be thrown open, and all the children of our town who
are not halt or blind or ailing shall be sent forth. Come and choose
the twenty you would have as hostages."
By the camp-fires that night the Free-lances caroused loud and long;
but in the little hill-town the children slept sound while the men and
women prayed with pale stern faces. An hour after midnight all the
garrison from the towers and all the strong young men assembled in the
square. They were divided into two bands, and were instructed to
descend cautiously by rope-ladders into the ravine on the eastern side
of the town. Thence without sound of tongue or foot they were to steal
through the darkness till they had reached certain positions on the
flanks of the besiegers, where they were to wait for the signal of
onset. Frate Agnolo gave each of them his blessing, as one by one they
slid over the wall on to the rope-ladders and disappeared in the
blackness of the ravine. Noiselessly they marched under the walls of
the town till they reached their appointed posts, and there they lay
hidden in the woods till morning.
The Free-lances were early astir. As the first ray of golden light
streamed over the pine woods on to the ridge and the valley, the bells
of the Cathedral began to ring; the heavy gate of the castello was
flung open, and the children trooped out laughing and gay, just as they
had burst into the square a few months ago, for this, they were told,
was to be a great feast and holiday. As they issued through the deep
stone archway they filed to right or left, and drew up in long lines
across the width of the ridge. Then raising their childish voices in a
simple hymn, they all moved together down the rough slope to the lines
of the besiegers. Brother Agnolo, holding a plain wooden cross high
above his head, led the way, singing joyously.
It was a wonderful sight in the clear shining air of the hills, and
hundreds of women weeping silently on the walls crowded together to
watch it; and as they watched they held their breath, for suddenly in
the golden light of the morning they saw that behind each child there
was a great white-winged Angel with a fiery spear.
Then, as that throng of singing children and shining spirits swept down
upon the Free-lances, a wild cry of panic arose from the camp. The
eight hundred horsemen turned in dismay, and plunged through the ranks
of the men-at-arms, and the mercenaries fell back in terror and
confusion, striking each other down and trampling the wounded underfoot
in their frantic efforts to escape. At that moment the hill-men who
were lying in ambush on each flank bore down on the bewildered
multitude, and hacked and hewed right and left till the boldest and
hardiest of the horsemen broke and fled, leaving their dead and dying
on the field.
[Illustration: _The eight hundred horsemen turned in dismay_]
So the little hill-town of Spinalunga was saved by the children and
their Angels, and even to this day the piazza of the Cathedral is their
very own playground, in which no one can prevent them from playing all
the year round.