Part 14

'They were brought into the town on asses, with their hands tied behind their backs, and the mob yelled with derision, and threw stones and refuse at them.'

'And now?'

'They have been taken to the prison, and--'

'Well?'

'The execution is to take place to-morrow.'

I groaned. Pietro Albanese and Marco had been like Damon and Pythias. I shuddered as I thought of the fate in store for them. They had been conspicuous in their hatred of the Count, and it was they who had helped to throw the body into the piazza. I knew there would be no forgiveness in Caterina's heart, and all the night I wondered what vengeance she was meditating.

XXXIV

Next day I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we went out together.

'No one would mistake you for a gentleman to-day,' he laughed.

My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them; moreover, I had a two days' beard, and my head muffled up in bandages, so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us.

We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature was full of peace and goodwill; but in men's hearts was lust of blood.... A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and her suite. Amid ringing cheers she entered the square, accompanied by her half-brother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello. They took their seats on the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak.

A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps; then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless, his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix.... He was followed by another troop of soldiers, and after them came another bare-headed figure, his hands also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly.

They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the prisoners were left standing before their judges.

'Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,' said the Countess, in a clear, calm voice, 'you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it was you who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones of the piazza.'

A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed to take courage.

The Countess turned to Savello.

'Do you not agree that the judgment is just?'

'Most just!' he whispered.

'The protonotary says, "Most just!"' she called aloud, so that all should hear. The man winced.

Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, 'I would ten times rather be in my place than in yours.'

The Countess smiled at the priest and said, 'You see, I carry out the will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.'

She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window, with one end of the rope round his neck.

'Good-bye, sweet friend,' he said to Marco.

'Good-bye, Pietrino,' and Marco kissed him.

Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in mid-air; a horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the rope. From the people came a huge shout, and they caught the body as it fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful! Oh, God! Oh, God!

Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up, wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a miserable old man, Orso Orsi.

'Oh,' I groaned. 'What are they going to do to him?'

A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made before the stage, and Caterina spoke again.

'Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before your eyes--stone by stone.'

The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked on it. And now it was gone.

The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel woman spoke.

'You have received punishment for yourself, Orso, and now you are to receive punishment for your son. Make room!'

And the soldiers, repeating her words, cried,--

'Make room!'

The people were pushed and hustled back till they were crammed against the house walls, leaving in the centre an enormous empty space. Then a flourish of trumpets, and the people made an opening at the end of the square to allow the passage of a horse and man, the horse--a huge black stallion--prancing and plunging, and on each side a man was holding the bridle. On his back sat a big man, dressed all in flaming red, and a red hood covered his head and face, leaving two apertures for the eyes. A horrified whisper ran round the square.

'The hangman!'

In the centre of the piazza he stopped. Caterina addressed the Orso.

'Have you anything to say, Orso Orsi?'

At last he seemed to hear, he looked at her and then, with all the strength he had, hurled the word at her,--

'Bastard!'

She flushed angrily and made a sign. Two men seized the old man and dragged him off the mule; they caught hold of his legs, throwing him to the ground, and with a thick rope tied his ankles together.

At this I understood. I was seized with sudden horror, and I cried out. Obeying a sudden impulse, I started forward; I don't know what I was going to do; I felt I must protect him or die with him. I started forward, but Andrea threw his arms round me and held me back.

'Let me go,' I said, struggling.

'Don't be a fool!' he whispered. 'What can you do against all these?'

It was no use; I gave way. Oh, God! that I should stand by and see this awful thing and be utterly powerless. I wondered the people could suffer this last atrocity; I thought they must scream and rush to save the wretched man. But they watched--they watched eagerly....

By his feet they dragged him to the horse, and the end of the rope round his ankles they tied to the horse's tail and about the rider's waist.

'Ready?' cried the hangman.

'Yes!' answered the soldiers.

They all sprang back; the hangman dug the spurs into his horse. The people gave a huge shout, and the fiery beast went careering round the square at full tilt. The awful burden dragging behind terrified him, and with head strained forward and starting eyes he galloped madly. The mob urged him on with cries, and his rider dug the spurs in deeply; the pavement was scattered with blood.

God knows how long the wretched man lived. I hope he died at once. At last the brute's furious career was stopped, the ropes were cut, the corpse fell back, and, the people again making passage, horse and rider disappeared. In the middle of the piazza, in a pool of blood, lay a shapeless mass. It was ordered that it should be left there till nightfall as an example to evildoers.

Andrea wanted to come away, but I insisted on staying to see what happened more. But it was the end, for Caterina turned to Savello and said,--

'I do not forget that all power comes from God, Monsignor, and I wish solemnly to render thanks to the Divine Majesty, who has saved me, my children and the State. Therefore, I shall order a grand procession which shall march round the town and afterwards hear mass at the cathedral.'

'It shows, madam,' replied Savello, 'that you are a pious and truly Christian woman.'

XXXV

When it was night and the piazza deserted, Andrea and I and the old steward went out and made our way to the place where the horrible corpse was lying. We wrapped it in a long black cloth and took it up silently, bearing it to the church where for generations the Orsi had been buried. A dark-robed monk met us in the nave and led the way to a door, which he opened; then, as if frightened, left us. We found ourselves in the cloisters. We laid the body down under an arch and advanced into the centre, where was a plot of green scattered over with little crosses. We took spades and began to dig; a thin rain drizzled down and the ground was stiff and clayey. It was hard work and I sweated; I took off my coat and allowed the rain to fall on me unprotected; I was soon wet to the skin. Silently Andrea and I turned up the soil, while Pietro, beneath the cloisters, watched by the body and prayed. We were knee deep now, and still we threw up heavy spadefuls of clay. At last I said,--

'It is enough.'

We climbed out and went to the body. We took it up and bore it to the grave, and reverently we laid it in. Pietro placed a crucifix on the old master's breast, and then we began to pile in the earth.

And so without priests, without mourning, in the dead of night, and by the drizzling rain, was buried Orso Orsi, the great head of the family. In his time he had been excellent in war and in all the arts of peace. He had been noted for his skill in commerce; in politics he had been the first of his city, and, besides, he had been a great and generous patron of the arts. But he lived too long, and died thus miserably.

Next day I set about thinking what I should do. I could be of no more use to anyone in Forli; indeed, I had never been of use, for I had only stood by and watched while those I loved and honoured were being put to cruel deaths. And now I must see that my presence did not harm my kind hosts. Caterina had thrown into prison some fifty of those who had taken part in the rebellion, notwithstanding her solemn promise of amnesty, and I knew well enough that if I were discovered Pietro and Andrea would suffer as severe a punishment as myself. They gave no sign that my presence was a menace to them, but in the woman's eyes, Andrea's mother, I saw an anxious look, and at any unexpected sound she would start and look fearfully at me. I made up my mind to go immediately. When I told Andrea, he insisted on coming with me, and although I painted the danger in lively colours he would not be dissuaded. The next day was market-day, and we resolved to slip out in a cart as soon as the gates were opened. We would be taken for tradesmen, and no one would pay attention to us.

I was anxious to see what was happening in the town and what people were talking of; but I thought it prudent not to venture out, for my disguise might be seen through, and if I were discovered I knew well what to expect. So I sat at home twiddling my thumbs and chattering with Andrea. At last, getting tired of doing nothing, and seeing the good woman about to scrub out her courtyard, I volunteered to do it for her. I got a broom and a pail of water and began sweeping away vigorously, while Andrea stood in the doorway scoffing. For a little while I forgot the terrible scene in the piazza.

There was a knock at the door. We stopped and listened; the knock was repeated, and as no answer was given, the latch was raised and the door opened. A servant-maid walked in and carefully closed it behind her. I recognised her at once; it was Giulia's maid. I shrank back, and Andrea stood in front of me. His mother went forward.

'And pray, madam, what can I do for you?'

The maid did not answer, but stepped past her.

'There is a serving-man here for whom I have a message.'

She came straight towards me, and handed me a piece of paper; then, without another word, slid back to the door and slipped out.

The note contained four words, 'Come to me to-night,' and the handwriting was Giulia's. A strange feeling came over me as I looked at it, and my hand trembled a little.... Then I began pondering. Why did she want me? I could not think, and it occurred to me that perhaps she wished to give me up to the Countess. I knew she hated me, but I could not think her as vile as that; after all, she was her father's daughter, and Bartolomeo was a gentleman. Andrea looked at me questioningly.

'It is an invitation from my greatest enemy to put myself in her hands.'

'But you will not?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I will.'

'Why?'

'Because it is a woman.'

'But do you think she would betray you?'

'She might.'

'And you are going to take the risk?'

'I think I should be glad to prove her so utterly worthless.'

Andrea looked at me open-mouthed; he could not understand. An idea struck him.

'Are you in love with her?'

'No; I was.'

'And now?'

'Now, I do not even hate her.'

XXXVI

The night came, and when everyone had gone to bed and the town was quiet, I said to Andrea, 'Wait for me here, and if I do not come back in two hours you will know--'

He interrupted me.

'I am coming with you.'

'Nonsense!' I said. 'I don't know what danger there may be, and there is no object in your exposing yourself to it.'

'Where you go I will go too.'

I argued with him, but he was an obstinate youth.

We walked along the dark streets, running like thieves round corners when we heard the heavy footsteps of the watch. The Palazzo Aste was all dark; we waited outside a little while, but no one came, and I dared not knock. Then I remembered the side door. I still had the key, and I took it from my pocket.

'Wait outside,' I said to Andrea.

'No, I am coming with you.'

'Perhaps there is an ambush.'

'Two are more likely to escape than one.'

I put the key in the lock, and as I did so my heart beat and my hand trembled, but not with fear. The key turned, and I pushed the door open. We entered and walked up the stairs. Sensations which I had forgotten crowded upon me, and my heart turned sick.... We came to an ante-room dimly lit. I signed Andrea to wait, and myself passed into the room I knew too well. It was that in which I had last seen Giulia--the Giulia I had loved--and nothing was altered in it. The same couch stood in the centre, and on it lay Giulia, sleeping. She started up.

'Filippo!'

'At your service, madam.'

'Lucia recognised you in the street yesterday, and she followed you to the house in which you are staying.'

'Yes.'

'My father sent me a message that you were still here, and if I wanted help would give it me.'

'I will do whatever I can for you.'

What a fool I was to come. My head was in a whirl, my heart was bursting. My God! she was beautiful! I looked at her, and suddenly I knew that all the dreary indifference I had built up had melted away at the first look into her eyes. And I was terrified.... My love was not dead; it was alive, alive! Oh, how I adored that woman! I burned to take her in my arms and cover her soft mouth with kisses.

Oh, why had I come? I was mad. I cursed my weakness.... And, when I saw her standing there, cold and indifferent as ever, I felt so furious a rage within me that I could have killed her. And I felt sick with love....

'Messer Filippo,' she said, 'will you help me now? I have been warned by one of the Countess's women that the guard have orders to arrest me to-morrow; and I know what the daughter of Bartolomeo Moratini may expect. I must fly to-night--at once.'

'I will help you,' I answered.

'What shall I do?'

'I can disguise you as a common woman. The mother of my friend Andrea will lend you clothes; and Andrea and I will accompany you. Or, if you prefer, after we have safely passed the gates, he shall accompany you alone wherever you wish to go.'

'Why will you not come?'

'I feared my presence would make the journey more tedious to you.'

'And to you?'

'To me it would be a matter of complete indifference.'

She looked at me a moment, then she cried,--

'No, I will not come!'

'Why not?'

'Because you hate me.'

I shrugged my shoulders.

'I should have thought my sentiments were of no consequence.'

'I will not be helped by you. You hate me too much. I will stay in Forli.'

'You are your own mistress.... Why do you mind?'

'Why do I mind? Shall I tell you?' She came close up to me. 'Because--because I love you.'

My head swam, and I felt myself stagger.... I did not know what was happening.

'Filippo!'

'Giulia!'

I opened my arms, and she fell into them, and I held her close to my heart, and I covered her with kisses.... I covered her mouth and eyes and neck with kisses.

'Giulia! Giulia!'

But I wrenched myself away, and taking hold of her shoulders, said almost savagely.

'But this time I must have you altogether. Swear that you will--'

She lifted her sweet face and smiled, and nestling close up to me, whispered,--

'Will you marry me?'

I kissed her.

'I loved you always,' I said. 'I tried to hate you, but I could not.'

'Do you remember that night at the Palace? You said you had never cared for me.'

'Ah, yes! but you did not believe me.'

'I felt it was not true, but I did not know; and it pained me. And then Claudia--'

'I was so angry with you, I would have done anything to revenge myself; but still I loved you.'

'But, Claudia--you loved her too?'

'No,' I protested, 'I hated her and despised her; but I tried to forget you; and I wanted you to feel certain that I no longer cared for you.'

'I hate her.'

'Forgive me,' I said.

'I forgive you everything,' she answered.

I kissed her passionately; and I did not remember that I too had something to forgive.

The time flew on, and when a ray of light pierced through the windows I started up in surprise.

'We must make haste,' I said. I went into the ante-room and found Andrea fast asleep. I shook him.

'At what time do the gates open?' I asked.

He rubbed his eyes, and, on a repetition of the question, answered, 'Five!'

It was half-past four; we had no time to lose. I thought for a minute. Andrea would have to go to his mother's and find the needful clothes, then come back; it would all take time, and time meant life and death. Then, the sight of a young and beautiful woman might arouse the guard's attention, and Giulia might be recognised.

An idea struck me.

'Undress!' I said to Andrea.

'What?'

'Undress! Quickly.'

He looked at me blankly, I signed to him, and as he was not rapid enough I tore off his coat; then he understood and in a minute he was standing in his shirt while I had walked off with his clothes. I handed them to Giulia and came back. Andrea was standing in the middle of the room, the very picture of misery. He looked very ridiculous.

'Look here, Andrea,' I said. 'I have given your clothes to a lady, who is going to accompany me instead of you. Do you see?'

'Yes, and what am I to do?'

'You can stay with your mother for the present, and then, if you like, you can join me at my house in Città di Castello.'

'And now?'

'Oh, now you can go home.'

He did not answer, but looked at me dubiously, then at his bare legs and his shirt, then again at me. I pretended not to understand.

'You seem troubled, my dear Andrea. What is the matter?'

He pointed to his shirt.

'Well?' I said.

'It is usual to go about in clothes.'

'A broad-minded youth like you should be free from such prejudice,' I answered gravely. 'On such a morning you will find life much pleasanter without hose and doublet.'

'Common decency--'

'My dear boy, are you not aware that our first parents were content with fig-leaves, and are you not satisfied with a whole shirt? Besides, have you not a fine pair of legs and a handsome body; what are you ashamed of?'

'Everyone will follow me.'

'All the more reason to have something to show them.'

'The guard will lock me up.'

'How will the jailor's daughter be able to resist you in that costume!'

Then another idea struck me, and I said,--

'Well, Andrea, I am grieved to find you of so unpoetical a turn of mind; but I will deny you nothing.' I went to Giulia, and taking the clothes she had just cast off brought them to Andrea.

'There!'

He gave a cry of delight, but on seizing them, and discovering petticoats and flounces, his face fell. I leant against the wall and laughed till my sides ached.

Then Giulia appeared, a most fascinating serving-boy....

'Good-bye,' I cried, and hurried down the stairs. We marched boldly to the city gate, and with beating hearts and innocent countenances, passed through and found ourselves in the open country.

XXXVII

The Orsi and the Moratini had taken my advice and gone to Città di Castello; so it was to that city we directed our way, and eventually reached it in safety. I did not know where Bartolomeo Moratini was, and I did not wish to take Giulia to my own house, so I placed her in a Benedictine convent, the superior of which, on hearing my name, promised to give her guest every care.

Then I went to the old palace which I had not seen for so many years. I had been too excited to get really home to notice anything of the streets as I passed through them; but as I came in view of the well-remembered walls, I stopped, overcome with strange emotions.... I remembered the day when news had been brought me that the old Vitelli, who was then ruler of Castello, had murmured certain things about me which caused my neck to itch uncomfortably--and upon this I had entrusted my little brother to a relative, who was one of the canons of the cathedral, and the palace to my steward, and mounting my horse, ridden off with all possible haste. I had supposed that a few months would calm the angry Vitelli, but the months had lengthened out into years, and his death had come before his forgiveness. But now I really was back, and I did not mean to go away; my travels had taught me caution, and my intrigues at Forli given me enough excitement for some time. Besides, I was going to marry and rear a family; for, as if Fortune could not give scantily, I had gained a love as well as a home, and everything I wished was granted.

My meditations were interrupted.

'_Corpo di Bacco!_'

It was Matteo, and in a moment I was in his arms.

'I was just asking myself what that fool was staring at this house for, and thinking of telling him it was impolite to stare, when I recognised the house's owner.'

I laughed, and shook his hand again.