The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
"Ride for your life," he said, "and tell the king--that." He pointed
to the black line of the infantry of Spain moving towards the heights.
I was off at once, waiting no second bidding.
I found Charles mounted on Savoy, his one-eyed black charger, one of
the finest horses I have ever seen. The king grasped the situation at
a glance. He gave a sharp order, closed his vizor with a snap, and in
five minutes, a thousand lances followed him down the long slope, up
which the Spaniards were advancing. It was an absolutely silent
charge. Not a cheer went up, and the only sound was the thunder of the
horses' hoofs, and the clink of mail as we sped on after the king.
Then there was a sullen crash, and a sea of struggling men and horses.
The veteran troops of the Great Captain maintained their high
reputation, fighting like dragons to the end.
Charles, whose horse had carried him far in advance of us all, was in
great danger. His helmet had fallen or been struck off, and he was
recognised. Gonsaga, seeing all was lost, made a despairing rush at
the king with a half-dozen men at his back, and had it not been for
the way Savoy kicked and plunged, would have surely slain him. Urging
my horse to its utmost speed, I reached Charles just in time to ward
off a furious blow aimed by the Spaniard at the king, and fading full
tilt against him, brought down both horse and man. The next moment
others came up, and we were safe. Philip de Comines reproached the
king respectfully for running himself into peril; but Charles, wiping
his sword on the mane of his charger, said with a laugh:
"All is well that ends well, my Lord of Argenton; but it is thanks to
this good sword here," and he turned to me, "that our cousin of
Orleans must exercise his patience yet a little longer. Come closer,
sir."
I dismounted and approached helmet in hand. The king detached the
Cross of St. Lazare he wore, and bending from the saddle, slipped the
loop of the ribbon round my neck.
"Wear this for the sake of France," he said with a gracious smile.
And now the patience of Orleans had come to its end, and Louis XII.
was king, and of my hopes and dreams, all that remained was the cross
of the order blinking at me.
It had to go, and there was no help for it. With an effort I rose and,
thrusting the cross into my pocket, hurried into the street. My way
led to the ward of San Spirito, and it took me some little time to
reach the place where I meant to dispose of the jewel. When I reached
it, I was so overcome with weakness that I had to halt for a moment to
rest. It was during that halt, that hesitation of a minute, that my
courage came back to me, and I pulled forth the cross and held it in
my cold fingers with a heart tossed by conflicting emotions. I could
not do it. Death would be preferable. Well, I had faced death before,
and there was no reason why I should not do so again with an equal
mind. The Arno was deep enough to hold me, and God would perhaps be
kinder in the next world than in this. I placed the cross back slowly,
my honour was still white, and death that was coming would give me a
full quittance for all my troubles. I turned my back on the
pawnbroker's, and went towards the Arno; but I had miscalculated my
strength, and near Santa Felicita I felt a sudden giddiness and sank
downwards on the pavement. I struggled to rise, but the faintness
increased, and dragging myself close to the wall I leaned against it
in a sitting posture, and a kind of stupor fell upon me, through which
I still felt the intolerable pangs of hunger. In a little time I felt
better, and as I saw the flash of torches, and heard voices in
laughing conversation, I made an effort to rise, gaining my feet just
as two ladies, with their attendants, came opposite to me, and then I
staggered back again.
"Poor man! He is hurt."
"I am starving," I said in the bitterness of my agony, and the next
moment could have killed myself, for I recognised the ladies whom I
had rescued from Luigi in the Garden of St. Michael. I had my desire
and had seen her again; but how?
Madonna Angiola made a hurried search for her purse, and not finding
it, with a hasty movement tore something off a bracelet, and thrust it
into my hand. Before I could recover from my astonishment they had
gone on, and although I called after them, they did not stop. The
shame of having received charity, and from her, was all but
unbearable; but with it I felt the hand of hunger knocking at me in a
manner that would take no denial. My courage was gone, and urged by
the fierce pangs of my hunger, I resolved to utilise the gift, and
obtain some food to give me strength to die. I smile as I think of
this now. Then it was no laughing matter. I plucked myself up
sufficiently to go back to the pawnshop. Entering it, I placed the
article, which I judged to be a jewel, but which I had not even
examined, before the man in attendance, and asked for an advance
thereon.
"It is one of the gold tari of Amain," he said, poising it on his
finger, "and of full weight. Do you wish to sell it?"
"No," I replied, "I merely wish to pledge it."
"I will give you two crowns," he pushed the money to me, and with it a
receipt. I gathered these up, and staggered rather than walked to the
Marzocco Inn, which lay hard by. There were half-a-dozen people
supping there; but I had no eyes for them, all I could think of was
the pasty, the roll of white bread, and the ruby Chianti, which I
ordered. It is a common belief, that those who have not eaten food for
any length of time, are unable to do so when it is placed before them
at first. Whether I am constitutionally stronger than the generality
of men, I do not know, all I can say is, that I formed an exception to
the rule, if a true one, and demolished my supper, gaining strength
with every mouthful, and feeling my chilled blood warmer with every
drop I drank of my goblet of wine, My courage came back to me, and I
banished all thoughts of the Arno. At last I was done, and leaning
back in my seat, viewed with complacency the huge orifice I had made
in a most excellent pasty, and the whiles slowly sipped my wine. That
feeling of sleepy comfort, which attends like a good angel on a full
meal, possessed me, my sorrows had for the moment taken themselves
off, and I grieve to say I did not even bestow a thought on her, to
whose charity I was indebted practically for my life. I sat for the
moment, lapped in a dreamy comfort, forgetful of all things. I dozed
for about half an hour, and opened my eyes with my head clear again,
and my pulse beating firmly. I had, somewhat recklessly, it is true,
enjoyed a crown's worth of happiness, there was another fat crown
still in my pouch; with care it would last some days, and during that
time luck might turn. With these thoughts running in my head, I let my
eyes wander over the room. It was now somewhat late, and only the
night-birds were left. Of these, a party of five was seated at a table
a little removed from me, and were conversing in low tones. It needed
but a glance to see they were not honest men, and from the suspicious
manner in which they looked around them, I gathered they were here for
no good purpose. One of the party rested his eyes on me, and then
whispered to a companion, who was seated with his face from me. I
caught the answer, which was given in somewhat loud tones. "Even if he
does, what does it matter? Cannot a few gentlemen enjoy a glass in
peace at their ordinary? If he gives trouble we can quiet him."
Could it be? Yes, it was no other than the ancient Brico, who had, I
perceived, got out of the clutches of his friends, the catchpolls of
Montevarchi. I made certain, therefore, I would have business shortly,
and leaning back again, pretended to doze, keeping my ears very wide
open, and holding a watch on the scoundrels from the tail of my eye.
"He tarries late," said one, "perhaps your information is wrong."
"I have it from a sure hand, from the younger Ceci. Buonoccorsi and he
will both be here. The former, however, as you know, we do not want."
I almost started at these words. Was it possible that I had stumbled
on the bravos who were engaged in Ceci's plot? If so, stranger thing
never happened to me, and chance was probably throwing in my way what
otherwise I would never have been able to discover. Even as the last
speaker finished his sentence, two persons, evidently of consequence,
and a woman entered the inn, and set themselves down at a table close
to mine. The men both wore masks, but the lady did not, and let her
glance run with a free look on us all. One of her two companions, a
very stout man, put down his mask, disclosing a jolly rubicund face,
and roared out for a flagon of wine. The other, still keeping his
features covered, engaged in lively badinage with his fair friend, and
as he moved his hand slightly, I caught the flash of a valuable ring.
The five at the table all had their heads together now, and I saw the
one nearest to me stealthily draw his sword. With an apparently
careless movement I so placed my own weapon as to be at hand on the
moment. Presently Brico arose, and swaggering across the room with a
glass in his hand, deliberately stopped before the lady, and drained
it to her health. She laughed back her appreciation, and Brico called
out, "Blood of a King! Madonna, but you waste yourself with His
Corpulence there," and he jerked his hand towards the stout man, who
sat speechless, his cheeks purple with rage. "Come and join us good
fellows here," he added, and attempted to pass his arm around her
waist; but the masked stranger flashed out his rapier, and Brico
only escaped being skewered by an agile retreat. This was, however,
the signal for an instant assault, and with a shout of "A
Medici--_palle_--_palle_," those at the table rushed on the smaller
party. As they rose, I jumped up, and pushed my table with great
violence in their direction. Two of the men fell over it, and this
gave me time to draw my sword and join the weaker party. The lady
rushed out with a scream, and the stout gentleman bellowing lustily
for help followed suit, and made his exit, no attempt being made to
hinder him, the attack being solely directed against the masked man,
who with his back to the wall, and the table between himself and his
assailants, defended himself with great spirit and skill.
Slashing one of the ruffians across the face, which put him out of the
fight, I ranged alongside of the stranger, and a very pretty set-to
ensued. At this juncture the innkeeper entered with half-a-dozen
others, and kept dancing about, adjuring us to stop, but offering no
help. I made for Brico, but could not reach him, having to engage with
a better swordsman than I had met for many a day; but I saw we were
now three to two, for the ancient was more bent on executing
flourishes with his sword, and in cheering on the attack, than on real
business. My opponent was a left-handed man, so anything like a
time-thrust was out of the question. He played the usual game of
left-handed men, namely, a cut over, and disengagement in tierce, but
remising, I forced him to a straight riposte, and pinked him through
the ribs. He fell with a howl, just as my companion ran his man
through. We were now two to two, if Brico was included, but the others
waited for no more and fled, no attempt being made to stay them by the
host. The innkeeper, however, began to make a great to-do; but the
stranger thrust his purse in his hand, and lifting his mask spoke a
few words in mine host's ear. The effect was magical, and the padrone
was now all civility. We had a look at the two men who were down, the
one who was slashed across the face being nowhere to be seen. They
were both quite dead, and an ill-looking pair of corpses did they
make.