The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
"Have these carrion removed, padrone--and beware how you say a word of
what has happened, signore," and the masked man held his hand out to
me, "I thank you heartily, and you will find I have a long memory. Do
me the favour to accompany me to my house."
I had no reason to refuse, and bowing my acknowledgments, we left the
inn.
CHAPTER X.
NICCOLO MACHIAVELLI.
As we reached the street, I expressed the hope that the lady and her
stout companion were in safety. The stranger laughed: "Oh,
Buonoccorsi, he and La Sirani are no doubt shivering in security by
this time; but let us hasten, for although we have barely more than a
couple of cross-bow shots to go, our bravos may return and have better
luck. St. John! but it was a narrow affair."
Our way led back by Santa Felicita, past the Ponte Vecchio, and at
length we came to a halt before a small side door, let into, what
seemed to me, nothing but a vast blank wall. My new friend opened this
door noiselessly, with a key he drew from his pocket, and invited me
to enter. Pleading ignorance of the way, however, I gave him the pass,
and followed him up a narrow and very dark stairway, which opened into
a long gallery, likewise in semidarkness. Up this gallery we went,
then there was another small passage, and lifting a curtain at the end
of this, we stepped past an open door into a large room, evidently a
study, for it was filled with books all but the side near the passage,
which was covered by a heavy tapestry. In the middle of the room was a
large table, littered with papers in much confusion, and eight tall
candles burning in a pair of grotesque candelabra, threw a bright but
soft light over the chamber.
"Sit you down there," said my host, pointing to a chair, "and we will
have something to drink. _Diavolo!_ You are wounded! Why did you not
say?"
I looked at my left arm, and sure enough the coat-sleeve was red, with
an enlargening patch. It was only a trifle, however, as we found on
examination; but my companion, who still kept his mask on, insisted on
bandaging it, which he did with deft fingers, and then turning to a
curiously inlaid cabinet let into the wall, brought thenceforth a
flagon of green crystal and two long-stemmed Venetian glasses.
Whilst he was thus engaged my eyes rested on a book on the table, and
I saw at a glance that it was the copy of Plutarch's Lives which Ceci
had lent me on payment, so that it was most probable that I was in the
presence of the noble, against whom the Medici plot was directed, and
in whose library the intendant's nephew was employed, partly I guessed
as a spy. My hand was on the book as my host placed the glasses on the
table, and observing the movement, he said with a smile:
"I see, Signore, you not only carry a sharp sword; but know a book as
well."
"As for books, Signore," I answered, "I know but little of them. This
one, however, I thought I had seen before."
"Indeed," he said, "that is odd, for I believe this is the only
rendering of Plutarch into Italian which is in existence. Strange,
too, as for over a week I could not find it anywhere."
"Very," I answered shortly, and my host, pouring out a glass for me,
helped himself, and settling comfortably in a chair opposite to me,
slowly removed his mask and laid it aside. I saw before me, a man in
the prime of life, of middle height and slender figure, with however a
great dignity of carriage. His head, covered with short dark hair, was
small, but well-shaped, his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence, and
a slightly aquiline nose curved over a pair of thin, sarcastic lips,
which were however now smiling at me with as much good-humour as they
could express.
"Books," he said, "are the delight of my life, without them all would
be stale. Here," and he held up a volume, "is a priceless treasure. It
is a manuscript copy of Cicero's De Gloria. I obtained it from my
friend, poor Angelo Poliziano."
"I am afraid," I said, "I could only look at it, for I have not
studied the ancients."
He laid down the book: "Of a truth, men were giants in those days--but
hark! That is too loud for a rat." At this moment we heard a distinct
rustling behind the tapestry, which hung on one side of the wall. My
host sprang up, and with his drawn rapier in his hand, lifted the
arras. I followed him; but we observed nothing but a door, which was
concealed behind the curtain. "This is a private door leading to the
corridor, and confound it--it is open. How the devil did this happen?
However, this will make things sure." He turned the key which was in
the lock, and removing it, placed it carefully aside in a drawer, and
his face was shaded a little with anxiety. This however he brushed off
like a fly, and resuming our seats, he poured out some more wine for
both of us, and said:
"Signore, now that I observe you closely, it appears to me that your
sword, good as it is, has not helped you to fill your purse."
"It was able to save your life, Messer--I know not your name," I
answered with a little heat, and rose as if to take my leave. He
laughed cheerfully, and putting his hand on my shoulder, pressed me
back into my chair.
"Sit down, signore, I meant no offence, and my name is Niccolo
Machiavelli. Will you give me yours in return?"
I was then before the Secretary of the Council of Ten, the crafty
politician who at that time held Florence in his hand, and with whose
name all Italy was full. I now understood Ceci's plot at once, but the
question was, should I give my right name? Sooner or later the
Secretary would find out, and I accordingly answered him as honestly
as possible.
"I pass under the name of Donati, your excellency, will that do?"
He leaned back reflectively. "I like confidence when I give it," he
said, "and yet perhaps it does not matter. You had no idea who I was
when you helped me?" he added with a quick look.
"Not in the slightest." I did not feel justified in adding more.
"Well, Signore Donati, I have work for which I want a brave man, and
if you care to accept it, I offer it to you."
"Your excellency, I will plainly say that I hardly know where to turn
for employment, in fact, I am in such straits that I cannot afford to
look for a hair in any egg that may fall my way; at the same time your
business must be such as I can take with honour."
"With honour of course," he smiled sarcastically, and then added, "I
suppose I can trust you?"
"You need not give me the employment, signore, if you do not think you
can trust me--and pardon me--it is getting late."
"Sit down, man, I did but try you, and you are the man I want. Where
do you lodge?"
"In the Albizzi Palace, in the street di Pucci."
"Could you leave Florence at a moment's notice?"
"It is a matter of funds."
"They will be provided."
"Then, yes."
"Enough! To-morrow a man will call on you, precisely at noontide, with
a letter. I want that letter delivered into the hands of the Cardinal
of Rouen at Rome. It is a secret matter, and if you fail in it you may
forfeit your life. If you succeed, his eminence will give you further
occupation. Do you accept?"
"Yes."
As I said this we again heard the creaking noise, and Machiavelli
jumped up as agilely as a panther, and sprung to the door behind the
arras. It was open; but no one was there.
"_Maldetto!_" he exclaimed. "Signore, there are spies in my own
house--help me to tear down this tapestry."
I did so, and in a few minutes we laid bare the side of the room, and
piled the tapestry in a heap against a bookshelf.
"That is better," Machiavelli said, "you see--the spy, whoever he is,
must have a master key. There is no use going into the passage after
him; but for the present I fancy we are safe. I must have a bolt put
on and keep a watch. To resume business however. You say you accept,
and only need funds."
"Exactly so."
He pulled from a drawer a bag, which chinked with a pleasant sound to
my ears.
"Here," he said, "are a hundred crowns. It is your fee for the task I
set you."
"It is ample."
"And now, Messer--Donati--farewell! You will always find a friend in
me. You know your way--I have left the side door open--and bear a
loose sword."
"A word, your excellency."
"Say on."
"Prom what has happened to-night, I see plainly that the plotters
against your life have friends very near you. If they failed this time
they may not fail again. One of the men who made the attack to-night I
recognised. He is called Brico, formerly an ancient, perhaps still so,
in the army of Tremouille."
"I will attend to the Signor Brico."
"Yet a little more. If your excellency's movements are known it is
probably from within your own house. I would keep an eye on your
library scribe."
"_Per Bacco!_ Signor Donati, but you know too much. I am more and more
your debtor."
"The hundred crowns have repaid me," I replied as I took my departure,
having said all I dared say of the plot without breaking my pledge of
secrecy to Ceci.
Now it happened that as I gained the corridor, I saw in the dim light
a figure retreating hastily before me; but with noiseless footsteps,
and having in mind the strange attempt to play the spy on us, I made
no doubt but that here was the culprit, and followed up. I saw the
figure turn at the end of the corridor and enter another gallery, then
another, and yet another, finally vanishing as it were against the
wall. Owing to my not knowing the way properly, and to the semi-gloom,
I was unable to follow fast enough to overtake the spy, who flitted
before me like a ghost, but in a very human hurry. When at length I
came up to the wall, I looked to see if there was a door of any kind;
but could discern nothing, and was so astonished that for a moment I
felt a little chilled, thinking that it may have been a spirit after
all. Fortifying myself, however, with the thought that if it was a
spirit, it seemed in no way anxious to meet me, I went to a closer
examination, and saw by the moonlight that I was before a door,
painted in exact imitation of the marble wall. This settled my doubts,
and putting my shoulder to it, I made a trial, with all my strength,
to force the passage, but in vain. I therefore gave up the matter, and
turned to find my way back. This was, however, easier said than done.
I could not find the gallery I wanted, and after groping about
hopelessly for a little time, thought that I had best give a shout,
which would no doubt summon some one to my aid. I was just about to
carry this into execution, when, on further reflection, it struck me
that I might be landed in other difficulties thereby, and that I might
make another try to free myself, without bringing the house about my
ears, and perhaps compromising the secretary, who had, I saw, an
active and enterprising enemy under his own roof. So I stilled my
tongue and made further exploration, with the result that I found
myself before a stairway, that led to the floor below me, and
determined to see where this would take me. Accordingly I descended as
softly as possible, and arrived in a few steps at a small landing,
covered by a carpet so thick, that I felt as if I was treading on the
softest of moss. At the end of the landing, and opposite to me, was a
half-opened door, the room inside being in light. Stepping noiselessly
up to the door I peered in, and saw a chamber furnished with the
utmost luxury, and apparently just vacated by its occupants. In a
corner of the room stood a harp, lying on a table close to a low
luxurious seat were some articles of dainty feminine embroidery; soft
silken curtains shrouded the walls, and the ceiling was painted,
apparently with some representation of the history of the house. A