The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
white marble figure of Cupid held out at arm's length a lamp, whose
opal shade softened its bright light; and on a gilded triangle, set in
an alcove, swung a blue and scarlet macaw--a rare Eastern bird--who,
with his head tucked under his wing, slept in a position which would
be intolerable torture to any other created thing except a bird. It
was clear that I had invaded the private sitting-room of the ladies,
or lady of the household; and I was about to beat a hasty retreat,
when the screen of an inner room was swung aside, and I saw before me
my two unknowns of the Garden of St. Michael, and the giver of the
tari which had saved me from death. It was too late to go back now, as
the sound of my feet on the marble stairs would certainly reach, and
perhaps alarm them, tread I ever so softly; so I resolved to stay
where I was until they retired again, and then go back. This I judged
would be very shortly as it was late. I had not however sufficient
experience then, of the lengths to which those nocturnal confidences,
in which the fair sex indulge with each other, extend. In the meantime
I could not but admire the graceful figures before me, and especially
of her, who had given me the tari. Clad in a soft clinging robe,
clasped by a jewel at her throat, and a silver girdle round her waist,
with her pale proud features set in a mass of dark hair, she seemed to
me an embodiment of pure womanhood, and I thought how lucky the man
would be who could have such a companion to help him through life. I
guessed also that the other was the wife of Machiavelli, being aided
thereto by her statement, when I drove Luigi off, that her husband was
one who could help me much. At the same time I could not but feel some
pity in my heart for her, when I thought she was wedded to a man of a
character so contradictory as that of the Secretary, who could leave a
fair wife for the sake of indulging in low dissipation, and come back
after a narrow escape with his life, to bury himself in matters of
state, or in the perusal of the ancients. However there was no sign of
sorrow on her fair and mirthful face, as with all the teasing nature
of a kitten, she walked up to the macaw and stirred him up with her
white fingers, an attention he did not appear to relish, for he
ruffled his plume, and let forth an ear-piercing shriek.
"Heavens!" she laughed, "how that bird screams! He is almost as cross
as you, Angiola."
"Thanks," replied the other; "I do sympathise with the bird though,
for you never leave off teasing. It is enough to make a saint cross,
Marietta."
"Well, I won't tease any more," and Marietta put her hand on her
friend's shoulder. "I am sure though it was he, and I will have that
last word."
I wondered to whom the reference was made, as Angiola replied: "I
really do not care if it was; but there is a draught, and I must shut
this door."
She came up so quickly that there was no time to retreat, and in a
moment I was discovered.
She gave a little cry, and stepped back.
"Who are you, sir? How dare you----!"
I saw that the other was going to scream out, and burst forth: "Madam,
I implore you to be still. There is absolutely no danger. I have had
business with his excellency, and missed my way. Pardon the
intrusion," and I stood with my cap in my hand.
"Well, sir," said the Lady Angiola, "as you have found out that you
have missed your way, had you not better turn back?"
"Why, Angiola, it is the gentleman who rescued us in the gardens!"
called out Madonna Marietta, with a sudden recognition.
"Who looks as if he were here now, to make up for it by cutting our
throats. According to you he should have been dying of starvation at
Santa Felicita."
"Madam," I cut in, "I wish I had died of starvation rather than heard
this. I will however restore what I have received. If you can only
show me the way out of this house I shall be grateful, and I again
seek pardon for disturbing you."
"I suppose you are speaking the truth. Come, give me that candle,
Marietta."
The other handed her a candlestick, and refusing my proffer to bear
it, and with a curt request to walk in front, she directed and led me
along the interminable galleries until I recognised the corridor from
which I entered. I was again about to thank her, but she simply
pointed to the door.
"Your way lies there, sir."
I opened the door and stepped on to the stairway without another word.
In shutting the door behind me I glanced once more in her direction.
She was already on her way back, the single candle throwing its soft
light on her loose robes and graceful figure.
I made my way down the stairs, at the end realising the sensation of
suddenly finding my foot meet the ground after the last step. I
thought there was yet another and was brought up with a nasty jerk.
Stepping out softly into the street, and holding my drawn sword in my
hand, I hurried towards my abode. When I had gone about fifty paces, I
heard the sound of a door opening and shutting behind me, but thinking
it was the wind playing with the door I had left unlocked, having no
key, I took no notice, and went on; but soon became aware I was being
followed. I stopped therefore, and deliberately faced round. The
footsteps behind me instantly ceased, and I could make out through the
moonlight, the shadowy figure of a man, stooping as if to search for
something. This was of course nothing but a pretence, and I had half a
mind to go back and question him. Reflecting, however, that it would
be wiser to avoid any further adventures for the night, and that after
all it was but one man, I went on, and my pursuer did likewise, but at
a greater distance than before, until finally apparently gave the
matter up seeing I was on my guard. Crossing the square of Santa
Felicita, however, I saw some one running swiftly a little ahead of
me, and then disappear behind the shelter of the small casino of the
Medici which stood there. I felt sure it was my shadower. He had
passed me by some short cut, and was now probably intending to bring
matters to a head. Keeping well in the middle of the road I went on,
and to my surprise saw nothing, but in a short time again became
conscious that I was dogged, and dropping into an artifice quickened
my pace to a run. The sound of rapid footsteps behind me, showed that
my curious friend was doing likewise, and not to deprive him of the
exercise, I kept up the pace, until we reached the street di Pucci and
were close to my lodging. Here I faced about and ran back full speed
at my pursuer, feeling sure that the burst I had given him would try
all his speed to get away. He so little calculated on my change of
front, that he ran on about twenty yards, before realising what was
the matter. Then he turned round and was about to make off, when I
reached him, and driving him against the wall held him there, with the
point of my sword at his breast. Imagine my surprise on seeing before
me the young man with whom Ceci had gone away on our return from the
funeral of Corte's daughter. He was doubtless also the spy of the
evening, and now, with a face white with either terror or anger
crouched against the wall, holding a dagger in his hand; but any
attempt to use it would have been useless.
"Well," I said, "have you had enough of this?" and I emphasised the
question with a sharp prick.
"Mercy!" he called out, thinking his last hour come, and scrabbled on
to the pavement.
"Be off with you then!" I said, and assisted his departure with a
hearty kick as he rose. He needed no second bidding, but made off at a
good pace.
When his figure mingled up with the haze, and was lost to view, I
proceeded on my way wondering a little at the incident. I could not
help connecting it with the affair in the Secretary's room--the man I
had chased up the endless galleries of his house, and the attempt at
murder in the Marzocco Inn. Why was I followed? I could not make this
out; but thankful that I had escaped with a whole skin, climbed up the
winding stairway of the tower which led to my chamber. Carefully
shutting the door, I lit my candle, and emptied out the contents of
the bag I had received from Machiavelli on to my bed so that the coins
might make no sound.
CHAPTER XI.
THE LETTER TO D'AMBOISE.
I could have thrown my cap over the housetops, I could have shouted
for joy, as I saw the coins spread out before me. I stooped over them,
holding the candle aloft in one hand, whilst I ran the fingers of the
other through the clinking metal. There they lay! broad, shining
pieces of silver, flecked, here and again, with the mellower light of
gold. At one stroke, when my luck was apparently at its lowest ebb, it
had turned again, and was coming up in high tide. Not only this, I was
to go to Rome, the very place of all others where I was likely to meet
D'Entrangues; and I breathed an impious prayer, that good angels might
see he came to no hurt until we met, and even as I prayed the vision
of that dying woman who forgave with her last breath, came before me.
My hand shook so that I could barely hold the candle, and turning
away, I placed it on the table and went up to my window. Midnight was
long past and we were touching the morning. The only sound that broke
the stillness was the distant clang of the martinello, keeping up its
insistent beat; but the wind was from me, and the chime came softened
to my ears. Already the east was whitening, and the moon was sinking
to rest. All the old half-formed resolutions I had made, to let my
enemy's crime pass, to leave vengeance in the hands of God, came up
and fought with the fierce desire that the apparent opportunity of
meeting D'Entrangues again, had fanned into life. What had not that
man done to me? How could I forgive? We are all not framed in the same
way. A tender woman might condone what man would never pass over. Why
should I not be the instrument of God's punishment on that man?
Without Him nothing was possible, and if I succeeded in killing
D'Entrangues would it not mean that the deed had his sanction? On the
other hand, there were the words of Savonarola's text, and the
forgiveness I had seen with mine own eyes. Tossed by doubt, now
resolved, now wavering--at one time certain I was right to be my own
law, at another encompassed by a terrible fear of sin--I did what all
men have to do at some time or other: I sank down on my knees, and
wrestled with the temptation. I do not know what words of prayer I
used, or how long I was there; but I can say this, that when I rose,
my mind was at rest, and I had won a fight with myself. I would leave
D'Entrangues to the justice of God. And for my honour? I would win it
back again, not in distant lands, but here--here, where it was taken
from me, and then--what a fool I was! When my shield was white once
more, I would sheathe my sword, rebuild our old castle in the Sabine
Hills, and there, perhaps--oh! I dreamed mad things when that peace
fell upon me. But there was such a prosaic matter as sleep, and I had
work for the morrow, so I pulled myself together, and with a mind more
comfortable than for many a day, swept the coins into the bag, saw
again to the fastening of the door, and, seeking my bed, slept a
dreamful sleep until aroused by the cooing of my friends the pigeons.
It was with a very different air that I went down the stairs that
morning, and I realised, from contrast, how brave a heart a full purse
can make. I meant to have paid Ceci at once, but he was not in his
office, so I breakfasted in a leisurely manner, at the sign of the
Double Florin and then returned.
As soon as I reached the Albizzi Palace, I went straight to Ceci's
office, and found him engaged in conversation with a man. The latter