The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
barely six feet off. Besting my hand lightly on the hilt of my sword I
looked the two full in the face, but could make nothing of them. The
one who wore a jerkin of gold cloth met my look for an instant, and
then dropped his eyes, a faint flush rising to his cheek. I saw that
he was a young man of a singularly handsome countenance. A short
neatly curled moustache fell over his upper lip and mouth, but there
was no sign of a beard on the small and rounded chin, which was
cleanly shaven. On his right cheek he wore a black patch, placed as if
to hide the scar of a wound, although his complexion was as delicate
as if the sun had never touched it. In his ears he wore earrings, an
affectation of female adornment hateful to me, and the fingers of his
small right hand, which he held ungloved, were covered with rings. The
hilt of his rapier too, peeping from under the folds of his gay cloak,
was crested with jewels, and altogether it seemed as if I could have
nothing to fear from this painted lily, who looked more fitted to
thrum a lute in a lady's bower than have aught to do with the stir of
the times. I therefore loosed my glance from him with some contempt,
and turned to his companion, who was robed as an abbe, and evidently
in a sour middle age. His features were bolder than those of his
companion, but distinctly those of the canaille, and there was nothing
in them in any way remarkable.
Nevertheless I thought it well to be on the watch, knowing that a
dagger thrust is easily sent home, and there was the certainty, too,
that the fact of my coming to Rome with a letter was known to the
Medici plotters in Florence, and evidently it was their object to
frustrate its delivery. What puzzled me, however, was that the look
the young man directed to me was not unfriendly, and it struck me that
if I could only hear his voice it might give me some clue to a
recognition. The two had come a little between me and the door, and I
was just about to contest the place with a view of forcing their hands
if possible, when the door was flung open and the same page who had
taken my name appeared and called out--
"Signor Donati, his eminence awaits you."
As the door opened there was a general movement towards it. But the
cry of the page in a moment arrested the crowd, turning the look of
anticipation on the faces of all to one of disappointment, and a loud
murmuring arose against my being so favored. I lost not a second in
stepping forward, and in doing so purposely brushed against the young
man near to me, turning round as I did so with a somewhat brusque "By
your leave, sir." I fully expected that he would resent my rudeness
and make some speech, but he merely bowed his head with a courteous
inclination, showing a set of small and even teeth as he smiled under
his blonde moustache. I was a little put out by the failure of my
plan, but the next instant the door closed behind me, and at any rate
the letter to the cardinal was safe, and my task was as good as
accomplished.
I followed the page therefore with an equal mind, and lifting a
curtain, which fell in heavy folds at the end of the passage, where a
couple of gorgeous lackeys stood, he called out "Messer Donati," and
then stepped aside to let me pass. I entered the room with a firm
step, and saw before me a large, but plainly-furnished apartment. In a
lounge chair near a small table, on which was set out a light repast,
was a man whom I at once guessed to be the cardinal. He wore a purple
robe, and the barettina or small skull cap, which covered the tonsure
on his head, allowed his short grey hair, which curled naturally, to
be seen around it. Under the cap I saw a square resolute face with
keen black eyes, and a full but kindly mouth. He was just putting down
a glass of vernaccia as I came in, and I caught the purple glitter of
the sapphire ring he wore in token of his rank, as he set down the
glass. He was not alone, for, leaning against the window and caressing
the head of an enormous wolf-hound, was a splendidly-dressed cavalier,
who looked up as I came in, and I saw at once it was Bayard. I kept my
eyes away from him, however, and advancing straight towards the
cardinal, placed the letter before him without a word.
D'Amboise looked at the seals carefully, and then taking a small
jade-hilted knife from the table, ripped open the envelope, and ran
his eye quickly over the letter. As he did so not a muscle of his face
moved to show how the contents stirred him, and when he had finished
he held it out at arm's length, saying--
"My dear Bayard, what do you think of this?"
Bayard made a step forward to take the letter, and in doing this our
eyes met, and he frankly held out his hand. I could hardly believe it
when I saw it extended towards me. My breath came thick and fast, and
the whole room swam around. The man was the soul of honour, the
noblest knight in Christendom; he had seen my trial, nay, he had been
one of my judges, and he offered me his hand! He must hold me
guiltless, I felt. "My lord!" I rather gasped than spoke as I took his
grasp, but seeing my emotion, he put in--
"Sit down, cavaliere. His eminence will forgive me for disposing of a
seat in his house--we are more than old friends." He placed his hand
on my shoulder and forced me to a seat, whilst D'Amboise, still
holding the letter in his hand, looked at us with a puzzled air.
"St. Dennis!" he exclaimed. "What does this mean, Bayard?"
"It means, your eminence, that this is a gallant gentleman who has
been most basely used; but pardon me--the letter."
He took the letter from the cardinal's hands and read it quickly,
whilst I sat still, with emotions in my heart I cannot describe, and
D'Amboise glanced from one to another with a half-amused, half-curious
look on his keen face. Bayard finished his perusal in a few seconds,
and laying the letter on the table said, "Nothing could be better. We
should be prepared for action, although there is yet plenty of time. I
wonder how in the world the Florentine got wind of this?"
"Oh, he has long ears. We shall, however, want a good sword, and if
all that the secretary writes is true, we have got it in your friend
the Cavaliere Donati. In fact Machiavelli suggests him for the task."
"My name, your eminence, is not Donati," I here put in, "but Savelli.
When misfortune overtook me, I changed my name; but I see no reason
for hiding the truth from you."
"Quite right," said D'Amboise, "but Savelli! Is this the Savelli of
the Arezzo affair, Bayard?"
Bayard nodded assent, and the cardinal continued, turning to me.
"Then, sir, I have heard your story, and you have more friends than
you think. But of this, later on. Were you not at Fornovo?"
"Yes," I replied, wondering what the cardinal's speech meant.
"_Ciel!_ I made out your patent of St. Lazare myself. What could have
made Tremouille act as he did I do not know, and he is as obstinate as
a mule. Bayard, I know all about this gentleman, and your testimony to
his worth convinces me that what I have heard is correct. I could
never believe the story myself."
"My lords, you may doubt; but the world----"
"Will yet come round to you, cavaliere," said Bayard, and added, "Your
eminence could not have a better sword for your purpose than that of
M. di Savelli here, provided he will accept the task."
"I will accept anything from you, my lords," I said.
"Good," said D'Amboise, "now let me tell you how you stand. Acting
doubtless in the advice of friends, Madame d'Entrangues wrote to me a
full account of the affair, which ended so badly for you, and
explained fully her husband's treachery. This she begged me to forward
to Tremouille with a view of getting your sentence altered. As you
have just been made aware, I have some knowledge of you, and it was a
thousand pities to see a sword, which had served France well, turned
away. I laid the matter before the duke, but he replied to say he
could take no action. The duchess, who is my cousin, has also used her
influence but to no purpose, for Tremouille stirs his porridge with
his own hand, and does not care if it burn or not, as long as he stirs
it himself. We could get the king's pardon for you, and as a last
resource that might be done, for I like as little to be thwarted as
His Grace of Tremouille; but that will raise you up a strong enemy in
the duke, and it will not kill the story--you see."
"I do, your eminence. How can I thank you?"
"I do not want your thanks, cavaliere; but France wants your sword.
Your only way is to do a signal service for France, and after this the
matter is easy. Tremouille is generous, and it would want but a little
pressure to make him rescind his sentence apparently of his own
accord, provided you could do what I have said. Strange how fate
works!"
I remained silent, and D'Amboise went on: "Such a service it is
possible for you to do, and I will put it in your way. I cannot at
present give you details as they have to be discussed with the
secretary, who will shortly be in Rome. This much, however, I can tell
you; get together a few good men, you doubtless can lay your hands on
them, and be ready. You will no doubt want funds, but they will be
arranged for. In the meantime you may consider yourself as attached to
my suite--a moment," he continued as I was about to pour out my
thanks, "you had better for the present call yourself Donati. I know
something of the history of Roman families, and your name would not
smell well to the Chigi and Colonna, and remember the Tiber is very
deep."
He touched a small handbell as he concluded, and the page appeared.
"Defaure," he said, "send the Abbe Le Clere and my gentlemen to me;
after that you will please inform the steward that apartments are to
be prepared at once for M. Donati, who is here." The page bowed and
vanished, and as I rose to await the coming of the suite, the cardinal
went on with a smile, "Messieurs in the ante-room are doubtless
getting impatient; we must make haste to receive them." As he said
these words a grey-haired priest entered, bearing on a cushion the
scarlet hat of a prince of the church, and following him, half-a-dozen
gentlemen, and grooms of the chamber. The cardinal rose, and leaning
on the arm of Bayard, walked slowly towards the door. Le Clerc bore
the hat immediately before him, and the rest of us formed a queue
behind. As we came to the door it was flung open by two lackeys in a
blue and silver livery, who shouted out--
"My Lord Cardinal--way--way."
We passed into the room where the people were arranged in two rows,
and D'Amboise walked down the line, bowing to one, exchanging a word
or two with another, until he came opposite Corte. The doctor dropped
to his knee, and presenting his book, solicited the cardinal's
influence to obtain for him an audience with the Pope, to whom he
desired to dedicate his work.
"_Perte!_" said the cardinal. "Why not go to his eminence of
Strigonia--books are more in his line than--well, we shall see--we
shall see."
He passed on, and the next group that caught his eye was that of the
young stranger in the cloth of gold and his companion.
As the cardinal approached, the young man drew a letter from his vest,
and presented it with a low bow.
D'Amboise tore it open and glanced over the contents. "_Diable!_" he
exclaimed, "from Madame de la Tremouille herself. See here, Bayard,
the Duchess writes, introducing her friend the Chevalier St.
Armande--I know not the house."
"We are of Picardy, your eminence."
The voice was singularly sweet and soft, and a strange and undefinable
resemblance in its tones to some other voice I had heard struck me,
but I could not fix upon anything.
"The Duchess says you are anxious to serve; would it not have been
easier to send you to the Duke?"