The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
out the contents of the flagon, and hurled it into the grate where it
lay, its fine work crushed and dented, the two emerald eyes of the
dragon on the stopper blinking at us wickedly. This outburst made
D'Amboise calmer, and it was with more composure that he struck a
small gong, and reseated himself at the table. As he did so Burin
entered the room.
"We want a clear table," said the cardinal, "remove these things, and
hand me that map."
By the time Burin had done this, his eminence showed no further trace
of excitement, except that his lips were very firmly set, and there
was a slight frown on his forehead as he smoothed out the roll of the
map. One corner kept obstinately turning up, and as Machiavelli
quietly put his hand on it to keep it in position, he said, "See! The
ring is as it was before."
We looked at the opal, and sure enough the poison-tint was gone, and
under the pale, semi-opaque blue of its surface, lights of red, of
green, and of orange, flitted to and fro.
"It is wonderful," I said, and D'Amboise smiled grimly to himself. The
cardinal placed his finger on the map, where the port of Sinigaglia
was marked.
"Is it here he lands?"
"Yes," replied Machiavelli, "and then straight to Rome."
"You have sure information?"
"Yes."
"Then will your excellency instruct M. Donati? As arranged, I pledge
an immediate movement on the part of Tremouille, at the first sign of
success."
"You have agreed, cavaliere, to undertake the task?" and the secretary
turned to me.
"I have, your excellency."
Machiavelli then went on, speaking incisively, wasting no words. "In
ten days or thereabouts from now, Monsignore Bozardo, the Papal envoy
to the Grand Turk, will land at Sinigaglia and start for Rome. He
brings with him a letter and a sum of money, forty thousand ducats.
These are for his holiness. Bozardo and the letter may reach, if you
like; the ducats must not."
"Where are they to go?"
"To the Duke de la Tremouille."
"I follow."
"Understand that you take this venture at your own risk."
I saw what he meant, if I failed I was to be sacrificed, and my mind
was made up. I would accept, with a condition.
"I quite understand--there is one thing."
"What?"
"Ten days is a wide margin. I will stop Bozardo or die; but I propose
effecting the release of the Lady Angiola as well."
A glad look came into Machiavelli's eyes; but the cardinal flashed
out--
"_Nom du diable!_ What grasshopper have you got in your head? Leave
the demoiselle to us. You cannot do two things at once."
"Then with respect to your eminence I decline the affair of the
ducats."
D'Amboise looked at me in sheer amazement.
"You decline--you dare;" but Machiavelli interposed.
"A moment, your eminence. Can we get another agent?"
"Not now; it is too late now."
"And we have no money for active measures?"
"Not a livre."
"It seems to me that the cavaliere has us in his hands, and we had
better agree. After all he only risks his head twice, instead of
once."
D'Amboise bit his lip, and with a frown began to drum on the table
with his fingers. I sat silent but resolved, and Machiavelli, rising,
went to the writing table, pulling out from his vest a parchment. In
this he rapidly wrote something, and dusting it over with drying
powder held it to the flame of a candle. Then he turned back
leisurely, and, as he resumed his seat, handed me the paper.
"I have just filled in your name on this blank safe-conduct through
the Papal States. I took the precaution of obtaining this from Sforza
to-day. When can you start?"
"Now, your excellency," and I put the safe-conduct securely by.
"I suppose I must agree," said the cardinal suddenly. "If it fails,
all is lost; if it succeeds----"
"There will probably be a new Conclave, your eminence," said
Machiavelli.
D'Amboise's forehead flushed dark at the hidden meaning in the
Florentine's words. But we all knew that the chair of St. Peter was
ever before his eyes; and for this he schemed and saved, although
profuse in his habits. George of Amboise never gained his desire; but
when he died he left a fortune of eleven millions. This however was
yet to be.
I had already arisen to take my leave as Machiavelli spoke, and the
cardinal, taking no notice of his last remark, turned to me, with
something of his old good temper. Perhaps the hint of Florentine
support at the next papal election was not without its softening
effect.
"Did I understand you to say you were ready to start at once,
cavaliere?"
"Yes, your eminence."
"Then let me wish you good fortune--adieu!"
"Your eminence has my grateful thanks."
I bowed to D'Amboise and the secretary, and withdrew; but as the door
swung behind me, I heard Machiavelli's voice.
"The air of Rome does not suit me, your eminence. No, thanks. No more
Falernian."
CHAPTER XIX.
EXIT THE ANCIENT BRICO.
I had gained my point without waste of words or time, but it was to be
my way or not at all. My lady was in dire peril. Against this could I
for a moment weigh any thought of myself? What cared I whether France,
Spain, or the Borgia ruled in Italy? What mattered it to me whether
one crafty statesman held the reins of power, or another outdid him in
craft and filched away his bone? My lady was in danger, and my honour
might rot, and the Most Christian, the Most Catholic, and Most Holy
wolves might tear each other's throats out before I would move a
finger, take one step, until she was free. If I had to pull down
Baglioni's hold with my hands, I would free her. If a hair of her head
was injured I should take such vengeance as man never heard of, and
then--my foot caught in the carpeting of the passage, I tripped up and
fell heavily, the shock sending stars before my eyes.
"Too much haste, cavaliere," and a hand helped me to rise. As I gained
my feet I saw Machiavelli beside me.
"I followed you at once," he said, "but you went so fast, I had missed
you but for that lucky trip. A word more--if you free her, take her to
the convent of St. Jerome, two miles north-west of Magione--the abbess
will do the rest. I will see to that."
"Very well. God grant I succeed!"
"Amen to that," and Machiavelli took my hand. "Adieu, cavaliere, once
again, I must go back to his eminence, we have a point or two to
discuss yet, but no more Falernian. _Corpo di Bacco!_ I grow cold when
I think of our escape."
"Good-bye, your excellency," and we parted.
I went on with a little more care, and being a trifle cooled by my
fall, was able to think better. By the time I reached my apartments I
had decided on my route. I should leave by the Porta del Popolo, keep
on the right bank of the river as far as Borghetto, there cross the
Tiber, and on to Perugia in a straight line by Narni and Todi. It was
close on three and thirty leagues; but I did not mean to spare
horseflesh. As I reached the entrance which led to my rooms, I found
Jacopo and my men ready, and Castor whinnied a glad welcome, pawing at
the air with his forefoot in his impatience. St. Armande and the abbe,
already mounted and attended by a couple of men, were a little to the
right.
"I will not keep you a moment, chevalier," I called out as I passed
him, and running up the stairs to my room, began to dress rapidly.
Jacopo attended me, and as he handed me my sword, pointed to the open
window.
"A fair night for a long ride, excellency!"
"Yes, the moon stands well--my cloak--quick," and we descended the
stairs.
"All ready, Jacopo?"
"Your excellency."
"Steady, Castor," and I swung into the saddle.
There was the jingle of bit chains, the clank of steel scabbards, the
ring of iron-shod hoofs on the pavement, and with St. Armande by my
side and my troop behind me, I left the Palazzo Corneto.
To avoid risk of stoppage I did not go down by the Alessandrina to the
Ponte di San Angelo, but determined to cross at the Ripetta.
Therefore, crossing the Borgi di San Angelo, we went northwards by the
V. d. Tre Papazzi, up the Via Cancellieri, and then turning to the
right, rode up the Via Crescenzio. To our right, as we rode, the moon
hung over San Angelo and the dark outlines of the gloomy stronghold
loomed like a vast shadow of evil above us. In front of us lay the
Tiber, and the long line of fires of the charcoal-burners. The latter
overhung by a blue cloud of smoke, into which the forked flames leaped
and danced. At the bridge we were stopped by the guard, but the
safe-conduct set us free, and we crossed at a slow pace. Above the
hollow beat of the horses' hoofs, I heard the waters churning around
the piers, and looking over the side, saw the grey river as it hummed
past below me, flecked with white foam-tipped waves, chasing each
other in lines of light across its surface, or, as they broke,
catching the moon rays, and dying in a hundred colours with an angry
hiss.
Over the bridge at last! And here Jacopo with a sudden "_Cospitto!_"
put spurs to his horse, and galloped off down the Via Toma. So
unexpected was the movement, that it almost brought us to a halt, and
St. Armande called out--
"He is gone!"
"Not he, chevalier," I answered, "come on," and turning to the left we
trotted up the Ripetta. I knew Jacopo too well not to feel sure he
would catch us up again, and that he had some definite object, which
was not desertion, in going off as he did. Yet I could not help being
put out by his action, and resolved to give him the rough side of my
tongue when he came back. We were almost up to the Porta del Popolo
when he returned, coming with a loose rein, and as he drew in with the
troop, I turned round.
"How now, sirrah! What does this prank mean?"
"Pardon, excellency, it was no bee that stung me. I suddenly
remembered that we should have little luck on our journey if I did not
pay her dues to our Lady of the Fountain."
"Our Lady of the Fountain?"
"Excellency, the fountain of Trevi. Does not your worship know that no
one should leave Rome without dropping a piece of silver in her
basin?"
"Indeed! I was not aware of it, but remember--no more sudden thoughts
like this."
"Excellency!"
I said no more, and passing through the ruined Porta del Popolo where
the breaches made by Charles' cannon were still unrepaired, we took
the Flaminian Way, and galloped down the road almost in darkness owing
to the shadows thrown by the high walls on each side of us. We
re-crossed the Tiber at the Ponte Molle, and, still keeping the Via
Flaminia, turned our horses' heads in the direction of Castel Nuovo.
It was a wonderful night. There was no breeze, except that which we
made ourselves as we galloped along. Not a cloud obscured the sky,
arching deep blue over the yellow moon, now in her full strength. To
the left the beacon fire from the top of the Tor di Vergara blazed
like a red star low down in the horizon, and before us was the white
road stretching in a ghostly line, its ups and downs accentuated by
the moonlight. The Tiber lay to our right, but owing to the undulation
of the ground we could not see it, although an occasional flash showed
us where the waters reflected the rays of the moon.
Not the best horse in the world could keep up the pace we were going
for long, and I was old enough soldier to know that our speed must be
regulated by the slowest beast if we wanted to reach in full strength,
so I slackened rein to a walk and gave the animals a rest.
Excepting once, when Jacopo rode off to make his duty to the Fountain
of Trevi, I had not exchanged a word with St. Armande, indeed I was in
no mind to talk; but he broke the silence with a question.
"Do we ride all night, cavaliere?"
"We have many leagues to go, St. Armande."