The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
THE RESCUE OF ANGIOLA.
The next day as the big gun from the citadel boomed out the twelfth
hour, and all the bells of the town clanged forth the time, five
horsemen rode through the gate of St. Angelo, whose doors were spread
wide open. The single sentry on duty paced sleepily up and down, he
was longing for his noontide siesta, and the guard of a half-score of
Baglioni's lances, lay with their armour off, basking in the mellow
sun. A subaltern officer, who had evidently dined to some purpose,
reclined on his back, half in half out of the shade of a few olive
trees that grew to the left of the gate, and the ruby on his cheeks
showed up all the brighter against the green of the grass on which he
was stretched. The horsemen were myself and my four followers. We had
taken the route I went the day before with Gian, and the plan I had
formed was this. On my gaining admittance to the house, Jacopo and
Bande Nere were to put themselves at the door, and engage the guard
there in conversation. Gian and the lackey were to hold the horses. As
soon as I ascertained the position of Angiola's room, I would blow
shrilly on a whistle I had purchased for the purpose. My men at the
door, who were armed with arquebuses as well as their swords, would
hold the passage, and I should try and account for the Cavaliere Paolo
and bear off the prize. If we succeeded, we could easily make the
gate, and then, the road to St. Jerome lay open before us. The fact
that the attempt was to be made in broad daylight too would be a
safeguard, as no one would deem that such a deed, usually done under
cover of night, was to be adventured at this hour. I had partly paved
the way for my entrance by my call of yesterday, and was provided with
a sufficiently plausible story to keep the cavaliere engaged, whilst I
took stock of his surroundings. Jacopo too had been carefully drilled
as to how he was to announce me, and the question resolved itself into
hard hitting, and a little luck. I had dressed myself with particular
care, wearing my buff-coat under a gay jerkin, and a short velvet
cloak hung from my shoulders. This almost gala attire was to act as a
further blind, and give all the appearance of a mere visit of
ceremony. There was of course the possibility of my being refused
admittance, and of the Cavaliere Paolo declining to see me; but this
was not probable, and if it did happen, I was ready for a bold stroke,
and for this Bande Nere carried with him a grenade with which to blow
open the door. As it turned out, however, we had no difficulty on this
score. On reaching the house I glanced up, and saw a face peering at
us through the caging of one of the windows above; but it was almost
immediately withdrawn. Jacopo dismounted and knocked firmly. The same
performance, I have described, of opening a grating was gone through,
but on my name being mentioned the porter shut his peep-hole, there
was the sound of the removal of a bar, the clank of chains, and the
door swung open with a sullen groan, disclosing a hall, in which stood
two men, completely armed, their arquebuses at the ready in their
hands, whilst the doorkeeper himself, a sturdy knave, stood full in
the entrance, swinging a bunch of keys.
"Is the Cavaliere Paolo Baglioni within?" I asked as I dismounted,
taking it for granted I was to be received, from the preparation I saw
was made.
"He is, signore--be pleased to follow."
With a warning glance to Jacopo I stepped in, finding myself in a hall
of middle size, the walls discoloured with age, and chipped and
cracked in many places--clearly the Casino Baglioni needed repairs. At
the end of the hall was a spiral staircase, whose stone steps, worn to
a hollow in the middle, by the passing and repassing of feet, marked
its great age. Up this narrow stairway I followed the man, until we
reached a corridor, hung on each side with rusty suits of armour, and
old and tattered banners. The place was very damp, and there was a
musty smell about it, as if no pure air ever came that way. It was
evident that the cavaliere was on the alert, for a man was on guard
here, armed like those below, with sword and arquebus. To him my guide
addressed himself.
"He has come," he said, jerking his thumb backwards at me.
"Well, announce him," said the sentinel.
"That is for you," answered the janitor, "I had enough of Pluto this
morning." With this he turned on his heel and ran back downstairs,
jingling his keys.
The sentry stood still, however, and after waiting for half a minute,
I spoke, my blood rising a little within me.
"Will you be good enough to announce the Cavaliere di Savelli--on an
urgent affair?"
The man turned round to a closed door behind him, rapping at it with
his mailed hand. From inside I heard a shuffling noise, a heavy body
lurched against the door, and there was a scratching at the wood. No
answer, however, came to the knock.
"Knock again," I said, a little impatiently, and this time a deep
voice called out--
"Enter."
I placed my hand on the door to open it when the sentry spoke with
unexpected civility.
"Take care of the beast, signore!"
"The beast--what beast?" I asked, pretending not to know anything of
Pluto's existence.
"His excellency's bear--do not fear it--else it might injure
you--_cospetto!_ But it is a perfect fiend if you run from it. It
killed a poor woman the other day."
"Thanks, friend, I will beware," I answered, and pushed open the door,
springing back a yard as I did so, for with a short roar that echoed
through the house, a huge bear rose on his hind legs, and struck out
at my face with his claws.
"_Diavolo!_ go back," shouted the sentry to the brute, and I whipped
out my sword; but the animal merely stood in the open doorway, making
no further advance, his great jaws open, and puffing like a
blacksmith's bellows.
"_Cospetto!_ excellency, call off the bear," shouted the sentry again,
indeed he seemed positively to hate the animal, and from inside came a
low deep-toned but mocking laugh. "Come back, Pluto--down, you
brute--down!" then there was a heavy "thud," the tinkling of shivered
glass, and the bear dropping on its fore feet, shambled back into the
room. I was considerably startled, and not a little angry; but
concealing these feelings, stepped boldly into the room, keeping my
drawn sword still in my hand.
"The Cavaliere di Baglioni?" I enquired.
"At the Cavaliere di Savelli's service," and a tall figure rose from a
lounge chair and surveyed me. I confess that my heart began to beat a
little fast when I saw the man against whom I was to pit myself. He
was far above the middle height, and proportionately broad. His
grizzled hair, parted in the middle, hung down straightly to his neck,
and a thick grey beard and moustache hid his mouth and chin. A cruel
hooked nose, almost Hebraic in shape, was set between a pair of small
and piercing eyes. His complexion was deathly pale, and by the light
which fell from the barred window, I saw beneath the skin the little
red lines of swollen veins which marked an intemperate life. At a
small table beside the chair was a pack of cards, and a glass half
filled with red wine, the bottle from which the wine was taken was
lying in fragments at the door, where it had fallen and broken to
bits, after being flung at Pluto. The bear was now beside his master,
facing me, his huge head held down and swaying from side to side. We
remained for a half minute staring at each other, and then Baglioni
spoke again, with his deep sneering accent, "Is it usual for the
Cavaliere di Savelli to pay visits with a drawn sword in his hand?"
"Is it usual," I replied, "for gentlemen to be received by having a
savage beast set at them?"
"Oh, Pluto!" and he touched the bear, "Pluto was not set at you,
man--you would not be here if he was."
"Probably--if however you will call the beast to one side, I would
like to discuss my business with you, cavaliere."
"Shut the door, and sit down there," he replied, "Pluto will not
disturb us--you can put back your sword. It would avail you little,"
he grinned.
It cost me an effort, but I did as I was bidden, and Baglioni sank
back into his lounge, the bear still standing, and keeping its fierce
eyes on me. Its master however kept running his hand up and down its
shaggy coat, whilst he asked in his measured voice--
"Well, and to what do I owe the honour of this visit?"
"You would prefer no beating about the bush?"
"It is my way."
"Well, then, cavaliere, I have come from Rome with a special object,
and that is to ask you to change sides, and to use your influence with
your cousin, Count Carlo, to do likewise."
"I follow the head of my house."
"Exactly. You are aware that His Holiness is now over seventy years of
age."
"The lambkin of God, Alexander--yes."
"Well, he cannot go on for ever, and if he were to die, it is an end
to the Borgia."
"Ho! ho!" he laughed, "it is an end to the Borgia--Cavaliere, your
employers are mad. It will take not a little to break Cesare--Cesare
Borgia, Duke of Romagna, Imola and Faenza, Marquis of Rimini, Count of
Forli, Lord of Pesaro and Fano, Gonfaloniere of the Church--good for a
low-born bastard--eh? Ho! ho! break Cesare! Not you."
"Stronger trees have fallen, signore--remember we have France, and the
Florentines on our side, and twenty thousand men, under Tremouille and
Trevulzio, are not twenty miles from you."
I was playing a risky game. If I did succeed in inducing this man to
listen to my proposals, and he actually persuaded his cousin to do
likewise, it would be a terrible blow to the Borgia. On the other hand
I ran the immediate risk of being arrested, and kept a prisoner, or
killed outright. But it was the only way to gain time, and look about
me; and whilst Baglioni reflectively stroked his strange pet, making
no reply to my last speech, I glanced cautiously but carefully around
the room. Like the passage outside, the walls were hung with old
armour and old flags. Time had defaced the pictures on the ceiling,
and such furniture as there was, was old, and the coverings of the
chairs and tables moth-eaten and wine stained. The stale odour of wine
mingled with the must of a long untouched room, and everywhere, on the
tables, on the chairs, and strewn here and there on the floor, were
cards. Evidently the cavaliere had a weakness in this direction, and
like lightning it flashed upon me, that if he were a gambler the game
was probably in my hands, and I would drop policy and turn to the
cards. My thoughts were interrupted by Baglioni, who broke the
silence. "What evidence have you, to show you are the person you
represent yourself to be?"
"I can offer you none. In matters like this one does not carry
evidence about--but if you like to send a trusted messenger to Rome,
to the Cardinal d'Amboise--see the reception he will get--or nearer
still to Tremouille?"
"And why come to me?"
"Because of your influence with your cousin, and because you are a man
who will play for a big stake," and I risked the shot. His eyes
flashed, and his hand stopped in its movement through the fur of the
bear.
"My influence with my cousin is--that," he snapped his fingers, "but a
big stake--yes--I like playing for big stakes."
I stooped and picked up a card, holding it idly up between my finger
and thumb.
"This, what I propose, is a bigger stake than you could ever get on
the king, cavaliere," and with a twist of my wrist I sent the card
from me, it hit the wall opposite with a smart tap, and then floated
slowly and noiselessly down to the floor of the room.
The man's eyes followed the card, and he muttered as if to himself--
"A big stake--yes--Carlo gives me nothing--I am his jailor--I, who in