The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
lady abbess would so far relax the rules of the order, as to admit me
within the courtyard. I dismissed Gian with thanks, and a message that
I would be at the convent, charging him to say nothing of my wound,
and then my thoughts went a wool-gathering, and I lay back with the
missive in my hands. St. Armande was leaning against the window, his
back to the light. He had taken up this position after whispering a
word or two to the abbe, who left the room. I did not, however,
observe him or anything else, my mind was full of mad thoughts, and
for the moment I let them have full play, making no effort to resist.
Folding the letter up carefully, I placed it under my pillow, and was
about to close my eyes, when the abbe returned, bearing a bowl in his
hands. This St. Armande took from him, and approaching me said--
"Come, cavaliere--you must drink this at once."
His tone was sharp and incisive, and looking up in some surprise, I
saw he was pale to the lips, and wondered what bee had stung him. I
rose to a sitting posture to take the cup; but he would not have it
so, and passing his arm round my neck, made me drink like a child. The
draught was cool and refreshing, and as I sank back on my pillows, my
heart for a moment being gay at the thought of the letter, I said
jestingly--
"Chevalier, you would make a most excellent nurse. Shave off that
little moustache of yours, put on a black hood and gown, and
_diavolo!_ But you would break as many hearts as you cured wounds."
The words were barely out of my mouth, when he brought his foot down
with an angry stamp on the carpet, and with a face as scarlet now as
it had been pale before, turned on his heel and walked out of the
room.
I looked to the abbe, who was sitting watching me, stroking his chin
with his hand.
"St. John! But is he often taken this way?"
The cleric rose, and not answering my question, spoke.
"You had better try and sleep now, cavaliere, or else the potion may
lose its effect." He then followed St. Armande.
I would have risen to apologise, but I felt a pleasant numbness
stealing over me, and in a minute or so my thoughts began to grow
confused, and I seemed to sink into a sleep. Not so profound a
slumber, however, as to be unconscious of what was going on around me.
I was sure I once heard Bande Nere and Jacopo in my room, and that I
was being carried apparently to a more comfortable bed. Then I felt
soft hands bathing my wound, and heard a gentle voice whispering words
of deep love in my ear. It was a dream, of course, but all through the
night that soon came, Doris d'Entrangues hung over me, and tended me
with words I cannot repeat.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PAVILION OF TREMOUILLE.
When I awoke the next morning, my head was still dazed, but I was
otherwise strong. At least, I felt so, as I lay still in my bed, all
sense of fatigue gone, and trying to collect my thoughts. After a
little, I glanced round the chamber, which was not the room where I
had taken the potion, but another and a larger apartment. It was no
fancy then, the voices of Jacopo and Bande Nere I heard and the
sensation of being lifted and moved, which I experienced in the night.
My removal was doubtless effected whilst I was under the influence of
the drug; but the voice of madame? The almost certainty that she was
by me through the hours of the night? I could not account for this,
and seeing any such effort was useless, ceased to rack my brain on the
subject, putting it down to a mad dream. For some while I lay
mustering up courage to rise, fanned by the mild breeze, which played
in from the open window on my right. Outside I could see the branches
of the trees, as they swayed to and fro in the wind, and the joyous
song of a mavis trilled out sweetly through the morning, from the
thorn bushes whence he piped. In about a half hour my head began to
grow clearer, I remembered Angiola's letter, and thrust my hand under
the pillow to find it. Of course it was not there, as I had been
moved, and a short exclamation of annoyance broke from me.
"Excellency!"
It was Jacopo's voice, and the good fellow, who had evidently been
watching me, came forward from behind the head of the bed.
"Ah, Jacopo! Is it you? Here, help me to rise."
"Signore--but is your worship able--the chevalier----"
"Never mind the chevalier. I am as well as ever, and there was no need
of that to-do yesterday--_diavolo!_" and a twinge in my face brought
me up sharply, and recalled Pluto's claws. I put my hand up to my
face, and found I was still bandaged.
"It was lucky he only touched your worship."
"Luckier still your being there with your arquebus, else. St. Peter
and I had surely shaken hands--there--thanks--I will sit here for a
few minutes," and I sank into an easy chair, being really weaker than
I thought I was, the effects more of the narcotic than anything else.
"Will your worship breakfast here?"
"No--but before doing anything, go to the room where I was last
evening, and bring me the letter you will find under the cushions of
the couch there."
"Excellency!" and Jacopo left the room.
I now for the first time observed a bouquet of red and white roses,
whose fragrance filled the chamber. I had been conscious of their
perfume before, but thought the scent was borne in by the breeze from
the garden outside. Whilst I was admiring the flowers, Jacopo
returned.
"The letter."
"Is not there, signore, I have searched carefully."
It was a disappointment, but I said nothing, having determined to see
for myself. As Jacopo assisted me to dress, I enquired to whom I was
indebted for the flowers.
"I cannot say, excellency; they were here when I came this morning.
Possibly the Signor de St. Armande, who was with your worship all
night."
"All night!"
"Signore."
I could not help being touched by this proof of devotion, and when I
had dressed went down, with the intention of finding my letter, and
thanking the chevalier for his kindness. I was, I saw, still a little
weak, but a few hours' rest would make me fit for action, and I could
not help thinking I had been made much over, on too small an occasion.
St. Armande was in the room where I had left the letter, and at the
first glance I saw he was haggard and worn, with dark circles under
his eyes, eyes which many a beauty would have been proud to own. He
seemed so slim, so small and delicate, as he came to meet me, that my
heart began to misgive me again, as to his powers to endure the labour
involved in the difficult adventure we had before us. He was much
concerned at my having risen, made many enquiries about my condition,
and put aside my thanks.
"_Per Bacco!_ chevalier," I said, "you look more of an invalid than I.
I fear me, I shall have to be nurse in my turn."
"It is but a touch of the megrims, I have; but you must not think of
doing anything for a week."
"Or a month, or a year," I gibed, as I turned over the cushions of the
couch, and in answer to St. Armande's enquiring look, went on, "The
letter I received yesterday--I am certain I left it here."
He came forward to help me, but with no avail.
"It must have been blown away," he said.
"But I put it under the cushions!"
"True--but you forget you were moved, and the things were shifted.
Come to breakfast now, and I will have a thorough search made
afterwards."
"Not yet; I will but step over to the convent, and enquire after the
Lady Angiola----"
"What! With a bandaged face?"
"It is a wound," I answered coldly, and turning, went out of the
villa. My lackey ran forward to enquire if a horse should be made
ready; but thinking the walk would do me good, I declined. I was right
in this, the fresh, air acted as a tonic, and when I reached the gates
of the convent, all the giddiness had passed. There, to my dismay, I
heard that Angiola was unable to leave her room, a thing I might have
expected, and sending a civil message I retraced my steps, entering
the villa by a side gate, and walking towards it through a deserted
portion of the garden. I went leisurely, stopping every now and again
to admire the flowers and the trees. In one of these rests, whilst I
idly gazed about me, my eye was arrested by a number of fragments of
paper, that lay on the green turf at my feet. Yielding to an impulse I
could not control, I stopped and picked up one of the pieces, and saw
in a moment it was a piece of Angiola's letter to me. I lost no time
in collecting the remaining bits of the paper, and carefully placed
them in my vest pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the villa.
As we sat down to breakfast, the chevalier explained that he had made
a further search for the letter, but in vain.
"I ought to have told you," I said, "I have found it."
"Where?"
"In the garden--in shreds and tatters."
He became suddenly very silent, and so we finished our meal. All that
day I rested, more for the horses' sake than my own, and be sure I did
not fail to make frequent enquiry of Angiola's condition, hearing each
time she was better, and would certainly see me on the morrow. Whilst
I lay resting, my mind was active. I cast up the time I had left at my
disposal. I still had four clear days to carry out my mission, and to
make my plans to intercept Bozardo. But after my adventure in Perugia
I had need for extra care, and could not afford to throw away an hour
of the four days that were left to me. There were many points to think
of. Bozardo would no doubt be strongly escorted, and if the forty
thousand ducats he had with him were in gold, they would be difficult
to carry away, and would be a great temptation to my men. I could
answer for Jacopo and Bande Nere; of course St. Armande was beyond
suspicion, my doubts of him were at rest; but for the others? They
might or might not yield to temptation. If they did yield, affairs
would be serious indeed. I deliberated long and carefully, making up
my mind to adopt the following course. Tremouille was but a few miles
from me. I would see him, tell him of the enterprise which D'Amboise
had entrusted to me, and ask him to send a troop, or some trusted men,
to whom I could hand over the money in case I succeeded. If he could
send these men on to Sassoferrato, I meant to ambuscade on the banks
of the Misa, make my dash at Bozardo there, and if all went well, they
could receive the money in a few hours, and relieve me of that
anxiety. Of course Tremouille might refuse to see me; he might even do
worse; but I would give him the chance and accept the risk.
When I came to think of it, it was hardly possible that he was
unacquainted with the cardinal's design, and I could form no better
plan than the one I had resolved upon. I would have to deny myself the
pleasure of seeing Angiola on the morrow, but the four days gave me no
margin. The day's repose did me much good, and, after supper, which we
took about six o'clock, I ordered Castor to be saddled. St. Armande
looked surprised, but I wasted no words, telling him briefly that I
was bound on business, and that on my return we should have to make an
immediate start. I refused all offer of companionship, and shortly
after Castor and I were galloping through the glow of a late sunset to
the camp of Tremouille.
I skirted the shores of Trasimene, the road being easier there, and as
I went on, could not help wondering to myself what manner of reception
I would have from the duke. Good or bad, I was determined to see him,
and I soon caught sight of the line of tents, cresting the hills that
overhung the defile where Hannibal caught the Romans. The tents were
soon lost to view in the grey of the coming night. One by one the camp
fires began to light the hills; the mist that rises here after sundown