The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
enveloped me, and slackening speed, I let Castor pick his way up an
ascending road, covered with loose stones, and cut into ruts and
fissures. In a while I came to an outpost, and at once challenged by
the sentry, and surrounded by the piquet. I explained that I was from
Rome to see the duke, and could not possibly give the pass word. The
officer of the watch replied that this was my affair, not his, and
that I would have to remain here until the morning, or until a field
officer inspected the posts, in which case he would take his orders.
There was no help for it, and I resigned myself to circumstances, with
an impatient heart So an hour or two passed, which I beguiled by
discourse with the subaltern, telling him of Rome; he was a cadet of
the house of Albani, and hearing petty items of news in return, the
chief of which was that the Seigneur de Bayard had returned to the
camp. Even as he said this, we heard the deep bay of a hound, and I
recognised Bran's throat.
"_Per Bacco!_ It is Bayard himself going the grand rounds," exclaimed
the subaltern springing to his feet, and giving the order for the men
to stand at attention. In a few minutes we heard the sound of horse's
hoofs, the sharp clink of steel scabbards, and a half-dozen horsemen
rode up. As they approached, Castor neighed in recognition of his twin
brother, and an answering call showed that Pollux knew the greeting,
and gave it back. The hound too came up, and rising on his hind feet,
fawned a welcome on me. I made myself known to Bayard at once.
"_Ciel!_" he said, "you are the last man I expected to meet, and you
want to see the duke, come with me then."
On the way I told him of the success of my attempt to free Angiola.
"We have just heard of it," he said, "and it has gone far in your
favour. In fact Madame de la Tremouille, who is back again, could
speak of nothing else at supper this evening. It was a brave deed, and
I envied your luck, cavalier."
I told him of my plan, enquiring if he thought Tremouille would give
me the assistance I wanted, pointing out that the movement of any
troops, where I wanted the detachment to go, could not possibly be
taken as a breach of the truce.
"As for the truce," he made answer, "it is in the air. The king has
really left Macon at last. It is said that the advance guard under the
Seneschal of Beaucaire has already crossed the Ombrone. Tremouille
cannot possibly refuse, and here we are."
We pulled up at the entrance to a large pavilion, out of whose open
door a broad band of light streamed into the night.
"Follow me," said Bayard, and I did so, the guards saluting
respectfully as we entered.
I had not time to look about me, but saw that Tremouille, who was in
his armour, was pacing up and down the tent, with his limping gait,
and dictating a despatch to his secretary. He stopped short in his
walk, and greeting Bayard cheerfully, looked at me with a grave
surprise.
"This is M. di Savelli," said Bayard, "he has business of such
importance with your excellency, that I have taken it upon myself to
bring him here."
The duke glanced at me keenly, the thin lines of his lips closing
together.
"Are you aware of the risk you run by coming to my camp?" he asked.
"I am perfectly aware, your excellency, but----"
"You must either be a fool, or a very brave man," he interrupted.
"I lay claim to neither honour, my lord, and I take the risk: will you
hear me?"
He nodded, and I laid my proposal before him. When I had finished his
face expressed approval.
"Very well," he said, "I will detach Hawkwood. If you succeed, hand
the money over to him."
"I understand, my lord," and bowing I retired. As I reached the door
of the pavilion, I heard the duke's voice again:
"M. di Savelli."
"My lord," and I faced him.
"Succeed in this, and count me as a friend. I give you the word of
Tremouille."
"I thank your excellency," and turning again I went forth. Bayard
followed me out.
"I have half a mind to ask you to let me share your adventure," he
said, "I am afraid, however, they will not allow me to go. At any rate
I will ride back to the outposts with you--down, Bran," and he swung
into the saddle.
When I shook hands with Bayard on parting from him, his last speech
was--"Be careful, cavaliere, for Tremouille is a man of his word--if
you fail, however, remember the game is not yet lost--good-bye, and
good luck."
I turned Castor's head towards the convent, and leaving the camp fires
behind me, went on through the darkness. It was midnight when I
reached the villa. Those tough old soldiers Jacopo and Bande Nere were
on the watch. Everything was ready; and after sharing a skin of wine
all round, we rode out--shadowy figures through the mist, now faintly
lit up by a young moon, whose thin crescent lay quietly in the sky. I
looked back at the walls of the convent; from a window of an upper
chamber a light was shining. Perhaps it was hers! And I bent down my
head in a silent prayer, for God's help in my fight back to honour.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TOO DEARLY BOUGHT.
About a mile from Arcevia, the road from Sinigaglia to Rome, begins to
ascend the oak-shrouded hills whence the Misa has its source, passes
Sassoferrato, and then, turning due south, goes on for some nine miles
over the mountains. At the point where this road, up to now following
the banks of the Misa, and advancing in a gentle slope, begins the
somewhat abrupt ascent of the outer chain of the Pennine Alps, on a
high overhanging rock, covered with twisted and gnarled oaks, stood a
ruined and deserted castle. It was of the eleventh century, and
originally belonged to the Malatesta, whose battered and defaced
scutcheon frowned over the half-falling arch of the gate. Now it was
ownerless, but there were tenants there, for the falcon had made her
eyrie in its rocks, in the crannies of the falling towers were
numberless nests of swallows, on the ruined _debris_ of the walls the
little red lizard basked in the sunlight, and, when the night came,
the melancholy hoot of the owl was heard, and tawny fox, and grey wild
cat, stole forth on plundering quests, from their secure retreats
amidst the thorn, the wild serpythum, and the fragments of the
overthrown outer wall, which afforded these bandits of nature so safe
a hiding place.
For once, however, for many years, the castle was again occupied by
man. There were a dozen good horses under the lee of the north wall
which still stood intact, and in the great hall, part of whose roof
lay open to the sky, a fire of oak-logs was burning, whilst around it
were gathered Jacopo and my men, cracking jokes, and finding the
bottom of a wine skin. In a smaller chamber, a little to the right, I
sat with St. Armande and the abbe. We, that is the chevalier and
myself, had been dicing a little together to kill time, the abbe
improving the occasion by reading from his Breviary. We had now been
here for three days, on the watch for Bozardo's party, but there was
no sign of them. They had certainly not gone on, for we had carefully
enquired, and were doubtless detained by some reason, of which we knew
not the details. In order not to be taken by surprise, I had sent
Bande Nere on to scout, with instructions to come back with a free
rein, the instant he had news of the party. Two days had passed since
he went, there was no sign of him, and I was beginning to feel a
little anxious.
"_Diavolo!_" I exclaimed, "I am getting sick of sitting like a vulture
on a rock here. I wish Monsignore Bozardo would hasten his steps."
The abbe looked up in a mild surprise, and St. Armande put in
gently--"The compulsory rest has done your wound good at any rate."
"I fancy, chevalier, I owe more thanks to your skilful doctoring than
to the rest. _Per Bacco!_ But I think I shall carry those claw marks
to my grave."
"What one carries to the grave does not matter," said the abbe, "it is
what one carries beyond the grave that the signor' cavaliere should
think of."
"True, reverend sir, I trust I may ever remember that," and rising, I
put my hand on St. Armande's shoulder, "come, chevalier, I go to take
a turn outside, will you join me?"
He rose with pleasure on his face. On our way out we passed through
the great hall, and listened for a moment to Jacopo, who in a tuneful
voice was singing a Tuscan love song. So absorbed was he and his
audience, that they did not observe us, nor did our footfalls attract
any attention as we passed out into the open air.
The moon was still young enough for all the stars to be visible, and
leaning over the ruined battlements we looked out into the night. Far
below us we heard the river, murmuring onwards towards the sea, behind
us the castle stood grim and silent, a red light showing from the
windows of the hall, through which we could catch the lilting chorus
to Jacopo's song.
For a time neither of us spoke, and then to make some conversation I
turned to my companion.
"Who is that abbe, chevalier, who accompanies you everywhere? Not a
tutor surely?"
"In a way--yes," he answered, "he was born and brought up on our
estates, and is a faithful servant of our house--you must know," he
went on, "that in Picardy, the name of St. Armande is honoured as that
of the king. I would trust Carillon with more than my life; my honour,
if need be; for he and his fathers have served us more faithfully I
fear than we have served France."
"Not more faithfully than you mean to though--eh, St. Armande?"
"If I live," was the reply, as he made a slight gesture, a movement of
the head that brought back to me the shadowy memory I was always
trying to grasp.
"Live--why of course you will live," I answered.
"I shall not see the sun set to-morrow."
I looked at him blankly for a moment. Moon and stars were sufficient
to light his face, so that I could see the sad, far-away eyes, eyes
more fit for a saint than a soldier.
"_Animo!_ Do not talk like that. It is nonsense," but I felt a
foreboding myself that I could not account for, and it chilled me.
"It is not nonsense," he said in his dreamy voice, and then, as if
rousing suddenly, "Cavaliere--di Savelli--I want you to promise me one
thing. Do not hesitate; but promise. It is about myself I ask--will
you?" and he held me by the arm with his slight fingers that I felt
were shaking. To soothe him I answered gravely, "I promise."
"I know that I will not live beyond to-morrow. When I die, bury me as
I am--here--here in this ruin--and--and you will not forget me, will
you?"
As he said this his voice took a cadence, his face took an expression
that suddenly brought back a hundred old memories, no longer vague and
misty, but clear and distinct. In a moment the scales fell from my
eyes, and I saw. I seemed to be once more hawking on the banks of the
Chiana with madame, I was once more in the aisles of the church at
Arezzo, treading down temptation, and bidding farewell to a woman who
was trying to be strong.
"God in heaven!" I gasped to myself as I leaned back against the
parapet, and drew my hand across my forehead, as if to wake myself
from a dream. St. Armande did not notice my exclamation, he did not
even observe my movement. His own excitement carried him away.
"Promise," he said, and shook my arm in his earnest entreaty.
"As there is a God above me I promise."
"I believe you," he said simply, "and now I am going in."
I made no offer to bear him company, and his slight figure drifted
into the moonlight. I saw it clearly again, making a dark bar against
the red glare in the open door of the hall, and then vanished from
view. I was utterly thunderstruck by the discovery I had made. A
hundred actions, a hundred tricks of gesture, of speech, of manner,