The Honour of Savelli: A Romance
of blood, and as I did so her eyes opened, but the film of death was
on them.
"Di Savelli--Ugo--," and she was gone.
Gone like a flash, flung swiftly and fast into eternity, struck down,
perhaps unwittingly, by the arm which should have been a shield to
her. I have often wondered if D'Entrangues ever knew who fell to his
pistol shot. If he did, God pity him! In the one glimpse I caught of
his white face, as he swung round and rode off, I thought I saw a look
of horror. But everything went so quickly, that then I had no time to
think, and now I can recall but the end.
To her dead lips Carillon pressed his crucifix, into her dead ears he
mumbled prayers. I knelt tearless, and prayerless, beside him,
thinking only of the great love that had laid down a life.
One by one my men stole up, and stood in a half circle, leaning on the
cross-handles of their swords, over which the grim, bearded faces
looked down on us in pity.
Suddenly Carillon raised his crucifix aloft.
"My Father," he cried, "receive her soul!"
And someone said softly,
"Amen!"
CHAPTER XXV.
THE VENGEANCE OF CORTE.
We buried our dead; and madame slept beneath the ilex, in the
courtyard of the castle, below the north wall. Over her nameless grave
we raised a rude cross, and after it was done, Carillon bade me
farewell. He was going, he said, to bear the story to St. Armande, and
when he reached it, I wit there was sorrow in the Picard chateau,
whence madame took her name. It was with a heart of lead that I rode
into Sassoferrato, and there, as arranged, made over my prize to
Hawkwood. The tale of the ducats was complete, and the Englishman,
giving me my quittance, held out his hand, saying bluntly--
"I wronged you, Di Savelli; but I know now. We all know, for Bayard
has told us."
I hesitated. Many memories came to me, and there was bitter resentment
in my soul. They had all been too ready to believe. They had flung me
forth as a thing too vile to touch, and now--it was an easy matter to
hold out a hand, to say, "I am sorry," to think that a civil word
would heal a hideous wound. The kind world was going to forgive me,
because it had wronged me. Such as it was, however, it was the world,
and things had made me a little humble. After all, if the positions
were reversed; if I stood in Hawkwood's place, and he in mine, how
should I have acted? I would not like to say.
"Come," said Hawkwood, "let the past be covered. Come back--we want
you."
"As you will," and I took his grasp; "I will come back in a little
time. Till then adieu!"
"Good-bye!" and we parted.
Five minutes later, I was spurring to Rome, my following at my heels.
It was, in a manner, putting my neck on the block, for Bozardo was
probably making his way thither with all speed, and doubtless
D'Entrangues as well. Recognition was almost certain; but risk or no
risk, I was bound to see the cardinal, and tell him my task was done.
Little did I think, however, as Castor bore me, with his long, easy
gallop, across the oak forests of the Nera, that the face of affairs
in Rome had been changed in an hour, and that, had I so wished, I
might have, in safety, proclaimed what I had done from the very
house-tops. As we came nearer the city, it was evident that there was
some great commotion within, for, from every quarter pillars of dim
smoke rose up in spiral columns, and then spreading out like a fan
hung sullenly in the yellow of the sunset. It was clear that houses
were burning, and swords were out. We soon began to meet parties of
fugitives, hurrying from the city, and making across country in all
directions. They avoided us like the plague, and the mere glint of our
arms was sufficient to make them scatter to right and left, leaving
such property as they could not bear with them, to the tender mercies
of the road-side. Some of my men were eager to ride after the
runaways, and question them; but I forbade this, knowing we should
hear soon enough, and that if there were danger, it would be best to
hold together.
"_Per Bacco!_" and Jacopo, riding up beside me, pointed to a black
cloud, which slowly rose, and settled above the vineyards of the
Pincian Hill, "we had best go with a leaden boot, excellency. There is
a devil's carnival in Rome, or I am foresworn."
At this juncture, we turned an abrupt corner of the road, coming upon
a crowd of fugitives, who seemed to be running forwards, caring little
where they went, so that they put a distance between them and Rome.
Amongst the throng was a figure I recognised; and in a mean habit,
mounted on a mule, which was seized with an obstinate fit, and refused
to budge, although soundly thwacked, I saw the Cardinal of Strigonia.
Bidding Jacopo keep the men together, I rode up to him, and asked--
"Can I render your eminence any aid?"
His round eyes, starting out of his head like a runaway hare's,
glanced at me in fear, and the stick he bore dropped from his hand, no
doubt much to the satisfaction of the mule. At first he was unable to
speak, for my words seemed to fill the man with terror, and I had to
repeat the question, before he stammered out--
"You are mistaken, sir; I am no eminence, but a poor brother of Mount
Carmel, on my way to Foligno, out of this hell behind me," and he
glanced over his shoulder towards Rome.
"I see," I answered with a smile, "but if the poor brother of Mount
Carmel will look more closely at me, he will see a friend. In short,
your eminence, I am Di Savelli."
"_Corpo di Bacco!_ I mean our Lady be thanked. And so it is you,
cavaliere! Take my advice, and turn your horse's head to Foligno. On
beast!" and he kicked at the mule, which moved not an inch.
"I am for Rome, your eminence; but what has happened?"
"Oh, that I had a horse!" he groaned. "What has happened? Everything
has happened. Alexander is dead or dying. Cesare dead, they say, and
burning in Hades by this. Orsini and Colonna at the old game of hammer
and tongs----"
"And the Cardinal--D'Amboise?"
"Safe enough I believe, as the Orsini hold the Borgo, and have
declared for France."
"Trust me, your reverence, you will be safer in Rome than out of it.
The whole country will rise at the news, and the habit of Mount Carmel
will not save the Cardinal of Strigonia. Turn back with me, and I will
escort you to the Palazzo Corneto."
To make a short story, D'Este agreed after a little persuasion, and
the mule was kind enough to amble back very willingly to Rome. We
placed his eminence in the centre of our troops, and went onwards,
entering the city by the Porta Pinciana, riding along leisurely in the
direction of S. Trinita di Monti, and thence straight on towards the
Ripetta. It was a work of no little danger to make this last passage,
for everywhere bands of plunderers were engaged in gutting the houses,
many of which were in flames, and we continually came across dead
bodies, or passed houses from which we heard shrieks of agony. We
could help no one. It was all we could do to keep our own heads on our
shoulders; but by dint of shouting, "_A Colonna!_" with the Colonna,
and "_Orsini_! _Orsini!_" with their rivals, and sometimes hitting a
shrewd blow or two, we crossed the Ripetta, and in a few minutes were
safe in the Palazzo Corneto.
Here we were received by Le Clerc, who comforted the trembling
Strigonia, with the assurance that an excellent supper awaited him,
informing me, almost in the same breath, that D'Amboise was in the
Vatican. I lost no time in repairing thither, which I did on foot,
accompanied by Jacopo alone, and made my way without let or hindrance
to the Torre Borgia. Here everything was in the wildest confusion, and
the Spanish soldiers of the Pope were plundering right and left. I
stumbled across De Leyva, who, with a few men at his back, was trying
to maintain order. He gladly accepted the offer of my sword, and we
did what we could to prevent the wholesale robbery from going on. In a
brief interval of rest, I asked,
"Do you know where D'Amboise is?"
"In the Sistine Chapel, with half-a-dozen others; De Briconnet guards
the entrance."
"And Alexander?"
"Dead or dying--I do not even know where he is; Don Michele has seized
as much as he can, and carrying Cesare on a litter, has escaped to
Ostia."
"Then Cesare is not dead----"
"No. Cross of St. James! see that?" and he pointed to a reeling
drunken crowd, full with wine and plunder, who passed by us with
yells, into the great reception rooms.
Followed by the few men who remained steady, De Leyva dashed after
them, and with Jacopo at my heels, I made for the Sistine Chapel. I
reached the Scala Begia, and although I knew the Sistine Chapel was
but a few feet distant, yet, owing to the darkness that prevailed, I
missed the way, and Jacopo was of course unable to help me. Groping
onwards we came to a small door, and pushing it, found it to open
easily. It led into a narrow, vaulted passage, where the darkness was
as if a velvet curtain of black hung before us. "I like not the look
of this, excellency," said Jacopo, as we halted in front of the door.
"Keep a drawn sword," I answered, "and follow me."
We could only go in single file, and picked our way with the greatest
care, our feet ringing on the stone floor. Except for this, the
silence was intense, and we could hear no sound of the devilry
outside. The passage continued, until we almost began to think it had
no end, but at last the darkness gave way to a semi-gloom, and a faint
bar of light gleamed ahead of us. At this we increased our pace,
finding a sharp corner, a little beyond which rose a winding flight of
stairs, ending before a half-open door, through which the dim light
came. I put my foot on the first of the steps, and was about to
ascend, when we were startled by hearing a moan of mortal agony,
followed by a laugh, so wild and shrill, so exultant, and yet so full
of malice, that it chilled us to the bone. It pealed through the door,
and echoed down the passage behind us, until the horrid cadence became
fainter and fainter, finally dying away into the black darkness.
"God save us!" exclaimed Jacopo, "it is a fiend laughing its way to
hell."
He went on, with chattering teeth, to adjure me to go no further; but
crossing myself, I bade him be silent, and stepped forwards. Since
that moan of agony, and terrible laugh of triumph, there was no sound,
and I could almost hear my heart beating, as I reached the door.
Jacopo had nerved himself to follow me, and stood pale and trembling
at my shoulder, his sword quivering in his shaking hand. I was myself
not free from fear, for no man may combat with spirits, but after a
moment's hesitation, I looked cautiously in. I saw before me a room of
great size, dimly lighted by two tall candles, burning on each side of
a massive bedstead, on which lay a man bound, and writhing in the
throes of death. The light, though faint around the room, fell full on
the face of the man, and horribly as the features were changed,
distorted as they were, I saw they were those of Alexander, and
that he was in his last agony, alone and friendless in his splendid
palace. Yet not alone, there was another figure in the room. As I
looked, it stepped out of the gloom of the rich curtains at the
window, and standing over the bed, laughed again, that terrible laugh
of devilish joy. At the sound, the dying man moaned through his black,
foam-clothed lips, and Corte, for it was he, bent over the body and
mocked him.
"Roderigo Borgia, Vicar of Christ, hell yawns for you; but a few
moments, Borgia, but a few moments of life; think you, that you suffer
now? There is more coming--things I even cannot dream of." In the face
of Alexander came so awful a look of entreaty that I could bear it no