The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
Carrying the half-opened packet and the parchment, Visconti re-entered
his private room. It was dark and silent; no sound from within or
without broke its deserted gloom.
He was alone, nor was he like to be disturbed. Seating himself, not
without a furtive glance over his shoulder, he looked at the writing
again, the writing and the seal, then opened the packet.
A roll of parchment, close writ, strangely stained in places a reddish
brown, fell with a rattle on the floor. Visconti started back, he stared
at it, uttered a hoarse sound, stooped and picked it up. The parchment
was inscribed with poetry. Here and there among the stains a line was
readable.
"Perchance thou wouldst not dare to turn----"
His glance caught the words. He looked around with wild eyes.
A huge, black bureau, fitted with many drawers, stood in one corner of
the room. Visconti, the parchment in his shaking fingers, went to it,
still with glances around, and drew out drawer after drawer, till he had
found the thing he sought. It was among neat piles of parchments,
annotated in Giannotto's clear, good hand.
Visconti turned them over hastily, till he came upon a document hung
with the seals of Verona, a cartel of defiance, neatly endorsed in a
clerkly hand, and signed in large, bold writing, "Mastino della Scala."
Eagerly he turned to the cover of the packet, and laid the two writings
side by side. They were the same.
Visconti leaned against the black chest, breathing heavily, his face not
good to look on in its white devilry.
"He lives! Della Scala lives!" he cried, and struck at himself in his
rage. Then his gaze came back to the blood-stained parchment crumpled in
his hand.
"And this--? and this--where got he this? The parchment that I read from
on the road that day; the parchment that I thought was left at Brescia,
in that----"
The words died away on his lips. In a sudden paroxysm of something more
than fury, Visconti drove it down among the others within the drawer,
and locked and double-locked it in.
The day was fading; in that dull chamber the light fled early and
entered late. Visconti glanced again stealthily at the dark arras, faint
in the dusk. He strained his ears listening; the air was full of voices,
far away, pleading, for the most part, yet some so near and threatening,
Visconti held his ears. They died away as they had come, but to Visconti
the silence was more terrible.
"Giannotto!" he called. "Lights! It grows dark----"
He listened; he heard those sighs again, then suddenly the sound of
flying feet, hurrying, hurrying; with a scream of horror Visconti rushed
up the steps, calling wildly for lights.
The huge door swung open at his desperate push, then, falling to behind
him, shook the tapestry; as it fell into place again a long sighing
filled the empty room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOR A LADY'S GIFT
Tomaso Ligozzi sat in a corner of the ruined hut, with enthralled face,
listening to Count Conrad, who lounged against the wooden table
opposite. It was five days since Conrad's rescue. He had made a recovery
the more rapid that no leech had been there to meddle with him. Left to
the simplest nursing, the barest needful nourishment, and the vigor of
his own constitution, Conrad had rallied, till now, in almost full
health, no trace was left of the hollow-faced, emaciated figure
Francisco had carried into safety.
The morning after the rescue, it was decided that the hut was no longer
a safe shelter; and, carefully destroying all traces of their
habitation, the three, under Francisco's leadership, helping Conrad
between them, betook themselves to a thicket near. There, in his
solitary prowlings to and fro, Francisco had discovered a deep cave
underneath a sand-bank, the entrance well overgrown with boughs and
bushes. Here, not without discomfort, they hid till Conrad should be fit
to travel, and comforted themselves for the wretched exchange when they
heard the shouts of Alberic's men.
Francisco was disappointed in his new ally. Count Conrad showed a
levity, a forgetfulness of injury, that chimed badly with his own deep
purposes. Tomaso was his chief reliance; his plan was to secure horses,
by fair means or foul, and, as soon as Conrad could sit the saddle, to
depart for Ferrara. So far Francisco's stealthy and cautious maneuvers
to possess himself of what he needed had been unsuccessful; but at last
he had come upon the track of something possible, and to-day, with
Vittore to help him, he had departed to bring back with him the horses
for their flight.
Twice between dawn and noon had Alberic's men scoured their
neighborhood. Two, indeed, had come so near the hiding-place that their
talk was plain. They spoke of the parchment found the day before and of
the Visconti's fury.
It seemed fairly sure that for many hours at least the soldiery would
not return, as they could scarce confine their search to the one spot
only; so, before Francisco's departure, 'twas arranged between him and
Tomaso that their rendezvous at sundown should be the ruined hut where
they had first had shelter, there being no means of horsemen treading
the thick brushwood around the sand-cave, and the hut affording
opportunities of space and movement.
After a weary day and the second visit of the search party, which
alarmed them as to the heat of Visconti's pursuit, but reassured them
also as to returning to the hut, Tomaso and Conrad reached it an hour
before sundown and prepared to wait.
At first keenly anxious, straining for every sound, as time went on,
unconsciously they grew more at ease, and Conrad beguiled Tomaso with
his talk.
At last, with a sudden sigh, Conrad broke off, and lapsed into silence.
Tomaso sat alert, looking through the open door.
"Francisco is long," said Conrad after a while.
He was dressed in the leather doublet of a peasant, coarse and plain,
yet very different from the rough attire Francisco wore. He was very
handsome, of a sunny, pleasant expression, a quality rarely found among
the Italians of Lombardy; and to-day, although prepared for flight, his
blond curls were as carefully arranged as though he still shone at the
court of Milan.
"Messer Francisco is long," he remarked again, and Tomaso turned with a
start.
"He has doubtless met with unexpected difficulty, lord," he said with
some reproach. "Horses must be found--somewhere--for our journey
to-night. Every hour we stay here is dangerous."
"My heart misgives me that I did not accompany him," said Conrad; "we
should all four have kept together."
"Doubtless too many would have hampered him," was the reply.
Tomaso did not add, as he might have done, that Francisco had his doubts
of Conrad's discretion, and had left Tomaso charged to see he committed
no rashness in his absence.
"Thinkest thou he will get the horses?" continued the Count, twirling
his curls through his fingers. "Let us hope he will try naught so mad as
that attempt on the walls of Milan we made two days ago! The saints
preserve us! but I thought it was all over with us! That was a fine
race--tearing through the dark with Visconti's soldiers at our heels!"
Tomaso was hurt at the flippant tone that reflected on Francisco's
judgment.
"It was a gallant attempt," he said, "and all but succeeded; once within
the town, we might have done much."
"And so might Visconti," remarked Conrad airily. "Thou art young,
Tomaso, or thou wouldst see how worse than useless was such a mad
escapade."
"Something had to be done," returned Tomaso, "this inaction was
maddening Messer Francisco."
Conrad smiled and changed the subject.
"Who _is_ this Francisco, thinkest thou?" he asked. "For a mere servitor
at Della Scala's court, he bears a mighty hatred to Visconti."
"He served the Prince, and lost his master and his all in the sack of
Verona. It is not strange he should wish to revenge Della Scala's wrongs
and his own."
"I think him of better birth and station than he claims," said the Count
judicially. "He has the bearing of one gently born."
"I take him for what he calls himself," the boy replied. "I owe him my
life. I would die to serve him, nor would I question him."
"But would remind me that I owe him something too?" laughed Conrad.
"When the time comes to show it, I shall not prove ungrateful."
He seated himself on the table, and idly swinging his legs, looked
around the hut with lazy distaste and seemed to think of dozing.
"Remember we travel to-night, my lord," said Tomaso, annoyed at such
indifference.
"If our good friend gets the horses."
"There is no 'if,' unless we wish to perish," flashed Tomaso. "If
Francisco gets no horses, we must from here on foot."
"I do not oppose it. Rather than be taken into Milan, I will travel on
foot in any other direction till I drop," laughed the Count.
"Thou takest it lightly, my lord," said Tomaso, "thou dost not seem as
eager for revenge as thou wert. Think of the death Visconti doomed thee
to. Thou hast great wrongs to right--wilt thou not return to Milan to
avenge them? Or wilt thou ride away and forget?"
The laugh faded from Count Conrad's face, and his eyes flashed.
"No, Tomaso, I shall not forget," he said; "too well do I recall that
night when I crept down the palace steps with my Lady Valentine.
Visconti met us; parted us; ah, when I think of her face!--she was
forced back to the horror of her life again: I, carried off to die of
slow starvation in my own villa. Yes, yes; if his wrongs are like mine,
Francisco did well the other night when we dashed on Milan; such wrongs
put madness into one. Think of it, Tomaso; bound, gagged, half-crazed at
the misfortune, I was hurried hither, secretly, at night, to be left to
a dog's death in my own villa. Death was what I expected, but I nerved
myself to meet it as a noble should. There is a long low room in yonder
villa, with narrow windows I could scarce get my hand through--all of
stone, and meant for cool in summer heat; into this I was forced,
unbound, left with mock ceremony, and the door locked upon me. Ah! the
sound of that key, Tomaso; they seemed to turn it in my heart, for I
guessed its meaning. I had heard too often of Visconti letting his
prisoners die of hunger, and, as I listened to the soldiers' footsteps
fading in the distance, the cold horror of the truth seized my heart. At
first it seemed impossible that I could starve in my own dwelling. I
mocked my fears; I could force, I could break the window! I laugh now at
my own absurdities. I could do neither, I could do nothing! Terrible
hours followed, Tomaso, terrible hours and terrible days. Still I would
not own the truth, and still, as no one came, I knew it to be true! I
thought of the Lady Valentine, and wondered what her fate might be. I
thought of Germany, and wept to think I should never see it more! Then
one evening, as I lay, I think, half-senseless, I heard the key turn in
the lock, and Visconti entered, followed by Giannotto; two white hounds
slunk at his heels: well I remember. Dear Lord! I was fallen so low in
my misery, I fell at his feet and begged for mercy, for pity, or speedy
death! And he--smiled on me, and bade Giannotto bring food!
"I cursed myself for my weakness, but could have kissed his feet. Then
what happened I hardly know. As in a dream I saw Giannotto lay a
tempting feast; a banquet for one or two, such as I and Visconti had
often shared together! I blessed him with uplifted hands! When all was
set, he turned to me, still smiling.
"'Thou askedst for food,' he said; 'I would not refuse thy last request,
Count Conrad.'
"And he flung one of the hounds a piece of meat: it ate and died!
Without a word they turned and left me, the feast still spread, the dead