The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
with pearl and gold, and tasseled at the points with rubies. On the back
was a rich design also in pearl and gold, and they were lined with white
satin, covered in fine silk lace.
Truly they were a work of art. Visconti raised them delicately by the
tassels and looked long at their rich blue, admiringly, and with a
curious expression.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MASTINO DELLA SCALA
In the council chamber of the Estes' summer palace at Ferrara were
gathered the heads of the reigning families of Lombardy.
At a long table, set across one end of the apartment, two men were
seated talking to one another in low voices. They were Ippolito d'Este
and Giacomo Carrara, Duke of Padua. D'Este, a stern, gray-haired man of
fifty or so, with keen eyes and a hard mouth, was talking rapidly,
tapping the while his fingers nervously upon the table.
Carrara, florid, pleasant-mannered, with brilliant black eyes, black
hair, and a ready smile, leaned forward and listened, observing him
keenly. Opposite them, but the length of the table away, a lady with
tired eyes and a patient mouth leaned back in her chair, motionless,
watching the trees seen through the window.
She was Julia Gonzaga, the representative in this gathering in the name
of her infant nephew, of the city of Mantua and its domains, the head of
the fourth and last great family of Lombardy who dared to raise a hand
against the encroachments and the power of Visconti.
But if at this end of the chamber the only sound was low converse, all
subdued and quiet, at the farther end gay voices and bursts of laughter
broke the stillness.
For seated in the broad window-seat, toying with a sprig of myrtle, was
Count Conrad, brilliant and light-hearted, clad in the last extreme of
fashion, resplendent in primrose velvet and mauve silk, with long
scalloped sleeves that swept the ground.
Around his waist was a gold belt suspending, by a jeweled chain, an
orange stuck with cloves and enclosed in a case of silver filigree.
Count Conrad also wore ear-rings, pearl drops that shimmered through his
blond curls, and on each wrist a bracelet; yet even this effeminacy
could not altogether destroy a certain manliness that was the Count's,
spite of an almost seeming wish to disallow it.
Beside him, half-leaning through the window, was a youth of twenty, of
that brilliant beauty too bright to last.
He too was dressed more like an idle courtier of the Valois court than a
fighting noble of the free cities, and the rare charm of his face was
marred by the spoiled affectation of his manner.
"Another war!" laughed Conrad. "I have done naught but fight since I
left Germany. I am on the sick list."
"Not when the war is of thine own seeking," said Vincenzo. "Because thou
needs must fall in love with the Visconti's sister--as if there were not
others as fair and far safer to woo!"
Conrad crossed his legs and glanced critically at the taper points of
his gold shoes.
"'Tis not my wooing of Visconti's sister has caused war," he replied.
"Thy brother-in-law----"
"I beseech thee," cried Vincenzo petulantly, "leave me some little rest
from mention of his name and wrongs! Ever since you rode into Ferrara
some six days ago, there has been naught else talked of but Mastino,
Mastino's wrongs, what we must do for Mastino--till I fair weary at the
name!"
"You would not risk your all to glut his vengeance?" remarked the
Count. "None the less his wife is your sister, and a d'Este."
"No need for the heroics he makes over her, even so. Visconti will not
hurt her, yet we must be hurried into war for it, forsooth!"
"I owe Della Scala my life," returned Conrad airily. "I should be the
last to speak; still, my wrongs are as many and as deep. I love the Lady
Valentine. _I_ have lost my land and my jewels, my house and servants,
yet I am quite ready to settle in some other part of Italy--and forget
Visconti. _I_ do not go about trying to entice other people into _my_
quarrels."
He sniffed at his orange as he spoke, and breaking off the end of the
myrtle, stuck it in his belt.
Vincenzo's beautiful eyes flashed. "Art thou a poltroon then?" he cried
scornfully. "Loved I a lady and she were kept from me, I would not rest
while a stone of the palace that held her remained one on the other."
Conrad raised his eyebrows, startled at the sudden change of front.
"Then you should understand Mastino," he said.
"I hate Mastino. He is wearisome," cried Vincenzo, pettishly. "Still, I
do not love a laggard."
Conrad's reply was checked. Ippolito d'Este had arisen and was calling
them to join him. Reluctantly they rose, Vincenzo with a yawn of
distaste, and approached the table.
Ippolito frowned at Vincenzo's face.
"You would spend all your time in idleness, it seems," he said. "Have
you no interest then in our decision as to the aid Della Scala asks?"
Vincenzo dropped into his seat, seemingly rebuked. "Aid, my father?" he
said. "I knew not it was aid Della Scala asked, methought 'twas all!"
"My proposal is an army," said Giacomo smoothly. "A small army. Let us
see what success Della Scala has with a small army. Our all _is_ much to
ask."
"What say you to that?" asked Ippolito of his son.
"With all my heart," returned Vincenzo. "An army small or large, so long
as it rids us of his gloomy face about court."
"Thou art an insolent boy," interrupted his father sternly. "At thy
sister's wedding thou wert proud that Mastino della Scala stooped to pat
thee on the head. The Duke of Verona was once as much greater than are
we, Vincenzo, than we are higher than a footman. It goes not with
nobility nor with honor to slight the fallen."
Vincenzo blushed under his father's rebuke and sat silent. But Giacomo,
always ready to smooth things over, turned to the Duchess of Mantua.
"And you," he said. "You, lady, what think you of trusting Della Scala
with an army?"
Julia Gonzaga smiled a little wearily.
"Where is he, to speak for himself?" she asked.
"We are waiting for him," Ippolito replied. "He said he would be with
us. He is late," he added testily.
"Doubtless the hour has escaped him," put in Giacomo pleasantly. "The
Duke of Verona will not fail us."
"He will disappoint us--if he turns up," said Vincenzo under his breath.
But Conrad caught the whisper and choked with a suppressed laugh--not
that the remark was funny, but that Count Schulembourg was foolish.
Ippolito's stern eyes were turned on him.
"Is this a council of war?" he asked, "or a gathering of----"
"A council of war," interposed Conrad hastily, with his most winning
smile.
But D'Este looked on him with mistrust; he had no love for the
light-hearted German.
Still Mastino came not, and Giacomo moved with a great show of patience
and forbearance.
"'Tis scarcely the way to treat with us," he said.
"'Tis treatment good enough for those who bear it," breathed Vincenzo,
and Conrad sniffed his orange. Ippolito's brow grew dark; he struck a
gong beside him, and a page appeared.
"Tell my lord of Verona we wait for him." He turned to the others. "'Tis
agreed," he said quickly, "that we furnish Della Scala with a small
army--to be contributed between us."
Carrara moved in silent assent; in Julia Gonzaga's face a faint scorn
showed.
A silence fell, broken only by the tapping of d'Este's fingers on the
polished table.
Then at the farther end of the chamber two pages drew apart the scarlet
curtains and Mastino della Scala entered. Conrad, glancing up, wondered
how even for a moment he could have mistaken him for aught but what he
was, so noble and stately was his bearing.
Conrad and the d'Estes moved at his entrance, but slightly, and kept
their eyes upon him as he walked to the head of the table and there took
his place.
Though by far the plainest in attire, his simple leather doublet in
marked contrast with Conrad's display and Vincenzo's fashion, he took
the head of the council, naturally and unquestioned. So much of the
glory of his former greatness still remained to him.
"And are your councils ended?" he asked. "I would hasten you, my lords.
Still further delay, and Visconti will be first in the field."
He paused, and took his seat in the large black chair, looking keenly at
their faces.
For a moment no one answered, then Giacomo leaned forward with a
deprecating smile.
"My lord of Verona," he said smoothly, "you ask us to venture
everything--and give us five days in which to decide--surely you are not
surprised our answer is not quite ready?"
Mastino della Scala bit his lip to keep back an angry reply.
"Five hours were enough in such a case as this, my lord," he said
quietly.
Now d'Este spoke hastily. "We have come to a resolution, Mastino--one in
which we all agree," and he looked questioningly around upon the others.
No one answered, and, taking silence for consent, Ippolito continued:
"We will aid thee, Mastino, I and Carrara, and the Duchess of
Mantua----"
He paused a little nervously, and Giacomo kept his bright black eyes on
Mastino's face.
"My lord of Ferrara says rightly," he put in smoothly. "I will second
him."
The note of condescension in the Duke of Padua's voice stung Della Scala
sharply; it was only with an effort he controlled himself.
"With what will you aid me?" he asked calmly.
Still d'Este hesitated, for his proposal was mean even in his own eyes,
but Giacomo answered for him in even tones: "We will aid you with an
army of ten thousand men, Lord della Scala, to be recruited from Padua,
Mantua, and Ferrara; well armed and----"
But Della Scala had risen.
"Spare thyself a catalogue of their virtue, my lord of Padua," he said.
"For I refuse thy offer--one well worthy of a Carrara!"
Giacomo paled with anger; his merchant descent was a sore point, and
Mastino's words struck home.
"Refuse!" exclaimed Ippolito. "Ten thousand men!" Della Scala glanced
at him with scorn.
"Ten thousand men!" he echoed. "Yes, I refuse ten thousand men. I
thought thou once loved me, d'Este, and wert too much of a soldier to
dishonor me by such a proposal."
"We can make it more--" began Ippolito.
"Dost thou not think I can see through this?" interrupted Mastino
bitterly. "This offer is but given to get rid of me--a safer way of
dismissing me from the court that once cringed to entertain me than a
plain refusal. Ten thousand men! I thought better of thee, d'Este."
"Then fifty thousand," replied Ippolito, stung by the reproach.
"A royal number," put in Conrad, but Della Scala turned on them in fury.
"No!" he cried. "Not fifty nor a hundred thousand men, to make sport for
Visconti's leisure hours--Visconti who holds nine towns of mine alone,
Visconti who is leagued with France and has the Empire at his heels,
Visconti who has gained Bergamo, Lodi, and Bologna and has half the
mercenaries of Italy in his pay! No, d'Este, I have been too great for
that. Since you so forget what I have been, and who my wife is--I will
leave thee, nor trouble thy peace for men thou canst not give
ungrudgingly. And thou, Carrara, I will leave thee--in thy blind folly,
to wait for Visconti's eye to fall on thee; all thy prudence will not
save thee then. Meanwhile, I will try in the towns of Tuscany if there
be men left in Italy to face a tyrant!"
They sat silent beneath his wrath, and he turned to go, but paused and
looked back to them with a glance they could not meet.
"Only hear this before I go," he said passionately; "there is one thing
thy faint-heartedness shall not touch, one thing I will achieve without
thy aid, though thy meanness leaves me, and that is, at any cost, the
freedom"--his voice trembled--"of Isotta, my wife. I will free her," he
continued sternly. "Before you all I mean it; she shall be saved, even
if mine honor goes to do it."