The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
a glimpse of two faces at the far end of the brilliant table.
Visconti's, laughing, triumphant, insolently handsome, and Valentine's,
set and white, with dangerous eyes.
The curtains fell to again, but Giannotto had a thought.
"Leave it to me, good friends," he said, and passed into the hall.
"The Lady Valentine shall give the news!" That was the secretary's
inspiration. "The Duke dare not touch her, and it will be a pleasure to
her that she may reward." And the crowd, gathering in the anteroom,
waited, bewildered and terrified, to hear the blow had fallen.
"They will stop their song and jest," said the man from Brescia, "let
the Duke once know--" The entry of another, panting and torn,
interrupted him.
"Heaven save Milan!" he gasped. "Verona has fallen!"
* * * * *
The shouts and clatter from the courtyard had penetrated faintly to the
banqueting hall, and Visconti paused a moment, listening.
Valentine listened too, and thought of Conrad.
But the noises died away, and Visconti turned to the Duke of Orleans
with a laugh.
"My soldiers revel in your honor," he said, "and we will drink my
sister's health, my lord."
Valentine's breast heaved. Who was he, to dare to sacrifice her to his
pride and greed? She would not suffer it. Was she not also a Visconti?
As in a dream she heard her health drunk; as in a dream she saw the Duke
of Orleans' foolish look turned toward her in vacant admiration; then
suddenly, with a start, she noticed Giannotto's crafty face. Valentine's
eyes blazed with sudden purpose. She looked down toward the entrance,
and saw, between the curtains, white faces peering and figures
half-thrust forward.
"The Duke of Orleans!" cried Visconti, and the guests again rose.
Valentine rose also, with inspired eyes and crimsoned cheeks.
"The Duke of Orleans!" she cried, lifting her glass, and at the first
words she had spoken they stood silent, in an uneasy expectation. "Will
the Duke of Orleans wait, Visconti, while I give a still nobler toast?"
Her voice rose triumphant. At her words, at the mad defiance of her
bearing, Visconti stood amazed.
"Here is to the one who has taken Brescia and Verona, even from thee,
Visconti; here is to the brave soldier who now marches on Milan--Mastino
della Scala!"
And she raised her glass high, and then turned and flung it at
Visconti's feet.
"The news is true," she said, "and now kill me for it."
And with a stifled cry Visconti's hand was on his dagger, but d'Orleans
flung himself upon him, and caught him by the wrists. Visconti glanced
at him, and at the startled company, not grasping what had happened, and
then the cry, begun no one knew where, went in a growing volume around
the hall.
"Verona has fallen!"
It circled around the table, it passed from lip to lip, from the
white-faced, surging crowd to the brilliant guests, and the company
broke into confusion, and looked into each other's eyes with terror.
"Verona has fallen!"
"A lie!" thundered Visconti. "A lie! my sister has gone mad. Who says
the word again shall die!"
"My lord," said Giannotto, "listen": and into the sudden hush within
came the wild hubbub of the panic-stricken city.
"Verona is fallen! Della Scala marches fast on Milan!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE TUMULT AT THE WESTERN GATE
Mastino Della Scala with his army lay at Serio, a hamlet boasting a
small eminence crowned with a strongly built but insignificant castle.
Some ten miles farther Brescia was held by Julia Gonzaga's army. Only a
few weeks had passed since Della Scala, falling first on Verona, and
taking it, had marched on Milan and almost snatched it from Visconti's
unsuspecting hold. But the alarm given at Valentine's wedding-feast had
come in time. With almost superhuman energy, in two hours' time Visconti
armed the walls and put the city in defense. To surprise a victory was
impossible. Still, the Duke of Verona's army was only some fifteen miles
from the walls, and day by day drew nearer.
Visconti, from the height of proud security, was suddenly, by one move,
placed in a position dangerous indeed. The towns and domains behind
Milan, from that city to Turin, were still his, as were Pavia and
Piacenza, but from Brescia to Verona, and from Modena to Lombardy, save
for a few scattered towns and forts held desperately by Visconti's men,
the whole was in the hands of Della Scala and his allies. Still Milan
was not in a state of siege: men and supplies hurried in from Novara,
Vercelli, and other towns in the Visconti's dominions, and powerful aid
was coming to the Duke of Milan's assistance from the Empire.
Yet in Visconti's eyes this aid, needful as it was, was dearly bought,
for Charles IV., though an ignoble ruler and laughed at by his subjects,
was of an honorable, open disposition, and related by marriage to the
Estes, and the one condition on which he was dispatching to Visconti's
service his soldiers stationed in Switzerland and on the borders, was
that Isotta d'Este should be untouched.
In the bitterness of his rage, Visconti wished he had already slain her;
now, in truth, he dare not. It was no question now of gratifying an
ambition, it was simple fear of losing his own throne, fear of being in
his turn reduced to what he had reduced Della Scala, that made him
respect the wishes of the Empire, and the feeling of the French who
thronged his court.
And the thought that he could not play the best card tyrant ever held,
was rendered doubly bitter by the fact that Della Scala knew him to be
helpless and Isotta safe.
Scheming in his crafty soul for means to outwit Mastino, Visconti
thought of Giacomo Carrara, who held Padua, Treviso, Cremona, Vicenza.
He was Della Scala's ally, but a man of no upright soul.
"Could I gain him," thought Visconti, in his musings, "I could stand
without the Empire, without France, and use my captive as I please and
not as they dictate."
To the Estes and Julia Gonzaga he gave no thought; well he knew they
were not likely to desert Mastino--but Carrara----
Meanwhile, he threw his whole strength against the opposing army,
keeping it at bay, gaining time--and planning.
But Mastino della Scala's object was not to lose time in idle
skirmishes. Brilliant success had fallen to his share, not one reverse
had marred his short campaign, and it is not the policy of the victor to
dally with time, rather to seize the chances each day offers, while yet
fortune smiles on him.
But well Della Scala knew that neither honor, nor pity, nor shame, but
fear alone, would restrain Gian Maria Visconti from venting his hatred
on Isotta d'Este.
Still, he kept up a stout heart. Visconti dare not! To make assurance
doubly sure, he used all his influence at the court of Rome to procure
the aid of the Church against the Duke of Milan.
Many a time had he rendered powerful help to the Pope, and, as his
present position stood, might do so yet again; and the result of his
appeal was a grave embassy from the Pope to Visconti, threatening him
with excommunication and the sword of the Church should he dare to touch
Isotta d'Este.
For the first, Visconti cared little; twice had the Church thrown him
out, and each time he had laughed at it and emerged triumphant; but now
his position was more perilous than it had ever been since he mounted
the throne of Milan, and he dare not treat this mandate of the Church as
he had done the others.
The Pope's temporal power too was great; were that once turned against
him, even with the Empire's aid he could hardly stand; so Visconti
answered them with fair words, pledging his honor for the Duchess of
Verona's life.
One bright summer morning, Visconti sat at the open window of his
palace, thinking.
At the other end of the room the Duke d'Orleans and Tisio were playing
at chess; between these two, during the Duke's enforced stay in Milan, a
friendship had sprung up, and Visconti, weary of his foolish guest, was
well pleased a foolish brother should take him off his hands.
The Frenchman was prepared at once to carry out the contract, marry
Valentine, and depart for France, but Visconti's pride would not permit.
The Duke d'Orleans had witnessed a reverse, he should behold a triumph.
Valentine should leave Italy as befitted his sister, not fly from it as
a fugitive; and the French prince, who in a few weeks had yielded to
Gian's subtle influence and learned both to fear and obey Visconti,
assented meekly to delay, and whiled away the time as best he might.
Visconti sat so motionless and silent that the chess-players were
forgetful of his presence, and their voices rose high.
"My move," said Tisio gleefully. "See, the rook take your knight."
"Your rook could take my knight," returned d'Orleans, "if it were your
move, but as it is mine----"
"You are not watching the game," was the angry rejoinder.
"Your pardon, _my_ move," said the Frenchman calmly, and, with a smile
on his vacant face, he swept up one of Tisio's men.
"My move--and--mate, M'sieu."
With a cry of childish rage, Tisio snatched at the board, spilling the
men onto the floor.
"I love not to play with you," he cried. "I would Count Conrad were
here, he was the one to play with."
D'Orleans laughed.
"Because he always let you win, M'sieu?" he said.
Tisio began to whimper with annoyance, calling loudly on Valentine.
Visconti, aroused, drew the curtains aside, and stepped forward.
D'Orleans was, at his appearance, a little flurried. It was impossible
for his weak brain to meet those eyes and not feel flurried.
"Tisio and I are fallen out again," he said feebly.
Visconti looked at him coldly.
"I would remind you, my lord, Tisio, though an infant, is my brother."
"Gian!" cried Tisio, suddenly noticing him. "Gian! it was my move!"
"Whether it was thy move or no, it does not please me thou shouldst be
annoyed--remember it, my Lord Duke"; and he turned into his inner room.
As he closed the door, his long brooding showed in his face. It was
lined and anxious. The position was a dizzy one: a perilous one: his
dark dress concealed the gleam of chain armor.
His enemies were many, and some powerful, and Visconti took no chances.
At his side hung a dagger, long and sharp, and his fingers were often on
the hilt in readiness. At his old place sat Giannotto.
"I have decided," said Visconti. "I will attempt Carrara."
"You think he is to be bought, my lord?"
"I think he is to be bought," responded Visconti. "At any rate we will
try. He and his force are with Della Scala?"
"And fifteen miles outside our walls," said Giannotto; then at the look
on the Duke's face, he was sorry he had spoken, and shrank together.
"Read what is on the parchment," said Visconti; and the secretary, glad
to have been let off so easily, unwrapt the roll.
Therein Visconti's bribe was plainly set forth:
The town of Cologna, near to Padua, and well fortified, the protection
and close alliance of Milan, and the service of ten thousand trained
mercenaries, together with the right to trade free of toll in Visconti's
dominions----
"And a pair of turquoise gloves," added Visconti, with a change of
tone.
Giannotto glanced up.
"Are they not worth three hundred ducats?" said Visconti, smiling. "Did
not the Pope and Emperor both wish to buy them, and fail?"
Giannotto bowed his head over again and studied the scrip in silence.
Visconti watched him keenly.
He thought, "I know he would betray me for a ducat!--if I were not
Visconti."
He turned to the narrow window, and looked out onto the city spreading
beneath him.
"The Empire," he muttered to himself. "The Empire and the French--I will
awe them and humor them while I must--but let me once gain Carrara--as I