The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
shall--I can dispense with them and deal with Della Scala as I list."
He turned from the window to Giannotto, and his face had lost its lines.
"Well?" he asked. "What think you?"
"This is a master-stroke of temptation, my lord. You have always found
craft a good servant."
"It would not serve me well in thee," said Visconti with a sudden
glance. "Now, see to it that parchment is dispatched, Giannotto, and by
a trusty messenger, and with no delay."
"I will give it to Ricardo with my own hands, my lord," said Giannotto.
"He is the best man we have since Filippo was wounded this morning in a
skirmish by the western gate."
"The western gate?" Visconti looked up quickly.
"It was not worth while bringing to your notice, my lord. A band of the
enemy's soldiers have been skirmishing there."
"They were beaten off without harm to anyone within the gates?"
"The gates were not forced, nor anyone injured--or I should have
acquainted you, my lord," and he waited for possibly some mark of
appreciation; but the Duke motioned curtly to the roll he held, and
Giannotto crept out with bowed shoulders. As the tapestry fell into
place behind him, Visconti approached the black bureau between the
windows, and unlocked one of the long drawers.
In its dusky recess lay a gold box, and Visconti took it out, handling
it carefully.
The light fell in a straight shaft from the narrow window, on the
delicate chasing of the casket, as Visconti placed it on the table, and
as he turned the key and the lid flew back, it gleamed on the emeralds
and diamonds of an elaborate coronet, exquisitely enameled and pointed.
Every inch was covered with precious stones: each point tapering into a
delicate tracery of gold, as fine as lace.
Visconti drew a chair to the table, and leaned back in it, his eyes upon
the jewels; so absorbed was he, he did not heed the opening door nor
Tisio's entrance.
And Tisio scarcely saw his brother, for joy at the little coronet, so
brilliant in the sun's straight ray.
"How dost thou come here, Tisio?" asked his brother, startled; but at
sight of Tisio's vacant, foolish face, he sank back, and noticing his
joy, he smiled--for Tisio was crazed, and remembered nothing of even the
things that gave him pleasure. "Dost thou like it?" he continued,
gratified at the delight in his brother's eyes. "Thy taste in
goldsmiths' work is good, Tisio."
"'Tis beautiful, Gian, wondrous beautiful!" cried Tisio in rapt
admiration.
"I bought it with the price of half a city," said Gian. "And hold it
cheap."
The words had no meaning for Tisio, as his brother knew: he only voiced
his own pride in the lovely bauble.
"And wilt thou wear it?" asked Tisio.
The Duke laughed good-humoredly.
"Not I, Tisio; still soon--when Della Scala's crushed--thou shalt see it
worn by some one--some one whose face will outshine these stones,
Tisio."
"Whose will it be?" asked his brother childishly.
"A lady, Tisio; and when this coronet is on her head, she will be
Visconti's wife and the Duchess of Milan!"
He paused on the word, and looked at Tisio; but there was no wonder in
his brother's eyes, his gaze held by the flashing stones.
"Now, by Saint Mark!" cried Visconti suddenly. "This is no time to be
maundering with a toy and an idiot."
He put the little coronet back and locked the casket.
"How comest thou to be alone, Tisio? Where is thy page?"
As he spoke he returned the casket to the bureau. Tisio, in eager
curiosity, looked over his shoulders into the open drawer. There lay the
turquoise-colored gloves.
"Oh!" cried Tisio joyously. "The beautiful, beautiful gloves!"
And before Gian could stop him, he had caught them up.
Visconti snatched them from him; at the same moment came a clamoring
upon the door. It was Giannotto knocking lustily.
"Now, who beats down the door?" cried the Duke, and waiting for no
further summons, Giannotto entered. The Duke, starting, thrust the
turquoise gloves into his doublet.
"What is it now, Giannotto? Did I not say that I was coming?"
"My lord, it presses. De Lana would see you--there has been fierce
fighting outside the walls--the army clamors for you----"
"Lead the way," said Visconti shortly; and, preceded by his secretary,
he returned hastily toward his council chamber.
The anteroom, brilliant in pink stone and gold, the great hall itself,
flaring in painted walls and dazzling stained-glass windows, were full
of people--courtiers, soldiers, artists, and craftsmen.
Gian Visconti kept neither the open court nor the free table of his
father; he was neither lavish in his hospitality, save when it suited
his own ends, nor liberal in his rewards; still he loved, encouraged,
and jealously exacted the homage of all artists. Woe be to the painter
or poet who took his painting or poetry to any other in Milan save the
Duke himself!
There were many there to-day, eager-eyed among the throng, among them
the German architect of the glorious new church; but to-day Visconti
passed unheeding through them. The city was at war.
He stepped into the council chamber unannounced, followed solely by
Giannotto.
The great gilt ornate room was full of Milanese and foreigners, allies
or guests of Visconti.
"You look grave, my lords," cried Visconti, his gray eyes wide, "and
fearful. I had not thought you of so poor a courage. Yet, since you are
so faint of heart, I come to tell you from my own lips that I ride
against Verona to-day! Have you forgotten, my lords, that a Visconti
still rules Milan?"
There was no answer from the splendid throng; they had complained much
of late--but not to his face.
"Have you no thanks for so much comfort?" laughed Visconti. "Let all
those who may care to follow make them ready, and let those who care
not--stay to make us welcome from a victory. Come, De Lana."
He turned away with his hand on his favorite captain's arm.
To a man the crowded assembly flocked to follow.
"Ah!" Visconti turned again.
"A crushed foe is scarcely to be feared! Have I not set my standard in
the market-place of Verona? Have I not dragged a hostage from Della
Scala's palace? Lords of Milan, am I not Visconti?"
With one voice they broke into loud shouts.
"To the city walls! to the city walls! Down with Della Scala! To the
city walls!"
And while the cry still sounded, before the enthusiasm could abate,
Visconti, armed and mounted, rode at the head of some thousand
mercenaries and Milanese, to the farthest rampart of the city.
D'Orleans had not volunteered. The French duke remained in the
well-guarded palace, of which the Lady Valentine was left the governor
during the Duke's absence, an office she had often filled before
quarrels had sprung up between her and her brother, and while he held
Milan against his father and she was his counselor and ally.
For a few brief hours, power again was hers, for Visconti had not
weakened her authority yet--outwardly at least. She could do nothing.
She thought of her helplessness with bitterness. All day long she set
herself to revolving schemes of escape--some way whereby to avail
herself of the confusion into which Milan had been thrown--some means to
outwit her brother.
She could not rest for her anxious thoughts. The Visconti palace was
near the walls, and Valentine, stepping onto the open balcony, looked
through the clustered pillars over the flat house-roofs to the distant
country where the advancing army lay.
The air was heavy. From the streets came the sound of tumult, noise, and
hurry: the walls were manned.
"There is to be some fighting," murmured Valentine.
She shaded her eyes from the sun that, beating on the red brickwork of
the palace, gave back a blinding glare.
"Oh, may God grant that victory may fall," she murmured, "where Count
Conrad draws his sword!"
It was evening before Visconti returned, weary from his survey of his
men, victorious after a fierce skirmish with some of Verona's
mercenaries, led by Mastino's trusted Captain Roccia.
The palace that till then had lain so quiet was suddenly a wild
confusion, a babel of noises, shouts, and trampling of horses.
Strange, flaring lights were thrown across the courtyard; the torches
flung ragged, straggling rays upon the sides of the palace, falling
grotesquely on the griffins that grinned either side the arched door,
falling across the long rows of straight windows, and, for a second, on
Valentine Visconti's pale face, looking eagerly below.
"Dogs of Veronese!" cried Visconti, turning his wild eyes toward the
prisoners. "They have cost us a wild hour!"
And he had been in the thick of it; his rich armor was dented, the
embroidered surtout torn to rags: Visconti's blood was up. In a fight,
even the Torriani could not say he lacked anything save prudence.
Without alighting, he took from his head his ponderous helmet with the
viper crest, and gave it to his page.
"We have given Roccia a taste of our quality!" he laughed, and pulled
his gauntlets off. "Where is De Lana?"
"I am here, lord," said Giannotto.
He stood at the Duke's saddle, looking around him in confusion.
"What news, Giannotto?" cried Visconti. "Thy pallid face seems too ready
to welcome me. Let me dismount."
"Hear me first," entreated the secretary, "before you dismount--before
anything--lord!"
"Quick with thy news then--stand back, De Lana, I must hear this rogue."
Giannotto drew closer.
"My lord, at noon to-day, Rinalta, the Tuscan captain, rode in. While
Roccia was engaging you, some mercenaries forced one of the gates, and
before they could be driven back, a house was broken into, some
prisoners made----"
The Duke fixed his widening eyes upon the speaker, and Giannotto shrank.
"What gate?" he asked. "What house? What prisoners?"
"The western gate, lord, and Agnolo Vistarnini's house!"
With a sound of fury Visconti struck at his secretary violently, with
the ends of his bridle.
"And I was not told before!"
"It was held too small a fray, lord," said the secretary. "Could I tell
my Lady Valentine one gate was more to you than another? I besought her
to send to you--I besought them all--could I tell them why?"
Even as he spoke De Lana rode up resolutely.
"More men are needed at the western gate," he said; "the Germans have
returned. I will lead them."
"No!" cried Visconti; "I, De Lana."
The soldier looked surprised.
"You, lord? There is no need----"
"It is my will," Visconti answered fiercely. "At once, to the western
gate!"
At his cry the soldiers flung themselves again into the saddle, and
those who still sat their horses gathered up their reins.
"Your helmet, lord," cried the startled squire; but Visconti swept him
aside and rushed bareheaded forward, De Lana and his troop of horsemen
after him in a wild riot of sound and light.
Giannotto stood bewildered in the doorway; nothing left of the wild
tumult that had filled the spaces save echoing shouts and tramping
hoofs.
"Visconti is mad," he thought. "He has ridden off almost unarmed! Now--I
wonder what may happen before he return from the western gate--the night
is dark and--dangerous."
And with a thoughtful glance up at the cloudy sky, Giannotto slowly
withdrew.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A PRISONER FROM MILAN
Mastino Della Scala was proving himself. He had come to within fifteen
miles of Milan.
Verona was his again; that was in itself enough to justify his allies'
confidence.
Of them Julia Gonzaga's force and Ippolito d'Este's army lay at Brescia,
ready at any moment to advance.
Della Scala's position lay nearer Milan, and by far the larger half of
his support was Carrara, Duke of Padua's contingent, led by the Duke in
person.
Between the two forces, a quarter of a mile outside Della Scala's camp,