The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
Visconti had chosen to beguile the summer heat. The doors of this suite
were locked; Gian Visconti himself had locked them, when he and his
father last came there together. This vault-like room was high and
ill-lit, and, in the blackness of the storm, pitch dark. Visconti sat
underneath one of the windows, whither he had dragged the wooden stool,
the sole furniture the place contained; his face was buried in his
hands, and he writhed in horror.
The wind howled and tore at the locked doors, making them creak and
groan; the thunder shook the building; and at every fresh convulsion
Visconti shrieked aloud in unison.
The lightning, flashing blue through the crevices, seemed to play about
that inner door, and he cowered from the sight, and bit at his fingers
in a fierce endeavor to resist the madness seizing him.
It was not so very long ago that he had turned the great key behind him
in that ponderous door, and ridden from the deed he had done, shouting
through the midnight. He thought then never to return, and here he was,
thrust in alone, and his madness on him. Visconti staggered from his
seat, groping blindly.
The blackness seemed to whirl with faces and clutching, tearing fingers;
he knew not where he was--he could see nothing--blackness and
space--seemingly unbounded.
Another flash revealed to him that he had drawn near that inner door--in
the instant it was visible; it seemed to open and shut--quickly.
Visconti fell back against the wall, and wrestled with his terrors as if
they were some living thing, and again with savage teeth he bit into his
flesh.
But the floor was opening beneath him, opening into gulfs deep and still
deeper, bottomless.
"I am mad!" said Visconti, and shrieked and howled with the storm. It
did not help him; he heard hurrying feet through all the alarm of the
tempest, hurrying to him behind that locked door. Let him not look, for
what he feared to see the dark could not conceal--and now they were at
the door, and now they were fitting a key.
"Keep away!" he yelled.
Then he stood, hushed, with bated breath, eyes starting into the
blackness, listening. And through the dark he heard the creaking and
twisting of the key, the slow opening of a heavy door, the groaning of
the hinges as it opened, slowly.
The wind howled in a wild gust, and suddenly through the narrow window
there showed the black sky torn in two by the lightning flash. As it
circled the chamber, Visconti raised his head--the door was open. And
through the opening two faces peered--they were not human
faces--Visconti knew them when they were.
Utter blackness followed upon the vivid flash, and the thunder crashed
and rolled, and at last the rain came with a mighty roar.
"I am in hell!" yelled Visconti. "I am dead, and in hell!" And maniac
shrieks rose. He dragged himself to the narrow slit that made the
window, and some of the heavy rain-drops were dashed in upon his face.
"I am alive!" he cried, "alive! It does not rain in hell!" He dropped,
and lay prone along the ground. After awhile he rose, and began groping
for the outer door.
The walls seemed to rock and twist, but on his face and hand was the
cold splash of the rain, and Visconti kept a hold upon his self-control,
saying between his teeth: "A light; if I can get a light."
He found the door, and struck upon it with the fury of madness.
There was no response: Again he struck and shouted. The worst had gone
by, but only to leave his thoughts centered on one idea: to see a human
face and in the light.
Suddenly, in the midst of his blows, the door opened, showing a
glimmering light, and in the entrance the figure of a soldier, who
looked fearfully around the chamber.
"I thought it was the fiend himself who called!" he said, and crossed
himself.
Visconti clutched his arm. "It was the fiend," he said. "Legions of
them--the place is haunted! Give me a light!"
The soldier shrank back in horror at his words, at his hardly human
eyes.
"Santa Maria!" he muttered. "I have heard evil tales of this castle,
the storm too is fearful----"
"Give me a light," said Visconti; "give me a light!"
"None of the prisoners have lights--it is forbidden----" began the man,
but Gian Maria cut him short.
"A light, I say!" and he put his blood-marked hand upon the other's
shoulder.
"Thou heardst the fiend scream--and it _was_ the fiend. Wilt thou give
me a light?"
The frightened soldier shrank from him anew.
"Thou art distraught," he cried with a paling face.
Visconti laughed wildly. "Do I not say so? Give me the lantern!" and he
held out his finger, on which there blazed a splendid ring. "Would any
ordinary prisoner wear a ring like this? I tell thee it is a coal from
hell, and I will give it thee--for thy lantern. See, how it shines; try
if it will burn thee to the bone," and he stripped it from his finger,
dropping it on the pavement at the soldier's feet.
"Truly," gasped the soldier, looking at him, "thou art no ordinary man,
and as for thy gems--whether they be coals or no, thou shalt have the
lantern."
He stepped across the threshold as he spoke, a little fearfully, and
placed the lantern in the niche cut to receive it in the wall.
"Thou wilt be getting it down and firing thyself with it," he remarked.
"For thou art clean distraught, methinks."
Visconti made no reply, he had noticed that _both_ the inner doors were
shut.
"And as I must answer for thee," continued the soldier, "I will secure
thee with this," and stepping back into the passage, he returned with a
rope and advanced toward the prisoner.
The Duke rose with flashing eyes.
"Remember thou art the devil, messer," said the soldier soothingly,
"and naught can really hold thee."
Visconti felt for the dagger that no longer hung by his side, then
showed the soldier his fingers, red and still bleeding.
"The teeth that met there can meet in thine," he snarled, and his eyes
were like a wolf's.
The soldier stepped back, then with a sudden thought pointed to the
light.
"Stay unbound then, and I will take that away again," he said, and again
advanced.
Visconti suffered his arms to be bound together at the elbows, nor did
he seem to heed when the soldier left him, and the great door fell to
once more in silence.
The storm had sobbed itself away, leaving only the steady patter of the
rain. The chamber had light, and the sight of a human face had restored
Visconti.
Once more he felt his hold on life and on reality, and he turned from
that closed door with its superstitious horror to face real terror and a
staggering mischance.
Milan! he had left Milan in an hour of need--and with no one to check
Valentine. Only within the last few weeks had he known what she was
capable of. What might she not attempt once she realized his absence?
Giannotto too, and the Duke d'Orleans! What of their sincerity? He had
left not one man within the city whom he could trust implicitly.
Then he considered his own plight. Clearly they did not know him; none
the less they had him. He ground his teeth at the thought of Della
Scala's triumph.
His art of bribery occurred to him, and he remembered with a savage
vexation how he had flung a jewel to his jailer for a light: A jewel
that might have purchased freedom. Still, it was in his madness; he
might be thankful he had not shouted aloud his name--and his crimes.
Suddenly, with a start of recollection, it occurred to him anew that he
had been placed apart. Then Carrara _had_ recognized him. The cords
around Visconti's arms began now to torture him: he was weak from lack
of food and mad excitement. Thoughts of Carrara vanished. He saw the
face of the girl on whose account he had risked his dukedom.
"Graziosa!" he cried, but the face looked at him unseeingly. "You know
me!" as if in appeal. "Graziosa, you know me!" The face suddenly
distorted, as if with horror. Visconti shrank from it--and she was gone.
"What frightened her? Those other faces," Visconti whispered to himself,
then roused himself with a harsh laugh. "Will Carrara come?" He fixed
his eyes on the lamp, then on the door. And presently he heard the
subdued bustle of arrival, the great door clang; the ringing answers of
the soldiers; then outside his own door hushed and respectful
voices--the door opened, shut, and Visconti saw his visitor.
A man, black-eyed, florid, richly dressed in velvet, well armed,
unattended, and carrying the castle keys--Giacomo Carrara. He stood in
amazement, and shrank back half-afraid, though the guard had warned him.
"Visconti!" he cried. "What has happened?"
The sickly light of the lantern showed him a white, haggard face, with
wild, bloodshot eyes, the hair hanging lank and damp about its forehead,
the plain doublet gashed and torn, hands and face smeared with blood.
But, at sight of the man he hoped to buy, Visconti's face took on a more
human look.
"You have seen my messenger?"
"Hush!" and Giacomo looked around cautiously. "Yes, I have seen him, and
dispatched my answer."
"My offer suits you?" said Visconti grimly.
"It suited me, Visconti, till just now," returned the other. "It suited
me to such purpose that my men even now await my orders to desert to
Milan."
"Ah!" Visconti said. "And what of it now?" he added, looking around
again, the old subduing spirit in his glance.
"What of it? It shall still be done, only," Carrara smiled, "there is an
unforeseen addition to the bargain. Not only do you need my men,
Visconti; I think, as well, you need your liberty."
"And so the price is higher. Is that what you would say? Unloose my arm.
It shall not be forgotten in the bribe," he sneered.
Carrara advanced and undid the rope in silence. He knew Visconti was
unarmed.
Visconti gasped with relief as the torture was removed.
"And now," he said, taking at once the mastery, "how do matters stand
between us? Be wary; be brief."
Rapidly Giacomo told him how, with the desertion, half Mastino's army
would be gone; how Padua was to be given into the hands of Visconti's
generals, and how Count Conrad played at chess.
Visconti hated the smooth traitor who was waiting to drive a hard
bargain with his necessity--and his freed hand went to his doublet: the
turquoise gloves had not been lost.
"And now, your terms?" he said.
The Duke of Padua hesitated a moment--even with Visconti in his power he
hesitated.
"Those you refused two years ago," he said. "When we warred with Pavia."
Visconti remembered. Two years ago, when he had been by half not so
great as he stood now, he had refused them in scorn--they meant half his
dominions--they would place Carrara on a level with himself.
"Well?" he said, "and if I refuse?"
"A prisoner does not refuse--his liberty," smiled Giacomo. He could
afford to smile.
Visconti controlled himself.
"And if I accept--you take my word, all I have to give--a prisoner's
word?"
"A Visconti's word," corrected Carrara. "Nay, lord, I think I shall need
more than that."
"What more can I give?" he asked. "You waste the time, Carrara."
Giacomo was playing with the keys in his hand.
"Yourself, Visconti," he returned calmly. "The army only waits for me to
march on Milan, leaving Della Scala stripped of half his force. You will
go with it, Visconti, as my prisoner. My army will conduct you into
Milan--where I shall not leave you till the terms I offer are fulfilled.
Then, Visconti, but not till then, we will together ruin Della Scala."
Visconti was silent.
"Come," continued Carrara, "shall it be so--or will you wait and meet
Della Scala and Count Conrad?"
"I accept your terms," said Gian, and rose to his feet. "I accept,
Carrara."
Giacomo's eyes shone. With trembling fingers he unbuttoned his long
black velvet cloak and flung it on Visconti's shoulders.