The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
"We must hasten; even now the tipsy German may think to visit the
castle." And he selected a key from the bunch in his hand, and advanced
toward the inner door. Visconti started forward, with staring eyes.
"Not that way!" he cried.
Carrara turned in surprise, the key in the lock.
"'Tis the only way, Visconti. Are you thinking we could pass unnoticed,
you and I together?"
Gian, deathly white, sank back obstinately against the wall.
"I will not go that way," he said. "I will not go that way."
"He is in his mad fit again," thought Giacomo; aloud he said soothingly:
"Come, lord, this is the only way; will you rather wait to see Verona's
face when he discovers you? What is wrong with this way?" he added in
vexation as Visconti made no movement. "Quick! the moments fly!"
Gian stepped forward with an effort.
"'Tis my fancy," he said. "Idle, truly, at such a moment. Open the door,
Carrara."
The key ground in the lock--as Visconti had heard it once before that
night turned on the other side.
Carrara paused, however, and having taken the lamp from the niche, put
it down with a smile, and drew a parchment from his belt.
"I had forgotten," he said. "I will leave this, else Verona will miss
the point of the jest; we will tell him what a brave catch his
lieutenant hath allowed to escape the snare." And with the end of his
dagger he drove the paper into the crevice of the stone. "I never loved
Verona," he added, with an evil smile.
But Visconti had not heard, nor was he heeding him; his eyes were
riveted upon the door.
Again Padua raised the lantern above his head.
The glimmering light fell faintly on a dark chamber, and dimly lit a
large black couch from which the tapestry coverlet was half dragged off.
Visconti peered an instant over his rescuer's shoulder eagerly, then
fell back.
"I cannot," he said sullenly. "I will stay and face Della Scala--I
cannot pass that way."
Carrara turned and looked at him keenly.
"What do you know of these chambers, that you are afraid to pass them,
Visconti?" he asked.
"'Tis no matter what I know--I will not pass them," cried Visconti,
fiercely, and clutched at the rough wall as if to keep himself from
being made to enter them even by force. Giacomo looked into the chamber
curiously; the lantern showed only parts of it, and that dimly--an empty
audience chamber, stiff chairs against the wall, the couch, dust on the
floor and shadows in the arras--nothing more; and Carrara turned
impatiently.
"I risk my life for this," he said. "What do you think it will mean,
Visconti, if I am found helping you escape?"
He stepped across the threshold, and flashed the lantern around.
"Nothing!" he laughed over his shoulder. "Nothing," but as he advanced
he paused a moment, and lifted up a corner of the dragged coverlet,
"save that this coverlet is riddled as if with dagger-thrusts," he
added, "and the floor seems stained"--he sank his voice--"with blood."
He looked back at Visconti, standing in the doorway, and with a sudden
fear of him his hand sought his sword.
"Whom did you murder here, Visconti?" he asked, awestruck. "Whoever it
was," he added presently, "I would not lose my life for fear of them,
seeing they are dead."
In a second Visconti was by his side, gripping his arm, and Carrara,
startled, shrank, and kept his hand upon his dagger.
"I do not fear them," whispered Visconti, in his ear. "Nor you."
And he hurried across the chamber, Carrara at his heels.
Room after room they traversed, deserted, gloomy, and unopened since
that night.
"Hurry!" breathed Visconti. "Shall we never see the blessed sky again?"
And snatching the keys, he pushed on, taking every door and turning
with a certainty that showed he knew them well.
"At last!" he cried, as they stepped out into the air.
They were at the back of the castle, on a ledge overhung with ivy, and
overlooking a narrow flight of steps, the masonry half-ruined and
overgrown with flowers.
The storm was over, a few great clouds tore across the sky, but the moon
was clear and serene, the night calm and peaceful.
The cool air blew around Visconti's damp hair, and stirred the dark ivy
leaves, glistening with the rain. Beneath them lay the tents, a large
body of men, half the army, silently and swiftly preparing for flight.
"Some have gone already," said Giacomo. "These wait for me and you,
Visconti: come," and stepping past him he led the way.
There was no one to observe them save Giacomo's men, that he had been
careful to station there; but when they had gained the bottom, and
Carrara would have passed on, Visconti caught at his sleeve and drew him
behind a clump of elder.
"The German!" he whispered, and they waited, breathless.
A soft voice was gayly singing, and the words of the song came clearly
through the night.
"Heinrich was my bosom friend,
White feather and purple cloak:
Now that folly's at an end,
His the flame and mine the smoke!"
"He comes this way," said Carrara. "If he takes to questioning where I
am----"
"If he takes to coming nearer," smiled Visconti, "I shall be obliged
to--kill him."
"We parted for a silken knot,
White feather and purple cloak:
Whose fault it was I have forgot,
His the flame and mine the smoke!"
The last words were lost in a burst of laughter, as Conrad and Vincenzo,
each mounted on a white horse, and attended by an escort with torches,
rode past, back to their tents.
So close they came, that Visconti, with gleaming eyes, leaned forward,
longing to strangle the singer with one of those long curls that hung
around his laughing, careless face.
But Carrara was relieved.
"As long as he does not inquire for me," he said. "But even then my
officers understand."
Visconti smiled grimly; he was to pay for that.
"Now!" he said, and as Conrad's German song and Vincenzo's wild laughter
passed, Visconti and Giacomo stepped out from behind the bushes and
looked after them, the freedom of one secured, the treachery of the
other well-nigh accomplished.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GIACOMO CARRARA'S REWARD
The dawn was breaking, the sky streaked and barred with cold gray light,
and along the winding road to Milan rode the Visconti and Carrara, the
army before them.
It had been accomplished, without demur, openly and completely; behind
them they left the Veronese and Mantuan troops, over whom Giacomo had no
command--and Count Conrad, laughing in his folly.
Quite near to them lay Milan--and Visconti rode in silence, wondering
what had befallen in the city; wondering, and fearing Valentine had
revealed too much of his own spirit; he was afraid of her.
Along the distant horizon the gray walls of the city began to be visible
across the flat plain, and Visconti's eyes lit at sight of his city, and
he turned to Carrara impulsively.
"Give me a sword, Carrara," he said. "'Tis not fitting I should enter
Milan weaponless."
"The Milanese will so rejoice to see you, my lord," returned Padua,
"they will never notice----"
"That I come as a prisoner?" flashed Visconti, but the next moment he
laughed and urged on his horse. "But what care I how, so long as I do
re-enter Milan? Now, with you as my ally, Carrara, I can crush Della
Scala without France or the Empire; and together, as ye say, we will
rule Lombardy."
Carrara rode abreast of him, glancing at him keenly.
"Even now he will try to outwit me," he thought, and resolved he would
not be outdone in cunning for the lack of care.
"How came it you were captured?" he added, "and in this guise?"
"The chances of war," laughed Visconti. "Foolishly I went myself to
defend the gates, and pursued Della Scala's men too far."
But this candor did not deceive Carrara. "Foolish indeed!" he smiled.
"Your hurry excelled your prudence, lord." And he wondered what was the
truth.
"You have cause to thank heaven no one knew you," he continued.
"They were German boors," answered Visconti, "Count Conrad's men, and
there was nothing to tell my degree. Yet, had they looked a little
closer, they might have found one thing that would have told them I was
different from what I seemed--these."
And he drew out of his doublet the turquoise gloves.
Even in that cold, faint light they showed brilliant and beautiful, and
Carrara gazed at them in wonder.
"As I was summoned," continued Visconti, dreamily, "I was looking at
them. Are they not beautiful, Carrara? Two years they took to make, and
cost more than I care to tell. Each turquoise is flawless, and set by
Antonio Fressi himself."
"And is this a gift for some one?" asked Carrara, and he looked keenly
into Visconti's face.
"It was one of my bridal gifts to the Duke d'Orleans. I must honor him,
Carrara, although I love him not," said Visconti simply. "But now I will
offer it to one to whom I owe my life. Take the gloves, a gift from me,
Giacomo." And he turned in the saddle and held them with a winning smile
to Carrara, who, mistrustful, looked at him doubtingly and keenly.
"Thou wilt not refuse my gift?" and Visconti looked at him proudly.
"Let it seal our bargain, Carrara. Take it, for the sake of the goodwill
with which it is offered."
Carrara's ruling quality was prudence, and all Visconti's seeming
guilelessness did not deceive him; still, he hesitated, considering
where the trap lay.
Then, as he glanced down at the gloves, his eyes caught the gleam on the
hilt of his dagger, and a thought struck him.
"He means to make me put them on," he thought, "and snatch the sword
meanwhile"; and he smiled to think Visconti could be so simple.
"Thank thee for thy gift, Visconti, and for the goodwill that offers
it," he said, with an ingenuousness equal to Visconti's, and reaching
out his hand, he took the gloves, meaning to have the gift and outwit
Visconti also.
Gian's manner had lost its gloom and wildness, he seemed light of heart
and in a pleasant mood.
"They are riding-gloves," he cried. "Wear them into Milan, Carrara."
"Ah," thought Giacomo, "I see the plot. Thou wouldst snatch a weapon
while my hands are busy," and, priding himself on his cunning, he deftly
slipped them on his hands, keeping his elbow on his sword-hilt and his
watchful eyes upon Visconti.
"A beautiful dawn," said Gian softly, seeming to take no heed of
Carrara's clever maneuvering; his eyes were fixed on the sunrise behind
Milan. "All pearl and silver, blushing into life anon; about the time
when I shall enter Milan."
And he fixed his eyes on Giacomo with a strange expression.
"When _we_ shall enter Milan," corrected Carrara. "The sun will be
faintly high: these marches are toilsome." And he glanced down proudly
at the beautiful gauntlets on his hands, calculating what the pearls
and turquoises might be worth, picked off, and vain at having outwitted
Visconti.
"The promise of the day!" said Visconti, dreamily and sadly. "Hath it
never struck thee how that promise never is fulfilled? Day after day,
since the world began, something in the mystery of the dawn is
promised--something the sunset smiles to see unfulfilled--something men
have been ever cheated of--something men will never know--the promise of
the dawn!"
The road began now to be fringed with poplars, and in the faint light
the colors of the wayside flowers were visible.
They rode awhile in silence. Carrara looked back at the small rearguard
in the distance, and before him along the road to his army blackening
the plain, and then again at Visconti.
"Either he is always mad or----"
With a sharp exclamation he fell forward on his horse's neck, but
recovered himself instantly. Visconti turned to him, still with that
far-away look in his eyes.
"The road is stony," he said. "Thy horse stumbled?"