The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
The page pushed the despoiled door open and Valentine sped through,
closing it carefully after her; the broken window would not be noticed
from the garden, but an open door might. The space she entered seemed so
dark after the bright glare outside that at first she could gather
nothing.
But soon the light sufficed to show Valentine this was not the room she
wanted.
It was gorgeously decorated, frescoes covered the walls, the ceiling was
richly gilt and painted, the floor glass mosaic, the furniture florid
and ornate.
Valentine glanced around hurriedly: at one end was a door, and trying
it, found it open easily, leading into another splendid apartment--still
not containing what she sought.
Hastening on through a door, not only unlocked, but standing ajar, she
found herself in a small, somber room, hung with purple and gold; its
principal furniture the secretary's table, Visconti's chair, and the
imposing black carved bureau.
This was the room she wanted; and on the bureau, flung down in haste, a
bunch of keys.
Valentine seized them with trembling hands; they were the keys of the
drawers, and one by one she flung them open, so possessed with
excitement she could hardly stand. Gian was not in the palace, yet she
seemed to feel his eyes upon her; to hear his step; catch his low
whisper of her name; feel his touch upon her shoulder.
In one drawer were the parchment passports, some of them, for
convenience, already signed with Visconti's name. Hastily Valentine
thrust three into the bosom of her dress. But where were the palace
keys?
She turned over the drawers in reckless haste; she found Visconti's seal
and one of his signet rings, and slipped them both into her gown--still
she could not find the keys. The Duke's pass-keys that unlocked every
door.
The seal and the parchment were much--but the keys would be everything.
They were not within the bureau; she rifled them once again--no, they
were not there.
She turned away in vexation, and stood a second irresolute.
These rooms deserted, yet so full of their owner, were terrifying.
Valentine was sick with fear--still, she must have those keys.
Hastily she turned over every article in the room, left as Visconti had
left them--books, papers, ornaments.
There were no keys there.
She looked into the antechamber, that was bare and empty; she knew it
too well to suppose what she sought could be hidden there.
In desperation she retraced her steps and stood again within the second
room. An impulse made her lift the arras, and she beheld another door;
and another still; they were either side Visconti's empty seat. She
tried one: it opened immediately on a black marble stairway, and she
closed it again with a thrill.
Desperately, she opened the other door; held to her courage desperately,
and crossed the threshold. The room was paneled in black and scarlet,
floor and ceiling inlaid with gold and black.
A great mirror hung opposite the door; either side a table, covered with
a collection of articles left in utter confusion.
Valentine turned them over in frantic haste; there were laces and rings,
jewels and curios, gloves, and strangely carved bottles. She handled the
last carefully--she knew not what they might contain.
Still there were no keys.
Valentine, fast losing nerve, felt that she had been in these rooms for
hours, the silence and suggestion oppressed her till she could have
screamed--but she had risked too much to retreat.
There was an inlaid bureau, and a coffer beneath it; she opened the
bureau and sought again; rings, daggers, treasures from Della Scala's
collections, uncut gems, powders, scents, rosaries, charms,
missals--only no hint of what she looked for.
On top of the coffer was a roll of drawings, the plans of the new
church, several parchments, petitions, specimens of marble from the new
quarries, carvings, mail gauntlets--Valentine swept them off on to the
floor, and then threw the coffer open.
It was full of clothes--upon the velvet of the topmost mantle lay the
small bunch of master-keys.
Valentine grasped it, and hid it in the little pocket at her side.
She had all she needed now, and was turning in relief to go, when,
struck by another thought, she bent again over the coffer, lifted the
contents out on to the floor.
Visconti's doublets were mostly too splendid for her purpose, but she
seized the plainest, wrapped it in her mantle, snatched one of the
daggers from the table. Then making rapidly through the rifled room,
with a breathless prayer of gratitude for safety, she stealthily pushed
open the door on to the balcony, and saw the sunlight and her page's
eager face.
"Shut the door," she whispered. "Climb up and shut the top bolt."
The boy obeyed.
"No one has been?"
"No, lady; you have been quick."
"Quick!" gasped Valentine. "I thought I had been years."
She unclasped her mantle and gave it to the boy. "Take that back to my
room--say I was too hot--give it to Costanza--she alone is in my
confidence, as thou knowest; let no one stop thee--and listen--by
to-morrow we shall be outside the gates."
The page turned away with her mantle on his arm, and Valentine leaned
against the wall, and with her hand upon her heart, took a moment to
steady herself; then with excited eyes, but even steps, she too walked
slowly along the balcony toward the banqueting hall.
* * * * *
"The Duke has not returned," said de Lana.
He spoke a little anxiously, and looked around at the others who filled
the council chamber, a few nobles, and the principal captains of the
army and the mercenaries who defended Milan.
"Meanwhile, from whom do I take my orders? Who commands in Milan?"
"I cannot answer you, my lord," said Giannotto. "The Duke left no
orders, at least with me."
"The Duke expected not to be gone so long," said Martin della Torre.
"And ill it will be for him if he stays _too_ long."
"Meanwhile," cried de Lana again, "to whom are we to look?"
The two pages announced the Lady Valentine.
The men glanced at one another.
"The Lady Valentine," repeated Giannotto to de Lana. "She may tell us
what to do."
Not that he did not well know what terms of jeopardy she stood on with
the Duke--but it was a shifting of responsibility that he welcomed.
All in the room rose to their feet to greet Valentine.
She was leaning on d'Orleans' arm, Adrian and her women following.
She looked regal, glorious. There was a fine color in her cheeks.
De Lana kissed her hand. She did not wait for him to speak, her eyes
wandered over the assembled faces.
"I have not come before, my lords," she said, "because I thought the
Duke might at any moment be again among us; but now, hearing you were
gathered here and that there was some question of the Duke's pleasure in
his absence as to who should issue orders for him, I am come to answer
it in person."
She drew nearer the head of the table, d'Orleans dropping a step behind.
"My lords, the Duke left me in power; in any absence he may make,
enforced or at his pleasure, I rule in Milan."
"You, lady!" cried Giannotto, the words forced from him in his great
surprise.
"I," answered Valentine. "Though I am no man--I am a Visconti. Has not
the Duke left me in charge before, de Lana?"
She turned to the captain as she spoke.
"In the late war with Florence--yes, lady."
Valentine smiled.
"Still, I need not ask you to believe me on that only--lest any should
be doubtful, I have proofs."
"Methinks they are needed before we take the law from thee, lady," said
Martin della Torre, roughly.
Valentine looked at him. "What is this, Lord della Torre?" she replied.
And she laid Visconti's signet ring and seal upon the table.
Giannotto choked his wonder back.
"Does the Duke give these to any save those he trusts--and these?" She
showed the keys lying on her open hand: the key of the armory, the
treasury, the prisons: the master-keys of the whole palace.
"He gave them to me--when, Adrian?"
"Yesterday morning, lady."
"Yesterday morning. Had he not left too hastily even for speech, he
would have made it public; doubtless he thought you would accept my
word--and these proofs."
There was silence.
"Are you convinced, lords?" asked Valentine.
"I am," said Giannotto, bowing to hide the twinkle in his ugly eyes; and
the others, each according to his fashion, murmured an assent.
"And now I will take upon me my brother's duties," continued Valentine.
"For you, de Lana, I have no commands; only look well to the arming of
the walls, let not my brother say we were idle in his absence; I would
have the soldiers in readiness to guard against a surprise--and
meanwhile I ask your company."
De Lana bowed.
"On a visit to Della Scala's wife. She is a priceless hostage, and ill
would it suit with our safety even if aught befell her."
"You would visit her yourself, lady?"
"Aye, myself, since with me lies the power and so the responsibility,
and I would not shirk it. Lords," she continued generally, "we can do
little else but wait--only hold yourselves in readiness--for the Duke's
sake and the honor and security of Milan!"
She put her hand on d'Orleans' arm again and left the room, followed by
de Lana and Giannotto.
"Now, I had almost forgot, my lord," she said, pausing with a smile. "My
page, his sister and his brother, would leave Milan to-morrow for
Brescia--what for, Adrian? Indeed, I have forgot--but I have the Duke's
permission, and would only ask your countersign upon this passport."
She spread before the captain a parchment bearing Visconti's signature.
"This is no time to be leaving Milan, boy," said de Lana.
"Our father is sore sick at Brescia," returned Adrian. "Dying, my lord."
De Lana smiled.
"A long and dangerous journey to make for a sick father."
"There is money in the matter for these children, and it is my
pleasure," said Valentine.
De Lana bent over the parchment, and affixed his name, and in that
second, Valentine glancing at Giannotto, their eyes met, and the
secretary understood. He had meant to hasten to Visconti's rooms; he
meant now not to. De Lana gave the parchment back, and Valentine handed
it to Adrian.
"And now, Lord d'Orleans, will you come with us to Isotta's prison?"
"Truly," said de Lana, "the lady is as firmly guarded as at any time. I
have looked to that."
"Desperation is a great sharpener of the wits, my lord," smiled
Valentine Visconti. "When life and liberty are at stake, the weakest
will venture--and accomplish much."
"Indeed, I think with the lady," put in Giannotto, "that too much zeal
cannot be shown for anything so near to the Duke's heart as this."
De Lana shrugged.
"We will go, lady."
Half an hour later Giannotto and the captain waited in the guard-room of
Isotta's prison.
Valentine, one of her women and the page, had entered the prison itself.
The Duke's signet had passed through all the formidable barriers. It was
late, almost dark.
"This shows a malice in the lady I do not like," said de Lana. "What
need she to triumph over her brother's victim?"
"She is a Visconti," returned the secretary. "She has something of the
Duke's temper and his strangeness--there may be in it curiosity also."
"Curiosity?"
"To behold for herself if Isotta d'Este be as fair as she is--to spy
into her brother's treatment of his prisoners."
"Have you seen the lady, my lord?"
"I?--never," replied de Lana. "Nor do I greatly care to."
Giannotto made no reply; he felt unusually placid and content. He saw
plainly enough that Valentine was outwitting her brother, and as he
hated the Duke and admired his sister, he would help her with all his
power as long as he ran no risks. Visconti had not left _him_ in