The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
Then she stood a long time, still with hands locked tight. Suddenly she
turned and her robe caught the jar of lilies, throwing them into the
room.
There they lay, faded by the heat, amid the broken jar, and Graziosa
looked with unseeing eyes, and picked them up mechanically.
Opposite hung a mirror, and as she raised her head she saw herself
reflected there.
The lilies dropped from her hands as they had dropped before in the
street, the day Tisio took her bracelet.
"He would have made me Duchess of Milan!"
She drew nearer and surveyed her pale face closely.
"Duchess of Milan! and he had all Italy to choose from!"
The thought brought a flush to her cheek.
"His sister is very, very beautiful. I am not so fair as she, nor as
Della Scala's wife, and yet he thought me fit to share his throne----"
She moved toward the door with faltering steps.
"I must not think," she moaned. "I will lock the door--I will lock the
door----"
But another thought struck her, and she quivered with her agony.
"He trusted me--he trusted us--he never questioned our faith!"
Then her heart rose in rebellion at her own weakness. Let Visconti be
betrayed: why? What did she know of his crimes?
She could hear her father feasting the soldiers below, and thought of
him restless and impatient for nightfall. He had never loved Ambrogio.
She listened and heard his voice in pleasant laughter with a triumphant
ring in it, and a sort of rage rose in her heart.
"Who are we to save Milan from a tyrant?" she thought. "Ambrogio is more
to me than all the Milanese."
She put her hand on the door handle.
"When would he have sent for me?" she wondered dully. "He smiled. His
voice was gentle; Ambrogio's voice! and he is Ambrogio, and--to-night,
to-night----"
Her eyes fell on the long blue hooded cloak hanging on the wall near.
She took it down and paused with it in her hand, looking at it with
fixed eyes.
A bird flew past the window, sending a swift shadow across the floor.
Graziosa opened the door slowly and stepped out onto the stair. It was
almost dark there; silently she closed the door behind her and wrapped
the cloak about her, drawing the hood over her head and face.
Leaning over the stair rail, she saw that the door of the room below was
open, her father's voice was silent: the soldiers had gone elsewhere.
Softly she crept down into that pleasant chamber where Visconti had sat
so often; the sunlight came in from the open door in a great band across
the dark floor, falling on her white face as she moved through it and
out into the yard. She saw there was no soldier by the door into the
street. She opened it, she could see her father and the guard chatting
over wine-cups by the sundial in the garden, they were not looking; she
crossed like the shadow of the bird upon the floor. Her pet doves flew
away at her guilty steps as if they did not know her, and Graziosa knew
herself indeed changed from the one who had last fed them.
The bolt of the door would at first not move for her trembling fingers,
but she did not stay here; in a second more she stood in the street, a
closed door behind her. Graziosa would never see it open more.
The houses stood clear against a brilliant sapphire sky, and above them
moved a silver banner, the banner of the Viper. It floated from the
Visconti palace, and Graziosa, with no glance back, bent her steps in
its direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TREACHERY
The day that was to place Milan in the enemy's hands was wearing to a
close; the sun had almost set in a wide sky, a flare of orange and
purple, against which the chestnuts stood in rich dark.
Mastino della Scala and some few of his officers were standing in the
little wood into which the secret passage opened.
Behind them the army was in readiness.
"I have wrenched success from the hands of failure!" cried Mastino, his
eyes brilliant, a different man. He could have laughed aloud for joy; he
would see Isotta to-night, he would keep his word; Visconti's palace was
near the western gate, they would be up upon him before he knew.
"There is no possibility of failure, Ligozzi; no possibility of
treachery?" he said, eagerly, and pressed his friend's hands in his.
"None, lord; Vistarnini is to be trusted to the death."
"Von Schulembourg's horse returned to camp this morning," said Ligozzi.
"I know not where the Count is."
"When I am in Milan I will find him; he shall wed the Lady Valentine; I
bear him no bitterness. Ah, Ligozzi, the world will be a different place
to-morrow."
And Mastino leaned forward eagerly, waiting for the first sign of the
return of Tomaso, who had been sent ahead to reconnoiter.
The sky flared and blazed through the trees till the whole world seemed
on fire; the red clouds were reflected in Della Scala's polished armor
till it glowed in one bright flame, above which the plumes on his steel
cap floated long and white.
The next second the glory faded and was gone, leaving the world cold and
gray.
The sun had set.
A cold breeze stirred the leaves against the pale sky, but to Mastino,
leaning against the tree trunk, waiting, no foreboding came. It was
success, success--at last!
"Tomaso is long," said Ligozzi.
"The way is long," smiled Mastino. "But not so long that we shall not
enter Milan before dawn!"
The passage opened into the undergrowth from the wide mouth of a cave,
and Della Scala, in his eagerness, stepped forward into the shadow of
its blackness, listening intently.
No sound broke the stillness save the little murmur of the wind, the
occasional clank of the bridles of the idle horses.
"Hark!" cried Mastino. "I hear him!"
He turned with shining eyes to Ligozzi.
"My friend, at last Heaven has heard!"
"He carries no torch," said Ligozzi, wonderingly, for though footsteps
ascended, no ray of light fell across the dark.
"He stayed not for torch," cried Della Scala. "Bring up the men,
Ligozzi!"
As he spoke, a figure forced itself out of the dark, a wild figure, and
yet Tomaso's; his white face was smeared with blood which trickled from
a great gash on his forehead, his doublet was rent and torn, and he
reeled as if hurt and spent.
"O Mother of God!" muttered Mastino. "Mother of God!"
Tomaso sank at his feet with a bitter cry.
"All is over!" he cried. "We are betrayed. Oh, would I were dead before
I had to tell thee!"
"Betrayed?" echoed Della Scala. All the life was struck out of him, he
steadied himself against the cavern wall and looked at the boy dully.
"Betrayed?"
"Betrayed? By whom?" cried Ligozzi. "Ah, thou art hurt!"
"Nothing, nothing. I am in time--Visconti--his men guard the other
entrance--with difficulty I escaped to warn thee," gasped Tomaso.
"Who betrayed us?" demanded his father, his face dark with passion.
"The girl," said Tomaso, bitterly; "the girl who loved Visconti."
"And Heaven favors her love and not mine!" The cry was wrung from
Mastino. "We are betrayed for a girl's love of Visconti. And my wife
waits for me!" He laughed wildly, and drew a faded rose from the folds
of his sash, flinging it on to the ground.
"Look, Ligozzi, a sign from Heaven--a sign I thought had been fulfilled.
But a girl prayed for Visconti, doubtless, and her prayers are heard.
Isotta must perish, but Visconti is saved! To mock, Heaven sends me a
sign."
He ground the rose to powder beneath his heel, and Ligozzi quailed at
the wild anguish of his face.
"I should have known," he cried. "I should have known. I called on God
and this is His answer. I will fight Visconti alone!"
He turned from the cavern to the open, and stepped out among the waiting
officers.
"Back to camp!" he cried wildly. "We are betrayed again, by a woman who
loves Visconti! The Duke of Milan is fortunate; who would do the like
for me?" And he flung himself down upon the bank, and sank to the
ground.
"Leave us," whispered Ligozzi. "Leave us, all is over for to-night, the
Prince and I will follow."
"He is much moved," returned one of the officers.
"All his hopes were on it," said Ligozzi bitterly. "His wife, his God."
In disappointed groups the men moved off, to spread the evil news.
It was now fully dark, but not so dark that the three left by the cave
could not see each other in the faint starlight.
Mastino called to Tomaso. His voice was hoarse and strained.
"Tell me all, boy; tell how it happened."
"My lord," faltered Tomaso, "it is too painful."
"Painful!" And Della Scala laughed harshly. "I am well used to that;
tell me how it happened."
He had risen, and standing in the shadow of the trees, only the outline
of his great figure was visible to Tomaso and Ligozzi, standing a few
paces before him.
"There is not much to tell," said the boy uneasily; he was sick with
disappointment and the pain of his wound and leaned heavily against his
father.
"Agnolo opened the door to me--as had been arranged; he told me, with a
wild face, his daughter was gone. Visconti had carried her off, he
vowed. He was half-crazed, and ah, my lord, even as he spoke, the
courtyard filled with soldiers, Visconti's soldiers. The girl had fled
to the palace, and told the Duke all! We were betrayed!
"They laughed to see me there; vowed I should die a merry death, trusted
you would follow and let them give you a warm welcome. Agnolo they
mocked with talk of pardon, for his daughter's sake, his daughter the
Duchess to be, whom Visconti had proclaimed to all his court, if he
would tell them a little more of what you meant to do! But Vistarnini
met them with defiance.
"'At least Visconti shall not claim us both!' he cried, and then they
laughed and killed him. _That_ was the Duke's word, they said, not
pardon."
Tomaso paused.
"And his daughter lives to be Duchess of Milan!" said Della Scala. "It
is the will of Heaven!" He laughed again, harshly.
"I escaped while they argued over the poor painter's body, and they
dared not follow, being in terror of an ambush. If it had not been for
saving thee, I would I might have died!" And he sank his head upon his
father's shoulder with heart-wrung sobs.
"Take him to the camp," said Mastino, rising. "How can I comfort him or
thee, wanting it so much myself?" And he turned away through the trees.
The air was perfumed and soft, it fanned the heavy hair back from his
face and rustled the flowers around his feet.
He walked fast, in a fury of hate. It came to him to rush into Milan,
and die upon the soldiers' spears, if he might only get his hands upon
Visconti. "I will challenge him to fight, to single combat," he thought
madly. Then his mood changed, he stopped and felt for the locket at his
neck.
"Isotta! Oh, my dear, my dear!" and his voice was full of tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IN CLOTH OF GOLD
Graziosa Vistarnini, the savior of Milan, and the Duke's betrothed, was
lodged with regal state in the magnificent new tower that stood in the
grounds of the Visconti palace. Visconti could be liberal to a fault
where it suited his vanity or his purpose, and Graziosa's new residence
was decorated with a lavishness that made the French stare.
For not only had she saved Milan, but she had done it solely for love of
him, and it gratified Visconti's pride as much as it pleased his
ambition. Save for this girl he had been now even as had been Della
Scala, and Milan humbled as Verona. She had been the means of his once
more outwitting a foe; she had assured his safety and the safety of his
city; and Visconti's proud gratitude showed in the state and splendor
with which he surrounded his chosen wife.
This glorious summer morning she was seated on the side terrace that
surrounded the tower, a terrace of black marble and alabaster, the