The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
grandfather say, striving to loot in the midst of the very flames," said
de Lana, "like da Ribera here."
"Had I been in Milan, Barbarossa himself would have burned in the midst
of it," said Visconti, sweeping back the glass and silver before him.
"The town had weeks to prepare."
"Had you been there, Milan would not have burned at all, my lord!" said
a flattering voice.
"Maybe it would not. It was certainly before the Visconti's rule began,"
and he looked down the table with a smile at the dark face of Martin
della Torre.
"And now the plans, de Lana--Novara to Magenta, Magenta to Vercelli."
He swept the glasses still further back, and spread the parchment de
Lana handed him on the colored marble table.
"Vercelli--we hold Vercelli, de Lana?" The officers moved up closer,
leaning over the table.
"We hold Vercelli--and Magenta."
Visconti placed a silver goblet to keep the parchment down, and traced
the route with the point of his dagger.
"To Turin--to Cuneo--as near as we dare to the stiff-necked Genoese,
and we have circled Piedmont."
"And these same Genoese?"
"Let them keep quiet," said Visconti, sheathing his dagger and leaning
back, "and they may keep Genoa; we have larger game in view--the Empire.
From the walls of Novara the Alps are to be seen, from the walls of
Magenta they hide half the sky, from Turin one may touch them, and so we
go closer----"
"And hold the Empire in check," said de Lana, with excited eyes. "Ah, my
lord, it was almost worth it----"
Visconti turned to him sharply.
"What do you say, de Lana?"
There was a second's pause. This was the first, even vague, reference to
what had happened earlier that same night; it seemed weeks since, and
yet the sun had not risen on it.
Visconti looked at de Lana and laughed.
"Almost worth it--almost worth _what_, de Lana?"
The soldier, recovering himself, returned his glance.
"The extinction of four noble families, my lord."
"Did my lord do it?" cried another.
"Did he ask the d'Estes to burn Novara?"
"No," smiled Visconti. "But had they not, I had done it for them, as I
will burn Mantua, and the Gonzagas in it. We will have no seditious
spots in the Lombardy _I_ rule. There will be one capital and one
ruler," he added sternly. "The d'Estes knew enough to anticipate it."
De Lana was silent.
"And these prisoners, my lord?" asked da Ribera. "What of them?"
"They choke the camp," said another.
"They are partisans of Mastino della Scala, naturally," said Visconti.
It was the first time the name had been mentioned, and Visconti's eyes
flared to see that there was silence at it.
"Mastino della Scala, I said--they favored him."
"Yes, my lord; him, or the Estes."
"You will put them to the sword."
"All?"
"All!" shouted Visconti, half rising. "I will have no rebellious slaves
to groan over Della Scala's grave, and hatch me plots from the ashes of
their bones--we will raze the cities to the ground, and put them to the
sword. My triumph will need no prisoners to prove it--and see it done,
de Lana."
They quailed; their attitude acknowledged him the master.
"Spare the churches," said Visconti, "and see that all relics are
brought with due honor to Milan. Da Ribera, you ventured furthest into
Novara; saw you any churches?"
"One, my lord, is saved: the church of Santa Claire."
"We tried to rescue the monks----" struck in Martin della Torre. "They
refused our succor, and returned into the flames--screaming----"
He paused.
"What?" demanded Visconti.
"Somewhat about God's curse," answered della Torre. "Their execration
was not pleasant."
"Had you not been there, you had not heard it," said de Lana. "And a few
crazy----hark!"
There came a great noise from without, and the trampling of crowding
feet.
"Another company is joining us," remarked Visconti.
"The soldiers from Novara," said della Torre, and put his goblet down,
and de Lana turned expectantly to the door. Visconti, facing it, rose in
his seat as it was flung wide and a couple of scorched and bleeding
soldiers entered, followed by a trampling guard.
"From Novara?" asked the Duke.
They stopped short, saluting.
"From Novara! We have saved the library and the college, my lord, and
some three palaces."
"They would have burned the library!" cried Visconti, "sooner than it
should enrich Milan--the jealous fools!"
"Now, hark you"--he added to the soldiers--"every man bringing a book or
a gem or a picture, I reward; every man destroying one, I hang. Now,
which is he who saved the library?"
An officer pushed forward.
"This is he, my lord; one of my company."
"Take this from me," and Visconti handed the man his neck chain.
"And the prisoners, my lord?"
"What care I for the prisoners?--you will give no quarter, I say!"
The officer bowed, and drew a little book from his doublet, laying it on
the table.
"A monk gave me this for his life," he said. "And all Lombardy knows
your taste in books, my lord."
"Remember we league with the Pope," said Visconti, taking it up. "The
monk should have had his life without a bribe; now go, and heed what I
have said." He turned to de Lana: "Follow, and see if the flames be out;
'tis daylight."
The curtains were drawn away from the window, and the early light, fast
glowing into sunlight, and the fresh morning air, filled the heated
chamber.
The lamps flared pale, the gorgeous dresses and flushed, eager faces of
the men round the table, the glimmer of the gold and silver vessels
before them, showed in a garish contrast with the soft light.
"Seneca," said Visconti, turning over the volume the soldier had
brought. "Where is that knave Giannotto? Seneca, spoiled by interlining,
but still Seneca. Giannotto--I say!"
The secretary was not in the room, but the page dispatched soon brought
him. He stood in the doorway, blinking at the daylight, looking around
confused, and the company broke into laughter.
"Take this!" cried Visconti. "A Seneca on vellum, with some dolt's
comments; take it, Giannotto."
"There is a library being brought in below," said the secretary.
"Because we spared the church of Santa Claire, who must have been the
patron saint of poets--eh, de Lana?"
"Messer Francesco Petrarca found her so," said a noble laughing. "A
lucky day for him when he stepped inside the church of Santa Claire!"
"He had cause to thank her, doubtless----"
"If Messer Hugues had not," smiled Visconti.
"I know not, my lord; for a dull boor like that, he gathered some fame,
else never his."
"And the poet turned it to good account," said Visconti. "Methinks he
used his love for money-making; he coined the Lady Laure into good gold
pieces!"
"Now, my lord, is not that spite because Messer Petrarca left his
library to Venice?"
Visconti laughed.
"Let him leave his library where he pleased, he was a fine man of
business, say I."
"And a wearisome poet," said de Lana.
"O Fiametta!" said Visconti laughing. "Joanna! Naples and the blue sea!
These are thy patron saints, de Lana?"
"Nay, I like not that book of feeble love-making any better," replied
de Lana; "a Florentine dallying!"
"I doubt me if thou hast ever read it," said the Duke gayly.
"Alighieri is more to de Lana's mind," remarked da Ribera, pouring wine,
"and the fair daughter of old Folco. I myself used to sing Alighieri's
verses till I tired."
"Yourself or your audience, my friend?"
But Visconti looked at the speaker, frowning.
"You have mentioned Alighieri, forgetting who was his patron," whispered
della Torre.
"The court of Verona and Can' Gran' della Scala----"
"He recanted, my good lord; he died a Ghibelline," said da Ribera,
acting on the whisper.
"Mastino della Scala was a Ghibelline; we never quarreled over that,"
said Visconti easily. "But Mastino was no patron of poets like his
father." He leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window, where
above the beautiful fresh green of the garden faint smoke-wreaths
showed, the last of Novara.
"De Lana, you stood next; what did he say--as he went over?"
At the sudden brutal question, they started, and de Lana suppressed a
shudder.
"I did not hear--I thought--he was dead."
"I think you are still afraid of him," smiled Visconti. "I should like
to know what he said." And he looked round for Giannotto, who had shrunk
into a corner, and sat there gazing dully at the company.
"Did you hear, Giannotto?"
"I? How should I, my lord?" and the secretary shuffled uneasily.
"Ho! a sullen knave!" cried Visconti, then leaned forward and touched de
Lana on the arm.
"I hear more arrivals--hark!"
"What should this be?" asked da Ribera in surprise. "Not my Lord Arezzo
from Modena?"
"From Modena!" cried Visconti with sparkling eyes. "Is there success
there too?"
"Your arms cease to meet with aught else, Lord Visconti," said della
Torre. "I drink to your perfect triumph!" He raised his glass, red as a
huge ruby in the light, and Visconti, triumphant indeed when the leader
of a faction admitted it and deemed it politic to say so, drank to della
Torre standing.
There was a clatter of footsteps and the noise of a great entry.
"Silence!" said Visconti. "'Tis Arezzo, I hear his voice."
The door was again thrown wide, this time upon a splendid cavalier, clad
in magnificent armor, shining beneath his travel-stained scarlet cloak.
"Success rest upon your helm, Visconti, for Lombardy to Belluno is
yours!" He swept his cap off, and stood, flushed and panting, before the
eager, excited company, who rose to a man.
"Modena?" asked Visconti. "And Mantua?"
"Yours," said Guido d'Arezzo. "And of Ferrara I myself received the
keys, and rode post-haste to Milan, through a country that dared not
raise a finger, where even the nobles came uncovered to my stirrup; and
so from thence I followed you here--with these as proof of my success."
He stepped aside, showing a glimpse of the disordered room beyond, and
beckoned to one of the men behind him, taking two great standards from
him.
"This as a proof--the banner of the Gonzagas, the standard of the
d'Estes!" He dropped to one knee and laid them at Visconti's feet, both
bloodstained, torn to rags, the bearings beaten from their surface;
still, the flags that had floated from Modena and Mantua. The company
burst into wild shouts, mad with the intoxication of success, and
Visconti raised Arezzo and placed him beside him at the table, the
banners at his feet.
"Thou hast done splendidly," he cried. "On our side too there is
fortune--Mastino della Scala will trouble us no more!"
"Dead!" cried the general. "Dead!"
"He lies yonder in the garden." With smiling lips Visconti pointed
through the open window. "He was killed last night!"
"The last of the Scaligeri! Then Lombardy is yours indeed!"
"From Vercelli to Belluno!" cried de Lana.
"I shall not forget those who helped me," said Visconti, and called for
wine and himself served Arezzo. "I will prove I am no niggard to my
friends--your health, Arezzo!"
The name of the victorious captain was shouted down the table; only
Giannotto was silent, seated in the window-seat, and the Duke's eyes
fell on him.
"Give the rogue there some wine," he laughed. "Have no fears, Giannotto,
I will remember thee, there are palaces enough to loot. Thou shalt have
the pickings of one. Drink!" he added in a sterner tone, as the
secretary refused the wine with muttered excuses. "Take it, and warm thy
frozen blood, or we will find somewhat will do it better."
The secretary took the goblet, but so gripping the glass that the
slender stem snapped, and the liquid ran red over the black and white
floor, like a trail of fresh blood.
"The cellars are not so full that we can spare good wine," said da
Ribera.