CHAPTER II.
COUNT ANTONIO AND THE TRAITOR PRINCE.
Of all the deeds that Count Antonio of Monte Velluto did during the timethat he was an outlaw in the hills (for a price had been set on his headby Duke Valentine), there was none that made greater stir or struck morehome to the hearts of men, howsoever they chose to look upon it, thanthat which he performed on the high hill that faces the wicket gate onthe west side of the city and is called now the Hill of Duke Paul.Indeed it was the act of a man whose own conscience was his sole guide,and who made the law which his own hand was to carry out. That it hadbeen a crime in most men, who can doubt? That it was a crime in him, allgovernments must hold; and the same, I take it, must be the teaching ofthe Church. Yet not all men held it a crime, although they had notventured it themselves, both from the greatness of the person whom thedeed concerned, and also for the burden that it put on the conscience ofhim that did it. Here, then, is the story of it, as it is still toldboth in the houses of the noble and in peasants' cottages.
While Count Antonio still dwelt at the Court, and had not yet fled fromthe wrath aroused in the Duke by the Count's attempt to carry off theLady Lucia, the Duke's ward, the nuptials of His Highness had beencelebrated with great magnificence and universal rejoicing; and thefeasting and exultation had been most happily renewed on the birth of aninfant Prince, a year later. Yet heavy was the price paid for this giftof Heaven, for Her Highness the Duchess, a lady of rare grace andkindliness, survived the birth of her son only three months, and thendied, amidst the passionate mourning of the people, leaving the Duke aprey to bitter sorrow. Many say that she had turned his heart to goodhad she but lived, and that it was the loss of her that soured him andtwisted his nature. If it be so, I pray that he has received pardon forall his sins; for his grief was great, and hardly to be assuaged even bythe love he had for the little Prince, from whom he would never beparted for an hour, if he could contrive to have the boy with him, andin whom he saw, with pride, the heir of his throne.
Both in the joy of the wedding and the grief at the Duchess's death,none had made more ostentatious sign of sharing than His Highness'sbrother, Duke Paul. Yet hollow alike were his joy and his grief, savethat he found true cause for sorrow in that the Duchess left to herhusband a dear memorial of their brief union. Paul rivalled the Duke inhis caresses and his affected love for the boy, but he had lived long inthe hope that His Highness would not marry, and that he himself shouldsucceed him in his place, and this hope he could not put out of hisheart. Nay, as time passed and the baby grew to a healthy boy, Paul'sthoughts took a still deeper hue of guilt. It was no longer enough forhim to hope for his nephew's death, or even to meditate how he shouldbring it about. One wicked imagining led on, as it is wont in our sinfulnature, to another, and Satan whispered in Paul's ear that the Dukehimself was short of forty by a year, that to wait for power till youthwere gone was not a bold man's part, and that to contrive the child'sdeath, leaving his father alive, was but to double the risk withouthalving the guilt. Thus was Paul induced to dwell on the death of bothfather and son, and to say to himself that if the father went first theson would easily follow, and that with one cunning and courageous strokethe path to the throne might be cleared.
While Paul pondered on these designs, there came about the events whichdrove Count Antonio from the Court; and no sooner was he gone anddeclared in open disobedience and contumacy against the Duke, than Paul,seeking a handle for his plans, seemed to find one in Antonio. Here wasa man driven from his house (which the Duke had burnt), despoiled of hisrevenues, bereft of his love, proclaimed a free mark for whosoever wouldserve the Duke by slaying him. Where could be a better man for thepurposes of a malcontent prince? And the more was Paul inclined to useAntonio from the fact that he had shown favour to Antonio, and been wontto seek his society; so that Antonio, failing to pierce the dark depthsof his heart, was loyally devoted to him, and had returned an answerfull of gratitude and friendship to the secret messages in which Paulhad sent him condolence on the mishap that had befallen him.
Now in the beginning of the second year of Count Antonio's outlawry, HisHighness was most mightily incensed against him, not merely because hehad so won the affection of the country-folk that none would betray hishiding-place either for threats or for reward, but most chiefly byreason of a certain act which was in truth more of Tommasino's doingthan of Antonio's. For Tommasino, meeting one of the Duke's farmers oftaxes, had lightened him of his fat bag of money, saying that he wouldhimself assume the honour of delivering what was fairly due to HisHighness, and had upon that scattered three-fourths of the spoil amongthe poor, and sent the beggarly remnant privily by night to the gate ofthe city, with a writing, "There is honour among thieves; who, then, maycall Princes thieves?" And this writing had been read by many, and thereport of it, spreading through the city, had made men laugh. Thereforethe Duke had sworn that by no means should Antonio gain pardon save bydelivering that insolent young robber to the hands of justice. Thus hewas highly pleased when his brother sought him in the garden (for he satin his wonted place under the wall by the fish-pond) and bade him listento a plan whereby the outlaws should be brought to punishment. The Duketook his little son upon his knees and prayed his brother to tell hisdevice.
"You could not bring me a sweeter gift than the head of Tommasino," saidhe, stroking the child's curls; and the child shrank closer into hisarms, for the child did not love Paul but feared him.
"Antonio knows that I love Your Highness," said Paul, seating himselfon the seat by the Duke, "but he knows also that I am his friend, and afriend to the Lady Lucia, and a man of tender heart. Would it seem tohim deep treachery if I should go privately to him and tell him how thaton a certain day you would go forth with your guard to camp in the spursof Mount Agnino, leaving the city desolate, and that on the night ofthat day I could contrive that Lucia should come secretly to the gate,and that it should be opened for her, so that by a sudden descent shemight be seized and carried safe to his hiding-place before aid couldcome from Your Highness?"
"But what should the truth be?" asked Valentine.
"The truth should be that while part of the Guard went to the spurs ofthe Mount, the rest should lie in ambush close inside the city gates anddash out on Antonio and his company."
"It is well, if he will believe."
Then Paul laid his finger on his brother's arm. "As the clock in thetower of the cathedral strikes three on the morning of the 15th of themonth, do you, dear brother, be in your summer-house at the corner ofthe garden yonder; and I will come thither and tell you if he hasbelieved and if he has come. For by then I shall have learnt from himhis mind: and we two will straightway go rouse the guards and lead themen to their appointed station, and when he approaches the gate we canlay hands on him."
"How can you come to him? For we do not know where he is hid."
"Alas, there is not a rogue of a peasant that cannot take a letter tohim!"
"Yet when I question them, aye, though I beat them, they know nothing!"cried Valentine in chagrin. "Truly, the sooner we lay him by the heels,the better for our security."
"Shall it be, then, as I say, my lord?"
"So let it be," said the Duke. "I will await you in the summer-house."
Paul, perceiving that his brother had no suspicions of him, and wouldawait him in the summer-house, held his task to be already half done.For his plan was that he and Antonio should come together to thesummer-house, but that Antonio should lie hid till Paul had spoken tothe Duke; then Paul should go out on pretext of bidding the guard makeready the ambush, and leave the Duke alone with Antonio. Antonio then,suddenly springing forth, should slay the Duke; while Paul--and when hethought on this, he smiled to himself--would so contrive that a body ofmen should bar Antonio's escape, and straightway kill him. Thus shouldhe be quit both of his brother and of Antonio, and no man would live whoknew how the deed was contrived. "And then," said he, "I doubt whetherthe poor child, bereft of all parental care, will long escape t
hemanifold perils of infancy."
Thus he schemed; and when he had made all sure, and noised about theDuke's intentions touching his going to the spurs of Mount Agnino, hehimself set forth alone on his horse to seek Antonio. He rode till hereached the entrance of the pass leading to the recesses of the hills.There he dismounted, and sat down on the ground; and this was at noon onthe 13th day of the month. He had not long been sitting, when a facepeered from behind a wall of moss-covered rock that fronted him, andPaul cried, "Is it a friend?"
"A friend of whom mean you, my lord?" came from the rock.
"Of whom else than of Count Antonio?" cried Paul.
A silence followed and a delay; then two men stole cautiously frombehind the rock, and in one of them Paul knew the man they called Bena,who had been of the Duke's Guard. The men, knowing Paul, bowed low tohim, and asked him his pleasure, and he commanded them to bring him toAntonio. They wondered, knowing not whether he came from the Duke ordespite the Duke; but he was urgent in his commands, and at length theytied a scarf over his eyes, and set him on his horse, and led the horse.Thus they went for an hour. Then they prayed him to dismount, sayingthat the horse could go no farther; and though Paul's eyes saw nothing,he heard the whinnying and smelt the smell of horses.
"Here are your stables then," said he, and dismounted with a laugh.
Then Bena took him by the hand, and the other guided his feet, andclimbing up steep paths, over boulders and through little water-courses,they went, till at length Bena cried, "We are at home, my lord;" andPaul, tearing off his bandage, found himself on a small level spot,ringed round with stunted wind-beaten firs; and three huts stood in themiddle of the space, and before one of the huts sat Tommasino, composinga sonnet to a pretty peasant girl whom he had chanced to meet that day;for Tommasino had ever a hospitable heart. But seeing Paul, Tommasinoleft his sonnet, and with a cry of wonder sprang to meet him; and Paultook him by both hands and saluted him. That night and the morning thatfollowed, Paul abode with Antonio, eating the good cheer and drinkingthe good wine that Tommasino, who had charged himself with the care ofsuch matters, put before him. Whence they came from, Paul asked not; nordid Tommasino say more than that they were offerings to CountAntonio--but whether offerings of free-will or necessity, he said not.And during this time Paul spoke much with Antonio privily and apart,persuading him of his friendship, and telling most pitiful things of theharshness shown by Valentine his brother to the Lady Lucia, and how thelady grew pale, and peaked and pined, so that the physicians knit theirbrows over her and the women said no drugs would patch a broken heart.Thus he inflamed Antonio's mind with a great rage against the Duke, sothat he fell to counting the men he had and wondering whether there wereforce to go openly against the city. But in sorrow Paul answered thatthe pikemen were too many.
"But there is a way, and a better," said Paul, leaning his head near toAntonio's ear. "A way whereby you may come to your own again, andrebuild your house that the Duke has burnt, and enjoy the love of Lucia,and hold foremost place in the Duchy."
"What way is that?" asked Antonio in wondering eagerness. "Indeed I amwilling to serve His Highness in any honourable service, if by that Imay win his pardon and come to that I long for."
"His pardon! When did he pardon?" sneered Paul.
To know honest men and leave them to their honesty is the last greatgift of villainy. But Paul had it not; and now he unfolded to Antoniothe plan that he had made, saving (as needs not to be said) that part ofit whereby Antonio himself was to meet his death. For a pretext healleged that the Duke oppressed the city, and that he, Paul, was put outof favour because he had sought to protect the people, and was falleninto great suspicion. Yet, judging Antonio's heart by his own, he dweltagain and longer on the charms of Lucia, and on the great things hewould give Antonio when he ruled the Duchy for his nephew; for of thelast crime he meditated, the death of the child, he said naught then,professing to love the child. When the tale began, a sudden start ranthrough Antonio, and his face flushed; but he sat still and listenedwith unmoved face, his eyes gravely regarding Paul the while. No angerdid he show, nor wonder, nor scorn, nor now any eagerness; but he gazedat the Prince with calm musing glance, as though he considered of somegreat question put before him. And when Paul ended his tale, Antonio satyet silent and musing. But Paul was trembling now, and he stretched outhis hand and laid it on Antonio's knee, and asked, with a feigned laughthat choked in the utterance, "Well, friend Antonio, is it a cleverplan, and will you ride with me?"
Minute followed minute before Antonio answered. At length the frownvanished from his brow, and his face grew calm and set, and he answeredDuke Paul, saying, "It is such a plan as you, my lord, alone of all menin the Duchy could make; and I will ride with you."
Then Paul, in triumph, caught him by the hands and pressed his hands,calling him a man of fine spirit and a true friend, who should not lackreward. And all this Antonio suffered silently; and in silence still helistened while Paul told him how that a path led privately from the bankof the river, through a secret gate in the wall, to the summer-housewhere the Duke was to be; of this gate he alone, saving the Duke had thekey; they had but to swim the river and enter by this gate. Havinghidden Antonio, Paul would talk with the Duke; then he would go andcarry off what remained of the guard over and above those that were goneto the hills; and Antonio, having done his deed, could return by thesame secret path, cross the river again, and rejoin his friends. And ina short space of time Paul would recall him with honour to the city andgive him Lucia to wife.
"And if there be a question as to the hand that dealt the blow, there isa rascal whom the Duke flogged but a few days since, a steward in thepalace. He deserves hanging, Antonio, for a thousand things of which heis guilty, and it will trouble me little to hang him for one whereof hechances to be innocent." And Duke Paul laughed heartily.
"I will ride with you," said Antonio again.
Then, it being full mid-day, they sat down to dinner, Paul bandying manymerry sayings with Tommasino, Antonio being calm but not uncheerful. Andwhen the meal was done, Paul drank to the good fortune of theirexpedition; and Antonio having drained his glass, said, "May Godapprove the issue," and straightway bade Tommasino and Martolo prepareto ride with him. Then, Paul being again blindfolded, they climbed downthe mountain paths till they came where the horses were, and thus, asthe sun began to decline, set forward, at a fair pace, Duke Paul andAntonio leading by some few yards; while Tommasino and Martolo, havingdrunk well, and sniffing sport in front of them, sang, jested, andplayed pranks on one another as they passed along. But when night fellthey became silent; even Tommasino turned grave and checked his horse,and the space between them and the pair who led grew greater, so that itseemed to Duke Paul that he and Antonio rode alone through the night,under the shadows of the great hills. Once and again he spoke toAntonio, first of the scheme, then on some light matter; but Antonio didno more than move his head in assent. And Antonio's face was very white,and his lips were close shut.
It was midnight when Duke Paul and Antonio reached the plain: the moon,till now hidden by the mountains, shone on them, and, seeing Antonio'sface more plainly, Paul cried, half in jest, half in uneasiness, "Come,man, look not so glum about it! 'Tis but the life of a rogue."
"Indeed it is no more," said Antonio, and he turned his eyes on DukePaul.
Paul laughed, but with poor merriment. Whence it came he knew not, but astrange sudden sense of peril and of doom had fallen on him. The massivequiet figure of Antonio, riding ever close to him, silent, stern, andwatchful, oppressed his spirit.
Suddenly Antonio halted and called to Martolo to bring him a lantern:one hung from Martolo's saddle, and he brought it, and went back. ThenAntonio lit the lantern and gave an ivory tablet to Paul and said tohim, "Write me your promise."
"You distrust me, then?" cried Paul in a great show of indignation.
"I will not go till you have written the promise."
Now Paul was somewhat loth to write the promise, fear
ing that it shouldbe found on Antonio's body before he could contrive to remove it; butwithout it Antonio declared he would not go. So Paul wrote, bethinkinghimself that he held safe in his house at home permission from the Duketo seek Antonio and beguile him to the city, and that with the witnessof this commission he could come off safe, even though the tablet werefound on Antonio. Taking the peril then, rather than fail, he wrote,setting out the promises he made to Antonio in case (thus he phrased it)of the death of his brother. And he delivered the tablet to Antonio; andAntonio, restoring the lantern to Martolo, stowed the tablet about him,and they set forth again.
As the clock in the tower of the cathedral, distantly booming in theirears, sounded the hour of two, they came to where the road parted. Inone direction it ran level across the plain to the river and the city,and by this way they must go, if they would come to the secret gate andthence to the Duke's summer-house. But the second road left the plain,and mounted the hill that faces the wicket-gate, which is now called theHill of Duke Paul. And at the parting of the road, Antonio reined in hishorse and sat silent for a great while. Again Paul, scanning his face,was troubled, so that Martolo, who had drawn near, saw him wipe a dropfrom his brow. And Paul said, "For what wait we, Antonio? Time presses,for it has gone two o'clock."
Then Antonio drew him apart, and fixing his eyes on him, said, "What ofthe child? What mean you by the child? How does it profit you that thefather die, if the child live?"
Paul, deeming that Antonio doubted him and saw a snare, and holding itbetter to seem the greatest of villains than to stir suspicion in a manwho held him in his hands, smiled cunningly, and answered, "The childwill grow sickly and pine when his father is not alive to care for him."
"It is enough," said Antonio; and again a flush mounted on his face, anddied down again, and left him pale. For some think he would have turnedfrom his purpose, had Paul meant honestly by the child. I know not. Atleast, the foul murder plotted against the child made him utterlyrelentless.
"Let us go on and end the matter," urged Paul, full of eagerness, and,again, of that strange uneasiness born of Antonio's air.
"Ay, we will go on and finish it," said Antonio, and with that he leaptdown from his horse. Paul did the like, for it had been agreed that theothers, with the horses, were to await Antonio's return, while the Countand Paul went forward on foot: and Tommasino and Martolo, dismountingalso, tied the horses to trees and stood waiting Antonio's orders.
"Forward!" cried Paul.
"Come, then," said Antonio, and he turned to the road that mounted thehill.
"It is by the other road we go," said Paul.
"It is by this road," said Antonio, and he raised his hand and made acertain sign, whereat the swords of his friends leapt from theirscabbards, and they barred the way, so that Duke Paul could turn nowheresave to the road that mounted the hill. Then Paul's face grew long,drawn, and sallow with sudden fear. "What means this?" he cried. "Whatmeans this, Antonio?"
"It means, my lord, that you must mount the hill with me," answeredAntonio, "even to the top of it, whence a man can see the city."
"But for what?"
"That this matter may be finished," said Antonio; and, coming to Paul,he laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him to the path up the hill.But Paul, seeing his face and the swords of Tommasino and Martolo thatbarred all escape, seized his hand, saying, "Before God, I mean youtrue, Antonio! As Christ died for us, I mean you true, Antonio!"
"Of that I know not, and care not; yet do not swear it now by Christ'sname if it be not true. How meant you, my lord, by your brother and yourbrother's son?"
Paul licked his lips, for they had gone dry, and he breathed as a manpants who has run far and fast. "You are three to one," he hissed.
"We shall be but man to man on the top of the hill," said Antonio.
Then suddenly Tommasino spoke unbidden. "There is a priest in thevillage a mile away," said he, and there was pity in his voice.
"Peace, Tommasino! What priest has he provided for his brother?"
And Tommasino said no more, but he turned his eyes away from the face ofDuke Paul: yet when he was an old man, one being in his company heardhim say he dreamed yet of it. As for Martolo, he bent his head andcrossed himself.
Then Paul threw himself on his knees before Antonio and prayed him tolet him go; but Antonio seemed not to hear him, and stood silent withfolded arms. Yet presently he said, "Take your sword then, my lord. If Ifall, these shall not touch you. This much I give, though it is morethan I have right to give."
But Paul would not take his sword, but knelt, still beseeching Antoniowith tears, and mingling prayers and curses in a flow of agonised words.
At last Antonio plucked him from the ground and sternly bade him mountthe hill; and finding no help, he set out, his knees shaking beneathhim, while Antonio followed close upon him. And thus Tommasino andMartolo watched them go till the winding of the path hid them from view,when Martolo fell on his knees, and Tommasino drew a breath as though aload had rested on his chest.
It was but a short way to the summit, but the path was steep, and thetwo went slowly, so that, as they came forth on the top, the first gleamof dawn caught them in its pale light. The city lay grey and drab belowthem, and the lonely tree, that stands to this day upon the hill, swayedin the wind with mournful murmurings. Paul stumbled and sank in a heapon the ground. And Antonio said to him, "If you will, pray," and wentand leant against the bare trunk of the tree, a little way apart. ButPaul, thinking on man's mercy, not on God's, crawled on his knees acrossthe space between and laid hold of Antonio's legs. And he said nothing,but gazed up at Antonio. And at the silent appeal Antonio shivered foran instant, but he did not fly the gaze of Paul's eyes, but looked downon him and answered, "You must die. Yet there is your sword, and there afree road to the city."
Then Paul let go Antonio's legs and rose, and drew his sword. But hishand was trembling, and he could scarce stand. Then Antonio gave to hima flask that he carried, holding strong waters; and the wretch, drinkinggreedily, found some courage, and came suddenly at Antonio beforeAntonio looked for his attack. But the Count eluded him, and drawing hisblade awaited the attack; and Paul seized again the flask that he hadflung on the ground, and drained it, and mad now with the fumes rushedat Antonio, shrieking curses and blasphemies. The sun rose on the momentthat their blades crossed; and before its rays had shone a minute,Antonio had driven his sword through the howling wretch's lung, and DukePaul lay dying on the grassy hill.
Then Count Antonio stripped off his doublet and made a pillow of it forPaul's head, and sat down by him, and wiped his brow, and disposed hisbody with such ease as seemed possible. Yet he took no pains to stanchthe blood or to minister to the wound, for his intent was that Paulshould die and not live. And Paul lay some moments on his back, thentwisted on his side; once he flung his legs wide and gathered them againunder his body, and shivered, turning on his back again: and his jawfell, and he died there on the top of the hill. And the Count closed hiseyes, and sat by him in silence for many minutes; and once he buried hisface in his hands, and a single sob shook him.
But now it was growing to day, and he rose, and took from the Duke'swaist the broad silken band that he wore, wrought with golden embroideryon a ground of royal blue. Then he took Paul in his arms and set himupright against the trunk of the tree, and, encircling tree and bodywith the rich scarf, he bound the corpse there; and he took the ivorytablet from his belt and tied the riband that hung through a hole in itto the riband of the Order of St. Prisian, that was round Paul's neck,and he wrote on the tablet, "Witness my hand--ANTONIO of Monte Velluto."And he wiped the blade of his sword long and carefully on the grass tillit shone pure, clean, and bright again. Then he gazed awhile at thecity, that grew now warm and rich in the increasing light of the sun,and turned on his heel and went down the hill by the way that he hadcome.
At the foot, Tommasino and Martolo awaited him; and when he came downalone, Martolo again signed the cross; but Tommasino glance
d onequestion, and, finding answer in Antonio's nod, struck his open palm onthe quarters of Duke Paul's horse and set it free to go where it would;and the horse, being free, started at a canter along the road to thecity. And Antonio mounted and set his face again towards the hills. Forawhile he rode alone in front; but when an hour was gone, he called toTommasino, and, on the lad joining him, talked with him, not gailyindeed (that could not be), yet with calmness and cheerfulness on thematters that concerned the band. But Paul's name did not cross his lips;and the manner in which he had dealt with Paul on the hill restedunknown till a later time, when Count Antonio formally declared it, andwrote with his own hand how Duke Paul had died. Thus, then, CountAntonio rode back to the hills, having executed on the body of Paul thatwhich seemed to him right and just.
Long had Duke Valentine waited for his brother in the summer-house andgreatly wondered that he came not. And as the morning grew and yet Paulcame not, the Duke feared that in some manner Antonio had detected thesnare, and that he held Paul a prisoner; for it did not enter the Duke'smind that Antonio would dare to kill his brother. And when it was fiveo'clock, the Duke, heavy-eyed for want of sleep, left the summer-house,and having traversed the garden, entered his cabinet and flung himselfon a couch there; and notwithstanding his uneasiness for his brother,being now very drowsy, he fell asleep. But before he had slept long, hewas roused by two of his pages, who ran in crying that Duke Paul's horsehad come riderless to the gate of the city. And the Duke sprang up,smiting his thigh, and crying, "If harm has come to him, I will not resttill I have Antonio's head." So he mustered a party of his guards, someon horseback and some on foot, and passed with all speed out of thecity, seeking his brother, and vowing vengeance on the insolence ofCount Antonio.
But the Duke was not first out of the city; for he found a stream oftownsmen flocking across the bridge; and at the end of the bridge was agathering of men, huddled close round a peasant who stood in the centre.The pikemen made a way for His Highness; and when the peasant saw him,he ran to him, and resting his hand on the neck of the Duke's horse, asthough he could scarce stand alone, he cried, pointing with his hand tothe hill that rose to the west, "The Duke Paul, the Duke Paul!" And nomore could he say.
"Give him a horse, one of you, and let another lead it," cried the Duke."And forward, gentlemen, whither he points!"
Thus they set forth, and as they went, the concourse grew, someovertaking them from the city, some who were going on their business orfor pleasure into the city turning and following after the Duke and hiscompany. So that a multitude went after Valentine and the peasant, andthey rode together at the head. And the Duke said thrice to the peasant,"What of my brother?" But the peasant, who was an old man, did but pointagain to the hill.
At the foot of the hill, all that had horses left them in charge of theboys who were of the party, for the Duke, presaging some fearful thing,would suffer none but grown men to mount with him; and thus they wentforward afoot till they reached the grassy summit of the hill. And thenthe peasant sprang in front, crying, "There, there!" and all of thembeheld the body of Duke Paul, bound to the tree by the embroideredscarf, his head fallen on his breast, and the ivory tablet hanging fromthe riband of the Order of St. Prisian. And a great silence fell on themall, and they stood gazing at the dead prince.
But presently Duke Valentine went forward alone; and he knelt on oneknee and bowed his head, and kissed his brother's right hand. And ashout of indignation and wrath went up from all the crowd, and theycried, "Whose deed is this?" The Duke minded them not, but rose to hisfeet and laid his hand on the ivory tablet; and he perceived that it waswritten by Duke Paul; and he read what Paul had written to Antonio; howthat he, the Duke, being dead, Antonio should come to his own again,and wed Lucia, and hold foremost place in the Duchy. And, this read, theDuke read also the subscription of Count Antonio--"Witness myhand--ANTONIO of Monte Velluto." Then he was very amazed, for he hadtrusted his brother. Yet he did not refuse the testimony of the ivorytablet nor suspect any guile or deceit in Antonio. And he stooddry-eyed, looking on the dead face of Duke Paul. Then, turning round, hecried in a loud voice, so that every man on the hill heard him, "Beholdthe body of a traitor!" And men looked on him, and from him to the facesof one another, asking what he meant. But he spoke no other word, andwent straightway down the hill, and mounted his horse again, and rodeback to the city; and, having come to his palace, he sent for his littleson, and went with him into the cabinet behind the great hall, where thetwo stayed alone together for many hours. And when the child came forth,he asked none concerning his uncle the Duke Paul.
Now all the company had followed down from the hill after the Duke, andno man dared to touch the body unbidden. Two days passed, and a greatstorm came, so that the rain beat on Paul's face and the lightningblackened it. But on the third day, when the storm had ceased, the Dukebade the Lieutenant of the Guard to go by night and bring the body ofPaul: and the Lieutenant and his men flung a cloak over the face, and,having thus done, brought the body into the city at the break of day:yet the great square was full of folk watching in awe and silence. Andthey took the body to the Cathedral, and buried it under the wall on thenorth side in the shade of a cypress tree, laying a plain flat stoneover it. And Duke Valentine gave great sums for masses to be said forthe repose of his brother's soul. Yet there are few men who will go bynight to the Hill of Duke Paul; and even now when I write, there is aman in the city who has lost his senses and is an idiot: he, they say,went to the hill on the night of the 15th of the month wherein Pauldied, and came back mumbling things terrible to hear. But whether hewent because he lacked his senses, or lost his senses by reason of thething he saw when he went, I know not.
Thus died Duke Paul the traitor. Yet, though the Duke his brother knewthat what was done upon him was nothing else than he had deserved andshould have suffered had he been brought alive to justice, he was verywroth with Count Antonio, holding it insolence that any man should layhands on one of his blood, and, of his own will, execute sentence upon acriminal of a degree so exalted. Therefore he sent word to Antonio, thatif he caught him, he would hang him on the hill from the branches of thetree to which Antonio had bound Paul, and would leave his body there forthree times three days. And, this message coming to Antonio, he sent oneprivily by night to the gate of the city, who laid outside the gate aletter for the Duke; and in the letter was written, "God chooses thehand. All is well."
And Count Antonio abode still an outlaw in the mountains, and the LadyLucia mourned in the city.