Produced by John Stuart Middleton
THE SHAME OF MOTLEY
Being the Memoir of Certain Transactions in the Life of LazzaroBiancomonte, of Biancomonte, sometime Fool of the Court of Pesaro.
By Rafael Sabatini
CONTENTS
PART I
FLOWER OF THE QUINCE
CHAPTER
I. THE CARDINAL OF VALENCIA
II. THE LIVERIES OF SANTAFIOR
III. MADONNA PAOLA
IV. THE COZENING OF RAMIRO
V. MADONNA'S INGRATITUDE
VI. FOOL'S LUCK
VII. THE SUMMONS FROM ROME
VIII. "MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN"
IX. THE FOOL-AT-ARMS
X. THE FALL OF PESARO
PART II
THE OGRE OF CESENA
XI. MADONNA'S SUMMONS
XII. THE GOVERNOR OF CESENA
XIII. POISON
XIV. REQUIESCAT!
XV. AN ILL ENCOUNTER
XVI. IN THE CITADEL OF CESENA
XVII. THE SENESCHAL
XVIII. THE LETTER
XIX. DOOMED
XX. THE SUNSET
XXI. AVE CAESAR!
PART I. FLOWER OF THE QUINCE
CHAPTER I. THE CARDINAL OF VALENCIA
For three days I had been cooling my heels about the Vatican, vexed bysuspense. It fretted me that I should have been so lightly dealt withafter I had discharged the mission that had brought me all the way fromPesaro, and I wondered how long it might be ere his Most IllustriousExcellency the Cardinal of Valencia might see fit to offer me thehonourable employment with which Madonna Lucrezia had promised me thathe would reward the service I had rendered the House of Borgia by myjourney.
Three days were sped, yet nought had happened to signify that thingswould shape the course by me so ardently desired; that the means wouldbe afforded me of mending my miserable ways, and repairing the wreckmy life had suffered on the shoals of Fate. True, I had been housed andfed, and the comforts of indolence had been mine; but, for the rest, Iwas still clothed in the livery of folly which I had worn on my arrival,and, wherever I might roam, there followed ever at my heels a crowd ofunderlings, seeking to have their tedium lightened by jests and capers,and voting me--when their hopes proved barren--the sorriest Fool thathad ever worn the motley.
On that third day I speak of, my patience tried to its last strand, Ihad beaten a lacquey with my hands, and fled from the cursed gibes hisfellows aimed at me, out into the misty gardens and the chill Januaryair, whose sting I could, perhaps, the better disregard by virtue ofthe heat of indignation that consumed me. Was it ever to be so with me?Could nothing lift the curse of folly from me, that I must ever be aFool, and worse, the sport of other fools?
It was there on one of the terraces crowning the splendid heights aboveimmortal Rome that Messer Gianluca found me. He greeted me courteously;I answered with a snarl, deeming him come to pursue the plaguing fromwhich I had fled.
"His Most Illustrious Excellency the Cardinal of Valencia is asking foryou, Messer Boccadoro," he announced. And so despairing had been my moodof ever hearing such a summons that, for a moment, I accounted it somefresh jest of theirs. But the gravity of his fat countenance reassuredme.
"Let us go, then," I answered with alacrity, and so confident was I thatthe interview to which he bade me was the first step along the road tobetter fortune, that I permitted myself a momentary return to the Fool'sestate from which I thought myself on the point of being for ever freed.
"I shall use the interview to induce his Excellency to submit a tenthbeatitude to the approval of our Holy Father: Blessed are the bearers ofgood tidings. Come on, Messer the seneschal."
I led the way, in my impatience forgetful of his great paunch and littlelegs, so that he was sorely tried to keep pace with me. Yet who wouldnot have been in haste, urged by such a spur as had I? Here, then, wasthe end of my shameful travesty. To-morrow a soldier's harness shouldreplace the motley of a jester; the name by which I should be knownagain to men would be that of Lazzaro Biancomonte, and no longerBoccadoro--the Fool of the golden mouth.
Thus much had Madonna Lucrezia's promises led me to expect, and it waswith a soul full of joyous expectation that I entered the great man'scloset.
He received me in a manner calculated to set me at my ease, and yetthere was about him a something that overawed me. Cesare Borgia,Cardinal of Valencia, was then in his twenty-third year, for allthat there hung about him the semblance of a greater age, just as hiscardinalitial robes lent him the appearance of a height far above themiddle stature that was his own. His face was pale and framed in a silkyauburn beard; his nose was aquiline and strong; his eyes the keenestthat I have ever seen; his forehead lofty and intelligent. He seemedpervaded by an air of feverish restlessness, something surpassing thevivida vis animi, something that marked him to discerning eyes for a manof incessant action of body and of mind.
"My sister tells me," he said in greeting, "that you are willing to takeservice under me, Messer Biancomonte."
"Such was the hope that guided me to Rome, Most Excellent," I answeredhim.
Surprise flashed into his eyes, and was gone as quickly as it had come.His thin lips parted in a smile, whose meaning was inscrutable.
"As some reward for the safe delivery of the letter you brought me fromher?" he questioned mildly.
"Precisely, Illustrious," I answered in all frankness.
His open hand smote the table of wood-mosaics at which he sat.
"Praised be Heaven!" he cried. "You seem to promise that I shall have inyou a follower who deals in truth."
"Could your Excellency, to whom my real name is known, expect ought elseof one who bears it--however unworthily?"
There was amusement in his glance.
"Can you still swagger it, after having worn that livery for threeyears?" he asked, and his lean forefinger pointed at my hideous motleyof red and black and yellow.
I flushed and hung my head, and--as if to mock that very expressionof my shame--the bells on my cap gave forth a silvery tinkle at themovement.
"Excellency, spare me," I murmured. "Did you know all my miserable storyyou would be merciful. Did you know with what joy I turned my back onthe Court of Pesaro--"
"Aye," he broke in mockingly, "when Giovanni Sforza threatened to haveyou hanged for the overboldness of your tongue. Not until then did itoccur to you to turn from the shameful life in which the best yearsof your manhood were being wasted. There! Just now I commended yourtruthfulness; but the truth that dwells in you is no more, it seems,than the truth we may look for in the mouth of Folly. At heart, I fear,you are a hypocrite, Messer Biancomonte; the worst form of hypocrite--ahypocrite to your own self."
"Did your Excellency know all!" I cried.
"I know enough," he answered, with stern sorrow; "enough to make memarvel that the son of Ettore Biancomonte of Biancomonte should play theFool to Costanzo Sforza, Lord of Pesaro. Oh you will tell me that youwent there for revenge, to seek to right the wrong his father did yourfather."
"It was, it was!" I cried, with heated vehemence. "B
e flames everlastingthe dwelling of my soul if any other motive drove me to this shamefultrade."
There was a pause. His beautiful eyes flamed with a sudden light as theyrested on me. Then the lids drooped demurely, and he drew a deep breath.But when he spoke there was scorn in his voice.
"And, no doubt, it was that same motive kept you there, at peace forthree whole years, in slothful ease, the motleyed Fool, jesting andcapering for his enemy's delectation--you, a man with the knightlymemory of your foully-wronged parent to cry hourly shame upon you. Nodoubt you lacked the opportunity to bring the tyrant to account. Or wasit that you were content to let him make a mock of you so long as hehoused and fed you and clothed you in your garish livery of shame?
"Spare me, Excellency," I cried again. "Of your charity let my past bedone with. When he drove me forth with threats of hanging, from whichyour gracious sister saved me, I turned my steps to Rome at her biddingto--"
"To find honourable employment at my hands," he interrupted quietly.Then suddenly rising, and speaking in a voice of thunder--"And what,then, of your revenge?" he cried.
"It has been frustrated," I answered lamely. "Sufficient do I accountthe ruin that already I have wrought in my life by the pursuit of thatphantom. I was trained to arms, my lord. Let me discard for good thesetawdry rags, and strap a soldier's harness to my back."
"How came you to journey hither thus?" he asked, suddenly turning thesubject.
"It was Madonna Lucrezia's wish. She held that my errand would be saferso, for a Fool may travel unmolested."
He nodded that he understood, and paced the chamber with bowed head. Fora spell there was silence, broken only by the soft fall of his slipperedfeet and the swish of his silken purple. At last he paused before me andlooked up into my face--for I was a good head taller than he was. Hisfingers combed his auburn beard, and his beautiful eyes were full onmine.
"That was a wise precaution of my sister's," he approved. "I will takea lesson from her in the matter. I have employment for you, MesserBiancomonte."
I bowed my head in token of my gratitude.
"You shall find me diligent and faithful, my lord," I promised him.
"I know it," he sniffed, "else should I not employ you."
He turned from me, and stepped back to his table. He took up a package,fingered it a moment, then dropped it again, and shot me one of hisquiet glances.
"That is my answer to Madonna Lucrezia's letter," he said slowly, hisvoice as smooth as silk, "and I desire that you shall carry it to Pesarofor me, and deliver it safely and secretly into her hands."
I could do no more than stare at him. It seemed as if my mind werestricken numb.
"Well?" he asked at last; and in his voice there was now a suggestion ofsteel beneath the silk. "Do you hesitate?"
"And if I do," I answered, suddenly finding my voice, "I do no more thanmight a bolder man. How can I, who am banned by punishment of death,contrive to penetrate again into the Court of Pesaro and reach the LadyLucrezia?"
"That is a matter that I shall leave to the shrewd wit which all Italysays is the heritage of Boccadoro, the Prince of Fools. Does the taskdaunt you?" His glance and voice were alike harsh.
In very truth it did, and I told him so, but in the terms which theshrewd wit he said was mine dictated.
"I hesitate, my lord, indeed; but more because I fear the frustrationof your own ends--whatever they may be--than because I dread to earna broken neck by again adventuring into Pesaro. Would not some othermessenger--unknown at the Court of Giovanni Sforza--be in better case toacquit himself of such a task?
"Yes, if I had one I could trust," he answered frankly.
"I will be open with you, Biancomonte. There are such grave matters atissue, there are such secrets confided to that paper, that I would notfor a kingdom, not for our Holy Father's triple crown, that they shouldfall into alien hands."
He approached me again, and his slender hand, upon which the sacredamethyst was glowing, fell lightly on my shoulder. He lowered his voice"You are the man, the one man in Italy, whose interests are bound upwith mine in this; therefore are you the one man to whom I can entrustthat package."
"I?" I gasped in amazement--as well I might, for what interests hadBoccadoro, the Fool, in common with Cesare Borgia, Cardinal of Valencia?
"You," he answered vehemently, "you, Lazzaro Biancomonte of Biancomonte,whose father Costanzo of Pesaro stripped of his domains. The matters inthose papers mean the ruin of the Lord of Pesaro. We are all but ripe tostrike at him from Rome and when we strike he shall be so disfiguredby the blow that all Italy shall hold its sides to laugh at the sorryfigure he will cut. I would not say so much to any other living man butyou and if I tell it you it is because I need your aid."
"The lion and mouse," I murmured.
"Why yes, if you will."
"And this man is the husband of your sister!" I exclaimed, almostinvoluntarily.
"Does that imply a doubt of what I have said?" he flashed, his headthrown back, his brows drawn suddenly together.
"No, no," I hastened to assure him. He smiled softly.
"Maddonna Lucrezia knows all--or nearly all. Of what else she may needto learn, that letter will inform her. It is the last thread, the lastknot needed, before we can complete the net in which we are to hold thattyrant? Now, will you bear the letter?"
Would I bear it? Dear God! To achieve the end in view I would havespent my remaining days in motley, making sport for grooms andkitchen wenches. Some such answer did I make him, and he smiled hissatisfaction.
"You shall journey as you are," he bade me. "I am guided by my sister,assured that the coat of a Fool is stouter protection than the besthauberk ever tempered. When you have done your errand come you back tome, and you shall have employment better suited to one who bears thename of Biancomonte."
"You may depend upon me in this, my lord," I promised gravely. "I shallnot fail you."
"It is well" said he; and those wondrous eyes of his rested again uponmy face. "How soon can you set out?"
"At once, my lord. Does not the by-word say that a fool makes littlepreparation for a journey?"
He nodded, and moved to a coffer, a beautiful piece of Venetian work inultramarine and gold. From this he took a heavy bag.
"There," said he, "you will find the best of all travelling companions."I thanked him, and set the bag on the crook of my left arm, and by itsweight I knew how true he was to the notorious splendour of his race."And this," said he, "is a talisman that may serve to help you out ofany evil plight, and open many a door that you may find locked." And hehanded me a signet ring on which was graven the steer that is the emblemof the House of Borgia.
He raised aloft the hand on which was glistening the sacredamethyst--two fingers crooked and two erect. Wondering what this shouldmean, I stared inquiry.
"Kneel," he bade me. And realising what he would be about, I sank onto my knees whilst he murmured the Apostolic benediction over my bowedhead. The rushes of the floor were the only witnesses of the smile thatcrept to my lips at this sudden assumption of his churchly office bythat most worldly prince.