PART II. THE OGRE OF CESENA
CHAPTER XI. MADONNA'S SUMMONS
However great the part that my mother--sainted woman that she was--mayhave played in my life, she nowise enters into the affairs of thischronicle, so that it would be an irrelevance and an impertinence tointroduce her into these pages. Of the joy with which she welcomed me tothe little home near Biancomonte, in which the earnings of Boccadoro theFool had placed her, it could interest you but little to read in detail,nor could it interest you to know of the gentle patience with whichshe cheered and humoured me during the period that I sojourned there,tilling the little plot she owned, reaping and garnering like any bornvillano. With a woman's quick intuition she guessed perhaps the cankerthat was eating at my heart, and with a mother's blessed charity shesought to soothe and mitigate my pain.
It was during this period of my existence that the poetic gifts I haddiscovered myself possessed of whilst at Pesaro, burst into fullbloom; and not a little relief did I find in the penning of thoselove-songs--the true expression of what was in my heart--which havesince been given to the world under the title of Le Rime di Boccadoro.And what time I tended my mother's land by day, and wrote by night ofthe feverish, despairing love that was consuming me, I waited for thecall that, sooner or later, I knew must come. What prophetic instinctit was had rooted that certainty in my heart I do not pretend to say.Perhaps my hope was of such a strength that it assumed the form ofcertainty to solace the period of my hermitage. But that some dayMadonna Paola's messenger would arrive bringing me the Borgia ring, Iwas as confident as that some day I must die.
Two years went by, and we were in the Autumn of 1502, yet my faithknew no abating, my confidence was strong as ever. And, at last, thatconfidence was justified. One night of early October, as I sat at supperwith my mother after the labours of the day, a sound of hoofs disturbedthe peace of the silent night. It drew rapidly nearer, and long beforethe knock fell upon our door, I knew that it was the messenger from mylady.
My mother looked at me across the board, an expression of alarmoverspreading her old face. "Who," her eyes seemed to ask me, "was thishorseman that rode so late?"
My hound rose from the hearth with a growl, and stood bristling, hiseyes upon the door. White-haired old Silvio, the last remaining retainerof the House of Biancomonte, came forth from the kitchen, with inquiryand fear blending on his wrinkled, weather-beaten countenance.
And I, seeing all these signs of alarm, yet knowing what awaited meon the threshold, rose with a laugh, and in a bound had crossed theintervening space. I flung wide the door, and from the gloom without aman's voice greeted me with a question.
"Is this the house of Messer Lazzaro Biancomonte?"
"I am that Lazzaro Biancomonte," answered I. "What may your pleasurebe?"
The stranger advanced until he came within the light. He was plainlydressed, and wore a jerkin of leather and long boots. From his air Ijudged him a servant or a courier. He doffed his hat respectfully, andheld out his right hand in which something was gleaming yellow. It wasthe Borgia ring.
"Pesaro," was all he said.
I took the ring and thanked him, then bade him enter and refresh himselfere he returned, and I called old Silvio to bring wine.
"I am not returning," the man informed me. "I am a courier riding toParma, whom Madonna charged with that message to you in passing."
Nevertheless he consented to rest him awhile and sip the wine we setbefore him, and what time he did so I engaged him in talk, and led himto tell me what he knew of the trend of things at Pesaro, and what newsthere was of the Lord Giovanni. He had little enough to tell. Pesarowas flourishing and prospering under the Borgia dominion. Of the LordGiovanni there was little news, saving that he was living under theprotection of the Gonzagas in Mantua, and that so long as he was contentto abide there the Borgias seemed disposed to give him peace.
Next I made him tell me what he knew of Filippo di Santafior and MadonnaPaola. On this subject he was better informed. Madonna Paola was welland still lived with her brother at the Palace of Pesaro. The LordFilippo was high in favour with the Borgias, and Cesare lately had beenfrequently his guest at Pesaro, whilst once, for a few days, the LordIgnacio de Borgia had accompanied his illustrious cousin.
I flushed and paled at that piece of news, and the reason of her summonsno longer asked conjecture. It was an easy thing for me, knowing what Iknew, to fill in the details which the courier omitted in ignorance fromthe story.
The Lord Filippo, seeking his own advancement, had so urged his sisterupon the notice of the Borgia family--perhaps even approached Cesare--insuch a manner that it was again become a question of wedding her toIgnacio, who had, meanwhile, remained unmarried. I could read thatopportunist's motives as easily as if he had written them down for myinstruction. Giovanni Sforza he accounted lost beyond redemption, and Icould imagine how he had plied his wits to aid his sister to forgethim, or else to remember him no longer with affection. Whether he hadsucceeded or not I could not say until I had seen her; but meanwhile,deeming ripe the soil of her heart for the new attachment that shouldredound so much to his own credit--now that the House of Borgia hadrisen to such splendid heights--he was driving her into this alliancewith Ignacio.
Faithful to the very letter of the promise I had made her, I set outthat same night, after embracing my poor, tearful mother, and promisingto return as soon as might be. All night I rode, my soul now torturedwith anxiety, now exalted at the supreme joy of seeing Madonna, whichwas so soon to be mine. I was at the gates of Pesaro before matins, andwithin the Palazzo Sforza ere its inmates had broken their fast.
The Lord Filippo welcomed me with a certain effusion, chiding me for mylong absence and the ingratitude it had seemed to indicate, and neverdreaming by what summons I was brought back.
"You are well-returned," he told me in conclusion. "We shall need yousoon, to write an epithalamium."
"You are to be wed, Magnificent?" quoth I at last, at which he laughedconsumedly.
"Nay, we shall need the song for my sister's nuptials. She is to wed theLord Ignacio Borgia, before Christmas."
"A lofty theme," I answered with humility, "and one that may well demandresources nobler than those of my poor pen."
"Then get you to work at once upon it. I will have your chamberprepared."
He sent for his seneschal, a person--like most Of the servants at thePalace--strange to me, and he gave orders that I should be sumptuouslylodged. He was grown more splendid than ever in the prosperity thatseemed to surround him here at Pesaro, in this Palace that had undergonesuch changes and been so enriched during the past two years as to gonear defying recognition.
When the seneschal had shown me to the quarters he had set apart for me,I made bold to make inquiries concerning Madonna Paola.
"She is in the garden, Illustrious," answered the seneschal, deemingme, no doubt, a great lord, from the respect which Filippo had indicatedshould be shown me. "Madonna has the wisdom to seek the little sunshinethe year still holds. Winter will be soon upon us."
I agreed with the old man, and dismissed him. So soon as he was gone, Iquitted my chamber, and all dust staineded as I was I made my way downto the garden. A turn in one of the boxwood-bordered alleys brought mesuddenly face to face with Madonna Paola.
A moment we stood looking at each other, my heart swelling within meuntil I thought that it must burst. Then I advanced a step and sank onone knee before her.
"You sent for me, Madonna. I am here." There was a pause, and whenpresently I looked up into her blessed face I saw a smile of infinitesorrow on her lips, blending oddly with the gladness that shone from hersweet eyes.
"You faithful one," she murmured at last. "Dear Lazzaro, I did not lookfor you so soon."
"Within an hour of your messenger's arrival I was in the saddle, nor didI pause until I had reached the gates of Pesaro. I am here to serve youto the utmost of my power, Madonna, and the only doubt that assails meis that my power may be all too small for the
service that you need."
"Is its nature known to you?" she asked in wonder. Then, ere I hadanswered, she bade me rise, and with her own hand assisted me.
"I have guessed it," answered I, "guided by such scraps of informationas from your messenger I gleaned. It concerns, unless I err, the LordIgnacio Borgia."
"Your wits have lost nothing of their quickness," she said, with a sadsmile, "and I doubt me you know all."
"The only thing I did not know your brother has just told me--thatyou are to be wed before Christmas. He has ordered me to write yourepithalamium."
She drew into step beside me, and we slowly paced the alley side byside, and, as we went, withered leaves overhead, and withered leaves tomake a carpet for our fret, she told me in her own way more or lesswhat I have set down, even to her brother's self-seeking share in thetransaction that she dubbed hideous and abhorrent.
She was little changed, this winsome lady in the time that was sped. Shewas in her twenty-first year, but in reality she seemed to me no olderthan she had been on that day when first I saw her arguing with hergrooms upon the road to Cagli. And from this I reassured myself that shehad not been fretted overmuch by the absence of the Lord Giovanni.
Presently she spoke of him and of her plighted word which her brotherand those supple gentlemen of the House of Borgia were inducing her todishonour.
"Once before, in a case almost identical, when all seemed lost, youcame--as if Heaven directed--to my rescue. This it is that gives meconfidence in such aid as you might lend me now."
"Alas! Madonna," I sighed, "but the times are sorely changed and thesituations with them. What is there now that I can do?"
"What you did then. Take me beyond their reach."
"Ah! But whither?"
"Whither but to the Lord Giovanni? Is it not to him that my troth isplighted?"
I shook my head in sorrow, a thrust of jealousy cutting me the while.
"That may not be," said I. "It were not seemly, unless the Lord Giovanniwere here himself to take you hence."
"Then I will write to the Lord Giovanni," she cried. "I will write, andyou shall bear my letter."
"What think you will the Lord Giovanni do?" I burst out, with a scornthat must have puzzled her. "Think you his safety does not give him careenough in the hiding-place to which he has crept, that he should drawupon himself the vengeance of the Borgias?"
She stared at me in ineffable surprise. "But the Lord Giovanni isbrave and valiant," she cried, and down in my heart I laughed in bittermockery.
"Do you love the Lord Giovanni, Madonna?" I asked bluntly.
My question seemed to awaken fresh astonishment. It may well be that itawakened, too, reflection. She was silent for a little space. Then--
"I honour and respect him for a noble, chivalrous and gifted gentleman,"she answered me, and her answer made me singularly content, spreading abalm upon the wounds my soul had taken. But to her fresh intercessionsthat I should carry a letter to him, I shook my head again. My mood wasstubborn.
"Believe me, Madonna, it were not only unwise, but futile."
She protested.
"I swear it would be," I insisted, with a convincing force that left herstaring at me and wondering whence I derived so much assurance. "Wemust wait. From now till Christmas we have more than two months. In twomonths much may befall. As a last resource we may consider communicationwith the Lord Giovanni. But it is a forlorn hope, Madonna, and so wewill leave it until all else has failed us."
She brightened at my promise that at least if other measures provedunavailing, we should adopt that course, and her brightening flatteredme, for it bore witness to the supreme confidence she had in me.
"Lazzaro," said she, "I know you will not fail me. I trust you more thanany living mam; more, I think, than even the Lord Giovanni, whom, if Godpleases, I shall some day wed."
"Thanks, Madonna mia," I answered, gratefully indeed. "It is a trustthat I shall ever strive to justify. Meanwhile have faith and hope, andwait."
Once before, when, to escape the schemes of her brother who would havewed her to the Lord Giovanni, she had appealed to me, the counsel I hadgiven her had been much the same as that which I gave her now. At theirony of it I could have laughed had any other been in question butMadonna Paola--this tender White Flower of the Quince that was like tobe rudely wilted by the ruthless hands of scheming men.