CHAPTER XXI. AVE CAESAR!
For just an instant I allowed myself to be tortured by the hope that amiracle had happened, and here was Cesare Borgia come a good eight hoursbefore it was possible for Mariani to have fetched him from Faenza. Thesame doubt may have crossed Ramiro's mind, for he changed colour andsprang to the door to bawl an order forbidding his men to lower thebridge.
But he was too late. Before he was answered by his followers, we heardthe creaking of the hinges and the rattle of the running chains, endingin a thud that told us the drawbridge had dropped across the moat.Then came the loud continuous thunder of many hoofs upon its timbers.Paralysed by fear Ramiro stood where he had halted, turning his eyeswildly in this direction and in that, but never moving one way or theother.
It must be Cesare, I swore to myself. Who else could ride to Cessna withsuch numbers? But then, if it was Cesare, it could not be that he hadseen Mariani, for he could not have ridden from Faenza. Madonna hadrisen too, and with a white face and straining eyes she was lookingtowards the door.
And then our doubts were at last ended. There was a jangle of spurs andthe fall of feet, and through the open door stepped a straight, martialfigure in a doublet of deep crimson velvet, trimmed with costly lynxfurs and slashed with satin in the sleeves and shoulder-puffs; jewelsgleamed in the massive chain across his breast and at the marroquingirdle that carried his bronze-hilted sword; his hose was of red silk,and his great black boots were armed with golden spurs. But to crown allthis very regal splendour was the beautiful, pale, cold face of CesareBorgia, from out of which two black eyes flashed and played likesword-points on the company.
Behind him surged a press of mercenaries, in steel, their weapons nakedin their hands, so that no doubt was left of the character of thisvisit.
Collecting himself, and bethinking him that after all, he had bestdissemble a good countenance; Ramiro advanced respectfully to meet hisoverlord. But ere he had taken three steps the Duke stayed him.
"Stand where you are, traitor," was the imperious command. "I'll trustyou no nearer to my person." And to emphasise his words he raised hisgloved left hand, which had been resting on his sword-hilt, and in whichI now observed that he held a paper.
Whether Ramiro recognised it, or whether it was that the mere sight ofa paper reminded him of the letter which on my testimony should be inCesare's keeping, or whether again the word "traitor" with which Cesarebranded him drove the iron deeper into his soul, I cannot say; but tothis I can testify: that he turned a livid green, and stood there beforehis formidable master in an attitude so stricken as to have aroused pityfor any man less a villain than was he.
And now Cesare's eye, travelling round, alighted on Madonna Paola,standing back in the shadows to which she had instinctively withdrawn athis coming. At sight of her he recoiled a pace, deeming, no doubt, thatit was an apparition stood before him. Then he looked again, and being aman whose mind was above puerile superstitions, he assured himself thatby what miracle the thing was wrought, the figure before him was theliving body of Madonna Paola Sforza di Santafior. He swept the velvetcap with its jewelled plume from off his auburn locks, and bowed lowbefore her.
"In God's name, Madonna, how are you come to life again, and how do Ifind you here of all places?"
She made no ado about enlightening him.
"That villain," said she, and her finger pointed straight and firmlyat Ramiro, "put a sleeping-potion in my wine on the last night he dinedwith us at Pesaro, and when all thought me dead he came to the Church ofSan Domenico with his men to carry off my sleeping body. He would havesucceeded in his fell design but that Lazzaro Biancomonte there, whomyou have stayed him in the act of torturing to death, was beforehandand saved me from his clutches for a time. This morning at Cattolica hissearching sbirri discovered me and brought me hither, where I have beenfor the past three hours, and where, but for your Excellency's timelyarrival, I shudder to think of the indignities I might have suffered."
"I thank you, Madonna, for this clear succinctness," answered Cesarecoldly, as was his habit. They say he was a passionate man, and suchindeed I do believe him to have been; but even in the hottest frenzy ofrage, outwardly he was ever the same--icily cold and tranquil. And this,no doubt, was the thing that made him terrible.
"Presently, Madonna," he pursued, "I shall ask you to tell me how itchanced that, having saved you, Messer Biancomonte did not bear youto your brother's house. But first I have business with my Governor ofCesena--a score which is rendered, if possible, heavier than it alreadystood by this thing that you have told me."
"My lord," cried out Ramiro, finding his tongue at last, "Madonna hasmisinformed you. I know nothing of who administered the sleeping-potion.Certainly it was not I. I heard a rumour that her body had been stolen,and--"
"Silence!" Cesare commanded sternly. "Did I question you, dog?"
His beautiful, terrible eyes fastened upon Ramiro in a glance thatdefied the man to answer him. Cowed, like a hound at sight of the whip,Ramiro whimpered into silence.
Cesare waved his hand in his direction, half-turning to the men-at-armsbehind him.
"Take and disarm him," was his passionless command. And while they weredoing his bidding, he turned to me and ordered the executioner beside meto unbind my hands and set me at liberty.
"I owe you a heavy debt, Messer Biancomonte," he said, without anywarmth, even now that his voice was laden with a message of gratitude."It shall be discharged. It is thanks to your daring and resource thatthe seneschal Mariani was able to bring me this letter, this piece ofculminating proof against Ramiro del' Orca. It is fortunate for you thatMariani was not put to it to ride to Faenza to find me, or else I amafraid we had not reached Cesena in time to save your life. I met himsome leagues this side of Faenza, as I was on my way to Sinigaglia."
He turned abruptly to Ramiro.
"In this letter which Vitelli wrote you," said he, "it is suggested thatthere are others in the conspiracy. Tell me now, who are those others?See that you answer me with truth, for I shall compel proofs from you ofsuch accusations as you may make."
Ramiro looked at him with eyes rendered dull by agony. He moistened hislips with his tongue, and turning his head towards his men--
"Wine," he gasped, from very force of habit. "A cup of wine!"
"Let it be supplied him," said Cesare coldly, and we all stood waitingwhile a servant filled him a cup. Ramiro gulped the wine avidly, neverpausing until the goblet was empty.
"Now," said Cesare, who had been watching him, "will it please you toanswer my question?"
"My lord," said Ramiro, revived and strengthened in spirit by thedraught, "I must ask your Excellency to be a little plainer with me.To what conspiracy is it that you refer? I know of none. What is thisletter which you say Vitelli wrote me? I take it you refer to the Lordof Citta di Castello. But I can recall no letters passing between us. Myacquaintance with him is of the slightest."
Cesare looked at him a second.
"Approach," he curtly bade him, and Ramiro came forward, one of theBorgia halberdiers on either side of him, each holding him by an arm.The Duke thrust the letter under his eyes. "Have you never seen thatbefore?"
Ramiro looked at it a moment, and his attempt at dissemblingbewilderment was a ludicrous thing to witness.
"Never," he said brazenly at last.
Cesare folded the letter and slipped it into the breast of his doublet.From his girdle he took a second paper. He turned from Ramiro.
"Don Miguel," he called.
From behind his men-at-arms a tall man, all dressed in black, stoodforward. It was Cesare's Spanish captain, one whose name was as wellknown and as well-dreaded in Italy as Cesare's own. The Duke held out tohim the paper that he had produced.
"You heard the question that I asked Messer del' Orca?" he inquired.
"I heard, Illustrious," answered Miguel, with a bow.
"See that you obtain me an answer to it, as well as an account ofthe other matters that I have noted on this lis
t--concerning themisappropriation of stores, the retention of taxes illicitly levied, andthe wanton cruelty towards my good citizens of Cesena. Put him to thequestion without delay, and record me his replies. The implements areyonder."
And with the same calm indifference which characterised his every wordand action Cesare pointed to the torture, and turned to Madonna Paola,as though he gave the matter of Ramiro del' Orca and his misdeeds notanother thought.
"Mercy, my lord," rang now the voice of Ramiro, laden with horrid fear."I will speak."
"Then do so--to Don Miguel. He will question you in my name." Again heturned to Madonna. "Madonna Paola, may I conduct you hence? Things mayperhaps occur which it is not seemly your gentle eyes should witness.Messer Biancomonte, attend us."
Now, in spite of all that Ramiro had made me suffer, I should have beenloath to have remained and witnessed his examination. That they wouldtorture him was now inevitable. His chance of answering freely wasgone. Even if he returned meek replies to Don Miguel's questions,that gentleman would, no doubt, still submit him to the cord by way ofassuring himself that such replies were true ones.
Gladly, then, did I turn to follow the Duke and Madonna Paola into theadjoining chamber to which Cesare led the way, even as Don Miguel'svoice was raised to command his men to clear the hall, to the end thathe might conduct his examination in private.
The three of us stood in the anteroom. A servant had lighted the tapersand closed the doors, and the Duke turned to me.
"First, Messer Biancomonte, to discharge my debt. You are, if I am notmisinformed, the lord by right of birth of certain lands that bearyour name, which suffered sequestration during the reign of the lateCostanzo, Tyrant of Pesaro, whose son Giovanni upheld that confiscation.Am I right?"
"Your Excellency is very well informed. The Lord of Pesaro did make metardy restitution--so tardy, indeed, that the lands which he restored tome had already virtually passed from his possession."
Cesare smiled.
"In recompense for the service you have rendered me this day," said he,and my heart thrilled at the words and at the thought of the joy whichI was about to bear to my old mother, "I reinvest you in your landsof Biancomonte for so long as you are content to recognise in me youroverlord, and to be loyal, true and faithful to my rule."
I bowed, murmuring something of the joy I felt and the devotion I shouldentertain.
"Then that is done with. You shall have the deed from my hand bymorning. And now, Madonna, will you grant me some explanation of yourconduct in leaving Pesaro in this man's company, instead of repairing toyour brother's house, when you awakened from the effects of thepotion Ramiro gave you, or must I seek the explanation from MesserBiancomonte?"
Her eyes fell before the scrutiny of his, and when they were raisedagain it was to meet my glance, and if Cesare could not, for himself,read the message of those eyes, why then, his penetration was by nomeans what the world accounted it.
"My lord," I cried, "let me explain. I love Madonna Paola. It was loveof her that led me to the church and kept me there that night. It waslove of her and the overmastering passion of my grief at her so suddendeath that led me, in a madness, to desire once more to look upon herface ere they delivered it to earth's keeping. Thus was it that I cameto discover that she lived; thus was it that I anticipated Ramiro del'Orca. He came upon us almost before I had raised her from the coffin,yet love lent me strength and craft to delude him. We hid awhile in thesacristy, and it was there, after Madonna had revived, that the pent-uppassion of years burst the bond with which reason had bidden me restrainit."
"By the Host!" cried Cesare, his brows drawn down in a frown. "You are abold man to tell me this. And you, Madonna," he cried, turning suddenlyto her, "what have you to say?"
"Only, my lord, that I have suffered more I think in these past few daysthan has ever fallen to the life-time's share of another woman. I think,my lord, that I have suffered enough to have earned me a little peaceand a little happiness for the remainder of my days. All my life havemen plagued me with marriages that were hateful to me, and this hasculminated in the brutal act of Ramiro del' Orca. Do you not think thatI have endured enough?"
He stared at her for a moment.
"Then you love this fellow?" he gasped. "You, Madonna Paola Sforza diSantafior, one of the noblest ladies in all Italy, confess to love thislordling of a few barren acres?"
"I loved him, Illustrious, when he was less, much less, than that.I loved him when he was little better than the Fool of the Court ofPesaro, and not even the shame of the motley that disgraced him couldstay the impulse of my affections."
He laughed curiously.
"By my faith," said he, "I have gone through life complaining of thewant of frankness in the men and women I have met. But you two seemto deal in it liberally enough to satisfy the most ardent seeker aftertruth. I would that Pontius Pilate could have known you." Then he grewsterner. "But what account of this evening's adventure am I to bear tomy cousin Ignacio?"
She hung her head in silence, whilst my own spirit trembled. Thensuddenly I spoke.
"My lord," said I, "if you take her back to Pesaro, you may keep thedeed of Biancomonte. For unless Madonna Paola goes thither with me, yourgift is a barren one, your reward of no account or value to me."
"I would not have it so," said he, his head on one side and his fingerstoying with his auburn beard. "You saved my life, and you must berewarded fittingly."
"Then, Illustrious, in payment for my preservation of your life, do yourender happy mine, and we shall thus be quits."
"My lord," cried Paola, putting forth her hands in supplication, "if youhave ever loved, befriend us now."
A shadow darkened his face for an instant, then it was gone, and hisexpression was as inscrutable as ever. Yet he took her hands in his andlooked down into her eyes.
"They say that I am hard, bloodthirsty and unfeeling," he said in tonesthat were almost of complaint. "But I am not proof against so muchappeal. Ignacio must find him a bride in Spain; and if he is wise andwould taste the sweets of life, he will see to it that he finds him awilling one."
"As for you two, Cesare Borgia shalt stand your friend. He owes you noless. I will be godfather to your nuptials. Thus shall the blame andconsequences rest on me. Paola Sforza di Santafior is dead, men think.We will leave them thinking it. Filippo must know the truth. But you cantrust me to make your brother take a reasonable view of what has cometo pass. After all, there may be a disparity in your ranks. But it ispurely adventitious, for noble though you may be, Madonna Paola, you arewedding one who seems no less noble at heart, whatever the parts he mayhave played in life." He smiled inscrutably, as he added: "I have inmind that you once sought service with me Messer Biancomonte, and if amartial life allures you still, I'll make you lord of something betterfar than Biancomonte."
I thanked him, and Madonna joined me in that expression of gratitude--anexpression that fell very short of all that was in our hearts. Buttouching that offer of his that I should follow his fortunes, I beggedhim not to insist.
"The possession of Biancomonte has from my cradle been the goal of allmy hopes. It is patrimony enough for me, and there, with MadonnaPaola, I'll take a long farewell of ambition, which is but the seed ofdiscontent."
"Why, as you will," he sighed. And then, before more could be said,there came from the adjoining room a piercing scream.
Cesare raised his head, and his lips parted in the faintest vestige of asmile.
"They are exacting the truth from the Governor of Cesena," said he. "Ithink, Madonna, that we had better move a little farther off. Ramiro'svoice makes indifferent music for a lady's ear."
She was white as death at the horrid noise and all the things of whichit may have reminded her, and so we passed from the antechamber andsought the more distant places of the castle.
Here let me pause. We were married on the morrow which was Christmaseve, and in the grey dawn of the Christmas morning we set out forBiancomonte with the escort which Ces
are Borgia placed at our disposal.
As we rode out from the Citadel of Cesena, we saw the last of Ramirodel' Orca. Beyond the gates, in the centre of the public square, a blockstood planted in the snow. On the side nearer the castle there was adark mass over which a rich mantle had been thrown; it was of purplecolour, and in the uncertain light it was not easy to tell where thecloak ended, and the stain that embrued the snow began. On the otherside of the block a decapitated head stood mounted on an upright pike,and the sightless eyes of Ramiro del' Orca looked from his grinning faceupon the town of Cesena, which he had so wantonly misruled.
Madonna shuddered and turned her head aside as we rode past that dreademblem of the Borgia justice.
To efface from her mind the memory of such a thing on such a day, Italked to her, as we cantered out into the country, of the life to come,of the mother that waited to welcome us, and of the glad tidings withwhich we were to rejoice her on that Christmas day.
There is no moral to my story. I may not end with one of those gracefuladmonitions beloved of Messer Boccacci to whom in my jester's daysI owed so much. Not mine is it to say with him "Wherefore, gentleladies"--or "noble sirs--beware of this, avoid that other thing."
Mine is a plain tale, written in the belief that some account ofthose old happenings that befell me may offer you some measure ofentertainment, and written, too, in the support of certain truths whichmy contemporaries have been shamefully inclined and simoniacally inducedto suppress. Many chroniclers set forth how the Lord Vitellozzo Vitelliand his associates were barbarously strangled by Cesare's orders atSinigaglia, and wilfully--for I cannot believe that it results fromignorance--are they silent touching the reason, leaving you to imaginethat it was done in obedience to a ruthlessness of character beyondparallel, so that you may come to consider Cesare Borgia as black asthey were paid to paint him.
To confute them do I set down these facts of which my knowledge cannotbe called in question, and also that you may know the true story ofPaola di Santafior--and more particularly that part of it which liesbeyond the death she did not die.
The sun of that Christmas day was setting as we drew near to Biancomonteand the humble dwelling of my old mother. We fell into talk of her oncemore. Suddenly Paola turned in her saddle to confront me.
"Tell me, Lord of Biancomonte, will she love me a little, think you?"she asked, to plague me.
"Who would not love you, Lady of Biancomonte?" counter-questioned I.
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