CHAPTER VI. FOOL'S LUCK
My return to consciousness seemed to afford me such sensations as adiver may experience as he rises up and up through the depth of waterhe has plumbed--or as a disembodied soul may know in its gentle ascenttowards Heaven. Indeed the latter parallel may be more apt. For throughthe mist that suffused my senses there penetrated from overhead a voicethat seemed to invoke every saint in the calendar on the behalf of somepoor mortal. A very litany of intercession was it, not quite, it wouldappear, devoid of self-seeking.
"Sainted Virgin, restore him! Good St. Paul, who wert done to death witha sword, let him not perish, else am I lost indeed!" came the voice.
I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes, whereat the voice cried outgladly that its intercessions had been heard, and I knew that it was onmy behalf that the saints of Heaven had been disturbed in their beatificpeace. My head was pillowed in a woman's lap, and it took me a moment ortwo to realise that that lap was Madonna Paula's, as was hers the voicethat had reached my awakening senses, the voice that now welcomed meback to life in terms that were very different from the last that Icould remember her having used towards me.
"Thank God, Messer Boccadoro!" she exclaimed, as she bent over me.
Her face was black with shadow, but in her voice I caught a hint oftears, and I wondered whether they were shed on my behalf or on her own.
"I do!" I answered fervently. "Have you any notion of what hour it is?"
"None," she sighed. "You have been so long unconscious that I was losinghope of ever hearing your voice again."
I became aware of a dull ache on the right side of my head. I put up myhand, and withdrew it moist. She saw the action.
"One of the horses must have struck you with its hoof after you fell,"she explained. "But I was more concerned for your other wound. Iwithdrew the sword with my own hands."
That other wound she spoke of was now making itself felt as well. It wasa gnawing, stinging pain in the region of my left shoulder, whichseemed to turn me numb to the waist on that side of my body, and renderpowerless my arm. I questioned her touching my three adversaries, andshe silently pointed to three black masses that lay some little distancefrom us in the snow.
"Not all dead?" I cried.
"I do not know," she answered, with a sob. "I have not dared go nearthem. They frighten me. Mother of Heaven, what a night of horror ithas been! Oh, that I had taken your advice, Messer Boccacloro!" sheexclaimed in a passion of self-reproach.
I laughed, seeking to soften her distress.
"To me it seems, that whether you would or not, you have been compelledto take it, after all. Those fellows lie there harmless enough, and I amstill--as I urged that I should be--your only escort."
"A nobler protector never woman had," she assured me, and I felt a hotpearl of moisture fail upon my brow.
"You were wise, at least, to journey with a Fool," I answered her. "Forfools are proverbially lucky folk, and to-night has proven me of allfools the luckiest. But, Madonna," I suggested, in a different tone,"should we not be better advised to attempt to resume, this interestingjourney of ours? We do not seem to lack horses?"
A couple of nags were standing by the road-side, together with ourmules, and I was afterwards to learn that she, herself, it was hadtethered them.
"It must be yet some three leagues to Pesaro," I added, "and if wejourney slowly, as I fear me that we must, we should arrive there soonafter daybreak."
"Do you think that you can stand?" she asked, a hopeful ring in hervoice.
"I might essay it," answered I, and I would have done so, there andthen, but that she detained me.
"First let me see to this hurt in your head," said she. "I have beenbathing it with snow while you were unconscious."
She gathered a fresh handful as she spoke, and, very tenderly she wipedaway the blood. Then from her own head she took the fine linen lanzathat she wore, and made a bandage--a bandage sweet with the faintfragrance of marsh-mallow--and bound it about my battered skull. Whenthat was done she turned her attention to my shoulder. This was a moredifficult matter, and all that we could do was to attempt to stanch theblood, which already had drenched my doublet on that side. To this endshe passed a long scarf under my arm, and wound it several times aboutmy shoulder.
At last her gentle ministrations ended, I sought to rise. A dizzinessassailed me scarce was I on my feet, and it is odds I had fallen back,but that she caught and steadied me.
"Mother in Heaven! You are too weak to ride," she exclaimed. "You mustnot attempt it."
"Nay, but I will," I answered, with more stoutness of tone than I feltof body, and notwithstanding that my knees were loosening under myweight. "It is a faintness that will pass."
If ever man willed himself to conquer weakness, that did I then, andwith some measure of success--or else it was that my faintness passedof itself. I drew away from her support, and straightening myself, Icrossed to where the animals were tethered, staggering at first, butpresently with a surer foot. She followed me, watching my steps withas much apprehension as a mother may feel when her first-born makes hisearliest attempts at walking, and as ready to spring to my aid did Ishow signs of stumbling. But I kept up, and presently my senses seemedto clear, and I stepped out more surely.
Awhile we stood discussing which of the animals we should take. It wasmy suggestion that we should ride the horses but she wisely contendedthat the mules would prove the more convenient if the slower. I agreedwith her, and then, ere we set out, I went to see to my late opponents.One of them--Ser Stefano--was cold and stiff; the other two still lived,and from the nature of their wounds seemed likely to survive, if onlythey were not frozen to death before some good Samaritan came upon them.
I knelt a moment to offer up a prayer for the repose of the soul of himthat was dead, and I bound up the wounds of the living as best I could,to save them greater loss of blood. Indeed, had it lain in my power, Iwould have done more for them. But in what case was I to render furtheraid? After all, they had brought their fate upon themselves, and I doubtnot they were paying a score that they had heaped up heavily in thepast.
I went back to the mules, and, despite my remonstrances, Madonna Paolainsisted upon aiding me to mount, urging me to have a care of my wound,and to make no violent movement that should set it bleeding again. Thenshe mounted too, nimble as any boy that ever robbed an orchard, and weset out once more. And now it was a very contrite and humbled lady thatrode with me, and one that was at no pains to dissemble her contrition,but, rather, could speak of nothing else.
It moved me strangely to have her suing pardon from me, as though I hadbeen her equal instead of the sometime jester of the Court of Pesaro,dismissed for an excessive pertness towards one with whom his mastercurried favour.
And presently, as was perhaps but natural after all that she hadwitnessed, she fell to questioning me as to how it came to pass thatone of such wit, resource and courage should follow the mean callingto which I had owned. In answer I told her without reservation the fullstory of my shame. It was a thing that I had ever most zealously kepthidden, as already I have shown.
To be a Fool was evil enough in all truth; but to let men know thatunder my motley was buried the identity of a man patrician-born wassomething infinitely worse. For, however vile the trade of a Fool maybe, it is not half so vile for a low-born clod who is too indolent ortoo sickly to do honest work as for one who has accepted it out of ahalf-cowardice and persevered in it through very sloth.
Yet on that night and after all that had chanced, no matter how mycheeks might burn in the gloom as I rode beside her, I was glad for onceto tell that ignominious story, glad that she should know what weight ofcircumstance had driven me to wear my hideous livery.
But since my story dealt oddly with that Lord of Pesaro, the kinsmanwhose shelter she was now upon her way to seek, I must first assuremyself that the candour to which I was disposed would not offend.
"Does it happen, Madonna," I inquired, "that you are well acq
uaintedwith the Lord of Pesaro?"
"Nay; I have never seen him," answered she. "When he was at Rome, a yearago in the service of the Pope, I was at my studies in the convent. Hisfather was my father's cousin, so that my kinship is none so near. Whydo you ask?"
"Because my story deals with him, Madonna, and it is no pretty tale. Notsuch a narrative as I should choose wherewith to entertain you. Still,since you have asked for it, you shall hear it.
"It was in the year that Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro, celebrated hisnuptials with the Lady Lucrezia Borgia--three years ago, therefore--thatone morning there rode into the courtyard of his castle of Pesazo atall and lean young man on a tall and lean old horse. He was garbed andharnessed after a fashion that proclaimed him half-knight, half-peasant,and caused the castle lacqueys to eye him with amusement and greet himwith derision. Lacqueys are great arbiters of fashion.
"In a loud, imperious voice this cockerel called for Giovanni, Lordof Pesaro, whereupon, resenting the insolence of his manner, themen-at-arms would have driven him out without more ado. But it chancedthat from one of the windows of his stronghold the tyrant espied hisodd visitor. He was in a mood that craved amusement, and marvelling whatmadman might be this, he made his way below and bade them stand back andlet me speak--for I, Madonna, was that lean young man.
"'Are you,' quoth I, 'the Lord of Pesaro?'
"He answered me courteously that he was, whereupon I did my errand tohim. I flung my gauntlet of buffalo-hide at his feet in gage of battle.
"'Your father,' said I, 'Costanzo of Pesaro, was a foul brigand, whorobbed my father of his castle and lands of Biancomonte, leaving himto a needy and poverty-stricken old age. I am here to avenge upon yourfather's son my father's wrongs; I am here to redeem my castle andmy lands. If so be that you are a true knight, you will take up thechallenge that I fling you, and you will do battle with me, on horse orfoot, and with whatsoever arms you shall decree, God defending him thathas justice on his side.'
"Knowing the world as I know it now, Madonna," I interpolated, "Irealise the folly of that act of mine. But in those days my viewsbelonged to a long departed age of chivalry, of which I had learnt fromsuch books as came my way at Biancomonte, and which I believed was thelife of to-day in the world of men. It was a thing which some tyrantswould have had me broken on the wheel. But Giovanni Sforza never so muchas manifested anger. There was a complacent smile on his white face andhis fingers toyed carelessly with his beard.
"I waited patiently, very haughty of mien and very fierce at heart, andwhen the amusement began to fade from his eyes, I begged that he woulddeliver me his answer.
"'My answer,' quoth he, 'is that you get you back to the place fromwhence you came, and render thanks to God on your knees every morning ofthe life I am sparing you that Giovanni Sforza is more entertained thanaffronted by your frenzy.'
"At his words I went crimson from chin to brow.
"'Do you disdain me?' I questioned, choking with rage. He turned, witha shrug and a laugh, and bade one of his men to give this cavalier hisglove, and conduct him from the castle. Several that had stood at handmade shift to obey him, whereat I fell into such a blind, unreasoningfury that incontinently I drew my sword, and laid about me. They weremany, I was but one; and they were not long in overpowering me anddragging me from my horse.
"They bound me fast, and Giovanni bade them let me have a priest, thenget me hanged without delay. Had he done that, the world being as it is,perhaps none could blame him. But he elected to spare my life, yeton such terms as I could never have accepted had it not been for theconsideration of my poor widowed mother, whom I had left in the hills ofBiancomonte whilst I went forth to seek my fortune--such was the taleI had told her. I was her sole support, her only hope in life; and mydeath must have been her own, if not from grief, why, then from verywant. The thought of that poor old woman crushed my spirit as I sat indurance waiting for my end, and when the priest came, whom they had sentto shrive me, he found me weeping, which he took to argue a contriteheart. He bore the tale of it to Giovanni, and the Lord of Pesaro cameto visit me in consequence, and found me sorely changed from my furiousmood of some hours earlier.
"I was a very coward, I own; but it was for my mother's sake. If Ifeared death, it was because I bethought me of what it must mean toher."
"At sight of Giovanni I cast myself at his feet, and with tears in myeyes and in heartrending tones, bespeaking a humility as great as hadbeen my erstwhile arrogance, I begged my life of him. I told him thetruth--that for myself I was not afraid to die, but that I had a motherin the hills who was dependent on me, and who must starve if I were thuscut off.
"He watched me with his moody eyes, a saturnine smile about his lips.Then of a sudden he shook with a silent mirth, whose evil, maliciousdepth I was far indeed from suspecting. He asked me would I take solemnoath that if he spared my life I would never again raise my hand againsthim. That oath I took with a greediness born of my fear of the deaththat was impending.
"'You have been wise,' said he,' and you shall have your life on onecondition--that you devote it to my service.'
"'Even that will I do,' I answered readily. He turned to an attendant,and ordered him to go fetch a suit of motley. No word passed between usuntil that man returned with those garish garments. Then Giovanni smiledon me in his mocking, infernal way.
"'Not that,' I cried, guessing his purpose.
"'Aye, that,' he answered me; 'that or the hangman's noose. A man whocould devise so monstrous a jest as was your challenge to the Tyrant ofPesaro should be a merry fellow if he would. I need such a one. Thereare two Fools at my Court, but they are mere tumblers, deformed verminthat excite as much disgust as mirth. I need a sprightlier man, a man ofsome learning and more drollery; such a man, in short, as you would seemto be.'
"I recoiled in horror and disgust. Was this his clemency--this sparingof my life that he might submit it to an eternal shame? For a moment mymother was forgotten. I thought only of myself, and I grew resolved tohang.
"'When you spoke of service,' said I 'I thought of service of anhonourable sort.'
"'The service that I offer you is honourable,' he said, with coldamusement. 'Indeed, remembering that your life was forfeit, you shouldaccount yourself most fortunate. You shall be well housed and well fed,you shall wear silk and lie in fine linen, on condition that you aremerry. If you prove dull our castellan shall have you whipped--for sucha one as you could not be dull save out of sullenness, of which we shallseek to cure you if you show signs of it.'
"'I will not do it,' I cried, 'it were too base.'
"'My friend,' he answered me, 'the choice is yours. You shall have anhour in which to resolve what you will do. When they open this door foryou at sunset, come forth clad as you are, and you shall hang. Ifyou prefer to live, then don me that robe and cap of motley, and, oncondition that you are merry, life is yours.'"
I paused a moment. Our horses were moving slowly, for the tale engrossedus both, me in the telling, her in the hearing. Presently--
"I need not harass you with the reflections that were mine during thathour, Madonna. Rather let me ask you: how should a man so placed makechoice to be full worthy of the office proffered him?"
There was a moment's silence while she pondered.
"Why," she answered me, at last, "a fool I take it would have chosendeath: the wise man life, since it must hold the hope of better days."
"And since it asked a man of wit to play the fool to such a tune as theLord Giovanni piped, that wise young man chose life and folly. But wasthat choice indeed so wise? The story ends not there. That young menwhose early life had been one of hardships found himself, indeed,well-housed and fed as the Lord Giovanni had promised him, and so hefell into a slothful spirit, and was content to play the Fool for bedand board.
"There were times when conscience knocked loudly at my heart, and I wastortured with shame to see myself in the garb of Fools, the sport ofall, from prince to scullion. But in the three years that I had dw
elt atPesaro my identity had been forgotten by the few who had ever been awareof it. Moreover, a court is a place of changes, and in three years therehad been such comings and goings at the Court of Giovanni Sforza, thatnot more than one or two remained of those that had inhabited it whenfirst I entered on my existence there. Thus had my position grownsteadily more bearable. I was just a jester and no more, and so, ina measure--though I blush to say it--I grew content. I gatheredconsolation from the fact that there were not any who now remembered thestory of my coming to Pesaro, or who knew of the cowardliness I had beenguilty of when I consented to mask myself in the motley and assume thename of Boccadoro. I counted on the Lord Giovanni's generosity to letthings continue thus, and, meanwhile, I provided for my mother out ofthe vails that were earned me by my shame. But there came a day whenGiovanni in evil wantonness of spirit chose to make merry at the Fool'sexpense.
"To be held up to scorn and ridicule is a part of the trade of suchas I, and had it been just Boccadoro whom Giovanni had exposed to thederision of his Court, haply I had been his jester still. But such sportas that would have satisfied but ill the deep-seated malice of his soul.The man whom his cruel mockery crucified for their entertainment wasLazzaro Biancomonte, whom he revealed to them, relating in his ownfashion the tale I have told you.
"At that I rebelled, and I said such things to him in that hour, beforeall his Court, as a man may not say to a prince and live. Passion surgedup in him, and he ordered his castellan to flog me to the bone--inshort, to slay me with a whip.
"From that punishment I was saved by the intercessions of MadonnaLucrezia. But I was driven out of Pesaro that very night, and so ithappens that I am a wanderer now."
At that I left it. I had no mind to tell her what motives had impelledLucrezia Borgia to rescue me, nor on what errand I had gone to Rome andwas from Rome returning.
She had heard me in silence, and now that I had done, she heaved a sigh,for which gentle expression of pity out of my heart I thanked her. Wewere silent, thereafter, for a little while. At length she turned herhead to regard me in the light of the now declining moon.
"Messer Biancomonte," said she, and the sound of the old name, fallingfrom her lips, thrilled me with a joy unspeakable, and seemed already toreinvest me in my old estate, "Messer Biancomonte, you have done me inthese four-and-twenty hours such service as never did knight of old forany lady--and you did it, too, out of the most disinterested and nobleof motives, proving thereby how truly knightly is that heart of yours,which, for my sake, has all but beat its last to-night. You must journeyon to Pesaro with me despite this banishment of which you have told me.I will be surety that no harm shall come to you. I could not do less,and I shall hope to do far more. Such influence as I may prove to havewith my cousin of Pesaro shall be exerted all on your behalf, myfriend; and if in the nature of Giovanni Sforza there be a tithe of thegratitude with which you have inspired me, you shall, at least, havejustice, and Biancomonte shall be yours again."
I was silent for a spell, so touched was I by the kindness shemanifested me--so touched, indeed, and so unused to it that I forgot howamply I had earned it, and how rudely she had used me ere that was done.
"Alas!" I sighed. "God knows I am no longer fit to sit in the house ofthe Biancomonte. I am come too low, Madonna."
"That Lazzaro, after whom you are named," she answered, "had come yetlower. But he lived again, and resumed his former station. Take yourcourage from that."
"He lived not at the mercy of Giovanni of Pesaro," said I.
There was a fresh pause at that. Then--"At least," she urged me, "you'llcome to Pesaro with me?"
"Why yes," said I. "I could not let you go alone." And in my heart Ifelt a pang of shame, and called myself a cur for making use of her as Iwas doing to reach the Court of Giovanni Sforza.
"You need fear no consequences," she promised me. "I can be surety forthat at least."
In the east a brighter, yellower light than the moon's began to show.It was the dawn, from which I gathered that it must be approachingthe thirteenth hour. Pesaro could not be more than a couple of leaguesfarther, and, presently, when we had gained the summit of the slighthill we were ascending, we beheld in the distance a blurred mass loomingon the edge of the glittering sea. A silver ribbon that uncoiled itselffrom the western hills disappeared behind it. That silvery streak wasthe River Foglia; that heap of buildings against the landscape's virginwhite, the town of Pesaro.
Madonna pointed to it with a sudden cry of gladness. "See MesserBiancomonte, how near we are. Courage, my friend; a little farther, andyonder we have rest and comfort for you."
She had need, in truth, to cry me "Courage!" for I was weakening fastonce more. It may have been the much that I had talked, or the infernaljolting of my mule, but I was losing blood again, and as we were on thepoint of riding forward my senses swam, so that I cried out; and but forher prompt assistance I might have rolled headlong from my saddle.
As it was, she caught me about the waist as any mother might havedone her son. "What ails you?" she inquired, her newly-aroused anxietycontrasting sharply with her joyous cry of a moment earlier. "Are youfaint, my friend?" It needed no confession on my part. My condition wasall too plain as I leaned against her frail body for support.
"It is my wound," I gasped. Then I set my teeth in anguish. So near thehaven, and to fail now! It could not be; it must not be. I summoned allmy resolution, all my fortitude; but in vain. Nature demanded paymentfor the abuses she had suffered.
"If we proceed thus," she ventured fearfully, "you leaning against me,and going at a slow pace--no faster than a walk--think you, you can bearit? Try, good Messer 'Biancomonte."
"I will try, Madonna," I replied. "Perhaps thus, and if I am silent, wemay yet reach Pesaro together. If not--if my strength gives out--thetown is yonder and the day is coming. You will find your way withoutme."
"I will not leave you, sir," she vowed; and it was good to hear her.
"Indeed, I hope you may not know the need," I answered wearily. And thuswe started on once more.
Sant' Iddio! What agonies I suffered ere the sun rose up out of the seato flood us with his winter glory! What agonies were mine during thosetwo hours or so of that last stage of our eventful journey! "I must bearup until we are at the gates of Pesaro," I kept murmuring to myself,and, as if my spirit were inclined to become the servant of my will andhold my battered flesh alive until we got that far, Pesaro's gates I hadthe joy of entering ere I was constrained to give way.
Dimly I remember--for very dim were my perceptions growing--that as wecrossed the bridge and passed beneath the archway of the Porta Romana,the officer turned out to see who came. At sight of me be gaped a momentin astonishment.
"Boccadoro?" he exclaimed, at last. "So soon returned?"
"Like Perseus from the rescue of Andromeda," answered I, in a feeblevoice, "saving that Perseus was less bloody than am I. Behold theMadonna Paola Sforza di Santafior, the noble cousin of our High andMighty Lord."
And then as if my task being done, I were free to set my weary brainto rest, my senses grew confused, the officer's voice became a hum thatgradually waxed fainter as I sank into what seemed the most luxuriousand delicious sleep that ever mortal knew.
Two days later, when I was conscious once more, I learned whatexcitement those words of mine had sown, with what honours Madonna Paolawas escorted to the Castle, and how the citizens of Pesaro turned outupon hearing the news which ran like fire before us. And Madonna, itseems, had loudly proclaimed how gallantly I had served her, for as theybore me along in a cloak carried by four men-at-arms, the cry that washeard in the streets of Pesaro that morning was "Boccadoro!" Theyhad loved me, had those good citizens of Pesaro, and the news of mydeparture had cast a gloom upon the town. To have their hero return ina manner so truly heroic provoked that brave display of their affection,and I deeply doubt if ever in the days of greatest loyalty the name ofSforza was as loudly cried in Pesaro as, they tell me, was the name ofSforza's Fool that day. r />