CHAPTER XVIII.

THE OPAL RING.

"His eminence will await the Signor' Donati at supper this evening."

Defaure delivered his message, received his answer, and tripped away,

his little page's cap set jauntily on the side of his head, and the

haft of his dagger clinking against the silver chain which held it to

his belt. As for me, my heart leaped at the words, for I felt sure my

business was come, and summoning Jacopo, I gave him the necessary

orders to have our men in readiness for an immediate start. I then

sought St. Armande, and told him what I expected.

"I am ready," he said simply.

"Very well, then sup lightly, and await me in my apartments."

I turned back, and on reaching my rooms, was surprised to find I had a

visitor awaiting me. It was Corte. As I have said, he had cast aside

his fantastic dress, and was robed as a doctor. He still kept his

heavy book under his arm, and the features of his curious seamed face,

and thin bloodless lips, were as pale as if he had arisen from the

dead. His eyes alone blazed with an unnatural brilliancy, but he was

outwardly calm.

"I came but to see if you were safe, signore, after last night," he

said as he took my hand.

"Thanks," I replied, offering him a seat, "we are all quite safe.

Nothing happened. The Don was not there, either he had changed his

mind, or we were in too strong force."

"A little of both, I should think," he said with a thin smile, as he

placed his book on the table. "Signore," he went on, "are you not a

little surprised and curious to see me as I am?"

"Well, Messer Corte, I will own to it. But I am honestly glad that

Fortune has given the wheel a right turn for you."

"It is not Fortune," he said, "it is something greater. It is Fate. No

chance turn of the wheel of a sleeping goddess. When I fled from you,

signore, on that day," his voice choked a little, "I came to Rome.

Never mind how. Here a great man found me. Great men pick up little

things for their purposes sometimes. And Matthew Corte, who is but a

little man, knows things the great man does not know. Ho! ho!" and he

laughed mirthlessly.

"And that has put crowns in your purse?"

"Yes, crowns in my purse, crowns in my purse," he repeated, and then

the old madness came upon him, and he rose and paced the room. "I

could have done it last night, made the hilt of my dagger ring against

his heart--the devil--the devil. But he is not to die this way--not

thus--not thus. He will die as no other man has died, and it will come

soon, very soon--Matthew Corte swears this."

He stopped suddenly, and turned to me with the question:

"Have you ever seen a mad dog die?"

"No," I answered, wondering what would come next.

"Well, my dog is dead."

"I am sorry," I began, but he interrupted.

"Dead, I say. Life went from it in writhings and twistings, in screams

of agony--the little beast, poor little beast! I would have ended its

misery, but I wanted to see. I wanted to find some death so horrible,

that it would pass the invention of man. And I have found it, signore.

See this toy of a knife! This fairy's dagger!" and he held up a tiny

lancet, "only a touch of it, and a man would die as that dog did, in

writhings, in twistings, in screams----"

I rose and put my hand on his arm, keeping my eyes steadily on his

face.

"Corte," I said, "this is not like you. You are not well. Here is some

wine," and I poured him out a goblet of Orvieto. He drained it at a

gulp, and sat with his head buried in his hands.

As he sat there the scene in the lonely hut, when I went forth an

outcast from Arezzo came back to me, and there rose before me the dim

light of the torch, the mad figure of my host, I could almost hear the

pattering of the rain and the dying hisses of the log fire without.

Then I saw other things as well, and a pity came on me for the man

before me. A sudden thought struck me, and acting on the impulse of

the moment, I spoke.

"See here, Corte! You are ill, you want rest, quiet. Throw off these

dark thoughts, and do what I say. Two miles from Colza, in the

Bergamasque, lies a small farm. It is mine. Mine still, though

mortgaged. Go there. Ask for the Casino Savelli, and say you have come

from me--from Ugo di Savelli. You know my name now, and they will want

nothing more from you. Live there until you are better, or as long as

you like. The air is pure, in the hills there is the bouqueton for you

to hunt, the life is good. Will you do this?"

He lifted his head, and looked at me. Then rising, he placed one hand

on each of my shoulders, thin hands they were, with long bony fingers

that held like claws.

"Signore," he said with emotion, "Donati or Savelli--whoever you

are--you are a good man. I thank you, but it cannot be. Good-bye!" and

lifting up his book, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving me

a little chilled. I was glad indeed to hear De Briconnet's gay voice a

moment later, as he bustled in.

"_Sacre nom du Chien!_" he exclaimed. "But who is that old madman,

cavaliere, who has just left your apartments? I met him on the stairs,

muttering curses that would make a dead man's hair stand on end."

"You have hit it, De Briconnet. He is a madman. I have some

acquaintance with him, and his story is a sad one. I believe he has

found a protector in the Cardinal Sforza."

"A queer sort of pet for his eminence to keep--thanks," and he helped

himself to the Orvieto. "_Ciel!_ my head still hums after last night.

So your little affair was but a flash in the pan--eh?"

"Yes, there was no blood letting, as I told you last night."

"Oh, I remember--no, I forget, last night is too far back to recall

anything with certainty. I want a little exercise. Take pity on me.

Come to my rooms, and have a turn with the foils. I have a new pair by

Castagni, the Milanese, and want to try them."

"At your service--what! Not another glass! Then come on."

It was something to do, and passed away a full hour. After that I came

back to my rooms, and, with an impatient heart, waited for my meeting

with D'Amboise. I saw to the packing of a valise, went down and looked

at the horses, closely inspected the arms and mounts of my men, who

looked capable of anything, and, in one way and another, managed to

get through the time, until about the sixth hour, when his eminence

supped. I presented myself punctually, and was ushered into an inner

apartment which I had not hitherto seen, and where the supper was

evidently to be held, for the table was set out there. I was alone at

first, and seating myself on a lounge, looked about me. The room was

small, but beautifully fitted up, and had all the appearance of being

the cardinal's private study. By my side was a table on which was

spread a map, with various crosses marked on it in red chalk, the

chalk itself lying on the map, where it had been carelessly flung. In

front of me was an altar, surmounted by a silver crucifix, bearing an

exquisitely carved Christ. Near it, in a corner, leaned a long

straight sword, from whose cross handle hung a pair of fine steel

gauntlets. Resting on a cushion, placed on a stand, was the cardinal's

hat, and behind the stand I could see the brown outline of a pair of

riding-boots, and the glitter of burnished spurs. In a corner of the

room was a large table, set out with writing materials and covered

with papers. Running my eyes over these idly, I finally let them rest

on the supper-table which was arranged with lavish profusion. The

curtains of the windows were drawn, and the light from eight tall

candles, in jewelled holders, fell on the rose and amber of the wine

in the quaint flasks, on the cheerful brown crusts of the pasties, on

the gay enamelling of the comfitures, and on the red gold of the

plate. I noticed, too, that the table was set for three only. It was

evidently a private supper, where things were to be discussed, and I

became glad, for I felt already a step onwards towards winning back my

name, and--I seemed to see in the mirror on the wall to my left, a

vision of a woman with dark hair, and dark eyes----

"Your eminence!" I fairly started up. I had not observed the entrance

of D'Amboise, until he stood beside me, and touched me lightly on the

shoulder.

"Dreaming, cavaliere! I did not think you were so given. I am afraid

that, late as I am, I must still keep you from your supper, for I

expect another guest. Ha! there he is!"

Indeed, as he spoke the door swung open noiselessly, and Machiavelli

entered. He was plainly and simply dressed, and wore no sword, merely

a dagger at his side. I thought, however, I caught the gleam of a

steel corselet under his vest, as he greeted the cardinal, and

D'Amboise's own sapphire was not more brilliant, than the single opal

which blazed on the secretary's hand.

"This is the Cavaliere Donati, your excellency," said the cardinal,

"but I think you know each other."

Machiavelli extended his hand to me, with his inscrutable smile; but

as I met his eyes, I saw that they were troubled and anxious. He,

however, spoke with easy unconcern.

"Well met, Messer Donati. I can only say I am sorry we parted so soon.

I would have given much to have had you in Florence for a few days

more."

"Your excellency is most kind."

"St. Dennis!" said the cardinal, "but are you gentlemen going to

exchange compliments, and starve instead of sitting to supper. Burin,

are we not ready?" and he turned to his grey-haired major-domo, who

had entered the room.

"Your eminence is served," replied the man, and we took our seats on

each side of the table, D'Amboise between us.

"You need not wait, Burin, but remain in the passage." Burin stepped

out silently, and the cardinal said with an air of apology, "You

must not mind so informal a repast, gentlemen; but we have much to

discuss--pleasure first, however--my maitre d'hotel has an artist's

soul, and he will have a fit if we do not touch this pasty."

The cardinal ate and talked. I now and then put in a word, but the

secretary was very silent, and hardly touched anything.

"St. Dennis!" said D'Amboise, "but your excellency is a poor

trencherman. And I heard so much of you!"

"Your eminence will excuse me, when I say I have had bad news."

D'Amboise became grave at once. "Let me say how sorry I am. It is not

a matter of state?" and he glanced meaningly at the secretary.

"Not in the least; but much worse--a domestic matter. I do not see why

I should not tell you. That cursed brigand Baglioni has seized on my

ward Angiola Castellani, and holds her a fast prisoner in Perugia."

I felt cold all over to my feet.

"The Lady Angiola?" I exclaimed.

"Precisely," said Machiavelli, drily; "I think you have met."

"But this can be easily remedied," burst in D'Amboise; "a demand from

the Signory, a word from France."

"Will not bring the dead to life again," put in the secretary.

"My God!" I burst out, "she is not dead?"

"Worse than that," he said; "it was done by Cesare's orders."

"Then Cesare Borgia will pay with his life for this," I exclaimed.

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and Burin entered,

bearing a silver flagon, the stopper of which was made of a

quaintly-carved dragon.

"Your eminence ordered this with the second service," he said, placing

it before D'Amboise, and retiring.

"I pledge you my word, your excellency, that I will not rest until

full reparation has been made for this outrage on an ally of France,"

said D'Amboise. "I could almost find it in my heart to let loose open

war for this."

"We are not ready, your eminence. Rest assured of my thanks, and I

will gladly accept your aid; but at present we can do nothing. This,

however, has not decreased my zeal for the measures we are planning;

and with your permission we will now discuss these, and put aside my

private trouble."

For me, I could hardly breathe. A hundred feelings were tossing

together within me, all that I could think of was to throw aside

everything, to gallop to Perugia, to save her at any cost. The

cardinal's voice came to me as from a distance.

"I agree--one glass each of this all round, and then--cavaliere, would

you mind handing me those glasses?"

Three peculiar shaped, straw-coloured Venetian glasses were close to

me, these I passed onwards mechanically to D'Amboise, and he went on,

filling the glasses to the brim with wine from the flagon, as he

spoke.

"I admired the rare workmanship of this flagon last night, and his

holiness sent it home with me, full to the brim with this Falernian,

which Giulia Bella herself poured into it. The wine is of a priceless

brand, and our lord was good enough to say, that if I liked it, he

would send me all in his cellars if I only let him know."

"We will drink this then, with your eminence's permission, to the

success of the undertaking," said the secretary, poising his glass in

the air.

"Right," said D'Amboise. "Gentlemen, success to our venture!"

He raised the wine to his lips. I silently did the same.

"Hold!"

We stopped in amaze, and Machiavelli, who had spoken, quietly emptied

his glass into a bowl beside him.

"What does this mean?" said the cardinal.

"This, your eminence," and Machiavelli held out his hand, on which an

opal was flashing a moment before. The stone was still there, in the

gold band on his finger; but it was no longer an opal, but something

black as jet, devoid of all lustre.

Startled by the movement, D'Amboise bent over the extended fingers,

and I followed his example. The red on the cardinal's cheek went out,

and his lips paled as he looked at the ring.

"Poison! Heart of Jesus!" he muttered through pale lips.

"Yes," said Machiavelli, slowly, withdrawing his hand, "the ring tells

no lies. _Diavolo!_ Was ever so grim a jest? Asking you to tell him if

your eminence liked the wine!"

It was too near a matter to be pleasant, and the hideous jest, and the

treachery of Alexander, filled me with a hot anger. It had the effect

however of pulling me together at once, the sudden presence of death,

and the danger, recalling me to myself, for all my thoughts of

Angiola. I breathed a prayer of thanks for our escape. It was a good

omen. My luck was not yet run out.

D'Amboise sprang to his feet. "By God!" he said, bringing his clenched

fist into the palm of his hand, "the Borgia will rue this day; here,

give me those glasses." He seized them, and drawing back the curtains

flung them out of the window, where they fell into the court outside,

breaking to splinters with a little tinkling crash. Then he emptied

out the contents of the flagon, and hurled it into the grate where it

lay, its fine work crushed and dented, the two emerald eyes of the

dragon on the stopper blinking at us wickedly. This outburst made

D'Amboise calmer, and it was with more composure that he struck a

small gong, and reseated himself at the table. As he did so Burin

entered the room.

"We want a clear table," said the cardinal, "remove these things, and

hand me that map."

By the time Burin had done this, his eminence showed no further trace

of excitement, except that his lips were very firmly set, and there

was a slight frown on his forehead as he smoothed out the roll of the

map. One corner kept obstinately turning up, and as Machiavelli

quietly put his hand on it to keep it in position, he said, "See! The

ring is as it was before."

We looked at the opal, and sure enough the poison-tint was gone, and

under the pale, semi-opaque blue of its surface, lights of red, of

green, and of orange, flitted to and fro.

"It is wonderful," I said, and D'Amboise smiled grimly to himself. The

cardinal placed his finger on the map, where the port of Sinigaglia

was marked.

"Is it here he lands?"

"Yes," replied Machiavelli, "and then straight to Rome."

"You have sure information?"

"Yes."

"Then will your excellency instruct M. Donati? As arranged, I pledge

an immediate movement on the part of Tremouille, at the first sign of

success."

"You have agreed, cavaliere, to undertake the task?" and the secretary

turned to me.

"I have, your excellency."

Machiavelli then went on, speaking incisively, wasting no words. "In

ten days or thereabouts from now, Monsignore Bozardo, the Papal envoy

to the Grand Turk, will land at Sinigaglia and start for Rome. He

brings with him a letter and a sum of money, forty thousand ducats.

These are for his holiness. Bozardo and the letter may reach, if you

like; the ducats must not."

"Where are they to go?"

"To the Duke de la Tremouille."

"I follow."

"Understand that you take this venture at your own risk."

I saw what he meant, if I failed I was to be sacrificed, and my mind

was made up. I would accept, with a condition.

"I quite understand--there is one thing."

"What?"

"Ten days is a wide margin. I will stop Bozardo or die; but I propose

effecting the release of the Lady Angiola as well."

A glad look came into Machiavelli's eyes; but the cardinal flashed

out--

"_Nom du diable!_ What grasshopper have you got in your head? Leave

the demoiselle to us. You cannot do two things at once."

"Then with respect to your eminence I decline the affair of the

ducats."

D'Amboise looked at me in sheer amazement.

"You decline--you dare;" but Machiavelli interposed.

"A moment, your eminence. Can we get another agent?"

"Not now; it is too late now."

"And we have no money for active measures?"

"Not a livre."

"It seems to me that the cavaliere has us in his hands, and we had

better agree. After all he only risks his head twice, instead of

once."

D'Amboise bit his lip, and with a frown began to drum on the table

with his fingers. I sat silent but resolved, and Machiavelli, rising,

went to the writing table, pulling out from his vest a parchment. In

this he rapidly wrote something, and dusting it over with drying

powder held it to the flame of a candle. Then he turned back

leisurely, and, as he resumed his seat, handed me the paper.

"I have just filled in your name on this blank safe-conduct through

the Papal States. I took the precaution of obtaining this from Sforza

to-day. When can you start?"

"Now, your excellency," and I put the safe-conduct securely by.

"I suppose I must agree," said the cardinal suddenly. "If it fails,

all is lost; if it succeeds----"

"There will probably be a new Conclave, your eminence," said

Machiavelli.

D'Amboise's forehead flushed dark at the hidden meaning in the

Florentine's words. But we all knew that the chair of St. Peter was

ever before his eyes; and for this he schemed and saved, although

profuse in his habits. George of Amboise never gained his desire; but

when he died he left a fortune of eleven millions. This however was

yet to be.

I had already arisen to take my leave as Machiavelli spoke, and the

cardinal, taking no notice of his last remark, turned to me, with

something of his old good temper. Perhaps the hint of Florentine

support at the next papal election was not without its softening

effect.

"Did I understand you to say you were ready to start at once,

cavaliere?"

"Yes, your eminence."

"Then let me wish you good fortune--adieu!"

"Your eminence has my grateful thanks."

I bowed to D'Amboise and the secretary, and withdrew; but as the door

swung behind me, I heard Machiavelli's voice.

"The air of Rome does not suit me, your eminence. No, thanks. No more

Falernian."