CHAPTER XXII.

THE RIDE TO ST. JEROME.

We galloped at a break-neck pace to the gate, but the guard was

already alarmed, and half-a-dozen men came hastening towards us.

They were on foot, however, and had no mind to stand the shock of

meeting horses coming at full speed down an incline, so skipped

nimbly aside. The officer alone held his ground, paying for his

courage with his life, for Bande Nere sliced his head in two like a

ripe water-melon--poor wretch. Had they only closed the gates we were

lost, but we reached them just in time, and passing through like a

flash were free of the town. A bullet or two whizzed past us, but did

no damage. It was done, and another half hour of the pace we were

going would place us beyond pursuit. It was no easy matter, however,

to sit the horse and hold Angiola as I was doing, and I very soon

began to feel that the strain on my arm was getting beyond me, and

that she was slipping from my grasp. She lay still and passive, her

eyes closed, her head resting on my shoulder, and seemed in a faint.

Perhaps I spoke roughly, but it was no time to mince words.

"Come, madam," I said, "you must rouse yourself--take another day to

swoon--hold me as closely as you can--quick."

My words--and the tone they were spoken in--had the effect I wanted.

She looked a little indignant, but held on, leaving my left arm, which

was getting numbed, more free to guide the horse, and my sword arm

greater liberty should occasion arise.

The country, rugged although it was, descended in a slope towards the

basin of Trasimene, but I turned sharp aside from the road, fearing

there might be a picquet thereon, and galloped across the open, far

out-pacing my followers, who I saw were coming after me in a bunch,

and at their utmost speed--the honest knaves. The glance over my

shoulder that I took to observe this also showed me a strong body of

horse spurring from the gate, and I chuckled to myself as I thought we

had gained a mile's start and that they had to deal with Castor. Five

leagues to go--it was nothing to the brave horse; and in answer to my

call he stretched himself out as he had never done before. As for me,

such thoughts as I had when I felt the arms of the woman I loved

clasped about me are to be recalled for one's self alone, and concern

none else beside. Once or twice I glanced down, meeting her eyes, and

as she dropped her lids over them they seemed to me to be alive with a

soft light. After a little I felt her arms beginning to relax.

"Hold tight," I said.

"I cannot; my strength is going."

"Courage, take heart; see, to our left is the Tower of Magione--a few

minutes and we are safe."

I drew her closer towards me. With an effort she rallied, her arms

again tightened in their clasp, and we sped down the long slope which

led to Trasimene, Castor stretching himself like a greyhound. I looked

again over my shoulder. Far behind my men were riding for their lives,

and farther still was the dark line of our pursuers, coming on with

dogged persistence, the sun lighting up their armour and flashing from

their spears. Once beyond Magione we were comparatively safe, but a

false step, a stumble, and all was lost. Magione itself was held by

the Baglioni, and from the old watch-tower, built by the Sforza, which

stood high above the country, we might have already been spied, and a

party sent out to intercept us. The thought seemed to grow into a

reality, and a despair began to come over me. "On, on, Castor!" I

spoke to the good horse, and he laid his ears back at the sound of my

voice, and even as he did so I saw a cloud of dust coming towards our

left, and knew that the danger I feared was at hand. Going as we were

I was riding right into the party from Magione, and therefore with a

touch on the rein, I swung Castor round to the north, and we raced on,

leaving the tower over my shoulder. The double burden and the

tremendous pace, however, began to tell on the horse, and within the

next five minutes he slackened perceptibly in his stride. To my horror

I saw that the ground began to be furrowed and cut up by ravines and

that we were approaching the bed of a river. I had therefore to

slacken the pace, and at the same time our new pursuers sighting us,

came on with all the speed of their fresh horses. Castor scrambled in

and out of the ravines like a cat, but we were going slowly now, and

the enemy had all the advantage of the level ground to come up, which

they did at a dreadful rate. With the failing strength of my companion

I dared not risk jumps, weighted as I was, but the brave horse did his

utmost, as if knowing our danger.

"For God's sake hold on!" I cried out as we topped a deep ravine with

a plunge that almost caused Angiola to slip from my grasp, and as I

said this I heard a shot and a ball from an arquebus whistled over my

head. The enemy were in the rough ground now themselves, but they were

within gun-range, and I dreaded that some of them might dismount and

pick me off. This however did not occur to them, and on we went, with

every now and again a bullet, fired from horseback with an unsteady

aim singing past us. My charge had twisted her arms into my shoulder

belt and held on bravely, but I saw by her white face and the blue

coming into her lips that this could not last, and if she fainted

there was an end of all.

At the outside it was a matter of a few minutes now, one way or the

other; but as I came to the crest of another ravine I saw before me a

steep bank leading down to a small stream that was swishing along in a

white flood, and on the opposite shore a sight that made my heart

leap, for drawn up in array, evidently roused by the sound of the

shots, was a strong body of men-at-arms, and over them fluttered the

pennon of Hawkwood, a red hand on a white field. I knew in a moment we

were within the king's outposts.

"Saved!" I shouted in my joy. "Saved!"--and risking all I made the

horse fly the last ravine, and the next instant we had slid down the

bank, and the white water was churning round Castor as he dashed into

the stream.

A puff of smoke above us, a flash as of lightning, a deafening roar,

and one of Novarro's nine pounders belched out a storm of grape, that

hissed over our heads in the direction of our pursuers, and stopped

them, beaten and baffled. One effort more, we were out of the stream,

up the bank, and panting, breathless and still bleeding, with my

companion in a dead faint in my arms, I reined in Castor. In a moment

we were surrounded, but the faces were kindly, and dismounting slowly,

I placed my lifeless burden on a heap of cloaks that were flung to the

earth for her, and then turning round, saw Hawkwood before me. It was

the first time we had met since the affair at Arezzo, when I was cast

forth a dishonoured man. I did not know how to greet him, and there

was a constraint in his face, for I saw he knew me, and was like

myself at a loss for speech. I had, however, to take the matter in my

hand.

"Signore," I said, "accept my thanks. This lady is the Countess

Angiola Castellani, a ward of the Florentine secretary, whom I have

brought off from Perugia, and have to take to the convent of St.

Jerome."

He tugged at his tawny moustache.

"I have merely carried out orders--you have nothing to thank me for,

signore. My instructions were to prevent any of Baglioni's men

crossing the Sanguinetta, and to protect all fugitives from the

territories of the Borgia."

I bowed and added, with a pain in my tone I could not conceal, for

this man was once my friend--

"All the same I thank you, signore; I have, however, four followers."

"I can do nothing for them if they are on the other bank," he

interrupted, and went on, "St. Jerome is not a half-league from here.

My men will make up a litter, and help to bear the lady there. It will

be easier for her. I wish you a good day." He turned on his heel and

gave some orders to his men in English, a language I do not know,

leaving me standing by the body of Angiola. All the misery of the past

came back to me in a flash. Would the stain never be wiped out? All

the kindness I had received from Bayard and the cardinal, all the

efforts made by those who believed in me, seemed to be swept away as

dust in the wind. Almost did I feel that I would accept the ban cast

on me, and turn wolf in earnest. It cost me much to restrain myself

from drawing on Hawkwood, but a glance at the still pale face before

me recalled me to my duty. A man very kindly brought me a little wine,

I knelt down and forced some of it between her blue lips. In a short

time she revived, some colour came into her cheeks, and she attempted

to rise, with a look of fear on her face at the number of armed men

she saw around her.

"There is nothing to fear, madam," I said to reassure her, "you are

safe, and in an hour will be at St. Jerome--a litter is being made

ready for you."

Without a word she held out her hand, and thanked me with this and the

look in her eyes.

The litter was now ready, half-a-dozen men volunteered their services,

and placing her therein, we started for the convent. Ere we had gone

half a mile we heard shouts behind us, and I was more than glad to see

Jacopo and my men riding up.

"How did you get off?" I asked as they came up.

"In the rear of the troop from Magione, excellency," was Jacopo's

reply, "they did not observe us, having eyes only for you; and seeing

you were safe, we forded the stream lower down and crossed--but,

excellency, your face--are you hurt?"

"Somewhat, but at St. Jerome I will have it attended to."

In truth the left side of my face appeared to be laid open, and

although I felt that the wound was not so dangerous as it seemed, yet

I had bled freely, and now that the excitement was over, began to

suffer much pain. Indeed at times I felt as if I could hardly hold

myself straight in the saddle, succeeding in doing so only by an

effort of will. I did not approach the litter. I was afraid that the

sight of my face would alarm Angiola, for now she was probably able to

look about her, and see that which she had not been able to observe

before. Once, however, in a bend of the road, that fortunately went to

the left and hid my wounded side, our eyes met, and I caught so bright

a smile of thanks, that it paid me for my hurt. I reined in, for I

knew my face showed too much, and henceforth kept well behind. I sent

Gian on to the convent with the good news of Angiola's rescue, and on

nearing the gates was met by St. Armande and the rest of my followers,

whom I was glad indeed to see.

He came up with a merry greeting. "Welcome," he cried, "so, gallant

knight, you have saved the damsel in distress;" then catching sight of

my wounded face his tone changed. "Good God! you are hurt."

"A little."

"You should have it seen to at once--come--we are not allowed to enter

the convent; but the abbess has done all she can for us, and we camp

or lodge, whichever way you put it, in that house there," he pointed

to a small villa, set in what seemed a wilderness of holm-oak that hid

all but its roof from view.

"Not so fast, chevalier. I must leave my charge at the convent first."

He had to rest satisfied with this, but I was surprised that he made

no inquiry as to the condition of Angiola, an ordinary civility that

might have been expected.

At the gates of the convent, within which we were not allowed to

enter, we were met by the lady abbess and her train. I dismounted,

intending to assist Angiola out of the litter, but as it was set down,

she sprang out of it of her own accord, and the next minute she was in

the arms of the abbess, and there was much kissing and many

congratulations, mingled with tears of joy.

I did not stay to receive the thanks I saw would shortly be showered

on me, and thrusting a handful of crowns into the hands of the leader

of the good fellows who bore the litter, as some reward for himself

and his men, I looped Castor's reins into my arm, and set forward to

walk to the villa. The chevalier came with me, and by the time I

reached it I was quite giddy, being weak with the pain and the loss of

blood. The saturnine old abbe was there, with more concern in his face

than I had seen for a long time, and seeing me stagger, he put an arm

round me and, aided by St. Armande, assisted me to a couch. The

chevalier himself dressed my wound, with a gentle and skilful hand,

making as much of me as if I had been run through the vitals. As he

finished dressing the wound, the abbe remarked that I would have to

rest for a few days to enable it to heal, and I had replied with some

difficulty, my jaw being bandaged up, that this was impossible, when

Gian came in with a note. It was from Angiola, chiding me gently for

not waiting to receive her thanks and those of the abbess, and begging

me to come the following day, with a postscript to the effect that the

lady abbess would so far relax the rules of the order, as to admit me

within the courtyard. I dismissed Gian with thanks, and a message that

I would be at the convent, charging him to say nothing of my wound,

and then my thoughts went a wool-gathering, and I lay back with the

missive in my hands. St. Armande was leaning against the window, his

back to the light. He had taken up this position after whispering a

word or two to the abbe, who left the room. I did not, however,

observe him or anything else, my mind was full of mad thoughts, and

for the moment I let them have full play, making no effort to resist.

Folding the letter up carefully, I placed it under my pillow, and was

about to close my eyes, when the abbe returned, bearing a bowl in his

hands. This St. Armande took from him, and approaching me said--

"Come, cavaliere--you must drink this at once."

His tone was sharp and incisive, and looking up in some surprise, I

saw he was pale to the lips, and wondered what bee had stung him. I

rose to a sitting posture to take the cup; but he would not have it

so, and passing his arm round my neck, made me drink like a child. The

draught was cool and refreshing, and as I sank back on my pillows, my

heart for a moment being gay at the thought of the letter, I said

jestingly--

"Chevalier, you would make a most excellent nurse. Shave off that

little moustache of yours, put on a black hood and gown, and

_diavolo!_ But you would break as many hearts as you cured wounds."

The words were barely out of my mouth, when he brought his foot down

with an angry stamp on the carpet, and with a face as scarlet now as

it had been pale before, turned on his heel and walked out of the

room.

I looked to the abbe, who was sitting watching me, stroking his chin

with his hand.

"St. John! But is he often taken this way?"

The cleric rose, and not answering my question, spoke.

"You had better try and sleep now, cavaliere, or else the potion may

lose its effect." He then followed St. Armande.

I would have risen to apologise, but I felt a pleasant numbness

stealing over me, and in a minute or so my thoughts began to grow

confused, and I seemed to sink into a sleep. Not so profound a

slumber, however, as to be unconscious of what was going on around me.

I was sure I once heard Bande Nere and Jacopo in my room, and that I

was being carried apparently to a more comfortable bed. Then I felt

soft hands bathing my wound, and heard a gentle voice whispering words

of deep love in my ear. It was a dream, of course, but all through the

night that soon came, Doris d'Entrangues hung over me, and tended me

with words I cannot repeat.