CHAPTER XXIV.

TOO DEARLY BOUGHT.

About a mile from Arcevia, the road from Sinigaglia to Rome, begins to

ascend the oak-shrouded hills whence the Misa has its source, passes

Sassoferrato, and then, turning due south, goes on for some nine miles

over the mountains. At the point where this road, up to now following

the banks of the Misa, and advancing in a gentle slope, begins the

somewhat abrupt ascent of the outer chain of the Pennine Alps, on a

high overhanging rock, covered with twisted and gnarled oaks, stood a

ruined and deserted castle. It was of the eleventh century, and

originally belonged to the Malatesta, whose battered and defaced

scutcheon frowned over the half-falling arch of the gate. Now it was

ownerless, but there were tenants there, for the falcon had made her

eyrie in its rocks, in the crannies of the falling towers were

numberless nests of swallows, on the ruined _debris_ of the walls the

little red lizard basked in the sunlight, and, when the night came,

the melancholy hoot of the owl was heard, and tawny fox, and grey wild

cat, stole forth on plundering quests, from their secure retreats

amidst the thorn, the wild serpythum, and the fragments of the

overthrown outer wall, which afforded these bandits of nature so safe

a hiding place.

For once, however, for many years, the castle was again occupied by

man. There were a dozen good horses under the lee of the north wall

which still stood intact, and in the great hall, part of whose roof

lay open to the sky, a fire of oak-logs was burning, whilst around it

were gathered Jacopo and my men, cracking jokes, and finding the

bottom of a wine skin. In a smaller chamber, a little to the right, I

sat with St. Armande and the abbe. We, that is the chevalier and

myself, had been dicing a little together to kill time, the abbe

improving the occasion by reading from his Breviary. We had now been

here for three days, on the watch for Bozardo's party, but there was

no sign of them. They had certainly not gone on, for we had carefully

enquired, and were doubtless detained by some reason, of which we knew

not the details. In order not to be taken by surprise, I had sent

Bande Nere on to scout, with instructions to come back with a free

rein, the instant he had news of the party. Two days had passed since

he went, there was no sign of him, and I was beginning to feel a

little anxious.

"_Diavolo!_" I exclaimed, "I am getting sick of sitting like a vulture

on a rock here. I wish Monsignore Bozardo would hasten his steps."

The abbe looked up in a mild surprise, and St. Armande put in

gently--"The compulsory rest has done your wound good at any rate."

"I fancy, chevalier, I owe more thanks to your skilful doctoring than

to the rest. _Per Bacco!_ But I think I shall carry those claw marks

to my grave."

"What one carries to the grave does not matter," said the abbe, "it is

what one carries beyond the grave that the signor' cavaliere should

think of."

"True, reverend sir, I trust I may ever remember that," and rising, I

put my hand on St. Armande's shoulder, "come, chevalier, I go to take

a turn outside, will you join me?"

He rose with pleasure on his face. On our way out we passed through

the great hall, and listened for a moment to Jacopo, who in a tuneful

voice was singing a Tuscan love song. So absorbed was he and his

audience, that they did not observe us, nor did our footfalls attract

any attention as we passed out into the open air.

The moon was still young enough for all the stars to be visible, and

leaning over the ruined battlements we looked out into the night. Far

below us we heard the river, murmuring onwards towards the sea, behind

us the castle stood grim and silent, a red light showing from the

windows of the hall, through which we could catch the lilting chorus

to Jacopo's song.

For a time neither of us spoke, and then to make some conversation I

turned to my companion.

"Who is that abbe, chevalier, who accompanies you everywhere? Not a

tutor surely?"

"In a way--yes," he answered, "he was born and brought up on our

estates, and is a faithful servant of our house--you must know," he

went on, "that in Picardy, the name of St. Armande is honoured as that

of the king. I would trust Carillon with more than my life; my honour,

if need be; for he and his fathers have served us more faithfully I

fear than we have served France."

"Not more faithfully than you mean to though--eh, St. Armande?"

"If I live," was the reply, as he made a slight gesture, a movement of

the head that brought back to me the shadowy memory I was always

trying to grasp.

"Live--why of course you will live," I answered.

"I shall not see the sun set to-morrow."

I looked at him blankly for a moment. Moon and stars were sufficient

to light his face, so that I could see the sad, far-away eyes, eyes

more fit for a saint than a soldier.

"_Animo!_ Do not talk like that. It is nonsense," but I felt a

foreboding myself that I could not account for, and it chilled me.

"It is not nonsense," he said in his dreamy voice, and then, as if

rousing suddenly, "Cavaliere--di Savelli--I want you to promise me one

thing. Do not hesitate; but promise. It is about myself I ask--will

you?" and he held me by the arm with his slight fingers that I felt

were shaking. To soothe him I answered gravely, "I promise."

"I know that I will not live beyond to-morrow. When I die, bury me as

I am--here--here in this ruin--and--and you will not forget me, will

you?"

As he said this his voice took a cadence, his face took an expression

that suddenly brought back a hundred old memories, no longer vague and

misty, but clear and distinct. In a moment the scales fell from my

eyes, and I saw. I seemed to be once more hawking on the banks of the

Chiana with madame, I was once more in the aisles of the church at

Arezzo, treading down temptation, and bidding farewell to a woman who

was trying to be strong.

"God in heaven!" I gasped to myself as I leaned back against the

parapet, and drew my hand across my forehead, as if to wake myself

from a dream. St. Armande did not notice my exclamation, he did not

even observe my movement. His own excitement carried him away.

"Promise," he said, and shook my arm in his earnest entreaty.

"As there is a God above me I promise."

"I believe you," he said simply, "and now I am going in."

I made no offer to bear him company, and his slight figure drifted

into the moonlight. I saw it clearly again, making a dark bar against

the red glare in the open door of the hall, and then vanished from

view. I was utterly thunderstruck by the discovery I had made. A

hundred actions, a hundred tricks of gesture, of speech, of manner,

should have disclosed St. Armande's identity to me. Now I knew it, it

was all so simple and clear, that I wondered at my denseness in not

having guessed through the disguise before. Now that I had discovered

it however, now that my blindness was cured, what was I to do? I

resolved on keeping the secret I had probed, and never once letting

St. Armande know he was other than what he pretended to be. A great

pity came up in my heart, for there was a time when I almost thought I

loved this woman, and it required little conceit to see, after what

had happened, that madame was prepared to make almost any sacrifice

for my sake. I was sorry, more sorry than I can tell, for I knew my

own hands were not clean in this matter, and I paced up and down,

flinging bitter reproaches at myself, and utterly at a loss to plan

out some way of escaping from the difficulty in which I was placed. I

made up my mind that St. Armande, as I will still speak of the

disguised chevalier, should be placed in no danger, resolving that as

soon as the affair on which we were engaged was over, that I would

send him, or rather her, with a message to the cardinal, and the

message was to be one that, I hoped and trusted, would have the effect

of making madame cease her foolish prank--I had it at this moment

almost in my heart to be angry with her; but I could not, for the

small voice that kept whispering to me--

"Thou art not free from blame." I was not; but nothing would induce me

to add another wrong to the one I had committed. That in itself was

sufficient to haunt me to the grave, and I shivered as I thought of

the abbe's words, "It is what one carries beyond the grave that the

Signor Cavaliere should think of."

So alternately reproaching myself, and praying for aid, prayers that

brought no relief, I passed the night, and in the small hours of the

morning stole back into the castle. Round the fire in the great hall,

the figures of my followers were stretched, all but one, who kept

watch, but recognising me did not challenge. I passed by softly, and

entered the other room. The abbe had dropped asleep over his breviary,

the lamp burning low beside him.

Rolled in a cloak, and half reclining against a saddle, St. Armande

was in a profound slumber. I took the lamp in my hand, and holding it

aloft, surveyed the sleeping figure. A last hope had come to my mind

that I was mistaken, that perhaps I was jumping too quickly to

conclusions. But no, there was not a doubt of it. There could be no

mistaking that fair face with its delicate features, the straight

nose, the curved bow of the lips, half hidden under its disguise, the

small shapely head with its natural curls of short golden hair--oh! I

knew all these too well. It was Doris d'Entrangues without shadow of

doubt, and no blind beggar, who groped his way through a life-long

darkness, was blinder than I had been. I set down the lamp softly, and

with a sick heart stepped back into the hall, where I found room for

myself until the morning, which indeed it was already. With the

sunrise, I was awakened from a fitful sleep by hearing Bande Nere's

voice.

"What news?" I asked as I drew the old soldier aside.

"I have been as far as Sinigaglia, excellency, and all goes well. The

party left Sinigaglia the morning I arrived, and I followed in their

track, letting them keep well ahead of me to avoid suspicion. Last

night, however, I passed them. They will be here about noon, maybe a

little before."

"The numbers?"

"Ten lances, excellency, for escort. It is those we have to deal with.

Then there are about a score of mounted servants, four laden mules,

and Monsignore Bozardo."

"_Um!_ That is rather strong, if the servants carry weapons."

"But they march as through a friendly country, signore, the servants

going on ahead to prepare for Monsignore's arrival. He himself keeps

close to the mules, with one or two men, and of course the escort."

"Do you know who commands the escort?"

"No, excellency--I did not wish to risk anything, and asked no

questions."

"You are right, and have done well--here are ten crowns."

"Your excellency is generosity itself."

"It is not more than you deserve. Go and get something to eat now, and

take as much rest as you can within the next hour."

"Excellency," and Bande Nere stepped back to join his fellows, who

surrounded him with eager questions, and there was a bustling and a

buckling-to of arms and armour.

When we met a little later my face showed no signs of my discovery to

St. Armande, and whilst we breakfasted together I told him that the

time was come for which we had been waiting.

"Remember your promise," he said with an affected gaiety, but his

voice nearly broke down and I saw the abbe glance at him with a deep

compassion.

"I will not forget," I answered, "but God grant there may be no need

to keep it."

"I should say 'Amen' to that," he answered, "only I cannot."

My plans were already made, and as soon as we had breakfasted we set

forth from the castle. The road, as I have already explained, ascended

abruptly a short distance from the base of the rock on which the

castle was perched. Between the base of the rock and the road was a

narrow but thick belt of forest, which afforded admirable concealment,

and here we posted ourselves secure from all view. The abbe and St.

Armande insisted on accompanying us, and in order to put the chevalier

from harm I placed him a little way up the rock, with instructions to

charge down as soon as he heard my whistle, which I never intended to

blow. The abbe took his station beside him, saying where the chevalier

was it was his duty to be. St. Armande held out a small hand to me as

I was turning away, and I took it gently for a moment in mine. The

quick impulsive movement reminded me much of that day when madame had

held the flowers I gathered to her husband's face. Something almost

choked me as I turned away hastily, having only strength to repeat my

warning--

"Do not move till you hear my whistle."

I borrowed an arquebus from one of my men, and the arrangement was

that we were to charge out after a volley, the first shot of which I

was to fire. All being now ready, it was only necessary for us to

wait. I would merely add that in order to prevent discovery by the

neighing of the horses, we had muzzled ours as far as possible. There

was now a dead silence, that was only broken by the rustle of the

leaves overhead, an occasional crack amongst the dry boughs as a

squirrel moved against them, or the uneasy movement of a horse, which

caused a clink of a chain-bit, and a straining sound made by the

leathers of the saddlery, that was not in reality so loud as it

seemed; but caused Jacopo and Bande Nere to scowl fiercely at the

unfortunate rider, a scowl which was only equalled by their own

stolidly impassive faces, when their own beasts sinned. We had not

long to wait; presently we heard voices shouting, the clatter of

horses trotting, a rapid reining in at the ascent, and a number of

followers and lackeys, some mounted on horses, others on mules, with

led mules beside them, came past, and went on, heedless of the eager

faces watching them through the trees. One or two of our horses became

so uneasy that I was afraid of immediate discovery, but so occupied

were the knaves in babbling together, all at once, that what with

this, and the thwacking of their animals, and in some cases the

efforts to remain on, we remained unnoticed. Then there was a short

interval, and the suspense was strained to breaking point. In a while

we heard the firm beat of a war-horse's hoof, and our quarry came in

view. First came Monsignore Bozardo, a tall thin man, wrapped in a

purple cloak, with a fur cap on his head. He rode a strong ambling

mule, and by his side was the commander of the escort. Immediately

behind were four troopers, then the mules with the ducats, behind

these again six other lances, whilst the rear was brought up by

half-a-dozen lackeys, without a sword amongst them. But what struck me

almost dumb with surprise was that the leader of the escort was none

other than D'Entrangues himself. There could be no mistake, his visor

was up, and I saw the sallow face, the long red moustaches, and almost

caught the cold glint of his cruel eye. At last! I raised my arquebus

and covered him. At last! But a touch of my finger and the man was

dead. I could not miss, my heart was mad within me, but my wrist as

firm as steel. In another moment he would be dead, dead, and my

revenge accomplished. It was already in my hand. I looked aside for a

second at the line of breathless faces watching me, then back again to

the muzzle of my weapon. D'Entrangues was now not twenty yards away. I

could scarcely breathe as I pointed the arquebus at his heart. I had

already begun to press the trigger, when something seemed to come

across my mind like lightning. I saw in a moment that lonely room in

the Albizzi Palace, where I had kneeled to my God and sworn to put

aside my vengeance. The weapon shook in my grasp.

"Fire, signore," whispered Jacopo hoarsely.

With an effort I jerked the muzzle in the air, and pulled the trigger.

The report was followed by four others, and two of the troopers fell.

The next moment we were on them with a shout, and there was the clash

of steel, as fierce blows were struck and received, now and again a

short angry oath, and sometimes a cry of pain. I did not want to take

life, but a trooper came at me, so I had to run him through the heart,

and the man fell forward under Castor's hoofs, with a yell I shall

never forget. The next instant D'Entrangues and I crossed blades, and

whether he recognised me or not I do not know, but he fought with a

skill and fierceness I have never seen equalled. At last I lost my

temper, and cut savagely at him. He parried on the forte of his blade,

but so furious was the stroke that it broke the weapon in his hand,

and almost unhorsed him. Reining back skilfully he avoided another cut

I made at him, and drawing a wheel lock pistol from his holster, fired

it straight at me. At the flash, someone dashed between us. I heard a

scream which froze the blood in me, and a body lurched forwards and

fell to my side, whilst a riderless horse plunged through the press,

and galloped away. I saw the light of the golden head as it fell, and

forgetting everything, forgetting D'Entrangues, forgetting all but the

fact that a dreadful deed was done, I sprang down from Castor, and

raised St. Armande in my arms. As I did this a hoarse yell from my men

told me the day was won; but I had no ears for this, no eyes for

anything, except the slight figure, which lay in my arms gasping out

its life.

"Congratulations, signore, we have taken the lot," and Jacopo,

bleeding and dusty, rode up beside me.

"At too great a price," I groaned; "help me to carry----," I could say

no more.

"Here, two of you secure those mules--Bande Nere, see to the

wounded--Queen of Heaven--the chevalier----" and Jacopo, giving his

sharp orders, sprang down beside me, and together we bore our

unconscious burden under the shadow of the oaks. A dark figure stepped

to our side, and kneeling down supported the lifeless head on his arm,

whilst hot tears fell from his eyes, as he prayed over her. It was the

abbe.

"How did this happen?" I asked, "did I not say you were not to move?"

"It was done at once," he answered, "I could not prevent it--alas! How

can I carry this tale back to St. Armande?"

"Water, excellency."

Jacopo had brought some clear water in his helmet. I thanked him with

a look, and he stepped back, leaving us three together, two who were

living, and one who was going away.

I bathed the forehead and drawn lips, from which flowed a thin stream

of blood, and as I did so her eyes opened, but the film of death was

on them.

"Di Savelli--Ugo--," and she was gone.

Gone like a flash, flung swiftly and fast into eternity, struck down,

perhaps unwittingly, by the arm which should have been a shield to

her. I have often wondered if D'Entrangues ever knew who fell to his

pistol shot. If he did, God pity him! In the one glimpse I caught of

his white face, as he swung round and rode off, I thought I saw a look

of horror. But everything went so quickly, that then I had no time to

think, and now I can recall but the end.

To her dead lips Carillon pressed his crucifix, into her dead ears he

mumbled prayers. I knelt tearless, and prayerless, beside him,

thinking only of the great love that had laid down a life.

One by one my men stole up, and stood in a half circle, leaning on the

cross-handles of their swords, over which the grim, bearded faces

looked down on us in pity.

Suddenly Carillon raised his crucifix aloft.

"My Father," he cried, "receive her soul!"

And someone said softly,

"Amen!"