CHAPTER VI.

BERNABO CECI.

I cannot say for what time I lay thus bereft of sense; but on coming

to myself I saw the candle in my room was all but spent, and the wick

flaring in a long flame. I looked to see if my wound had broken out

a-bleeding afresh, and was glad to find this was not the case, and

that the bandages were in their position. The small effort, however,

nearly set me off once more. The room swam round, the bright flame of

the candle dwindled down to a little star, no bigger than a pin point,

and then began slowly to increase in size as the faintness passed off,

and I was able to see clearly again. Any attempt to move gave me

agony, and, closing my eyes, I lay still. I heard the candle expire

with a splutter, and leave me in darkness. Then I began to get

light-headed, and unable to control my thoughts. Somehow my mind

travelled back to the days of my childhood, and the figure of the only

living relative I can remember, my father, came before me, standing

just as he was wont to stand, when about to give me a lesson in the

exercise of the sword, and repeating a warning he never ceased to din

into my ears. "Learning," he said, "is of little use to a gentleman.

You need not know more of books than a Savelli should, but in

horsemanship, and in the use of the sword----" he finished with a

gesture more expressive than words. And truly old Ercole di Savelli

was never a bookworm, although he ended a stormy life in his bed.

He was the son of that Baptista di Savelli, who was ruined with the

Prefetti di Vico, and other noble houses during the time of Eugene IV.

Such estates as Baptista had, were transferred with the person of his

sister Olympia, who married into the Chigi, to that family, and with

them the custodianship of the Conclaves. Baptista di Savelli left his

son nothing but a few acres. The latter tried to woo Fortune in the

Spanish war, but did not obtain her favours. He returned to Italy, and

poor as Job though he was, hesitated not to marry for love, and engage

in a lawsuit with Amilcar Chigi. What between the one and the other,

Ercole was ruined in a hand turn. His wife died in giving birth to me,

and disgusted with the world, he retired to a small estate near Colza

in the Bergamasque. There he devoted himself to a pastoral life, and

to bringing me up as a soldier, until, one fine day, having contracted

a fever, he received absolution and died like a gentleman and a

Christian.

I followed the profession for which I was intended, joining the levy

of the Duke of Urbino, and sharing in all the ups and downs of the

times, until Fortune did me a good turn at Fornovo. Subsequently

things went well with me, and although I had to mortgage my narrow

lands, to raise and provide equipment for the men, with whom I joined

Tremouille, I was in expectation of a full reward, when I was so

suddenly stricken down.

Thinking of these things in the dark, tormented by a devouring thirst,

which I was unable to quench, haunted by the impression that my last

hour was come, and that I should die here like a dog, without even the

last rites of the church, I fell into a frenzy, and began to shout

aloud, and rave as in a delirium. D'Entrangues came before me, wearing

a smile of triumph, and I strove impotently to reach. Then the whole

room seemed to be full of my enemy, from every corner I could see the

white face, the red hair, and the smile of successful malice. The

figures, each one exactly like the other, floated over me, stood by my

side, sometimes brought their faces within an inch of mine, until I

imagined I felt a flame-like breath beating on me. Finally they

flitted backwards and forwards, rapidly and more rapidly, until there

was nothing but a mass of moving shadow around me, which gradually

resolved itself again into a single form. I strove to reach for my

sword to strike at it, but my arms were paralysed. So through the

livelong night the phantom stood at the foot of my bed, until the

white morning came in at my window, and I fell into a sleep.

When I awoke, I found the old intendant of the building bending over

me. The fever had abated but the thirst still remained. "Water," I

gasped through my parched lips, and he gave me to drink.

To cut a long story short, I arranged with this man for such

attendance as I should want, and to do him justice Ceci--for that was

his name--performed his part of the contract, getting me my food,

attending to the dressing of my wound, to which he applied a most

soothing salve, and such other offices a helpless person must expect.

He did not trouble me much with his presence during the earlier part

of my illness, but came as occasion required him, and, when he had

performed his work, left me to my reflections.

I may note here that I never again saw the people who helped me when I

was wounded. Having assisted me to my lodging, and aided me to dress

my hurt, as I have said, they departed, and apparently gave me no

further thought. This I am persuaded was not due to unkindly feeling,

but to prudence, and a wish to avoid being mixed up in an affair such

as mine appeared to be; for the times were such, that it was better

for a man's head to be unknown to the Magnifici Signori of Florence.

Subsequently, when things changed with me, I caused public cry to be

made, requesting the worthy citizens to come forward; but my attempt

was of no avail, beyond producing a half-dozen or so of rascal

impostors, who swore to helping me, under circumstances that never

occurred, on the off chance of hitting a nail on the head, and

obtaining a reward. But this was long after my illness, and the block

in the Bargello may have, since that time, been a resting place for

the heads of the good Samaritans for all I can say. I took a longer

time in mending than I thought I should, for an inflammation set in,

the fever came back, and when that was passed I recovered strength but

slowly. It was at this time, however, that I discovered the advantage

of reading, having up to now borne only too well in mind my father's

saying on that subject.

I began with Poliziano's Orfeo, a poor affair, and then procured, to

my delight, a translation of Plutarch's Lives. Both these books were

obtained with the greatest difficulty, so old Ceci, the attendant

said, from the library of a great Florentine noble, in which a nephew

of his was employed in copying manuscripts, and the old man charged me

an entire double florin for the use of the latter alone; an

expenditure I grudged at first; but which I would have willingly paid

twice over before I finished the volume. I inquired the name of the

nobleman; but Ceci was not inclined to tell me, and I gathered that

the owner was probably unaware that his books were taking an airing,

and enabling his library-scribe to turn a dishonest penny. On the

binding of the Plutarch was pricked a coat-of-arms, a cross azure on a

field argent, with four nails azure; but I could not, for the life of

me, remember this device, although I had served in every part of Italy

except Rome. Finally it came to my mind, that the bearings, no doubt,

belonged to some merchant prince of Florence, and would therefore be

unlikely to see anything more of fighting than a street riot, and

therefore I dismissed the subject.

I did not neglect, whilst lying in enforced idleness, to take such

steps as I could to discover the whereabouts of D'Entrangues, and

specially instructed old Ceci to make inquiries of the followers of La

Palisse. He brought me news in a couple of days, that the Frenchman

had left Florence a fortnight ago, and it was understood he was going

to join the army of Cesare Borgia, that cursed serpent who was lifting

his head so high in the Romagna. This was ill news indeed, for I had

been lying helpless for close upon a month; but I was on the mend at

last, and resolved to follow him as soon as I had strength to travel.

During my illness I had frequently thought of madame, and with the

thoughts of her, there mingled recollections of the dark eyes of the

lady who had looked at me through her mask, on the night I was

stabbed. I could think of madame in no way but with a kindly feeling;

but strange as it may seem, any recollection of the other made my

heart beat, and I would have given much even to have obtained another

glance at her. In the meantime, however, my first business was to try

and replenish my funds, for my supplies were almost exhausted by the

drain made upon them during my illness.

Old Ceci, the intendant, had in his way formed a sort of attachment

for me, and now that I was better, generally spent an hour or so with

me daily in converse. One day I let out some hint of my condition, and

Ceci, after a little beating about the bush, approached me with a

proposal.

"Signore," he said, "there are those in Florence who would like things

changed. We want our Medici back; but we want also a few good swords,

and I could tell you of a way to fill your purse."

"Say on," I replied, and the old man having first bound me to secrecy,

informed me that certain notables in Florence wanted a good sword or

two, to rid them of a great political opponent, in order to pave the

way for the return of the Medici; and without mentioning names in any

way, which, he said, would be given to me later, proposed that I

should undertake the task.

I realised at once that his suggestion meant nothing short of

assassination, and saw that my old acquaintance was apparently up to

the ears in a political plot. My first idea was to spurn the

suggestion with indignation; but reflecting that it would be better to

know more, and by this means, if possible, save a man from being

murdered in cold blood; I affected to treat the matter seriously, and

replied that I was as yet unfit for active work; but that as soon as I

was better I would discuss the subject again. He then departed.

Perhaps the time will come when the minds of men will shrink with

horror from crime, even for the sake of a good object, and however

much I loathed the proposal made to me, I could not but recollect that

the noblest names of Milan were concerned in the Olgiati conspiracy,

and that a Pontiff had supported the Pazzi attempt on the Medici. This

being so, there was excuse for Ceci and his leaders, whoever they

were; but my whole soul was wrath in me at the thought that I had been

deemed capable of doing the business of a common bravo, and if it were

not for the reason stated above, I would have flung the old

conspirator out of the room. This insult also had to go down

indirectly to D'Entrangues, and as I grew better, my desire to settle

with him rose to fever-heat. The question, however, was my resources.

Turn which way I would, there seemed to be no way of replenishing

them. The idea presented itself to me to join the Borgia, who with all

his faults was ever ready to take a long sword into his pay. But the

man was so great a monster of iniquity, that, even to gratify my

vengeance, I could not bring myself to accept the gold of St.

Valentino.

There were others to whom I could apply, such as Malatesta or De la

Rovere; but amongst them I would be known, and the burden of my shame

too great to bear. After all, it would perhaps be better to seek to

fill my purse in Florence, and let my vengeance sleep for a while. It

would be all the sweeter when it came.

With these ideas in my head, I was sitting one afternoon at the little

window of my room, putting a finishing touch to the edge of the

dagger, which D'Entrangues had left with, or rather in me, and

congratulating myself that the blade was not a poisoned one, when I

heard, as from a distance a hum of voices, which gradually swelled

into a great roar, and above this the clanging of a bell with a

peculiar discordant note. Almost at the same time old Ceci bustled

into my room, evidently in a state of high excitement, and called

out--

"Messer Donati--Messer Donati! It is to be war--war!"

I should add here that I had judged it prudent to take another name on

entering Florence, and adopted the first one that struck me, although

I afterwards thought that Donati was not quite the name to win favour

with the Florentines, amongst whom the memory of Messer Corso was

still green, although so many years had passed since he was done with.

Whether I let my own name out or not during my illness I am unable to

say; at any rate, Ceci never gave me any such hint. The news the old

man brought was not unexpected by me, yet I caught a touch of his

excitement and answered--

"War--where? Tell me."

"It is this way, signore; Naples has risen, and the Great Captain has

driven D'Aubigny out of Calabria, all the Romagna has gone from Cesare

as that," he waved his hand as if throwing a feather in the air.

"The Holy Father has cast his interdict on Florence, and Pisa is

burning the Val di Nievole."

"The devil!" I exclaimed, "this is more than I thought. The interdict

is bad, Messer Ceci."

He grinned as he answered, "Bad for the Pope. Medici or no Medici we

will not have a priest interfering in Florence."

"I see," I said, "you are Florentine first, and conspirator

afterwards; but how do the French stand?"

"With us, for we pay. It is said, however, that things are uncertain

with them, that Monsignore d'Amboise, who is now Cardinal of Rouen,

has gone to Rome, and that Tremouille is awaiting the king."

"The king! Louis is at Macon."

"Yes, Louis himself, and the Lord knows how many barons besides, with

pedigrees as long as their swords, who will eat up our corn, and

pillage our vineyards from the Alps to the Adriatic. But I came here

to ask, signore, if you will come with me to see. It is hurry and make

haste for I cannot wait. The Carroccio has left St. John's."

I had almost recovered my full strength, and was accustomed to walk

out daily at dusk in order to avoid observation, whilst at the same

time I could by doing so exercise my muscles; yet at first I felt

inclined to decline Ceci's invitation, alleging weakness as my excuse,

for my anger was still warm against him on account of his proposals to

me. Reflecting, however, that if I offended him, it would probably

fatally injure any prospect I had of saving the person whom the

conspirators intended to kill, I thought it best to affect a

friendliness I did not feel, and changing my mind in regard to

accompanying him, slipped on my sword, and followed the old man

downstairs. We hastened as fast as we could to the great square. The

people were swarming out of the houses, and the streets were full of a

hurrying throng, all directing their steps to the point, whence we

could hear the bellowing of the mob, echoed with answering cheers by

those making towards the place of assembly. Around us there was a

murmur like that of millions of bees, as men, women, and children,

jostled their way to the Palace of the Signory. My companion, who

stopped every now and again to open his jaws as wide as the mouth of a

saddle-bag, and give forth a yell, hustled along at a great pace, and

I made after him with scarcely less speed.

By good fortune, and a considerable amount of pushing, we made our way

through the press, which appeared to me to be composed entirely of

elbows, and at last reached the market-place. Here the crowd behind us

slowly drove us forwards, and finally gave us the advantage of a good

position. The square was lined with men-at-arms and stout citizens,

with boar-spears in their hands.

All at once there went up a shout louder than ever, the crowd swayed

backwards and forwards, then opened out, and admitted the Carroccio or

war-car in Florence. It was painted red, and drawn by oxen housed in

red trappings. The great beasts had dragged the car slowly from the

chapel of St. John's, where it stood in times of peace, and laboured

along under its weight. From the car itself projected two poles on

which hung the banner of the Commonwealth, a red giglio on a white

field. Immediately behind this came another car, bearing the

Martinello or war-bell, which was incessantly clanging out its angry

notes. It was to ring now for a full month, without ceasing.

Around the cars were the principal nobles of the city, and the oxen

being guided to the "bankrupt stone," were there unharnessed. Pietro

Soderini, the brother of his eminence of Volterra, who was then

Gonfaloniere for life, raised his hand. In a moment there was silence,

and the vast audience listened to the brief oration that fell from the

lips of their chief magistrate. He painted in stirring words the

dangers of the times; he called to the people to forget party hatreds

in the face of the common crisis; he appealed to their past, and then

concluded: "Therefore," said he, "for the safety of the State, have we

to whom that safety is entrusted put our hope in God, and our hands to

the sword. Citizens, we give to our enemies, to Rome, and to Spain,

war, red war--and God defend the right!" With that, he drew off his

glove of mail and flung it on the pavement, where it fell with a

sudden crash.

The silence of the crowd continued for a little, and then, from forty

thousand throats rang out cheer after cheer, as the sturdy citizens

roared out their approval of the gage thrown down.

In the midst of all this some partisan of the Medici, hysterically

excited, raised a shout of _Palle_! _Palle!_

"Blood of St. John!" exclaimed Ceci, "who is that fool? He will die."

It was the well-known cry of the exiled Medici, and it drove the crowd

to madness. Instantly there was an answering yell.

"_Popolo_! _Popolo!_ Death to tyrants!" I cannot tell what happened

exactly; but in the distance, I saw a man being tossed and torn by the

mob. For a moment, his white face rose above the sea of heads, with

all the despair in it that the face of a drowning man has, when it

rises for the last time above the waves; then it sank back, and

something mangled and shapeless was flung out into the piazza, where

it lay very still. I stood awestruck by this vengeance.

"Yet the Medici _will_ come back, signore!"

Ceci whispered this in my ear, as he stood with his hand on my

shoulder.