CHAPTER XVIII.
It was in the king's tent, on the night after the fall of Vivizano--for so rapid had been the capture of the place that time for a short march towards Sarzana still remained after its fall, and so wild and uncultivated was the country round, so scanty the supply of provisions and fodder, that all were anxious to get into a more plentiful region--it was in the king's tent then, a wide and sumptuous pavilion, that on the night after the capture of Vivizano a council was assembled, amongst the members of which might be seen nearly as many churchmen as soldiers.
It is impossible to narrate a thousandth part of all that took place; messengers and soldiers came and went; new personages were introduced upon the scene; and some of the old characters which had disappeared returned to the monarch's court.
A young man, magnificently dressed, and of comely form and face, sat near to Charles on his right hand; and when Bayard, who was standing with Lorenzo a little behind the king's chair, asked Visconti who the new comer was, Lorenzo answered:
"That is Pierre de Medici. We were old companions long ago; for he is not many years my elder."
"His face looks weak!" said Bayard; "I should not think he was equal to his father."
Lorenzo shook his head with a sigh; and De Terrail continued:
"There is our old friend, Ludovic the Moor, too. He arrived to-day, I suppose. I wonder the king has you here; he was always so anxious to keep you out of his way."
"The camp is a safer place than the court," said Lorenzo; "he cannot well poison me here."
"No, nor stab you either," said Bayard, "that is to say, without being found out. Yet you had better beware; for he has got a notion, I am told, that you may some time or another dispute his duchy with him."
"That is nonsense, De Terrail," replied Lorenzo: "the Duke of Orleans is nearer to the dukedom than I am."
"Ay, but policy might keep the duke out and favour you," said Bayard. "It does not do to make a subject too powerful. But what are they about now? What packet is that which Breconnel is opening and laying its contents before the king?"
"That looks like the papal seal pendant from it," replied Visconti. "Hark! the bishop is about to read it aloud."
The conversation of the two young men had been carried on in a low tone, and many another whispered talk had been going on amongst the courtiers, drowned by the louder sounds which had issued from the immediate neighbourhood of the table at which the king sat; but the moment that the Bishop of St. Malo began to read, or rather to translate aloud, the letters which he held in his hand, and which were written in Latin, every tongue was stilled, and each ear bent to hear.
"His Holiness greets your Majesty well," said the bishop; "but he positively prohibits your advance to Rome under pain of the major censures of the Church. These are his words," and he proceeded in a somewhat stumbling and awkward manner to decipher and render into French the pontifical missive.
The despatch was rather diffuse and lengthy, and while the good bishop went on, an elderly man plainly habited in black, came round and whispered something several times in the king's ear. Charles turned towards him and listened while the prelate went on; and at last the monarch replied, saying something which was not heard by others, and adding a very significant sign. The secret adviser withdrew at once into an inner apartment of the tent, from the main chamber of which it was separated by a crimson curtain. He returned in a moment with a large book, on the wood and velvet cover of which reposed a crucifix and a rosary. The Bishop of St. Malo read on; but without noticing him, the man in black knelt before the king, who immediately laid his hand on the crucifix, and then, after murmuring some words in a subdued tone, yet not quite in a whisper, raised the volume to his lips and kissed it with every appearance of reverence.
The book, the crucifix, and the rosary were then removed as silently as they had been brought, and the reading of the papal brief proceeded without interruption. When the prelate had concluded the reading of the missive which threatened the monarch of France, the eldest son of the Church, with all the thunders of the Vatican if he dared to advance upon Rome, Charles, in his low, sweet voice, addressed the bishop, saying:
"My Lord Bishop, I have but one answer to make to the prohibition of His Holiness, but I trust that answer will be deemed sufficient by all the members of my council, though all are devout men, and some of them peculiarly reverend by profession and by sanctity of life. I should wish an answer written to our Apostolic Father, assuring him of our deep respect and our willingness to obey his injunctions in all matters of religion, where superior duties from which he himself cannot set us free do not interpose; but informing him of a fact which he does not know, that we are bound by a sacred vow sworn upon the Holy Evangelists, and upon a crucifix which contains a portion of the true cross, to visit the shrine of St. Peter before we turn our steps homewards. Is that not sufficient cause, my Lord Cardinal," he continued, looking towards Julian de Rovers, "to pass by all impediments and prohibitions and go forward on our pilgrimage?"
"Sufficient cause," exclaimed the eager and impetuous prelate, "what need of any cause? what need of any vow?"
He paused, almost choked by the impetuosity of his feelings; and a smile which had passed round the council at hearing a vow just taken, alleged as an excuse for disregarding a prohibition issued long before, faded away in eagerness to hear the further reply of a man whose powerful mind and iron will were known to all.
"My lord, the king," he answered, in a calmer tone, after he had recovered breath. "Your vow is all-sufficient, but there are weightier causes even than that solemn vow which call you to Rome. The greatest, the most important task which ever monarch undertook lies before you. A Heresiarch sits in the throne of St. Peter, a man whose private life, base and criminal as it is, is pure compared with his public life--whose guilt, black as it is, as a priest and a pontiff, is white as snow compared with his guilt as the pretended head of the Christian church, in negotiating with, and allying himself to infidels--to the slaves of Mahomed, against Christian men and monarchs, the most devout servants of the holy see. Well may I see consternation, surprise, and even incredulity, on the countenances of all present! But I speak not on rumour, or the vague report of the enemies of Alexander Borgia, calling himself Pope. Happily into my hands have fallen these letters which have passed between him and Bajazet, the Infidel Sultan. They are too long to read now; but I deliver them into the hands of the kings council, and will only state a few of the facts which they make manifest. Thus it appears, from these letters, of which the authenticity is beyond doubt, that this heretical interloper in the chair of St. Peter, has agreed to receive, and does receive an annual pension from Antichrist, and that he has engaged for three hundred thousand ducats to assassinate an unhappy prince of the infidels, named Zizim, who is in his power, to gratify the impious Sultan of the Turks. Let the council read these letters; let them consider them well; let them compare the life and conversation of the man with these acts of the pontiff, and then decide whether it is not the duty of the Most Christian King, not only to march to Rome, but to call a council of the Church Universal, for the trial and deposition of one who holds his seat, not by the grace of God, but by the aid of simony, and the machinations of the devil. My lord the king, I address you as the eldest son of the Church, as the descendant of those who have struggled, and fought, and bled for her; and I call upon you to deliver her from the oppression under which she groans, to eject from her highest place the profane man who has no right to the seat of St. Peter, and to purify the temple and the altar from the desecration of a Borgia."[[2]]
Charles hesitated for a few moments ere he replied, and two or three of those quiet counsellors, one of whom had previously addressed him, now came separately and spoke to him in low tones over the back of his chair.
"My lord the cardinal," he said at length, "the grave subject your Eminence has brought before us, is of so important a nature that it requires much and calm consideration. Rome is yet far off, and on our march thither we shall have many an occasion to call for your counsel. This subject, surpassing all others in importance, must engage our attention when we can have a more private interview; for it will be needful to avoid in doing our best to purify the Church, the great danger of creating a scandal in the Church itself."
"Wisely spoken, my lord the king," answered the prelate, "but I should like at present to know, who is the messenger who has had the hardihood to bear a prohibition from entering the holy city to the successor of Charlemagne.[[3]] Can it be one of the Sacred College? If so, why is he not here present?"
"Why, to speak the truth," said the Bishop of St. Malo, with a rueful smile, "his holiness has not altogether shown the respect which is due to his own brief, or to his Majesty's crown, in the choice of a messenger. He who has brought the missive is a common courier. He calls himself, indeed, a gentleman of Rome, and, by the way, he has with him a man who desires to see and speak with your Eminence, for whom, he says, he has letters. They may, perhaps, throw some light upon the question why his holiness did not entrust such an important paper to a more dignified bearer."
To uninstructed ears the words of the good bishop had little special meaning; but intrigue and corruption were then so general, especially in Italian courts, that the Cardinal Julian at once perceived from the language used, a doubt in the mind of some of the king's counsellors as to whether, while declaiming against Alexander, he might not be secretly negotiating with him for his own purposes.
"Let the man be brought in," he said, abruptly. "I know not who should write to me from Rome; but we shall soon see. Good faith! I have had little communication with any one in that city since the taking of Ostia. Let the man be called, I beseech you, my good and reverend lord."
The Bishop of St. Malo spoke to one of the attendants; the man quitted the tent, and some other business was proceeded with, occupying about a quarter of an hour, when a personage was introduced and brought to the end of the table, whom the reader has heard of before. He was a small, thin, wiry man, dressed as a friar. His countenance was not very prepossessing, and his complexion both sallow and sun-burned, except where a thick black beard closely shaved, gave a bluish tint to the skin; and there a great difference of hue in the skin itself, seemed to intimate that the razor had only lately been applied.
"Who are you, sir?" said the cardinal sharply, as soon as his attention had been directed to the new comer, "and what want you with me? I am Julian de Rovera, Cardinal of St. Peter's, if you are seeking that person."
"I am but a poor friar of the Order of St. Francis, Brother Martin by name," replied the man, "and the Signor Ramiro d'Orco, a noble lord now in Rome, hearing that I was journeying to Bologna----"
"But this is not Bologna," said the Cardinal, "nor on the way thither."
"True, your Eminence," answered the other, "but, as I was saying, the Signor Ramiro, hearing that I was going to Bologna, entrusted certain letters to my care for your Eminence, whom he asserted to be his near relation----"
"Ay, ay! cousins--first cousins," said the impetuous prelate, "what then?"
"Why, holy sir," continued the pretended friar, "finding that you were not where the Signor Ramiro thought, and knowing that the letters were important, I joined myself to the messenger of his Holiness and came on hither."
A slight smile passed over the lip of Ludovic the Moor, as the man spoke; and it is not at all improbable that he recognised in the monk a follower of his bravo, Buondoni; but he took no notice, and the cardinal exclaimed:
"Where are these letters? Let me see them, brother."
"They are here, Eminence," answered the man, feeling in the breast of his gown. "This is for you," and he presented one letter to the cardinal, while he held another in his hand.
"And what is that? Who is that for?" asked Julian, sharply.
"That is for the Signora Leonora d'Orco, if I can find her," replied the monk.
"I can find her," said the cardinal; "let me see the letter."
The man hesitated; but the prelate repeated, in a stern tone, "Let me see the letter," and it was handed to him with evident reluctance. Without the slightest ceremony he broke the seal, even before he had examined the letter addressed to himself, and began reading it by the light of the candelabra which stood near him.
The contents seemed by no means to give him satisfaction, and as he was much in the habit of venting his thoughts aloud, it is probable that an oath or two would have found their way to his lips, had he not been restrained, not only by a sense of his sacred calling, but by the presence of so many strangers.
"Santa Maria!" he exclaimed, "did ever man hear! A pretty father truly. Would he cradle a new-born infant in a sow's sty?
"Hark ye, friar! if you reach Rome before me, tell my good cousin that I have too much regard for his wife's child to let her set her foot in the palace of any of the Borgias. Tell him that, being guarded by a noble gentleman and a good soldier, and guided and directed by me, she will be quite safe till she reaches Florence, and that there I shall place her under the matronly care of our cousin, Madonna Francesca Melloni. Now get you gone."
"Your Eminence says nothing of his letter to yourself," said the pretended friar, with a slight sneer. "I will not fail to give him your answer to his letter to his daughter."
"Ha! his letter to myself," said Julian; "I had forgotten that--but doubtless it is of no great importance;--let me see," and he tore open the epistle.
It seemed to afford him less satisfaction than even the other had given; for his face worked, and many a broken sentence burst angrily from his lips; but at length he turned to the messenger, again saying:
"Tell him I will answer this in person--perhaps in the Vatican. Yet stop; say, moreover, 'none but wolves herd with wolves.' Let him mark that; he will understand. There is money for your convent; now get ye gone."
It had not been without some feeling of indignation that Lorenzo had beheld Ramiro d'Orco's letter to his daughter so dealt with; but the conclusion to which the prelate came pleased him well.
The whole interview between the cardinal and the messenger had not occupied much more than about five minutes; but yet it could hardly be called an episode in the council of King Charles, for on some account most of those present seemed to take no inconsiderable interest in what was passing at that part of the table, and all other business was suspended. The eyes of the king and his counsellors were directed now to the prelate, now to the messenger, and the only sounds that interfered with the conversation were some whispered remarks going on amongst the young officers behind.
When the monk was gone, there was a silent pause, as if every one waited for another to open some new topic for discussion, but at length the king said--
"You seem dissatisfied with your cousin's letter, my lord cardinal. Is it of importance?"
"Not in the least, sire," answered Julian; "Ramiro tries to compose what he calls, 'an ancient but really slight difference,' between me and Alexander Borgia. Really slight difference! Oh yes, the saints be praised, it is as slight as the difference between oil and water, or fire and ice. Can the man think that a few soft words, or the offer of two or three towns and castles, can make me look with favour upon a simonise, an adulterer, a poisoner, a heretic, and an abettor of heretics, in the chair of St. Peter? No, no. There is the letter, my lord the king, for your private reading. I have nothing to conceal; I deal in no serpent-like policy; and now, with your Majesty's permission, I will retire. I have not the strength I once had, and I am somewhat weary. If you will allow me I will take the young gentleman, Lorenzo Visconti, with me, as I see him here. We can take counsel together as I go to my tent."
"We are sorry to lose your wisdom at our council, my lord cardinal," replied the king; "but happily our more important business is over. Signor Visconti, conduct his Eminence to his quarters."
"Let me call the torch-bearers, my lord," said Lorenzo, springing to the entrance of the tent, round which a crowd of attendants were assembled. But the impetuous prelate came hard upon his steps, and stood more patiently than might have been expected till his flambeaux were lighted. Two torchbearers and a soldier or two went before, and he followed with Lorenzo by his side, walking slowly along, and keeping silence till they had nearly reached his pavilion.
"Well, young man?" said the cardinal at length, "what think you of my reply to my good cousin Ramiro? Did it satisfy you?"
"Fully, your Eminence," answered the young man; "it was all that I could wish or desire. Indeed I cannot but think that it was a special blessing of God that you were here to rescue me from a terrible difficulty regarding the Signora Leonora."
"How so--how so?" asked the prelate quickly, "you would not have sent her to Rome, would you, even if I had not been here?
"No, my lord cardinal," answered Lorenzo firmly, "but it is a terrible thing to teach a child to disobey a parent. You had spiritual authority and a nearer right, and no one can doubt that you decided justly and well. Had I done the same, all men would have judged that my mere inclinations led me."
"You are wise and prudent beyond your years," said the old man, well pleased, "no use of conference as I told you this morning, there before Vivizano. I make up my mind of men's characters rapidly but seldom wrongly. Here take Ramiro's letter to Leonora, and recount to her all I did. Tell her, that by the altar I serve and the God I worship, and the Saviour in whom I put my trust, I could not consent to her being plunged into a sea of guilt and pollution, such as the world has never seen since the days of Heliogabalus."
"I fear, my lord cardinal, she has retired to rest," said Lorenzo, "but if so I will deliver the letter and your Eminence's words to-morrow."
A slight smile came upon the old man's face; but notwithstanding his sternness and occasional violence, softer and kinder emotions would sometimes spring up from his heart. He crossed himself as if sorry for the mere worldly smile; and then looking up on high, where the stars were sparkling clear and bright, he murmured, "Well, after all, this pure young love is a noble and beautiful thing. Good night, my son, God's benison and mine be upon you."
They had now reached the entrance of his tent and there they parted.