CHAPTER XXV.
In a small but richly-decorated room in Naples sat three gentlemen in the picturesque, the beautiful costume of the times. Two were mere youths compared with the other, and yet he was a man far on the sunny side of middle age. Before them was a table bearing upon it dried fruits and some wine; and many vases of fair flowers were placed upon the board and in different angles of the chamber. The expression on the countenance of each was somewhat grave, but it was more striking on that of the elder man, as his face and features were, even when at rest, of a playful turn, gay, frank, and beaming.
"I do not like this, my young friends," he said, in a very serious tone, "I do not like this at all," and he drank off another silver cupful of the wine.
"You seem to like it well, Seigneur do Vitry," said one of the young men--"that is to say, if you mean the wine; you have drunk more than I have ever seen you drink before."
"I have the drunkard's ever-ready excuse, De Terrail," answered De Vitry; "I drink to drive away care. But I did not mean the wine; it is good enough, I believe. What I meant was, I do not like this state of affairs here in Naples, and I asked you two boys to dine with me to talk with you about it. Why, I believe we three seated here are the only men left reasonable in this city--the only three Frenchmen, I should have said; but that will not do either, for one of us is not a Frenchman by birth; at all events, I may say the only three of the king's army."
"As for these Neapolitans, they are, I believe, all born mad, so there is no use taking them into the account at all. Now Lorenzo is reasonable. He is in love; it is the most sobering thing in the world. I am reasonable from perhaps somewhat the same cause; but as to you, De Terrail, I do not understand how you came to retain your senses when men with white beards lose theirs, unless it be something in your nature, for you are too perfect a knight not to be proud of your love, if you had one."
"Well, seigneur," replied Bayard, "it is not my place to find fault with my elders; my only business is to govern my men and my own conduct aright, but yet I cannot but say with you that I do not like this."
"And I as little as either," said Lorenzo; "his Majesty surely cannot know all that is taking place here. He cannot be aware that we are daily losing both the respect and affection of the people. Why, when first we arrived, they seemed almost ready to worship us, and now every man one meets is ready to lay his hand upon his dagger."
"Ay, that is natural and common in all countries," said De Vitry; "the common herd are always volatile, one day bowing down to their fellow-man as an idol, the next day trampling upon him as a dog. But the worst of it is, we have given them cause to change. We treat the men like dogs; we consider the women as harlots. We insult men's wives and their daughters, or do worse, and we kill the husbands and brothers, or fathers, if they show a regard for their own honour. Sometimes we get killed ourselves, it is true, and 'twere no pity if 'twas oftener, but for the thinning of the king's ranks, and there are few enough of us left, I can tell you. Then see, again, how we pillage and oppress the people? Why, I came suddenly yesterday upon a fellow of a sutler taking away a poor old man's fish without payment, and the old fisherman dancing out of his skin with anguish. I had the scoundrel tied up to the strappado, and made his back acquainted with the thongs; but what did that matter, when the same thing takes place every day unpunished."
"But what you say about their women is the worst," replied Bayard; "they are naturally a jealous people here in Naples, and we certainly do give them good cause for jealousy. We not only treat them as if we had conquered them, when, in truth, we have hardly struck a stroke or crouched a lance, but as if we had made them slaves."
"We should have respected them more if they had fought us better," said Lorenzo, who had listened without seeming to attend. "Have you heard what the pope says? He declares that King Charles has passed through Italy, not sword in hand, but chalk in hand. He means, I suppose, that we have had nothing to do but to mark out our quarters. That is a hard word for an Italian to speak or an Italian to hear."
"It is very true though, Visconti," said De Vitry. "I wonder what can have made such a change among the people. The Italian great companies used to fight us as well or better than any other men in the world."
"It was those great companies themselves which caused the decline of a warlike spirit in the land," said Lorenzo; "at least I think so, my lord. When the prince depends for support on his throne, and the peasant for protection in his cottage, upon the hands and arms of mercenaries, the social prospects of a country are very sad. Wealth may indeed grow up, luxury extend itself, arts be cultivated; but the hardy spirit, the power of endurance, the sense of self-reliance, are gone.
"For many years, here in Italy, the great companies formed the chief dependence of Italian states, and the company of St. George was the school of Italian chivalry; but, in the meantime, the people lost their skill and their courage in war, and when those great companies melted away, as they did but a few short years ago, they felt themselves, like the Britons when abandoned by the Romans, unable to defend themselves against their enemies or to protect their friends."
"Well, really, Lorenzo, I know not how the Britons felt, or when they were abandoned by the Romans," said De Vitry, laughing. "I am no great scholar in history, but I know the Britons make very good soldiers now, as we have felt in France. But let us talk of things not quite so far away. I fear that while we are enjoying ourselves here, and losing the love of the people, there are storms gathering in the north, which may break pretty hard upon us if we do not mind."
"I know it too well," replied Lorenzo; "I heard the facts first in Rome from Cardinal Borgia, and related the whole to the king."
"Ay, Cæsar Borgia! Cæsar Borgia!" said De Vitry. "I doubt much his good faith, and would sooner have him for an enemy than a friend."
"Why so, seigneur?" asked De Terrail. "I would always have men my friends if I can, my enemies only when I must."
"I will tell you why, good friend," answered De Vitry. "If Cæsar were my enemy, I would cut his throat in ten minutes; if he were my friend, he would poison me in five. But this matter weighs upon my mind, and I thought that perhaps you, Lorenzo, might do something to awaken the king to the true state of affairs, being admitted so much to his privacy."
Lorenzo shook his head almost sadly, saying, "I can do nothing, my lord. As to the licence of our soldiery, the king gives orders which are not obeyed, and he loves not to hear complaints. As to the menacing state of things in our rear, he depends upon his Highness of Orleans being able to join us with strong reinforcements. He has already passed the Alps, I hear."
"With men enough to give us help were he with us, not to force a passage to us," said De Vitry; "and, by Heaven! it's just as well that he should not be here at present, for how the duke and the rufflers who are with him would take what has happened this morning it is hard to say."
"Why, what has happened?" asked Bayard and Lorenzo both together. "We heard of nothing particular when we rode in from Portici."
De Vitry smiled. "It is nothing very particular now-a-days," he said, "but, by my faith, such things did not often happen when I was your age, lads. Stephen de Vese, whom we all can remember, the king's valet de chambre, has been made a duke, and has got a nice little slice of the Kingdom of Naples to make up his duchy. I wonder what will come next?"
"But the worst of all is, these witty Neapolitans know all this; and though they are very sore at seeing every office, and benefice, and confiscated estate given to Frenchmen, they laugh to see the old nobility mortified by such acts as this. One saucy fellow said that he thought the king must be a necromancer, for he changed his swine into lions."
"By my faith," said Bayard, "it does not take much to make a Neapolitan lion. Heaven forbid, however, that any of us should grumble at what the king is pleased to do. But I cannot be so grave, my lord, as you and our friend Lorenzo seem to be. The Duke of Orleans will fight his way through to us, or we to him, depend upon it. Visconti has been as sad, as solemn all day as a crow in a rain-storm."
"No, no, De Terrail," said Lorenzo, "I have neither been sad nor solemn, though a little silent, perhaps. The fact is, yesterday was the day when my messenger should have returned from Florence, and I am anxious for his arrival."
"Ay, that fellow of yours, Antonio," said De Vitry, laughing, "has lost his way at length, I warrant. I had as near as possible thrown him into the river once for letting me mislead myself;" and he went on to tell the story of the broken bridge, much to the amusement of his two companions.
"Hark! there is a horse's feet coming at a gallop," said Bayard. "Nothing new going wrong, I trust!" and approaching the window, he looked out into the street; then, turning round his head, he said with a laugh, "The old story of the devil, my good lords. Antonio, on my life, Lorenzo."
Lorenzo turned a little pale with very natural agitation. Since his departure from Florence he had heard nought of Leonora, and if it is terrible even in these days of comparative security and peace, to be without intelligence of those we love--if treacherous imagination brings forth from the treasury of Nemesis all the dangers and misfortunes which surround mortal life, and pile them up on the head of the beloved, how much more dreadful must it have been in those times, when real dangers, perils, and misfortunes without number dogged the steps of every-day life, and were as glaring and apparent as the sun at noon?
It must be remembered, too, that he was very young; that his early life had been clouded with misfortune, teaching the young heart the sad lesson of apprehension; that, since fortune had smiled upon him again, he had found none to love till he had met with the dear girl who had given her whole soul to him, and to whom his whole soul had been given in return; that by the very intensity of their passion they stood, as it were, alone and separate from the rest of mankind, relying, dependent upon, and wrapped up in each other, and that for four long months they had neither seen nor held any communication with each other. It will be easily understood how, on the return of his courier from Florence, agitation shook him to the very soul. He would gladly have started up and run down to meet the messenger; but fear of the laugh of his companions restrained him, and he sat mastering his emotions as best he could.
Antonio was not long ere he ascended, however. His horse's bridle was thrown over the hook in the wall, a few brief words with the servant in the gateway followed, and then his light, agile step was heard coming up the stairs.
"God save you, my lord!" said Antonio, entering the room, "here is a packet from your fair lady."
"Did you see her? Is she well? Is she happy?" asked Lorenzo, cutting the silken threads, which bound the letter, with his dagger.
"I did see her, my lord, and she is quite well, but not happy, thank God!" said Antonio, in his usual quaint way.
"Not happy?" said Lorenzo, pausing just as he had begun to read; "not happy?"
"Yes, my lord, not happy. Heaven forbid that she should be over happy while you are away. Oh, she told me a long and very pitiful tale of how miserable she had been, thinking of how often you had been killed and wounded in the great battles and sieges that never took place between Rome and Naples. Seven times she dreamed you were dead, and had all the trouble of burying you over and over again."
"Hush, hush, my good friend Antonio; I am in no mood for such bantering just now," said Lorenzo, and turned to his letter again.
But the pertinacious Antonio, though he left his young lord to read, could not help pouring forth some of the joyful fun, which welled up in his heart whenever he was the bearer of good news, upon his master's young friend, De Terrail.
"By the bones of St. Barnabas!" he said, "the lady was looking sad enough when I first found her out, perched up on the high terrace overlooking the Mugnione, but when she saw me, she had nearly jumped out of the window with joy. But when I told her my lord was well, and that I had brought her a letter from him, I thought she would have kissed me--all for joy too. Well, she did not, or I should not have dared to come back again, for murder and kisses will come out some way."
Lorenzo's face, as he read on, lighted up with an expression of comfort and joy such as it had not borne for many a day, and many an emotion, though all happy, passed over his countenance, like the lights and shades of a bright spring day over a sunny landscape.
At length he laid the letter on his knee with a deep sigh, and paused for a moment in thought. As for his two companions, Bayard had smiled at Antonio's description of his meeting with Leonora, but De Vitry sat grave and almost stern, with his thoughts apparently far away.
At length Lorenzo woke up from his meditations, and raised the letter, saying, "Here are some lines for you too, Seigneur De Vitry."
"Then, in the fiend's name, why did you not tell me before?" exclaimed De Vitry, with a start, and looking really angry. "Here have I been sitting this half hour envying you that letter, and you never let me know that I have a share in it. Read, read, and let me know what it is."
"Tell the Marquis De Vitry," said Lorenzo, reading, "that I have heard from my dear cousin Blanche Marie, and that she wishes to know if he wears her glove still, and what fortune it has found. She says, if he has not forgotten her, and any couriers pass by Pavia, she would fain hear of his health."
"Is that all!" exclaimed De Vitry. "Bless her dear little soul, and her beautiful eyes, that look like two blue mountain lakes reflecting heaven; I have carried her glove wherever it could gain glory; but very little of that commodity is to be won in this mere marching war, and wherever it does occur, you must needs slip in, Visconti, and take it all to yourself. I shall have to cut your throat some day in order to get my own share. Well, I will write to her, though, by the Lord, it is so long since I have handled a pen, that I know not what I shall make of it. I would send a courier on purpose, if I thought he could make his way through that dangerous bit between Florence and Milan."
"He could not do it, my lord," said Antonio, "for the whole country there is up in arms, and a courier known to be from the French army could not pass. I only got through as far as Florence because I had an Italian tongue in my head. I told them I was a servant of Count Ascanio Malatesta; and, whether there is such a personage or not in the world, they let me pass on account of his good name."
"Then we shall have to march back ourselves, as I always thought we should," said De Vitry, "and I shall be the bearer of my own letter. Well, the sooner the trumpet sounds to horse the better. What say you, De Terrail?"
"The sooner the better, by all means," answered Bayard: "but let us hear a little more of this, my good friend Antonio. You must have seen a good deal by the way. Cannot you give us a notion how things are going?"
"Assuredly, my lord," replied Antonio: "I always wake with both eyes open, and sleep with only one shut. In the first place, I saw many fine men and pretty women, and many good towns and strong castles; but I remarked one thing, which was, that most of the men had harness on their backs, that the armourer's shops were very busy, and that the work the ladies liked best were embroidered scarfs and sword-knots. Moreover, in those good towns and strong castles the masons were very busy on the outside walls, and people with teams of oxen were hauling up long tubes, and piling up heavy balls beside them.
"Then, as I passed through Rome, I found that his pious and immaculate Holiness was holding a Consistory, in which, people said, he was proposing to the cardinals this knotty point, on which he had decided in his own mind already, viz. whether he should join the league against the King of France or not? I rode, moreover, with some messengers journeying from Venice; some addressed to our king from Monsieur de Commines, and some to the Venetian ambassador here."
"Could you obtain any intelligence from them?" asked De Vitry, eagerly.
"Oh yes, my lord!" said Antonio, with a laugh; "every man has a weak side somewhere, and if I can be but three days with him--as I was with these men--I have plenty of time to walk round him and find out where his weak side is. I pumped out of them all they had to tell when we were yet two days from Naples, and it amounted to this, that the Venetians joined the league some time ago; that the King of Spain is as far in as any of them; that the emperor is ready to attack the king on one side, and Burgundy on the other; so that we may expect a pretty warm reception if we march back, and a pretty hot house if we stay here."
"By Heaven! you must tell all this to the king," said De Vitry, greatly excited. "Lorenzo, can you--but no! I will do it myself. Why should I put upon another what it is my own duty to do? Hark ye, Antonio! be with me this night at seven. I must have audience just before his coucher, otherwise we shall have a pack of those lazy bishops and cardinals with us. On my life, I do think the Cardinal of Rouen must have two or three pretty mistresses in Naples, he is so unwilling to leave it. Can you come, man? speak! for it is true that every loyal subject should do his best to rouse Charles from his apathy. Something must be determined speedily."
"I can, of course, my lord," replied Antonio, more gravely than usual, "if it is Signor Visconti's pleasure to spare me. I shall only have to tell Jacques Gregoire to wake me up with one bucket of water, and bring back my scattered senses with another, for, to say sooth, I am mighty tired and somewhat stupid with riding so many hundred miles in such a hurry."
"Here, drain off the rest of the flask," said De Vitry; "there is enough there to besot a Fleming. It may bring you to life. Let us see you take a deep draught."
Antonio did not disappoint him, but saw the bottom of the vessel before he took it from his lips. As soon as he had done, however, he said, "Well, my lords, I will humbly take my leave, and wait in his antechamber, like other poor fools, till my patron comes back. I have certain little particulars for his own private ear, which----"
"About what?" asked De Vitry, gaily, resolved to pay Lorenzo back a smile he had seen upon his lips while he was reading Blanche Marie's message--"about what, Antonio. Speak out, or we shall think it treason."
"My lord, 'tis but about how much bacon the horses ate upon the road, and how much hay I consumed; how much wine they drank, and how much water I tippled; how I fell under the wrath of a magistrate for eating raw cabbages in a man's garden when I was tied by the bridle to one of the posts thereof, and how my horse had to do penance in a white sheet for certain vices of his which shall be nameless."
The whole party laughed, and De Vitry sent the man away, commending him for a merry soul, and telling him to bid the man at the door bring up more wine. Lorenzo, however, would drink no more. There was nectar enough in Leonora's letter without wine, and he was anxious to hear all those details--those never-sufficient details--on every word of which a lover pleases to dwell.
Antonio had not been gone five minutes ere Lorenzo rose and followed. A smile came upon the faces of both his friends, but De Vitry exclaimed, "Well, let those laugh who win, De Terrail: now I would give a thousand golden ducats to be just in his case."