He drew back half a step and surveyed his mother critically, with his head a little on one side.
‘I wouldn’t, of course,’ he said condescendingly. ‘But if I twisted your arm and hammered it with my fist I could hurt you. I did it to Mario Campodonico, and he’s nine, and he howled.’
‘Naughty boy!’ Maria could not help laughing. ‘Why did you hurt poor Mario?’
‘Poor Mario!’ cried Leone scornfully. ‘He’s twice my size, and he’s learning to ride. Why shouldn’t I hammer him if I can? He tried to take away a roast chestnut I was eating. It was in the Villa Borghese only yesterday. He won’t do it again, though! He howled.’
Thereupon Leone faced about, marched to the window, and climbed upon his favourite chair to look for soldiers in the street. He got up with three quick movements, as if he were going through a gymnastic exercise. He set one knee and both hands on the seat, then put the second knee up and both hands on the top of the chair, then he straightened his back and was in position. Maria watched him, and her eyes settled on the back of his solid little neck that showed above the broad sailor’s collar, and on the short and thick brown hair that was so curly just at that place.
But presently she turned away and mechanically took a book from the low table beside her. Don Ippolito had said that Montalto might offer her a reconciliation she did not deserve, and might come back to take her and Leone to live in the palace again. The thought chilled her and frightened her, for she could guess at his expression when he should first see what she had seen every hour of the day for years. Yet any father might be proud of such a child—any father! Could such a ‘reconciliation’ be lasting?
That afternoon she took Leone with her and drove out by Porta Furba to the ruins which the people call Roma Vecchia. They drove across the great meadow, and when they could drive no farther they got out and walked, and climbed up till they could sit on one of the big fragments of masonry and look towards the west. Leone had been rather silent, for with the exception of an occasional couple of mounted carabineers on patrol they had hardly met any soldiers at all. And now they sat side by side in the sunshine, for there was a cool breeze blowing from the sea and the air was not warm yet.
Leone took no interest in any pastimes earlier than the age of armour and tournaments; and Maria was glad that he did not ask her questions about the ruins, for she could not have answered him. She knew nothing about the Quintilii and very little about Commodus. She only knew that the great pile was commonly called the ‘Old Rome,’ and that she loved it for its grand loneliness. But Leone looked about him, and thought it was a good place for a castle. Next to soldiers he loved castles and forts.
‘If this belonged to me, I’d build a fortress here,’ he observed gravely, after a long silence. ‘I’d build a great castle like Bracciano.’ He had been taken there on a children’s picnic during the winter. ‘But I’d have lots of guns and a regiment of artillery here if it were mine,’ he added.
‘What for?’ asked Maria, amused.