The Shame of Motley Part 33

I answered him nothing, but I bowed my head in token that I had heard and he signed to the men to proceed with me, whilst turning on his heel he stepped down the hall again to where Madonna Paola, overcome with weakness, had sunk upon a stool.

As I was leaving the gallery I had a last glimpse of her, sitting there with drawn face and haggard eyes that followed me as I pa.s.sed from her sight, whilst Ramiro del' Orca stood beside her murmuring words that did not reach me. His so-called courtiers and his men-at-arms were trooping out of the room, no doubt in obedience to his dismissal.

CHAPTER XX. THE SUNSET

I have heard tell of the calm that comes upon brave men when hope is dead and their doom has been p.r.o.nounced. Uncertainty may have tortured and made cowards of them; but once that uncertainty is dissolved and suspense is at an end, resignation enters their soul, and, possessing it, gives to their bearing a n.o.ble and dignified peace. By the mercy of Heaven they are made, maybe, to see how poor and evanescent a thing is life; and they come to realise that since to die is a necessity there is no avoiding, as well might it betide to-day as ten years hence.

Such a mood, however, came not to soothe that last hour of mine, and yet I account myself no coward. It was an hour of such torture and anguish as never before I had experienced--much though I had undergone--and the source of all my suffering lay in the fact that Madonna Paola was in the hands of the ogre of Cesena. Had it not been for that most untoward circ.u.mstance I almost believe that while I waited for the sun to set on that December afternoon, my mood had not only been calm but even in some measure joyous, for it must have comforted my last moments to reflect that for all that Messer Ramiro was about to hang me, yet had I sown the seeds of his own destruction ere he had brought me to this pa.s.s.

I did, indeed, reflect upon it, and it may even be that, in spite of all, I culled some grain of comfort from the reflection. But let that be. My narrative would drag wearily were I to digress that I might tell you at length the ugly course of my thoughts whilst the sands of my last hour were running swiftly out. For, after all, my concern and yours is with the story of Lazzaro Biancomonte, sometime known as Boccadoro the Fool, and not with his philosophies--philosophies so unprofitable that it can benefit no man that I should set them down.

My windows faced west, and so I was able to watch the fall of the sun, and measure by its shortening distance from the horizon the ebbing of my poor life. At last the nether rim of that round, fiery orb was on the point of touching the line of distant hills, and it was casting a crimson glow along the white, snow-sheeted landscape that was singularly suggestive of a tide of blood--a very fitting tide to flow and ebb about the walls of the Castle of Cesena.

One little thing there was might save me, Ramiro had said. But I had shut the thought out of my mind to keep me from utter distraction. The only little thing in which I held that my salvation could lie would be in the miraculous arrival of Cesare Borgia, and of that not the faintest hope existed. If the greatest luck attended Mariani's errand and the greatest speed were made by the Duke once he received the letter, he could not reach Cesena in less than another eight hours. And another eight minutes, to reckon by the swift sinking of the sun would see the time appointed for my hanging. I thought of Joshua in that grim hour, and in a mood that approached the whimsical I envied him his gift. If I could have stayed the setting of the sun, and held it where it was till midnight, all might yet be well if Mariani had been diligent and Cesare swift.

The key grating in the lock put an end to my vague musings, and reminded me of the fact that I had neglected to employ that last hour as would have become a good son of Mother Church. For an instant I believe that my heart turned me to thoughts of G.o.d, and sent up a prayer for mercy for my poor sinful soul. Then the door swung wide. Two halberdiers and a carnifex in his odious leathern ap.r.o.n stood before me. Clearly Ramiro sought to be exact, and to have me hanging the instant the sun should vanish.

"It is time," said one of the soldiers, whilst the executioner, stepping into my chamber, pinioned my wrists behind me, and retaining hold of the cord bade me march. He followed, holding that slender cord, and so, like a beast to the shambles, went I.

Once more they led me into the hall, where the shadows were lengthening in dark contrast to the splashes of sunlight that lingered on the floor, and whose blood-red hue was deepened by the gules of the windows through which it was filtered.

Ramiro was waiting for me, and six of his officers were in attendance.

But, for once, there were no men-at-arms at hand. On a chair, the one usually occupied by Ramiro, himself, sat Madonna Paola, still in her torn and bedraggled raiment, her face white, her eyes wild as they had been when first she had been haled into Ramiro's presence, some two hours ago, and her features so rigidly composed that it told the tale of the awful self-control she must be exerting--a self-control that might end with a sudden snap that would plunge her into madness.

A wild rage possessed me at sight of her. Let Ramiro be ruthless and cruel where men were concerned; that was a thing for which forgiveness might be found him. But that he should submit a lady, delicately nurtured as was Madonna, to such horrors as she had undergone since she had awakened from his sleeping-potion in the Church of San Domenico, was something for which no h.e.l.l could punish him condignly.

Ramiro met me with a countenance through the a.s.sumed gravity of which I could espy his wicked, infernal mockery peeping forth.

"I deplore your end, Lazzaro Biancomonte," said he slowly, "for you are a brave man, and brave men are rare. You were worthy of better things, but you chose to cross swords with Ramiro del' Orca, and you have got your death-blow. May G.o.d have mercy on your soul."

"I am praying," said I, "for just so much mercy as you shall have justice. If my prayer is heard, I should be well-content."

He changed countenance a little. So, too, I thought, did Madonna Paola.

My firmness may have yielded her some grain of comfort. Ramiro set his hands on his hips, and eyed me squarely.

"You are a dauntless rogue," he confessed.

I laughed for answer, and in that moment it entered my mind that I might yet enjoy some measure of revenge in this life. More than that, I might benefit Madonna. For were the seed I was about to sow to take root in the craven heart of Ramiro del' Orca, it would so fully occupy his mind that he would have little time to bestow on Paola in the few hours that were left him. But before I could bethink me of words, he was speaking again.

"I held out to you a slender hope," said he. "I told you that there was one little thing might save you. That hope has borne no fruit; the little thing, I spoke of has not come to pa.s.s. It rested with Madonna Paola, here. She had it in her hands to effect your salvation, but she has refused. Your blood rests on her head."

She shuddered at the words, and a low moan escaped her. She covered her face with her hands. A moment I stood looking at her; then I shifted my glance to Ramiro.

"Will it please you, Ill.u.s.trious, to allow me a few moments'

conversation with Madonna Paola di Santafior?"

I invested my tones with a weight of meaning that did not escape him.

His face suddenly lightened; whilst one of his officers--a fellow very fitly named Lupone--laughed outright.

"Your hero seems none so heroic after all," he said derisively to the Governor. "The imminence of death makes him amenable."

Ramiro scowled on him for answer. Then, turning to me--"Do you think you could bend her stubbornness?" quoth he.

"I might attempt it," answered I.

His eyes flashed with evil hope; his lips parted in a smile. He shot a glance at Madonna, who had withdrawn her hands from her face and was regarding me now with a strange expression of horror and incredulity--marvelling, no doubt, to find me such a craven as I must have seemed.

Ramiro looked at the diminishing sunlight on the floor.

"In some five minutes the sun will have completely set," said he. "Those five minutes you shall have to seek to enlist Madonna's aid on your behalf. If you succeed--and she may tell you on what terms you are to have your life--you shall depart from Cesena to-night a free man."

He paused a moment, and his eyes, lighted by an odious smile, rested once more on Madonna Paula. Then he bade all withdraw, and went with them into an adjoining chamber, fondly nurturing the hopes that were begotten of his belief that Lazzaro Biancomonte was a villain.

When we were alone, she and I, I stood a moment where they had left me, my hands pinioned behind me, and the cord which the executioner had held trailing the ground like a lambent tail. Then I went slowly forward until I stood close before her. Her eyes were on my face, still with that same look of unbelief.

"Madonna mia," said I, "do not for an instant think that it is my purpose to ask of you any sacrifice that might save my worthless life. Rather was my purpose in seeking these few moments with you, to strengthen and encourage you by such news as it is mine to bring."

She looked now as if she scarcely understood.

"If I will wed him to-night, he has promised that you shall go free,"

she said in a whisper. "He says that he can bring a priest from the neighbourhood at a moment's notice."

"Do not heed him," I cried sternly.

"I do not heed him," said she, more composedly. "If he seeks to force me, I shall find a way of setting myself free. Dear Mother of Heaven!

death were a sweet and restful thing after all that I have suffered in these days."

Then she fell suddenly to weeping.

"Think me not an utter coward, Lazzaro. Willingly would I do this thing to save so n.o.ble a life as yours, did I not think that you must hate me for it. I was stout and firm in my refusal, confident that you would have had me so. Was I not right, my poor, poor Lazzaro?"

"Madonna, you were right," I answered firmly and calmly.

"And you are to die, amor mio," she murmured pa.s.sionately. "You are to die when the promise of happiness seemed held out to us. And yet, were you to live at the price at which life is offered you, would your life be endurable? Tell me the truth, Lazzaro; swear it to me. For if life is the dearer thing to you, why then, you shall have your life."

"Need you ask me, Paola?" questioned I. "Does not your heart tell you how much easier is death than would be such life as I must lead hereafter, even if we could trust Ramiro, which we cannot. Be brave, Madonna, and help me to be brave and to bear thyself with a becoming fort.i.tude. Now listen to what I have to tell you. Ramiro del' Orca is a traitor who is plotting the death of his overlord. Proofs of it are by now in the hands of Cesare Borgia, and in some seven or eight hours the Duke himself should be here to put this monster to the question touching these matters. I will say a word in his ear ere I depart that will fill his mind with a very wholesome fear, and you will find that during the few hours left him he will have little leisure to think of you and afflict you with his odious wooing. Be strong, then, for a little while, for Cesare is coming to set you free."

She looked at me now with eyes that were wide open. Suddenly--

"Could we not gain time?" she cried, and in her eagerness she rose and set her hands upon my shoulders. "Could I not pretend to acquiesce to his wishes, and so delay your end?"

"I have thought of it," I answered gloomily, "but the thought has brought me no hope. Ramiro is not to be trusted. He might tell you that he sets me free, but he dare not do so; he fears that I may have knowledge of his dealings with Vitelli, and a.s.suredly he would break faith with us. Again the coming of the Duke might be delayed. Alas!"

I ended in despair, "there is nothing to be done but to let things run their course."