As I went on, I began to feel nervous in spite of myself, as to what the results of my interview with the cardinal would be, and whether it would end in the further employment, which the Secretary had distinctly said it would. I had no reason to doubt, however, and it was with a hopeful mind that I trotted up the Lungo Tavere, and was brought to a halt by a gruesome spectacle at Tor di Nona. There was a crowd a.s.sembled, watching an execution, and Jacopo, sidling up to me, remarked as he pointed to a body swinging in the air--
"What room there would be for Messer Braccio Fortebraccio here, signore--see that pear, of the kind he loves, growing there? _Barta!_ But there is another one----" and, even as he spoke, another wretch was hoisted into the air, and then another and another. I did not stop to look; but Jacopo stayed behind, overtaking me at a gallop as I reached the Piazza di S. Angelo.
"It is the doctor of St. John"s on the Lateran, and three of his bravos, signore. It is said he was accustomed to spend his evenings in cutting purses and throats; but, as ill luck would have it, meddled with one of Giulia Bella"s friends, and no money could buy an indulgence for that."
"If true he is well served, and there are others of his kidney whom we could spare with equal pleasure."
"Mine host of our inn, excellency, for instance. But the gibbet at Tor di Nona does not always bear fruit like this. I mind early one----"
At this moment, however, I set spurs to my horse and lost the rest, being afraid that Jacopo intended to retail to me the story of the old men and women who had been hanged as a morning"s diversion by Cesare Borgia, and as he had twice delivered himself of this to me as we sat up last night, I was in no mood to hear it again for the third time.
Near the statues of Peter and Paul, on the bridge, was a guard-house, occupied at the time by a detachment of Spanish infantry, and to these men I addressed myself, inquiring where the cardinal of Rouen was staying. I was told, at once, that his eminence was lodging in the new palace of Cardinal Corneto, opposite the Scorsa Cavalli, and that my best way was to turn to the left on crossing the bridge, and then to the right at the junction of the Borgo San Spirito and the Borgo San Michele.
Bestowing my thanks and a largesse on the men for their kindness, I went on at a gallop, congratulating myself on the ease with which the difficulty was solved, and in a few minutes had crossed the Piazza Scorsa Cavalli, and was before the residence of the cardinal. At the time I speak of, it was not quite finished, but still habitable, and had been rented by Monsignore d"Amboise, as being conveniently near the Vatican.
On entering the courtyard, I dismounted, and giving my horse to Jacopo to hold, ascended the steps, and boldly announced myself as an urgent messenger who had business with his eminence. I was ushered by a page into a reception room, and early as the hour was, there were a considerable number of people already in attendance, awaiting the morning levee. Here I was left to cool my heels for a little time, the spruce page informing me that the cardinal was engaged at breakfast, but that he would tell him of my coming, and asked my name. I hesitated for a moment, but decided to keep the name of Donati which I had a.s.sumed, and gave that, adding that I was the bearer of an urgent despatch to the cardinal, which I must deliver with my own hands. The young man then left me, as I have said, and taking a good position near the entrance door to the adjoining room, I leaned back against the wall, and awaited my summons. The reception room was of n.o.ble proportions, oblong in shape, the ceiling being supported by two pillars of veined marble, which, although they diminished the size of the chamber, had a good effect. The marble flooring, arranged in a patchwork of black and white, was bare of all furniture, and as the room gradually filled, the constant moving of feet, the sound of which rang sharply on the stone, made it appear as if a lot of masons"
hammers were at work. I let my eyes wander over the groups as they stood or moved about, wondering, if by chance I should see anyone I knew; but they were all strangers to me, mostly Frenchmen, with a fair sprinkling of priests amongst them. They were one and all trying to jostle past each other, so as to gain as close a position as possible to the entrance door, near to which I stood; and as I watched this with some little amus.e.m.e.nt, I heard a whisper in my ear, and glancing round beheld a man standing near me in a doctor"s robe, holding a heavily bound missal in his hand. I saw in a moment it was Corte, and he whispered in a low voice:
"Well met again, signore, remember your promise."
"I do, and the promise I made to the juggler will not be forgotten to the doctor. Is it wise, however, if you wish to remain unknown, for us to be seen speaking here?"
"Not very, but I wanted a word with you. Do not look round at present, but near the pillar to your right are two men, one dressed half in cloth of gold, and they are more interested in you than you think. I overheard a s.n.a.t.c.h of conversation--they are moving this way. By your leave, signore," raising his voice, he attempted to push by me, and catching the hint his last words had thrown out, I answered loudly, "First come, first served, learned doctor, and you must bide your turn."
"I am a man of peace, and therefore yield." Corte moved off, and I was free to look around me. I saw that Corte"s little piece of acting, to which I had risen, was due to the fact that the man in the cloth of gold and his companion were edging nearer to us, and at the time were barely six feet off. Besting my hand lightly on the hilt of my sword I looked the two full in the face, but could make nothing of them. The one who wore a jerkin of gold cloth met my look for an instant, and then dropped his eyes, a faint flush rising to his cheek. I saw that he was a young man of a singularly handsome countenance. A short neatly curled moustache fell over his upper lip and mouth, but there was no sign of a beard on the small and rounded chin, which was cleanly shaven. On his right cheek he wore a black patch, placed as if to hide the scar of a wound, although his complexion was as delicate as if the sun had never touched it. In his ears he wore earrings, an affectation of female adornment hateful to me, and the fingers of his small right hand, which he held ungloved, were covered with rings. The hilt of his rapier too, peeping from under the folds of his gay cloak, was crested with jewels, and altogether it seemed as if I could have nothing to fear from this painted lily, who looked more fitted to thrum a lute in a lady"s bower than have aught to do with the stir of the times. I therefore loosed my glance from him with some contempt, and turned to his companion, who was robed as an abbe, and evidently in a sour middle age. His features were bolder than those of his companion, but distinctly those of the canaille, and there was nothing in them in any way remarkable.
Nevertheless I thought it well to be on the watch, knowing that a dagger thrust is easily sent home, and there was the certainty, too, that the fact of my coming to Rome with a letter was known to the Medici plotters in Florence, and evidently it was their object to frustrate its delivery. What puzzled me, however, was that the look the young man directed to me was not unfriendly, and it struck me that if I could only hear his voice it might give me some clue to a recognition. The two had come a little between me and the door, and I was just about to contest the place with a view of forcing their hands if possible, when the door was flung open and the same page who had taken my name appeared and called out--
"Signor Donati, his eminence awaits you."
As the door opened there was a general movement towards it. But the cry of the page in a moment arrested the crowd, turning the look of antic.i.p.ation on the faces of all to one of disappointment, and a loud murmuring arose against my being so favored. I lost not a second in stepping forward, and in doing so purposely brushed against the young man near to me, turning round as I did so with a somewhat brusque "By your leave, sir." I fully expected that he would resent my rudeness and make some speech, but he merely bowed his head with a courteous inclination, showing a set of small and even teeth as he smiled under his blonde moustache. I was a little put out by the failure of my plan, but the next instant the door closed behind me, and at any rate the letter to the cardinal was safe, and my task was as good as accomplished.
I followed the page therefore with an equal mind, and lifting a curtain, which fell in heavy folds at the end of the pa.s.sage, where a couple of gorgeous lackeys stood, he called out "Messer Donati," and then stepped aside to let me pa.s.s. I entered the room with a firm step, and saw before me a large, but plainly-furnished apartment. In a lounge chair near a small table, on which was set out a light repast, was a man whom I at once guessed to be the cardinal. He wore a purple robe, and the barettina or small skull cap, which covered the tonsure on his head, allowed his short grey hair, which curled naturally, to be seen around it. Under the cap I saw a square resolute face with keen black eyes, and a full but kindly mouth. He was just putting down a gla.s.s of vernaccia as I came in, and I caught the purple glitter of the sapphire ring he wore in token of his rank, as he set down the gla.s.s. He was not alone, for, leaning against the window and caressing the head of an enormous wolf-hound, was a splendidly-dressed cavalier, who looked up as I came in, and I saw at once it was Bayard. I kept my eyes away from him, however, and advancing straight towards the cardinal, placed the letter before him without a word.
D"Amboise looked at the seals carefully, and then taking a small jade-hilted knife from the table, ripped open the envelope, and ran his eye quickly over the letter. As he did so not a muscle of his face moved to show how the contents stirred him, and when he had finished he held it out at arm"s length, saying--
"My dear Bayard, what do you think of this?"
Bayard made a step forward to take the letter, and in doing this our eyes met, and he frankly held out his hand. I could hardly believe it when I saw it extended towards me. My breath came thick and fast, and the whole room swam around. The man was the soul of honour, the n.o.blest knight in Christendom; he had seen my trial, nay, he had been one of my judges, and he offered me his hand! He must hold me guiltless, I felt. "My lord!" I rather gasped than spoke as I took his grasp, but seeing my emotion, he put in--
"Sit down, cavaliere. His eminence will forgive me for disposing of a seat in his house--we are more than old friends." He placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me to a seat, whilst D"Amboise, still holding the letter in his hand, looked at us with a puzzled air.
"St. Dennis!" he exclaimed. "What does this mean, Bayard?"
"It means, your eminence, that this is a gallant gentleman who has been most basely used; but pardon me--the letter."
He took the letter from the cardinal"s hands and read it quickly, whilst I sat still, with emotions in my heart I cannot describe, and D"Amboise glanced from one to another with a half-amused, half-curious look on his keen face. Bayard finished his perusal in a few seconds, and laying the letter on the table said, "Nothing could be better. We should be prepared for action, although there is yet plenty of time. I wonder how in the world the Florentine got wind of this?"
"Oh, he has long ears. We shall, however, want a good sword, and if all that the secretary writes is true, we have got it in your friend the Cavaliere Donati. In fact Machiavelli suggests him for the task."
"My name, your eminence, is not Donati," I here put in, "but Savelli.
When misfortune overtook me, I changed my name; but I see no reason for hiding the truth from you."
"Quite right," said D"Amboise, "but Savelli! Is this the Savelli of the Arezzo affair, Bayard?"
Bayard nodded a.s.sent, and the cardinal continued, turning to me.
"Then, sir, I have heard your story, and you have more friends than you think. But of this, later on. Were you not at Fornovo?"
"Yes," I replied, wondering what the cardinal"s speech meant.
"_Ciel!_ I made out your patent of St. Lazare myself. What could have made Tremouille act as he did I do not know, and he is as obstinate as a mule. Bayard, I know all about this gentleman, and your testimony to his worth convinces me that what I have heard is correct. I could never believe the story myself."
"My lords, you may doubt; but the world----"
"Will yet come round to you, cavaliere," said Bayard, and added, "Your eminence could not have a better sword for your purpose than that of M. di Savelli here, provided he will accept the task."
"I will accept anything from you, my lords," I said.
"Good," said D"Amboise, "now let me tell you how you stand. Acting doubtless in the advice of friends, Madame d"Entrangues wrote to me a full account of the affair, which ended so badly for you, and explained fully her husband"s treachery. This she begged me to forward to Tremouille with a view of getting your sentence altered. As you have just been made aware, I have some knowledge of you, and it was a thousand pities to see a sword, which had served France well, turned away. I laid the matter before the duke, but he replied to say he could take no action. The d.u.c.h.ess, who is my cousin, has also used her influence but to no purpose, for Tremouille stirs his porridge with his own hand, and does not care if it burn or not, as long as he stirs it himself. We could get the king"s pardon for you, and as a last resource that might be done, for I like as little to be thwarted as His Grace of Tremouille; but that will raise you up a strong enemy in the duke, and it will not kill the story--you see."
"I do, your eminence. How can I thank you?"
"I do not want your thanks, cavaliere; but France wants your sword.
Your only way is to do a signal service for France, and after this the matter is easy. Tremouille is generous, and it would want but a little pressure to make him rescind his sentence apparently of his own accord, provided you could do what I have said. Strange how fate works!"
I remained silent, and D"Amboise went on: "Such a service it is possible for you to do, and I will put it in your way. I cannot at present give you details as they have to be discussed with the secretary, who will shortly be in Rome. This much, however, I can tell you; get together a few good men, you doubtless can lay your hands on them, and be ready. You will no doubt want funds, but they will be arranged for. In the meantime you may consider yourself as attached to my suite--a moment," he continued as I was about to pour out my thanks, "you had better for the present call yourself Donati. I know something of the history of Roman families, and your name would not smell well to the Chigi and Colonna, and remember the Tiber is very deep."
He touched a small handbell as he concluded, and the page appeared.
"Defaure," he said, "send the Abbe Le Clere and my gentlemen to me; after that you will please inform the steward that apartments are to be prepared at once for M. Donati, who is here." The page bowed and vanished, and as I rose to await the coming of the suite, the cardinal went on with a smile, "Messieurs in the ante-room are doubtless getting impatient; we must make haste to receive them." As he said these words a grey-haired priest entered, bearing on a cushion the scarlet hat of a prince of the church, and following him, half-a-dozen gentlemen, and grooms of the chamber. The cardinal rose, and leaning on the arm of Bayard, walked slowly towards the door. Le Clerc bore the hat immediately before him, and the rest of us formed a queue behind. As we came to the door it was flung open by two lackeys in a blue and silver livery, who shouted out--
"My Lord Cardinal--way--way."
We pa.s.sed into the room where the people were arranged in two rows, and D"Amboise walked down the line, bowing to one, exchanging a word or two with another, until he came opposite Corte. The doctor dropped to his knee, and presenting his book, solicited the cardinal"s influence to obtain for him an audience with the Pope, to whom he desired to dedicate his work.
"_Perte!_" said the cardinal. "Why not go to his eminence of Strigonia--books are more in his line than--well, we shall see--we shall see."
He pa.s.sed on, and the next group that caught his eye was that of the young stranger in the cloth of gold and his companion.
As the cardinal approached, the young man drew a letter from his vest, and presented it with a low bow.
D"Amboise tore it open and glanced over the contents. "_Diable!_" he exclaimed, "from Madame de la Tremouille herself. See here, Bayard, the d.u.c.h.ess writes, introducing her friend the Chevalier St.
Armande--I know not the house."
"We are of Picardy, your eminence."
The voice was singularly sweet and soft, and a strange and undefinable resemblance in its tones to some other voice I had heard struck me, but I could not fix upon anything.
"The d.u.c.h.ess says you are anxious to serve; would it not have been easier to send you to the Duke?"
St. Armande looked round with a heightened colour, and then replied, speaking in the same low, soft tones: