Читать книгу The Carnival of Florence - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 10

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The masquer soon put Aprilis down, for her weight cumbered his flight, and taking both her hands in his right one, hurried her over the paving-stones, so that her feet were hurt.

She tried to cry out, to struggle, but the mantle stifled and blinded her; she could only stumble along helplessly, gasping and sobbing in her throat.

Presently her abductor caught her up again; she felt herself roughly held against his shoulder and chest; she could feel beneath his robe the hardness of steel; she heard the quick intake of his breath, the breathing of a man almost exhausted.

With sudden swiftness she released her hands from the mantle, and thrusting them against his shoulder with all her force, made a violent effort to free herself. Her desperate movement broke his grip; she felt her feet touch the ground; she staggered a few paces and disentangled herself from the mantle.

With a gasp of relief she breathed the fresh air; as she had guessed from the silence, she was no longer in the street; a garden, illuminated only by the moonlight, was around her; she stood in a dark avenue of ilex, with a white statue behind her breaking the blackness of the shade.

Seeing the monstrous figure of the wolf-mask, which the uncertain light made more grotesque, standing there beside her, she began to run.

But the stranger was instantly at her side, and had grasped her arm in his powerful fingers.

Aprilis stood motionless, quivering.

She endeavoured to collect her confused, angry thoughts; if she could but escape this man for a few minutes, she believed she would be safe, for she knew she could not be far from home, and that probably they had already missed her, and were searching Florence.

But she saw no chance of escaping her captor, even for ten seconds; his forceful grip was like a ring of pain on her arm. She looked at him with hatred.

"Astorre della Gherardesca will kill you for this," she said.

"It would be a sweet death," returned the wolf-mask in sentimental tones, "since it would be incurred for your sake."

This voice, cultured, but deep and rather rough, disguised a little by the silk screen that formed the lower part of the mask, confirmed Aprilis in her intuition that this was no one whom she knew.

She stood silent, her astuteness of a woman and her subtlety of a Florentine busy scheming how to meet the situation.

"Do you regret the Gherardesca?" added the stranger in a beguiling voice. "Do you not know that you are far too wonderful to belong to him? And too wonderful to stay in the Palazzo Fiorivanti, my Aprilis."

"Ah, you know my name?" said Aprilis; her terror and confusion diminished; she felt on her own ground with one who used the language of homage and devotion; the situation was more or less in her own hands.

"I know everything about you," returned the wolf-mask, "except how many worshippers you have in Florence; and who can count the sands of the sea?"

This language of courtly compliment, given in an ardent masculine voice, was not displeasing to Aprilis; she would have liked Astorre to woo her in this fashion. The danger of her situation ceased to appall her; she smiled, shaking back her disordered curls.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

"You have seen me, I think; you do not know me—but I know you, Madonna Aprilis."

"How?" she questioned.

"By no magic, dear, by loving watchfulness."

He put his free arm round her shoulders, and drew her gently towards him.

Aprilis breathed hard.

"You had better, for your own sake," she said, "take me back."

He did not enforce his hold, but the muzzle of the hideous mask was almost touching her colourless cheek.

"Why—for my sake?"

"Astorre della Gherardesca will kill you, Messere," she repeated.

She thought he laughed, but his voice as he answered was quite steady.

"Do you love him?"

Aprilis lifted her delicate eyebrows and her slender shoulders.

"Does he love you?" asked the stranger.

"Is that the question?" replied Aprilis. "I am to be his wife."

"No," said the masquer quietly, "you never will be, Madonna Aprilis."

Her courage ebbed again, the dark trees, the white moonlight, the powerful and fantastic figure that held her captive, overwhelmed her spirit with a sense of a destiny not to be escaped.

She shuddered, and pulled the mantle closer about her breast and throat.

"Poor lady!" exclaimed her captor; and now there was a ring of sarcasm in his humble tone. "So you regret the Gherardesca—and your pleasant home and Ser Rosario, the old tyrant with his money bags, and Monna Costanza, the fat cousin, and Monna Lucia, the fat aunt?"

She was surprised by his knowledge of her life, which suddenly seemed very distasteful in the retrospect; she asked herself why she wanted to go back, was it not a purely conventional feeling; none of them, from her father to Astorre, had done anything to win her affection, the life had always irked her, the marriage she had been so glad to achieve had only been a means of escape; she had always wanted adventures—here was one; she had always longed to test her power—here was the chance if she had the courage and wit she had believed herself to possess.

The masquer, who had been observing her closely loosened her arm and lightly took her hand.

"I think you do not greatly want to return," he remarked shrewdly, "and you are right, in the Fiorivanti Palazzo you are a pearl in an iron casket."

"But in the Villa Gherardesca I shall have at least a silver casket," smiled Aprilis.

"You would have a prettier prison, perhaps," he returned, "but it would be the same life."

"No," said Aprilis, "for I shall make Astorre do as pleases me."

He laughed outright now.

"That you never would, Madonna Aprilis."

She flushed in anger, and gave him a glance of contempt.

"Do you doubt my power over men?" she asked softly.

"Over Astorre, yes; for he is already in love with Madonna Olympia, who is the wife of Sansovino of Pisa."

Her colour deepened; she hated Astorre, and she hated the man who spoke to her; again she lost all fear.

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

"You would have known it—in common with all Florence—if you had not been locked away so closely."

She tried to rally her pride, which was hurt, a little because Astorre had a lover, and a great deal because she had not known about it.

"What is there for you to regret?" insinuated the wolf-mask. "You must have a dozen lovers finer than the Gherardesca."

"I have many lovers," returned Aprilis coldly, "but they have never come nearer to me than the tips of my outstretched hand; nor would you stand so close," and her eyes were dangerous, "were it not by force, Messere."

He laughed again, as if pleased.

"Do you still want to return?" he asked, and he moved away, leaving her free; a deceptive freedom, as she knew, for he had but to take a step to capture her again.

She panted a little, pressing her hands together in agitation; she guessed she was in the Medici gardens, near to her father's home, but if she shrieked (and little would she be able to shriek before the wolf-mask stifled her cries), who would hear her—who, hearing, would trouble?

She knew that a woman's shrieks were not much heeded on a night of Carnival.

The thought of her return made her shiver; she felt that none of the household would be gentle with her, the adventure would be imputed to her as a fault, and it was true that she had crept down to the door when she should have gone up to her room; she was wholly doubtful as to the attitude of Astorre.

"Do you wish to return?" repeated the stranger, closely observing her doubts and distresses.

She turned on him with a touch of fierceness.

"Yes, I wish to return, for what can I achieve better than a marriage with Astorre della Gherardesca?"

"I will bring you a finer marriage," he returned, with sudden eagerness. "I will bring you love and riches and power, Madonna Aprilis."

"How is that possible?" she faltered.

"All is possible to me," he replied arrogantly.

A sudden awful fear that he might be the devil or an emissary of the devil, caused her knees to shake under her; she crossed herself.

He saw the terror in her movement.

"I am nothing unholy," he said, and he drew a cross from his bosom. "On this I swear I will not harm you. Listen to me, Madonna, I swear on the bone of San Piero, which is set in this cross, that you shall not be touched, save by your own consent."

He spoke so softly, so tenderly and with such sincerity that Aprilis was reassured; his voice had a powerful effect on her, an effect almost of enchanting her senses.

"What do you mean to do with me?" she asked, with a helpless gesture.

"You still do not trust me, beautiful Aprilis."

"I do not know your name and quality, I have never seen your face—you have used violence to me, why should I trust you?"

But as she spoke she gave him the sad little trembling smile with which she was wont to reward her lovers at the church door and beneath the loggia.

"My name is a good name," he answered, "and my quality is not mean. Could you love me, Aprilis? I would give you everything you wished."

She stood silent; the night-wind caught her fine locks and blew them out against the ilex trees; as she put up her hand to them her fingers touched a bare forehead.

"Oh, my ferroniera!" she cried in instinctive distress; "my pearl! I have lost it!"

She stood with her hands to her brow, swaying on her feet; in a bewildering flash she remembered all the preparations for her wedding: the chests full of gowns, the caskets of jewels, the dress she was to have worn on her marriage day, the pearls Astorre had given her, all her own loved possessions.

"I shall lose all these," she thought, and the pain of it forced the tears into her eyes.

"What are you grieving for, Aprilis?" asked the stranger.

"My pearl—I have lost my pearl," she murmured, "and all my gems and wedding gifts—oh, Messere, you have done me a great wrong!"

He took her in his arms and she was too distressed and tired to resist.

"If you will come with me I will give you a finer husband and finer jewels than those you have lost, Aprilis."

She felt very weary, she tried to draw away from his hard, steel-clad arms, but the effort was feeble.

"If I refuse, Messere?" she asked faintly.

"Bacchus, Madonna, you will go just the same," he answered, and there was a note of impatience and brutality in his voice, which had hitherto been so low and coaxing.

"Let me see your face," said Aprilis; "to me you are still a wolf—can I love a wolf, Messere?" and she laughed feebly.

They had walked a few paces beyond the white statue and the ilex shade, and were now in the full moonlight. The stranger took off his fantastic-pointed red cap and unfastened the strings of the mask; with the animal's head in his hand he stood looking at her and smiling. She had an instant impression that she had seen him before, and yet he was certainly a stranger. The face was superb in youth, in health, in beauty and in pride, swarthy in complexion, with thick, dark chestnut hair, large eyes with heavy, drooping lids, a nose slightly arched, and full, bold lips; the slight coarseness of the type was emphasized by the heavy lines of the chin, and redeemed by no touch of intellectual power nor spiritual power in the expression, which was frankly and pleasantly soulless, and might easily be brutal.

In the thick neck, the low-set ears, the small, compact head, were the signs of the athlete, as were also in his arched, deep chest, his wide shoulders and slender hips. He stood firm as a thing of bronze or iron, expressing in every line material power and arrogance; now he was unmasked he was as much the animal as he had been when disguised with the wolf's head.

He did not daunt Aprilis; the voluptuous delicacy of her type responded to the masculine dominance of his; he pleased her more than the scholar Andrea, more than the thin, eager Astorre, more than any man she had ever seen.

She returned his smile, instinctively putting forth her charms as the flower opens to the sun.

"You are not afraid of me, are you, Madonna Aprilis?" he asked.

"No," she answered quickly, "because you swore by the bones of San Piero not to harm me."

He was looking at her keenly, with pleasure and amusement.

"Will you kiss me?" he asked.

"Not now," said Aprilis.

He laughed.

"Not now, then," he returned.

He took her hand and led her rapidly across the garden. Aprilis was struggling for composure with which to face the situation.

She would rather marry this man than Astorre; she would rather follow him than return to her father's house. But could she trust him?—she thought so, because of the oath he had sworn on the sacred relics.

Did he love her?

At this thought she felt the blood glow hot all over her body; she could easily come to love him, she thought, she had been fashioned to respond to such a man's wooing. But her shrewdness held in check her surrender; she trembled as she considered how he might use her—why had he chosen this rough way of taking her, why was he disguised, why was she still ignorant of his name?

As she was hastened along through the darkness of the garden, helpless in his grip, and seeming a creature of ethereal delicacy beside his bulk and power, her mind was working rapidly, balanced between despair and anger at her situation and the powerful instinct that attracted her to the adventure and the man. He hurried her to another gate shaded with overhanging beech trees, from beyond which she could glimpse a dark street and the poor gleams of the oil lamps at the corner.

Faintly came the sound of the Carnival, all the varied noises combining to a distant hum, like the boom of an indistinct melody.

The stranger opened the gate and drew Aprilis through the portals into the dark and lonely street. He put his face close to hers; she felt his breath and his rough hair on her brow; with clenched hands and narrowed eyes she stood taut.

"Chi vuol esser lieto, sia

Di Doman non c'e certezza,"

he muttered.

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him.

She flushed and set her teeth.

"I will not be your leman or the toy of any man, Messere," she said, and her eyes defied him. "And if you do me any harm there are three people who will be revenged on you—San Piero, to whom you swore, my father and Astorre della Gherardesca."

He answered with a certain carelessness.

"I will not harm you, sweet; you are safe for me."

And then he stooped and kissed her.

She had known no kisses save those of Astorre, cold on her brow or hand; this, full on her mouth, was a kiss such as she had dreamed of when her thoughts had wandered from her prosaic surroundings through the ways of romance. Her whole being trembled, it seemed as if her soul leant towards him and clung to him gratefully; then, as he released her, and turned away, she hated him passionately as for some vague but deep wrong. Taking a whistle from the same gilt chain on which the crucifix hung, he blew softly three times, and a coach came up from the darkness beyond the street lamp. As it stopped before them the stranger replaced his mask.

"I will not go," shuddered Aprilis, with sudden violent repulsion when she saw him open the door.

For answer he lifted her easily over the step and closed the door on her protests.

The windows were curtained in leather, and she was in complete darkness. Half dreading, half longing for the wolf mask to follow her, she trembled into a corner. The coach started, and no one joined her; she found both the doors secured against her efforts to open them, and crouched back in her corner; she told herself she was glad that the stranger should ride without. At thought of his kiss she trembled all over.

Despite the jolting of the coach she went on her knees and prayed to the Madonna and Saint Anna to protect her helplessness.

"And restore my pearl if it seems good to thee," added Aprilis.