Читать книгу The Fool Beloved - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 10

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“Gonzago, what ... what o’ God’s name ... hast done?”

“Sebastian, good my lord, sit and fetch thy breath.”

Staring wide-eyed at the speaker’s handsome, smiling face, Sebastian, lord and chief of the council of ten, tall, stately, and imposing, saw that which seemed to rob him of all dignity and strength also, for, sinking weakly into the proffered chair and quite forgetting his usual stateliness, he cowered back, saying in breathless whisper:

“Your ... your message—if ... if it be true——”

“It is true.”

“Reckless folly! Oh, madman ... madman!”

Still faintly smiling, Gonzago surveyed his agitated visitor feature by feature—the long nose, wide mouth and pointed chin, the sombre eyes deepset beneath jut of brow and high forehead gleaming wetly in the candle light.

“Gonzago, what has thou done?”

“All that was needed, Sebastian! Hearken to those joy-bells—tomorrow they shall hush to different tune.”

“Forbid ... forbid it, heaven!”

“My lord, heaven shall not trouble for such mere everyday earthly doing. Tomorrow’s sun shall still beam on us—and on this duchy, the which tonight’s doing shall have changed somewhat and—to our advantage.”

“Did I not ... and most expressly ... forbid?”

“And did I not, more expressly, smile?”

“What ... ha, Gonzago, how if this ... this thing be discovered ... how then?”

“What thing, Sebastian?”

“The——” Sebastian gulped, leaned nearer and whispered: “The ... change o’ flasks?”

“Then must we try again, with a difference.”

“Not I, b’my faith, not I, no ... no! Never this way, Gonzago!”

“Any and every way, Sebastian, to gain my purpose—and thine, to be sure!”

“Gonzago, I’ll none of it! No more, never again! Thy too-reckless feet tread path too slippery——”

“And thine also, Sebastian! For thee now is no turning back, ’tis too late. Where I tread, thou must needs follow—up and up to the heaven of my desires, and thine, or down and down to perdition and the headsman’s sword! ’Tis one way or other for such as we.”

Sebastian rose and, like one distraught, took a hasty turn up and down the chamber while Gonzago’s languorous-seeming eyes watched and upon his shapely mouth the same faintly-mocking smile as he said gently:

“My poor Sebastian, compose thyself. Sit down again and let us, like the highly virtuous fellow-conspirators we are, converse upon a lovelier theme—our imperious Duchess, this so feminine, delicious provocation to all the cardinal sins! Talk we of her, what time we wait together.”

“Eh—wait? For what—for what?”

“Glad tidings, happy news of our success, how we this night have——”

“No—no!” gasped Sebastian, hands violently out-thrown in horrified repulsion. “Not so! Whatever hath been done this night is thine—thy deed alone—of thy sole contrivance and done against my counsel.”

“True, thou art a counsellor, Sebastian, and honey-tongued orator beside. Thy business is the skilful use of words and subtle manage of phrases that, spoke or writ, they may be taken either or any way best suited to thine own advantage. Thou art by nature smoothly supple as an eel, a man so adroit that all other men esteem thee at thine own valuation. To all that do see and hear thee, my lord, thou art right noble gentleman of honour so impeccable they have made thee lord of the council, and our wilful Duchess ever heedful of thy advice. And so it is I use thee, my worthy lord.”

“Use? Use—me——” Words failing him, Sebastian raised clenched hands; but even as he trembled, thus fury-choked, Gonzago laughed softly, beckoned languidly and said gently:

“Come, fellow-plotter, sit at ease. Waste not thyself in such pettiness as anger; ’tis the futility of fools! Come now, empty me thy mind, speak me thy virtuous troubles, and if in thee be any fear, I shall rid thee of it. Tell me the wherefore of those trembling hands, that moist, care-wrung brow. Speak!” And crouched again in his elbow-chair, Sebastian replied in soft though furious voice:

“Gonzago, ’twas I, years agone, singled thee out, brought thee to court, made thee known to her grace the Duchess and by my influence and goodwill made thee all thou art——”

“Nay, Sebastian, I am none of thy making; ’twere far beyond thee! God or the Devil made me that I am, angel of light or fiend of the pit, child of heaven or spawn of hell, one or other, or both am I! As for thee, Sebastian, thou art neither one nor other, being merely—thy so virtuous-seeming self! Now how can such as I displeasure such as thee?—I that do soar so high above all things that can but creep!”

“Thou?” retorted Sebastian, in tone very like a snarl. “Thou art becoming my dis-ease and like to be thine own calamity! There is in thee a fevered madness, a youthful hurry of the spirit that by such ill-considered haste may ruin all!”

“Yet indeed,” smiled Gonzago, “though warm and quick with jocund youth, I am also man cold and resolute in action——”

“Thou art creature of impulse, Gonzago, ever running blindly whereas thou shouldst walk circumspectly.”

“I do neither, Sebastian; I fly! Like falcon to quarry I stoop, hit or miss, and have never failed thus far.”

“Yet there have been failures——”

“Ay, truly, by others! Even I cannot be everywhere. As, for instances, being here I cannot also be—there, at the inn we wot of—eh, my worthy lord—the Black Horse——”

“Hush!” gasped Sebastian. “Use no names——”

“Nay, be easy; we are private here, now as ever—as we were, and in this very chamber, when thou, my Sebastian, didst first propose and inspire me to——”

“Oh, never—never to such—such extremity as—this!”

“Why truly,” laughed Gonzago, “being such master of words thou didst lap thy meaning in such noble utterance and with such high-sounding phrases that murder then seemed a virtue, and this night’s work the very act of God!”

“Never—oh, never!” gasped Sebastian. “ ’Twas yourself mistook me, misjudged me then as—as you do even now.”

“Sebastian, I know how the magic of thy tongue can show evil to be good, transform devil to seeming angel, hell to paradise, and charm all to believe thee all thou art not and yet do so truly seem.”

“Nay ... not so.... I protest——”

“Thus I judge thee so rightly, my Sebastian, that I will make thee great and greatly use thee when I am duke.”

“Heaven’s ... light!” gasped Sebastian. “Dare thy—thy vaulting, mad ambition leap so high?”

“Dost think aught else shall content me?”

“Nay, I—I know not what to think!”

“Then ponder our success.”

“Nay there have been so many failures that my mind misgives me now for what is done and—is doing! Those—others!”

“Which and who, I pray thee?”

“Thy—fellows—at the inn! Those—those instruments of thine.”

“Ours, Sebastian! Our murderous three! Now why blench at the word? Come, be thy truest self with me. For do I not know thee, Sebastian? Have I not followed thee and taken thy measure, read thy most secret mind? Moreover, art thou not deeply concerned with me in this most necessary shedding of——”

“Hush! Oh ... for love of God——”

“Fie! Call not on God, Sebastian, lest He blast thee! Cry rather on the Devil, the Fiend, Santhanas and all his—Hark!”

“What now?” gasped Sebastian, starting up. “I—I hear nought!”

“Indeed, she is sweetly light of foot.”

Came a tapping on the door, which opened to disclose a woman, young was she though of dark and sullen beauty, and, frowning, she said:

“There be two would see your lordship.”

“Two only, Madonna?”

“Lord, only two.”

“Well, bid them hither—when I summon.”

“Two?” exclaimed Sebastian, so soon as the door had closed. “There should be three! Ha, what shall this portend? Failure again! Failure, I say, and this time—disaster, final and most dreadful! This hath been my dread ever since Morelli fled our most intimate counsels——”

“Meaning our conspiracy, Sebastian! Yet, as we know, death silenced him or ever he could betray us. Julio Morelli died ere he might speak——”

“Yet, how—how if he wrote? How then?”

“Why then, my poor Sebastian, the dead shall speak——”

“And be our doom, Gonzago, our ruin! Shame and a dreadful death——!”

“Even so, thou sorry wretch, we shall die in fashion most unkindly! Meanwhile let us see and question our murderers——”

“No—no! I must not be seen.”

“Then into the arras with thee,” said Gonzago; and, drawing a small gold whistle from the breast of his doublet, he sounded a soft, melodious call, answered almost immediately by tread of heavy feet, then the door was set wide and, with gallant swing of cloak, jingle of spurs and flourish of plumed hat, Annibal presented himself, saying:

“Noble sir, most gracious lord, our mission is duly performed, truly achieved and perfectly accompt. In proof whereof—behold this cloak of velvet black and with silver broidery enriched.”

“And here,” growled Rodrigo, stepping forward, “this hat with feather o’ scarlet.”

“Found ye any letter or despatch?”

“None, my lord, and we, as usual, were right marvellous thorough and infinitely zealous.”

“What of young Florizel?”

“My lord, the debate was something sharp, nay, I’m bold to say of a bitter contestance and in gloom pitch-black, the which ending, and Florizel not with us, ’tis to be presumed he could not, ergo—that he is dead.”

“I grieve for him, Annibal.”

“We also, my good lord. Though his loss may be soon made good and place filled by a better.”

“Yet I mourn him,” sighed Gonzago, laying three well-filled purses on the table. “The young should never die; youth and death should ever be strangers, save in cases most exceptional. Well, here is your promised fee, and Florizel’s also—share it betwixt you.”

“Ha, gracious lord, here is princely wage!”

“So shall it ever be—whiles you be faithful. Now off with you to yon clamourous revel, be merry yet watchful for my interest. And so good night to ye.” Scarcely had Annibal bowed himself and Rodrigo away, closing the door, than out from the arras stepped Sebastian, saying and in tone altered as his look:

“So all is well; Morelli sent no message!”

“Indeed, ’twould seem we were in time, Sebastian, and that death—that is to say: we, thou and I, Sebastian—silenced him ere could betray us by wag of tongue or twirl of pen! And talking of death see—this was Count Angelo’s cloak and most eloquently bloody! Lo—here went forth his life and——” Gonzago’s shapely lips were suddenly dumb. Out flashed his dagger to rip and slash—then from this dreadfully stained garment he drew a small, folded paper, at sight of which Sebastian cowered again.

“Ah!” he groaned. “I knew it—I knew it! My dread was merited! Read ... read! Let me hear! Read, I say!”

Slowly unfolding this paper, Gonzago read slowly and in his strangely pleasant voice:

“ ‘To Fortunio, Captain General, these in all haste. Arrest the lords Sebastian and Gonzago, these the chief conspirators. Others there be though not personally known of me. This warning, given and writ at peril of my life, should suffice. Pray know me now for thy grievous yet assured friend, Julio Morelli.’ ”

“Here,” gasped Sebastian, “is our ruin and death! Burn it! I say ... burn it ... let me see it no more than ash ... and ash, dust ... and dust scattered to nothingness! Gonzago, burn it, I say! Be rid of this fearsome peril; burn it!”

“Not so, thou purblind, panic soul! This, with proper manage and some small alteration, shall serve our future interests right well. Let us suppose this so fateful missive be made to read thus: ‘To Sebastian, lord of the council these: Arrest Count Angelo of Fidena for traitorous correspondence with known enemies’—and so forth—ha? Thus, my Sebastian, when our lord Fortunio’s death is known as—we hope—it soon must be, the popular outcry will be ‘murder’ and all men athirst for vengeance. Then publish this our amended dispatch and this shall explain the why and wherefore of Fortunio’s dying! Now dost thou begin to see?”

“Somewhat, ay—yet be more explicit.”

“Well then, our Great Fortunio, this high and truly noble gentleman, learning of his young brother’s death and shameful treachery, and being himself so proud and godlike, shall prefer death to such dishonour and himself by death translate himself above such infamy and——”

“Ha, this,” exclaimed Sebastian, eagerly, “should serve—were we but certain——?”

“Meaning certain of his death, Sebastian? I am, as thou shall be, and soon, I guess. But now of this letter, this most precious dispatch that shall hush all cries of ‘murder’ and stay the vengeful quest, we need but a able penman, a skilled——” Gonzago paused to smile and lift one slender finger—for the riotous bells were stilled, their joyous clamour hushed, and in this sudden quiet was something awful, though Gonzago yet smiled, saying:

“So, my lord, the bells have answered thee! Presently they shall, as I foretold, be tolled for the grief of our Great Fortunio’s passing. For great was he indeed, a truly noble man in deed and look and word, nor is there one in all the duchy to honour him more than I, or cherish his memory with greater reverence.”

“Gonzago ... when thou dost speak ... and look as now ... then do I almost ... fear thee.”

“Howbeit, Sebastian, for us now—all is well; despite heaven and all its power, crafty Roguery hath triumphed over peerless Virtue; Guilt is victorious! Thus at last our way lieth open before us; all things to us now are possible; all our fondest desires to be realized. Come then my Sebastian, good fellow-schemer; in this night of destiny, let us drink to ourselves, our golden future and—victorious Guilt. Drink!”