Читать книгу The Fool Beloved - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 4

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In the dim-lit chamber of the Black Horse tavern three men sat at wine: the first a gay-seeming fellow, ornate of person, bold of gesture and fluent of speech; the second a bewhiskered ferocity, slow of tongue though quick of eye; the third a pallid youth who leaned to peer from small, open lattice out upon the darkening road.

“Night!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Night falls apace and yet no sign o’ them! They should ha’ been here ere this! Eh, eh—how say you, Annibal?”

“Well now,” answered this first man, stretching booted legs to lounge more at ease, “as man of action, for this delay I curse, as gentleman I merely smile, but being a philosopher I say all’s well, my Florizel,—is so, I say, and so shall be for that so be it must.”

“Ay, we needs must,” repeated Florizel, turning from the window, “being by evil compelled to this black evil——”

“Evil, quotha?” growled the scowling man ferociously. “Ha, now what puling chicken-hearted clack is this——”

“Hold!” said Annibal, with commanding gesture. “Temper thy so natural ire, my Rodrigo, for this our Florizel, being young, lacketh our much experience and smarteth to the prick o’ conscience. Yet it shall blunt anon and irk him no more than doth thine or mine. He shall ripen——”

“Oh, mock,” sighed Florizel, crouching in his chair, “mock me an ye will, yet do I protest this thing we are about to do is loathed and most detestable——”

“So now,” growled Rodrigo, “he will dare miscall our trade, a notable profession dignified by ages and right gentlemanly calling——”

“Calling, ay truly!” retorted Florizel. “I’ve heard it called ‘murder’ ere now! And we presently compelled thereto by this damned Spanish lord Gonzago——”

“Peace, fool!” hissed Rodrigo, cowering. “Here is perilous name! Our lives do lie in his potent hand——”

“Verily! Oh, he hath us fast ... for that one sin doth beget others! ‘Florizel,’ saith he, becking me aside, ‘at such a time you did thus’—naming that methought secret as the night wherein ’twas done. ‘I’ve hanged men for less!’ saith he, smiling——”

“Ay, yea,” nodded Annibal, “my lord hath very wheedling way to woo one to his purposes——”

“So thus,” groaned Florizel, “are we compelled to murder one that never did us wrong, a youth we’ve never seen, a hapless student all unsuspecting——”

“And the bee cried ‘buzz’!” growled Rodrigo.

“A mere poor student,” Florizel repeated. “I marvel so great a lord should stoop to harm such.”

“Ay, but,” said Annibal, reaching for the wine, “this same student is far more than he seems and therefore more worthy the—ha—attentions of such as we, my Florizel! He hath been oft assailed upon the road and lives yet!”

“Then,” growled Rodrigo, “there was curst bungling!”

“Nay—there was featly play o’ rapier and dagger wherefore our comrade Bandello lieth sore wounded! And dost mind that jovial toss-pot Vitry the Frenchman?”

“Certes. A merry, frolicsome fellow.”

“Well, he will frolic no more.”

“How—is he dead?”

“As mutton! And by this same well-managed steel! This student proveth notable man at arms, ha? Now I’ve heard tell our great Fortunio, this redoubtable fighter and invincible commander, hath a brother who, though a scholarly youth and lover of books, can twirl rapier featly as Fortunio’s self, having learned the gentle art of that grimly old swordsman, Jacomo, his ancient. Well, is all plain now?”

“Ay, by the fiend, plain as these my hilts! Here’s game worthy of us!”

“In verity!” nodded Annibal. “Thus, Vitry and the others failed! But we——”

“Aha—we,” chuckled Rodrigo; “thou and I do never fail. So ’tis good as done and this lordly student no better than crow’s-meat even now.”

“Is this so sure?”

“As death, my Florizel, I warrant you this stripling shall pass aloft so gently, so sweetly-swift he shall scarce know it.”

“Ay,” quoth Rodrigo, “we be marvellous expert, Annibal and I! We ha’ sped many a weary soul heavenwards!”

“And thus,” laughed Annibal, “are become benefactors o’ mankind. For as this sorry world is full of all manner of hardships, sufferings and evils——”

“As murders!” whispered Florizel.

“Yea, murders and the like grievous necessities, it then follows—how good and noble are such as we to waft a soul from these vile haunts, this very doghole of a world, to that celestial kingdom, that sinless paradise, where is no contention save the throb of harps. Thus ’tis like enough this young Count Angelo, thus throned in bliss by our efforts, shall pour benedictions upon our heads anon for very gratitude.”

“Oho!” chuckled Rodrigo. “Right excellent well said, Annibal! But since our student rideth with a friend, must we thus waft both to paradise?”

“This as may be—so long as we do angelize young Angelo! For, and mark this well, ’tis suspected he bears dispatches, a letter of the utmost import; this we must secure! And that we may certainly know him I have his exact description—hearkee!”

So saying, Annibal drew a paper from the ornate pouch at his girdle, wherefrom he now read aloud: “Neither tall nor short, and something slender. He is black-haired, dark of eye and pale complexion. Item: carrieth silver-hilted rapier whereon is ’graven the badge of his house, to wit ‘Fidena’. Item: a black cloak, scarlet-lined and edged with oak leaves in silver. Item: a wide-eaved hat with feather o’ scarlet.”

“Good!” nodded Rodrigo. “I shall know him at a glance.”

“Moreover, we are to take each some token for proof our business brought to happy finality. So, his cloak for me.”

“And I his hat. Soho Florizel, and what’s for thee, what?”

“Who knoweth? His sword belike! Now since he is brother to the great Fortunio that so lately freed our duchy from dread o’ the Turk, why requite him thus vilely, why must we do this thing?”

“For reasons o’ State, my Florizel, and for that we are so commanded——”

“Ay, by this Gonzago! And to what end?”

“The advantage of us all. We—being the very fingers of his hands, the toes of his feet whereby he climbeth to power; as he mounts so mount we. Thus shall our fortunes soar and——”

Annibal paused as to them shambled their host Tomaso, a fat man who sweated, breathed short and wheezed:

“Soldiers, my masters ... there be soldiers ... i’ the village hard by ... men o’ the lord Fortunio’s guard——”

“Ha!” exclaimed Rodrigo, leaping afoot. “A thousand devils! What now, Annibal?”

“Drink!” he answered, suiting act to word.

“Malediction!” snarled Rodrigo, clapping hand on sword. “Are they for us, Tomaso? Are we betrayed——”

“No, no, messires! I do but warn ye how there must be no shooting to rouse the village and bring these soldiers down on us. I do but warn.”

“So?” nodded Annibal. “Then Tomaso, my fat one, bleat not so lamb-like. Content you, here shall be no blatant trigger-work nor hit-or-miss thunderous discharges; our steel by soundless insertion shall suffice. See therefore you keep us private here.”

“I will indeed, sir.”

“Hast set a watch upon the road to advise us of our travellers’ approach.”

“Even so. You shall be duly warned, good master Annibal.”

“Look up, old lad!” cried Count Angelo, clapping his silent companion on broad shoulder. “Yonder is the frontier at last, and beyond—my home country!”

“Good!” exclaimed Sir John Courtenay. “Though in England, as you’ll mind, are no frontiers, thank God, by His Grace we have the sea that is our everlasting barrier and sure defence.”

“Ah,” sighed Angelo, “would this ravaged land might have such barrier!”

“Nay, but, Angelo, this country, though fair, is not England, alas!”

“You are mighty proud of that same little island, eh, John?”

“Indeed, that am I, and with good reason. For though in this great world be many and divers countries, there is only one England! And ’tis of nature so miraculous that no matter how far an Englishman journey, even as I, or roveth hither and yon about this earth, yet is he forever at home; by cause he ever beareth England in his very heart.”

“A fair thought, John. So here you shall be twice at home. For beyond those hills, that are nigher than they seem, is Celonia and my brother’s castle of Fidena where you shall find such glad and hearty welcome that even your England and our years together at Oxenford will fade to a dream.”

“Then ’twill be dream as blessed as our last days o’ travel have been right cursed nightmare, what with bad roads, worser inns, thievish rogues and ruffians, sudden alarms, ambuscados and bloody onfalls!”

“Indeed,” said Angelo, thoughtfully, “latterly our journey hath been something eventful——”

“Eventful?” exclaimed Sir John indignantly. “Good lack and God aid us—eventful, d’ye say? Here we’ve been shot at, cut at, stabbed at, ridden at, bedogged and bedevilled, and you call it ‘eventful’! Here’s me with a bullet-hole clean through my hat, and another very perilously through my breeches and you with a rapier-thrust quite through that fine, Italianate cloak o’ yours, and you call it—ha—that cloak! This gives me cause to ponder!”

“Why so, John?”

“By cause, Angelo, this same cloak is the only foreign thing about you! In all else—speech, look, dress and gesture—you are as English as myself and thus with no curst, foreign braggadocio flourishes, no feigned ferocity of rolling eye, scowling brow, flaring nostril, snarling lip, gnashing teeth or like futile fooleries. No, thou art, to all seeming, a very Englishman and right worthy so to be!”

“ ’Slife!” laughed Angelo. “This—and from such Englishman as you, John, is tribute well nigh overwhelming!”

“Yet from my heart ’tis meant, i’ faith. But now, Angelo, consider. As we are both English, seemingly, and as all travelling Englishmen are deemed vastly rich, shall this explain these repeated murderous attacks upon us? For by the Pyx, no two lone travellers ever fought for their lives harder than we! Though by Saint George we gave better than we took, of course; being the two best swords in all the colleges, this was expected. Howbeit, the question is: were these assailments merely by cause of our English showing?”

“Mayhap, John, and the fact that hereabout has been desperate war so lately.”

“War,” repeated Sir John, “and thy noble brother Fortunio the victorious champion a right notable soldier and most excellent commander by all accounts! The which sets me awondering, Angelo, why thou, being such joyous fighter, fought not beside him ’neath his famous banner.”

“So I did, John, and repeatedly though he, as often, had me arrested and conveyed back to my then university at Padua and at last overseas to England and Oxenford. So thus, by my brother’s will and most strict command, I have lived displeasingly safe until the warring ended. So now, here am I, by his will again, homeward riding with you, old lad, that helped to make the years of my inglorious exile less irksome. Though wherefore I am summoned so urgently and at such speed, I cannot guess.”

“How long since last you saw your brother?”

“Five years.”

“Good lack, Angelo, the whole world may change in far less time!”

“Why, so it has, John.”

“Ay, faith, and these years that have so changed the world, and you from youth to man, shall have altered him far more. Today, by his mighty achievements, he has grown from man to Titan, his fame a by-word!”

“And godlike Titan, John, crowned with glory!”

“True, Angelo! Thus shall I be the more truly proud and honoured to meet him. But, and moreover, these years of such desperate effort, cares of office with hardship o’ ceaseless battle, shall have changed him bodily also and, mayhap, quite beyond thy past memory and present knowing.”

“Oh, never!” laughed Angelo, confidently.

“Nor,” persisted John, doggedly, “in your new-come manhood and English tire and bearing, shall he know you.”

“He will, John, he will,” cried Angelo, checking his horse the better to speak, “for, since our parents died so many years agone, he hath been to me a father, ay, and mother also! Thus when brothers love as we, nought in this world, or the next, may blind each to other; our very blood would cry: ‘Oh, brother, I am here!’ ”

“Hum!” exclaimed stubborn John. “Howbeit and nevertheless, Angelo, thou’rt so vastly changed, even since I knew thee, that now and after these years of change and absence I’ll wager Lord Fortunio shall scarce know one of us from other, t’other from which! I’ll set you any wager that, dight in your hat and cloak and feigning your walk, voice and gesture, I could so confound him that he should greet me for thee and John as Angelo.”

“Never in this world, John.”

“Dare you put it to proof?”

“Nay, ’twere mere foolery!”

“Why then, you are not so sure, eh, my old boy, eh?”

“John, I am sure o’ this as—the grave, but——”

“Oho—but! So verily you fear ‘brotherhood’ might be so deceived that my Lord should bestow his kiss o’ welcome on me?”

“No, I say—and no!”

“Well, then,” chuckled persistent John, pulling up in his turn, “since thou art so perfectly assured, my Angelo, take thou my hat and cloak and, to prove thy belief, give me thine.” And so, after some hesitation and great unwillingness on Angelo’s part, the exchange was made and they rode on again—to that which was to be.

Reaching the crown of a hill, Angelo halted once more to gaze across a wide vale where, throned above ever-deepening shadow, rose the embattled walls and lofty towers of Celonia, a city just now mellowed and made beautiful by the last rays of a blood-red sunset.

“Oh, Celonia!” he exclaimed. “Thou art lovelier even than I deemed! How think you, John?”

“A right fair city and mightily strong!”

“In very truth, John! Too strong for the ravening Turk, thank God! ’Twas there they besieged us, ten years agone, when all save the city and Fidena, my brother’s strong castle, had fallen. ’Twas thence Fortunio drave them at last, fighting battle after battle, out-scheming and out-fighting them until—today, yonder is she, our mother city, unconquered and immune, throned in glory——”

“And yonder is an inn!” quoth John. “Come, let’s to’t, for I’ve a noble thirst. Come, Angelo!” Thither rode they at speed and there dismounting were greeted by a fat man who smiled and bowed.

And after they had seen their horses duly tended, they followed this bowing, smiling fatness into a spacious, dim-lit chamber where three other travellers sat in murmurous converse.

“Noble messires,” smiled their host, forever bowing, “pray how may I be honoured to serve your lordships? Will ye bite, will ye sup? I can offer your nobilities a wine of Burgundy richly rare and even worthy of your excellencies—”

“Good!” nodded Sir John. “Go fetch it.”

“And speedily!” added Angelo, impatiently. “ ’Tis nigh curfew, and we would reach the city ere its gates close.”

“But, lording, they shall not close this night, for in the city is marvellous rejoicing! Yea, in all the duchy folk cry blessings on their great captain, the Lord Fortunio, for joy o’ their deliverance, their freedom won by his war-crafty valour. So tonight for this victorious peace is high revelry; folk sing and dance and ring their bells so lustily ye shall hear ’em out yonder on the road—an you go hearken hard enow——”

“This will I!” cried Angelo, starting afoot. “Go with me, John; these bells shall cry us welcome.”

“Nay, go you,” answered stubborn John. “As for me, I’ll bide here and slake my thirst. Go list to your welcome, then come you and we’ll drink health, long life and enduring glory to thy valiant brother.”

“Ay, old John lad, and heartily!” Then away strode young Angelo, spurs ajingle, and, being come out upon the road, saw how the night-shadows gloomed and the glory fading upon Celonia’s walls and towers; but to him, faint and sweet with distance, stole the glad pealing of her bells, like a dearly familiar, oft-remembered, ageless voice, calling him home. And lifting his arms thitherward with yearning gesture, he whispered in answer:

“I come! Oh, Fortunio, my brother, God keep thee till we meet....”

And it was now, even as he uttered his prayer, that Annibal unsheathed dagger and drew sword, whispering:

“Here now opportunity beckons—come!”

“Then,” gasped Florizel, “I will not see it done!” and, speaking, he dashed out the light....

Then to Angelo, upon the darkening road, came a wild distressful cry:

“To me! I’m beset ... ha, for love o’ God ... help ... help me....”

Out flickered Angelo’s rapier and he sped, guided by this cry, into this place of darkness and murder where now ensued fierce ring and clash of steel, fury of unseen movement, a bubbling groan answered by a dreadful wailing, a jingling rush of spurred feet out and away....

Then was ghastly stillness, an awful silence—broken suddenly by a frantic shout:

“Lights here! Bring a light! Ah, for love o’ God—light!”

Thus presently came Tomaso, bearing in either shaking hand tapers, whose unsteady beams showed young Count Angelo backed to the wall, sword in hand, gazing down wide-eyed upon the shape asprawl at his feet, a motionless thing that stared up at him unwinking and sightless in death.

“O ... saints and angels!” panted Tomaso. “O sweet saints ... what to do is here!”

All unheeding and motionless stood Count Angelo, dumb with grief and horror; then, suddenly falling to a knee, he touched this pale, set face with gentle hand.

“John!” he whispered. “Oh, John, is it thus with thee? Ah, would I had not left thee! Art sped so soon, John? Nevermore to smile or laugh, thy young voice forever hushed? And all so pitiful soon! Oh, John would I’d never left thee!”

“Woe and alas now!” wailed Tomaso, peering closer. “Noble sir, what’s here?”

“Death!” muttered Angelo, stiff-lipped. “See you—here leapt the murderous steel—to the joyous young heart of him.”

“Yea, good my lord, ’tis even so! Ah, the poor young gentleman is surely dead, alas!”

“Indeed—and in the blink of an eye!” murmured Angelo speaking like one entranced. “Then how frail a thing is life—to be snatched so swift away! So easily destroyed! An inch or two of steel, a drop or so of poison—’tis gone—and this body we so cherish is no better than senseless clod, a thing to rot ... and rot! So now this that was my so-loved friend is become a thing to shudder at—ay, but what of the glad and valiant soul of him? Is this quite gone—like flame of out-blown taper? Can it, like gross body, perish? If this be so indeed, then what bitter mockery is life——”

“Oh and alas!” wailed Tomaso, louder than before. “Ah, what cruel, bloody business! Here lieth yet another meet for burial, one Master Florizel——”

“So!” exclaimed Count Angelo, rising. “You knew him then?”

“Not so! Not I, my lord, no no! I did but hear him so named by his fellow rogues.”

“Canst tell me aught of them, their names, condition, whence they came? Speak!” And with the word, Angelo advanced his rapier-point so theateningly that Tomaso recoiled, gasping:

“No ... no, most noble ... gentle master, no thing know I o’ such bloody ruffians; they be to me strangers all never seen afore! I hold no traffic with such, and this I do vow and swear by all the blessed saints! So, my good lord, prithee now put up thy sword.”

“My sword!” Angelo repeated. “Now, for thy overmuch vowing and swearing I am minded to use it, point and edge, on thy fat carcass, for thy every look proclaims thee liar. These murderers were here intent on our destruction!”

“Lord, how should I be ware o’ this?”

“Rogue, how should you not? To what purpose were they lurking here—speak!”

“For rest, my lord, as I believed, for rest and refreshment—’tis so methought.”

“So is my friend dead of them and thy so false thinking to my thinking—by thy damnable connivance.”

“Not so, my lord, no—no! Here now upon my knees I do swear it by Holy Mother and all the saints of heaven! Guiltless all am I, my noble lord, guiltless and innocent as lamb!”

“So—up, wolf! Up now and summon aid to bear—this that was my friend—this that is now but sorry clay—where it shall be prepared for its last abiding place. See to it—go!”

“Yea, yea, good my lord, I will, I will!” And struggling up from his knees, Tomaso shambled away.

And now, kneeling once more beside his dead friend, Angelo made a sign of the cross above him with reverent hand; then, blinded by tears, whispered a prayer and thereafter whispered brokenly:

“Oh, John ... John ... here ends thy earthly journey ere it has well begun! So must earth to earth ... but thou wert so young and sweet in life, kind Mother Earth shall cherish thee, transforming this poor clay to fragrant herb and flower.... But for the soul of thee ... this I do think is even now with God in paradise ... and yet ... oh, John ... I would I had not left thee!”