Читать книгу The Fool Beloved - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 6

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The Castle of Fidena being of no great size had therefore proved easier of defence throughout the late desperate war; against its massive walls the bloody tide of invasion, beating in vain, had been checked and finally rolled back in raving red confusion.

Thus today, as evening fell, this stronghold, impregnable as the city itself, reared its battle-scarred walls, unconquered and mighty as ever, guarding the road that led by trampled vineyard, desolate village and shady woodland, to the chiefest gate of the city. But this evening the air was glad with the merry clamour of bells far and near, while in their ruined villages men, women and children danced, laughed and sang for joy that peace was come to bless them at last.

Meanwhile in spacious hall of the castle, where hung Fortunio’s tattered banner with weapons of every sort, Jacomo, his ancient or standard-bearer, a grey-haired veteran grim and battle-scarred as the mighty castle itself, sat busily furbishing his lord’s suit of armour, the various pieces of which littered the great table in gleaming disorder while all about him the riotous bells made joyous clamour; wherefore he scowled, cursed, and at last began to sing an old battle song, bellowing defiantly, and these the words:

“See now thy sword its edge doth keep,

Sa—ha! Sa—ha!

That when it at the foe doth leap

It biteth sure and smiteth deep,

For men must fight though women weep,

Sa—ha! Sa—ha!

When loud their cursed trumpets bray,

Sa—ha! Sa—ha!

Then—out sword all and——”

Here a laughing voice interrupted him.

“What, my old war-dog, must you roar that old fighting ditty and now? ’Twas well enough to march and fight by in those evil times, but not on this of all nights!” So to him came Fortunio, this man of his love, limping somewhat by reason of an old wound, a man of no great stature, lean and worn by hard service, whose thinning hair shaded a scholar’s lofty brow, but whose aquiline nose, firm mouth and jut of chin proclaimed the soldier and man of action quick to see and resolute to do; just now, instead of sword, his sinewy hand grasped a thick volume shut upon a finger to mark the place. “And why,” he continued, “why in reason’s name d’you scrub and scour that harness the which it glads me to think I shall never wear again. Have done, Jacomo; cease thy scrubbing and ranting and hearken to those bells that, like voice of choiring angels, do proclaim peace on earth and good will to all men.”

“Ah, lord, but only to men of good will! And there be none o’ good will was ever born Turk; ravening wolves rather! They are a plague, a pest, the everlasting bane o’ this sorry world——”

“From the which God hath delivered us, Jacomo!”

“Ay, God heard our prayers—mayhap! Yet there needed ten years o’ bloody fighting, and—thyself to lead us, Fortunio. As for peace—’twere well enough were every Turk dead and buried.”

“Nay, live and let live, Jacomo.”

“Ay, to fight again! So ’tis I thus cherish this good armour o’ thine and shall keep it ready to thy need, the which may chance sooner than is expected.”

“This I do nowise expect! So no more! Instead I now tell thee good news of our young Angelo, since thy love for him is great, well nigh, as mine own——”

“Ay, I’ll warrant thee! What of our lad?”

“Tidings by express that he with his English friend came safe ashore and duly received the cloak from Morelli——”

“Eh, cloak, my lord?”

“As I say—and sewn within the lining of this cloak the writing you wot of, naming those traitors by whose contrive we twice came to nigh defeat——”

“Ha, by the bones! I mind well that time we with small following rode south to reconnoitre, and, thinking all clear, were cut off i’ the mountains, beset front and rear, half our company slain, yourself desperate wounded, myself hurt and saved i’ the nick o’ time by young Ippolito’s sudden charge o’ horse. This was one time; when was t’other?”

“In my tent the night before our onfall at Varenza.”

“But Varenza was the first of our victories——”

“On that night, Jacomo, a thievish cur-dog stole and ate my supper whereof he presently died the death intended for me—that in the confusion of my dying, our camp might be surprised and taken and our young war ended in defeat——”

“Mercy o’ God! I knew nought o’ this——”

“Nor did any save my squire Andrea—and the miserable dog, poor wretch.”

“But,” gasped Jacomo, “how came this vile thing so nigh thee—and in very midst o’ the camp?”

“By the hidden hand, Jacomo! By this—this persistent will to our destruction that I have sensed about me ever and anon—this stealthy, all-pervading evil and remorseless menace.”

“Ha! But, a God’s name, who and what?”

“This we shall know, I pray, when Angelo cometh.”

“The which should be now!” growled Jacomo, bending to his self-imposed task again. “He should ha’ been with us hours agone!”

“Patience, man, patience! These be unchancy times for travel.... Yet, though young, he hath a cool head.”

“Ay, and thereto a ready hand and supple wrist, I’ll warrant him! With dag or rapier few shall match him—the which is no wonder, for we learned him, thou and I! Howbeit, he should be here. So the question is why——”

“Nay, Jacomo, the question is—should I warn the Duchess of his return considering they are contracted and were betrothed so long since——”

“Ah—to wedlock, poor mites, and they then both i’ their cradles! And by will o’ the Duke her father and thy lordly sire that were brothers in arms. Yet today these Lords are but dry bones, God rest ’em——”

“Yet their will lives and is known to her and the Council; this betrothal holds.”

“Oh!” laughed Jacomo, shaking his grim head. “Yet will such will hold good with such wilful she that is so full o’ wilful life, high spirit and womanly whimsies, that she will but to her will, let others will how they will? Have we not known her, thou and I, as motherless babe, lovesome child, sweetly imperious maid, and today——”

“Proud and lovely woman, Jacomo, and our liege lady.”

“That I’ve dandled o’ my knees like small, dimpled Eve and never a figleaf withal! She was wildly wilful even then and would tug my hair with her little dimpled fists till my eyes watered ay, and kick me i’ the chops with her little rosy feet——”

“Keep these particularities for herself alone, Jacomo.”

“Well, so I did last time we were alone, and i’ faith she tugged my hair again till I cried her mercy, then, ’stead o’ kick, she kissed me heartily, ay, heartily! Then a perches on my knee and ‘Jacomo,’ says she, ‘those plagues that are my councillors tell me I must be wed and within one little year!’ ‘Verily,’ says I, ‘and by young Angelo according to promise!’ At this, she gives me tweak o’ the ears and ‘Nay,’ says she, ‘no law and no promise shall compel me. I’ll wed him only that I will and not for reason o’ State but love.’ ‘Good!’ says I. But then she said such thing that up rose I and shed her from my knee and with a plump. For she told me, and mark this, that our Angelo was to her abhorrent!”

“But she hath not seen him this ten years and more!”

“True—instead is this Gonzago, this lordly, smooth-spoken señor! Him she daily sees, or were blind, for he is forever to be seen, a most persistent courtier wooing her regard! And he a foreigner!”

“A grandee of Spain, Jacomo, and therefore noble gentleman.”

“Yet I like him not.”

“Nor I,” said Fortunio, thoughtfully, “yet have no just cause for such mislike ... except it be his too-fervent show of friendship.”

“Ay, there it is! He is too intent on pleasing thee, courting thy favour and goodwill.”

“Yet is this a crime, Jacomo?”

“Lord, such fawning homage may lead thereto! Moreover, he is great these days with Sebastian that is now chief o’ the council of ten, these grave, so revered gentlemen! Well, how think you?”

“That your many and constant suspicions are a plague.”

“Why, so they are since we are at peace! For bethink you how whiles we fought our last battles these same grave councillors accused Julio Morelli of treason so gravely that in grave he’d be but that he fled.”

“Like guilty man, Jacomo!”

“Ay, or man unable to prove his innocence! And he was thy friend years agone.”

“So he seemed!” nodded Fortunio, and began to limp to and fro as he ever did when greatly troubled and perplexed. “And I’m warned he is sending me this most secret letter!”

“And,” Jacomo growled, “hid in young Angelo’s cloak!”

“Now should this prove Morelli innocent, where then lieth the guilt?”

“Why, on these same so respected councillors ten, I’ll warrant!”

“No, not all; this were beyond reason! Not all—one, mayhap, or even two——”

“Howbeit, m’lord, seize ’em all, hang ’em all, and so be done, say I!” Fortunio’s anxious, care-knit brow smoothed, his firm lips curved to ghost of a smile as he retorted:

“Why, thou bloody-minded ancient, art so mortally wholesale?”

“Ay, thus would I for thy sake, to rid thee o’ this ‘creeping menace,’ this ‘unseen hand’. For today, as thou in all the state art greatest, great is thy peril and greater my fear and care for thee. Thou art become the mark for all men’s fawning amity or secret enmity. Honest warfare has none such perils as factious peace. Peace—with a wanion, a murrain on’t, say I——”

Suddenly, high above pealing bells, rose the silvery notes of trumpets playing a long, happily familiar fanfare.

“Ha, the Duchess!” exclaimed Jacomo, rising.

“And she comes in state, mine ancient.”

Together these old friends and much-tried comrades leaned to peer down from the narrow lattice set deep in massive wall, to look where through glowing sunset rode a splendid cavalcade; plumes and pennons fluttered, broidered mantles swayed, and amid it all, throned graceful upon white horse, the young Duchess Jenevra rode, waving slim, gauntleted hand to the joyful crowds that cheered so lustily as she passed.

Thus with majestic pomp she rode into Fidena’s courtyard, there to be greeted in due state by Fortunio the victorious and Jacomo the grim. Between them she walked with gracious dignity until, being at last hidden from those many eyes, this stately Duchess became a happy, laughing girl who hugged and kissed them turn about, saying breathlessly:

“Oh, ’tis joy to see ye thus no longer armed in hateful steel! War hath made thee great, my Fortunio, so all folk honour thee—and so do I—yet most I love thee for the dear, gentle friend hast ever been since I can remember. As for thee, Jacomo, my old Jacco, hiding thy love for me in scowls and growls, stoop and let me pull thy hair for old times’ sake! Oh, I joy to have ye thus safe home again!”

So she hugged, kissed and, clasping a hand of each, brought them into the hall. Here, seated between them:

“Now,” said she, “I banish your Jenevra a while and speak as your sovereign liege lady. This night, my lord Fortunio, to honour you and the glory of your many achievements, is a banquet, a joy feast for this good ending to our long and bitter war, where ye twain are the honoured guests. And when I and all our court shall rise to pledge the future happiness and prosperity of our duchy, then, my lord, and you, Jacomo, with your hands in mine, I shall proclaim thee, Fortunio, not only Captain General but Lord Paramount of my council of ten and chiefest minister of our duchy. Also, Messire Jacomo, for your oft-proven valour, I shall name you Lord Warden of our southern——”

“How?” he exclaimed. “I?—a lord, Jenevra?”

“My lord, ’tis the Duchess speaks!”

“Why then, gracious lady, of your grace spare me this! For well you know me unfit for such pageantry and show. Mere soldier am I, but also Fortunio’s brother in arms and therewithal content.”

“And,” said the Duchess, knitting her slender brows at him, “my will is to ennoble you, Messire Jacomo.”

“But,” he retorted, shaking grim head at her, “my will is to be no other than I am!”

“Dare you so cross and deny me?” she demanded, long-lashed eyes flashing at him.

“Lady, in all timorous humility, I dare. Also, your noble banquet shall be the better without this clumsy, ungainly fellow that is myself——”

“My lord Jacomo, I command your attendance!”

“My gracious lady, accept my humble gratitude instead.”

“S-S-So!” she hissed, clenching her fists at him. “Meaning you refuse me?”

“Meaning my place is here, and especially tonight!”

“Then you defy me?”

“Though with all submission, lady.”

Her eyes flamed at him, brows contracted, fists smote at his broad chest as she panted:

“Ah, thou ... thou graceless wretch ... thou detestable runnion ... thou ill-conditioned, snarling, rebellious ... oh——”

“Ay,” he nodded, seizing her nearest fist in iron-like grip and kissing it very tenderly, “fetch thy breath, sweeting, then to’t again! This minds me how as furious babe thou wouldst kick me i’ the chops and screech! Oho, happy days! So an wilt kick me now, let me off with thy shoes, prithee.” The young Duchess, struggling vainly, gnashed her teeth at him—but even then, seeing his adoring look, the whimsical smile that so gentled his harsh, scarred face, she became Jenevra, who, with sound between laugh and sob, clasped and kissed him, saying:

“Ah, Jacco, Jacco, I should have known thy doggish stubbornness! Yet will I honour thee despite thy surly, disobedient, long-loved self. Here, then,” said she, turning to Fortunio, “he shall bide with his self-sufficing self while tonight before all our nobility, with thy hand in mine, I shall proclaim him Lord Warden of—how, do you shake your head at me now, Fortunio?”

“Jenevra, dear lady,” he answered, gently, “I needs must crave your indulgence that I cannot be your guest tonight.”

“Cannot, my lord, or will not?”

“Madame, I am expecting a dispatch of the very greatest import——”

“It shall be brought to you.”

Again Fortunio shook his head, and once again she raged, though now more bitterly than ever.

“You, too!” she cried, leaping afoot. “You also will defy me?”

“Dear child, here is no defiance——”

“Enough ... oh ... enough!” she panted. And now, being thus wildly furious, she said that which, womanlike, she knew would hurt him most:

“My lord, I have now to declare the marriage proposed so long ago betwixt myself and your brother Count Angelo shall never be ... ah ... never! I would rather die than wed such craven as he that to avoid peril of battle fled safe to England, there to read books instead of fight! So—he shall never wed me, say or do what you will.”

Fortunio merely looked at her and was silent; not so Jacomo, for:

“Now ... ha ... now,” he spluttered. “S’blood, here’s lie foul as the vilest deeps of hell! Shouldst be whipped, Jenevra, smacked and slapped resoundingly for voicing such falsity——” Speaking, he rose and so threatening of aspect that, remembering certain undignified incidents of her not-far-distant childhood, Jenevra had turned to flee when came a loud, imperious knocking upon the door, which, at her command, swung wide to admit a tall, handsome man in prime of life whose rich attire served to offset his lithe shapeliness, a man this of such dominating personality that the grim old hall seemed dingier by contrast with his splendidly vital presence.

“Ah, Gonzago!” said the Duchess, reaching out her imperious hand. “My lord, you come as usual to my need.” He advanced gracefully to clasp and kiss this welcoming hand, he bowed deeply to Fortunio, smiled merrily at Jacomo’s scowling visage and said in clear, strangely pleasing voice:

“Dearest Madame, and you my right good lord, I venture this intrusion to inform your grace and you noble Fortunio that the traitor Julio Morelli will trouble you no more——”

“What—is he dead?” Jacomo demanded.

“Perfectly, sir! The which, I dare to think, you must agree is very excellent well, for as I——”

“No!” exclaimed Fortunio. “I denounce this as very ill!”

“But, most dear lord, the man was a traitor and——”

“Gonzago, this gentleman was never proved so!”

“And therefore,” added Jacomo fiercely, “he was murdered! So I ask why and—who?”

“So you may, sir, but also to none effect, for I cannot answer.”

“However,” said Fortunio, beginning to limp to and fro, “this must and shall be answered tomorrow. Whence had you this news, sir?”

“From that most worthy gentleman Sebastian, lord of the council, and he, as I guess, by special courier from the south.”

“The south!” repeated Fortunio. “And lately?”

“As I believe, my lord. Doth this happening so trouble and grieve you?”

“Murder is ever grievous, sir, and this especially.”

“Indeed, Fortunio, I have heard vague rumour how this Messire Julio Morelli was friend of yours, the which I as your very true, most loving and faithful friend, instantly contradicted.”

“Yet my friend he was, sir, and, as I believe, falsely accused. So tomorrow I will convene the council and all concerned, and into this make close and strict enquiry.”

“Very proper, my lord, very right and truly just—as is to be expected of our noble Fortunio. Shall I inform our good Sebastian?”

“Pray do. Bid him see all are present, also the courier who brought these ill tidings.”

“My lord, I will. Indeed, Fortunio, I, as one who estimates your friendship at its true worth, pray you will believe me ever at your command to serve you how you will and as best I may.”

“I thank you, sir.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Duchess, fretfully. “Have done! For I weary and am sad, Gonzago; these my dear and life-long friends will not with us to our banquet. Thus, they grieve me—and this bare old hall is place of gloom, for groans and sighs ’stead of joy and laughter! Let us begone! Pray attend me to my horse. And so, my lord Fortunio, since you will thus flout my will and refuse my kindness—here shall you bide nor show yourself at court until I so command! Now, Gonzago, let us hence.”