Читать книгу The Siege of Malta (St. Angelo) - S. Fowler Wright - Страница 15

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“Don Francisco,” Sir Oliver said, as one who asks that he already knows; “is not easy to guide?”

“No. He was never that.”

“But it may be done best, if at all, by a woman’s hand?”

“That is not by me.”

“Well, you must choose. For either you must do this, or I will send for him here, and I would prefer to leave it to you.”

“Is he to be expelled with his own consent, or to have time to flee in a secret way? He has said that he will not go.”

“It is not that. He can stay, or I should say that he must, for he would be shamed to desert, having no cause. All that is required is that he shall be secret as to his having kept Venetia as he did, and that he shall make no boast that the Council do not chastise him therefor.”

“There should be few words about that. Is it so condoned?”

“It is less than that. It is in suspense. Yet if his part be observed with care, it is a sword which will not be likely to fall. But you should make it plain that if he fail on his side it will be his death, and there is none who would aid.”

“It is more than he could have reason to hope.... Can you tell me what they are doing to her? For it is what he will expect me to know.”

“She will be tried, as she must; but Del Monte himself will be called her friend.”

“We have to thank you for much.”

“It is not our rule to speak of what is done when the Council meets, but you must not thank me too far. I did less than I saw done.”

“So I must believe, if you say. But I thank you still.”

“I may tell you this, that the Grand Master is your cousin’s friend, more than you would lightly believe, for he does not forget that he is of Don Manuel’s blood. It will be his fault now, if there be more of this either thought or said, for our minds will turn back to the larger things.”

“There is her trial to come. He will not forget that.”

“That is so. But she is not to be harshly served, beyond what her desert may be shown to be; and I will tell you this for your peace, having watched the world for more years than you have been able to do. When a woman, such as we think her to be, has given all that she can, it is not much, and men will sooner forget than if they had been paid with a grudging hand.”

Angelica considered this, but there was no relief in her eyes.

“You think,” she said, “that she was mistress to him.”

“So I must. I should say that it would be vain to deny, she being caught as she was in their common cell.”

“Yet I am not sure.”

Sir Oliver considered that she knew her cousin better than he, and he had watched the doings of men enough to know that the obvious is not always true.

He said: “That would be worse.”

“So I think.”

“Then you shall tell him this. He will be free to attend her trial, or rather that he will be required to be there, though his witness may not be called.”

“There is gain in that?”

“Yes. For there will be exposure of what she was.”

“He has been told something of that, but he will not hear.”

“I would know from whom.”

“From Captain Antonio. It is he who——”

“Yes. I know.... He may have met her before. He is Genoese. I had not thought of that chance.”

“Have I said too much?”

“You have said nothing to vex your peace. But it is my business to know who are here, lest we harbour spies.... Captain Antonio may know much. Yet he is a witness we shall not need.

“But you may tell Francisco this, putting it as a warning from me. There will be inquisition made as to who she is, and of what repute before she came to La Cerda’s care, and on her answers to that vindication may largely depend. If he would be friendly to her, he should inform himself of these matters by all the means that he may, and counsel her that the truth, though it have some stench, will do her less harm than if she be trapped in a damning lie.”

“Can you say how soon the trial will be?”

“It will be publicly held, in three days from now. That is, if Mustapha give us peace, as I think he will, having wounds to lick. So there should be no losing of time by those who would put her case in the best array.”

Angelica went to tell Francisco what she had learned, and Sir Oliver turned to matters of more moment than this could be (except to those who were most concerned), until Del Monte came to his room at a later hour.

“Sir John,” he said, “has just put that upon me in which I am not skilled, and which is no pleasure to do.”

Sir Oliver smiled. “It seemed a right choice, for you would be advocate, as it appeared, whether you were appointed or no.”

“You heard the reason of that.... I must say that it is a jest for which I do not love him the more.... But I am not willing to fail in that which I undertake.”

“I am well assured that you will put her defence in the best style.”

“So you would say. But I have seen her an hour ago, and I cannot find that she is hotly accused. She has a likely tale, and no other was there, except he whose talking is done. Must not her tale stand? And, if it do, is she not to be acquitted of right, by the laws of our own Order, or by those of Malta, to which she may be more strictly exposed? Or have you more to bring up in a second line when the battle join?”

“I will answer freely on that. I should say that her tale is half false, and perhaps more. But that may be beyond proof, and she may bear it out, if she can tell it in a plausible way, which I should call her practised to do.

“We have no witness, such as you might not suspect, by which we could foil a lie. You can be content about that.

“But you will not be surprised that we shall probe her as to the character that she professes to bear. You should look to that, if you are thinking to bring her clear.”

“You mean that you have report against her good name to which she must make reply?”

“We have much.”

“It is not of the sort that she was mistress to those whom she could not wed? She is not to be measured by monkish rule?”

“It goes beyond that. We shall say that there is no man with whom she would not have lain for a ducat’s pay, though it were one that had been twice clipped by the Jews. That is, if she could not have got more.”

Del Monte considered this, and thought he saw a reply.

“You may say that, if you will. You may call it a groat, and I still protest that it should not help you at all; and so, as it has no part in your case, it should not be said.”

“If you can argue that, I will listen with care.”

“It is simply said. She might have objected for no more cause than that she feared to lose the comforts she had, if La Cerda should suddenly come, and find one in her bed who should not be there. She might have cared no more than that it was not an opportune time, or that she had a pain in her head. Could he therefore rape her of right?

“I should say that it would be strange logic, and a law which we have not heard before now. If you build on that, I should suppose I shall bring her free.”

“Well, I shall not be irked if you do.”

“But I must still protest that we should not wander so far.”

“Which you can put to those who are appointed to judge, but you will find that they will not hear. For it will be a question of how far she should be believed, and when there are questions asked she may be left with no more than a shaken tale. Do you say that we cannot then weigh whom she is who protests that which it has become easy to doubt?”

“That might be; but you go too far, if you so forecast before you arrive. I would still ask that, in this case, we may be content to probe that which has happened in Malta here, to which our laws must apply.... I had thought that the Grand Master was of a mind to end this with the least words that are needful to speak.”

“I will not dispute about that. I will only say that those who ask overmuch may get less than they had before.... But I will be frank to tell you that I have an object in this, for I would show her to Don Francisco for what she is, which he is not anxious to see.”

“And if I could take you there by another road?”

“I would be content to arrive, without having chosen the way.... But I should still tell you that she must be prepared for inquisition upon herself, which we could not avoid.... She must give witness herself, if she is to come clear? You will agree upon that?”

“Yes. She must tell her tale. He having been slain by her bed, and she vanished away, she might be convict if she would not speak. I will allow that.”

“And being put upon oath, she must give her name, and whom she professes to be?”

“Yes. That is no more than the common use. It is shortly asked, and soon said.”

“And we shall say she is not. We shall give her another name.”

“How can you say that, until you have heard what she will swear?”

“I mean, if she say that which La Cerda believed, and which she has told to others, as I can guess.”

“And if she give you a true name?”

“She will be well counselled to that. But it is what she will be reluctant to do.”

“It is what she will.”

“So I supposed, she being guided by you.”

“And if she do that ... ? But I will ask no pledge. I will see you again, when I have taken counsel with her.... But I will tell you one thing which you might not suppose.... She protests that Don Francisco has been no more than La Cerda’s friend, and I think in this she spoke with an open mind. You may consider how far it fits the part in which she is dressed by your own reports.”

“That may be true, though it will not be lightly believed. But I have been told the same by one who would make a good guess, and the truth is what cannot be known except to the two who were alone in that cell.... But if I believe, I should not say she had the more honour, but the more wit.”

“Well, I may call Don Francisco’s witness on that.”

“Which I must hope that you will not do. It would be to stir that which is now still.”

“Meaning as against him? Well, I must promise naught. We will talk again.”

Del Monte went away with a feeling that he had done more than appeared, for he saw that, if he threatened that he would make Francisco a witness for the defence, he proposed that which Sir Oliver would prefer to avoid. He resolved that he would see Venetia again, for which he must visit the common jail, from which she would not be loosed. But it was not fitting that he should bustle about as though he were a paid tool of the law, and he sent Don Francisco a letter, written in his own hand, proposing that he should come to him, at St. Michael’s fort, which he supposed that he would be willing to do.