At his command the horses were saddled and the sumpters laden once more. Lanciotto held his stirrup, and Zaccaria did like service for Fanfulla, and presently they were cantering out of that fragrant grove on to the elastic sward of broad, green pasture-lands. They crossed the stream at a spot where the widened sheet of water scarce went higher than their horses’ hocks; then veering to the east they rode away from the hills for a half-league or so until they gained a road. Here they turned northward again, and pushed on towards Cagli.
As the bells were ringing the Ave Maria the cavalcade drew up before the Palazzo Valdicampo, where two nights ago Gian Maria had been entertained. Its gates were now as readily thrown wide to welcome the illustrious and glorious Count of Aquila, who was esteemed by Messer Valdicampo no less than his more puissant cousin. Chambers were set at his disposal, and at Fanfulla’s; servants were bidden to wait upon them; fresh raiment was laid out for them, and a noble supper was prepared to do honour to Francesco. Nor did the generous Valdicampo’s manner cool when he learned that Francesco was in disgrace at the Court of Babbiano and banished from the dominions of Duke Gian Maria. He expressed sympathetic regret at so untoward a circumstance and discreetly refrained from passing any opinion thereupon.
Yet later, as they supped, and when perhaps the choice wines had somewhat relaxed his discretion, he permitted himself to speak of Gian Maria’s ways in terms that were very far from laudatory.
“Here, in my house,” he informed them, “he committed an outrage upon a poor unfortunate, for which an account may yet be asked of me–since it was under my roof that the thing befell, for all that I knew nothing of it.”
Upon being pressed by Paolo to tell them more, he parted with the information that the unfortunate in question was Urbino’s jester Peppe. At that, Paolo’s glance became more intent. The memory of his meeting with the fool and his mistress in the woods, a month ago, flashed now across his mind, and it came to him that he could rightly guess the source whence his cousin had drawn the information that had led to his own arrest and banishment.
“Of what nature was the outrage?” he inquired.
“From what Peppe himself has told me it would seem that the fool was possessed of some knowledge which Gian Maria sought, but on which Peppe was bound by oath to silence. Gian Maria caused him to be secretly taken and carried off from Urbino. His sbirri brought the fellow here, and to make him speak the Duke improvised in his bedchamber a tratta di corde, which had the desired result.
The Count’s face grew dark with anger. “The coward!” he muttered. “The dastardly craven!”
“But bethink you, sir Count,” exclaimed Valdicampo, “that this poor Peppe is a frail and deformed creature, lacking the strength of an ordinary man, and do not judge him over-harshly.”
“It was not of him I spoke,” replied Francesco, “but of my cousin, that cowardly tyrant, Gian Maria Sforza. Tell me, Messer Valdicampo–what has become of Ser Peppe?”
“He is still here. I have had him tended, and his condition is already much improved. It will not he long ere he is recovered, but for a few days yet his arms will remain almost useless. They were all but torn from his body.”
When the meal was done Francesco begged his host to conduct him to Peppe’s chamber. This Valdicampo did, and leaving Fanfulla in the company of the ladies of his house, he escorted the Count to the room where the poor, ill-used hunchback was abed tended by one of the women of Valdicampo’s household.
“Here is a visitor to see you, Ser Peppe,” the old gentleman announced, setting down his candle on a table by the bed. The jester turned his great head towards the newcomer’s, and sought with melancoly eyes the face of his visitor. At sight of him a look of terror spread itself upon his countenance.
“My lord,” he cried, struggling into a sitting posture, “my noble, gracious lord, have mercy on me. I could tear out this craven tongue of mine. But did you know what agonies I suffered, and to what a torture they submitted me to render me unfaithful, it may be that you, yourself, would pity me.”
“Why, that I do,” answered Francesco gently. “Indeed, could I have seen the consequences that oath would have for you, I had not bound you by it.”
The fear in Peppe’s face gave place to unbelief.
“And you forgive me, lord?” he cried. “I dreaded when you entered that you were come to punish me for what wrong I may have done you in speaking. But if you forgive me, it may be that Heaven will forgive me also, and that I may not be damned. And that were a thousand pities, for what, my lord, should I do in hell?”
“Deride the agonies of Gian Maria,” answered Francesco, with a laugh.
“It were almost worth burning for,” mused Peppe, putting forth a hand, whose lacerated, swollen wrist bore evidence to the torture he had suffered. At sight of it the Count made an exclamation of angry horror, and hastened to inquire into the poor fool’s condition.
“It is not so bad now,” Peppe answered him, “and it is only in consequence of Messer Valdicampo’s insistence that I have kept my bed. I can scarce use my arms, it is true, but they are improving. To-morrow I shall be up, and I hope to set out for Urbino, where my dear mistress must be distressed with fears for my absence, for she is a very kind and tenderhearted lady.”
This resolve of Peppe’s prompted the Count to offer to conduct him to Urbino on the morrow, since he, himself, would be journeying that way–an offer which the fool accepted without hesitation and with lively gratitude.
Chapter XII.
The Fool’s Inquisitiveness
In the morning Frsncesco set out once more, accompanied by his servants, Fanfulla, and the fool. The latter was now so far restored as to be able to sit a mule, but lest the riding should over-tire him they proceeded at little more than an ambling pace along the lovely valleys of the Metauro. Thus it befell that when night descended it found them still journeying, and some two leagues distant from Urbino. Another league they travelled in the moonlight, and the fool was beguiling the time for them with a droll story culled from the bright pages of Messer Boccaccio, when of a sudden his sharp ears caught a sound that struck him dumb in the middle of a sentence.
“Are you faint?” asked Francesco, turning quickly towards him, and mindful of the fellow’s sore condition.
“No, no,” answered the fool, with a readiness that dispelled the Count’s alarm on that score. “I thought I heard a sound of marching in the distance.”
“The wind in the trees, Peppino,” explained Fanfulla.
“I do not think—-” He stopped short and listened and now they all heard it, for it came wafted to them on a gust of the fitful breeze that smote their faces.
“You are right,” said Francesco. “It is the tramp of men. But what of that, Peppe? Men will march in Italy. Let us hear the end of your story.”
“But who should march in Urbino, and by night?” the fool persisted.
“Do I know or do I care?” quoth the Count. “Your story, man.”
For all that he was far from satisfied, the fool resumed his narrative. But he no longer told it with his former irresistible humour. His mind was occupied with that sound of marching, which came steadily nearer. At length he could endure it no longer, and the apathy of his companions fired him openly to rebel.
“My lord,” he cried, turning to the Count, and again leaving his story interrupted, “they are all but upon us.”
“True!” agreed Francesco indifferently. “The next turn yonder should bring us into them.”
“Then I beg you, Lord Count, to step aside. Let us pause here, under the trees, until they have passed. I am full of fears. Perhaps I am a coward, but I mislike these roving night-hands. It may be a company of masnadieri.”
“What then?” returned the Count, without slackening speed. “What cause have we to fear a party of robbers?”
But Fanfulla and the servants joined their advice to Peppe’s, and prevailed at last upon Francesco to take cover until this company should have passed. He consented, to pacify them, and wheeling to the right they entered the border of the forest, drawing rein well in the shadow, whence they could survey the road and see who passed across the patch of moonlight that illumined it. And presently the company came along and swung into that revealing flood of light. To the astonishment of the watchers they beheld no marauding party such as they had been led to expect, but a very orderly company of some twenty men, soberly arrayed in leather hacketons and salades of bright steel, marching sword on thigh and pike on shoulder. At the head of this company rode a powerfully- built man on a great sorrel horse, at sight of whom the fool swore softly in astonishment. In the middle of the party came four litters borne by mules, and at the side of one of them rode a slender, graceful figure that provoked from Peppe a second oath. But the profoundest objurgation of all was wrung from him at sight of a portly bulk in the black habit of the Dominicans ambling in the rear, who just then was in angry altercation with a fellow that was urging his mule along with the butt of his partisan.