“To the Palace,” he commanded, and as his men surrounded Francesco's party, “Come, sir,” he said to the Count. “You must go with us, and tell your story to the Duke.”
“There is no need for all this force,” answered Francesco coldly. “In any case, I could not pass through Urbino without seeing Duke Guidobaldo. I am the Count of Aquila.”
At once the captain's bearing grew respectful. He made his apologies for the violent measures of his zeal, and bade his men fall behind. Ordering them to follow him, he mounted a horse that was brought him, and rode briskly through the borgo at the Count's side. And as he rode he told them what the jester's quick intuition had already whispered to him. The lady Valentina was fled from Urbino in the night, and in her company were gone three of her ladies, and--it was also supposed, since they had disappeared--Fra Domenico and Romeo Gonzaga.
Aghast at what he heard, Francesco pressed his informer for more news; but there was little more that the captain could tell him, beyond the fact that it was believed she had been driven to it to escape her impending marriage with the Duke of Babbiano. Guidobaldo was distraught at what had happened, and anxious to bring the lady back before news of her behaviour should reach the ears of Gian Maria. It was, therefore, a matter of no little satisfaction to the captain that the task should be his to bear Guidobaldo this news of her whereabouts which from Francesco and the jester he had derived.
Peppe looked glum and sullen. Had he but bridled his cursed curiosity, and had the Count but taken the alarm in time and held his peace, all might have been well with his beloved patrona. As it was, he--the one man ready to die that he might serve her--had been the very one to betray her refuge. He heard the Count's laugh, and the sound of it was fuel to his anger. But Francesco only thought of the splendid daring of the lady's action.
“But these men-at-arms that she had with her?” he cried. “For what purpose so numerous a bodyguard?”
The captain looked at him a moment.
“Can you not guess?” he inquired. “Perhaps you do not know the Castle of Roccaleone.”
“It were odd if I did not know the most impregnable fortress in Italy.”
“Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for a garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel fashion the wishes of his Highness.”
At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips.
“By the Host!” he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. “There is a maid for you! Do you hear what the captain says, Fanfulla? She means to resist this wedding by armed force if needs be. Now, on my soul, if Guidobaldo insists upon the union after this, why, then, he has no heart, no feeling. As I live, she is a kinswoman that such a warlike prince might well be proud of. Small wonder that they do not fear the Borgia in Urbino.” And he laughed again. But the captain scowled at him, and Peppe frowned.
“She is a rebellious jade,” quoth the captain sourly.
“Nay, softly,” returned Francesco; for all that he still laughed. “If you were of knightly rank I'd break a lance with you on that score. As it is----” he paused, his laughter ceased, and his dark eyes took the captain's measure in a curious way. “Best leave her uncensured, Ser Capitano. She is of the house of Rovere, and closely allied to that of Montefeltro.”
The officer felt the rebuke, and silence reigned between them after that.
It was whilst Francesco, Fanfulla and Peppe waited in the ante-chamber for admittance to the Duke that the jester vented some of the bitterness he felt at their babbling. The splendid room was thronged with a courtly crowd. There were magnificent nobles and envoys, dark ecclesiastics and purple prelates, captains in steel and court officers in silk and velvet. Yet, heedless of who might hear him, Peppe voiced his rebuke, and the terms he employed were neither as measured nor as respectful as the Count's rank dictated. Yet with that fairness of mind that made him so universally beloved, Francesco offered no resentment to the fool's reproof. He saw that it was deserved, for it threw upon the matter a light that was new and more searching. But he presently saw further than did the fool, and he smiled at the other's scowls.
“Not so loud Peppe,” said he. “You over-estimate the harm. At worst, we have but anticipated by a little what the Duke must have learnt from other sources.”
“But it is just that little--the few hours or days--that will do the mischief,” snapped the jester testily, for all that he lowered his voice. “In a few days Gian Maria will be back. If he were met with the news that the Lady Valentina were missing, that she had run away with Romeo Gonzaga--for that, you'll see, will presently be the tale--do you think he would linger here, or further care to pursue his wooing? Not he. These alliances that are for State purposes alone, in which the heart plays no part, demand, at least, that on the lady's side there shall be a record unblemished by the breath of scandal. His Highness would have returned him home, and Madonna would have been rid of him.”
“But at a strange price, Peppe,” answered Franeesco gravely. “Still,” he added, “I agree that I would have served her purpose better by keeping silent. But that such an affair will cool the ardour of my cousin I do not think. You are wrong in placing this among the alliances in which the heart has no part. On my cousin's side--if all they say be true--the heart plays a very considerable part indeed. But, for the rest--what harm have we done?”
“Time will show,” said the hunchback.
“It will show, then, that I have done no hurt whatever to her interests. By now she is safe in Roccaleone. What, then, can befall her? Guidobaldo, no doubt, will repair to her, and across the moat he will entreat her to be a dutiful niece and to return. She will offer to do so on condition that he pass her his princely word not to further molest her with the matter of this marriage. And then?”
“Well?” growled the fool, “And then? Who shall say what may befall then? Let us say that his Highness reduces her by force.”
“A siege?” laughed the Count. “Pooh! Where is your wisdom, fool! Do you think the splendid Guidobaldo is eager to become the sport of Italy, and go down to posterity as the duke who besieged his niece because she resisted his ordainings touching the matter of her wedding?”
“Guidobaldo da Montefeltro can be a violent man upon occasion,” the fool was answering, when the officer who had left them reappeared with the announcement that his Highness awaited them.
They found the Prince in a very gloomy mood, and after greeting Francesco with cool ceremony, he questioned him on the matter of the company they had met yesternight. These inquiries he conducted with characteristic dignity, and no more show of concern than if it had been an affair of a strayed falcon. He thanked Francesco for his information, and gave orders that the seneschal should place apartments at his and Fanfulla's disposal for as long as it should please them to grace his court. With that he dismissed them, bidding the officer remain to receive his orders.
“And that,” said Francesco to Peppe, as they crossed the ante-chamber in the wake of a servant, “is the man who would lay siege to his niece's castle? For once, sir fool, your wisdom is at fault.”
“You do not know the Duke, Excellency,” answered the fool. “Beneath that frozen exterior burns a furnace, and there is no madness he would not commit.”
But Francesco only laughed as, linking arms with Fanfulla, he passed down the gallery on his way to the apartments to which the servant was conducting them.
CHAPTER XIII. GIAN MARIA MAKES A VOW
In a measure the events that followed would almost tend to show that the fool was right. For even if the notion of besieging Valentina and reducing her by force of arms was not Guidobaldo's own in the first place, yet he lent a very willing ear to the counsel that they should thus proceed, when angrily urged two days thereafter by the Duke of Babbiano.
Upon hearing the news Gian Maria had abandoned himself to such a licence of rage as made those about him tremble from the highest to the meanest. The disappointment of his passion was in itself justification enough for this; but, in addition, Gian Maria beheld in the flight of Valentina the frustration of those bold schemes of which had talked so loudly to his councillors and his mother. It was his confidence in those same schemes that had induced him to send that defiant answer to Caesar Borgia. As a consequence of this there was haste--most desperate haste--that he should wed, since wedding was to lend him the power to carry out his brave promises of protecting his crown from the Duke of Valentinois, not to speak of the utter routing of the Borgia which he had wildly undertaken to accomplish.
That the destinies of States should be tossed to the winds of Heaven by a slip of a girl was to him something as insufferable as it had been unexpected.