He looked at the fire, murmuring his confidences to the smouldering ashes. Then he seemed to repeat his talk with Checco.
'No, Checco, I will not come. Go alone. They will not touch me. I am Orso Orsi. They will not touch me; they dare not. Go alone, and give my love to Clarice.'
Clarice was Checco's wife. He kept silence for a while, then he broke out again,
'I want Fabrizio.'
'Will I not do instead?' I asked.
'Who are you?'
I repeated patiently,
'I am the servant placed here to serve you instead of Fabrizio. My name is Fabio.'
'Your name is Fabio?' he asked, looking at me.
'Yes.'
'No, it is not! Why do you tell me your name is Fabio? I know your face. You are not a servingman.'
'You are mistaken,' I said.
'No, no. You are not Fabio. I know your face. Who are you?'
'I am Fabio.'
'Who are you?' he asked again querulously. 'I cannot remember whom you are. Why don't you tell me? Can't you see that I am an old man? Why don't you tell me?'
His voice broke into the moan, and I thought he would cry. He had only seen me twice, but among his few visitors the faces of those he saw remained with him, and he recognised me partly.
'I am Filippo Brandolini,' I said. 'I have remained here to look after you and see that no harm happens. Checco wished to stay himself, but we insisted on his going.'
'Oh, you are a gentleman,' he answered. 'I am glad of that.'
Then, as if the talk had tired him, he sank deeper down in his chair and fell into a dose.
I sent Andrea, the steward's nephew, to see what was happening in the town, and Pietro and I sat in the large window talking in undertones. Suddenly Pietro stopped and said,
'What is that?'
We both listened. A confused roar in the distance; it resembled the raging of the sea very far away. I opened the window and looked out. The roar became louder, louder, and at last we discovered that it was the sound of many voices.
'What is it?' asked Pietro again.
There was a scrambling up the stairs, the noise of running feet. The door was burst violently open, and Andrea rushed in.
'Save yourselves!' he cried. 'Save yourselves!'
'What is it?'
'They are coming to sack the Palace. The Countess has given them leave, and the whole populace is up.'
The roar increased, and we could distinctly hear the shouting.
'Be quick!' cried Andrea. 'For God's sake be quick! They will be here in a moment!'
I looked to the door, and Pietro, seeing my thoughts, said,
'Not that way! Here is another door which leads along a passage into a side street.'
He lifted the tapestry and showed a tiny door, which he opened. I ran to old Orso and shook him.
'Wake up!' I said; 'wake up and come with me!'
'What is it?' he asked.
'Never mind; come with me!'
I took his arm and tried to lift him out of his chair, but he caught hold of the handles and would not stir.
'I will not move,' he said. 'What is it?'
'The mob is coming to sack the Palace, and if they find you here they will kill you.'
'I will not move. I am Orso Orsi. They dare not touch me.'
'Be quick! be quick!' screamed Andrea from the window. 'The first of them have appeared in the street. In a moment they will be here.'
'Quick! quick!' cried Pietro.
Now the roar had got so loud that it buzzed in one's ears, and every instant it grew louder.
'Be quick! be quick!'
'You must come,' I said, and Pietro joined his prayers to my commands, but nothing would move the old man.
'I tell you I will not fly. I am the head of my house. I am Orso Orsi. I will not fly like a dog before the rabble.'
'For your son's sakefor our sake,' I implored. 'We shall be killed with you.'
'You may go. The door is open for you. I will stay alone.'
He seemed to have regained his old spirit. It was as if a last flame were flickering up.
'We will not leave you,' I said. 'I have been put by Checco to protect you, and if you are killed I must be killed too. Our only chance is to fly.'
'Quick! quick!' cried Andrea. 'They are nearly here!'
'Oh, master, master,' cried Pietro, 'accept the means he offers you!'
'Be quick! be quick!'
'Would you have me slink down a back passage, like a thief, in my own house? Never!'
'They have reached the doors,' cried Andrea.
The noise was deafening below. The gates had been closed, and we heard a thunder of blows; stones were thrown, sticks beaten against the iron; then they seemed to take some great instrument and pound against the locks. Again and again the blows were repeated, but at last there was a crash. A mighty shout broke from the people, and we heard a rush. I sprang to the door of the Orso's room and locked and bolted it, then, calling the others to help me, I dragged a heavy chest against it. We placed another chest on the first, and dragged the bedstead up, pushing it against the chests.
We were only just in time, for, like water rushing at once through every crevice, the mob surged up and filled every corner of the house. They came to our door and pushed it. To their surprise it did not open. Outside someone cried,
'It's locked!'
The hindrance excited them, and the crowd gathered greater outside.
'Break it open,' they cried.
Immediately heavy blows thundered down on the lock and handle.
'For God's sake, come,' I said, turning to Orso. He did not answer. There was no time to lose, and I could not conquer his obstinacy.
'Then I shall force you,' I cried, catching hold of both his arms and dragging him from the chair. He held on as tight as he could, but his strength was nothing against mine. I caught hold of him, and was lifting him in my arms when the door was burst open. The rush of people threw down the barricade, and the crowd surged into the room. It was too late. I made a rush for the little door with Orso, but I could not get to it. They crowded round me with a shout.
'Take him,' I cried to Pietro, 'while I defend you.'
I drew my sword, but immediately a bludgeon fell on it and it smashed in two. I gave a shout and rushed at my assailants, but it was hopeless. I felt a crushing blow on my head. I sank down insensible.
XXXIII
When I opened my eyes I found myself on a bed in a darkened room. By my side was sitting a woman. I looked at her, and wondered who she was.
'Who the devil are you?' I asked, somewhat impolitely.
At the words someone else stepped forward and bent over me. I recognised Andrea; then I recollected what had occurred.
'Where is the Orso?' I asked. 'Is he safe?'
'Do you feel better?' he said.
'I am all right. Where is the Orso?' I tried to sit up, but my head swam. I felt horribly sick and sank back.
'What is the matter?' I moaned.
'Only a broken head,' said Andrea, with a little smile. 'If you had been a real servingman, instead of a fine gentleman masquerading, you wouldn't think twice about it.'
'Have pity on my infirmities, dear boy,' I murmured faintly. 'I don't pretend that my head is as wooden as yours.'
Then he explained.
'When you were beaten down they made a rush for the old master and bore him off.'
'Oh!' I cried. 'I promised Checco to look after him. What will he think!'
'It was not your fault.' At the same time he renewed the bandages round my head and put cooling lotions on.
'Good boy!' I said, as I enjoyed the cold water on my throbbing head.
'It was not your fault.' At the same time he renewed the bandages round my head and put cooling lotions on.
'Good boy!' I said, as I enjoyed the cold water on my throbbing head.
'When I saw the blows come down on your head, and you fall like a stone, I thought you were killed. With you softheaded people one never knows!'
'It appears to amuse you,' I said. 'But what happened afterwards?'
'In the excitement of their capture they paid no attention to us, and my uncle and I dragged you through the little door, and eventually carried you here. You are a weight!'
'And where am I?'
'In my mother's house, where you are requested to stay as long as it suits your convenience.'
'And Orso?'
'My uncle went out to see, and reports that they have put him in prison. As yet no harm has been done him. The palace has been sacked; nothing but the bare walls remain.'
At that moment Pietro came in panting.
'Two of the conspirators have been taken.'
'My God, not Checco or Matteo!'
'No; Pietro Albanese and Marco Scorsacana.'
'How did the others escape?'
'I don't know. All I heard was that the horse of Marco broke down, and Pietro refused to leave him. At a village close to the frontier Pietro was recognised, and they were both arrested and sent here for the sake of the reward.'
'My God!'
'They were brought into the town on asses, with their hands tied behind their backs, and the mob yelled with derision, and threw stones and refuse at them.'
'And now?'
'They have been taken to the prison, and'
'Well?'
'The execution is to take place tomorrow.'
I groaned. Pietro Albanese and Marco had been like Damon and Pythias. I shuddered as I thought of the fate in store for them. They had been conspicuous in their hatred of the Count, and it was they who had helped to throw the body into the piazza. I knew there would be no forgiveness in Caterina's heart, and all the night I wondered what vengeance she was meditating.
XXXIV
Next day I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we went out together.
'No one would mistake you for a gentleman today,' he laughed.
My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them; moreover, I had a two days' beard, and my head muffled up in bandages, so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us.
We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature was full of peace and goodwill; but in men's hearts was lust of blood. A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and her suite. Amid ringing cheers she entered the square, accompanied by her halfbrother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello. They took their seats on the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak.
A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps; then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless, his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix. He was followed by another troop of soldiers, and after them came another bareheaded figure, his hands also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly.
They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the prisoners were left standing before their judges.
'Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,' said the Countess, in a clear, calm voice, 'you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it was you who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones of the piazza.'
A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed to take courage.
The Countess turned to Savello.
'Do you not agree that the judgment is just?'
'Most just!' he whispered.
'The protonotary says, "Most just!"' she called aloud, so that all should hear. The man winced.
Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, 'I would ten times rather be in my place than in yours.'
The Countess smiled at the priest and said, 'You see, I carry out the will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.'
She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window, with one end of the rope round his neck.
'Goodbye, sweet friend,' he said to Marco.
'Goodbye, Pietrino,' and Marco kissed him.
Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in midair; a horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the rope. From the people came a huge shout, and they caught the body as it fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful! Oh, God! Oh, God!
Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up, wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a miserable old man, Orso Orsi.
'Oh,' I groaned. 'What are they going to do to him?'
A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made before the stage, and Caterina spoke again.
'Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before your eyesstone by stone.'
The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked on it. And now it was gone.
The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel woman spoke.