Part 23 (1/2)

The prisoner's sensations were not too slow for him to seize the opportunity: the idea of escape had been continually present with him, and he had gathered fresh hope from the temper of the crowd. He ran at once; but his speed would hardly have sufficed for him if the Florentines had not instantaneously rushed between him and his captor.

He ran on into the piazza, but he quickly heard the tramp of feet behind him, for the other two prisoners had been released, and the soldiers were struggling and fighting their way after them, in such tardigrade fas.h.i.+on as their hoof-shaped shoes would allow--impeded, but not very resolutely attacked, by the people. One of the two younger prisoners turned lip the Borgo di San Lorenzo, and thus made a partial diversion of the hubbub; but the main struggle was still towards the piazza, where all eyes were turned on it with alarmed curiosity. The cause could not be precisely guessed, for the French dress was screened by the impeding crowd.

”An escape of prisoners,” said Lorenzo Tornabuoni, as he and his party turned round just against the steps of the Duomo, and saw a prisoner rus.h.i.+ng by them. ”The people are not content with having emptied the Bargello the other day. If there is no other authority in sight they must fall on the sbirri and secure freedom to thieves. Ah! there is a French soldier: that is more serious.”

The soldier he saw was struggling along on the north side of the piazza, but the object of his pursuit had taken the other direction. That object was the eldest prisoner, who had wheeled round the Baptistery and was running towards the Duomo, determined to take refuge in that sanctuary rather than trust to his speed. But in mounting the steps, his foot received a shock; he was precipitated towards the group of signori, whose backs were turned to him, and was only able to recover his balance as he clutched one of them by the arm.

It was t.i.to Melema who felt that clutch. He turned his head, and saw the face of his adoptive father, Balda.s.sarre Calvo, close to his own.

The two men looked at each other, silent as death: Balda.s.sarre, with dark fierceness and a tightening grip of the soiled worn hands on the velvet-clad arm; t.i.to, with cheeks and lips all bloodless, fascinated by terror. It seemed a long while to them--it was but a moment.

The first sound t.i.to heard was the short laugh of Piero di Cosimo, who stood close by him and was the only person that could see his face.

”Ha, ha! I know what a ghost should be now.”

”This is another escaped prisoner,” said Lorenzo Tornabuoni. ”Who is he, I wonder?”

”_Some madman, surely_,” said t.i.to.

He hardly knew how the words had come to his lips: there are moments when our pa.s.sions speak and decide for us, and we seem to stand by and wonder. They carry in them an inspiration of crime, that in one instant does the work of long premeditation.

The two men had not taken their eyes off each other, and it seemed to t.i.to, when he had spoken, that some magical poison had darted from Balda.s.sarre's eyes, and that he felt it rus.h.i.+ng through his veins. But the next instant the grasp on his arm had relaxed, and Balda.s.sarre had disappeared within the church.

Note 1. ”_La vacca muglia_” was the phrase for the sounding of the great bell in the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio.

Note 2. The poorer artisans connected with the wool trade-- wool-beaters, carders, washers, etcetera.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

AFTER-THOUGHTS.

”You are easily frightened, though,” said Piero, with another scornful laugh. ”My portrait is not as good as the original. But the old fellow _had_ a tiger look: I must go into the Duomo and see him again.”

”It is not pleasant to be laid hold of by a madman, if madman he be,”

said Lorenzo Tornabuoni, in polite excuse of t.i.to, ”but perhaps he is only a ruffian. We shall hear. I think we must see if we have authority enough to stop this disturbance between our people and your countrymen,” he added, addressing the Frenchman.

They advanced toward the crowd with their swords drawn, all the quiet spectators making an escort for them. t.i.to went too: it was necessary that he should know what others knew about Balda.s.sarre, and the first palsy of terror was being succeeded by the rapid devices to which mortal danger will stimulate the timid.

The rabble of men and boys, more inclined to hoot at the soldier and torment him than to receive or inflict any serious wounds, gave way at the approach of signori with drawn swords, and the French soldier was interrogated. He and his companions had simply brought their prisoners into the city that they might beg money for their ransom: two of the prisoners were Tuscan soldiers taken in Lunigiana; the other, an elderly man, was with a party of Genoese, with whom the French foragers had come to blows near Fivizzano. He might be mad, but he was harmless. The soldier knew no more, being unable to understand a word the old man said. t.i.to heard so far, but he was deaf to everything else till he was specially addressed. It was Tornabuoni who spoke.

”Will you go back with us, Melema? Or, since Messere is going off to Signa now, will you wisely follow the fas.h.i.+on of the times and go to hear the Frate, who will be like the torrent at its height this morning?

It's what we must all do, you know, if we are to save our Medicean skins. _I_ should go if I had the leisure.”

t.i.to's face had recovered its colour now, and he could make an effort to speak with gaiety.

”Of course I am among the admirers of the inspired orator,” he said, smilingly; ”but, unfortunately, I shall be occupied with the Segretario till the time of the procession.”

”_I_ am going into the Duomo to look at that savage old man again,” said Piero.