Part 12 (2/2)
”Blood of a king, man! do you think I hesitate over a paltry hundred crowns? Had it been a man, it would have been different--but a woman!
No! No! It is not my way;” and he rose and paced the room.
”Tush, man! It is but a touch of your dagger, and you have done much the same before.”
Moratti faced di Lippo. ”As you say, I have executed commissions before, but never on a woman, and never on a man without giving him a chance.”
”You are too tender-hearted for your profession, captain. Have you never been wronged by a woman? They can be more pitiless than men, I a.s.sure you.”
The bronze on Moratti's cheek paled to ashes, and his face hardened with a sudden memory. He turned his back upon di Lippo, and stared out of the window at the dead wall which was the only view. It was a chance shot, but it had told. The cavaliere rose slowly and flung a purse on the table. ”Better give him the whole at once,” he muttered.
”Come, captain,” he added, raising his voice. ”It will be over in a moment; and after all, neither you nor I will ever see heaven. We might as well burn for something; and if I mistake not, both you and I are like those Eastern tigers, who once having tasted blood must go on forever--see!” and he laid his lean hand on the bravo's shoulder, ”why not revenge on the whole s.e.x the wrong done you by one----”
The captain swung round suddenly and shook off di Lippo's hand. ”Don't touch me,” he cried; ”at times like this I am dangerous. What demon put into your mouth the words you have just used? They have served your purpose--and she shall die. Count me out the money, the full hundred--and go.”
”It is there;” and di Lippo pointed with his finger to the purse. ”You will find the tale complete--a hundred crowns--count them at your leisure. _Addio!_ captain. I shall hear good news soon, I trust.”
Rubbing the palms of his hands together, he stepped softly from the room.
Guido Moratti did not hear or answer him. His mind had gone back with a rush for ten years, when the work of a woman had made him sink lower than a beast. Such things happen to men sometimes. He had sunk like a stone thrown into a lake; he had been destroyed utterly, and it was sufficient to say that he lived now to prey on his fellow-creatures.
But he had never thought of the revenge that di Lippo had suggested.
Now that he did think of it, he remembered a story told in the old days round the camp fires, when they were hanging on the rear of Charles's retreating army, just before he turned and rent the League at Fornovo. Rodrigo Gonzaga, the Spaniard, had told it of a countryman of his, a native of Toledo, who for a wrong done to him by a girl had devoted himself to the doing to death of women. It was horrible; and at the time he had refused to believe it. Now he was face to face with the same horror--nay, he had even embraced it. He had lost his soul; but the price of it was not yet paid in revenge or gold, and, by Heaven! he would have it. He laughed out as loudly and cheerlessly as on that winter's night when he rode off through the snow; and laying hands on the purse, tore it open, and the contents rolled out upon the table. ”The price of my soul!” he sneered as he held up a handful of the coins, and let them drop again with a clash on the heap on the table. ”It is more than Judas got for his--ha! ha!”
CHAPTER III.
FELICITa.
Some few days after his interview with di Lippo, the Captain Guido Moratti rode his horse across the old Roman bridge which at that time spanned the Aulella, and directed his way towards the castle of Pieve, whose outlines rose before him, cresting an eminence about a league from the bridge. The captain was travelling as a person of some quality, the better to carry out a plan he had formed for gaining admission to Pieve, and a lackey rode behind him holding his valise.
He had hired horse and man in Florence, and the servant was an honest fellow enough, in complete ignorance of his master's character and profession. Both the captain and his man bore the appearance of long travel, and in truth they had journeyed with a free rein; and now that a stormy night was setting in, they were not a little anxious to reach their point. The snow was falling in soft flakes, and the landscape was grey with the driving mist, through which the outlines of the castle loomed large and shadowy, more like a fantastic creation in cloudland than the work of human hands. As the captain pulled down the lapels of his cap to ward off the drift which was coming straight in his face, the bright flare of a beacon fire shone from a tower of the castle, and the rays from it stretched in broad orange bands athwart the rolling mist, which threatened, together with the increasing darkness, to extinguish all the view that was left, and make the league to Pieve a road of suffering. With the flash of the fire a weird, sustained howl came to the travellers in an eerie cadence; and as the fearsome call died away, it was picked up by an answering cry from behind, then another and yet another. There could be no mistaking these signals; they meant pressing and immediate danger.
”Wolves!” shouted Moratti; and turning to his knave: ”Gallop, t.i.to!--else our bones will be picked clean by morning. Gallop!”
They struck their spurs into the horses; and the jaded animals, as if realizing their peril, made a brave effort, and dashed off at their utmost speed. It was none too soon, for the wolves, hitherto following in silence, had given tongue at the sight of the fire; and as if knowing that the beacon meant safety for their prey, and that they were like to lose a dinner unless they hurried, laid themselves on the track of the flying horses with a hideous chorus of yells. They could not be seen for the mist; but they were not far behind. They were going at too great a pace to howl now; but an occasional angry ”yap”
reached the riders, and reached the horses too, whose instinct told them what it meant; and they needed no further spurring, to make them strain every muscle to put a distance between themselves and their pursuers. Moratti thoroughly grasped the situation. He had experienced a similar adventure in the Pennine Alps, when carrying despatches for Paolo Orsini, with this difference, that then he had a fresh horse, and could see where he was going; whereas now, although the distance to Pieve was short, and in ten minutes he might be safe and with a whole skin, yet a false step, a stumble, and nothing short of a miracle could prevent him becoming a living meal to the beasts behind.
He carried, slung by a strap over his shoulder, a light bugle, which he had often found useful before, but never so useful as now.
Thrusting his hand under his cloak, he drew it out, and blew a long clear blast; and, to his joy, there came an answer through the storm from the castle. Rescue was near at hand, and faster and faster they flew; but as surely the wolves gained on them, and they could hear the snarling of the leaders as they jostled against and snapped at each other in their haste. Moratti looked over his shoulder. He could see close behind a dark crescent moving towards them with fearful rapidity. He almost gave a groan. It was too horrible to die thus! And he dug his spurs again and again into the heaving flanks of his horse, with the vain hope of increasing its speed. They had now reached the ascent to Pieve. They could see the lights at the windows. In two hundred yards there was safety; when Moratti's horse staggered under him, and he had barely time to free his feet from the stirrups and lean well back in the saddle ere the animal came down with a plunge.
t.i.to went by like a flash, as the captain picked himself up and faced the wolves, sword in hand. There was a steep bank on the side of the road. He made a dash to gain the summit of this; but had hardly reached half-way up when the foremost wolf was upon him, and had rolled down again with a yell, run through the heart. His fellows tore him to shreds, and in a moment began to worry at the struggling horse, whose fore-leg was broken. In a hand-turn the matter was ended, and the wretched beast was no longer visible, all that could be seen being a black swaying ma.s.s of bodies, as the pack hustled and fought over the dead animal.
Nevertheless, there were three or four of the wolves who devoted their attention to Moratti, and he met them with the courage of despair. But the odds were too many, and he began to feel that he could not hold out much longer. One huge monster, his s.h.a.ggy coat icy with the sleet, had pulled him to his knees, and it was only a lucky thrust of the dagger, he held in his left hand, that saved him. He regained his feet only to be dragged down again, and to rise yet once more. He was bleeding and weak, wounded in many places, and the end could not be far off. It was not thus that he had hoped to die; and he was dying like a worried lynx.
The thought drove him to madness. He was of Siena, and somewhere in his veins, though he did not know it, ran the blood of the Senonian Gauls, and it came out now--he went Berserker, as the old northern pirates were wont to do. Sliding down the bank, he jumped full into the pack, striking at them in a dumb fury. He was hardly human himself now, and he plunged his sword again and again into the heaving ma.s.s around him, and felt no pain from the teeth of the wolves as they rent his flesh. A fierce mad joy came upon him. It was a glorious fight after all, and he was dying game. It was a glorious fight, and, when he felt a grisly head at his throat, and the weight of his a.s.sailant brought him down once more, he flung aside his sword, and grappling his enemy with his hands, tore asunder the huge jaws, and flung the body from him with a yell. Almost at that very instant there was the sharp report of firearms, the rush of hurrying feet, and the blaze of torches. Moratti, half on his knees, was suddenly pulled to his feet by a strong hand, and supported by it he stood, dizzy and faint, bleeding almost everywhere, but safe. The wolves had fled in silence, vanis.h.i.+ng like phantoms across the snow; and shot after shot was fired in their direction by the rescue party.
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