Part 15 (1/2)

”And I maintain, beforehand, that she cannot be so fair as the Marchesana del Vasto,” said Donati.

”Allowing for difference of years, you mean,” said Capponi. ”The d.u.c.h.ess is a little past her prime.”

”No such thing,” said Ippolito quickly; and he used the spur, though there was no need. The mare sprang forward; the others were obliged to quicken their pace, and they had ridden a mile or two before another word was spoken.

Then the Cardinal slackened his speed, and began to talk of matters quite different; of the brilliant African campaign; of the likelihood of Muley Ha.s.san holding his own, now he was reinstated; of the probable movements of Barbarossa; of the glut of Moorish slaves in the market, and so forth.

Arrived at Fondi, the Cardinal was preparing to alight, when the d.u.c.h.ess's grey-haired seneschal came forward and announced the mortifying intelligence that his lady was from home.

It may be matter of surprise that the Cardinal should not have been apprised of her absence at Itri; but, in fact, he had learnt from what he had considered good authority, that she was to return to Fondi a little before this time, so that he had made sure of finding her at her castle.

His chagrin was extreme; not only because he had counted much on this visit, and had now no hope of seeing her before he sailed, but because he had given out to his companions that he possessed such perfect knowledge of her movements and such security of a cordial reception, that he was now open to their raillery, whether or no they spared it.

The seneschal, who knew him well, respectfully besought him to partake of such poor refreshment as the castle afforded; but the Cardinal was vexed, and rode off again, without compa.s.sion for man or beast.

The Florentines looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders, but were too wise to remonstrate. They followed him, panting, across the steaming plain, where groups of cream-coloured oxen, cropping the rank herbage, looked up at them with dreamy, wondering eyes. When they reached the covert of cypress, poplar, and gnarled old olives, they loitered dangerously in the shade; and then, when well chilled, spurred on again, making themselves and their horses hotter than ever. And of course, as there was a descent all the way going, there was an ascent all the way back.

Arrived at Itri, the Cardinal, throwing himself from his horse, called loudly for iced water.

”My lord, you are very hot,” said Giovanni Andrea, with seeming kindness. ”Let me prevail on your Eminence to take this broth instead.

It will be safer, and will repair your strength.”

The Cardinal took the broth, which was temptingly seasoned, and turned away with a sigh of relief. It was the early supper-hour, and the tables were already spread in the vaulted refectory, with abundance of better cheer than the Prior's larder usually afforded, some of which had been brought by his ill.u.s.trious guest. And soon the hungry visitors took their places, and a long Latin grace was said, and the first course of confetti was served; and then the trencher of each man was filled with a large piece of meat that had been stewed with almonds and sugar.

And while this was being disposed of, the Cardinal's servants and rubicund lay-brothers covered the table with dishes of boiled meat, fowls, small birds, kids, wild boar, and other viands. And after this course, another was to succeed, of tarts and cakes covered with spun sugar.

But before the banquet reached this stage, the Cardinal, who had scarcely spoken since he sat down to table, and who had frequently changed colour, suddenly exclaimed--

”Take me hence--I am strangely ill!”----

Every eye was upon him in a moment--many started from their seats--one or two noted gourmands feigned deafness, and helped themselves to the best. Bernardino Salviati, the Cardinal's personal attendant, caught him in his arms.

”Lean on me, my Lord Cardinal,” said he. ”We will bear you to your chamber.”

”Treachery, treachery, Salviati!” murmured the Cardinal, almost inarticulately. ”I am poisoned.”

Giovanni Andrea, his other supporter, making believe to wipe the clammy dew from his face, held the handkerchief over his mouth, so as to m.u.f.fle his voice. Above it glared the Cardinal at him fiercely.

”Stand back!” said Salviati to him, roughly.

”My Lord Cardinal is delirious, he raves,” said Giovanni Andrea, shrinking away.

”Prior! don't let that man come near me,” said Ippolito, faintly.

The Prior, with solicitude, bent his ear to his lips, but only saw them move. The next instant they were contorted with a spasm.

By this time, they had carried him to his bed-room, which, though the best guest-chamber of the monastery, was furnished with ascetic plainness; a crucifix, a benitier, and a wooden pallet, comprising most of its moveables, the meagreness of which contrasted strangely enough with the crimson satin cus.h.i.+ons and mattresses the Cardinal had brought with him, and which belonged to his horse-litter.

”Air! air!” he said, feebly, as his friends pressed round him.

”It will be well, I think, for all of you to leave the chamber,” said the Prior, ”except Salviati, Brother Marco, and myself. The Cardinal is in a high fever--I will open a vein for him.”