Rafael Sabatini

“ Benvenuto's choice was made. He advanced with simulated resoluteness towards the archway and the yellow-bearded guard.
“I seek the Lord Duke of Valentinois,” he announced, dissembling as best he might his tremors. “Where shall I find him?”
The guard looked at him. If the livid, pock-marked face was villainous, the clothes were noble; and whilst to a courtier Messer Benvenuto must have looked a lacquey, to a lacquey he looked a courtier. So without hesitation the guard stood aside before him, and pointed with his pike into the inner courtyard. ”

“ Benvenuto was, himself—as you have gathered—no lover of Cesare Borgia, and, far from deploring his assassination, he would have hailed his slayer as a hero among heroes. But a man of his peculiar temperament is not to be expected to sink self-interest in political considerations, and to forgo the chance of doing Cesare Borgia a service for which Cesare Borgia should reward him with a pretty, twinkling heap of golden ducats. ”

“ In the distance, a mere speck as yet on that eternity of a road, a horseman was approaching. But Benvenuto had no concern with him. His concern was entirely with his own distress, and particularly with the gnawings of his stomach. Beyond Forlimpopoli he could not go fasting. There were limits to a man's endurance. Yet how was he to find a meal? He might sell his horse. But without a horse, how should he reach Bologna, or still more distant Milan? ”

“ His white pock-marked face, half-hidden in a black fur of beard, was the most villainous in Italy.
He was in sad case. There was too much respect for the property of others demanded in the Romagna these days, since the Lord Cesare Borgia had come to rule there, and such men as Benvenuto Gismondi were finding it difficult to make a living. For there was nothing heroic about Benvenuto's villainy. He was no reckless masnadiero, to demand fat purses at point of sword in the open country. There were risks in that profession which he had no desire to face. ”

“ And presently others came; as he had come, and like himself each sat aloof from his fellow-plotters.
At last the door opened again to admit one who differed from the rest in that he wore no mask. He was a tall man with a big-nosed, shaven face, swarthy and bold-eyed. He was a man in the full vigour of youth, and he was dressed from head to foot in black. A long sword swung from his girdle, and a heavy dagger rested on his right hip. This, Benvenuto guessed, must be Bentivogli. ”

“ And this Messer Crespi of Faenza, to whom these letters were addressed—he is dead?” It was but the slightly rising inflection of the voice that made a question of that statement.
Livid, shaking now in every limb, and will-less before this man who seemed to draw the very soul out of him, Benvenuto answered: “He is dead, Magnificent.”
“Ah! You were well advised in that,” the Duke agreed. He smiled, and his smile was the deadliest Gismondi had ever seen. “He was, I take it,” the Duke pursued, “a man of much your own height and build.” ”

“ A cavalcade approaching; though no sound reached him yet. In haste he thrust the papers into his bosom, and his foot into the boot—never heeding that his stocking was all wet from standing in the snow. Then he took Messer Crespi's sword, and buckled it about his loins; lastly he snatched up the cloak, shook the snow from it, and flung it jauntily upon his own shoulders. Of his own discarded rags he made a bundle, and with this he sprang back to the road. There yet remained Messer Crespi's cap, which still lay where it had fallen. ”

“ They moved in secret, he gathered, and were not known one to another, to lessen the dangers of betrayal. This was plain, since Messer Crespi was bidden to come masked to the assembly that was to be held that very night in the Palazzo Magli, in Cesena, But the leader, the inspirer, the soul and brain of the conspiracy, was evidently known to all; for he signed the letter, and his name was Hermes Bentivogli—the name of as bloody and treacherous a tyrant as lived in Italy, the murderer of the Marescotti, the son of Giovanni Bentivogli, Lord of Bologna. ”

“ He moved it slowly in his hand, causing the steaming wine to swirl, and made lachrymose philosophy.
“Man,” said he, “is no better than a fluid in the jug of circumstance. It is Circumstance that moulds and shapes him at her will, as this wine is moulded in this jug; and his end is much as this.” And he emptied the jug sorrowfully.
“Touching this service of the Duke's ...?” began Giannozza. ”

“ Cesare shook liis head, and smiled.
“You will search in vain, Ramiro,” he said. “Yet I can name to you the leader of the party that is answerable for this murder; I can tell you even that he rode out of Cesena at daybreak to-day, and what road he took. But to what end? He is a fool who has performed my justice for me, and knows it not. I fear him no more than I fear this poor carrion.”
“My lord, I do not understand!” said Ramiro.
“Is it necessary that you should?” smiled the Duke. “My will has been done. ”

“ The soldiers went swiftly about their work, and after a brief ten minutes there remained but four of the conspirators. One of these was Bentivogli, who as the leader reserved himself the honour of going last; two others were the men who had been attendant upon him; the fourth was Messer Benvenuto, who watched and waited, chuckling to think how the name of Cesare Borgia would stink in Italy for this night's work.
The men-at-arms had re-entered and stood waiting for the next victim. Bentivogli made a sign to Gismondi that was plain of meaning. ”

“ To have been put to the necessity of killing a man to earn three gold pieces and a trumpery chain was an irony practised upon him by an unfriendly fate He reflected that to commit murder was a grave matter. It was to imperil the salvation of his immortal soul—and Messer Benvenuto accounted himself a truly devout and pious fellow, a dutiful son of Mother Church. ”

“ And he was clearly clean of sin; since who kills a murderer is no worse than who robs a thief. That Messer Crespi was a murderer—a very desperate murderer—these letters fully showed, for they revealed a barbarous plot against the life of no less a person than the High and Mighty Lord Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois and Romagna. ”

“ He readily perceived the object of so much travelling. The meeting was not at the Palazzo Magli at all. It had been so announced as a safeguard. By this journey across two gardens, the plotters were introduced into another palace some distance away. Should danger threaten the Palazzo Magli, should it be beset or invaded, the enemy would find an empty nest, and the men who had been left on guard there would know how to convey a warning to the real meeting-place, whence the conspirators might disperse unchallenged.
Benvenuto went up some steps to a stout door and knocked. ”

“ And in the pleasant consideration of this heartening fact he rode across the bridge over the Savio, and so entered the strong city of Cesena.
First to the Half-Moon to leave his horse in charge of the gaping, cross-eyed landlord—Giannozza's puny and most unworthy sire; then to a barber's to have his hair and beard trimmed combed and perfumed, that that part of him should be in harmony with the whole; then back to the Half-Moon to dine in an inner chamber which he had bespoken, with Giannozza to bring his meat and pour his wine.
In the common-room men stared at him, as he swept through ”

“ The man's cloak with its heavy lynx fur was worth at least five ducats; and there was a jewel in his cap.
He went back, and in going he pondered. What should he do with a rich cloak? To sell it would be no easier than to sell his horse. Out of that train of thought came inspiration. The dead man could give him all he lacked, and never feel the loss of it, being dead. ”

“ His glance, hard and bright, fastened once more upon Benvenuto, whilst he extended his hand to Gherardi for the papers. The secretary promptly resigned them.
“Here,” said the Duke, and he now held out the letters to Benvenuto. “Take you these papers, of which in the way of your scoundrel's trade you have become possessed. Learn their contents by heart. Then go at midnight—as the letter directs—to the Palazzo Magli. Play the part of Messer Crespi, and bring me word to-morrow of what these conspirators intend and who their associates elsewhere.” ”

“ He had to report that the body of a man had been discovered at daybreak on the far bank of the castle moat, by the drawbridge. The dagger that had slain the fellow had been employed to attach to him the label which Ramiro presented to the Duke. On this was scrawled: “The property of Cesare Borgia.”
Accompanied by his governor, Cesare descended to the courtyard to view the body. It lay there, covered by the purple, fur-trimmed cloak which Benvenuto had worn yesterday. Ramiro turned this down to disclose the ashen face. The Duke looked, and nodded. ”

“ No doubt the condition of your own would be a sufficient justification.”
“My lord, my lord!” cried the abject scoundrel, and would have flung himself upon his knees to implore mercy but that Cesare's next words stayed him. ”

“ The fair wrestler had stooped, evaded the blacksmith's long arms, and seizing him by the legs had hoisted him from the ground. But the smith's great hands had closed about the other's neck, and so neutralised the hold, making a throw impossible—for by their rules a throw was no throw in which the thrower went down with the thrown. The shout had been raised while the matter was in doubt, and when it seemed that the blacksmith must suffer defeat, and the word that Benvenuto caught from a hundred throats was “Duca! ”

“ He rose from an almost fruitless search, cursing the poverty of the dead man's pockets, and weighing in his palm the gold chain he had taken from his victim's neck and a silken purse containing but three gold ducats. ”