Rafael Sabatini

“ Francesco dashed the sweat from his clammy brow, strode briskly to the door, turned the key, and flung it wide.
On the threshold he came face to face with his white-haired uncle, candle in one hand, the inevitable book closed upon his forefinger in the other.
“Francesco!” he exclaimed, and frowned between anger and amazement. “What make you here at such an hour? And what is happening? Why was that door locked?”
Francesco, miraculously self-controlled by now, his face a mask of sorrowing concern, drew his uncle by the arm into the chamber, and closed the door. ”

“ Francesco considered him. “You love Beatrice?” he inquired.
“As I love peaches in wine; nay, even more. I love her so well that to win her I will not risk a life which it is my aim to devote to serving her.” He smiled his supreme mockery of his friend and bond-slave in this business.
Francesco rose. “If I were to die by this man's hand where would be the advantage?”
“There would be a certain advantage to you in that you would have peace from your creditors. To me, of course, there would be no advantage—unless they hanged this Scipione for the deed—a matter which I greatly doubt.” ”

“ Here in your chamber shall he breathe his last. What greater blessing could he ask of Fate? Such happiness is not given to every lover, though many sigh for it—in their verses.
“Do not suppose that when the thing is done I shall become a fugitive from justice,” He smiled infernally, for he was cruel to the core of him. “In that hour I shall call your father, loose your bonds and rouse the house—all Urbino will I rouse, and myself, fetch the podestà to hear the tale of how, surprising your Captain Scipione here in your arms at dead midnight, I slew him for the honour of the Omodei. ”

“ Is that your conception of Baldassare Scipione?” he demanded with scathing scorn. “Do you account the man you love so poor-spirited a cur? Why, girl, it is odds he would not believe me; and if he did, he would scorn my offer and stay to have his throat cut for his honour's sake. Such, at least, is the Baldassare Scipione whom I know—I, who do not love him.”
It was all most subtly thought of, and it sank deep into Beatrice's mind, and there took root. How could she doubt the truth of an argument that revealed her lover as a hero of romance? ”

“ You are a lover—a lover of gold, my Checco,” said the host, lapsing again into his more habitual languor. “And what a man, being penniless, will not do for the love of ducats, he will not do for the love of woman. Moreover, there is your own hatred to be served—for not a doubt but that this man has known how to excite it.”
“What am I to do?” quoth Francesco angrily.
“Why, the thing that you advised to me.” And Vitelli, having consumed the last peach slice, drank off the blend of wine and hydromel with relish. ”

“ Francesco surveyed his friend in silence a moment, his brow black as a thundercloud. “Were I a lover,” he said presently, “I think the duello should serve my ends.”
Amerigo shrugged contemptuously. “Madonna!” he exclaimed. “The duello! Oh, I can be as hot as any man to resent an affront. But the duello! God save us! A fool's practice! Because a man is noxious to me, is that a reason why I should afford him the means to kill me? ”

“ Are you mad, Francesco?”
He pondered her, did this very subtle gentleman, with positive contempt. “Is this your love for him?” he asked. “At every step you raise an obstacle. And why not here? You're soon to be his wife.”
A crimson flush spread slowly on her face, and was gone, leaving her paler than she had been. “Francesco,” said she, in a voice that was forcedly calm, “if you desire to serve me and to save me the life of Baldassare, you may do it without putting this shame upon me. Go to him. Warn him of his peril, and bear him home with you to your own house, there to abide till morning. ”

“ Is she tall or short, fat or lean, black or golden? Descant, man! Propound her virtues of the spirit and the flesh, that we decide if you shall keep this tryst. I am Amerigo Vitelli, the arbiter fœminœ of Italy. You may have heard of me. So descant freely—as to a judge.”
And now Gasparo saw light of a sudden in his trouble. He had but to mention the name of the man to whom he bore his message, and there would be an end to this baiting.
“You mistake, Messer Amerigo,” said he. “You mistake, Magnificent. I am expected by the Captain Baldassare Scipione at his house yonder. ”

“ He flung arms to the ceiling, apostrophising the heaven which he believed to lie somewhere beyond it.
“A man such as this Scipione—an earthworm, a reptile—is noxious to us. Yet, hire me a cut-throat to deal with him, and there is the podestà and the law and a preposterous garboil, ending as like as not in the rope—and not for the cut-throat only.” Francesco's voice rose, and he hammered out the words, beating fist into palm to emphasise them: “Not for the cut-throat only, but for the man who hired him to the work, be he never so high. ”

“ His tone was a thought impatient as he proceeded to offer an explanation that should render credible his bold lie. “Men who stand high in their master's favour, as does Scipione in Cesare Borgia's, are seldom loved by their fellow-servants. Ramires fears that Scipione may supplant him. Envy and jealousy are scorpion-whips to drive such men as the podestà Ramires. They have urged him to ally himself with Scipione's other enemies, and so, to-night, the thing is to be done.”
It seemed incredible. Doubts of its truth recurring, instinctive mistrust of her cousin flickered anew in Beatrice's mind. ”

“ Go say what you have to say to your creditors. They will be glad enough to hear from you.”
But Francesco was of no mind to be dismissed. “What do you know of this fellow Scipione?” he demanded.
Omodei made a gesture of weariness. “What do I know of any man?” he asked. “He is a fine soldier and a student, and when a man is both these things he is the best things that a man can be. Add to it the fact that he loves Bice and that Bice loves him—and so, God give them joy of each other.” ”

“ Too often has he presumed to affront me, sheltered like a coward behind the shield of Borgia justice, which would have strangled me had I slain him—though honourably—in the duello. But he was a fool for all his pains, for he might have known that Francesco degli Omodei was not the man to leave unavenged the insults of an upstart condottiero. To-night he pays his score.”
In loyalty to his friend Vitelli—his paymaster in this foul business—Francesco made no mention of his name. Besides his loyalty, he had to consider that for the fruition of his schemes Amerigo must ultimately wed Beatrice. ”

“ And the revellers responded by linking arms and dancing furiously about the lackey and his interlocutor in a circle, howling to the renewed thrumming of the lute:
“He is Gasparo—paro—paro!
He is Gasparo—paro—puh!”
This gibbering, swirling human vortex frightened the poor groom out of the little sense he had received from stingy Nature. Already he foresaw an ugly ending to this frolic, imagined grim horrors to which this demoniac mummery was but the prologue. ”

“ Meanwhile the Saturnalian dance about Gasparo was resumed. The lute throbbed, and the boy improvised, whilst the others thundered after him, and awakened the street from end to end.
“He's as rosy as a cupid,
This Gasparo—paro—paro;
And his legs are sweetly crooked,
Oh, Gasparo—paro—puh!”
Amerigo broke through the ring. “Away, away!” he cried. Then beckoned a torchbearer. “Attend me, you,” he commanded. “Gay people, a happy night! Seek your sport elsewhere. My game's afoot! Good-night! Most happy night!” ”

“ A fine fellow, Checco—a fine fellow and a studious. 'Twas he brought me this copy of Lucretius. A rare work, a precious work on Nature and her ways. It might interest you who lay such store by Nature.”
Francesco's rage blazed up. “And do you barter your daughter for a wretched tome?” he exclaimed.
“Art a fool, Francesco,” said his uncle with conviction, “and Scipione is to marry Bice, I have no more to say.” ”

“ You are in danger—in danger of going mad, in danger of dying of a broken heart when they bring you word of how he perished. So bid him come,” he urged her sharply, “and bid him come by the garden and that staircase. Thus he will be less in danger of being seen.”
That hint of secrecy revived her erstwhile scruples. She stood now by the table, which was strewn with a half-wrought embroidery and the coloured silks that had been her materials, and she confessed her horror in her glance.
“I can't, I can't!” she wailed. “How can I, Francesco? To keep him here—here! ”

“ The Count's brows came together. “And who made you custodian of the family honour, sir?” quoth he with a fine sarcasm.
“Nature, sir,” was the hot answer, “when I was born an Omodei.”
“Ah, Nature!” murmured the student. “I thought it might have been your creditors.”
Taken aback, Francesco flushed. This uncle of his, it seemed, did not live so utterly out of the world as he supposed.
“But you were about to say?” the Count inquired.
“That Bice abuses the excessive liberty you allow her. She lacks the discretion we look for in our maids. Her name—her fair name—is in peril. ”

“ There is a soldier of Cesare Borgia's——”
“You will be meaning Baldassare Scipione,” put in the Count. “Well?”
Francesco stared, mouth agape. “You—you knew?” he bleated.
“Pooh! You are too late by an hour,” said Omodei.
“Too late? Too late for what, sir?”
“For whatever is your intent, if it concern Bice and her tall captain. They are betrothed.”
“Betrothed?”
“Why, yes,” replied the Count, enjoying the other's plain discomfiture, for no better reason than that he neither loved nor trusted his fine nephew. “This captain of hers sought me here an hour ago upon this very matter. ”

“ It was likely enough that his uncle would be at one of his studious vigils. But then his uncle was not lightly disturbed, and Francesco did not intend to make himself heard until his plan had reached fulfilment.
Bidding his groom await him there he went up that granite staircase to the balcony with noisy foot and clank of scabbard to herald his approach. And ere he was midway the lighted space above was widened as the curtains were flung quickly aside. ”

“ Francesco perceived at last that no help was to be expected from Amerigo. Either the man had no invention, or—and more likely—of set purpose he refrained from exerting it, that he should not be incriminated in anything that followed. All he desired was Francesco's help to marry Beatrice degli Omodei. ”

“ But consider now,” he mocked her, “who is there will believe you? You dream perhaps that my servant will tell of the note he bore at my bidding. Build not upon that. My servant I can trust for silence.” ”

“ Such homicide has ever been, from the most ancient times, and must ever be accounted just and justified. It is the inviolable right of every male to slay whomsoever hold too lightly the honour of his female kin, provided that he take the offender in flagrante.”
Francesco set the volume down, and remained long bemused. “In flagrante,” said the learned Valla. That was the difficulty; and without that circumstance the slaying upon such grounds was fraught with danger, for the slayer must make good by proofs his accusation. ”

“ Francesco's frown showed how little he understood the captain. Baldassare proceeded to explain. “If you were to draw upon me now, here in the street, I should be constrained to defend myself. I could not then be blamed for what might happen; there are enough people abroad to bear witness to the true manner of the event. ”

“ No longer are we free to conduct our lives and adjust our differences as seems best to us. We must order our selves at his good pleasure, and here is a podestà, who is no better than a nurse to see that we do not break our toys. ”