Tomaso

“ What have we here?" indignantly from Tomaso. "All masters, and no servants? Obey my word, and be quick about it! Move yourselves, every one of you! Make the floor glisten. The more it shines the more slippery it is. Did you not hear some of the company clamoring that our doña herself dance El Son to-night?"
Tomaso was Señor Mendoza's trusty man, an Indian of intelligence and fidelity. He was captain of the Señor's fighting peons and had been Carmelita's postilion at the merienda race. Under his rapid orders the servants made the floor ready. ”

“ Tomaso sprang into the tent, a piteous young figure, wet to the skin.
"Oh, my lord!—I will take thee to her. Come away! Come with me!"
His voice broke into a passion of sobs, and Mastino dropped his hands and paused.
"Your lady lies still in her litter," said a soldier.
"Out yonder in the rain, you rascal!" cried Della Scala. "What is she doing there?"
He flung from the tent, and Tomaso after him, the bitter sobs catching at his throat.
"I cannot bear it," he cried. "It is doom itself. Oh, my master! my dear master!" ”

“ The moon was now well up, and the girl could distinguish Tomaso's gleaming white shirt as he turned the corner. As he approached he kept on the left-hand side of the road. It was evident that he intended to call at the Venta.
“Hé—Tomaso!” cried Rosa, when he was almost at the steps.
“Hé—Rosa!” he answered.
“I am all alone,” said Rosa. “Mother has gone to see Aunt Luisa. Have you your fortune in your pocket?”
He came up the steps and leant against the trellis, looking down at her. She could not see his face, but a woman does not always need to do that. ”

“ Tomaso's eyes were full of tears. For some moments he could not find his voice.
"He hath discovered some secret passage; useless, I fear me," said his father.
"Nay, father, I tell thee it leadeth to the city! ”

“ In the fields the peasants tilled the rich earth and laughed and sang as they toiled.
Don Tomaso was the leader likely to be most popular with youths of the age of Diego and Don Felipe. He rode ahead, trolling in his rich voice the canzonets and popular ballads of the day—all relating to love and war. His famous chestnut horse seemed proud of being bestridden by so superb a horseman, and whinnied with delight and caracoled as they traveled rapidly along the highway. ”

“ In the distance, brilliant between the dark stone of the gateway of the city, fluttered a banner, blazoned with the same device as those that blew above the walls. The peasants' eyes, sharpened by fear, were quicker than Tomaso's: it was some seconds before he could discern that the banner fluttered from the canopy of a splendid coach, magnificent in gold and scarlet, issuing from the somber shadow into the sunshine of the road ”

“ The warder, like all the people of Spain, was eager to know something of the wonderful rumors that agitated Barcelona.
“Is it true, sir,” he asked of Don Tomaso, who, once inside the walls, was preparing to mount, “that the Genoese captain has returned after finding a new world?”
“As true as my sword, which is of the best steel made in Toledo, and never misses fire,” answered Don Tomaso, flinging himself upon his horse and galloping off. ”

“ Felipe turned towards him in his good-natured grand way, and invited him by a jerk of the head to come and partake of his half-bottle of Majorcan wine. There was a great gulf between these two men, for Tomaso wore no jacket and Felipe was never seen without one. Tomaso therefore accepted the invitation with a grave courtesy. Felipe knew his manners also. He poured a few drops into his own glass, for fear the cork should have left a grain of dust, and then filled his guest's little thick tumbler to the brim. ”

“ The delicate cast of their features bespoke them of another part of Italy, as did the soft Latin [Pg 5] tongue in which they held their whispering, excited conversation. The elder, whom his companion called Tomaso, was a fair-haired youth of about nineteen; the other, like enough to be a relative, a mere child of ten or twelve. The sun was growing hot, and their stout cloaks of dull red serge were flung back, showing their leathern doublets, to which the elder boy wore attached a great pouch of undressed skin, which evidently bore their day's provisions. ”

“ Rather than be taken into Milan, I will travel on foot in any other direction till I drop," laughed the Count.
"Thou takest it lightly, my lord," said Tomaso, "thou dost not seem as eager for revenge as thou wert. Think of the death Visconti doomed thee to. Thou hast great wrongs to right—wilt thou not return to Milan to avenge them? Or wilt thou ride away and forget?" ”

“ The action rather savoured of the police and the law, and Tomaso did not like it.
The stout man leant forward with his chin in the palm of his hand and reflected for some moments. He was singularly reflective, and seemed to be making a mental calculation.
“See here,” he said at length, looking at Tomaso with quick business-like eyes. He was beginning to recover his colour now. “See here, I am not going to give you money—between gentlemen, eh! such things are not done. You have saved my life. Good! You are a brave man, and you risked your neck for a perfect stranger! ”

“ Tomaso nodded his head. He had always known that it would come. The widow Navarro threw up her eyes, and in a whisper called the attention of her own special black-letter saint to this business. Rosa was glancing surreptitiously at Felipe, who, to do him justice, was smiling on the old man with much appreciation.
“You see what I am,” continued the man of business, tapping his exuberant waistcoat; “I am fat and I am sixty-seven. When I return to Palma, I shall notify to a lawyer that I leave to you, 'Tomaso of the Mill,' ten thousand pesetas, to be paid as soon after my death as possible. ”

“ The taunts were bitter and savage, and hurled in a fury of scorn and hate; but Mastino della Scala, save for that one movement, neither flinched nor stepped out the way of the onward rush, but bore for a long hour of that summer day that wild ride past of the Veronese and the batter on his shield of the daggers that disdained to slay him.
"Stop! in the name of heaven, stop!" shrieked Tomaso, and held his hands against his ears. ”

“ TOMASO'S FORTUNE
“You talk of poor men, Señora—then you talk of me. See, I have nothing but the wits that are under my hat.”
And Felipe Fortis spread himself out on the trellis-bordered bench of the little Venta that stands at the junction of the Valdemosa Road and the new road from Miramar to Palma in the island of Majorca. ”

“ Tomaso sank at his feet with a bitter cry.
"All is over!" he cried. "We are betrayed. Oh, would I were dead before I had to tell thee!"
"Betrayed?" echoed Della Scala. All the life was struck out of him, he steadied himself against the cavern wall and looked at the boy dully. "Betrayed?"
"Betrayed? By whom?" cried Ligozzi. "Ah, thou art hurt!"
"Nothing, nothing. I am in time—Visconti—his men guard the other entrance—with difficulty I escaped to warn thee," gasped Tomaso. ”

“ Death was what I expected, but I nerved myself to meet it as a noble should. There is a long low room in yonder villa, with narrow windows I could scarce get my hand through—all of stone, and meant for cool in summer heat; into this I was forced, unbound, left with mock ceremony, and the door locked upon me. Ah! the sound of that key, Tomaso; they seemed to turn it in my heart, for I guessed its meaning. I had heard too often of Visconti letting his prisoners die of hunger, and, as I listened to the soldiers' footsteps fading in the distance, the cold horror of the truth seized my heart. ”

“ In the tent behind him, Tomaso and a page polished his armor. For once Mastino was without it—yesterday he had donned it, and waited expectant for the answer to the challenge he could not believe Visconti could refuse. It was his fault to think the best of men, a fault that had cost him dear when he had trusted Count Conrad, a fault that had cost him the insult now of Visconti's answer to his message.
"I have tried everything, and in everything I have been outwitted or betrayed. I am helpless, powerless. Will it last unto the end?" ”

“ Tomaso was so strong—and we loved together.
“We’ll get married American way,” Tomaso said, soft like. His face was like fur on my face. “I have two hundred dollars from my last job. My father is not a poor man, and I am his only child. ”

“ Don Tomaso, his foot in his stirrup, cried:
“What a happy time you will have, Diego and Don Felipe—no distractions from study—history, geography, astronomy, and mathematics in the morning, and mathematics, astronomy, geography, and history in the afternoon! Now, at Santa Fé, I shall have a very hard time—watching the besieged city of Granada, making sorties against the gates, living in a tent, jousting with other knights by way of pastime, riding in the tilt-yard—all the hardships and the pleasures of a soldier’s life.” ”

“ But Albanese girls don’t do that way till they’re married.
“I hates Albanese! I hates Italians! I hates the old country!” said Tomaso. His voice was like a knife. “They makes their girls to marry any old guy. I likes American way—a fella and a girl to love and then marry, and other peoples stay out of it.”
“I will do American way,” I said. Tomaso’s hair rubbed my cheek; I got warm and happy. Only Tomaso and me. Just us in the world.
“And I will do American way,” Tomaso said in my hair. It was dark, but I seen his face, warm like the sunshine. Before I knowed, Tomaso’s lips held mine tight. ”

“ He was like American fellas—tall with a nice head. His neck, where the hair comed down black and shiny, was like a young girl’s.
When I first seen Tomaso he was nineteen. But some ways I was an old woman, for the hunger that pulls your waist in tight and the cold that makes your blood black comed many times too many times to my bunch, for in our house was many kids, and my father couldn’t makes enough money to buy plenty of food. So I went to work in the factory before the law lets me. The superintendent fixed it so I got the job all right. ”

“ Mastino della Scala, as he led the way back to the castle, trembled, almost with awe. It was a sign from heaven.
As they gained the chamber, and Ligozzi closed the door, Tomaso burst out into his tale, half-crazy with delight.
"It seems you have success," said Mastino quietly. ”

“ Tomaso took the clenched hand and covered it with kisses.
"I can forgive him now," he said, "since thou were not slain when Verona fell."
"’Twas no fault of the Visconti's that any living soul escaped," returned his father. "Still, go on with thy tale, Tomaso; who is this Francisco, that thou nam'st so oft?"
Tomaso, eager and suddenly light of heart, told all he knew, and ere his recital ended they had reached the open, and found everything as they had left it. The horses safe, nothing seemingly disturbed.
"Francisco will be pleased at a helper such as thou, father," said Tomaso proudly ”

“ Then came the clatter of frightened horses and the broken cry of one behind them. Felipe leapt to his feet and stood irresolute. The widow gave a little cry of fear, and Rosa came out into the sunlight. There the three stood, rigid, watching Tomaso contemplatively biting his lip in the middle of the sun-lit road.
In a moment the suspense was over—the worst was realized. A carriage swung round the corner a quarter of a mile higher up the road, with two horses stretched at a frantic gallop, and the driver had no reins in his hand ”

“ Oh, Messer Francisco, prevent him I could not—he left but now——"
"Gone back to the villa!" cried Francisco. "Did he rave? Is he in his senses?"
Tomaso wrung his hands.
"He went to fetch a dagger he remembered and some chessmen."
With a cry of rage Francisco flung himself from his saddle. "Methinks I left a fool to guard a fool," he said. "Did I not tell thee to see Count Conrad kept from folly? Our lives are on it!" ”

“ The Duchess still lives, a prisoner in Milan, but Della Scala——"
He sighed deeply, and rose as if to put from him the memory of the tragedy.
"But to return to thy deliverer," he said, "one Francisco di Coldra, thou say'st; he claims I know him. What manner of a man is he?"
As he spoke he moved with Tomaso to the door, and looked out into the dark. What kept Francisco and the Count?
"He is tall and strong," replied Tomaso, "with thick brown hair and heavy eyes; a handsome face, I think it, father, stern and sad. He is worn—as if from sickness. The Count thinks him better than he gives out ”

“ Italians of Lombardy; and to-day, although prepared for flight, his blond curls were as carefully arranged as though he still shone at the court of Milan.
"Messer Francisco is long," he remarked again, and Tomaso turned with a start.
"He has doubtless met with unexpected difficulty, lord," he said with some reproach. "Horses must be found—somewhere—for our journey to-night. Every hour we stay here is dangerous."
"My heart misgives me that I did not accompany him," said Conrad; "we should all four have kept together." ”

“ Francisco is a brave, brave man."
"He is a leader of men, methinks," said Tomaso gravely. "I little doubt the Count is right; he is more than he appears. Now we will leave the horses here behind these chestnuts, and step toward the road and reconnoiter." ”

“ I can’t talk good American way. In the carpet factory where I worked the Polacks, Sheenies, and Wops talked any old way, and I learnt to say American like them. But maybe I talk good enough to tell about Tomaso and me.
Tomaso comed from Italy. For that the peoples in this country calls him a Wop. I comed from Albania. Never did my father lets a Wop come to our house, for most Albanese hates the Wops. But first day I seen Tomaso I stopped hating all the Wops. ”