Love-at-Arms, Page 3

  CHAPTER III. SACKCLOTH AND MOTLEY

  The fool and the friar had fallen a-quarrelling, and--to the shameof the friar and the glory of the fool be it spoken--their subject ofcontention was a woman. Now the friar, finding himself no match for thefool in words, and being as broad and stout of girth and limb as theother was puny and misshapen, he had plucked off his sandal that withit he might drive the full force of his arguments through the jester'sskull. At that the fool, being a very coward, had fled incontinentlythrough the trees.

  Running, like the fool he was, with his head turned to learn whether thegood father followed him, he never saw the figure that lay half-hiddenin the bracken, and might never have guessed its presence but thattripping over it he shot forward, with a tinkle of bells, on to hiscrooked nose.

  He sat up with a groan, which was answered by an oath from the man intowhose sides he had dug his flying feet. The two looked at one another insurprise, tempered with anger in the one and dismay in the other.

  "A good awakening to you, noble sir," quoth the fool politely; for bythe mien and inches of the man he had roused, he thought that courtesymight serve him best.

  The other eyed him with interest, as well he might; for an odder figureit would be hard to find in Italy.

  Hunched of back, under-sized, and fragile of limb, he was arrayed indoublet, hose and hood, the half of which was black the other crimson,whilst on his shoulders fell from that same hood--which tightly framedhis ugly little face--a foliated cape, from every point of which therehung a tiny silver bell that glimmered in the sunlight, and tinkled ashe moved. From under bulging brows a pair of bright eyes, set wide as anowl's, took up the mischievous humour of his prodigious mouth.

  "A curse on you and him that sent you," was the answering greeting hereceived. Then the man checked his anger and broke into a laugh at sightof the fear that sprang into the jester's eyes.

  "I crave your pardon--most humbly do I crave it, Illustrious," said thefool, still in fear. "I was pursued."

  "Pursued?" echoed the other, in a tone not free from a suddenuneasiness. "And, pray, by whom?"

  "By the very fiend, disguised in the gross flesh and semblance of aDominican brother."

  "Do you jest?" came the angry question.

  "Jest? Had you caught his villainous sandal between your shoulders, asdid I, you would know how little I have a mind to jest."

  "Now answer me a plain question, if you have the wit to answer with,"quoth the other, anger ever rising in his voice. "Is there hereabouts amonk?"

  "Aye, is there--may a foul plague rot him!--lurking in the bushesyonder. He is over-fat to run, or you had seen him at my heels, arrayedin that panoply of avenging wrath that is the cognisance of the ChurchMilitant."

  "Go bring him hither," was the short answer.

  "Gesu!" gasped the fool, in very real affright. "I'll not go near himtill his anger cools--not if you made me straight and bribed me with thePatrimony of St. Peter."

  The man turned from him impatiently, and rising his voice:

  "Fanfulla!" he called over his shoulder, and then, after a moment'spause, again: "Ola, Fanfulla!"

  "I am here, my lord," came an answering voice from behind a clump ofbushes on their right, and almost immediately the very splendid youthwho had gone to sleep in its shadow stood up and came round to them.At sight of the fool he paused to take stock of him, what time the foolreturned the compliment with wonder-stricken interest. For however muchFanfulla's raiment might have suffered in yesternight's affray, it wasvery gorgeous still, and in the velvet cap upon his head a string ofjewels was entwined. Yet not so much by the richness of his trappingswas the fool impressed, as by the fact that one so manifestly nobleshould address by such a title, and in a tone of so much deference, thisindifferently apparelled fellow over whom he had stumbled. Then his gazewandered back to the man who lay supported on his elbow, and he noticednow the gold net in which his hair was coiffed, and which was by nomeans common to mean folk. His little twinkling eyes turned theirattention full upon the face before him, and of a sudden a gleam ofrecognition entered them. His countenance underwent a change, and fromgrotesque that it had been, it became more grotesque still in its hastyassumption of reverence.

  "My Lord of Aquila!" he murmured, scrambling to his feet.

  Scarcely had he got erect when a hand gripped him by the shoulder, andFanfulla's dagger flashed before his startled eyes.

  "Swear on the cross of this, never to divulge his Excellency's presencehere, or take you the point of it in your foolish heart."

  "I swear, I swear!" he cried, in fearful haste, his hand upon the hilt,which Fanfulla now held towards him.

  "Now fetch the priest, good fool," said the Count, with a smile at thehunchback's sudden terror. "You have nothing to fear from us."

  When the jester had left them to go upon his errand, Francesco turned tohis companion.

  "Fanfulla, you are over-cautious," he said, with an easy smile. "Whatshall it matter that I am recognised?"

  "I would not have it happen for a kingdom while you are so near Sant'Angelo. The six of us who met last night are doomed--those of us who arenot dead already. For me, and for Lodi if he was not taken, there may besafety in flight. Into the territory of Babbiano I shall never again setfoot whilst Gian Maria is Duke, unless I be weary of this world. But ofthe seventh--yourself--you heard old Lodi swear that the secret couldnot have transpired. Yet should his Highness come to hear of yourpresence in these parts and in my company, suspicion might set him onthe road that leads to knowledge."

  "Ah! And then?"

  "Then?" returned the other, eyeing Francesco in surprise. "Why, then,the hopes we found on you--the hopes of every man in Babbiano worthy ofthe name--would be frustrated. But here comes our friend the fool, and,in his wake, the friar."

  Fra Domenico--so was he very fitly named, this follower of St.Dominic--approached with a solemnity that proceeded rather from hisgreat girth than from any inflated sense of the dignity of his calling.He bowed before Fanfulla until his great crimson face was hidden, and hedisplayed instead a yellow, shaven crown. It was as if the sun had set,and the moon had risen in its place.

  "Are you skilled in medicine?" quoth Fanfulla shortly.

  "I have some knowledge, Illustrious."

  "Then see to this gentleman's wounds."

  "Eh? Dio mio! You are wounded, then?" he began, turning to the Count,and he would have added other questions as pregnant, but that Aquila,drawing aside his hacketon at the shoulder, answered him quickly:

  "Here, sir priest."

  His lips pursed in solicitude, the friar would have gone upon hisknees, but that Francesco, seeing with what labour the movement must befraught, rose up at once.

  "It is not so bad that I cannot stand," said he, submitting himself tothe monk's examination.

  The latter expressed the opinion that it was nowise dangerous, howevermuch it might be irksome, whereupon the Count invited him to bind it up.To this Fra Domenico replied that he had neither unguents nor linen, butFanfulla suggested that he might get these things from the convent ofAcquasparta, hard by, and proffered to accompany him thither.

  This being determined, they departed, leaving the Count in the companyof the jester. Francesco spread his cloak, and lay down again, whilstthe fool, craving his permission to remain, disposed himself upon hishaunches like a Turk.

  "Who is your master, fool?" quoth the Count, in an idle spirit.

  "There is a man who clothes and feeds me, noble sir, but Folly is myonly master."

  "To what end does he do this?"

  "Because I pretend to be a greater fool than he, so that by contrastwith me he seems unto himself wise, which flatters his conceit. Again,perhaps, because I am so much uglier than he that, again by contrast, hemay account himself a prodigy of beauty."

  "Odd, is it not?" the Count humoured him.

  "Not half so odd as that the Lord of Aquila should lie here, roughlyclad, a wound in his shoulder, talking to a fool."

&nb
sp; Francesco eyed him with a smile.

  "Give thanks to God that Fanfulla is not here to hear you, or they hadbeen your last words for pretty though he be, Messer Fanfulla is a verymonster of bloodthirstiness. With me it is different. I am a man of verygentle ways, as you may have heard, Messer Buffoon. But see that youforget at once my station and my name, or you may realise how littlethey need buffoons in the Court of Heaven."

  "My lord, forgive. I shall obey you," answered the hunchback, with astricken manner. And then through the glade came a voice--a woman'svoice, wondrous sweet and rich--calling: "Peppino! Peppino!"

  "It is my mistress calling me," quoth the fool, leaping to his feet.

  "So that you own a mistress, though Folly be your only master," laughedthe Count. "It would pleasure me to behold the lady whose property youhave the honour to be, Ser Peppino."

  "You may behold her if you but turn your head," Peppino whispered.

  Idly, with a smile upon his lips that was almost scornful, the Lord ofAquila turned his eyes in the direction in which the fool was alreadywalking. And on the instant his whole expression changed. The amusedscorn was swept from his countenance, and in its place there sat now alook of wonder that was almost awe.

  Standing there, on the edge of the clearing, in which he lay, he behelda woman. He had a vague impression of a slender, shapely height, afleeting vision of a robe of white damask, a camorra of green velvet,and a choicely wrought girdle of gold. But it was the glory of herpeerless face that caught and held his glance in such ecstatic awe; themiracle of her eyes, which, riveted on his, returned his glance withone of mild surprise. A child she almost seemed, despite her height andwomanly proportions, so fresh and youthful was her countenance.

  Raised on his elbow, he lay there for a spell, and gazed and gazed,his mind running on visions which godly men have had of saints fromParadise.

  At last the spell was broken by Peppino's voice, addressing her, hisback servilely bent. Francesco bethought him of the deference due to oneso clearly noble, and leaping to his feet, his wound forgotten, he bowedprofoundly. A second later he gasped for breath, reeled, and swooning,collapsed supine among the bracken.