Part 17

She drew nearer the head of the table, d'Orleans dropping a step behind.

"My lords, the Duke left me in power; in any absence he may make, enforced or at his pleasure, I rule in Milan."

"You, lady!" cried Giannotto, the words forced from him in his great surprise.

"I," answered Valentine. "Though I am no man—I am a Visconti. Has not the Duke left me in charge before, de Lana?"

She turned to the captain as she spoke.

"In the late war with Florence—yes, lady."

Valentine smiled.

"Still, I need not ask you to believe me on that only—lest any should be doubtful, I have proofs."

"Methinks they are needed before we take the law from thee, lady," said Martin della Torre, roughly.

Valentine looked at him. "What is this, Lord della Torre?" she replied.

And she laid Visconti's signet ring and seal upon the table.

Giannotto choked his wonder back.

"Does the Duke give these to any save those he trusts—and these?" She showed the keys lying on her open hand: the key of the armory, the treasury, the prisons: the master-keys of the whole palace.

"He gave them to me—when, Adrian?"

"Yesterday morning, lady."

"Yesterday morning. Had he not left too hastily even for speech, he would have made it public; doubtless he thought you would accept my word—and these proofs."

There was silence.

"Are you convinced, lords?" asked Valentine.

"I am," said Giannotto, bowing to hide the twinkle in his ugly eyes; and the others, each according to his fashion, murmured an assent.

"And now I will take upon me my brother's duties," continued Valentine. "For you, de Lana, I have no commands; only look well to the arming of the walls, let not my brother say we were idle in his absence; I would have the soldiers in readiness to guard against a surprise—and meanwhile I ask your company."

De Lana bowed.

"On a visit to Della Scala's wife. She is a priceless hostage, and ill would it suit with our safety even if aught befell her."

"You would visit her yourself, lady?"

"Aye, myself, since with me lies the power and so the responsibility, and I would not shirk it. Lords," she continued generally, "we can do little else but wait—only hold yourselves in readiness—for the Duke's sake and the honor and security of Milan!"

She put her hand on d'Orleans' arm again and left the room, followed by de Lana and Giannotto.

"Now, I had almost forgot, my lord," she said, pausing with a smile. "My page, his sister and his brother, would leave Milan to-morrow for Brescia—what for, Adrian? Indeed, I have forgot—but I have the Duke's permission, and would only ask your countersign upon this passport."

She spread before the captain a parchment bearing Visconti's signature.

"This is no time to be leaving Milan, boy," said de Lana.

"Our father is sore sick at Brescia," returned Adrian. "Dying, my lord."

De Lana smiled.

"A long and dangerous journey to make for a sick father."

"There is money in the matter for these children, and it is my pleasure," said Valentine.

De Lana bent over the parchment, and affixed his name, and in that second, Valentine glancing at Giannotto, their eyes met, and the secretary understood. He had meant to hasten to Visconti's rooms; he meant now not to. De Lana gave the parchment back, and Valentine handed it to Adrian.

"And now, Lord d'Orleans, will you come with us to Isotta's prison?"

"Truly," said de Lana, "the lady is as firmly guarded as at any time. I have looked to that."

"Desperation is a great sharpener of the wits, my lord," smiled Valentine Visconti. "When life and liberty are at stake, the weakest will venture—and accomplish much."

"Indeed, I think with the lady," put in Giannotto, "that too much zeal cannot be shown for anything so near to the Duke's heart as this."

De Lana shrugged.

"We will go, lady."

Half an hour later Giannotto and the captain waited in the guard-room of Isotta's prison.

Valentine, one of her women and the page, had entered the prison itself. The Duke's signet had passed through all the formidable barriers. It was late, almost dark.

"This shows a malice in the lady I do not like," said de Lana. "What need she to triumph over her brother's victim?"

"She is a Visconti," returned the secretary. "She has something of the Duke's temper and his strangeness—there may be in it curiosity also."

"Curiosity?"

"To behold for herself if Isotta d'Este be as fair as she is—to spy into her brother's treatment of his prisoners."

"Have you seen the lady, my lord?"

"I?—never," replied de Lana. "Nor do I greatly care to."

Giannotto made no reply; he felt unusually placid and content. He saw plainly enough that Valentine was outwitting her brother, and as he hated the Duke and admired his sister, he would help her with all his power as long as he ran no risks. Visconti had not left him in charge—and for asking no untimely questions, Valentine would reward him well.

With some excitement he awaited her return.

"She is a long time," said de Lana impatiently.

"She has her brother's daring," thought Giannotto. "And yet—she would hardly dare that—hardly."

The door of Isotta's prison was opened and Valentine came out, followed by her attendants—dark-cloaked figures keeping in the shadow. Adrian closed and bolted the door behind them as she slowly stepped down into the room.

"The prisoner is sick," said Valentine. "Not dangerously so, I hope; we would not have her die in my brother's absence. She has fallen asleep and must not be disturbed. Where is her woman?"

Luisa shuffled forward.

"You will not rouse your prisoner until my return with a physician," she continued. "She sleeps. I will return or send; till then let no one pass those doors, nor you yourself."

The page and Valentine's two women still stood on the steps in the shadow.

"Come," said Valentine suddenly. "Much as I am relieved to see my brother's hostage in such security, this is gloomy dark—come, Costanza."

The two ladies moved forward, one weeping sadly, keeping her hands to and fro her face.

"The poor lady hath unnerved her," said Valentine with a sharp word of reproof, and she crossed to d'Orleans.

"Now it seems to me," said de Lana to Giannotto, "that only one lady entered with the Princess."

"Your eyes deceived you," smiled Giannotto. "I am trained to watch; I saw two enter." De Lana was silent. The two ladies had joined the few others left by the outer door, the soldier kept his eyes upon the one who wept.

Valentine was talking gayly to d'Orleans, and led the way across the garden. "On your life I charge you to guard the prisoner," she said to the captain and the soldiers. "She means more to the Duke than his own life almost—more most certainly than any other," she added meaningly.

De Lana, watching keenly, still kept his eyes, as they crossed the garden, upon that second lady, who puzzled him, and with a soldier's indiscretion he whispered his fears to Giannotto.

"My Lady Valentine," said the secretary smiling, "my lord here thinks you entered the prison with one lady and came out with two!"

Valentine laughed.

"And who, think you, was my second woman, then, lord? Isotta d'Este? Nay, I will satisfy you."

"Indeed, lady," began de Lana hastily, but Valentine cut him short.

"Come here, Costanza."

The girl came forward.

"Now hold the torch higher, Adrian," laughed Valentine.

The light fell on Costanza's face.

"Is that Isotta d'Este, Giannotto?" she asked.

"Nay," smiled the secretary.

"Now, Giuletta, come hither thou," said Valentine. The other lady stepped forward and threw back her hood.

"Now, my lord, Giannotto shall satisfy you—is this Isotta d'Este?"

The secretary did not flinch.

"My lord," he said, "you must know Della Scala's wife well enough, if by hearsay only. Look yourself. This is not she."

They moved on again, de Lana uneasily convinced.

"Ma foi," said the silent d'Orleans suddenly. "It is growing very damp. These Italian nights are most unhealthy." And so they passed into the palace.

That night a light tap was heard by Giannotto, sitting in his room, and Adrian entered and put two emerald earrings and a bag of ducats on the table.

"For the lapse of memory," he whispered, and went as softly and as swiftly as he had come.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE DUKE'S RETURN

Having succeeded so far, Valentine had little fear; it was now an almost easy matter for her to accomplish the remainder of her plan.

She had the palace keys in her possession, and they unlocked secret doors, and more than one hidden entry and private way, entries and ways she knew well, and yet otherwise could not have used.

Soon after that dawn that saw Carrara fall by the wayside, Isotta d'Este and Valentine slipped from the palace; aided by Costanza, and joined by Adrian in the long gallery, they passed through the secret door that led through winding passages to the old part of the building, and thence by another entrance almost beneath the walls themselves.

Valentine wore a page's suit, her upper lip darkened, a heavy cloak, with a hood such as was worn in traveling, drawn about her, and by her side Visconti's dagger.

Despite her anxiety, her passionate desire to frustrate her brother's tyranny, her wild eagerness to be free and outside Milan, Valentine almost enjoyed the part that she was playing; she swaggered more than Adrian, and looked with some scorn on the weakness of Mastino's wife, who wept with her happiness.

The thought of Gian's rage and discomfiture was very sweet to Valentine, almost as sweet as the thought of Conrad in Della Scala's camp, and the happy life of freedom coming.

Rapidly they traversed the narrow street that led to the gate, Valentine erect and joyful, Isotta leaning on her arm, happy too, with a deeper happiness, but faint and bewildered from her long imprisonment, nervous and fearful of every sound.

Behind them strode Adrian, with eager eyes and swelling heart—the Lady Valentine had smiled on him!

But the lady's thoughts were not on the page. With every step to freedom, Count Conrad's blue eyes and merry laugh rose before her the more clearly, and she remembered that last time she had essayed escape, and he had near given her, for all he knew, his life. He was in Della Scala's camp.

But, hasten as she might, Isotta dragged her on yet faster. Her eagerness was pitiful to see; Valentine looked down at her white face and trembling lips, and with a sudden impulse stooped and kissed her.

It was still so early that the streets were empty, save at the gate where soldiers clustered, but they took small heed, for the three looked no unusual figures.

"Now the passports," whispered Valentine. "Adrian must show them, but do ye stand ready, Isotta, to answer if they question. I dare not, lest they know my face. Remember, Adrian, an escort meets us half a league away, and 'tis a quiet village that we travel to."

Isotta d'Este steadied herself against the wall, and grasping Valentine's hand, followed Adrian toward the soldiers on guard.

"Stand to thy part now, Adrian," said Valentine; "remember 'tis our lives."

A growing knot of men stood outside the guard-room; there seemed to be some great excitement; ringing orders, loud talk, increasing bustle. No one took heed of the three, nor even noticed them, and only after a delay at which Isotta's heart sickened could Adrian find an officer to whom to show the passports.

He glanced them over hastily. "They seem to be in order," he said, then suddenly turned to the woman of the three:

"What do ye do leaving Milan, mistress, when the country is in arms, with no escort save two boys?"

She hesitated, and Valentine stepped forward quietly.

"Our father is sick," she said, "and 'tis a pressing question of inheritance. Our kinsfolk promise us an escort."

The officer shrugged his shoulders.

"'Tis your own lives," he said. "Later in the day ye can go. Not now. There is an army coming, and the Duke in front of it."

Valentine stood still and calm.

"Our father is very ill," she said: "if we are not in time, we may be beggared. Our passports were signed by the Duke himself. We demand to go."

But the officer had hardly heard her. A fresh detachment of soldiers had ridden up, and the man's thoughts and eyes were engaged in half a dozen places.

Half mad, Isotta sprang forward, shaking off Valentine's restraining hand.

"We must pass, we must through this moment," she cried. "Let us through, and we'll make it worth thy while."

At the eagerness of her tone the officer turned, surprised.

"Ye are very anxious," he said.

"For the love of Heaven, a matter of life or death!" said Isotta, and in her despair she would have knelt, only Valentine dragged her back beside her.

"It is very serious," she said. "After the Duke has entered, we may leave?" she asked. "Indeed, ye cannot stay us."

"Aye, leave after the Duke has entered, but now, clear yourself away; my lord comes apace, some allies with him—" and with a wave of his halberd he swept them back.

Valentine flushed at his tone, yet drew back, her hand on the page's shoulder.

But Isotta struggled free and again rushed forward.

"I will pass!" she cried wildly. "I will! I have not got so far to be stopped now!"

"Oh! thy madness!" murmured Valentine.

But Isotta had rushed to the very gate itself, and was only forced back by the pikes at her breast.

The officer looked at the group with mistrust.

"What is this?" he said. "What means this passion?"

"She is half distraught," said Valentine. "Beggary is no small matter, messer. We will be quiet, though, I promise you, until the Duke is past—" And to Isotta at her side she whispered, holding her hand tight, "Thou wilt ruin all; control thyself."

But the unfortunate Isotta was calm enough now; she followed Valentine without resistance.

And now Carrara's army had reached the gates, and fell back to await Visconti. The whole city was in tumult, the streets filling with excited people; there was mad shouting, the clash of arms. "A Visconti! a Visconti!"

"We shall be crushed to death," said Adrian. "I must find you shelter, lady," and he looked around eagerly.

"The Duke—the Duke!" and the great gates began to open.

"It is useless!" cried Valentine, "and as well die this way as another."

"There is a door here," said Isotta; and turning with difficulty, they saw indeed a door, deep set in the wall and closely shut.

In desperation, Adrian knocked loudly. "A Visconti!" shouted the soldiers. "A Visconti!"

They were fast being hemmed in by the crowd, soldiers were pouring through the gates in companies, strange soldiers, the new allies; and as Valentine beheld them in strength and numbers, and heard them shout her brother's name, she felt her last desperate throw was lost.

"A Visconti!"

"Knock on the door again," cried Isotta, "knock again."

Cavalry was passing, going at a trot, so close, the hoofs were almost in their faces, the foam flew over their mantles.

Then in wild confusion they pressed back against the door; passing close, a host of pennons waved from glittering spears, the tossing of horses' heads, the champing of their bits, a clamor of noises, deafening shouts, a hurry of the cavalcade, and then—suddenly a horse drawn up close to the shrinking group in the shadow of the doorway, and a rider looking down at them.

Wild with terror, Isotta flung herself against the door, which yielded. Valentine looked up at the man who had stopped—saw her brother's face.

"Ah, my sister," he said between his teeth; and Valentine, scarce knowing what she did, fled after Isotta, the page behind, closing the door upon Visconti.

In the pleasant courtyard was a girl, dressed in scarlet, who rose, surprised at their disordered aspect.

"'Tis only a moment gained," cried Valentine, hoarsely. "He will follow!"

Isotta turned to Graziosa in an agony. "For the love of Heaven hide us—for the love of Heaven, from Visconti!"

"Hide us!" said Valentine bitterly. "Hide us from Visconti!"

And Graziosa thought of the secret passage.

"I will help you," she said. "I and my father do not love Visconti—"

"Quick, maiden," cried the page. "I see the spears are motionless outside. I will guard the door."

"They will kill thee," cried Isotta. "Thou art too young."

But Valentine turned to the boy and gave him her beautiful hand. "Guard the door, gain us a moment, Adrian—for me," she said, and hurried across the sunny courtyard, followed by Graziosa and Isotta.

"For me!" repeated Adrian, and set himself before the door proudly, with flashing eyes and dagger drawn. He was only a boy, a page, she a princess, but he could set his life against her smile, and think himself well paid.

Graziosa, panting with excitement, hurried them into the house, and into the lower room from which the secret passage opened. The pleasant little home was still half dismantled from the recent attack of the Germans, the neat trimness of the cool chambers gone.

At their entrance Agnolo came forward in alarm, but at his daughter's hurried explanation, turned willingly to the secret door he kept well concealed. For the little painter took no thought of what it must mean to shelter any from Visconti's wrath.

"Quick!" cried Valentine imperiously. "How long can one page keep that door?"

"The poor boy!" moaned Isotta, hanging half lifeless upon Valentine's arm. "Unhappy boy—they will kill him!"

Valentine looked at her with scorn.

"Canst thou think of a page now?" she cried. "Think of Della Scala. Quick!"

But the door would not yield, and while Agnolo struggled with the spring, a crash was heard, a cry, the ring of armor and the tramp of feet.

"The door is down," said Valentine. "We are lost."

"I cannot move the spring," cried Agnolo.

"Quick! quick!" shrieked Graziosa, but even as she spoke, the chamber door burst open and a man stepped in; there were others at his heels, but he entered alone.

Agnolo, starting back, dropped his concealments into place and trembled for his secret and these poor folk who had not escaped Visconti.

The man who entered was in black, it was all that could be seen in the dark, disordered chamber, but Valentine needed no light to tell her who it was. Isotta sank to the ground, shrieking wildly.

"Oh, father, father!" cried Graziosa, agonized, "save them!"

The newcomer laid his hand on Valentine's shoulder, she standing calm and erect, and turned his face to Graziosa.

"From me?" he said, and his voice was very sweet. "From me, Graziosa?"

"Ambrogio! Ambrogio!" cried the girl. "What do you here?"

Valentine would have spoken scornfully, but Visconti turned his eyes on her, and she dared not. The courtyard was full of armed men.

"Ambrogio!" repeated the painter in dismay. "What does this mean?"

Visconti laughed pleasantly, but his hand tightened on his sister's shoulder.

"It means, thy daughter hath found a lover worthy of her in Visconti."

Visconti! As in a flash the little painter saw explained a thousand things that had perplexed him. Visconti! His quickly working brain had grasped it and summed it up before Graziosa could even realize she heard aright. She stared there silent, with a piteous look upon her face. Visconti turned to his prisoners.

"Take Isotta d'Este back to her prison," he said, curtly, and a group of soldiers advanced.

Isotta clung to Valentine in an agony.

"At last!" said Visconti, in her ear, "at last thy calm fails thee!"

And then he stood aside watching, while she implored in turn Valentine and Agnolo to save her, in incoherent words of anguish.

"I cannot bear it!" she cried. "I have borne it too long! O God, have pity on me! Have pity on me, I have not the courage to face it again. I have not the courage!"

Visconti turned to her in a savage triumph of hate he scarcely troubled to conceal.

"Find thy courage again, where thou found'st it before," he said. "Thy husband is not dead, although he leaves thee to pine in prison. He may remember thee even yet."

Isotta sprang up at the taunt, wild-eyed.

"Keep thy face away from me!" she shrieked. "Ye have slain him! Kill me too!"

Then, seeing resistance useless, and those who would have saved her helpless, Della Scala's unhappy wife surrendered quietly; only, as she crossed the courtyard with her guard, and saw the tree-tops wave above the walls and the sky that was outside Milan, a cry rose that made the hardened soldiers wince.