'I will stay and face della Scala—I cannot pass that way.'

Carrara turned and looked at him keenly.

'What do you know of these chambers, that you are afraid to pass them, Visconti?' he asked.

''Tis no matter what I know—I will not pass them,' cried Visconti, fiercely, and clutched at the rough wall as if to keep himself from being made to enter them even by force. Giacomo looked into the chamber curiously; the lantern showed only parts of it, and that dimly—an empty audience chamber, stiff chairs against the wall, the couch, dust on the floor and shadows in the arras—nothing more; and Carrara turned impatiently.

'I risk my life for this,' he said. What do you think it will mean, Visconti, if I am found helping you to escape?' He stepped across the threshold, and flashed the lantern around.

'Nothing!' he laughed over his shoulder. 'Nothing,' but as he advanced he paused a moment, and lifted up a corner of the dragged coverlet, 'save that this coverlet is riddled as if with dagger-thrusts,' he added, 'and the floor seems stained'—he sank his voice—'with blood.'

He looked back at Visconti, standing in the doorway, and with a sudden fear of him his hand sought his sword.

Whom did you murder here, Visconti?' he asked, awestruck. Whoever it was,' he added presently, 'I would not lose my life for fear of them, seeing they are dead.'

In a second Visconti was by his side, gripping his arm, and Carrara, startled, shrank, and kept his hand upon his dagger.

'I do not fear them,' whispered Visconti, in his ear. 'Nor you.' And he hurried across the chamber, Carrara at his heels. Room after room they traversed, deserted, gloomy, and unopened since that night.

'Hurry!' breathed Visconti. 'Shall we never see the blessed sky again?'

And snatching the keys, he pushed on, taking every door and turning with a certainty that showed he knew them well. 'At last!' he cried, as they stepped out into the air.

They were at the back of the castle, on a ledge overhung with ivy, and overlooking a narrow flight of steps, the masonry half-ruined and overgrown with flowers.

The storm was over, a few great clouds tore across the sky, but the moon was clear and serene, the night calm and peaceful.

The cool air blew around Visconti's damp hair, and stirred the dark ivy leaves, glistening with the rain. Beneath them lay the tents, a large body of men, half the army, silently and swiftly preparing for flight.

'Some have gone already,' said Giacomo. 'These wait for me and you, Visconti: come,' and stepping past him he led the way. There was no one to observe them save Giacomo's men, that he had been careful to station there; but when they had gained the bottom, and Carrara would have passed on, Visconti caught at his sleeve and drew him behind a clump of elder.

'The German!' he whispered, and they waited, breathless.

A soft voice was gaily singing, and the words of the song came clearly through the night.

'Heinrich was my bosom friend,
White feather and purple cloak:
Now that folly's at an end,
His the flame and mine the smoke!'

'He comes this way,' said Carrara. 'If he takes to questioning where I am—'

'If he takes to coming nearer,' smiled Visconti, 'I shall be obliged to—kill him.'

'We parted for a silken knot,
White feather and purple cloak:
Whose fault it was I have forgot,
His the flame and mine the smoke!'

The last words were lost in a burst of laughter, as Conrad and Vincenzo, each mounted on a white horse, and attended by an escort with torches, rode past, back to their tents.

So close they came, that Visconti, with gleaming eyes, leaned forward, longing to strangle the singer with one of those long curls that hung around his laughing, careless face.

But Carrara was relieved.

'As long as he does not inquire for me,' he said. 'But even then my officers understand'

Visconti smiled grimly; he was to pay for that.

'Now!' he said, and as Conrad's German song and Vincenzo's wild laughter passed, Visconti and Giacomo stepped out from behind the bushes and looked after them, the freedom of one secured, the treachery of the other well-nigh accomplished.

 

Chapter 18. — Giacomo Carrara's Reward

The dawn was breaking, the sky streaked and barred with cold grey light, and along the winding road to Milan rode the Visconti and Carrara, the army before them.

It had been accomplished, without demur, openly and completely; behind them they left the Veronese and Mantuan troops, over whom Giacomo had no command—and Count Conrad, laughing in his folly.

Quite near to them lay Milan—and Visconti rode in silence, wondering what had befallen in the city; wondering, and fearing Valentine had revealed too much of his own spirit; he was afraid of her.

Along the distant horizon the grey walls of the city began to be visible across the flat plain, and Visconti's eyes lit at sight of his city, and he turned to Carrara impulsively.

'Give me a sword, Carrara,' he said. ''Tis not fitting I should enter Milan weaponless.'

'The Milanese will so rejoice to see you, my lord,' returned Padua, 'they will never notice—'

'That I come as a prisoner?' flashed Visconti, but the next moment he laughed and urged on his horse. 'But what care I how, so long as I do re-enter Milan? Now, with you as my ally, Carrara, I can crush della Scala without France or the Empire; and together, as ye say, we will rule Lombardy.

Carrara rode abreast of him, glancing at him keenly.

'Even now he will try to outwit me,' he thought, and resolved he would not be outdone in cunning for the lack of care.

'How came it you were captured?' he added, 'and in this guise?'

'The chances of war,' laughed Visconti. 'Foolishly I went myself to defend the gates, and pursued della Scala's men too far.'

But this candour did not deceive Carrara. 'Foolish indeed he smiled. 'Your hurry excelled your prudence, lord.' And he wondered what was the truth.

'You have cause to thank heaven no one knew you,' he continued.

'They were German boors,' answered Visconti, 'Count Conrad's men, and there was nothing to tell my degree. Yet, had they looked a little closer, they might have found one thing that would have told them I was different from what I seemed—these.'

And he drew out of his doublet the turquoise gloves.

Even in that cold, faint light they showed brilliant and beautiful, and Carrara gazed at them in wonder.

'As I was summoned,' continued Visconti, dreamily, 'I was looking at them. Are they not beautiful, Carrara? Two years they took to make, and cost more than I care to tell. Each turquoise is flawless, and set by Antonio Fressi himself.'

'And is this a gift for someone?' asked Carrara, and he looked keenly into Visconti's face.

'It was one of my bridal gifts to the Duke of Orleans. I must honour him, Carrara, although I love him not,' said Visconti simply. 'But now I will offer it to one to whom I owe my life. Take the gloves, a gift from me, Giacomo.' And he turned in the saddle and held them with a winning smile to Carrara, who, mistrustful, looked at him doubtingly and keenly.

'Thou wilt not refuse my gift?' and Visconti looked at him proudly. 'Let it seal our bargain, Carrara. Take it, for the sake of the goodwill with which it is offered.'

Carrara's ruling quality was prudence, and all Visconti's seeming guilelessness did not deceive him; still, he hesitated, considering where the trap lay.

Then, as he glanced down at the gloves, his eyes caught the gleam on the hilt of his dagger, and a thought struck him.

'He means to make me put them on,' he thought, 'and snatch the sword meanwhile'; and he smiled to think Visconti could be so simple.

'I thank thee for thy gift, Visconti, and for the goodwill that offers it,' he said, with an ingenuousness equal to Visconti's, and reaching out his hand, he took the gloves, meaning to have the gift and outwit Visconti also.

Gian's manner had lost its gloom and wildness, he seemed light of heart and in a pleasant mood.

'They are riding-gloves,' he cried. 'Wear them into Milan, Carrara.'

'Ah,' thought Giacomo, 'I see the plot. Thou wouldst snatch a weapon while my hands were busy,' and, priding himself on his cunning, he deftly slipped them on his hands, keeping his elbow on his sword-hilt and his watchful eyes upon Visconti.

'A beautiful dawn,' said Gian softly, seeming to take no heed of Carrara's clever manoeuvring; his eyes were fixed on the sunrise behind Milan.