The Honour of Savelli: A Romance. Levett Yeats Sidney

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СКАЧАТЬ the end. Occasionally we may lift the curtain a little, but more no man has done.

      What had happened, however, explained clearly to me the motive for D'Entrangues' conduct. He, at any rate, must have seen, long before either of us, how affairs stood with the wife whose life he embittered; but he made no effort to save her, contenting himself with striking an assassin's blow, which had taken from him the last shred of respect madame may have felt for him, and which had in part recoiled on his own head. Be this as it may, his stroke was successful, in that to all intents and purposes it had utterly blasted me. I was worse than dead. It was no ordinary revenge. In those troublous times, a blow from a dagger could have easily rid him of a wife of whom he was sick, or a man whom he hated, and no one would have thrown the matter in his teeth. But with devilish cruelty, he inflicted wounds which could never heal, and left his victims to live. It was impossible to hit such a man back, in a way to make him feel to the utmost extent the agony he had administered; the only thing was to take from him his worthless life: this he doubtless valued most of all things, and I meant to deprive him of it, if he stood at the altar of Christ. Moved by such thoughts, and with my cloak drawn well over the lower part of my face, I hastened towards the Roman Gate, reaching it just as it was to be closed for the night. In fact, as I passed out, the huge doors came together behind me with a groaning, and at the same time I heard the dull boom of the evening gun from the camp, followed immediately by the distant peals of the trumpets of the cavalry brigade.

      The sun had now set, and night came apace; a grey haze enveloped the town behind me; above, in the deep violet of the sky, a few stars were shining, soon to be dimmed by the rising moon; from the east a bank of clouds was rapidly approaching, the advance guard of a storm from the Adriatic. To the west, there was still light enough to see the Chiana, lying like a silver thread, flung carelessly to earth in long folds, and the rugged outlines of the roadless Chianti hills stood up in fantastic shapes against the horizon. South-east was the peak of Monte Eavulto; due west, beyond Bucine, Mount Luco was yet visible. I halted for a moment, hesitating what course to take; whether to cross the swamps of the Chiana valley, and make my way over the Ambra to Montevarchi, and on to Florence; or to skirt the camp, cross the Arno at one of the fords between Laterine and Giove, and go on through the Prato Magno.

      As the crow flies, Florence was but a few leagues distant; but I obviously would have to journey by side-paths, over hill and across valley to avoid observation, and this would occupy at least two days, unless my travels were permanently stopped by my being cut off by a privateering party from the camp, or by any other untoward accident. Neither contingency was unlikely, for the writ of the king ran barely a league from the army, and the country was full of banditti. In fact, for a half-pistole one might have had a priest's throat cut. I decided on the former route. So muffling myself well in my cloak, for the wind blew chill, with my sword resting in the loop of my arm, I set forward at a round pace, and avoiding the camp, directed my steps towards Bucine. As far as Chiani I knew the road. Beyond that there was nothing but quagmire and swamp; still I had little doubt of finding my way by the moon, which would soon show, and if, perchance, I fell in with nighthawks, well then, there was little to be gained from me but hard knocks; and it would be an opportunity to test the temper of the blade I had purchased from Don Piero, the armourer.

      In this mind I pressed on, intending to lie at Bucine for the night, or, if no better accommodation offered, to sleep as a soldier should, wrapped in my cloak, with the sky for a roof. As I went on, I found I was relying a little too much on my knowledge of the road, and a blue mist, which rose from the ground, made it impossible to pick my way by landmarks. Stumbling along, I took a good two hours to do what should have been done in one, and, by the time I reached Chiani, began to think it would be well to reconsider my decision in regard to making Bucine that night. It was then that I suddenly remembered that Chiani was held by a piquet of Swiss infantry, and any attempt to enter would be impossible, as the gates were doubtless shut. I was a little put out, for had I only recollected the fact before, I might have been saved the extra mile or so of hard work I had to reach within a few yards of Chiani, merely for the pleasure of turning back. The moon, come out by this time, shone fitfully through the bank of clouds, which was shifting uneasily overhead, and the wind, rising steadily, marked rain. I stirred myself all the faster, for I was in no mind to add a wetting to my misfortunes, and a drop or two of rain that caught me, showed I had but little leisure to lose. I made out a narrow cattle track, and hurried along this; but before I covered a mile the moon was obscured, and the wind dropped. It now began to rain, and the darkness was so thick, that I could only just follow the road. Soon the track died away into nothing, and I found myself floundering, over my ankles in mud, and up to the waist in wet rushes. At any moment I might strike a quicksand, with which these marshes abound, so I used my sword as a search-pole, stepping only where I found foot-hold, a dozen inches or so below the surface of the bog. In this perplexity, imagine my relief to see the blaze of a fire shoot up beyond a small rising ground before me, and throw an arc of light into the darkness, against which the falling rain glittered like fine wires of silver. I shouted aloud and to my joy got an answer.

      "Who is there? What is the matter?"

      "A traveller," I replied, "who has lost his way in this cursed swamp. Whoever you are, you will make a friend and find a reward if you lead me out of this."

      "Come straight on, there is no danger beyond getting your feet wet."

      "They are that already," I answered, and pressed on, having absolutely to force my way through the wet rushes, which wound themselves round me impeding my progress terribly. Moreover, so sticky was the slime below, that I thought every moment it would pull the boots off my feet. Struggling on in this manner for a hundred yards or more, guided by the fire, and an occasional shout from my unknown friend, I at last touched hard ground, and with a "Thank heaven!" got out of the swamp, and found myself at the foot of the hillock, behind which the fire was blazing.

      "Which way to Bucine?" I called out.

      "Are you out of the swamp?"

      "Yes!"

      "Then come round the shoulder of the hill to your right, and follow your nose. You will find shelter here. Bucine you could never reach to-night, and a dog should not be out in this weather."

      "True, friend," I muttered, and with a loud "thanks" to the apparently hospitable unknown, I followed his directions, and rounding the hillock, saw before me, spluttering in the rain, a huge fire of pine-logs, at the entrance to a hut of the rudest description. Inside, I perceived a sitting figure, over which the light from the fire alternately cast a glare, and then left it in darkness. I made my way to the open door, which hung back on hinges of rope, and entered without further ceremony.

      "Humph!" snorted my host, without moving from his position. "I said it was no night for a dog to be out, I did not say anything of a wolf."

      This change of tone was not so surprising, for dripping wet, covered with mud, and white with fatigue, my general appearance was but little calculated to re-assure any one. Yet, as I hung my cloak on a rough wooden peg which caught my eye, I could not help laughing in mockery as I answered:

      "Wolves, friend, come to wolves' lairs."

      He took no notice of my remark; but pointing to a heap of rushes opposite to him, said, "Sit down there." He then rose, and went towards the fire with an unlit torch in his hand. This gave me some opportunity of observing him. I saw he was of spare, but elastic figure. His head was bare, and his white hair hung in matted locks over a lean neck to his shoulders. His dress was fantastic, and entirely out of place with his surroundings. It consisted of a tight fitting jerkin of parti-coloured velvet, with puffed breeches to match, pulled over thick black hose. On his feet were the ordinary sandals of the peasantry, and, as he stooped to light the torch-wood, I saw his face was seamed with wrinkles, and that his lips moved rapidly, as if he was speaking, although no sound issued from them. He did not delay about his business; but hastened in, and sticking the torch in a hole in the floor between us, resumed his seat, and said abruptly-

      "Let СКАЧАТЬ