As we rode up to the ruinous stretch of the battered wall, and saw before us the gate, lying open against the mottled green and grey high-ground of the Aventine, that old hill, covered with straggling and unkempt vineyards, and studded with the walls of monasteries, I was moved more than I can tell, for I was about to realise a dream of my life, and put foot once again in the place of my birth, a spot not only bound to me by that tie, but sacred with the hundred legends of my forefathers' history, men who had for centuries played so great a part in its fate, until our house was cast forth by the mother-city, to wander as exiles over the land. It is true that since the days of my childhood I had not seen Rome, it is true that such memories of it as I had were dim and misty, and that to recall them was like trying to bring back before one's eyes, when awake, the vague but pleasant visions of a delightful dream; nevertheless my heart filled with a strange joy, and my pulse began to beat more rapidly, as each stride of my horse brought me nearer home. In short, I was a Roman come back to Rome, and in these words sum up my feelings.
Filled with such thoughts, I tightened the reins half unconsciously, and my horse, doubtless upset by his voyage, and the hard going from Ostia, very willingly slackened his pace to a walk. Jacopo, as in duty bound, followed my example, and immediately began to buzz into speech.
"It is nearly six years since I last saw that gate, excellency, when with Count Carlo Orsini we rode up, just as it was closed behind Cesare Borgia."
"That was when you left me for a time, on my taking service with Venice."
"True, your worship; I had no mind for the galleys," and Jacopo shuddered at the recollection of his recent voyage. "My courage," he continued, "is firm enough on firm ground, but when the sea plays cup and ball with me, I have no soul to think of my own salvation, let alone fighting. Ohime! But on that villainous craft we have left, there were times when I was only too anxious not to live."
I smiled as I inquired, "And after your service with the Orsini where did you go?"
"Well, your worship, no sooner did Count Carlo drive those scorpions of the Colonna and Borgia back to Rome, than the Most Serene Republic must needs step in and cause peace to be made. This threw me and sundry other honest fellows out of employment, and on to the edge of starvation, so we boldly rode into Rome, and changing from the bear to the bull, tendered our services to the Borgia, and they were snapped up I can tell you. I was lucky enough to find a master in the Duke of Gandia."
"Lucky, you call it."
"Ay, your worship! for Giovanni Borgia had an open purse and a free hand. I was with him until he was murdered, and then, affairs being warm in Rome, and hearing you had come back from the sea, why, I came back to the old banner."
"It is said that Gandia was murdered by the Cardinal Ascanio Sforza."
"Indeed no, your excellency! I saw the deed done. It was in this way: the Duke and his brother Cesare, then Cardinal of Valencia, supped at the house of their mother, the Lady Vannozza. After supper they must needs walk home together; I was the Duke's sole attendant, but Cesare was accompanied by his cut-throat Michelotto and half-a-dozen others. On the way some mention was made of Donna Sancia, Don Giuffre's wife, and the brothers came to blows. The Cardinal stabbed the Duke with his own hand, and he gave a great cry and fell down dead. Seeing it was no use trying to help a dead man, and being in no hurry to trouble St. Peter myself, I knocked down the strangler Michelotto, and making a run for it, escaped with a whole skin. The body of the Duke was flung into the Tiber, and was discovered by a charcoal monger of the Ripetta, whom Cesare hanged at Tor di Nona, as a reward for his intelligence. They buried the Duke, as you know, signore, in Santa Maria del Popolo--poor man!"
"And you mean to say that this was never known to the Pope?"
"I never said anything about that, your worship; a secret cannot be kept by half-a-dozen, and I dare swear our Lord knows all about it or else the Cardinal Ascanio would hardly be in the Cesarini as he is. These things, however, must not be spoken of in Rome. Men's tongues should be weighted with lead when the Borgia's name crops up."
We had by this time come opposite the Monte Testaccio, that curious mound made of old pottery, which lies towards the river, south-west of the Ostian Gate, and so engrossed were we in our talk, that we did not observe a large party of riders of both sexes, with an escort of men-at-arms, coming at a hand gallop from our right, straight in our direction. Our attention was however sharply drawn to the fact by the cry of an equerry who was riding well in advance of the others, and this man shouted:
"The road! The road! Way for His Holiness! Way! Way!"
We drew off at once to the side, Jacopo dismounting and sinking to his knees. I however contented myself with uncovering, and watching with no little astonishment the party as they came up. They were evidently returning from hawking, and at the head of the clump of riders were two men in full Turkish costume.
"Who are those Turks?" I asked Jacopo, and the knave still kneeling, and holding his hands up in supplication, answered hurriedly--
"One is the Soldan Djem, excellency--O Lord, I trust we may not be hanged as an afternoon's amusement--the other, the fair one, old Alexander VI. himself--O Lord! What cursed luck! Kneel, excellency; it is our only chance."
"Tush!" I replied, and remembered at once that the brother of Bajazet, the Grand Turk, was a hostage in Rome, practically a prisoner in the hands of Alexander, a legacy he had inherited from the Cibo, and which brought him forty thousand ducats annually. I could understand Djem in Eastern costume, but the Pope masquerading in broad delight as a Moor! It was as wonderful as it was disgusting to me. And then the remembrance of Corte's daughter came to my mind, and as they approached, I could hardly refrain from making a dash to rid the world of the monster who sat in St. Peter's chair. I barely saluted as they passed, but Jacopo roared out for a blessing, and the papal hand airily cast a benediction at us. Alexander was apparently in a high good-humour, for, turning in his saddle, he made some joking remark to a lady who rode a trifle behind him, whereat she laughed loudly, a harsh unmusical laugh, and glanced at me with a half-amused air, from under her heavy lashes as she went by. The rest of the party, spurring, laughing and chattering were a few yards behind; and as they clattered on to the road, Djem, giving a wild shout of Allah! Allah! threw the reins on the neck of his barb, and galloped through the gate at full speed, followed by Alexander and the rest of the riders, who urging their mounts to a racing pace, and, both men and women, yelling in imitation of the Moor, vanished through the gate after him in a whirlwind of dust. So quickly did all this happen, that I had hardly time to observe the faces of those who passed me, and indeed, so astonished was I, that I had scarce room in my mind for any other feeling. I had of course heard wild tales of the Vatican, and strange and horrible stories of the Borgia himself, indeed there was one crime that should have brought down God's lightning on the man, for all that he was the Vicar of Christ; but I never for one moment conceived it possible that Alexander could so far forget his place as to appear in public robed as a heathen, and gallop through the streets of Rome like a drunken madman.
When they had gone, Jacopo arose from his knees, and dusting them with his hands whilst he looked up at me, said: "Corpo di Bacco! But I gave up all for lost. I vow a candle to St. Mary of--I forget where--but to the shrine nearest to the place we dine, for this lucky escape."
"Come, sirrah!" I said, a little annoyed, "mount. There never was any danger."
"Your excellency is pleased to say so," he replied, swinging himself into the saddle, "but if you saw two old men and a half-dozen old women strung up for merely blocking the way, as I did at Tor di Nona, perhaps your worship would think as I do."
I made no reply, allowing Jacopo the run of his tongue to relieve his feelings, and we went on slowly until we reached the gate. Here I spoke, "As you know Rome better than I do, Jacopo, you had best lead the way; but I want to pass by the two houses of my family before we make for the Strangers' Quarters, where we must find a lodging for the night."
"Very well, your worship!" and Jacopo drew a little to the front. "There they go," he said, shading his eyes with his hands, and turning to the left, where a dun cloud of dust on the Via della Marmorata marked the progress of the Borgia. "The best way, signore," he continued, "is over the hill; we will get a view from there, and then passing by the places you want to see, make for a quiet hostel I know of in the Strangers' Quarters."
Following him, we rode up the Aventine, until we reached the old wall of Servius Tullius, here we stopped to observe the view. To the west and south-west we could see the green of the Campagna merging into the distant grey of the Roman Maremma, whilst beyond that a clear blue line, below the flush of the coming sunset, marked the sea. Beneath us lay the Tiber and the Island, the yellow water of the river stirred into ripples by the breeze, and looking from the distance like hammered brass. Beyond the Tiber rose Monte Gianicolo, behind which the top of the Vatican Hill was just visible. To the north the view was a little shut in by the Palatine and the church of St. Prisca above us, and far off rose the cone of Soratte. North-east and east lay the Palatine, the Esquiline, with the campaniles of Santa Maria Maggiore and San Pietro in Vincoli. Over Monte Coelio we could see the heights of the Sabine Hills, and running our eyes along the Appian Way, we could almost descry the Alban Lake, the mountains being distinctly visible. We stayed for a few moments drinking in the view, and then going onwards, turned north-west, past St. Prisca, and began the descent, by a winding way, held in by vineyards. Coming down we caught a glimpse of the three churches of the Aventine, namely S. Sabina, S. Maria Aventina, and St. Alessio, which was held by the monastery of St. Jerome, whose walls rose hard at hand. A look to the right showed us the Circus Maximus, above which towered a huge obelisk surrounded by four lions. At length we came to the Vicola di San Sabina, and at the corner of the street rose the grey walls and square tower of the castle of the Savelli. I drew rein, and looked at it with a bitter heart, and a sigh I could not control escaped me, as I saw the breeze catch and spread to the wind the silken folds of the standard of the Chigi, who bore quartered on their shield the star of the Savelli and the tree of De la Rovere. It flaunted there, in all the insolent pomp of a new house, whose moneybags were full, and the sight of it was enough for me. Jacopo must have caught the look on my face, for he said kindly--
"Who knows, excellency--luck may turn."
Well meant as the words were, they jarred on me, and without replying I moved on, silently raising my sword to the salute, as I passed the grim gates from which my ancestors held the road as far as the river, and almost held Rome itself.
As we went past the Island, I did not even raise my head to see the Theatre of Marcellus, within which lay another and the oldest of our family houses, having come to us through Pierleone towards the close of the eleventh century.
Jacopo was for going straight on past the monastery of the Aracoeli, on the Capitol; but unluckily I discovered that my horse had cast a shoe, and this was a matter not to be neglected. So we turned to the right, and entered the Campo Vaccino, formerly the Forum of Rome. It being now sunset, here were collected hundreds of oxen and buffaloes, and from the height of Monte Caprino we could hear the bleating of the herds of goats which were pastured thereon, and the tinkling of their bells as they moved slowly down towards their shelter for the night. A hundred fires were blazing cheerfully, and served to dissipate the blue vapour which began to hang over the place. Round these fires were groups of people, mostly countrymen, who seemed in the best of spirits, as they listened to songs, or watched numbers of their party, who danced merrily to the tune of a pipe. Hard by were a number of sheds, used by mechanics, and the blaze, which showed a forge in work, soon attracting our attention, we made there at once, and had the horse attended to.
Whilst the smith was beating out a shoe, I sat down on a rough bench, my horse being fastened to a wooden post, and Jacopo holding his nag by the bridle paced up and down, occasionally stamping his feet on the ground to free them, as he said, from the ants. In other words he was suffering slightly from cramp. To my right was a large crowd, evidently enjoying a show of jugglery, and from their cries of wonderment and pleasure, they seemed to be having their money's worth. So I rose and elbowed my way to a good place, unfortunately only in time to see the end of the affair. The juggler was robed in a doctor's gown, and after performing a trick, he distributed nostrums for various ailments, free of payment. Imagine my surprise, in recognising in him no other than Mathew Corte; and as I came up, he placed a tambourine in his little dog's mouth, and bade him carry it round for subscriptions. Coppers were freely flung in, and as the little animal stopped before me, I dropped in a florin, and stooped to pat its head. As I rose I caught Corte's eye, and saw he knew me, but as he made no sign I stayed quiet. Collecting his money, the doctor bowed his thanks, and began packing up the instruments of his trade. I went back to my seat, and watched the smith at work on my horse, thinking that Corte must have somehow come into funds, and wondering how he had managed it. After a little time I felt a touch on my shoulder, and turning round saw him beside me. I invited him to a seat, inquiring after his health.
"It grows better day by day," he answered, "now that my work is begun. And you, signore?"
"I can say the same," I answered; "I grow better day by day, now that my work is begun."
"There is a favour I ask, Messer Donati," he went on.
"What is it?"
"It is this, and do not think me ungrateful. I am here playing a part. We will meet again, perhaps, under different surroundings. All I ask is that if we do, you will make no sign of recognition, nor mention to anyone that you know me."
"As you wish, Messer Corte."
"A hundred thanks, and yet another thing--short reckonings make long friends," and he pressed into my palm two gold pieces, the amount of the sum I had left with him the night his daughter died. I had no desire to take them back, not knowing how Corte stood; but he assured me he would be deeply offended if I did not, and that he was well provided with the sinews of war. Where he had got them I know not, and of course I had no option but to receive back the money I had given him, though I did this most unwillingly. When this was over, he pressed my hand once more, and, wishing me good night, hurried off.
By this time the blacksmith had completed his task, and we delayed no longer, but went off at once. It was fortunate that Jacopo knew Rome as he did, or we might have been hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of streets, some of them in total ruin, some of them entirely uninhabited, for at the time so hideous was the misgovernment of the city, that all who could do so had fled from Rome, and those who remained could not have exceeded thirty thousand in number, of whom at least ten thousand, men and women, were beings who had lost all claim to the respect of mankind, and were capable of almost any crime. These are hard words, but true, nor indeed have I ever seen a place where all that was bad was so shamelessly exposed, as in Rome when Roderigo Borgia was Pope. At length we reached the Strangers' Quarters, but Jacopo's hostel was not to be found, and after searching for it in vain, we were content to pull up before the door of a small inn built on the lower slope of Monte Pincio, barely a bow-shot from S. Trinita de' Monte, the church erected by Charles of France in 1495, and a little beyond the convent of the Dames du Sacre Coeur. I cannot say that the hostel was an inviting-looking place; in fact it was little better than one of the common osterie or wineshops with which Rome abounded; but it was too late to pick and choose, and for the night at least, I determined to stay here. Our first duty was to attend to the horses, which we had stabled in stalls, immediately below the room to be occupied by me, Jacopo having to put up with lodgings in the stables for the night. After the beasts had been fed and groomed, I set myself to a plain dinner, washed down with the contents of a straw-covered mezzo fiasco of Frascati. Jacopo waited on me, and when I was done, contentedly devoured the remainder of the manzo or boiled beef, and cooled his throat with a bottle of Marino, which I presented to him. Whilst he was thus engaged, I went down and had another look at the horses, and as I patted their necks, and they whinnied at me, I thought regretfully of the good beast who lay dead on the Leghorn road, and wondered what had become of Brico, of whom, notwithstanding his villainy, I could hardly think of without smiling. It was in truth strange that a man, so arrant a poltroon at heart, should desert his natural occupation of a lackey, to play the bravo, and pose as a soldier. How he had ever even obtained the rank of ancient was a matter of surprise and wonder to me. At length I dismissed him from my mind, and coming back, found Jacopo at the end of his meal and his bottle. It was late enough now, and giving him warning to sleep lightly, and to arouse me at once if necessity arose, for I liked not the look of the place, I climbed up the ladder leading to the loft above the stables, which was to serve me as a chamber for the night.
