The Honour of Savelli 24The Pavilion of Tremouille
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Literature · Historical Fiction
The Honour of Savelli 24
The Pavilion of Tremouille
YeatsEnglish
When I awoke the next morning, my head was still dazed, but I was otherwise strong. At least, I felt so, as I lay still in my bed, all sense of fatigue gone, and trying to collect my thoughts. After a little, I glanced round the chamber, which was not the room where I had taken the potion, but another and a larger apartment. It was no fancy then, the voices of Jacopo and Bande Nere I heard and the sensation of being lifted and moved, which I experienced in the night. My removal was doubtless effected whilst I was under the influence of the drug; but the voice of madame? The almost certainty that she was by me through the hours of the night? I could not account for this, and seeing any such effort was useless, ceased to rack my brain on the subject, putting it down to a mad dream. For some while I lay mustering up courage to rise, fanned by the mild breeze, which played in from the open window on my right. Outside I could see the branches of the trees, as they swayed to and fro in the wind, and the joyous song of a mavis trilled out sweetly through the morning, from the thorn bushes whence he piped. In about a half hour my head began to grow clearer, I remembered Angiola's letter, and thrust my hand under the pillow to find it. Of course it was not there, as I had been moved, and a short exclamation of annoyance broke from me.
"Excellency!"
It was Jacopo's voice, and the good fellow, who had evidently been watching me, came forward from behind the head of the bed.
"Ah, Jacopo! Is it you? Here, help me to rise."
"Signore--but is your worship able--the chevalier----"
"Never mind the chevalier. I am as well as ever, and there was no need of that to-do yesterday--diavolo!" and a twinge in my face brought me up sharply, and recalled Pluto's claws. I put my hand up to my face, and found I was still bandaged.
"It was lucky he only touched your worship."
"Luckier still your being there with your arquebus, else. St. Peter and I had surely shaken hands--there--thanks--I will sit here for a few minutes," and I sank into an easy chair, being really weaker than I thought I was, the effects more of the narcotic than anything else.
"Will your worship breakfast here?"
"No--but before doing anything, go to the room where I was last evening, and bring me the letter you will find under the cushions of the couch there."
"Excellency!" and Jacopo left the room.
I now for the first time observed a bouquet of red and white roses, whose fragrance filled the chamber. I had been conscious of their perfume before, but thought the scent was borne in by the breeze from the garden outside. Whilst I was admiring the flowers, Jacopo returned.
"The letter."
"Is not there, signore, I have searched carefully."
It was a disappointment, but I said nothing, having determined to see for myself. As Jacopo assisted me to dress, I enquired to whom I was indebted for the flowers.
"I cannot say, excellency; they were here when I came this morning. Possibly the Signor de St. Armande, who was with your worship all night."
"All night!"
"Signore."
I could not help being touched by this proof of devotion, and when I had dressed went down, with the intention of finding my letter, and thanking the chevalier for his kindness. I was, I saw, still a little weak, but a few hours' rest would make me fit for action, and I could not help thinking I had been made much over, on too small an occasion. St. Armande was in the room where I had left the letter, and at the first glance I saw he was haggard and worn, with dark circles under his eyes, eyes which many a beauty would have been proud to own. He seemed so slim, so small and delicate, as he came to meet me, that my heart began to misgive me again, as to his powers to endure the labour involved in the difficult adventure we had before us. He was much concerned at my having risen, made many enquiries about my condition, and put aside my thanks.
"Per Bacco! chevalier," I said, "you look more of an invalid than I. I fear me, I shall have to be nurse in my turn."
"It is but a touch of the megrims, I have; but you must not think of doing anything for a week."
"Or a month, or a year," I gibed, as I turned over the cushions of the couch, and in answer to St. Armande's enquiring look, went on, "The letter I received yesterday--I am certain I left it here."
He came forward to help me, but with no avail.
"It must have been blown away," he said.
"But I put it under the cushions!"
"True--but you forget you were moved, and the things were shifted. Come to breakfast now, and I will have a thorough search made afterwards."
"Not yet; I will but step over to the convent, and enquire after the Lady Angiola----"
"What! With a bandaged face?"
"It is a wound," I answered coldly, and turning, went out of the villa. My lackey ran forward to enquire if a horse should be made ready; but thinking the walk would do me good, I declined. I was right in this, the fresh, air acted as a tonic, and when I reached the gates of the convent, all the giddiness had passed. There, to my dismay, I heard that Angiola was unable to leave her room, a thing I might have expected, and sending a civil message I retraced my steps, entering the villa by a side gate, and walking towards it through a deserted portion of the garden. I went leisurely, stopping every now and again to admire the flowers and the trees. In one of these rests, whilst I idly gazed about me, my eye was arrested by a number of fragments of paper, that lay on the green turf at my feet. Yielding to an impulse I could not control, I stopped and picked up one of the pieces, and saw in a moment it was a piece of Angiola's letter to me. I lost no time in collecting the remaining bits of the paper, and carefully placed them in my vest pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the villa.
As we sat down to breakfast, the chevalier explained that he had made a further search for the letter, but in vain.
"I ought to have told you," I said, "I have found it."
"Where?"
"In the garden--in shreds and tatters."
He became suddenly very silent, and so we finished our meal. All that day I rested, more for the horses' sake than my own, and be sure I did not fail to make frequent enquiry of Angiola's condition, hearing each time she was better, and would certainly see me on the morrow. Whilst I lay resting, my mind was active. I cast up the time I had left at my disposal. I still had four clear days to carry out my mission, and to make my plans to intercept Bozardo. But after my adventure in Perugia I had need for extra care, and could not afford to throw away an hour of the four days that were left to me. There were many points to think of. Bozardo would no doubt be strongly escorted, and if the forty thousand ducats he had with him were in gold, they would be difficult to carry away, and would be a great temptation to my men. I could answer for Jacopo and Bande Nere; of course St. Armande was beyond suspicion, my doubts of him were at rest; but for the others? They might or might not yield to temptation. If they did yield, affairs would be serious indeed. I deliberated long and carefully, making up my mind to adopt the following course. Tremouille was but a few miles from me. I would see him, tell him of the enterprise which D'Amboise had entrusted to me, and ask him to send a troop, or some trusted men, to whom I could hand over the money in case I succeeded. If he could send these men on to Sassoferrato, I meant to ambuscade on the banks of the Misa, make my dash at Bozardo there, and if all went well, they could receive the money in a few hours, and relieve me of that anxiety. Of course Tremouille might refuse to see me; he might even do worse; but I would give him the chance and accept the risk.
When I came to think of it, it was hardly possible that he was unacquainted with the cardinal's design, and I could form no better plan than the one I had resolved upon. I would have to deny myself the pleasure of seeing Angiola on the morrow, but the four days gave me no margin. The day's repose did me much good, and, after supper, which we took about six o'clock, I ordered Castor to be saddled. St. Armande looked surprised, but I wasted no words, telling him briefly that I was bound on business, and that on my return we should have to make an immediate start. I refused all offer of companionship, and shortly after Castor and I were galloping through the glow of a late sunset to the camp of Tremouille.
I skirted the shores of Trasimene, the road being easier there, and as I went on, could not help wondering to myself what manner of reception I would have from the duke. Good or bad, I was determined to see him, and I soon caught sight of the line of tents, cresting the hills that overhung the defile where Hannibal caught the Romans. The tents were soon lost to view in the grey of the coming night. One by one the camp fires began to light the hills; the mist that rises here after sundown enveloped me, and slackening speed, I let Castor pick his way up an ascending road, covered with loose stones, and cut into ruts and fissures. In a while I came to an outpost, and at once challenged by the sentry, and surrounded by the piquet. I explained that I was from Rome to see the duke, and could not possibly give the pass word. The officer of the watch replied that this was my affair, not his, and that I would have to remain here until the morning, or until a field officer inspected the posts, in which case he would take his orders. There was no help for it, and I resigned myself to circumstances, with an impatient heart So an hour or two passed, which I beguiled by discourse with the subaltern, telling him of Rome; he was a cadet of the house of Albani, and hearing petty items of news in return, the chief of which was that the Seigneur de Bayard had returned to the camp. Even as he said this, we heard the deep bay of a hound, and I recognised Bran's throat.
"Per Bacco! It is Bayard himself going the grand rounds," exclaimed the subaltern springing to his feet, and giving the order for the men to stand at attention. In a few minutes we heard the sound of horse's hoofs, the sharp clink of steel scabbards, and a half-dozen horsemen rode up. As they approached, Castor neighed in recognition of his twin brother, and an answering call showed that Pollux knew the greeting, and gave it back. The hound too came up, and rising on his hind feet, fawned a welcome on me. I made myself known to Bayard at once.
"Ciel!" he said, "you are the last man I expected to meet, and you want to see the duke, come with me then."
On the way I told him of the success of my attempt to free Angiola.
"We have just heard of it," he said, "and it has gone far in your favour. In fact Madame de la Tremouille, who is back again, could speak of nothing else at supper this evening. It was a brave deed, and I envied your luck, cavalier."
I told him of my plan, enquiring if he thought Tremouille would give me the assistance I wanted, pointing out that the movement of any troops, where I wanted the detachment to go, could not possibly be taken as a breach of the truce.
"As for the truce," he made answer, "it is in the air. The king has really left Macon at last. It is said that the advance guard under the Seneschal of Beaucaire has already crossed the Ombrone. Tremouille cannot possibly refuse, and here we are."
We pulled up at the entrance to a large pavilion, out of whose open door a broad band of light streamed into the night.
"Follow me," said Bayard, and I did so, the guards saluting respectfully as we entered.
I had not time to look about me, but saw that Tremouille, who was in his armour, was pacing up and down the tent, with his limping gait, and dictating a despatch to his secretary. He stopped short in his walk, and greeting Bayard cheerfully, looked at me with a grave surprise.
"This is M. di Savelli," said Bayard, "he has business of such importance with your excellency, that I have taken it upon myself to bring him here."
The duke glanced at me keenly, the thin lines of his lips closing together.
"Are you aware of the risk you run by coming to my camp?" he asked.
"I am perfectly aware, your excellency, but----"
"You must either be a fool, or a very brave man," he interrupted.
"I lay claim to neither honour, my lord, and I take the risk: will you hear me?"
He nodded, and I laid my proposal before him. When I had finished his face expressed approval.
"Very well," he said, "I will detach Hawkwood. If you succeed, hand the money over to him."
"I understand, my lord," and bowing I retired. As I reached the door of the pavilion, I heard the duke's voice again:
"M. di Savelli."
"My lord," and I faced him.
"Succeed in this, and count me as a friend. I give you the word of Tremouille."
"I thank your excellency," and turning again I went forth. Bayard followed me out.
"I have half a mind to ask you to let me share your adventure," he said, "I am afraid, however, they will not allow me to go. At any rate I will ride back to the outposts with you--down, Bran," and he swung into the saddle.
When I shook hands with Bayard on parting from him, his last speech was--"Be careful, cavaliere, for Tremouille is a man of his word--if you fail, however, remember the game is not yet lost--good-bye, and good luck."
I turned Castor's head towards the convent, and leaving the camp fires behind me, went on through the darkness. It was midnight when I reached the villa. Those tough old soldiers Jacopo and Bande Nere were on the watch. Everything was ready; and after sharing a skin of wine all round, we rode out--shadowy figures through the mist, now faintly lit up by a young moon, whose thin crescent lay quietly in the sky. I looked back at the walls of the convent; from a window of an upper chamber a light was shining. Perhaps it was hers! And I bent down my head in a silent prayer, for God's help in my fight back to honour.
