It wanted less than an hour to dawn when the mule-train came up to the southern gate of Alessandria, and its single leader disturbed the silence of the night by a shrill whistle thrice repeated.
A moment later a light showed behind the grating by the narrow postern gate, built into the wall beside the portcullis. A voice bawled a challenge across the gulf.
'Who comes?'
'Messenger from Messer Girolamo,' answered the muleteer.
'Give the word of the night.'
'Lodi triumphant.'
The light was moved, and presently followed a creaking of winches and a rattle of heavy chains. A great black mass, faintly discernible against the all-encompassing darkness, slowly descended outwards and came to rest with a thud almost at the very feet of the muleteer. Across that lowered drawbridge the archway of the guard-house glowed in light, and revealed itself aswarm with men-at-arms under the jagged teeth of the raised portcullis.
The muleteer spoke to the night. He took farewell of men who were not with him, and called instructions after some one of whom there was no sign, then drove his laden mules across the bridge, and himself came last into the light between the men-at-arms drawn up there to ensure against treachery, ready to warn those who manned the winches above in the event of an attempt to rush the bridge.
The muleteer, a tall fellow, as tall as Lorenzaccio, but much younger, dressed in a loose tunic of rough brown cloth with leg-clothing of the same material cross-gartered to the knees, found himself confronted by an officer who thrust a lantern into his face.
'You are not Lorenzaccio!'
'Devil take you,' answered the muleteer, 'you needn't burn my nose to find that out.'
His easy impudence allayed suspicion. Besides, how was a besieged garrison to suspect a man who brought in a train of mules all laden with provisions?
'Who are you? What is your name?'
'I am called Beppo, which is short for Giuseppe. And to-night I am the deputy of Lorenzaccio who has had an accident and narrowly escaped a broken neck. No need to ask your name, my captain. Lorenzaccio warned me I should meet here a fierce watch-dog named Cristoforo, who would want to eat me alive when he saw me. But now that I have seen you I don't believe him. Have you anything to drink at hand, my captain? It's a plaguily thirsty night.' And with the back of his hand the muleteer swept the beads of sweat from his broad, comely forehead, leaving it clean of much of the grime that elsewhere disfigured his countenance.
'You'll take your mules to the Communal,' the captain answered him shortly, resenting his familiarity.
Day was breaking when Messer Beppo came to the Communal Palace and drove his mules into the courtyard, there to surrender them to those whom he found waiting. It was a mixed group made up of Vignate's officers and representatives of the civic government. The officers were well-nourished and vigorous, the citizens looked feeble and emaciated, from which the muleteer inferred that in the matter of rationing the citizens of Alessandria were being sacrificed to the soldiery.
Messer Beppo, who for a muleteer was a singularly self-assertive fellow, demanded to be taken at once to the Lord Giovanni Vignate. They were short with him at first for his impudence until he brought a note almost of menace into his demand, whereupon an officer undertook to conduct him to the citadel.
Over a narrow drawbridge they entered the rocca, which was the heart of that great Guelphic fortress, and from a small courtyard they ascended by a winding staircase of stone to a stone chamber whose grey walls were bare of arras, whose Gothic windows were unglazed, and whose vaulted ceiling hung so low that the tall muleteer could have touched it with his raised hand. A monkish table of solid oak, an oaken bench, and a high-backed chair were all its furniture, and a cushion of crimson velvet the only sybaritic touch in that chill austerity.
Leaving him there, the young officer passed through a narrow door to a farther room. Thence came presently a swarthy man who was squat and bowlegged with thick, pouting lips and an air of great consequence. He was wrapped in a crimson gown that trailed along the stone floor and attended by a black-robed monk and a tall lean man in a soldier's leathern tunic with sword and dagger hanging from a rich belt.
The squat man's keen, haughty eyes played searchingly over the muleteer.
'I am to suppose you have a message for me,' he said, and sat down in the only chair. The monk, who was stout and elderly, found a place on the bench, leaning his elbows on the table. The captain stationed himself behind Vignate, whilst the officer who had brought Messer Beppo lingered in the background by the wall.
The tall young muleteer lounged forward, no whit abashed in the presence of the dread Lord of Lodi.
'His excellency the Cardinal of Desana desires you to understand, my lord, that this mule-train of victuals is the last one he will send.'
'What?' Vignate clutched the arms of his chair and half raised himself from his seat. His countenance lost much of its chill dignity.
'It isn't that it's no longer safe; but it's no longer possible. Lorenzaccio, who has had charge of these expeditions, is a prisoner in the hands of Facino. He was caught yesterday morning, on his way back from Alessandria. As likely as not he'll have been hanged by now. But that's no matter. What is important is that they've found us out, and the cordon is now so tightly drawn that it's madness to try to get through.'
'Yet you,' said the tall captain, 'have got through.'
'By a stratagem that's not to be repeated. I took a chance. I stampeded a dozen mules into Facino's lines near Aulara. At the alarm there was a rush for the spot. It drew, as I had reckoned, the men on guard between Aulara and Casalbagliano, leaving a gap. In the dark I drove through that gap before it was repaired.'
'That was shrewd,' said the captain.
'It was necessary,' said Beppo shortly. 'Necessary not only to bring in these provisions, but to warn you that there are no more to follow.'
Vignate's eyes looked out of a face that had turned grey. The man's bold manner and crisp speech intrigued him.
'Who are you?' he asked. 'You are no muleteer.'
'Your lordship is perspicacious. After Lorenzaccio was taken, no muleteer could have been found to run the gauntlet. I am a captain of fortune. Beppo Farfalla, to serve your lordship. I lead a company of three hundred lances, now at my Lord Cardinal's orders at Cantalupo. At my Lord Cardinal's invitation I undertook this adventure, in the hope that it may lead to employment.'
'By God, if I am to be starved I am likely to offer you employment.'
'If your lordship waits to be starved. That was not my Lord Cardinal's view of what should happen.'
'He'll teach me my trade, will he, my priestly brother?'
Messer Beppo shrugged. 'As to that, he has some shrewd notions.'
'Notions! My Lord Cardinal?' Vignate was very savage in his chagrin. 'What are these notions?'
'One of them is that this pouring of provisions into Alessandria was as futile as the torment of the Danaides.'
'Danaides? Who are they?'
'I hoped your lordship would know. I don't. I quote my Lord Cardinal's words; no more.'
'It's a pagan allusion out of Appollodorus,' the monk explained.
'What my Lord Cardinal means,' said Beppo, 'is that to feed you was a sheer waste, since as long as it continued, you sat here doing nothing.'
'Doing nothing!' Vignate was indignant. 'Let him keep to his Mass and his breviary and what else he understands.'
'He understands more than your lordship supposes.'
'More of what?'
'Of the art of war, my lord.'
And my lord laughed unpleasantly, being joined by his captain, but not by the monk whom it offended to see a cardinal derided.
And now Beppo went on: 'He assumes that this news will be a spur you need.'
'Why damn his impudence and yours! I need no spur. You'll tell him from me that I make war by my own judgment. If I have sat here inactive, it is that I have sat here awaiting my chance.'
'And now that the threat of starvation will permit you to sit here no longer, you will be constrained to go out and seek that chance.'
'Seek it?' Vignate was frowning darkly, his eyes aflame. He disliked this cockerel's easy, impudent tone. Captains of fortune did not usually permit themselves such liberties with him. 'Where shall I seek it? Tell me that and I'll condone your insolence.'
'My Lord Cardinal thinks it might be sought in Facino's quarters at Pavone.'
'Oh, yes; or in the Indies, or in Hell. They're as accessible. I have made sorties from here—four of them, and all disastrous. Yet the diasters were due to no fault of mine.'
'Is your lordship quite sure of that?' quoth Messer Beppo softly, smiling a little.
The Lord of Lodi exploded. 'Am I sure?' he cried, his grey face turning purple and inflating. 'Dare any man suggest that I am to blame?'
'My Lord Cardinal dares. He more than suggests it. He says so bluntly.'
'And your impudence no doubt agrees with him?’
'Upon the facts could my impudence do less?' His tone was mocking. The three stared at him in sheer unbelief. 'Consider now, my lord: You made your sallies by day, in full view of an enemy who could concentrate at whatever point you attacked over ground upon which it was almost impossible for your horse to charge effectively. My Lord Cardinal thinks that if you had earlier done what the threat of starvation must now compel you to do, and made a sally under cover of night, you might have been upon the enemy lines before ever your movement could be detected and a concentration made to hold you.'
Vignate looked at him with heavy contempt, then shrugged: 'A priest's notion of war!' he sneered.
The tall captain took it up with Messer Beppo. Less disdainful in tone, he no less conveyed his scorn of the Cardinal Girolamo's ideas.
'Such an action would have been well if our only aim had been to break through and escape leaving Alessandria in Facino's hands. But so ignoble an aim was never in my Lord Vignate's thoughts.' He leaned on the tall back of his master's chair, and thrust out a deprecatory lip. 'Necessity may unfortunately bring him to consider it now that ...'
Messer Beppo interrupted him with a laugh.
'The necessity is no more present now than it has ever been. Facino Cane will lie as much at your mercy to-morrow night as he has lain on any night in all these weeks of your inaction.'
'What do you say?' breathed Vignate. 'At our mercy?' The three of them stared at him.
'At your mercy. A bold stroke and it is done. The line drawn out on a periphery some eighteen miles in length is very tenuous. There are strong posts at Marengo, Aulara, Casalbagliano, and San Michele.'
'Yes, yes. This we know.'
'Marengo and San Michele have been weakened since yesterday, to strengthen the line from Aulara to Casalbagliano in view of the discovery that Alessandria has been fed from there. Aulara and Casalbagliano are the posts farthest from Pavone, which is the strongest post of all and Facino's quarters.'
Vignate's eyes began to kindle. He was sufficiently a soldier, after all, to perceive whither Messer Beppo was going. 'Yes, yes,' he muttered.
'Under cover of night a strong force could creep out by the northern gate, so as to be across the Tamaro at the outset, and going round by the river fall upon Pavone almost before an alarm could be raised. Before supports could be brought up you would have broken the force that is stationed there. The capture of Facino and his chief captains, who are with him, would be as certain as that the sun is rising now. After that, your besiegers would be a body without a head.'
Followed a silence. Vignate licked his thick lips as he sat huddled there considering.
'By God!' he said, and again, after further thought, 'By God!' He looked at his tall captain. The captain tightened his lips and nodded.
'It is well conceived,' he said.
'Well conceived!' cried Beppo on that note of ready laughter. 'No better conception is possible in your present pass. You snatch victory from defeat.'
His confidence inspired them visibly. Then Vignate asked a question:
'What is Facino's force at Pavone? Is it known?'
'Some four or five hundred men. No more. With half that number you could overpower them if you took them by surprise.'
'I do not run unnecessary risks. I'll take six hundred.'
'Your lordship has decided, then?' said the tall captain.
'What else, Rocco?'
Rocco fingered his bearded chin. 'It should succeed. I'd be easier if I were sure the enveloping movement could be made without giving the alarm.'
Unbidden the audacious Messer Beppo broke into their counsel.
'Aye, that's the difficulty. But it can be overcome. That is where I can serve you; I and my three hundred lances. I move them round during the day wide of the lines and bring up behind Pavone, at Pietramarazzi. At the concerted hour I push them forward, right up against Facino's rear, and at the moment that you attack in front I charge from behind, and the envelopment is made.'
'But how to know each other in the dark?' said Rocco. 'Your force and ours might come to grips, each supposing the other to be Facino's.'
'My men shall wear their shirts over their armour if yours will do the same.'
'Lord of Heaven!' said Vignate. 'You have it all thought out.'
'That is my way. That is how I succeed.'
Vignate heaved himself up. On his broad face it was to be read that he had made up his mind.
'Let it be to-night, then. There is no gain in delay, nor can our stomachs brook it. You are to be depended upon, Captain Farfalla?'
'If we come to terms,' said Beppo easily. 'I'm not in the business for the love of adventure.'
Vignate's countenance sobered from its elation. His eyes narrowed. He became the man of affairs. 'And your terms?' quoth he.
'A year's employment for myself and my condotta at a monthly stipend of fifteen thousand gold florins.'
'God of Heaven!' Vignate ejaculated. 'Is that all?' And he laughed scornfully.
'It is for your lordship to refuse.'
'It is for you to be reasonable. Fifteen thou ... Besides, I don't want your condotta for a year.'
'But I prefer the security of a year's employment. It is security for you, too, of a sort. You'll be well served.'
'Ten thousand florins for your assistance in this job,' said Vignate firmly.
'I'll be wishing you good morning,' said Messer Beppo as firmly. 'I know my value.'
'You take advantage of my urgent needs,' Vignate complained.
'And you forget what you already owe me for having risked my neck in coming here.'
After that they haggled for a full half-hour, and if guarantees of Messer Beppo's good faith had been lacking, they had it in the tenacity with which he clung to his demands.
At long length the Lord of Lodi yielded, but with an ill grace and with certain mental reservations notwithstanding the bond drawn up by his monkish secretary. With that parchment in his pocket, Messer Beppo went gaily to breakfast with the Lord Vignate, and thereafter took his leave, and slipped out of the city to carry to the Cardinal at Desana the news of the decision and to prepare for his own part in it.
It was a dazzling morning, all sign of the storm having been swept from the sky, and the air being left the cleaner for its passage.
Messer Beppo smiled as he walked, presumably because on such a morning it was good to live. He was still smiling when towards noon of that same day he strode unannounced into Facino's quarters at Pavone.
Facino was at dinner with his three captains, and the Countess faced her lord at the foot of the board. He looked up as the newcomer strode to the empty place at the table.
'You're late, Bellarion. We have been awaiting you and your report. Was there any attempt last night to put a victualling party across the lines?'
'There was,' said Bellarion.
'And you caught them?'
'We caught them. Yes. Nevertheless, the mule-train and the victuals won into Alessandria.'
They looked at him in wonder. Carmagnola scowled upon him. 'How, sir? And this in spite of your boast that you caught them?'
Bellarion fixed him with eyes that were red and rather bleary from lack of sleep.
'In spite of it,' he agreed. 'The fact is, that mule-train was conducted into Alessandria by myself.' And he sat down in the silence that followed.
'Do you say that you've been into Alessandria?'
'Into the very citadel. I had breakfast with the squat Lord of Lodi.'
'Will you explain yourself?' cried Facino.
Bellarion did so.