The Knight Bellarion rode alone in the hot glow of an August afternoon through the moist and fertile meadowland between Alessandria and San Michele. He was dejected by the sterility of worldly achievement and mourned the futility of all worldly endeavour. In endeavour, itself, as he had to admit from his own experience, there was a certain dynamic entertainment, affording an illusion of useful purpose. With achievement the illusion was dispelled. The purpose grasped was so much water in the hands. Man's greatest accomplishment was to produce change. Restlessness abode in him none the less because no one state could be shown to be better than another. The only good in life was study, because study was an endeavour that never reached fulfilment. It busied a man to the end of his days, and it aimed at the only true reality in all this world of shams and deceits.
Messer Bellarion conceived that in abandoning the road to Pavia and Master Chrysolaras he had missed his way in life. Nay, further, his first false step had been taken when driven by that heresy of his, rooted in ignorance and ridiculous, he had quitted the monastery at Cigliano. In conventual endeavour, after all, there was a definite purpose. There, mortal existence was regarded as no more than the antechamber to real life which lay in the hereafter; a brief novitiate wherein man might prepare his spirit for Eternity. By contrast with that definite, peaceful purpose, this world of blindly striving, struggling, ever-restless men, who addressed themselves to their span of mortal existence as if it were to endure forever, was no better, no more purposeful, and of no more merit in its ultimate achievement, than a clot of writhing earthworms.
Thus Messer Bellarion, riding by sparkling waters in the dappled shade of poplars standing stark against the polished azure of the summer sky, and the very beauty with which God had dressed the world made man's defilement of it the more execrable in his eyes.
Emerging from the screen of poplars, he emerged also from his gloomy reflections, dragged thence by the sight of a lady on a white horse that was gaily caparisoned in blue and silver. She was accompanied by a falconer and attended by two grooms whose liveries in the same colours announced them of the household of Messer Facino Cane, Count of Biandrate, and now by right of conquest and self-election Tyrant of Alessandria. For in accepting his tacit dismissal from the Duke of Milan, Facino had thrown off his allegiance to all Visconti and played now, at last, for his own strong hand.
Bellarion would have turned another way. It had become a habit with him whenever he espied the Countess. But the lady hailed him, consigning the hooded falcon on her wrist into the keeping of her falconer, who with the grooms fell back to a respectful distance as Bellarion, reluctantly obedient, approached.
'If you're for home, Bellarion, we'll ride together.'
Uncomfortable, he murmured a gratified assent that sounded as false as he intended that it should.
She looked at him sideways as they moved on together. She spoke of hawking. Here was fine open country for the sport. A flight could be followed for miles in any direction, moving almost as directly along the ground as the birds moved in the air above. Yet sport that day had been provokingly sluggish, and quarries had been sought in vain. It would be the heat, she opined, which kept the birds under cover.
In silence he jogged beside her, letting her prate, until at last she too fell silent. Then, after a spell, with a furtive sidelong glance from under her long lashes, she asked him a question in a small voice.
'You are angry with me, Bellarion?'
He was startled, but recovered instantly. 'That were a presumption, madonna.'
'In you it might be a condescension. You are so aloof these days. You have avoided me as persistently as I have sought you.'
'Could I suppose you sought me?'
'You might have seen.'
'If I had not deemed it wiser not to look.'
She sighed a little. 'You make it plain that it is not in you to forgive.'
'That does not describe me. I bear no malice to any living man or woman.'
'But what perfection! I wonder you could bear to stray from Heaven!' It was no more than an impulsive display of her claws. Instantly she withdrew them. 'No, no. Dear God, I do not mean to mock at you. But you're so cold, so placid! That is how you come to be the great soldier men are calling you. But it will not make men love you, Bellarion.'
Bellarion smiled. 'I don't remember to have sought men's love.'
'Nor women's, eh?'
'The fathers taught me to avoid it.'
'The fathers! The fathers!' Her mockery was afoot again. 'In God's name, why ever did you leave the fathers?'
'It was what I was asking myself when I came upon you.'
'And you found no answer when you saw me?'
'None, madonna.'
Her face whitened a little, and her breath came shorter.
'You're blunt!' she said, and uttered a little laugh that was hard and unpleasant.
He explained himself. 'You are my Lord Facino's wife.'
'Ah!' Her expression changed again. 'I knew we should have that. But if I were not? If I were not?' She faced him boldly, in a sudden eagerness that he deemed piteous.
The solemnity of his countenance increased. He looked straight before him. 'In all this idle world there is naught so idle as to consider what we might be if it were different.'
She had no answer for a while, and they rode a little way side by side in silence, her attendants following out of earshot.
'You'll forgive, I think, when I explain,' said she at last.
'Explain?' he asked her, mystified.
'That night in Milan ... the last time we spoke together. You thought I used you cruelly.'
'No more cruelly than I deserve to be used in a world where it is expected of a man that he shall be more sensible to beauty than to honour.'
'I knew it was honour made you harsh,' she said, and reached forth a hand to touch his own where it lay upon the pommel. 'I understood. I understand you better than you think, Bellarion. Could I have been angry with you then?'
'You seemed angry.'
'Seemed. That is the word. It was necessary to seem. You did not know that Facino was behind the arras that masked the little door.'
'I hoped that you did not.'
It was like a blow between the eyes. She snatched away her hand. Brows met over staring, glaring eyes and her nether lip was caught in sharp white teeth.
'You knew!' she gasped at last, and her voice held all the emotions.
'The arras quivered, and there was no air. That drew my eyes, and I saw the point of my lord's shoe protruding from the curtain's hem.'
Her face held more wickedness in that moment than he would have thought possible to find wed with so much perfection.
'When ... When did you see? Was it before you spoke to me as you did?'
'Your thoughts do me poor credit. If I had seen in time should I have been quite so plain and uncompromising in my words? I did not see until after I had spoken.'
The explanation nothing mollified her. 'Almost I hoped you'd say that the words you used, you used because you know of Facino's presence.'
After that, he thought, no tortuous vagaries of the human mind should ever again astonish him.
'You hoped I would confess myself a bloodless coward who uses a woman as a buckler against a husband's righteous wrath!'
As she made no answer, he continued: 'Each of us has been defrauded in his hopes. Mine were that you did not suspect Facino's presence, and that you spoke from a heart at last aroused to loyalty.'
It took her a moment fully to understand him. Then her face flamed scarlet, and unshed tears of humiliation and anger blurred her vision. But her voice, though it quivered a little, was derisive.
'You spare me nothing,' she said. 'You strip me naked in your brutal scorn, and then fling mud upon me. I have been your friend, Bellarion—aye, and more. But that is over now.'
'Madonna, if I have offended ...'
'Let be.' She became imperious. 'Listen now. You must not continue with my Lord Facino because where he goes thither must I go, too.'
'You ask me to take my dismissal from his service?' He was incredulous.
'I beg it ... a favour, Bellarion. It is yourself have brought things to the pass where I may not meet you without humiliation. And continue daily to meet you I will not.' Her ready wicked temper flared up. 'You'll go, or else I swear ...'
'Swear nothing,' he thundered, very suddenly aroused. 'Threaten, and you bind me to Facino hand and foot.'
Instantly she was all soft and pleading. A fool she was. Nevertheless—indeed, perhaps because of it—she had a ready grasp of the weapons of her sex.
'Oh, Bellarion, I do not threaten. I implore ... I ...'
'Silence were your best agent now.' He was curt. 'I know your wishes, and ...' He broke off with a rough wave of his hand. 'Where should I go?' he asked, but the question was addressed to Fate and not to her. She answered it, however.
'Do you ask that, Bellarion? Why, in this past month since Alessandria fell your fame has gone out over the face of Italy. The credit for two such great victories as those of Travo and Alessandria is all your own, and the means by which you won them are on every man's tongue.'
'Aye! Facino is generous!' he said, and his tone was bitter.
'There's not a prince in Italy would not be glad to employ you.'
'In fact the world is full of places for those we would dismiss.'
After that they rode in silence until they were under the walls of the city.
'You'll go, Bellarion?'
'I am considering.' He was very grave, swayed between anger and a curious pity, and weighing other things besides.
In the courtyard of the citadel he held her stirrup for her. As she came to earth, and turned, standing very close to him, she put her little hand on his.
'You'll go, Bellarion, I know. For you are generous. This, then, is farewell. Be you fortunate!'
He bowed until his lips touched her hand in formal homage.
As he came upright again, he saw the square-shouldered figure of Facino in the Gothic doorway, and Facino's watching eyes, he thought, were narrow. That little thing was the last item in the scales of his decision.
Facino came to greet them. His manner was pleasant and hearty. He desired to know how the hawking had gone, how many pheasants his lady had brought back for supper, how far afield she had ridden, where Bellarion had joined her, and other similar facts of amiable commonplace inquiry. But Bellarion watching him perceived that his excessively ready smile never reached his eyes.
Throughout supper, which he took as usual in the company of his captains and his lady, Facino was silent and brooding, nor even showed great interest when Carmagnola told of the arrival of a large body of Ghibelline refugees from Milan to swell the forces which Facino was assembling against the coming struggle, whether defensive or offensive, with Malatesta and Duke Gian Maria.
Soon after the Countess had withdrawn, Facino gave his captains leave. Bellarion, however, still kept his place. His resolve was taken. That which the Countess claimed of him as a sacrifice to her lacerated vanity, he found his sense of duty to Facino claiming also, and his prudent, calculating wits confirming.
Facino raised heavy eyes from the contemplation of the board and leaned back in his chair. He looked old that night in the flickering candle-light. His first words betrayed the subject upon which his thoughts had been lingering.
'Ha, boy! I am glad to see the good relations between Bice and yourself. I had fancied a coolness between you lately.'
'I am the Countess's servant, as I am yours, my lord.'
'Aye, aye,' Facino grunted, and poured himself wine from a jug of beaten gold. 'She likes your company. She grudged you once, when I sent you on a mission to Genoa. I'm brought to think of it because I am about to repeat the offence.'
'You wish me to go to Boucicault for men?' Bellarion showed his surprise.
Facino looked at him quizzically. 'Why not? Do you think he will not come?'
'Oh, he'll come. He'll march on Milan with you to smash Malatesta, and afterwards he'll try to smash you in your turn, that he may remain sole master in the name of the King of France.'
'You include politics in your studies?'
'I use my wits.'
'To some purpose, boy. To some purpose. But I never mentioned Boucicault, nor thought of him. The men I need must be procured elsewhere. Where would you think of seeking them?'
And then Bellarion understood. Facino wanted him away, and desired him to understand it, which was why he had dragged in that allusion to the Countess. Facino was made reticent by his deep love for his unworthy lady; his need for her remained fiercely strong, however she might be disposed to stray.
Bellarion used his wits, you see, as he had lately boasted.
Why had Facino spied that night in Milan? Surely because in the relations between Bellarion and the Countess he had already perceived reason for uneasiness. That uneasiness his spying had temporarily allayed. Yet not so completely but that he continued watchful, and now, at the first sign of a renewal of that association, it took alarm. Though Facino might still be sure that he had nothing to avenge, he could be far from sure that he had nothing to avert.
A great sorrow welled up from Bellarion's heart. All that he now was, all that he possessed, his very life itself, he owed to Facino's boundless generosity. And in return he was become a thorn in Facino's flesh.
'Why, sir,' he said slowly, smiling a little as if in deprecation, 'this matter of levies has been lately in my thoughts. To be frank, I have been thinking of raising a condotta of my own.'
Facino sat bolt upright in his surprise. Clearly his first emotion was of displeasure.
'Oho! You grow proud?'
'I have my ambitions.'
'How long have you nursed this one? It's the first I hear of it.'
Blandly Bellarion looked across at him, and bland was his tone.
'I matured the conceit as I rode abroad to-day.'
'As you rode abroad?'
Facino's eyes were intently upon his face. It conserved its blandness. The condottiero's glance flickered and fell away. They understood each other.
'I wish you the luck that you deserve, Bellarion. You've done well by me. You've done very well. None knows it better than I. And it's right you should go, since you've the sense to see that it's best for ... you.'
The colour had faded from Bellarion's face, his eyes were very bright. He swallowed before he could trust himself to speak, to play the comedy out.
'You take it very well, sir—this desertion of you. But I'm your man for all my ambition.'
Thereafter they discussed his future. He was for the Cantons, he announced, to raise a body of Swiss, the finest infantry in the world, and Bellarion meant to depend on infantry. As a parting favour he begged for the loan of Stoffel, who would be useful to him as a sponsor to his compatriots of Uri and the Vierwaldstaetter. Facino promised him not only Stoffel himself, but fifty men of the Swiss cavalry Stoffel had latterly recruited, to be a nucleus of the condotta Bellarion went to raise.
They pledged each other in a final cup, and parted, Facino to seek his bed, Bellarion in quest of Stoffel.
Stoffel, having heard the proposal, at once engaged himself, protesting that the higher pay Bellarion offered him had no part in the decision.
'And as for men, there's not one of those who fought with you on the bluff above the Trebbia but will want to come.'
They numbered sixty when they were called up, and with Facino's consent they all went with Bellarion on the morrow. For, having decided upon departure, there was no reason to delay it.
Betimes in the morning Bellarion had business with a banker of Alessandria named Torella with whom Vignate's ransom was deposited in return for certain bills of exchange negotiable in Berne. Thereafter he went to take his leave of Facino, and to lay before him a suggestion, which was the fruit of long thinking in the stillness of a wakeful night. He was guilty, he knew, of a duplicity, of serving ends very different, indeed, from those that he pretended. But his conscience was at ease, because, although he might be using Facino as a tool for the performance of his ultimate secret aims, yet the immediate aims of Facino himself would certainly be advanced.
'There is a service I can perhaps do you as I go,' said Bellarion at parting. 'You are levying men, my lord, which is a heavy drain upon your own resources.'
'Prisoners like Vignate don't fall into the hands of each of us.'
'Have you thought, instead, of seeking alliances?'
Facino was disposed to be hilarious. 'With whom? With the dogs that are baying and snarling round Milan? With Estorre and Gian Carlo and the like?'
'There's Theodore of Montferrat,' said Bellarion quietly.
'So there is, the crafty fox, and the price he'll want for his alliance.'
'You might find it convenient to pay it. Like myself, the Marquis Theodore has ambitions. He covets Vercelli and the lordship of Genoa. Vercelli would be in the day's work in a war on Milan.'
'So it would. We might begin hostilities by occupying it. But Genoa, now ...'
'Genoa can wait until your own work is done. On those terms Montferrat comes in with you.'
'Ha! God's life! You're omniscient.'
'Not quite. But I know a great deal. I know, for instance, that Theodore went to Milan at Gabriello's invitation to offer alliance to Gian Maria on those terms. He left in dudgeon, affronted by Gian Maria's refusal. He's as vindictive as he's ambitious. Your proposal now might tickle both emotions.'
This was sound sense, and Facino admitted it emphatically.
'Shall I go by way of Montferrat and negotiate the alliance for you with Messer Theodore?'
'You'll leave me in your debt if you succeed.'
'That is what Theodore will say when I propose it to him.'
'You're sanguine.'
'I'm certain. So certain that I'll impose a condition. Messer Theodore shall send the Marquis Gian Giacomo to you to be your esquire. You'll need an esquire in my place.'
'And what the devil am I to do with Gian Giacomo?'
'Make a man of him, and hold him as a guarantee. Theodore grows old and accidents often happen on a campaign. If he should die before it's convenient, you'll have the sovereign of Montferrat beside you to continue the alliance.'
'By God! You look ahead!'
'In the hope of seeing something some day. I've said that the Regent Theodore has his ambitions. Ambitious men are reluctant to relinquish power, and in a year's time the Marquis Gian Giacomo will be of age to succeed. Have a care of him when he's with you.'
Facino looked at him and blew out his cheeks. 'You're bewildering sometimes. You seem to say a hundred things at once. And your thoughts aren't always nice.'
Bellarion sighed. 'My thoughts are coloured by the things they dwell on.'