Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookhis brow grew clear, for now he was in an optimistic mood--perhaps a reaction from his recent tremors. "Yet, by the Host!" he pursued, bethinking him of the amazing boldness Francesco had shown in the courtyard, "he has the strength of Hercules, and a way with him that makes him feared and obeyed. Pish!" he laughed again, as, turning, he unhooked his lute from where it hung upon the wall. "The by-blow of some condottiero, who blends with his father's bullying arrogance the peasant soul of his careless mother. And I fear that such a one as that shall touch the heart of my peerless Valentina? Why, it is a thought that does her but poor honour." And dismissing Francesco from his mind, he sought the strings with his fingers, and thrummed an accompaniment as he returned to the window, his voice, wondrous sweet and tender, breaking into a gentle love-song. CHAPTER XV. THE MERCY OF FRANCESCO Monna Valentina and her ladies dined at noon in a small chamber opening from the great hall, and thither were bidden Francesco and Gonzaga. The company was waited upon by the two pages, whilst Fra Domenico, with a snow-white apron girt about his portentous waist, brought up the steaming viands from the kitchen where he had prepared them; for, like a true conventual, he was something of a master in the confection--and a very glutton in the consumption--of delectable comestibles. The kitchen was to him as the shrine of some minor cult, and if his breviary and beads commanded from him the half of the ecstatic fervour of his devotions to pot and pan, to cauldron and to spit, then was canonisation indeed assured him. He set before them that day a dinner than which a better no prince commanded, unless it were the Pope. There were ortolans, shot in the valley, done with truffles, that made the epicurean Gonzaga roll his eyes, translated through the medium of his palate into a very paradise of sensual delight. There was a hare, trapped on the hillside, and stewed in Malmsey, of a flavour so delicate that Gonzaga was regretting him his heavy indulgence in the ortolans; there was trout, fresh caught in the stream below, and a wondrous pasty that turned liquid in the mouth. To wash down these good things there was stout red wine of Puglia and more delicate Malvasia, for in his provisioning of the fortress Gonzaga had contrived that, at least, they should not go thirsty. "For a garrison awaiting siege you fare mighty well at Roccaleone," was Francesco's comment on that excellent repast. It was the fool who answered him. He sat out of sight upon the floor, hunched against the chair of one of Valentina's ladies, who now and again would toss him down a morsel from her plate, much as she might have treated a favourite hound. "You have the friar to thank for it," said he, in a muffled voice, for his mouth was crammed with pasty. "Let me be damned when I die, if I make him not my confessor. The man who can so minister to bodies should deal amazingly well with souls. Fra Domenico, you shall confess me after sunset." "You need me not," answered the monk, in disdainful wrath. "There is a beatitude for such as you--'Blessed are the poor in spirit.'" "And is there no curse for such as you?" flashed back the fool. "Does it say nowhere--'Damned are the gross of flesh, the fat and rotund gluttons who fashion themselves a god of their own bellies'?" With his sandalled foot the friar caught the fool a surreptitious kick. "Be still, you adder, you bag of venom." Fearing worse, the fool gathered himself up. "Beware!" he cried shrilly. "Bethink you, friar, that anger is a cardinal sin. Beware, I say!" Fra Domenico checked his upraised hand, and fell to muttering scraps of Latin, his lids veiling his suddenly downÂcast eyes. Thus Peppe gained the door. "Say, friar; in my ear, now--Was that a hare you stewed, or an outworn sandal?" "Now, God forgive me," roared the monk, springing towards him. "For your cooking? Aye, pray--on your knees." He dodged a blow, ducked, and doubled back into the room. "A cook, you? Pish! you tun of convent lard! Your ortolans were burnt, your trout swam in grease, your pasty----" What the pasty may have been the company was not to learn, for Fra Domenico, crimson of face, had swooped down upon the fool, and would have caught him but that he dived under the table by Valentina's skirts, and craved her protection from this gross maniac that held himself a cook. "Now, hold your wrath, father," she said, laughing with the rest. "He does but plague you. Bear with him for the sake of that beautitude you cited, which has fired him to reprisals." Mollified, but still grumbling threats of a beating to be bestowed on Peppe when the opportunity should better serve him, the friar turned to his domestic duties. They rose soon after, and at Gonzaga's suggestion Valentina paused in the great hall to issue orders that Fortemani be brought before her for judgment. In a score of ways, since their coming to Roccaleone, had Ercole been wanting in that respect to which Gonzaga held himself entitled, and this opportunity he seized with eagerness to vent his vindictive rancour. Valentina begged of Francesco that he, too, would stay, and help them with his wide experience, a phrase that sent an unpleasant pang through the heart of Romeo Gonzaga. It was perhaps as much to assert himself as to gratify his rancour against Fortemani, that, having despatched a soldier to fetch the prisoner, he turned to suggest curtly that Ercole should be hanged at once. "What boots a trial?" he demanded. "We were all witnesses of his insubordination, and for that there can be but one punishment. Let the animal hang!" "But the trial is of your own suggestion," she protested. "Nay, Madonna. I but suggested judgment. It is since you have begged Messer Francesco, here, to assist us that I opine you mean to give the knave a trial." "Would you credit this dear Gonzaga with so much bloodthirstiness?" she asked Francesco. "Do you, sir, share his opinion that the captain should hang unheard? I fear me you do, for, from what I have seen of them, your ways do not incline to gentleness." Gonzaga smiled, gathering from that sentence how truly she apprised the coarse nature of this stranger. Francesco's answer surprised them. "Nay, I hold Messer Gonzaga's an ill counsel. Show mercy to Fortemani now, where he expects none, and you will have made a faithful servant of him. I know his kind." "Ser Francesco speaks without the knowledge that we have, Madonna," was Gonzaga's rude comment. "An example must be made if we would have respect and orderliness from these men." "Then make it an example of mercy," suggested Francesco sweetly. "Well, we shall see," was Valentina's answer. "I like your counsel, Messer Francesco, and yet I see a certain wisdom in Gonzaga's words. Though in such a case as this I would sooner consort with folly than have a man's death upon my conscience. But here he comes, and, at least, we'll give him tr |