Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookstab he meditated failed him, he would be at the fellow's mercy. At the thought he shivered again, and his face turned grey. He moved away a step, and then inspiration brought him a cruel ruse. He uttered a cry. "What is that?" he exclaimed, his eyes on the ground. In an instant Aventano was beside him, for his voice had sounded alarmed--a tone, in his present condition, not difficult to simulate. "What, Excellency?" "Down there," cried Gonzaga excitedly. "There from that fissure in the stone. Saw you nothing?" And he pointed to the ground at a spot where two slabs met. "I saw nothing, Illustrious." "It was like a flash of yellow light below there. What is under us here? I'll swear there's treachery at work. Get down on your knees, and try if anything is to be seen." With a wondering glance at the courtier's white, twitching face, the unfortunate young man went down on all fours to do his bidding. After all--poor fellow!--he was hardly intelligent as Fortemani opined. "There is nothing, Excellency," he said. "The plaster is cracked. But---- Ah!" In a panic of haste Gonzaga had whipped the dagger from its sheath and sunk it into the middle of Aventano's broad back. The fellow's arms slid out, and with a long-drawn, gurgling sigh he sank down and stretched himself horribly on the stones. In that instant the clouds parted overhead and the sun came out in a blaze of golden glory. High above Gonzaga's head a lark burst into song. For a moment the assassin remained standing above the body of his victim with head sunk between the shoulders like a man who expects a blow, his face grey, his teeth chattering, and his mouth twitching hideously. A shudder shook him. It was the first life he had taken, and that carrion at his feet filled him with sickly horror. Not for a kingdom--not to save his vile soul from the eternal damnation that act had earned it--would he have dared stoop to pluck the dagger from the back of the wretch he had murdered. With something like a scream he turned, and fled in a panic from the spot. Panting with horror, yet subconsciously aware of the work he had to do, he paused a moment to wave a kerchief, then dashed down the steps to the postern. With trembling fingers he unlocked the door and set it wide to Gian Maria's men, who, in answer to his signal, were now hurrying forward with a bridge composed of pine trees, that they had hastily and roughly put together during the previous day. This, with some efforts and more noise than Gonzaga relished, was thrust across the moat. One of the men crept across, and assisted Gonzaga to make fast his end. A moment later Gian Maria and Guidobaldo stood in the castle-yard, and after them came almost every man of the five score that Gian Maria had brought to that siege. This was what Francesco had confidently expected, knowing that it was not his cousin's way to run any risks. The Duke of Babbiauo, whose face was disfigured by a bristling hedge of reddish stubble--for in obedience to the vow he had made, he now carried a fortnight's growth of beard on his round face--turned to Gonzaga. "Is all well?" he asked, in a friendly tone, whilst Guidobaldo contemptuously eyed the popinjay. Gonzaga assured them that the whole thing had been effected without disturbing the garrison at their prayers. Now that he deemed himself well protected his usual serenity of manner returned. "You may felicitate yourself, Highness," he ventured to say, with a grin, to Guidobaldo, "that you have reared your niece in devout ways." "Did you address me?" quoth the Duke of Urbino coldly. "I trust it may not again be necessary." Before the look of loathing in his handsome face Gonzaga cringed. Gian Maria laughed in his piping treble. "Have I not served your Highness faithfully?" fawned the gallant. "So has the meanest scullion in my kitchens, the lowliest groom in my stables--and with more honour to himself," answered the proud Duke. "Yet he does not go the length of jesting with me." His eye carried a menace so eloquent that Gonzaga drew back, afraid; but Gian Maria clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Be of good heart, Judas," he laughed, his pale face a-grin, "I shall find room for you in Babbiano, and work too, if you do it as well as this. Come; the men are here now. Let us go forward whilst they are at their prayers. But we must not disturb them," he added, more seriously. "I will not be guilty of an impiety. We can lie in wait for them without." He laughed gaily, for he seemed in a preposterously good humour, and bidding Gonzaga lead the way he followed, with Guidobaldo at his side. They crossed the courtyard, where his men were ranged, armed to the teeth, and at the door of the archway leading to the inner court they paused for Gonzaga to open it. A moment the gallant stood staring. Then he turned a face of consternation on the Dukes. His knees shook visibly. "It is locked," he announced, in a husky voice. "We made too much noise in entering," suggested Guidobaldo, "and they have taken the alarm." The explanation relieved the growing uneasiness in Gian Maria's mind. He turned with an oath to his men. "Here, some of you," his sharp voice commanded. "Beat me down this door. By the Host! Do the fools think to keep me out so easily?" The door was broken down, and they advanced. But only some half-dozen paces, for at the end of that short gallery they found the second door barring their progress. Through this, too, they broke, Gian Maria fiercely blaspheming at the delay. Yet when it was done he was none so eager to lead the way. In the second courtyard he deemed it extremely probable that they should find Valentina's soldiers awaiting them. So bidding his men pass on, he remained behind with Guidobaldo until he heard word that the inner court was likewise empty. And now the entire hundred of his followers were assembled there to overpower the twenty that served Monna Valentina; and Guidobaldo--despite Gian Maria's scruples--strode coolly forward to the chapel door. * * * * * Within the chapel Mass had started. Fra Domenico at the foot of the altar had pattered through the Confiteor, his deep voice responded to by the soprano of the ministering page. The Kyrie was being uttered when the attention of the congregation was attracted by the sound of steps approaching the chapel door to the accompaniment of an ominous clank of steel. The men rose in a body, fearing treachery, and cursing--despite the sanctity of the place--the circumstance that they were without weapons. Then the door opened, and down the steps rang the armed heels of the new-comers, so that every eye was turned upon them, including that of Fra Domenico, who had pronounced the last "Christe eleison" in a quavering voice. A gasp of relief, followed by an angry cry from Valentina, went up when they recognised those that came. First stepped the Count of Aquila in full armour, sword at side and dagger on hip, carrying his head-piece on th |