The Chronicles of Count Antonio
But Lorenzo, having perceived that the greater number was against Antonio, cried out to Sancho's men, "Seize him and bring him here!" For the Duke's promise carried no safety to Antonio.
But Sancho answered him, "Now that the sacred bones are safe, we have no quarrel with my lord Antonio;" and he and his men went and laid down their swords by the feet of Antonio, where he lay on the ground, his head on Tommasino's lap. So that the whole band were now round Antonio, and Lorenzo had but four with him.
"He asks war!" growled Bena to Tommasino. "Shall he not have war, my lord?"
And Tommasino laughed, answering, "Here is a drunkard of blood!"
But Count Antonio, raising himself, said, "Is the Archbishop here?"
Then Lorenzo went and brought the Archbishop, who, coming, stood before Antonio, and rehearsed to him the oath that Duke Valentine had taken, and told him how the Lady Lucia was already free and in her own house, and made him aware also of the great tumult that had happened in the city. And Antonio listened to his tale in silence.
Then the Archbishop raised a hand towards heaven and spoke in a solemn and sad voice, "Behold, there are ten of the Duke's Guard dead in the city, and there are twelve of the townsmen dead; and here, in the opening of the neck, there lie dead five men of those who followed you, my lord. Twenty-and-seven men are there that have died over this business. I pray more have not died in the city since I set forth. And for what has this been done, my lord? And more than the death of all these is there. For these sacred bones have been foully and irreligiously stolen and carried away, used with vile irreverence and brought into imminent hazard of utter destruction: and had they been destroyed and their ashes scattered to the four winds, according to your blasphemous oath, I know not what would have befallen the country where such an act was done. And for what has this been done, my lord? It has been done that a proud and violent man may have his will, and that his passion may be satisfied. Heavy indeed is the burden on your soul my lord; yes, on your soul is the weight of sacrilege and of much blood."
The Archbishop ceased, and his hand dropped to his side. The flames on the pile were burning low, and a stillness fell on all the company. But at last Count Antonio rose to his feet and stood with his elbow on Tommasino's shoulder, leaning on Tommasino. His face was weary and sad, and he was very pale, save where in one spot the flame had scorched his cheek to an angry red. And looking round on the Archbishop, and on the Lord Lorenzo, and on them all, he answered sadly, "In truth, my Lord Archbishop, my burden is heavy. For I am an outlaw, and excommunicated. Twenty-and-seven men have died through my act, and I have used the sacred bones foully, and brought them into imminent peril of total destruction, according to my oath. All this is true, my lord. And yet I know not. For Almighty God, whom all we, whether honest men or knaves, men of law or lawless, humbly worship – Almighty God has His own scales, my lord. And I know not which thing be in those scales the heavier; that twenty-and-seven men should die, and that the bones of the blessed St. Prisian should be brought in peril, aye, or should be utterly destroyed; or again that one weak girl, who has no protection save in the justice and pity of men, should be denied justice and bereft of pity, and that no man should hearken to her weeping. Say, my lord – for it is yours to teach and mine to learn – which of these things should God count the greater sin? And for myself I have asked nothing; and for my friends here, whom I love – yes, even those I have killed for my oath's sake, I loved – I have dared to ask nothing. But I asked only that justice should be done and mercy regarded. Where, my lord, is the greater sin?"
But the Archbishop answered not a word to Count Antonio; but he and the Lord Lorenzo came and lifted the golden casket, and, no man of Antonio's company seeking to hinder them, they went back with it to the city and showed it to the people; and after that the people had rejoiced greatly that the sacred bones, which they had thought to be destroyed, were safe, the Archbishop carried the golden casket back to the shrine in the village of Rilano, where it rests till this day. But Count Antonio buried the five men of his band whom he and Bena had slain, and with the rest he abode still in the hills, while the Lady Lucia dwelt in her own house in the city; and the Duke, honouring the oath which he had sworn before all the people, did not seek to constrain her to wed any man, and restored to her the estate that he had taken from her. Yet the Duke hated Count Antonio the more for what he had done, and sought the more eagerly how he might take him and put him to death.
CHAPTER VI
COUNT ANTONIO AND THE HERMIT OF THE VAULT
Among the stories concerning the Count Antonio which were told to me in answer to my questioning (whereof I have rejected many as being no better than idle tales), there was one that met me often and yet seemed strange and impossible to believe; for it was said that he had during the time of his outlawry once spent several days in the vault of the Peschetti, and there suffered things that pass human understanding.
This vault lies near to the church of St. John the Theologian, in the suburb of Baratesta, on the banks of the river; and the Peschetti had a palace hard by, and were a family of high nobility, and allied by blood to the house of Monte Velluto. But I could find no warrant for the story of Antonio's sojourn in the vault, and although many insisted that the tale was true, yet they could not tell how nor why the Count came to be in the vault; until at length I chanced on an aged woman who had heard the truth of the matter from her grandmother, and she made me acquainted with the story, pouring on me a flood of garrulous gossip, from which I have chosen as much as concerns the purpose. And here I set it down; for I believe it to be true, and I would omit nothing that touches the Count, so I can be sure that what I write is based on truth.
When Count Antonio had dwelt in the hills for the space of three years and nine months, it chanced that Cesare, last of the Peschetti, died; and he made a will on his death-bed whereby he bequeathed to Count Antonio his lands and also a store of money, and many ornaments of gold, and jewels; for Antonio's mother had been of the house of the Peschetti, and Cesare loved Antonio, although he had not dared to give him countenance for fear of the Duke's anger; yet, knowing himself to be dying, he bequeathed everything to him, for the Duke's wrath could not hurt a dead man. And so soon as he was dead, his steward Giuseppe sent secretly and in haste to Antonio, saying, "My lord, you cannot take the lands or the house; but, if you will be wise, come quickly and take the money and the jewels; for I hear that His Highness the Duke, declaring that an outlaw has no right and can inherit nothing, will send and seize the treasure." Now Antonio, though grieved at the death of Cesare, was glad to hear of the treasure; for he was often hard put to it to maintain his company and those who depended on him for bread. So he pondered anxiously how he might reach the palace of the Peschetti and lay hands on the treasure and return safely; for at this time Duke Valentine had posted above a hundred of his Guard in the plain, and this troop watched all the approaches to the hills so that the band could not ride forth in a body unless it were prepared to do battle with the guards. Nor did Antonio desire to weaken the band, lest the guards, learning that the bravest were away, should venture an attack. Therefore he would not take Tommasino or Bena or any of the stoutest with him; but he took four young men who had come to him from Firmola, having fallen into the Duke's displeasure through brawling with his guards. These he mounted on good horses, and, having made a circuit to avoid the encampment in the plain, he came to Cesare's house on the day before that appointed for the funeral. Giuseppe came to meet him, and led him where the dead man lay, and, after the Count had gazed on his face and kissed his forehead, they two went to the treasury, and Giuseppe delivered the treasure to Antonio; and Antonio made him a present of value and confirmed him in his stewardship, although it was not likely that the Duke would suffer him to exercise any power, inasmuch as His Highness had declared his intention of forfeiting the estate into his own hand.
Now it chanced that one of the young men, being regaled with wine, drank very freely, and began to talk loud and boastfully of his master's achievements as the servants sat under the trees in front of the house; and there was with them a certain tailor, a lame man, who had furnished mourning garments for the funeral. The tailor, learning that Antonio was come, said nothing, and seemed not to hear nor understand the drunken youth's talk; but at an early moment he took his departure and straightway hobbled as fast as his lame leg would let him to the Syndic of Baratesta, a very busy and ambitious fellow, who longed greatly to win the Duke's favour. And the tailor set the price of five pieces of gold and the ordering of a new gown on the news he brought; and the Syndic having agreed, the tailor cried, "Antonio of Monte Velluto is at the house of the Peschetti, and his band is not with him. If you hasten, you may catch him." At this the Syndic exulted very greatly; for the Duke's Commissaries would not arrive to assume possession of the house in his name till the morrow, by which time Antonio would be gone; and the Syndic rubbed his hands, saying, "If I can take him my glory will be great, and the gratitude of His Highness also." And he gathered together all his constables, and hard upon twenty discharged soldiers who dwelt in the town, and the fifteen men of the Duke's who were stationed at Baratesta to gather His Highness's dues; and thus, with a force of about fifty men, he set out in great haste for the house of the Peschetti, and was almost come there, before a little boy ran to Giuseppe crying that the Syndic and all the constables and many besides were coming to the house. And Giuseppe, who had but three men-servants of an age to fight, the other five being old (for Cesare had loved to keep those who served him well, even when their power grew less than their will), and moreover perceived that Antonio's four were young and untried, wrung his hands and hastened to the Count with the news, saying, "Yet weak as we are, we can die for you, my lord."
"Heaven forbid!" said Antonio, looking out of the window. "Are they all townsmen that come with this Syndic?"
"Alas, no, my lord. There are certain of the Duke's men, and I see among the rest men who have spent their days under arms, either in His Highness's service or in Free Companies."
"Then," said Antonio, smiling, "unless I am to share Cesare's funeral, I had best be gone. For I have seen too much fighting to be ashamed to run away from it."
"But, my lord, they are at the gates."
"And is there no other gate?"
"None, my lord, save the little gate in the wall there; and see, the Syndic has posted ten men there."
"And he will search the house?"
"I fear that he will, my lord. For he must have tidings of your coming."
"Then where is my horse?" said Count Antonio; and Giuseppe showed him where the horse stood in the shadow of the portico. "Do not let the Syndic know," added Antonio, "that the young men are of my company, and send them away in safety."
"But what do you, my lord?" cried Giuseppe.
"What I have done before, Giuseppe. I ride for life," answered the Count.
Then the Count, delaying no more, ran lightly down the stairs, leapt on his horse, and, drawing his sword, rode forth from the portico; and he was among the Syndic's company before they thought to see him; and he struck right and left with his sword; and they fell back before him in fear, yet striking at him as they shrank away; and he had come clean off, but for one grizzly-haired fellow who had served much in Free Companies and learnt cunning; for he stooped low, avoiding the sweep of Antonio's sword, and stabbed the horse in its belly, and stood wiping his knife and saying, "My legs are old. I have done my part. Do yours; the horse will not go far." In truth the horse was wounded to death, and its bowels protruded from the wound; and Antonio felt it falter and stumble. Yet the gallant beast carried him for half a mile, and then he sprang off, fearing it would fall under him as he sat and he be crushed by it; and he drew his sword across its throat that it might not linger in pain, and then ran on foot, hearing the cries of the Syndic's company as it pressed on behind him. And thus, running, he came to the church of St. John and to the vault of the Peschetti by it; two men were at work preparing for Cesare's funeral, and the door of the vault was open. Antonio hurled one man to the right and the other to the left, and rushed into the vault; for his breath failed, and there was no chance for his life were he overtaken in the open; and before the men regained their feet, he pulled the door of the vault close and sank on his knee inside, panting, and holding his sword in readiness to slay any who entered. Then the Syndic and his company came and called on him to surrender. And Antonio cried, "Come and take me." Then the Syndic bade the workmen pull open the door; but Antonio held it with one hand against them both. Yet at last they drew it a little open; and Antonio lunged with his sword through the aperture and wounded the Syndic in the leg, so that he stumbled backwards with an oath. And after that none was willing to enter first, until the grizzly-haired fellow came up; but he, seeing the aperture, rushed at it sword in hand, fearing no man, not even Count Antonio. But he could not touch Antonio, and he also fell back with a sore gash in his cheek; and Antonio laughed, saying, "Shall I surrender, Syndic?"
Now the Syndic was very urgent in his desire to take Antonio, but his men shook their heads, and he himself could not stand because of the sword-thrust in his leg; and, instead of fighting, his company began to tell of the wonderful deeds Antonio had done, and they grew no bolder by this; and the grizzly-haired fellow mocked them, saying that he would go again at the aperture if two more would attempt it with him; but none offered. And the Syndic raged and rebuked them, but he could not hurt them, being unable to stand on his feet; so that one said boldly, "Why should we die? The Duke's Commissaries will be here to-morrow with a company of the Guard. Let the Count stay in the vault till then. He is in safe keeping; and when he sees the Guard he will surrender. It is likely enough that a great lord like the Count would rather die than give up his sword to the Syndic." Whereat the Syndic was very ill pleased, but all the rest mighty well pleased; and, having heard this counsel, they could by no means be persuaded to attack afresh, but they let Antonio draw the door close again, being in truth glad to see the last of his sword. Therefore the Syndic, having no choice, set twenty to guard the entrance of the vault and prepared to depart. But he cried to Antonio, again bidding him to surrender, for the Guard would come to-morrow, and then at least he could not hope to resist.
"Aye, but to-morrow is to-morrow, Master Syndic," laughed Antonio. "Go, get your leg dressed, and leave to-morrow till it dawn."
So the Syndic went home and the rest with him, leaving the twenty on guard. And to this day, if a man hath more love for fighting than skill in it, folk call him a Syndic of Baratesta.
Count Antonio, being thus left in the vault, and perceiving that he would not be further molested that day, looked round; and though no daylight reached the vault, he could see, for the workmen had set a lamp there and it still burnt. Around him were the coffins of all the Peschetti who had died in five hundred years; and the air was heavy and stifling. Antonio took the lamp and walked round the vault, which was of circular form; and he perceived one coffin standing upright against the wall of the vault, as though there had been no room for it on the shelves. Then he sat down again, and, being weary, leant his head against the wall and soon slept; for a man whose conscience is easy and whose head has sense in it may sleep as well in a vault as in a bedchamber. Yet the air of the vault oppressed him, and he slept but lightly and uneasily. And, if a proof be needed how legends gather round the Count's name, I have heard many wonderful stories of what happened to him in the vault; how he held converse with dead Peschetti, how they told him things which it is not given to men to know, and how a certain beautiful lady, who had been dead two hundred years, having been slain by her lover in a jealous rage, came forth from the coffin, with her hair all dishevelled and a great wound yet bleeding in her bosom, and sang a low sweet wild love-song to him as he lay, and would not leave him though he bade her soul rest in the name of Christ and the Saints. But that any of these things happened I do not believe.
It was late when the Count awoke, and the lamp had burnt out, so that the vault was utterly dark. And as the Count roused himself, a sound strange in the place fell on his ear; for a man talked, and his talk was not such as one uses who speaks aloud his own musings to himself when he is alone (a trick men come by who live solitary), but he seemed to question others and to answer them, saying, "Aye," and "No," and "Alas, sweet friend!" and so forth, all in a low even voice; and now and again he would sigh, and once he laughed bitterly. Then the Count raised his voice, "Who is there?" And the other voice answered, "Which of you speaks? The tones are not known to me. Yet I know all the Peschetti who are here." And Antonio answered, "I am not of the Peschetti save by my mother; my name is Antonio of Monte Velluto." On this a cry came from the darkness, as of a man greatly troubled and alarmed; and after that there was silence for a space. And Antonio said, "There is naught to fear; I seek to save myself, not to hurt another. But how do you, a living man, come to be in this vault, and with whom do you speak?" Then came the sound of steel striking on a flint, and presently a spark, and a torch was lighted; and Antonio beheld before him, in the glow of the torch, the figure of a man who crouched on the floor of the vault over against him; his hair was long and tangled, his beard grew to his waist, and he was naked save for a cloth about his loins; and his eyes gleamed dark and wild as he gazed on Antonio in seeming fright and bewilderment. Then the Count, knowing that a man collects his thoughts while another speaks, told the man who he was and how he came there, and (because the man's eyes still wondered) how that he was an outlaw these three years and more because he would not bow to the Duke's will: and when he had told all, he ceased. Then the man came crawling closer to him, and, holding the torch to his face, scanned his face, saying, "Surely he is alive!" And again he was silent, but after a while he spoke.
"For twenty-and-three years," he said, "I have dwelt here among the dead; and to the dead I talk, and they are my friends and companions. For I hear their voices, and they come out of their coffins and greet me; yet now they are silent and still because you are here."
"But how can you live here?" cried Antonio. "For you must starve for lack of food, and come near to suffocation in the air of this vault."
The man set his hand to his brow and frowned, and said sadly, "Indeed I have forgotten much, yet I remember a certain night when the Devil came into me, and in black fury and jealousy I laid wait by the door of the room where my wife was; and we had been wedded but a few months. There was a man who was my friend, and he came to my wife secretly, seeking to warn her that I was suspected of treason to the Prince: yes, in all things he was my friend; for when I stabbed him as he came to the door, and, rushing in, stabbed her also, she did not die till she had told me all; and then she smiled sweetly at me, saying, "Our friend will forgive, dear husband, for you did not know; and I forgive the blow your love dealt me: kiss me and let me die here in your arms." And I kissed her, and she died. Then I laid her on her bed, and I went forth from my home; and I wandered many days. Then I sought to kill myself, but I could not, for a voice seemed to say, 'What penitence is there in death? Lo, it is sweet, Paolo!' So I did not kill myself; but I took an oath to live apart from men till God should in His mercy send me death. And coming in my wanderings to the river that runs by Baratesta, I found a little hollow in the bank of the river, and I lay down there; and none pursued me, for the Duke of Firmola cared not for a crime done in Mantivoglia. And for a year I dwelt in my little cave: then it was noised about that I dwelt there, and fools began to call me, who was the vilest sinner born, a holy hermit, and they came to me to ask prayers. So I begged from one a pick, and I worked on the face of the rock, and made a passage through it. And I swore to look no more on the light of the sun, but abode in the recesses that I had hollowed out. And I go no more to the mouth of the cave, save once a day at nightfall, when I drink of the water of the river and take the broken meats they leave for me."
"But here – how came you here?" cried Antonio.
"I broke through one day by chance, as I worked on the rock; and, seeing the vault, I made a passage with much labour; and having done this, I hid it with a coffin; and now I dwell here with the dead, expecting the time when in God's mercy I also shall be allowed to die. But to-day I fled back through the passage, for men came and opened the vault and let in the sunshine, which I might not see. Pray for me, sir; I have need of prayers."
"Now God comfort you," said Count Antonio softly. "Of a truth, sir, a man who knows his sin and grieves for it in his heart hath in God's eyes no longer any sin. So is it sweetly taught in the most Holy Scriptures. Therefore take comfort; for your friend will forgive even as the gentle lady who loved you forgave; and Christ has no less forgiveness than they."
"I know not," said the hermit, groaning heavily. "I question the dead who lie here concerning these things, but they may not tell me."
"Indeed, poor man, they can tell nothing," said Antonio gently; for he perceived that the man was subject to a madness and deluded by fancied visions and voices.
"Yet I love to talk to them of the time when I also shall be dead."
"God comfort you," said Count Antonio again.
Now while Antonio and the hermit talked, one of those who guarded the vault chanced to lay his ear against the door, listening whether Antonio moved, and he heard, to his great dread and consternation, the voice of another who talked with Antonio: most of what was said he did not hear, but he heard Antonio say, "God comfort you," and the hermit answer something and groan heavily. And the legs of the listener shook under him, and he cried to his comrades that the dead talked with Antonio, he himself being from fright more dead than alive. Then all came and listened; and still the voice of another talked with Antonio; so that the guards were struck with terror and looked in one another's faces, saying, "The dead speak! The Count speaks with the dead! Christ and the Blessed Mother of Christ and the Saints protect us!" And they looked neither to right nor left, but sat quaking on the ground about the door of the vault; and presently one ran and told the Syndic, and he caused himself to be carried thither in his chair; and he also heard, and was very greatly afraid, saying, "This Antonio of Monte Velluto is a fearful man." And the report spread throughout Baratesta that Count Antonio talked with the dead in the vault of the Peschetti; whence came, I doubt not, the foolish tales of which I have made mention. A seed is enough: men's tongues water it and it grows to a great plant. Nor did any man think that it was the hermit who talked; for although they knew of his cave, they did not know nor imagine of the passage he had made, and his voice was utterly strange, seeing that he had spoken no word to any living man for twenty years, till he spoke with the Count that night. Therefore the whole of Baratesta was in great fear; and they came to a certain learned priest, who was priest of the church of St. John, and told him. And he arose and came in great haste, and offered prayers outside the vault, and bade the unquiet spirits rest; but he did not offer to enter, nor did any one of them; but they all said, "We had determined even before to await the Duke's Guard, and that is still the wiser thing."
