to the barrier, in case of anything. Good-bye, for the present, signora; I
shall meet you at Forli on Friday, then, unless anything special turns up.
Wait a minute; th-this is the address."
He tore a leaf out of his pocket-book and wrote a few words in pencil.
"I have it already," she said in a dull, quiet voice.
"H-have you? Well, there it is, anyway. Come, Martini. Sh-sh-sh! Don't
let the door creak!"
They crept softly downstairs. When the street door clicked behind them
she went back into the room and mechanically unfolded the paper he had put
into her hand. Underneath the address was written:
"I will tell you everything there."
IT was market-day in Brisighella, and the country folk had come in from
the villages and hamlets of the district with their pigs and poultry, their
dairy produce and droves of half-wild mountain cattle. The market-place was
thronged with a perpetually shifting crowd, laughing, joking, bargaining for
dried figs, cheap cakes, and sunflower seeds. The brown, bare-footed
children sprawled, face downward, on the pavement in the hot sun, while
their mothers sat under the trees with their baskets of butter and eggs.
Monsignor Montanelli, coming out to wish the people "Good-morning," was
at once surrounded by a clamourous throng of children, holding up for his
acceptance great bunches of irises and scarlet poppies and sweet white
narcissus from the mountain slopes. His passion for wild flowers was
affectionately tolerated by the people, as one of the little follies which
sit gracefully on very wise men. If anyone less universally beloved had
filled his house with weeds and grasses they would have laughed at him; but
the "blessed Cardinal" could afford a few harmless eccentricities.
"Well, Mariuccia," he said, stopping to pat one of the children on the
head; "you have grown since I saw you last. And how is the grandmother's
rheumatism?"
"She's been better lately, Your Eminence; but mother's bad now."
"I'm sorry to hear that; tell the mother to come down here some day and
see whether Dr. Giordani can do anything for her. I will find somewhere to
put her up; perhaps the change will do her good. You are looking better,
Luigi; how are your eyes?"
He passed on, chatting with the mountaineers. He always remembered the
names and ages of the children, their troubles and those of their parents;
and would stop to inquire, with sympathetic interest, for the health of the
cow that fell sick at Christmas, or of the rag-doll that was crushed under a
cart-wheel last market-day.
When he returned to the palace the marketing began. A lame man in a
blue shirt, with a shock of black hair hanging into his eyes and a deep scar
across the left cheek, lounged up to one of the booths and, in very bad
Italian, asked for a drink of lemonade.
"You're not from these parts," said the woman who poured it out,
glancing up at him.
"No. I come from Corsica."
"Looking for work?"
"Yes; it will be hay-cutting time soon, and a gentleman that has a farm
near Ravenna came across to Bastia the other day and told me there's plenty
of work to be got there."
"I hope you'll find it so, I'm sure, but times are bad hereabouts."
"They're worse in Corsica, mother. I don't know what we poor folk are
coming to."
"Have you come over alone?"
"No, my mate is with me; there he is, in the red shirt. Hola, Paolo!"
Michele hearing himself called, came lounging up with his hands in his
pockets. He made a fairly good Corsican, in spite of the red wig which he
had put on to render himself unrecognizable. As for the Gadfly, he looked
his part to perfection.
They sauntered through the market-place together, Michele whistling
between his teeth, and the Gadfly trudging along with a bundle over his
shoulder, shuffling his feet on the ground to render his lameness less
observable. They were waiting for an emissary, to whom important directions
had to be given.
"There's Marcone, on horseback, at that corner," Michele whispered
suddenly. The Gadfly, still carrying his bundle, shuffled towards the
horseman.
"Do you happen to be wanting a hay-maker, sir?" he said, touching his
ragged cap and running one finger along the bridle. It was the signal agreed
upon, and the rider, who from his appearance might have been a country
squire's bailiff, dismounted and threw the reins on the horse's neck.
"What sort of work can you do, my man?"
The Gadfly fumbled with his cap.
"I can cut grass, sir, and trim hedges"--he began; and without any
break in his voice, went straight on: "At one in the morning at the mouth of
the round cave. You must have two good horses and a cart. I shall be waiting
inside the cave---- And then I can dig, sir, and----"
"That will do, I only want a grass-cutter. Have you ever been out
before?"
"Once, sir. Mind, you must come well-armed; we may meet a flying
squadron. Don't go by the wood-path; you're safer on the other side. If you
meet a spy, don't stop to argue with him; fire at once---- I should be very
glad of work, sir."
"Yes, I dare say, but I want an experienced grass-cutter. No, I haven't
got any coppers to-day."
A very ragged beggar had slouched up to them, with a doleful,
monotonous whine.
"Have pity on a poor blind man, in the name of the Blessed Virgin------
Get out of this place at once; there's a flying squadron coming along----
Most Holy Queen of Heaven, Maiden undefiled-- It's you they're after,
Rivarez; they'll be here in two minutes---- And so may the saints reward
you---- You'll have to make a dash for it; there are spies at all the
corners. It's no use trying to slip away without being seen."
Marcone slipped the reins into the Gadfly's hand.
"Make haste! Ride out to the bridge and let the horse go; you can hide
in the ravine. We're all armed; we can keep them back for ten minutes."
"No. I won't have you fellows taken. Stand together, all of you, and
fire after me in order. Move up towards our horses; there they are, tethered
by the palace steps; and have your knives ready. We retreat fighting, and
when I throw my cap down, cut the halters and jump every man on the nearest
horse. We may all reach the wood that way."
They had spoken in so quiet an undertone that even the nearest
bystanders had not supposed their conversation to refer to anything more
dangerous than grass-cutting. Marcone, leading his own mare by the bridle,
walked towards the tethered horses, the Gadfly slouching along beside him,
and the beggar following them with an outstretched hand and a persistent
whine. Michele came up whistling; the beggar had warned him in passing, and
he quietly handed on the news to three countrymen who were eating raw onions
under a tree. They immediately rose and followed him; and before anyone's
notice had been attracted to them, the whole seven were standing together by
the steps of the palace, each man with one hand on the hidden pistol, and
the tethered horses within easy reach.
"Don't betray yourselves till I move," the Gadfly said softly and
clearly. "They may not recognize us. When I fire, then begin in order. Don't
fire at the men; lame their horses--then they can't follow us. Three of you
fire, while the other three reload. If anyone comes between you and our
horses, kill him. I take the roan. When I throw down my cap, each man for
himself; don't stop for anything."
"Here they come," said Michele; and the Gadfly turned round, with an
air of naive and stupid wonder, as the people suddenly broke off in their
bargaining.
Fifteen armed men rode slowly into the marketplace. They had great
difficulty to get past the throng of people at all, and, but for the spies
at the corners of the square, all the seven conspirators could have slipped
quietly away while the attention of the crowd was fixed upon the soldiers.
Michele moved a little closer to the Gadfly.
"Couldn't we get away now?"
"No; we're surrounded with spies, and one of them has recognized me. He
has just sent a man to tell the captain where I am. Our only chance is to
lame their horses."
"Which is the spy?"
"The first man I fire at. Are you all ready? They have made a lane to
us; they are going to come with a rush."
"Out of the way there!" shouted the captain. "In the name of His
Holiness!"
The crowd had drawn back, startled and wondering; and the soldiers made
a quick dash towards the little group standing by the palace steps. The
Gadfly drew a pistol from his blouse and fired, not at the advancing troops,
but at the spy, who was approaching the horses, and who fell back with a
broken collar-bone. Immediately after the report, six more shots were fired
in quick succession, as the conspirators moved steadily closer to the
tethered horses.
One of the cavalry horses stumbled and plunged; another fell to the
ground with a fearful cry. Then, through the shrieking of the panic-stricken
people, came the loud, imperious voice of the officer in command, who had
risen in the stirrups and was holding a sword above his head.
"This way, men!"
He swayed in the saddle and sank back; the Gadfly had fired again with
his deadly aim. A little stream of blood was trickling down the captain's
uniform; but he steadied himself with a violent effort, and, clutching at
his horse's mane, cried out fiercely:
"Kill that lame devil if you can't take him alive! It's Rivarez!"
"Another pistol, quick!" the Gadfly called to his men; "and go!"
He flung down his cap. It was only just in time, for the swords of the
now infuriated soldiers were flashing close in front of him.
"Put down your weapons, all of you!"
Cardinal Montanelli had stepped suddenly between the combatants; and
one of the soldiers cried out in a voice sharp with terror:
"Your Eminence! My God, you'll be murdered!"
Montanelli only moved a step nearer, and faced the Gadfly's pistol.
Five of the conspirators were already on horseback and dashing up the
hilly street. Marcone sprang on to the back of his mare. In the moment of
riding away, he glanced back to see whether his leader was in need of help.
The roan was close at hand, and in another instant all would have been safe;
but as the figure in the scarlet cassock stepped forward, the Gadfly
suddenly wavered and the hand with the pistol sank down. The instant decided
everything. Immediately he was surrounded and flung violently to the ground,
and the weapon was dashed out of his hand by a blow from the flat of a
soldier's sword. Marcone struck his mare's flank with the stirrup; the hoofs
of the cavalry horses were thundering up the hill behind him; and it would
have been worse than useless to stay and be taken too. Turning in the saddle
as he galloped away, to fire a last shot in the teeth of the nearest
pursuer, he saw the Gadfly, with blood on his face, trampled under the feet
of horses and soldiers and spies; and heard the savage curses of the
captors, the yells of triumph and rage.
Montanelli did not notice what had happened; he had moved away from the
steps, and was trying to calm the terrified people. Presently, as he stooped
over the wounded spy, a startled movement of the crowd made him look up. The
soldiers were crossing the square, dragging their prisoner after them by the
rope with which his hands were tied. His face was livid with pain and
exhaustion, and he panted fearfully for breath; but he looked round at the
Cardinal, smiling with white lips, and whispered:
"I c-cong-gratulate your Eminence."
. . . . .
Five days later Martini reached Forli. He had received from Gemma by
post a bundle of printed circulars, the signal agreed upon in case of his
being needed in any special emergency; and, remembering the conversation on
the terrace, he guessed the truth at once. All through the journey he kept
repeating to himself that there was no reason for supposing anything to have
happened to the Gadfly, and that it was absurd to attach any importance to
the childish superstitions of so nervous and fanciful a person; but the more
he reasoned with himself against the idea, the more firmly did it take
possession of his mind.
"I have guessed what it is: Rivarez is taken, of course?" he said, as
he came into Gemma's room.
"He was arrested last Thursday, at Brisighella. He defended himself
desperately and wounded the captain of the squadron and a spy."
"Armed resistance; that's bad!"
"It makes no difference; he was too deeply compromised already for a
pistol-shot more or less to affect his position much."
"What do you think they are going to do with him?"
She grew a shade paler even than before.
"I think," she said; "that we must not wait to find out what they mean
to do."
"You think we shall be able to effect a rescue?"
"We MUST."
He turned away and began to whistle, with his hands behind his back.
Gemma let him think undisturbed. She was sitting still, leaning her head
against the back of the chair, and looking out into vague distance with a
fixed and tragic absorption. When her face wore that expression, it had a
look of Durer's "Melancolia."
"Have you seen him?" Martini asked, stopping for a moment in his tramp.
"No; he was to have met me here the next morning."
"Yes, I remember. Where is he?"
"In the fortress; very strictly guarded, and, they say, in chains."
He made a gesture of indifference.
"Oh, that's no matter; a good file will get rid of any number of
chains. If only he isn't wounded----"
"He seems to have been slightly hurt, but exactly how much we don't
know. I think you had better hear the account of it from Michele himself; he
was present at the arrest."
"How does he come not to have been taken too? Did he run away and leave
Rivarez in the lurch?"
"It's not his fault; he fought as long as anybody did, and followed the
directions given him to the letter. For that matter, so did they all. The
only person who seems to have forgotten, or somehow made a mistake at the
last minute, is Rivarez himself. There's something inexplicable about it
altogether. Wait a moment; I will call Michele."
She went out of the room, and presently came back with Michele and a
broad-shouldered mountaineer.
"This is Marco," she said. "You have heard of him; he is one of the
smugglers. He has just got here, and perhaps will be able to tell us more.
Michele, this is Cesare Martini, that I spoke to you about. Will you tell
him what happened, as far as you saw it?"
Michele gave a short account of the skirmish with the squadron.
"I can't understand how it happened," he concluded. "Not one of us
would have left him if we had thought he would be taken; but his directions
were quite precise, and it never occurred to us, when he threw down his cap,
that he would wait to let them surround him. He was close beside the roan--I
saw him cut the tether--and I handed him a loaded pistol myself before I
mounted. The only thing I can suppose is that he missed his footing,--being
lame,--in trying to mount. But even then, he could have fired."
"No, it wasn't that," Marcone interposed. "He didn't attempt to mount.
I was the last one to go, because my mare shied at the firing; and I looked
round to see whether he was safe. He would have got off clear if it hadn't
been for the Cardinal." "Ah!" Gemma exclaimed softly; and Martini repeated
in amazement: "The Cardinal?"
"Yes; he threw himself in front of the pistol-- confound him! I suppose
Rivarez must have been startled, for he dropped his pistol-hand and put the
other one up like this"--laying the back of his left wrist across his
eyes--"and of course they all rushed on him."
"I can't make that out," said Michele. "It's not like Rivarez to lose
his head at a crisis."
"Probably he lowered his pistol for fear of killing an unarmed man,"
Martini put in. Michele shrugged his shoulders.
"Unarmed men shouldn't poke their noses into the middle of a fight. War
is war. If Rivarez had put a bullet into His Eminence, instead of letting
himself be caught like a tame rabbit, there'd be one honest man the more and
one priest the less."
He turned away, biting his moustache. His anger was very near to
breaking down in tears.
"Anyway," said Martini, "the thing's done, and there's no use wasting
time in discussing how it happened. The question now is how we're to arrange
an escape for him. I suppose you're all willing to risk it?"
Michele did not even condescend to answer the superfluous question, and
the smuggler only remarked with a little laugh: "I'd shoot my own brother,
if he weren't willing."
"Very well, then---- First thing; have you got a plan of the fortress?"
Gemma unlocked a drawer and took out several sheets of paper.
"I have made out all the plans. Here is the ground floor of the
fortress; here are the upper and lower stories of the towers, and here the
plan of the ramparts. These are the roads leading to the valley, and here
are the paths and hiding-places in the mountains, and the underground
passages."
"Do you know which of the towers he is in?"
"The east one, in the round room with the grated window. I have marked
it on the plan."
"How did you get your information?"
"From a man nicknamed 'The Cricket,' a soldier of the guard. He is
cousin to one of our men--Gino."
"You have been quick about it."
"There's no time to lose. Gino went into Brisighella at once; and some
of the plans we already had. That list of hiding-places was made by Rivarez
himself; you can see by the handwriting."
"What sort of men are the soldiers of the guard?"
"That we have not been able to find out yet; the Cricket has only just
come to the place, and knows nothing about the other men."
"We must find out from Gino what the Cricket himself is like. Is
anything known of the government's intentions? Is Rivarez likely to be tried
in Brisighella or taken in to Ravenna?"
"That we don't know. Ravenna, of course, is the chief town of the
Legation and by law cases of importance can be tried only there, in the
Tribunal of First Instance. But law doesn't count for much in the Four
Legations; it depends on the personal fancy of anybody who happens to be in
power."
"They won't take him in to Ravenna," Michele interposed.
"What makes you think so?"
"I am sure of it. Colonel Ferrari, the military Governor at
Brisighella, is uncle to the officer that Rivarez wounded; he's a vindictive
sort of brute and won't give up a chance to spite an enemy."
"You think he will try to keep Rivarez here?"
"I think he will try to get him hanged."
Martini glanced quickly at Gemma. She was very pale, but her face had
not changed at the words. Evidently the idea was no new one to her.
"He can hardly do that without some formality," she said quietly; "but
he might possibly get up a court-martial on some pretext or other, and
justify himself afterwards by saying that the peace of the town required
it."
"But what about the Cardinal? Would he consent to things of that kind?"
"He has no jurisdiction in military affairs."
"No, but he has great influence. Surely the Governor would not venture
on such a step without his consent?"
"He'll never get that," Marcone interrupted. "Montanelli was always
against the military commissions, and everything of the kind. So long as
they keep him in Brisighella nothing serious can happen; the Cardinal will
always take the part of any prisoner. What I am afraid of is their taking
him to Ravenna. Once there, he's lost."
"We shouldn't let him get there," said Michele. "We could manage a
rescue on the road; but to get him out of the fortress here is another
matter."
"I think," said Gemma; "that it would be quite useless to wait for the
chance of his being transferred to Ravenna. We must make the attempt at
Brisighella, and we have no time to lose. Cesare, you and I had better go
over the plan of the fortress together, and see whether we can think out
anything. I have an idea in my head, but I can't get over one point."
"Come, Marcone," said Michele, rising; "we will leave them to think out
their scheme. I have to go across to Fognano this afternoon, and I want you
to come with me. Vincenzo hasn't sent those cartridges, and they ought to
have been here yesterday."
When the two men had gone, Martini went up to Gemma and silently held
out his hand. She let her fingers lie in his for a moment.
"You were always a good friend, Cesare," she said at last; "and a very
present help in trouble. And now let us discuss plans."PART III: CHAPTER
III.
"AND I once more most earnestly assure Your Eminence that your refusal
is endangering the peace of the town."
The Governor tried to preserve the respectful tone due to a high
dignitary of the Church; but there was audible irritation in his voice. His
liver was out of order, his wife was running up heavy bills, and his temper
had been sorely tried during the last three weeks. A sullen, disaffected
populace, whose dangerous mood grew daily more apparent; a district
honeycombed with plots and bristling with hidden weapons; an inefficient
garrison, of whose loyalty he was more than doubtful, and a Cardinal whom he
had pathetically described to his adjutant as the "incarnation of immaculate
pig-headedness," had already reduced him to the verge of desperation. Now he
was saddled with the Gadfly, an animated quintessence of the spirit of
mischief.
Having begun by disabling both the Governor's favourite nephew and his
most valuable spy, the "crooked Spanish devil" had followed up his exploits
in the market-place by suborning the guards, browbeating the interrogating
officers, and "turning the prison into a bear-garden." He had now been three
weeks in the fortress, and the authorities of Brisighella were heartily sick
of their bargain. They had subjected him to interrogation upon
interrogation; and after employing, to obtain admissions from him, every
device of threat, persuasion, and stratagem which their ingenuity could
suggest, remained just as wise as on the day of his capture. They had begun
to realize that it would perhaps have been better to send him into Ravenna
at once. It was, however, too late to rectify the mistake. The Governor,
when sending in to the Legate his report of the arrest, had begged, as a
special favour, permission to superintend personally the investigation of
this case; and, his request having been graciously acceded to, he could not
now withdraw without a humiliating confession that he was overmatched.
The idea of settling the difficulty by a courtmartial had, as Gemma and
Michele had foreseen, presented itself to him as the only satisfactory
solution; and Cardinal Montanelli's stubborn refusal to countenance this was
the last drop which made the cup of his vexations overflow.
"I think," he said, "that if Your Eminence knew what I and my
assistants have put up with from this man you would feel differently about
the matter. I fully understand and respect the conscientious objection to
irregularities in judicial proceedings; but this is an exceptional case and
calls for exceptional measures."
"There is no case," Montanelli answered, "which calls for injustice;
and to condemn a civilian by the judgment of a secret military tribunal is
both unjust and illegal."
"The case amounts to this, Your Eminence: The prisoner is manifestly
guilty of several capital crimes. He joined the infamous attempt of Savigno,
and the military commission nominated by Monsignor Spinola would certainly
have had him shot or sent to the galleys then, had he not succeeded in
escaping to Tuscany. Since that time he has never ceased plotting. He is
known to be an influential member of one of the most pestilent secret
societies in the country. He is gravely suspected of having consented to, if
not inspired, the assassination of no less than three confidential police
agents. He has been caught-- one might almost say--in the act of smuggling
firearms into the Legation. He has offered armed resistance to authority and
seriously wounded two officials in the discharge of their duty, and he is
now a standing menace to the peace and order of the town. Surely, in such a
case, a court-martial is justifiable."
"Whatever the man has done," Montanelli replied, "he has the right to
be judged according to law."
"The ordinary course of law involves delay, Your Eminence, and in this
case every moment is precious. Besides everything else, I am in constant
terror of his escaping."
"If there is any danger of that, it rests with you to guard him more
closely."
"I do my best, Your Eminence, but I am dependent upon the prison staff,
and the man seems to have bewitched them all. I have changed the guard four
times within three weeks; I have punished the soldiers till I am tired of
it, and nothing is of any use. I can't prevent their carrying letters
backwards and forwards. The fools are in love with him as if he were a
woman."
"That is very curious. There must be something remarkable about him."
"There's a remarkable amount of devilry--I beg pardon, Your Eminence,
but really this man is enough to try the patience of a saint. It's hardly
credible, but I have to conduct all the interrogations myself, for the
regular officer cannot stand it any longer."
"How is that?"
"It's difficult to explain. Your Eminence, but you would understand if
you had once heard the way he goes on. One might think the interrogating
officer were the criminal and he the judge."
"But what is there so terrible that he can do? He can refuse to answer
your questions, of course; but he has no weapon except silence."
"And a tongue like a razor. We are all mortal, Your Eminence, and most
of us have made mistakes in our time that we don't want published on the
house-tops. That's only human nature, and it's hard on a man to have his
little slips of twenty years ago raked up and thrown in his teeth----"
"Has Rivarez brought up some personal secret of the interrogating
officer?"
"Well, really--the poor fellow got into debt when he was a cavalry
officer, and borrowed a little sum from the regimental funds----"
"Stole public money that had been intrusted to him, in fact?"
"Of course it was very wrong, Your Eminence; but his friends paid it
back at once, and the affair was hushed up,--he comes of a good family,--and
ever since then he has been irreproachable. How Rivarez found out about it I
can't conceive; but the first thing he did at interrogation was to bring up
this old scandal--before the subaltern, too! And with as innocent a face as
if he were saying his prayers! Of course the story's all over the Legation
by now. If Your Eminence would only be present at one of the interrogations,
I am sure you would realize---- He needn't know anything about it. You might
overhear him from------"
Montanelli turned round and looked at the Governor with an expression
which his face did not often wear.
"I am a minister of religion," he said; "not a police-spy; and
eavesdropping forms no part of my professional duties."
"I--I didn't mean to give offence------"
"I think we shall not get any good out of discussing this question
further. If you will send the prisoner here, I will have a talk with him."
"I venture very respectfully to advise Your Eminence not to attempt it.
The man is perfectly incorrigible. It would be both safer and wiser to
overstep the letter of the law for this once, and get rid of him before he
does any more mischief. It is with great diffidence that I venture to press
the point after what Your Eminence has said; but after all I am responsible
to Monsignor the Legate for the order of the town------"
"And I," Montanelli interrupted, "am responsible to God and His
Holiness that there shall be no underhand dealing in my diocese. Since you
press me in the matter, colonel, I take my stand upon my privilege as
Cardinal. I will not allow a secret court-martial in this town in
peace-time. I will receive the prisoner here, and alone, at ten to-morrow
morning."
"As Your Eminence pleases," the Governor replied with sulky
respectfulness; and went away, grumbling to himself: "They're about a pair,
as far as obstinacy goes."
He told no one of the approaching interview till it was actually time
to knock off the prisoner's chains and start for the palace. It was quite
enough, as he remarked to his wounded nephew, to have this Most Eminent son
of Balaam's ass laying down the law, without running any risk of the
soldiers plotting with Rivarez and his friends to effect an escape on the
way.
When the Gadfly, strongly guarded, entered the room where Montanelli
was writing at a table covered with papers, a sudden recollection came over
him, of a hot midsummer afternoon when he had sat turning over manuscript
sermons in a study much like this. The shutters had been closed, as they
were here, to keep out the heat, and a fruitseller's voice outside had
called: "Fragola! Fragola!"
He shook the hair angrily back from his eyes and set his mouth in a
smile.
Montanelli looked up from his papers.
"You can wait in the hall," he said to the guards.
"May it please Your Eminence," began the sergeant, in a lowered voice
and with evident nervousness, "the colonel thinks that this prisoner is
dangerous and that it would be better------"
A sudden flash came into Montanelli's eyes.
"You can wait in the hall," he repeated quietly; and the sergeant,
saluting and stammering excuses with a frightened face, left the room with
his men.
"Sit down, please," said the Cardinal, when the door was shut. The
Gadfly obeyed in silence.
"Signor Rivarez," Montanelli began after a pause, "I wish to ask you a
few questions, and shall be very much obliged to you if you will answer
them."
The Gadfly smiled. "My ch-ch-chief occupation at p-p-present is to be
asked questions."
"And--not to answer them? So I have heard; but these questions are put
by officials who are investigating your case and whose duty is to use your
answers as evidence."
"And th-those of Your Eminence?" There was a covert insult in the tone
more than in the words, and the Cardinal understood it at once; but his face
did not lose its grave sweetness of expression.
"Mine," he said, "whether you answer them or not, will remain between
you and me. If they should trench upon your political secrets, of course you
will not answer. Otherwise, though we are complete strangers to each other,
I hope that you will do so, as a personal favour to me."
"I am ent-t-tirely at the service of Your Eminence." He said it with a
little bow, and a face that would have taken the heart to ask favours out of
the daughters of the horse-leech.
"First, then, you are said to have been smuggling firearms into this
district. What are they wanted for?"
"T-t-to k-k-kill rats with."
"That is a terrible answer. Are all your fellow-men rats in your eyes
if they cannot think as you do?"
"S-s-some of them."
Montanelli leaned back in his chair and looked at him in silence for a
little while.
"What is that on your hand?" he asked suddenly.
The Gadfly glanced at his left hand. "Old m-m-marks from the teeth of
some of the rats."
"Excuse me; I was speaking of the other hand. That is a fresh hurt."
The slender, flexible right hand was badly cut and grazed. The Gadfly
held it up. The wrist was swollen, and across it ran a deep and long black
bruise.
"It is a m-m-mere trifle, as you see," he said. "When I was arrested
the other day,--thanks to Your Eminence,"--he made another little bow,--
"one of the soldiers stamped on it."
Montanelli took the wrist and examined it closely. "How does it come to
be in such a state now, after three weeks?" he asked. "It is all inflamed."
"Possibly the p-p-pressure of the iron has not done it much good."
The Cardinal looked up with a frown.
"Have they been putting irons on a fresh wound?"
"N-n-naturally, Your Eminence; that is what fresh wounds are for. Old
wounds are not much use. They will only ache; you c-c-can't make them burn
properly."
Montanelli looked at him again in the same close, scrutinizing way;
then rose and opened a drawer full of surgical appliances.
"Give me the hand," he said.
The Gadfly, with a face as hard as beaten iron, held out the hand, and
Montanelli, after bathing the injured place, gently bandaged it. Evidently
he was accustomed to such work.
"I will speak about the irons," he said. "And now I want to ask you
another question: What do you propose to do?"
"Th-th-that is very simply answered, Your Eminence. To escape if I can,
and if I can't, to die."
"Why 'to die'?"
"Because if the Governor doesn't succeed in getting me shot, I shall be
sent to the galleys, and for me that c-c-comes to the same thing. I have not
got the health to live through it."
Montanelli rested his arm on the table and pondered silently. The
Gadfly did not disturb him. He was leaning back with half-shut eyes, lazily
enjoying the delicious physical sensation of relief from the chains.
"Supposing," Montanelli began again, "that you were to succeed in
escaping; what should you do with your life?"
"I have already told Your Eminence; I should k-k-kill rats."
"You would kill rats. That is to say, that if I were to let you escape
from here now,--supposing I had the power to do so,--you would use your
freedom to foster violence and bloodshed instead of preventing them?"
The Gadfly raised his eyes to the crucifix on the wall. "'Not peace,
but a sword';--at l-least I should be in good company. For my own part,
though, I prefer pistols."
"Signor Rivarez," said the Cardinal with unruffled composure, "I have
not insulted you as yet, or spoken slightingly of your beliefs or friends.
May I not expect the same courtesy from you, or do you wish me to suppose
that an atheist cannot be a gentleman?"
"Ah, I q-quite forgot. Your Eminence places courtesy high among the
Christian virtues. I remember your sermon in Florence, on the occasion of my
c-controversy with your anonymous defender."
"That is one of the subjects about which I wished to speak to you.
Would you mind explaining to me the reason of the peculiar bitterness you
seem to feel against me? If you have simply picked me out as a convenient
target, that is another matter. Your methods of political controversy are
your own affair, and we are not discussing politics now. But I fancied at
the time that there was some personal animosity towards me; and if so, I
should be glad to know whether I have ever done you wrong or in any way
given you cause for such a feeling."
Ever done him wrong! The Gadfly put up the bandaged hand to his throat.
"I must refer Your Eminence to Shakspere," he said with a little laugh.
"It's as with the man who can't endure a harmless, necessary cat. My
antipathy is a priest. The sight of the cassock makes my t-t-teeth ache."
"Oh, if it is only that----" Montanelli dismissed the subject with an
indifferent gesture.
"Still," he added, "abuse is one thing and perversion of fact is
another. When you stated, in answer to my sermon, that I knew the identity
of the anonymous writer, you made a mistake,--I do not accuse you of wilful
falsehood,--and stated what was untrue. I am to this day quite ignorant of
his name."
The Gadfly put his head on one side, like an intelligent robin, looked
at him for a moment gravely, then suddenly threw himself back and burst into
a peal of laughter.
"S-s-sancta simplicitas! Oh, you, sweet, innocent, Arcadian people--and
you never guessed! You n-never saw the cloven hoof?"
Montanelli stood up. "Am I to understand, Signor Rivarez, that you
wrote both sides of the controversy yourself?"
"It was a shame, I know," the Gadfly answered, looking up with wide,
innocent blue eyes. "And you s-s-swallowed everything whole; just as if it
had been an oyster. It was very wrong; but oh, it w-w-was so funny!"
Montanelli bit his lip and sat down again. He had realized from the
first that the Gadfly was trying to make him lose his temper, and had
resolved to keep it whatever happened; but he was beginning to find excuses
for the Governor's exasperation. A man who had been spending two hours a day
for the last three weeks in interrogating the Gadfly might be pardoned an
occasional swear-word.
"We will drop that subject," he said quietly. "What I wanted to see you
for particularly is this: My position here as Cardinal gives me some voice,
if I choose to claim my privilege, in the question of what is to be done
with you. The only use to which I should ever put such a privilege would be
to interfere in case of any violence to you which was not necessary to
prevent you from doing violence to others. I sent for you, therefore, partly
in order to ask whether you have anything to complain of,--I will see about
the irons; but perhaps there is something else,--and partly because I felt
it right, before giving my opinion, to see for myself what sort of man you
are."
"I have nothing to complain of, Your Eminence. 'A la guerre comme a la
guerre.' I am not a schoolboy, to expect any government to pat me on the
head for s-s-smuggling firearms onto its territory. It's only natural that
they should hit as hard as they can. As for what sort of man I am, you have
had a romantic confession of my sins once. Is not that enough; or w-w-would
you like me to begin again?"
"I don't understand you," Montanelli said coldly, taking up a pencil
and twisting it between his fingers.
"Surely Your Eminence has not forgotten old Diego, the pilgrim?" He
suddenly changed his voice and began to speak as Diego: "I am a miserable
sinner------"
The pencil snapped in Montanelli's hand. "That is too much!" he said.
The Gadfly leaned his head back with a soft little laugh, and sat
watching while the Cardinal paced silently up and down the room.
"Signor Rivarez," said Montanelli, stopping at last in front of him,
"you have done a thing to me that a man who was born of a woman should
hesitate to do to his worst enemy. You have stolen in upon my private grief
and have made for yourself a mock and a jest out of the sorrow of a
fellow-man. I once more beg you to tell me: Have I ever done you wrong? And
if not, why have you played this heartless trick on me?"
The Gadfly, leaning back against the chair-cushions, looked up with his
subtle, chilling, inscrutable smile
"It am-m-mused me, Your Eminence; you took it all so much to heart, and
it rem-m-minded me-- a little bit--of a variety show----"
Montanelli, white to the very lips, turned away and rang the bell.
"You can take back the prisoner," he said when the guards came in.
After they had gone he sat down at the table, still trembling with
unaccustomed indignation, and took up a pile of reports which had been sent
in to him by the parish priests of his diocese.
Presently he pushed them away, and, leaning on the table, hid his face
in both hands. The Gadfly seemed to have left some terrible shadow of
himself, some ghostly trail of his personality, to haunt the room; and
Montanelli sat trembling and cowering, not daring to look up lest he should
see the phantom presence that he knew was not there. The spectre hardly
amounted to a hallucination. It was a mere fancy of overwrought nerves; but
he was seized with an unutterable dread of its shadowy presence--of the
wounded hand, the smiling, cruel mouth, the mysterious eyes, like deep sea
water----
He shook off the fancy and settled to his work. All day long he had
scarcely a free moment, and the thing did not trouble him; but going into
his bedroom late at night, he stopped on the threshold with a sudden shock
of fear. What if he should see it in a dream? He recovered himself
immediately and knelt down before the crucifix to pray.
But he lay awake the whole night through.
MONTANELLI'S anger did not make him neglectful of his promise. He
protested so emphatically against the manner in which the Gadfly had been
chained that the unfortunate Governor, who by now was at his wit's end,
knocked off all the fetters in the recklessness of despair. "How am I to
know," he grumbled to the adjutant, "what His Eminence will object to next?
If he calls a simple pair of handcuffs 'cruelty,' he'll be exclaiming
against the window-bars presently, or wanting me to feed Rivarez on oysters
and truffles. In my young days malefactors were malefactors and were treated
accordingly, and nobody thought a traitor any better than a thief. But it's
the fashion to be seditious nowadays; and His Eminence seems inclined to
encourage all the scoundrels in the country."
"I don't see what business he has got to interfere at all," the
adjutant remarked. "He is not a Legate and has no authority in civil and
military affairs. By law------"
"What is the use of talking about law? You can't expect anyone to
respect laws after the Holy Father has opened the prisons and turned the
whole crew of Liberal scamps loose on us! It's a positive infatuation! Of
course Monsignor Montanelli will give himself airs; he was quiet enough
under His Holiness the late Pope, but he's cock of the walk now. He has
jumped into favour all at once and can do as he pleases. How am I to oppose
him? He may have secret authorization from the Vatican, for all I know.
Everything's topsy-turvy now; you can't tell from day to day what may happen
next. In the good old times one knew what to be at, but nowadays------"
The Governor shook his head ruefully. A world in which Cardinals
troubled themselves over trifles of prison discipline and talked about the
"rights" of political offenders was a world that was growing too complex for
him.
The Gadfly, for his part, had returned to the fortress in a state of
nervous excitement bordering on hysteria. The meeting with Montanelli had
strained his endurance almost to breaking-point; and his final brutality
about the variety show had been uttered in sheer desperation, merely to cut
short an interview which, in another five minutes, would have ended in
tears.
Called up for interrogation in the afternoon of the same day, he did
nothing but go into convulsions of laughter at every question put to him;
and when the Governor, worried out of all patience, lost his temper and
began to swear, he only laughed more immoderately than ever. The unlucky
Governor fumed and stormed and threatened his refractory prisoner with
impossible punishments; but finally came, as James Burton had come long ago,
to the conclusion that it was mere waste of breath and temper to argue with
a person in so unreasonable a state of mind.
The Gadfly was once more taken back to his cell; and there lay down
upon the pallet, in the mood of black and hopeless depression which always
succeeded to his boisterous fits. He lay till evening without moving,
without even thinking; he had passed, after the vehement emotion of the
morning, into a strange, half-apathetic state, in which his own misery was
hardly more to him than a dull and mechanical weight, pressing on some
wooden thing that had forgotten to be a soul. In truth, it was of little
consequence how all ended; the one thing that mattered to any sentient being
was to be spared unbearable pain, and whether the relief came from altered
conditions or from the deadening of the power to feel, was a question of no
moment. Perhaps he would succeed in escaping; perhaps they would kill him;
in any case he should never see the Padre again, and it was all vanity and
vexation of spirit.
One of the warders brought in supper, and the Gadfly looked up with
heavy-eyed indifference.
"What time is it?"
"Six o'clock. Your supper, sir."
He looked with disgust at the stale, foul-smelling, half-cold mess, and
turned his head away. He was feeling bodily ill as well as depressed; and
the sight of the food sickened him.
"You will be ill if you don't eat," said the soldier hurriedly. "Take a
bit of bread, anyway; it'll do you good."
The man spoke with a curious earnestness of tone, lifting a piece of
shall meet you at Forli on Friday, then, unless anything special turns up.
Wait a minute; th-this is the address."
He tore a leaf out of his pocket-book and wrote a few words in pencil.
"I have it already," she said in a dull, quiet voice.
"H-have you? Well, there it is, anyway. Come, Martini. Sh-sh-sh! Don't
let the door creak!"
They crept softly downstairs. When the street door clicked behind them
she went back into the room and mechanically unfolded the paper he had put
into her hand. Underneath the address was written:
"I will tell you everything there."
IT was market-day in Brisighella, and the country folk had come in from
the villages and hamlets of the district with their pigs and poultry, their
dairy produce and droves of half-wild mountain cattle. The market-place was
thronged with a perpetually shifting crowd, laughing, joking, bargaining for
dried figs, cheap cakes, and sunflower seeds. The brown, bare-footed
children sprawled, face downward, on the pavement in the hot sun, while
their mothers sat under the trees with their baskets of butter and eggs.
Monsignor Montanelli, coming out to wish the people "Good-morning," was
at once surrounded by a clamourous throng of children, holding up for his
acceptance great bunches of irises and scarlet poppies and sweet white
narcissus from the mountain slopes. His passion for wild flowers was
affectionately tolerated by the people, as one of the little follies which
sit gracefully on very wise men. If anyone less universally beloved had
filled his house with weeds and grasses they would have laughed at him; but
the "blessed Cardinal" could afford a few harmless eccentricities.
"Well, Mariuccia," he said, stopping to pat one of the children on the
head; "you have grown since I saw you last. And how is the grandmother's
rheumatism?"
"She's been better lately, Your Eminence; but mother's bad now."
"I'm sorry to hear that; tell the mother to come down here some day and
see whether Dr. Giordani can do anything for her. I will find somewhere to
put her up; perhaps the change will do her good. You are looking better,
Luigi; how are your eyes?"
He passed on, chatting with the mountaineers. He always remembered the
names and ages of the children, their troubles and those of their parents;
and would stop to inquire, with sympathetic interest, for the health of the
cow that fell sick at Christmas, or of the rag-doll that was crushed under a
cart-wheel last market-day.
When he returned to the palace the marketing began. A lame man in a
blue shirt, with a shock of black hair hanging into his eyes and a deep scar
across the left cheek, lounged up to one of the booths and, in very bad
Italian, asked for a drink of lemonade.
"You're not from these parts," said the woman who poured it out,
glancing up at him.
"No. I come from Corsica."
"Looking for work?"
"Yes; it will be hay-cutting time soon, and a gentleman that has a farm
near Ravenna came across to Bastia the other day and told me there's plenty
of work to be got there."
"I hope you'll find it so, I'm sure, but times are bad hereabouts."
"They're worse in Corsica, mother. I don't know what we poor folk are
coming to."
"Have you come over alone?"
"No, my mate is with me; there he is, in the red shirt. Hola, Paolo!"
Michele hearing himself called, came lounging up with his hands in his
pockets. He made a fairly good Corsican, in spite of the red wig which he
had put on to render himself unrecognizable. As for the Gadfly, he looked
his part to perfection.
They sauntered through the market-place together, Michele whistling
between his teeth, and the Gadfly trudging along with a bundle over his
shoulder, shuffling his feet on the ground to render his lameness less
observable. They were waiting for an emissary, to whom important directions
had to be given.
"There's Marcone, on horseback, at that corner," Michele whispered
suddenly. The Gadfly, still carrying his bundle, shuffled towards the
horseman.
"Do you happen to be wanting a hay-maker, sir?" he said, touching his
ragged cap and running one finger along the bridle. It was the signal agreed
upon, and the rider, who from his appearance might have been a country
squire's bailiff, dismounted and threw the reins on the horse's neck.
"What sort of work can you do, my man?"
The Gadfly fumbled with his cap.
"I can cut grass, sir, and trim hedges"--he began; and without any
break in his voice, went straight on: "At one in the morning at the mouth of
the round cave. You must have two good horses and a cart. I shall be waiting
inside the cave---- And then I can dig, sir, and----"
"That will do, I only want a grass-cutter. Have you ever been out
before?"
"Once, sir. Mind, you must come well-armed; we may meet a flying
squadron. Don't go by the wood-path; you're safer on the other side. If you
meet a spy, don't stop to argue with him; fire at once---- I should be very
glad of work, sir."
"Yes, I dare say, but I want an experienced grass-cutter. No, I haven't
got any coppers to-day."
A very ragged beggar had slouched up to them, with a doleful,
monotonous whine.
"Have pity on a poor blind man, in the name of the Blessed Virgin------
Get out of this place at once; there's a flying squadron coming along----
Most Holy Queen of Heaven, Maiden undefiled-- It's you they're after,
Rivarez; they'll be here in two minutes---- And so may the saints reward
you---- You'll have to make a dash for it; there are spies at all the
corners. It's no use trying to slip away without being seen."
Marcone slipped the reins into the Gadfly's hand.
"Make haste! Ride out to the bridge and let the horse go; you can hide
in the ravine. We're all armed; we can keep them back for ten minutes."
"No. I won't have you fellows taken. Stand together, all of you, and
fire after me in order. Move up towards our horses; there they are, tethered
by the palace steps; and have your knives ready. We retreat fighting, and
when I throw my cap down, cut the halters and jump every man on the nearest
horse. We may all reach the wood that way."
They had spoken in so quiet an undertone that even the nearest
bystanders had not supposed their conversation to refer to anything more
dangerous than grass-cutting. Marcone, leading his own mare by the bridle,
walked towards the tethered horses, the Gadfly slouching along beside him,
and the beggar following them with an outstretched hand and a persistent
whine. Michele came up whistling; the beggar had warned him in passing, and
he quietly handed on the news to three countrymen who were eating raw onions
under a tree. They immediately rose and followed him; and before anyone's
notice had been attracted to them, the whole seven were standing together by
the steps of the palace, each man with one hand on the hidden pistol, and
the tethered horses within easy reach.
"Don't betray yourselves till I move," the Gadfly said softly and
clearly. "They may not recognize us. When I fire, then begin in order. Don't
fire at the men; lame their horses--then they can't follow us. Three of you
fire, while the other three reload. If anyone comes between you and our
horses, kill him. I take the roan. When I throw down my cap, each man for
himself; don't stop for anything."
"Here they come," said Michele; and the Gadfly turned round, with an
air of naive and stupid wonder, as the people suddenly broke off in their
bargaining.
Fifteen armed men rode slowly into the marketplace. They had great
difficulty to get past the throng of people at all, and, but for the spies
at the corners of the square, all the seven conspirators could have slipped
quietly away while the attention of the crowd was fixed upon the soldiers.
Michele moved a little closer to the Gadfly.
"Couldn't we get away now?"
"No; we're surrounded with spies, and one of them has recognized me. He
has just sent a man to tell the captain where I am. Our only chance is to
lame their horses."
"Which is the spy?"
"The first man I fire at. Are you all ready? They have made a lane to
us; they are going to come with a rush."
"Out of the way there!" shouted the captain. "In the name of His
Holiness!"
The crowd had drawn back, startled and wondering; and the soldiers made
a quick dash towards the little group standing by the palace steps. The
Gadfly drew a pistol from his blouse and fired, not at the advancing troops,
but at the spy, who was approaching the horses, and who fell back with a
broken collar-bone. Immediately after the report, six more shots were fired
in quick succession, as the conspirators moved steadily closer to the
tethered horses.
One of the cavalry horses stumbled and plunged; another fell to the
ground with a fearful cry. Then, through the shrieking of the panic-stricken
people, came the loud, imperious voice of the officer in command, who had
risen in the stirrups and was holding a sword above his head.
"This way, men!"
He swayed in the saddle and sank back; the Gadfly had fired again with
his deadly aim. A little stream of blood was trickling down the captain's
uniform; but he steadied himself with a violent effort, and, clutching at
his horse's mane, cried out fiercely:
"Kill that lame devil if you can't take him alive! It's Rivarez!"
"Another pistol, quick!" the Gadfly called to his men; "and go!"
He flung down his cap. It was only just in time, for the swords of the
now infuriated soldiers were flashing close in front of him.
"Put down your weapons, all of you!"
Cardinal Montanelli had stepped suddenly between the combatants; and
one of the soldiers cried out in a voice sharp with terror:
"Your Eminence! My God, you'll be murdered!"
Montanelli only moved a step nearer, and faced the Gadfly's pistol.
Five of the conspirators were already on horseback and dashing up the
hilly street. Marcone sprang on to the back of his mare. In the moment of
riding away, he glanced back to see whether his leader was in need of help.
The roan was close at hand, and in another instant all would have been safe;
but as the figure in the scarlet cassock stepped forward, the Gadfly
suddenly wavered and the hand with the pistol sank down. The instant decided
everything. Immediately he was surrounded and flung violently to the ground,
and the weapon was dashed out of his hand by a blow from the flat of a
soldier's sword. Marcone struck his mare's flank with the stirrup; the hoofs
of the cavalry horses were thundering up the hill behind him; and it would
have been worse than useless to stay and be taken too. Turning in the saddle
as he galloped away, to fire a last shot in the teeth of the nearest
pursuer, he saw the Gadfly, with blood on his face, trampled under the feet
of horses and soldiers and spies; and heard the savage curses of the
captors, the yells of triumph and rage.
Montanelli did not notice what had happened; he had moved away from the
steps, and was trying to calm the terrified people. Presently, as he stooped
over the wounded spy, a startled movement of the crowd made him look up. The
soldiers were crossing the square, dragging their prisoner after them by the
rope with which his hands were tied. His face was livid with pain and
exhaustion, and he panted fearfully for breath; but he looked round at the
Cardinal, smiling with white lips, and whispered:
"I c-cong-gratulate your Eminence."
. . . . .
Five days later Martini reached Forli. He had received from Gemma by
post a bundle of printed circulars, the signal agreed upon in case of his
being needed in any special emergency; and, remembering the conversation on
the terrace, he guessed the truth at once. All through the journey he kept
repeating to himself that there was no reason for supposing anything to have
happened to the Gadfly, and that it was absurd to attach any importance to
the childish superstitions of so nervous and fanciful a person; but the more
he reasoned with himself against the idea, the more firmly did it take
possession of his mind.
"I have guessed what it is: Rivarez is taken, of course?" he said, as
he came into Gemma's room.
"He was arrested last Thursday, at Brisighella. He defended himself
desperately and wounded the captain of the squadron and a spy."
"Armed resistance; that's bad!"
"It makes no difference; he was too deeply compromised already for a
pistol-shot more or less to affect his position much."
"What do you think they are going to do with him?"
She grew a shade paler even than before.
"I think," she said; "that we must not wait to find out what they mean
to do."
"You think we shall be able to effect a rescue?"
"We MUST."
He turned away and began to whistle, with his hands behind his back.
Gemma let him think undisturbed. She was sitting still, leaning her head
against the back of the chair, and looking out into vague distance with a
fixed and tragic absorption. When her face wore that expression, it had a
look of Durer's "Melancolia."
"Have you seen him?" Martini asked, stopping for a moment in his tramp.
"No; he was to have met me here the next morning."
"Yes, I remember. Where is he?"
"In the fortress; very strictly guarded, and, they say, in chains."
He made a gesture of indifference.
"Oh, that's no matter; a good file will get rid of any number of
chains. If only he isn't wounded----"
"He seems to have been slightly hurt, but exactly how much we don't
know. I think you had better hear the account of it from Michele himself; he
was present at the arrest."
"How does he come not to have been taken too? Did he run away and leave
Rivarez in the lurch?"
"It's not his fault; he fought as long as anybody did, and followed the
directions given him to the letter. For that matter, so did they all. The
only person who seems to have forgotten, or somehow made a mistake at the
last minute, is Rivarez himself. There's something inexplicable about it
altogether. Wait a moment; I will call Michele."
She went out of the room, and presently came back with Michele and a
broad-shouldered mountaineer.
"This is Marco," she said. "You have heard of him; he is one of the
smugglers. He has just got here, and perhaps will be able to tell us more.
Michele, this is Cesare Martini, that I spoke to you about. Will you tell
him what happened, as far as you saw it?"
Michele gave a short account of the skirmish with the squadron.
"I can't understand how it happened," he concluded. "Not one of us
would have left him if we had thought he would be taken; but his directions
were quite precise, and it never occurred to us, when he threw down his cap,
that he would wait to let them surround him. He was close beside the roan--I
saw him cut the tether--and I handed him a loaded pistol myself before I
mounted. The only thing I can suppose is that he missed his footing,--being
lame,--in trying to mount. But even then, he could have fired."
"No, it wasn't that," Marcone interposed. "He didn't attempt to mount.
I was the last one to go, because my mare shied at the firing; and I looked
round to see whether he was safe. He would have got off clear if it hadn't
been for the Cardinal." "Ah!" Gemma exclaimed softly; and Martini repeated
in amazement: "The Cardinal?"
"Yes; he threw himself in front of the pistol-- confound him! I suppose
Rivarez must have been startled, for he dropped his pistol-hand and put the
other one up like this"--laying the back of his left wrist across his
eyes--"and of course they all rushed on him."
"I can't make that out," said Michele. "It's not like Rivarez to lose
his head at a crisis."
"Probably he lowered his pistol for fear of killing an unarmed man,"
Martini put in. Michele shrugged his shoulders.
"Unarmed men shouldn't poke their noses into the middle of a fight. War
is war. If Rivarez had put a bullet into His Eminence, instead of letting
himself be caught like a tame rabbit, there'd be one honest man the more and
one priest the less."
He turned away, biting his moustache. His anger was very near to
breaking down in tears.
"Anyway," said Martini, "the thing's done, and there's no use wasting
time in discussing how it happened. The question now is how we're to arrange
an escape for him. I suppose you're all willing to risk it?"
Michele did not even condescend to answer the superfluous question, and
the smuggler only remarked with a little laugh: "I'd shoot my own brother,
if he weren't willing."
"Very well, then---- First thing; have you got a plan of the fortress?"
Gemma unlocked a drawer and took out several sheets of paper.
"I have made out all the plans. Here is the ground floor of the
fortress; here are the upper and lower stories of the towers, and here the
plan of the ramparts. These are the roads leading to the valley, and here
are the paths and hiding-places in the mountains, and the underground
passages."
"Do you know which of the towers he is in?"
"The east one, in the round room with the grated window. I have marked
it on the plan."
"How did you get your information?"
"From a man nicknamed 'The Cricket,' a soldier of the guard. He is
cousin to one of our men--Gino."
"You have been quick about it."
"There's no time to lose. Gino went into Brisighella at once; and some
of the plans we already had. That list of hiding-places was made by Rivarez
himself; you can see by the handwriting."
"What sort of men are the soldiers of the guard?"
"That we have not been able to find out yet; the Cricket has only just
come to the place, and knows nothing about the other men."
"We must find out from Gino what the Cricket himself is like. Is
anything known of the government's intentions? Is Rivarez likely to be tried
in Brisighella or taken in to Ravenna?"
"That we don't know. Ravenna, of course, is the chief town of the
Legation and by law cases of importance can be tried only there, in the
Tribunal of First Instance. But law doesn't count for much in the Four
Legations; it depends on the personal fancy of anybody who happens to be in
power."
"They won't take him in to Ravenna," Michele interposed.
"What makes you think so?"
"I am sure of it. Colonel Ferrari, the military Governor at
Brisighella, is uncle to the officer that Rivarez wounded; he's a vindictive
sort of brute and won't give up a chance to spite an enemy."
"You think he will try to keep Rivarez here?"
"I think he will try to get him hanged."
Martini glanced quickly at Gemma. She was very pale, but her face had
not changed at the words. Evidently the idea was no new one to her.
"He can hardly do that without some formality," she said quietly; "but
he might possibly get up a court-martial on some pretext or other, and
justify himself afterwards by saying that the peace of the town required
it."
"But what about the Cardinal? Would he consent to things of that kind?"
"He has no jurisdiction in military affairs."
"No, but he has great influence. Surely the Governor would not venture
on such a step without his consent?"
"He'll never get that," Marcone interrupted. "Montanelli was always
against the military commissions, and everything of the kind. So long as
they keep him in Brisighella nothing serious can happen; the Cardinal will
always take the part of any prisoner. What I am afraid of is their taking
him to Ravenna. Once there, he's lost."
"We shouldn't let him get there," said Michele. "We could manage a
rescue on the road; but to get him out of the fortress here is another
matter."
"I think," said Gemma; "that it would be quite useless to wait for the
chance of his being transferred to Ravenna. We must make the attempt at
Brisighella, and we have no time to lose. Cesare, you and I had better go
over the plan of the fortress together, and see whether we can think out
anything. I have an idea in my head, but I can't get over one point."
"Come, Marcone," said Michele, rising; "we will leave them to think out
their scheme. I have to go across to Fognano this afternoon, and I want you
to come with me. Vincenzo hasn't sent those cartridges, and they ought to
have been here yesterday."
When the two men had gone, Martini went up to Gemma and silently held
out his hand. She let her fingers lie in his for a moment.
"You were always a good friend, Cesare," she said at last; "and a very
present help in trouble. And now let us discuss plans."PART III: CHAPTER
III.
"AND I once more most earnestly assure Your Eminence that your refusal
is endangering the peace of the town."
The Governor tried to preserve the respectful tone due to a high
dignitary of the Church; but there was audible irritation in his voice. His
liver was out of order, his wife was running up heavy bills, and his temper
had been sorely tried during the last three weeks. A sullen, disaffected
populace, whose dangerous mood grew daily more apparent; a district
honeycombed with plots and bristling with hidden weapons; an inefficient
garrison, of whose loyalty he was more than doubtful, and a Cardinal whom he
had pathetically described to his adjutant as the "incarnation of immaculate
pig-headedness," had already reduced him to the verge of desperation. Now he
was saddled with the Gadfly, an animated quintessence of the spirit of
mischief.
Having begun by disabling both the Governor's favourite nephew and his
most valuable spy, the "crooked Spanish devil" had followed up his exploits
in the market-place by suborning the guards, browbeating the interrogating
officers, and "turning the prison into a bear-garden." He had now been three
weeks in the fortress, and the authorities of Brisighella were heartily sick
of their bargain. They had subjected him to interrogation upon
interrogation; and after employing, to obtain admissions from him, every
device of threat, persuasion, and stratagem which their ingenuity could
suggest, remained just as wise as on the day of his capture. They had begun
to realize that it would perhaps have been better to send him into Ravenna
at once. It was, however, too late to rectify the mistake. The Governor,
when sending in to the Legate his report of the arrest, had begged, as a
special favour, permission to superintend personally the investigation of
this case; and, his request having been graciously acceded to, he could not
now withdraw without a humiliating confession that he was overmatched.
The idea of settling the difficulty by a courtmartial had, as Gemma and
Michele had foreseen, presented itself to him as the only satisfactory
solution; and Cardinal Montanelli's stubborn refusal to countenance this was
the last drop which made the cup of his vexations overflow.
"I think," he said, "that if Your Eminence knew what I and my
assistants have put up with from this man you would feel differently about
the matter. I fully understand and respect the conscientious objection to
irregularities in judicial proceedings; but this is an exceptional case and
calls for exceptional measures."
"There is no case," Montanelli answered, "which calls for injustice;
and to condemn a civilian by the judgment of a secret military tribunal is
both unjust and illegal."
"The case amounts to this, Your Eminence: The prisoner is manifestly
guilty of several capital crimes. He joined the infamous attempt of Savigno,
and the military commission nominated by Monsignor Spinola would certainly
have had him shot or sent to the galleys then, had he not succeeded in
escaping to Tuscany. Since that time he has never ceased plotting. He is
known to be an influential member of one of the most pestilent secret
societies in the country. He is gravely suspected of having consented to, if
not inspired, the assassination of no less than three confidential police
agents. He has been caught-- one might almost say--in the act of smuggling
firearms into the Legation. He has offered armed resistance to authority and
seriously wounded two officials in the discharge of their duty, and he is
now a standing menace to the peace and order of the town. Surely, in such a
case, a court-martial is justifiable."
"Whatever the man has done," Montanelli replied, "he has the right to
be judged according to law."
"The ordinary course of law involves delay, Your Eminence, and in this
case every moment is precious. Besides everything else, I am in constant
terror of his escaping."
"If there is any danger of that, it rests with you to guard him more
closely."
"I do my best, Your Eminence, but I am dependent upon the prison staff,
and the man seems to have bewitched them all. I have changed the guard four
times within three weeks; I have punished the soldiers till I am tired of
it, and nothing is of any use. I can't prevent their carrying letters
backwards and forwards. The fools are in love with him as if he were a
woman."
"That is very curious. There must be something remarkable about him."
"There's a remarkable amount of devilry--I beg pardon, Your Eminence,
but really this man is enough to try the patience of a saint. It's hardly
credible, but I have to conduct all the interrogations myself, for the
regular officer cannot stand it any longer."
"How is that?"
"It's difficult to explain. Your Eminence, but you would understand if
you had once heard the way he goes on. One might think the interrogating
officer were the criminal and he the judge."
"But what is there so terrible that he can do? He can refuse to answer
your questions, of course; but he has no weapon except silence."
"And a tongue like a razor. We are all mortal, Your Eminence, and most
of us have made mistakes in our time that we don't want published on the
house-tops. That's only human nature, and it's hard on a man to have his
little slips of twenty years ago raked up and thrown in his teeth----"
"Has Rivarez brought up some personal secret of the interrogating
officer?"
"Well, really--the poor fellow got into debt when he was a cavalry
officer, and borrowed a little sum from the regimental funds----"
"Stole public money that had been intrusted to him, in fact?"
"Of course it was very wrong, Your Eminence; but his friends paid it
back at once, and the affair was hushed up,--he comes of a good family,--and
ever since then he has been irreproachable. How Rivarez found out about it I
can't conceive; but the first thing he did at interrogation was to bring up
this old scandal--before the subaltern, too! And with as innocent a face as
if he were saying his prayers! Of course the story's all over the Legation
by now. If Your Eminence would only be present at one of the interrogations,
I am sure you would realize---- He needn't know anything about it. You might
overhear him from------"
Montanelli turned round and looked at the Governor with an expression
which his face did not often wear.
"I am a minister of religion," he said; "not a police-spy; and
eavesdropping forms no part of my professional duties."
"I--I didn't mean to give offence------"
"I think we shall not get any good out of discussing this question
further. If you will send the prisoner here, I will have a talk with him."
"I venture very respectfully to advise Your Eminence not to attempt it.
The man is perfectly incorrigible. It would be both safer and wiser to
overstep the letter of the law for this once, and get rid of him before he
does any more mischief. It is with great diffidence that I venture to press
the point after what Your Eminence has said; but after all I am responsible
to Monsignor the Legate for the order of the town------"
"And I," Montanelli interrupted, "am responsible to God and His
Holiness that there shall be no underhand dealing in my diocese. Since you
press me in the matter, colonel, I take my stand upon my privilege as
Cardinal. I will not allow a secret court-martial in this town in
peace-time. I will receive the prisoner here, and alone, at ten to-morrow
morning."
"As Your Eminence pleases," the Governor replied with sulky
respectfulness; and went away, grumbling to himself: "They're about a pair,
as far as obstinacy goes."
He told no one of the approaching interview till it was actually time
to knock off the prisoner's chains and start for the palace. It was quite
enough, as he remarked to his wounded nephew, to have this Most Eminent son
of Balaam's ass laying down the law, without running any risk of the
soldiers plotting with Rivarez and his friends to effect an escape on the
way.
When the Gadfly, strongly guarded, entered the room where Montanelli
was writing at a table covered with papers, a sudden recollection came over
him, of a hot midsummer afternoon when he had sat turning over manuscript
sermons in a study much like this. The shutters had been closed, as they
were here, to keep out the heat, and a fruitseller's voice outside had
called: "Fragola! Fragola!"
He shook the hair angrily back from his eyes and set his mouth in a
smile.
Montanelli looked up from his papers.
"You can wait in the hall," he said to the guards.
"May it please Your Eminence," began the sergeant, in a lowered voice
and with evident nervousness, "the colonel thinks that this prisoner is
dangerous and that it would be better------"
A sudden flash came into Montanelli's eyes.
"You can wait in the hall," he repeated quietly; and the sergeant,
saluting and stammering excuses with a frightened face, left the room with
his men.
"Sit down, please," said the Cardinal, when the door was shut. The
Gadfly obeyed in silence.
"Signor Rivarez," Montanelli began after a pause, "I wish to ask you a
few questions, and shall be very much obliged to you if you will answer
them."
The Gadfly smiled. "My ch-ch-chief occupation at p-p-present is to be
asked questions."
"And--not to answer them? So I have heard; but these questions are put
by officials who are investigating your case and whose duty is to use your
answers as evidence."
"And th-those of Your Eminence?" There was a covert insult in the tone
more than in the words, and the Cardinal understood it at once; but his face
did not lose its grave sweetness of expression.
"Mine," he said, "whether you answer them or not, will remain between
you and me. If they should trench upon your political secrets, of course you
will not answer. Otherwise, though we are complete strangers to each other,
I hope that you will do so, as a personal favour to me."
"I am ent-t-tirely at the service of Your Eminence." He said it with a
little bow, and a face that would have taken the heart to ask favours out of
the daughters of the horse-leech.
"First, then, you are said to have been smuggling firearms into this
district. What are they wanted for?"
"T-t-to k-k-kill rats with."
"That is a terrible answer. Are all your fellow-men rats in your eyes
if they cannot think as you do?"
"S-s-some of them."
Montanelli leaned back in his chair and looked at him in silence for a
little while.
"What is that on your hand?" he asked suddenly.
The Gadfly glanced at his left hand. "Old m-m-marks from the teeth of
some of the rats."
"Excuse me; I was speaking of the other hand. That is a fresh hurt."
The slender, flexible right hand was badly cut and grazed. The Gadfly
held it up. The wrist was swollen, and across it ran a deep and long black
bruise.
"It is a m-m-mere trifle, as you see," he said. "When I was arrested
the other day,--thanks to Your Eminence,"--he made another little bow,--
"one of the soldiers stamped on it."
Montanelli took the wrist and examined it closely. "How does it come to
be in such a state now, after three weeks?" he asked. "It is all inflamed."
"Possibly the p-p-pressure of the iron has not done it much good."
The Cardinal looked up with a frown.
"Have they been putting irons on a fresh wound?"
"N-n-naturally, Your Eminence; that is what fresh wounds are for. Old
wounds are not much use. They will only ache; you c-c-can't make them burn
properly."
Montanelli looked at him again in the same close, scrutinizing way;
then rose and opened a drawer full of surgical appliances.
"Give me the hand," he said.
The Gadfly, with a face as hard as beaten iron, held out the hand, and
Montanelli, after bathing the injured place, gently bandaged it. Evidently
he was accustomed to such work.
"I will speak about the irons," he said. "And now I want to ask you
another question: What do you propose to do?"
"Th-th-that is very simply answered, Your Eminence. To escape if I can,
and if I can't, to die."
"Why 'to die'?"
"Because if the Governor doesn't succeed in getting me shot, I shall be
sent to the galleys, and for me that c-c-comes to the same thing. I have not
got the health to live through it."
Montanelli rested his arm on the table and pondered silently. The
Gadfly did not disturb him. He was leaning back with half-shut eyes, lazily
enjoying the delicious physical sensation of relief from the chains.
"Supposing," Montanelli began again, "that you were to succeed in
escaping; what should you do with your life?"
"I have already told Your Eminence; I should k-k-kill rats."
"You would kill rats. That is to say, that if I were to let you escape
from here now,--supposing I had the power to do so,--you would use your
freedom to foster violence and bloodshed instead of preventing them?"
The Gadfly raised his eyes to the crucifix on the wall. "'Not peace,
but a sword';--at l-least I should be in good company. For my own part,
though, I prefer pistols."
"Signor Rivarez," said the Cardinal with unruffled composure, "I have
not insulted you as yet, or spoken slightingly of your beliefs or friends.
May I not expect the same courtesy from you, or do you wish me to suppose
that an atheist cannot be a gentleman?"
"Ah, I q-quite forgot. Your Eminence places courtesy high among the
Christian virtues. I remember your sermon in Florence, on the occasion of my
c-controversy with your anonymous defender."
"That is one of the subjects about which I wished to speak to you.
Would you mind explaining to me the reason of the peculiar bitterness you
seem to feel against me? If you have simply picked me out as a convenient
target, that is another matter. Your methods of political controversy are
your own affair, and we are not discussing politics now. But I fancied at
the time that there was some personal animosity towards me; and if so, I
should be glad to know whether I have ever done you wrong or in any way
given you cause for such a feeling."
Ever done him wrong! The Gadfly put up the bandaged hand to his throat.
"I must refer Your Eminence to Shakspere," he said with a little laugh.
"It's as with the man who can't endure a harmless, necessary cat. My
antipathy is a priest. The sight of the cassock makes my t-t-teeth ache."
"Oh, if it is only that----" Montanelli dismissed the subject with an
indifferent gesture.
"Still," he added, "abuse is one thing and perversion of fact is
another. When you stated, in answer to my sermon, that I knew the identity
of the anonymous writer, you made a mistake,--I do not accuse you of wilful
falsehood,--and stated what was untrue. I am to this day quite ignorant of
his name."
The Gadfly put his head on one side, like an intelligent robin, looked
at him for a moment gravely, then suddenly threw himself back and burst into
a peal of laughter.
"S-s-sancta simplicitas! Oh, you, sweet, innocent, Arcadian people--and
you never guessed! You n-never saw the cloven hoof?"
Montanelli stood up. "Am I to understand, Signor Rivarez, that you
wrote both sides of the controversy yourself?"
"It was a shame, I know," the Gadfly answered, looking up with wide,
innocent blue eyes. "And you s-s-swallowed everything whole; just as if it
had been an oyster. It was very wrong; but oh, it w-w-was so funny!"
Montanelli bit his lip and sat down again. He had realized from the
first that the Gadfly was trying to make him lose his temper, and had
resolved to keep it whatever happened; but he was beginning to find excuses
for the Governor's exasperation. A man who had been spending two hours a day
for the last three weeks in interrogating the Gadfly might be pardoned an
occasional swear-word.
"We will drop that subject," he said quietly. "What I wanted to see you
for particularly is this: My position here as Cardinal gives me some voice,
if I choose to claim my privilege, in the question of what is to be done
with you. The only use to which I should ever put such a privilege would be
to interfere in case of any violence to you which was not necessary to
prevent you from doing violence to others. I sent for you, therefore, partly
in order to ask whether you have anything to complain of,--I will see about
the irons; but perhaps there is something else,--and partly because I felt
it right, before giving my opinion, to see for myself what sort of man you
are."
"I have nothing to complain of, Your Eminence. 'A la guerre comme a la
guerre.' I am not a schoolboy, to expect any government to pat me on the
head for s-s-smuggling firearms onto its territory. It's only natural that
they should hit as hard as they can. As for what sort of man I am, you have
had a romantic confession of my sins once. Is not that enough; or w-w-would
you like me to begin again?"
"I don't understand you," Montanelli said coldly, taking up a pencil
and twisting it between his fingers.
"Surely Your Eminence has not forgotten old Diego, the pilgrim?" He
suddenly changed his voice and began to speak as Diego: "I am a miserable
sinner------"
The pencil snapped in Montanelli's hand. "That is too much!" he said.
The Gadfly leaned his head back with a soft little laugh, and sat
watching while the Cardinal paced silently up and down the room.
"Signor Rivarez," said Montanelli, stopping at last in front of him,
"you have done a thing to me that a man who was born of a woman should
hesitate to do to his worst enemy. You have stolen in upon my private grief
and have made for yourself a mock and a jest out of the sorrow of a
fellow-man. I once more beg you to tell me: Have I ever done you wrong? And
if not, why have you played this heartless trick on me?"
The Gadfly, leaning back against the chair-cushions, looked up with his
subtle, chilling, inscrutable smile
"It am-m-mused me, Your Eminence; you took it all so much to heart, and
it rem-m-minded me-- a little bit--of a variety show----"
Montanelli, white to the very lips, turned away and rang the bell.
"You can take back the prisoner," he said when the guards came in.
After they had gone he sat down at the table, still trembling with
unaccustomed indignation, and took up a pile of reports which had been sent
in to him by the parish priests of his diocese.
Presently he pushed them away, and, leaning on the table, hid his face
in both hands. The Gadfly seemed to have left some terrible shadow of
himself, some ghostly trail of his personality, to haunt the room; and
Montanelli sat trembling and cowering, not daring to look up lest he should
see the phantom presence that he knew was not there. The spectre hardly
amounted to a hallucination. It was a mere fancy of overwrought nerves; but
he was seized with an unutterable dread of its shadowy presence--of the
wounded hand, the smiling, cruel mouth, the mysterious eyes, like deep sea
water----
He shook off the fancy and settled to his work. All day long he had
scarcely a free moment, and the thing did not trouble him; but going into
his bedroom late at night, he stopped on the threshold with a sudden shock
of fear. What if he should see it in a dream? He recovered himself
immediately and knelt down before the crucifix to pray.
But he lay awake the whole night through.
MONTANELLI'S anger did not make him neglectful of his promise. He
protested so emphatically against the manner in which the Gadfly had been
chained that the unfortunate Governor, who by now was at his wit's end,
knocked off all the fetters in the recklessness of despair. "How am I to
know," he grumbled to the adjutant, "what His Eminence will object to next?
If he calls a simple pair of handcuffs 'cruelty,' he'll be exclaiming
against the window-bars presently, or wanting me to feed Rivarez on oysters
and truffles. In my young days malefactors were malefactors and were treated
accordingly, and nobody thought a traitor any better than a thief. But it's
the fashion to be seditious nowadays; and His Eminence seems inclined to
encourage all the scoundrels in the country."
"I don't see what business he has got to interfere at all," the
adjutant remarked. "He is not a Legate and has no authority in civil and
military affairs. By law------"
"What is the use of talking about law? You can't expect anyone to
respect laws after the Holy Father has opened the prisons and turned the
whole crew of Liberal scamps loose on us! It's a positive infatuation! Of
course Monsignor Montanelli will give himself airs; he was quiet enough
under His Holiness the late Pope, but he's cock of the walk now. He has
jumped into favour all at once and can do as he pleases. How am I to oppose
him? He may have secret authorization from the Vatican, for all I know.
Everything's topsy-turvy now; you can't tell from day to day what may happen
next. In the good old times one knew what to be at, but nowadays------"
The Governor shook his head ruefully. A world in which Cardinals
troubled themselves over trifles of prison discipline and talked about the
"rights" of political offenders was a world that was growing too complex for
him.
The Gadfly, for his part, had returned to the fortress in a state of
nervous excitement bordering on hysteria. The meeting with Montanelli had
strained his endurance almost to breaking-point; and his final brutality
about the variety show had been uttered in sheer desperation, merely to cut
short an interview which, in another five minutes, would have ended in
tears.
Called up for interrogation in the afternoon of the same day, he did
nothing but go into convulsions of laughter at every question put to him;
and when the Governor, worried out of all patience, lost his temper and
began to swear, he only laughed more immoderately than ever. The unlucky
Governor fumed and stormed and threatened his refractory prisoner with
impossible punishments; but finally came, as James Burton had come long ago,
to the conclusion that it was mere waste of breath and temper to argue with
a person in so unreasonable a state of mind.
The Gadfly was once more taken back to his cell; and there lay down
upon the pallet, in the mood of black and hopeless depression which always
succeeded to his boisterous fits. He lay till evening without moving,
without even thinking; he had passed, after the vehement emotion of the
morning, into a strange, half-apathetic state, in which his own misery was
hardly more to him than a dull and mechanical weight, pressing on some
wooden thing that had forgotten to be a soul. In truth, it was of little
consequence how all ended; the one thing that mattered to any sentient being
was to be spared unbearable pain, and whether the relief came from altered
conditions or from the deadening of the power to feel, was a question of no
moment. Perhaps he would succeed in escaping; perhaps they would kill him;
in any case he should never see the Padre again, and it was all vanity and
vexation of spirit.
One of the warders brought in supper, and the Gadfly looked up with
heavy-eyed indifference.
"What time is it?"
"Six o'clock. Your supper, sir."
He looked with disgust at the stale, foul-smelling, half-cold mess, and
turned his head away. He was feeling bodily ill as well as depressed; and
the sight of the food sickened him.
"You will be ill if you don't eat," said the soldier hurriedly. "Take a
bit of bread, anyway; it'll do you good."
The man spoke with a curious earnestness of tone, lifting a piece of