Rafael Sabatini - The Justice of the Duke

"My lord!" cried Malipiero in an anguish of terror, "I knew naught of such a plot."

"I think," said Cesare, "that I hate a liar almost more than an assassin; certainly as much." And he cracked the coriander-seed between his strong, white teeth.

"Highness," exclaimed the other, eagerly, "I have it in my power to make amends for what my son has done. I can rid you of this Lord of Camerino. Shall it be a deal between us? My son's life against the raising of this siege?"

Cesare shut his box with a snap and dropped it into his pocket.

"It was to make me some such proposal, I think, that thou didst request to speak with me alone. Possibly there was some other bargain in thy mind, some other price to ask for the treachery thou'rt proposing?"

Malipiero flung dissimulation to the winds. His avarice, which had made him a constant traitor to his every master had been his only stimulus to offer his foul services to Cesare Borgia. But now that he heard of the failure of that plot which he had hatched for gold, and which his only son seemed likely to pay for with his neck, the life of his boy was the only recompense he asked. He frankly said as much.

"I will not bargain with thee," was Cesare's contemptuous answer.

The distraught man dropped on his knees. With tears in his eyes he implored clemency and urged upon Cesare how much it imported that he should rejoin his army in the North.

"There is not in all Italy a knave with whom I would so scorn to deal as thou, Malipiero. Man, thou art so steeped in the mire of treachery that the very sight of thee offends me, and I think I have endured it long enough."

"My lord," the other clamoured, "I can find you a way out of this as could no other man. Give me my son's life, and it shall be done—to-morrow. I will draw Gian Paolo away—back to Camerino. What are his men without him? Hirelings all, mercenaries every man of them. They would never stay to oppose your sally and deliver battle if Gian Paolo were not by to urge them."

Cesare was tempted. At all costs he must get out of Fabriano, and that soon, or he would suffer direly. Mistrust of Malipiero prompted his next question.

"What means hast thou to perform so much?"

At this suggestion that the Duke was inclined to treat with him, Malipiero rose. He shuffled a step nearer, licking his lips, his eyes screwed cunningly.

"Gian Paolo loves his throne of Camerino dearly—so dearly that he has risked all upon his throw against your Highness. But there is one thing he loves still more—his honour. Let it be whispered to him that the lady his wife—" He leered horribly. "You understand, Magnificent. He would leave his camp out yonder, and dash back to Camerino, where she bides in the palace your Excellency has left her, as fast as horse could bear him."

Cesare felt his soul revolt. The thing was vile, the fruit of a vile mind uttered by a vile mouth, and as he looked at the leering creature before him a sense of nausea took him. But his calm, inscrutable face showed naught of this; his beautiful, passionless eyes betrayed none of the repulsion with which they looked on the creature before him. Presently his lips parted in a smile, but what that smile portended Malipiero could not guess until he spoke.

"Possibly there is in Italy a viler thing than you. Probably there is not. Still, it is for me to use thee, not convert thee. Accomplish me this thing, since thou'rt sure 'tis to be done."

Malipiero drew a deep breath of relief. Insults were of no account to him so that he gained his end.

"Grant me my son's life, and I undertake that by to-night Gian Paolo shall be in the saddle."

"I make no bargain with thee," Cesare answered. "I'll not so smirch my hands. Do thou this thing, then look to me for payment."

"You will be merciful, Magnificent?"

"It is said by the few who do not malign me that I am ever just. Rest content; thou shalt find me so." Then, more briskly, he continued: "Tell me, Malipiero, hast power in thy master's name to grant a safe-conduct?"

"I have, Highness."

"There is what thou'lt need on that table. Write me one for a company of twenty men from Fabriano, under the command of—anyone thou pleasest."

When Malipiero had drawn up and signed the document, Cesare called Agabito to reconduct the ambassador, and when the secretary returned he found the Duke at the table again, but lost in thought.

"Set me that window wide, Agabito," he cried. "Wider, man; the air is fouled by that creature that was with me. Now summon me Don Miguel."

Agabito withdrew with a serious face. When Cesare's Spanish captain was bidden to wait upon his master, it was wont to augur ill for someone.

As Malipiero promised, so did he perform; though in the performance he went near to being strangled by the powerful hands of Gian Paolo.

At the first hint of his vile meaning the passionate Lord of Camerino had flung into a fury, and, catching him by the throat, would have made an end of him, thus, with his hands, but that returning reason awoke unreasoning jealousy and bade him stay until he had learnt what grounds this rascal had for bringing that foul charge.

When he had recovered breath Malipiero gasped out his story, and thanked his patron saint that he had bethought him of forging proofs to lend his accusation countenance, else he was likely to have fared ill. Those proofs he laid before his master. They purported to be letters purloined from the treasure-casket of Gian Paolo's wife, and they fired Gian Paolo's very ready jealousy. He strode to and fro within the narrow limits of his tent, tearing his hair and uttering foulnesses —a thing unusual in him—like a man demented. In that hour the fortunes of Italy weighed not a straw's weight with him; his throne of Camerino he cared for no more than had it been a dung-heap. The only thought then governing his mind was of this dishonour that had been discovered to him.

A furious hatred filled him, a feral thirst for the blood of that nameless one who had brought this shame upon him, and an almost equal hatred for the creature who had revealed the matter to him, and who was cowering now in a corner of the tent, appalled by the sight of the devil he had raised.

Suddenly he strode to the door of his tent, and, beating his hands together, called. Out of the dark surged the figure of his sentinel.

"Bid them saddle me three horses," he commanded, hoarse with passion, "and tell Ser Gustavo to prepare him for a journey." Then, swinging round again upon Malipiero—"You shall go with me," he threatened him, "and if it should please God that you have lied, it shall please God also that I stab you dead."

And now a great fear took possession of Malipiero, which it needed all his confidence in his resources to combat and quell. Like a man in a dream he obeyed Gian Paolo, and so came to find himself mounted between his master and Gustavo da Trani.

The captain of the mercenaries drew nigh as they were departing. He had heard the rumour that Gian Paolo was leaving the camp, and, marvelling that he had received no orders, he went to seek them.

"Plague me not!" Gian Paolo had barked at him.

"But, Excellency," the man protested, "from whom shall we take orders in your absence?"

"From whom you like. From the devil, or from Cesare Borgia for aught I care. Malipiero, come on; forward, Gustavo." And, clapping spurs to his horse, he rode off in the summer night with his two companions.

By dawn they had scaled the hills above Camerino, by noon they were in the city. They had abandoned their horses some way out, and, that they might suffer no hindrance from the Borgia soldiery in possession, they entered quietly on foot, making their way to the Osteria del Sole—a quiet tavern in a poor quarter. Here they lay and waited for the night, by Malipiero's own suggestion, whose only object was to gain time, hoping meanwhile for some opportunity to escape. But towards evening there was a surprise for him. Gian Paolo, who had been absent a little while from the room they had taken, returned looking very white, his anger and his spirit all seeming to have died out of him. Between his fingers he carried a scrap of paper. His eyes rested sorrowfully on Malipiero.