“Take your daggers,” I bade him, “and
rip me that blazon from your coats. See that
you leave no sign about you to proclaim you of the
House of Santafior, or all is lost. It is a
precaution you would have taken earlier if God had
given you the wit of a grasshopper.”
He nodded that he understood my order, and scowled
his disapproval of my comment on his wit. For
the rest, they did my bidding there and then.
Having satisfied myself that no betraying sign remained
about them, I drew the curtains of my litter, and
reclining there I gave myself up to pondering the
manner in which I should greet the Borgia sbirri when
they overtook me. From that I passed on to the
contemplation of the position in which I found myself,
and the thing that I had done. And the proportions
of the jest that I was perpetrating afforded me no
little amusement. It was a burla not unworthy
the peerless gifts of Boccadoro, and a fitting one
on which to close his wild career of folly. For
had I not vowed that Boccadoro I would be no more
once the errand on which I travelled was accomplished?
By Cesare Borgia’s grace I looked to—
A sudden jolt brought me back to the immediate present,
and the realisation that in the last few moments we
had increased our pace. I put out my head.
“Giacopo!” I shouted. He was at
my side in an instant. “Why are we galloping?”
“They are behind,” he answered, and fear
was again overspreading his fat face. “We
caught a glimpse of them as we mounted the last hill.”
“You caught a glimpse of whom?” quoth
I.
“Why, of the Borgia soldiers.”
“Animal,” I answered him, “what
have we to do with them? They may have mistaken
us for some party of which they are in pursuit.
But since we are not that party, let your jaded beasts
travel at a more reasonable speed. We do not
wish to have the air of fugitives.”
He understood me, and I was obeyed. For a half-hour
we rode at a more gentle pace. That was about
the time they took to come up with us, still a league
or so from Fabriano. We heard their cantering
hoofs crushing the snow, and then a loud imperious
voice shouting to us a command to stay. Instantly
we brought up in unconcerned obedience, and they thundered
alongside with cries of triumph at having run their
prey to earth.
I cast aside my hat, and thrust my motleyed head through
the curtains with a jangle of bells, to inquire into
the reason of this halt. Whom my appearance
astounded the more—whether the lacqueys
of Santafior, or the Borgia men-at-arms that now encircled
us—I cannot guess. But in the crowd
of faces that confronted me there was not one but wore
a look of deep amazement.
THE COZENING OF RAMIRO
The cavalcade that had overtaken us proved to number
some twenty men-at-arms, whose leader was no less
a person than Ramiro del’ Orca—that
same mountain of a man who had attended my departure
from the Vatican three nights ago. From the
circumstance that so important a personage should
have been charged with the pursuit of the Lady of Santafior,
I inferred that great issues were at stake.
