% Inra ll'li AMicm ,1: FOLK AHG'ILLOTTI BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME PROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF iienrg W, Sa^e 1891 Q...'2.5..ii..^ ^^ .\^\S^.\.v- Cornell University Library PS 3501.N56S6 Sir John Hawkwooda tale of the White co 3 1924 022 237 345 The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022237345 SIR JOHN HAWKWOOD " I had got my sword free and leapt to the side of the Princess. She was tense in every limb but made no sign of fright." —Page 125 Sir John Hawkwood ^ TALE OF The White Company in Italy BY Marion Polk Angcllotti R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 18 East 17th Street 4 1( New York HI COPYRIGHT 1911 BY t. F. FENNO & COMPANY Sir John Hawkwood, TO MY MOTHER CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Bare Steel ii II. Mischief . . . . , 25 III. O'Meara's Lady 44 IV. VioLANTE 59 V. GiuLiA 73 VI. The Turning-Point 88 VII. The Fight in the Inn 109 VIII. Castel Paura 128 IX. The Dagger-Thrust 143 X. An Attack from Within 160 XI. The Coming of Violante 179 XII. The Waiting 195 XIII. For Love of a Woman 206 XIV. The Scarf with the Gold Flowers., 216 XV. The Lady in the Mask 231 XVI. The Bargaining 250 XVII. On the Road 265 XVIII. Carrara of Padua 273 XIX, In Duke Francesco's Garden 284 "There's aye thing yet, there's twa thing yet To brag on that ye know ; He never, never failed a friend. And never feared a foe." SIR JOHN HAWKWOOD CHAPTER I BARE Sttth "Giovanni DelIvA GugIvIa!" The words, subdued yet perfectly audible, fell on my ears just as I set my foot on the threshold of the door leading into the palace loggia. A titter accompanied them, and a buzz of whispering com- ment followed. Instantly I swung round on my heel, narrowed my eyes, and glanced keenly about to discover the author of the jest. My task was like to prove no easy one, I saw at once; for all the busy court-yard was thronged with onlookers who now fixed me with glances of amusement. A group of pert young pages ^p. white and gold livery were gathered round the fountain — the taunt might have come from one of them, but I thought not, for they had learned that I was no safe butt for their tricks. Gorgeous lackeys stood about in troops, soldiers of the Prince's Guard sprawled on the stone pavement and played at dice, and not far from where I stood I perceived a score 11 X2 Sir John Hawkwood of my own free companions, each wearing across his left shoulder the white scarf, embroidered in silver, which was the badge of the White Company. They were dare-devil rogues, fellows from England and France and Spain and all the duchies of Italy, men who would not have feared to jest at the ex- pense of a king, or, what would have been held worse by most, at the Pope himself ; but I wasted no time in scanning their faces for signs of guilt, being well aware that, indifferent as they were to the great of the earth, they one and all entertained a dread of me that kept their tongues civil in my pres- ence, if not always in my absence. They had heard the taunt even as I had, and were elbowing a way to the front of the throng that they might have a clear view of the turmoil which, they plainly be- lieved, was sure to follow. Not far from the threshold where I had halted stood a group of different metal from the other oc- cupants of the court — a half-dozen of the Prince of Verona's own friends and followers, young fops with splendid raiment and empty heads, any of them likely enough to have attempted a jest at the ex- pense of me, whom they did not love. In the centre of the circle I saw Ranucio della Torre, Prince Antonio's favorite. Though he was my very bitter enemy and tireless in his efforts to work me harm, I had never felt any wonder that he was so beloved by his royal master, for he was a shrewd man and a brave one, and gifted with a dark beauty of face Sir John Hawkwood 13 that made him better worth gazing at than any picture on the palace walls. To-day he stood among the laughing young courtiers like a king among his subjects, and I had never seen a more splendid sight than he, in his rose and silver satin, swinging gold-embroidered cloak, and wide hat with its plume buckled with jewels. If I gave him a cer- tain grudging admiration, however, I nevertheless hated him with all my heart, and so sure was I now that the whispered taunt had come from him that I swung about in his direction, one foot poised for an advance. At this instant I felt a hand laid on my arm. It was Michael O'Meara, my Irish lieutenant, who stood second in authority in my company of mer- cenaries, and was the only man in all Verona to whom I gave an absolute trust. "Whist, now. Sir John, 'tis wrong you are," he whispered in my ear. And I paused, for I knew well enough that, what- ever he wanted, it was not to withhold me from fighting. He was too thorough an Irishman for that — nay, at this very moment his blue eyes were fairly blazing with delighted zest for battle. " 'Twas not Delia Torre," he continued, in the same low voice. " 'Twas the old rogue beside him, Raimondo del Mayno they call him — blessed saints, 'tis a heathen fashion of name, and enough to break the jaw of the man who says it ! Shall I be after going up and taking him by the nose, Sir John, and teach- ing him manners to fit his station?" 14 Sir John Hawkwood I looked again at the little group of courtiers, all of whom were gazing at me in manifest amuse- ment, and exchanging whispers which, it took small wit on my part to guess, were at my expense. The man whom O'Meara had indicated stood at Delia Torre's elbow, laughing loudly, and with an appear- ance of delighted mockery which I instantly assured myself would not last many moments. He might have been five and fifty years old, and was very fat and pompous, with shrewd choleric blue eyes half buried in thick pockets of flesh, and a short gray beard carefully cut in a square. His dress of green and gold velvet was magnificent, and he had all the manner of a person used to exacting his full due of deference from those about him, as was suitable in one of his rank and importance. Though I had never exchanged a word with him in the whole time I had spent in Verona, I knew him well enough for a rich noble of the Court, a kins- man, in some distant fashion, of Prince Antonio himself, and therefore treated by every one with a flattering attention which there was little about him to warrant. To speak frankly, I would have given something to have avoided a quarrel with him; for the Prince, under whom I now fought, and whose pay was as generous as his name in Italy was evil, had very high ideas of his royal dignity, and of the dignity of all who belonged to his house. A quarrel with Lord Raimondo was plainly not likely to assure or Sir John Hawkwood 15 strengthen my position at a Court where I had already a round number of intriguing enemies, and prudence counselled me to turn a deaf ear and pro- ceed on my way. Nevertheless, I did no such thing. Prudence, truth to tell, got little welcome from me at that time of my life, and recklessness and dare- deviltry were the chief traits of my character. Had it been otherwise, I think I should scarcely have been hailed by all as the greatest free captain of my time in Europe ; for could a cautious, mild-mannered, amiable man have ruled my mad band of villains and cutthroats from the four corners of the earth, and turned them into the best fighters to be found anywhere for the hiring of those needing defenders? Moreover, I had so many jealous enemies that my one hope of safety lay in the name I had won of being a man unsafe for meddling and very danger- ous when provoked. Del Mayno's words had been heard by his own circle, who greeted them with laughter and applause ; by the pages and lackeys, who grinned and smirked and stood a-tiptoe to see what would happen next; by my own men, who were now waiting in sup- pressed glee to see the discomfiture which they did not doubt awaited the jester. Should I turn on my heel and pass on, to-morrow all the city of Ve- rona would know the part I had played. There was but one course for me to pursue, and I did pursue it— not as the result of all these sage reflections, but Il6 Sir John Hawkwood by instinct and at once, the moment that O'Meara's words had left his mouth. Striding across the space that separated me from Del Mayno, I halted before him. The crowd gasped in delighted anticipation, and surged forward to see. O'Meara followed me so closely that his shoul- der almost touched mine — the rogue! I knew well enough that he was hoping some turn of the busi- ness would give him a chance at a quarrel. The group of courtiers, their mocking laughter still on their lips, stared at me haughtily, and Delia Torre scowled as if incensed at my daring in approach- ing him. As for Del Mayno, he set his head back and roared noisily with mirth. Plainly he thought himself quite safe by virtue of his rank, and was inclined to enjoy his jest to the full. For some reason all this merriment suffered a sHght check as I paused and looked steadily about the circle. During the moment which I spent in a deliberate survey, the laughing faces sobered not a little, and unless I am mistaken some of those pres- ent called to mind various tales that had reached their ears of my summary methods of dealing with those who offended me. When the pause had grown strained I spoke. "My lord," I said to Del Mayno, "you said Giovanni della Guglia, if I am not wrong. The jest is somewhat thread-bare by now, it appears to ttie; none but dull wits continue to harp on a jibe that has grown old by use. Moreover, at its new- est this sobriquet was never particularly to my Sir John Hawkwood 17 fancy, as I endeavored to show by killing one gen- tleman who called me by it, disabling three more, and giving two others such a lesson in sword-play as they will not forget. But come — no doubt you are of a merry turn of mind; I would not be too hard upon you ; and then, you are kin to the Prince. Take a warning from me that I do not greatly love jests like this, and the matter shall end here." My tone infuriated him, as I knew it would. He turned crimson, puffed out his cheeks with rage, and squared his shoulders in fierce determination to crush me. Those about him scowled on me darkly and muttered curses on my insolence. "I believe," Del Mayno said scornfully, "that you are the English condottiere who fights the Prince's battles for hire. That is all I know concerning you. As for your name, it may be John Hawkwood or Giovanni della Guglia — do you think I have no better use for my thoughts than the remembering of how you style yourself? What are you doing here before me, pray? Did you think, because you heard me speak your name, that I called you ? Not I. Begone, then, and if you must have company, talk to my lackeys yonder — ^they are nearer your rank than I am." "Now the Virgin pity you, me poor fool, and aid ye too — for it's yourself will soon be needing aid most urgent," I heard my irrepressible Irishman mutter behind me ; and a sigh of rapturous anticipa- tion ran about among my mercenaries. Del Mayno heard it too, and with rage. 1 8 Sir John Hawkwood "Bid your horse-boys be silent when I speak," he cried. "Ah, Sir John Hawkwood, you may think to rule tavern loiterers and thieves and bullies, such as this famous Company of yours, with black looks and wild words, but you need not hope to awa the nobles of Verona. Yes, we know you, braggart, drunkard and cutthroat that you are — but never dream you can frighten me. Sir Ruffian!" He stopped, partly from exhaustion and partly in startled horror ; for on his last word I had seized my sword-hilt and pulled the weapon out, flashing it under his eyes. For a moment he stared at me in blank amazement, while the surrounding cir- cle of his friends gave back a trifle, and O'Meara ut- tered an exclamation of blissful content. "Del May- no," I said with brutal directness, "you are an old fool, and badly in want of a lesson. You have called me John of the Needle. Do you not know that a needle is a very sharp thing, not one with which to jest? Then you shall learn it now. This blue blade in my hand is my needle, and I am going to give you some experience of its powers. Why do you stand there staring at me like any imbecile ? Get your sword out, unless you desire that I should spit you while you wait !" And I made a pass within an inch of his nose. I had fancied he would quibble at so far lowering his dignity as to meet me sword in hand — ^but I had forgotten the power of bare steel. After all, it is no very pleasant experience to have a blade flashed Sir John Hawkwood 19 before your eyes, and Lord Raimondo, a powerful noble, was not used to such attentions. With a wild snort of mingled rage and fear he pulled his sword loose and came at me in a fury. I gave an exclamation of triumph. All was as I would have it now. The difference in rank which he had forgotten his friends remembered for him. There was a cry of horror from the young courtiers. "Insolence!" shouted Delia Torre. "Come, let us cut down this adventurer who would butcher the Prince's kins- man !" For an instant I felt some alarm, but it was needless. "I'm thinking you do very well where you are, and that there you'll stay, my jewels," O'Meara re- marked blandly, and my uneasiness faded as quickly as it had come. He had poignantly regretted, I knew, his own exclusion from the quarrel, and was overjoyed at an opportunity to mix in it. "Here, you rogues, come aid your captain 1" At which my men, having no mind at all to see the sport spoiled, pushed roughly in between the courtiers and myself, and kept a clear space in which Del Mayno and I might decide the issue as man to man. Under these cir- cumstances it was child's play for me to do what I would, for in all my life I have met but three swordsmen — ^by name, the Black Prince, Sir John Chandos, and Bertrand du Guesclin — who could best me, and Lord Raimondo was as a babe in my hands. 20 Sir John Hawkwood "Now, my friend," I said pleasantly, as I turned his wild thrusts aside, "I am going to amuse myself. You have had your jest and enjoyed it, now I shall have mine. I shall not kill you — what good would that do me? — ^but if I do not make you cut a poor figure this day, then let me never besiege a fort or sack a town again! You are a very poor swords- man, and I think that even were my eyes blind- folded I could parry your thrusts without danger. Do your best, for with this sword of mine — wjth my needle, if you please ! — I intend to instruct you how dangerous a matter was your pretty jibe. Now, gentlemen, I pray your attention, for the play be- gins!" With that I sent him backward, stumbling and panting, wildly defending himself from my attacks ; and I followed him, driving him onward relentlessly, and executing a series of thrusts at his fat legs which made him squeal like a frightened pig. Straight across the court I drove him, and through the gate- way into the palace loggia; and close on our heels came the soldiers and pages and lackeys, who, be- side themselves with excitement now, gave vent to wild outbursts of laughter and cheering, and fairly danced for glee as the battle went on. The great loggia was a fair sunny place, the brightest spot in all the palace. Flowers lay thickly scattered over the pavement, which was built of Verona marble, with alternating blocks of close- |;rained cream-coJor ?in4 rigli piottled red, forming 3, Sir John Hawkwood 21 dazzling checkered pattern. An arched cloister of pure white marble supported a marble gallery above, which had a great door in the centre, and a winding staircase leading down to the court. Over the gal- lery, through the arches, and on the stairs were masses of roses and lilies and jasmine, twining, mingling, smothering the senses with their rich color and their heavy perfume. From beneath these gor- geous blooms peeped out, like pictures in their gilded frames, rare fresco paintings in the stiff golden By- zantine style, alternating with voussoirs of marble covered with gilded leaves and flowers. This splen- did place stood empty as I swept into it with Del Mayno stumbling and cursing at my sword's point ; but the hubbub raised by the shouting, dancing rogues who followed me was such that it could not help but rouse the palace — ^the very end I had in view. Almost within the moment startled voices sounded in-doors, and a great crowd of ladies and courtiers, some frightened, some curious, came quickly out into the gallery to see what was afoot. I had a good audience now — ^half the Prince's Court above, half his servants in the outer square and packed about the loggia gate. Certainly the jest was at present on my side. Putting forth all my skill, I advanced on Del Mayno in such fashion that I believe he thought me turned into the devil in person. Easily parrying all his desperate thrusts, between them I pricked hun prettily in whatever spot my fancy suggested to me. 22 Sir John Hawkwood We stormed across the loggia like a whirlwind, nar- rowly escaping a table in our course, then bearing down on the staircase. Just as we reached it I swung in a skilful circle and started back again for the gate, still driving my reluctant and panting prey be- fore me. Round and round the loggia we went, while the spectators cheered us on ; and now I began to add mockery to my torture. "So there, so there !" I cried, shaking with laugh- ter, but taking good care not to miss a thrust. "To the right, my friend — now to the left — ha, you obey my guidance as prettily as could be wished ! Prime, seconde, coupe — come, what makes you squeal so like a stuck pig? Did I go too deep? Yes, I see a spreading blood-stain on your fine satin hose ; but it is only a prick, as I can show you if I choose to go deeper. Does my needle please you, my needle concerning which you were so witty? Does it still amuse you, now that you know it better? Is it a sharp needle, eh ?" I thrust again, and my wretched victim leapt into the air with a yell. "Sir John ! Sir John Hawkwood ! Are you mad ?" called an angry voice from the gallery, and I knew that Antonio della Scala, Prince of Verona and Vincenza, was now numbered among my audience. I feigned to have heard nothing, and my pretense was aided by the delighted clamor of the onlookers, which might well have drowned the Prince's words. "Bravo, bravo. Sir John!" the soldiers and pages were crying, in an ecstacy. O'Meara, who had fol- Sir John Hawkwood 23 lowed us closely in, stood leaning on the wall, al- ternately giving war-whoops of delight and pausing to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes. "Glory be that I've lived to see this hour ! Ah, is it not a beautiful sight?" he gurgled joyously. From the upper gallery, where the ladies and courtiers were gathered, came audible and indignant comments on adventurers who dared attack great nobles in this fashion, mingled with irrepressible bursts of merri- ment as my unlucky victim cut some especially wild caper. The chase was growing hotter now. Round and round the loggia we went, skirting the wall by scarcely a foot, avoiding crashing into the staircase only by an apparent intervention of Providence. My quarry was scarlet in the face, and so blown that it was plain he must soon fall for very exhaustion. He tripped and stumbled, wheezed noisily in his efforts to catch breath, and made wild sounds of mingled rage and anguish. At this moment I was inspired by a new mode of torture. "Dance, my friend ! Dance for this noble assem- blage !" I cried, and wielded my sword to such good effect that Del Mayno pranced and curvetted in the liveliest fashion possible. "So — ^you do very credit- ably, on my word. Is not this despised needle of mine a useful thing, since it can make a fat old has- been like you pick up your heels like any dancing- master ? Turn to the right — turn to the left — ^raise your right foot — now your left foot. Higher, higher, or I will prick again " I shook with helpless 24 Sir John Hawkwood laughter to see the desperate efforts and wild pro- truding eyes of my pupil. Flesh and blood could not resist the absurd scene; the loggia was now one great roar of mirth, and even those in the gallery held their sides and wiped their eyes. "Sir John !" the Prince screamed, in a rage. "Do you hear me? Put up your sword on the instant! Cease your horse-play and let him go !" This time I was ready to obey him, for I saw that my victim could bear no more. "Once again, one final effort," I cried, and swung my sword in a hiss- ing circle straight at the feet of Del Mayno, who, with a wild cry and a convulsive spring, leapt high into the air and just cleared the blow. "Well done, my friend. Now rest and get your breath, and take warning by this lesson that needles are too sharp to be spoken of in jest — ^they have the power to prick, you see." Still roaring with laughter, I thrust my sword into its scabbard. "Let Delia Torre and his friends pass in now, O'Meara. The play is ended," I called to the Irishman. And then I stood waiting, unable to guess what might be the result of my mad whim, but tolerably certain that the next half-hour would prove a stirring one for me. CHAPTER II MISCHI^E As I sHeathed my sword a tumult 6f cheers broke from the spectators, and the soldiers of my Com- pany, in a mad burst of delight, came circling round me in an impromptu dance of triumph. "Begone, begone!" I cried, forcing a way through them. "What have you to do in the Prince's loggia? Take yourselves off, knaves, or you will get into trouble !" Antonio della Scala came slowly down the stair- case from the gallery. He was obviously in a rage, though the fact showed only in his increased pallor and the slight trembling of his hands. For a mo- ment I had an insane desire to treat him as I had treated Raimondo del Mayno, for, truth to tell, I loved one scarcely better than the other. He was not to my taste, this last of the Scaligeri, this lan- guid, foppish, sulky man who painted his cheeks and covered his hands with rings, and wore his blond hair so low that it shaded his pale lack-lustre eyes. It was a part of my trade to read men, and I read this Prince as easily as any ruffling cutthroat among my free companions, and judged him as evil at bottom as the worst of them. He came of a bloody 26 26 Sir John Hawkwood race, a family in which the father slew the son and the husband the wife; and, unless report slandered him, he had himself the blood of his only brother on his conscience. There was an ominous threat under his languid pretense of indifference — his veiled sleepy eyes sometimes held the fierce glint of a wild beast's rage; and more than once I had seen him, when startled into anger, drop all his airs and graces, and rave in a violent fashion that might well chill the blood of any in his power. He accorded me civil treatment, however, for I was not a little useful to him. Would he choose to be indulgent now, or not, I wondered, as I gazed at his slim, lazy, insolent figure, glittering in violet velvet slashed with gold and sewn with pearls. In a trial of strength I could have broken his neck, and the knowledge gave me a kind of scorn for what he might do. There was silence for a moment, while the rabble about the gate eyed me with reverence, and the crowd in the gallery gave me looks of scorn. I stood indifferent, staring back at them. No doubt I wore the plainest attire that could have been found that day in all the Scaligeri palace, where even the ser- vants went splendidly dressed. I had a loose leather jerkin and a short red cloak over my steel cuirass, there was dust on my high boots, and the plume in my hat was draggled, though it still arched with a ruffling air of arrogance. Even O'Meara, clad in the spoil of many a foray, far outshone me. I could feel the scorn in the bright eyes above, and it made Sir John Hawkwood 27 me laugh again to think how I had served the splen- did Del Mayno. Even as I thought of this gentleman he took the centre of the stage. Pulling himself together, he staggered over to where Antonio stood at the foot of the staircase. .He was still panting wildly, but was already breathing wrath and vengeance. "My lord, my lord, this is beyond bearing," he wheezed passionately. "Am I, as great a noble as any man in Verona save yourself — ^yes, and your own kin by marriage — to be put to shame by this adventurer from heaven knows where, and jeered at by his sol- diers, and made the laughing-stock of all the city? Never shall I hear the end of this outrage ! I have been made a mock of — and oh, my sufferings ! Holy saints, I think I shall never walk again!" He fell on the lowest step, clutching wildly at his bleeding legs. "He pricked me, he lacerated me, and that last thrust of his — if the Virgin herself had not aided me I could never have found strength to jump above it, and he would have shorn my feet off at the ankles ! Will you endure this outrage, my good lord?" The Prince stood regarding me with a dark frown. A little more and his self-control would leave him, and then a pretty tempest would fall about my ears. "Sir John," he said coldly, "can you explain this whim of yours? Do you choose my kin for your horse-play, and my loggia for its scene? Faith, I had thought Francesco Carrara and his Paduans 28 Sir John Hawkwood were upon us, so great was the Bedlam you raised !" This was no time for hesitation; my only hope lay in boldness. I lounged cheerfully across to the stairs and faced Antonio, while Del Mayno, letting out a startled squeal at my approach, climbed half a dozen steps and took sanctuary behind his royal master's back. "Why, my lord," I explained, laugh- ing, "the matter is of the simplest. It appears that various wits among your courtiers are curious as to my birth, my parentage, my ancestry, and other matters concerning me which might be thought no affair of theirs. Since I have not cared to gratify their curiosity, they have invented various histories to fit me, and of these inventions the favorite one is that I am the son of a tailor. Therefore, it seems, they have christened me Giovanni della Guglia — John of the Needle. You see? I have done my best to take the point from this jest by dealing roughly with all who cracked it, but it appears I have been too patient; for to-day, as I came into the palace court, I passed this noble standing among a crowd of his friends, and he called me very audibly by the name I have mentioned. Perhaps he thought his rank would awe me into patience, perhaps he flattered himself that his skill at the sword equalled mine — I cannot say ; at any rate the fancy took me to show him how sharp my needle was and how dangerous, that he might address me more circum- spectly in future. I think he has learned his lesson well," I ended, pointing with a roar of laughter Sir John Hawkwood 29 to the wretched noble who cowered behind Antonio, still gingerly feeling at his calves. "And did you not know, Sir John," said the Prince, with the measured coldness that spelt sup- pressed fury with him, "that this lord was Raimondo del Mayno, the uncle of my cousin the Princess Giu- lia, and therefore my own kinsman in a distant fashion?" "Indeed, then, my lord, I am sorry both for you and for the Princess," I cried, and stared again at the noble in question. At present he was charily bending one knee, as if suspecting that it might be broken. The Prince gave me so black a look that I fancied the end was come. Perhaps he did not value me so highly as I had believed — perhaps, much as he longed to worst the Duke of Padua by means of my men and my skill in warfare, he might toss away all such hopes in sheer rage at my presumption. But even as I looked, to my utter amazement he choked back the angry words that were on his lips, smoothed out the dark line from his forehead, and banished the dangerous gleam that had come into his half- closed eyes. There was a short silence; then he spoke — angrily, indeed, but not to me ; to those who had thronged into the loggia to watch the con- flict. "Begone, you !" he cried, snarling at them with his upper lip raised from his teeth in the fashion of a threatening dog, "Do you know no better than to 30 Sir John Hawkwood swarm into my very presence with your yells and shouting? Go, I say, or I will have the place cleared with small ceremony!" The onlookers took the hint and filed hastily out, while those in the gal- lery followed suit. "Stay, Ranucio," he added to his favorite, Delia Torre, who had come up to him. "And do you stop also," he added to O'Meara, who indeed had shown no sign of budging, despite the fierce order for a general departure. The Prince crossed the loggia slowly and seated himself at a great table covered with cards and dice and gold drinking-cups. "And now," he said sourly, "if your merry humor is satisfied, Sir John, in the name of Heaven let us sit down and talk like men of sense." His sudden change of front so amazed me that I could find no words, and must have cut a foolish figure enough had not Del Mayno come to my rescue by diverting the attention of the others to himself. Pulling himself up with difficulty from his seat on the stairs, he hurried indignantly over to the Prince. "Oh, my lord, my lord, am I to have no vengeance ?" he cried, shaking his clenched hand at me, but pru- dently keeping the table between us. "I am your own kinsman, you yourself have said it, and yet you refuse me redress when I am mocked and outraged ? Send the rogue to prison, or banish him forever from Verona — ^let his crime against your dignity and mine be suitably punished. You will not suffer him to flaunt it here as if nothing had happened? I tell you, my lord, I can hardly stand for pain!" He Sir John Hawkwood 31 groaned, and despite my bewilderment I laughed un- til I was near to choking. "Oh, you make too much of the matter, my good friend," said Antonio, with a look of humorous tol- erance which dazed me — this was not his usual way of dealing with such happenings, I knew it well. "Surely you have lost all sense of humor if you rave so over a merry prank that has done you no lasting harm. Sir John's wit is of a rough kind, perhaps, and reeks more of the camp than the Court, but we must pardon something in one who is so good a friend to Verona. Besides, it is plain that you brought all this on yourself by an imprudent remark concerning a man who has my favor. Keep a still tongue next time, and all will be well. Now go get a doctor for your hurts, though I think they are not deep ones." Del Mayno flung out both his hands in indignant protest, and seemed about to favor us with another tirade, but the Prince's patience was exhausted. "Go, Del Mayno, do you hear ? I have said that the matter is ended, and what I say I mean. Are you master in this palace, or am I ?" His tone was so menacing that Del Mayno, with a gesture of despair, turned and struggled up the staircase — a true pilgrimage of penance, for he groaned and panted at every step. In the silence that followed I heard O'Meara draw his breath and mutter audibly, "Thank the blissid saints for this miracle, then — 'tis no less!" Still speechless with astonishment, I sat down slowly, 32 Sir John Hawkwood leaned my elbows on the table, and stared straight before me, collecting my thoughts while I waited for the Prince to speak. Why he had chosen to brush aside my offense as a matter of no conse- quence, he alone knew. It was not from good-na- ture ; he had nOne. Was it because he believed that I alone could help him cast down his deadly foe, Francesco Carrara, the Duke of Padua? Perhaps, for he hated that ruler fiercely, and feared him too ; and since I had come to Verona with my mercenaries I had won him a dozen victories over his rival. Yes, I was of value to him, and he knew it — that was surely the cause of his complaisance. Suddenly I became aware that he was watching me maliciously. "You are dreaming, Sir John," he drawled. "Your conduct to-day makes me some- what doubtful whether you are quite sober. I fear you could scarcely fight a successful battle for me now !" "Faith, my lord, you show yourself very igno- rant of war when you say that," I answered, with a curt laugh — I understood the taunt in his words well enough, but would not show it. "Soldiers never fight so well as when their hearts are warmed with drink- When I stormed the Pont d'Esprit near Avignon I think not a man in all my force sat his horse without reeling in the saddle, yet they did not fight the less well for that. However, I am sober enough at present, though perhaps I could not have said so this morning at sunrise; reassure yourself — > Sir John Hawkwood 33 if you want a battle won at once, I am in the mood to do it." "This morning at sunrise," said Delia Torre, re- peating my words with a sneer on his darkly hand- some face. "Yes, to be sure. It was near dawn this morning when I passed you, I think. You were reeling through the streets of Verona in great uncer- tainty whether you lodged near the river or near Sant' Anastasia. Two of your rogues were holding you up, and you had a bare sword in your hand, with which you were pricking all who came in your path " "Bedad, thin, and what was yourself doing in the streets at such an hour, at all, at all?" broke in O'Meara, before I could speak. His voice was sus- piciously sweet, a bright glint danced in his blue eyes, and his head was thrown back a trifle, all of which spelt danger where he was concerned. "May I be after asking, pray, if it goes against your con- science to see a man that's had his glass? Truly, then, I've been misinformed ; this Court of Verona, which I've heard is a gay place enough, is now turned to a nunnery; you gallants taste nothing stronger than water ; at sight of wine you raise your hands in holy horror ! God forgive me if I do you wrong, me friend, but 'tis in my mind you're no bet- ter than a hypocrite ! And for this you may take my word — Sir John Hawkwood will be remembered long after your tomb falls to bits from old age!" He paused, for want of breath, not for want of 34 Sir John Hawk\Yood ideas. In fact, he was merely at the beginning of his speech, and being quite aware of this fact I seized the opportunity of silencing him. "Hold your tongue, Michael," I cried. The Prince was chuckling in malicious amusement, and Delia Torre had turned on the Irishman a glare of such indignant astonishment as he might have worn had a lackey bearded him. "It matters nothing to those here whether I go drunken through the streets or not. I am hired to win battles, not to chant prayers. The Prince desires to say something to us — give him a moment to word his thoughts, then, and let Delia Torre alone." Antonio was watching me furtively from beneath lowered lids. "Yes, Sir John," he said slowly, after a pause, during which O'Meara hummed an air, Delia Torre scowled, and I racked my brains as to what could be coming. "I sent for you to-day to beg your help in a matter of great importance to me. It is an affair of a different sort from what you have done for me hitherto, but then, it will also be more profitable. You are not averse to gaining a round sum of money, eh? If you will carry out this business to my satisfaction, I will give you a great bag of golden coins, and fling this diamond a-top for good measure." He touched an enormous jewel that sparkled at his throat, then darted a keen glance at me to mark if I appeared dazzled by the offer. "Why, my lord," I said bluntly, "I do not under- Sir John Hawkwood 35 Stand you. I have sold my sword to you for a cer- tain space of time, and am bound to aid you in all your enterprises until the bargain expires. Why should you offer me more gold than is named in our contract? I am not the man to demand anything above the bond, even if you have set your mind on a siege or combat difficult beyond the ordinary. Dan- ger is my trade, and I am content with the pretty penny you have already given me. You pay well, my lord, otherwise I should not be here, since, as you may guess, I do not fight for mere joy of fight- ing. My money must be prepaid when I give my sword to a duchy or republic; the sound of coins clinking in my pouch makes me combat like any madman, but to no other music will I dance a step." Delia Torre gave me a look of scorn. "I think," he sneered, "that your only aim in all these bloody affairs is money. When I march out to battle, I go for love of Verona and love of my Prince. Why do you go? Simply to earn a bag of gold pieces?" "To be sure !" said I nodding. "What cause have I got, pray, to care a flip of my finger for either Verona or Padua, or any other of your little slices of land, I who come from a great country over-seas ? Why should I love the Prince here, can you tell me ? We are not of one land, or one blood, or one na- ture, and he has done nothing for me save to pay me a certain amount of gold, for which I have given him full return. No, I do not love him, but during all the time for which he has bought my sword I will 36 Sir John Hawkwood be utterly faithful to him, and serve him better than you could do, you that profess such devotion for him. He does not hire me for affection, he hires me that I may fight Padua in his behalf. It is all a matter of buying and selling." I laughed again, but there was little enough merriment in my heart, for when I paused to consider my trade it sometimes appeared to me that I was but a step above the bra- voes of the day, men who might be hired for a hand- ful of scudi to waylay and murder on the streets. "A strange life," said Delia Torre, sourly, "to roam about all Italy, fighting now for one duchy, and now for another, and caring nothing for any save as self-interest leads you." "That is the kernel of the matter in a few words," I assented, undisturbed. "I have no leanings, no sympathies. I wait, with a clear mind and an un- biased judgment, until some ruler buys my sword and my Company ; then I fight, and win. I have had a checkered life. I have fought the Pope and levied tribute on him." The Prince and Delia Torre raised eyes of horror, and hastily crossed themselves, at which, knowing the measure of true piety possessed by each, I was again overcome with mirth. "Oh, I have no love for Church mummery. When I took Pau by storm I reversed the usual custom — my men spared the laity and the poor, but robbed the clergy and sacked their houses, thus getting much rich booty. In those days my force was called the Accurst Company; but later the Pope hired me to Sir John Hawkwood 37 protect him, and I fought in his cause as stoutly as ever I fought against him, so the name was changed to the Holy Company. That was very amusing to me, since by no flight of fancy could my wild riot- ing band of mercenaries from all over the world be thought holy in any fashion. I fought for the Pisans, too, when they defied Florence, and later I sold my sword to Florence and served her as well as though I had never stood in arms against her. The highest bidder gets me, and I admit it frankly ; but, though I have a keen eye to the lining of my pockets, I am honest — there lives no man who dare accuse me of failing to give good measure for my hire. Why, I would fight for the devil if he paid me well!" "And perhaps you're doing that same now," O'Meara muttered, with a side-glance at the Prince, who, luckily, failed to catch the remark. "Was this your mind when you fought at Poic- tiers under the Black Prince? Did you serve then for hope of gain and nothing else?" asked Delia Torre, scornfully. He had put his finger on the one weak spot in my armor, and I make no doubt that I winced at the touch. Nay, I was so moved that for an instant I forgot him and spoke with a gesture of reckless self- scorn. "Ah, you go too far back. In those days I was an English soldier, the friend of the greatest hero this world has ever seen — not a drunken ruf- fling condottiere whose sword was for sale to any 38 Sir John Hawkwood bidder, a besieger and sacker of towns, a man who fought for money with which to get himself wine as a means of f orgetfulness ! I loved Edward Plan- tagenet. I think he would not know me now, and I am as well pleased that he cannot see me " Coming to my senses, I pulled myself up hastily. "Why, can you wonder if I am changed now, when you consider the diflference in the men I serve?" I cried mockingly to Delia Torre. "Do you think I would fight for love of the Pope or the Gonfalonieri of Florence or the Pisans, as I fought for love of the Black Prince?" I let my eyes rest on Antonio as I ended, and such was my black humor that I cared not a scudo if he guessed that I included him in the list. He was determined not to take offense at me tO' day, it seemed, for he leaned back in his chair and trifled languidly with his rings, smiling as if in some- what bored indulgence of my acrid mood. "I quar- rel with the money-love of no man who can earn his gold as well as you, Sir John," he drawled placidly, "and I know that whether you hold me dear or not, you will fight Francesco Carrara like any de- mon in my behalf." "Aye, for the remaining month for which I have sold you my service, and after that if you choose to renew the contract on terms profitable to us both," I answered, in practical tones. "As for the future, who knows? I can never say one year where I may be the next. Stranger things have come to Sir John Hawkwood . 39 pass than that some day I might enter Francesco Carrara's service and drive the house of Delia Scala from Verona!" I laughed loudly. "Why, what's amiss, my lord ? Has my jest startled you? I have no thought of going over to Padua while you con- tinue to pay me well." Antonio had turned a shade paler and shivered as if in a sudden chill, but he recovered instantly. "Nothing — a twinge," he answered, pouring some wine and drinking it. "Or a presentiment, maybe," I suggested, filling myself a cup. "Perhaps I am a prophet, though I never guessed it before. In passing, my lord, it ap- pears to me that we are wasting time. You sum- moned me here for some purpose beyond the discus- sion of my past life ? Your lamented brother, Prince Bartolomeo, was wont to sit with me often for the purpose of listening to my war tales, but I cannot re- call that you ever showed such curiosity until to- day." It was believed by all that the death of Bartolo- meo, which had taken place scarcely three months before, was the work of the Prince ; therefore it was not customary, as may be believed, to mention the murdered man's name at Court. I knew this, but to-day one of my black reckless fits was driving me to all manner of imprudences at which a calmer man might have shuddered. Delia Torre, to whom ru- mor credited a share in the bloody business, started violently, paled, and favored me with a fierce scowl, 40 Sir John Hawkwood but the Prince displayed an admirable self-posses- sion, and gave no sign of concern save a slight quiver of the lids. "It is true that I had something to say to you, Sir John," he answered serenely. "You do well to remind me. Let us come to the point," and he glared suspiciously about the loggia to assure himself that we were quite alone. "Why so much mystery?" I cried. "What can you want of me, my lord, that all the world may not hear? Is it another such enterprise as the taking of Lerino, which I stormed for you last week? I left most of my Company there to hold it, you re- call — I shall have to send for them if you are plan- ning a new attempt " "It is nothing of the kind. Listen," said the Prince, bending across the table and speaking in a low voice, with his eyes searching now one part of the loggia, now another, but never meeting mine. "It is no warlike enterprise, Sir John, and therefore I am willing to reward you richly if you consent to undertake it. The affair concerns my cousin, the Princess Giulia. Ha — why did you start ?" "In wonder that anything concerning her could concern me also," I answered, mentally cursing his keen sight. His painted cheeks flushed slightly, and he bit his lip. He was very ill at ease, and, perceiving it, I suspected foul play. "All Verona knows, I think, that I love my cousin and desire to marry her," he iwent on, low but resolutely. "As for her, she is Sir John Hawkwood 41 very young still and very foolish. She reads ro- mances and dreams of hero-knights, and longs for a perfect cavalier to come and woo her. Well, I am slight of figure and cold of manner and not too handsome of feature, and I do not resemble the fairy-knight of her dreams. She repulses me. Now, Sir John, I have determined to overcome her cold- ness — I have determined to play a knight's part and win her favor." I sat staring at him. "Well, what of it, my lord?" I asked bluntly. "This concerns you and the Prin- cess, not me." Again he hesitated, then bent closer to me. "It shall concern you to the tune of a round sum, if you choose," he muttered. "What I desire is that you and some score of your men should carry off my cousin under pretense of holding her to ransom. You may seize her when the Court is without the walls on a hunt, and carry her to my deserted castle near Vincenza. There I will come at once with fifty horsemen, and after some pretense at resistance you will yield me the castle and the Princess. Such a rescue will leave her far less indifferent, far more kindly disposed toward me and my love suit ; besides, she will be alone and in my power, and I can make what terms I choose. As for you, after some pre- tense at anger I will pardon you in consideration of your services to Verona, and will privately give you a rich reward. Now, is not that a simple way to earn a bag of coins?" iJ2 Sir John Hawkwood In the silence that followed I clenched my hands till the nails bit into the flesh. The Prince's face was close to mine, and the impulse to strike him full across his painted cheeks and pale sneering eyes was almost more than I could rule. It was O'Meara's voice which broke the spell, and saved me, perhaps, from a fatal act. "The divil 1" I heard him mutter soulfully, and in sudden fear lest he should do some such thing as I had myself contem- plated, I kicked him warningly under the table — or tried to kick him, for my boot caught Antonio's leg instead, and he jumped and muttered an angry oath. I was calm enough now. "Thank you, my lord," I said, bowing. "Your generosity is indeed great, but I think I will not accept it. I take towns, not ladies; I make treaties, not marriages. Let your friend Delia Torre carry out your scheme — he is more fitted to such an affair than I." The Prince and his favorite eyed me in a far from loving fashion. "Ah," said Antonio, and his drawl- ing voice was thick and unpleasant. "You have scru- ples, then ? A scheme which a royal prince proposes to you is not choice enough for your dainty hands ? Forgive me, Sir John, if I say that I had fancied, from the tales that have come to my ears concerning your doings and the doings of the men you lead, that you had long since ceased to consider the nice bal- ances of right and custom when a chance of gain hovered before your eyes !" "I understand," I answered, and, my rage was such Sir John Hawkwood 43 that I could hardly answer him. "Now hear me for a moment. It is quite true that I am a hireling, a ruiHing cutthroat, a bully, a drunkard sometimes! It is true that my men are ruffians, thieves, the scouring of Europe ! But in all my life I have never shared in such a business as the one you propose for the gulling of your innocent cousin, and though I have led my Company on many a rough wild foray I have never taken them against a woman. I fight in the open, my lord, and I choose enemies whom I can meet with a high head and without lowered eyes !" Antonio rose quietly from the table. "Why, you have said enough. It is a matter for your own de- ciding, and if you prefer hard fighting to an easier way of getting gold, it is all one to me. You shall combat Padua instead of my pretty cousin. Come, Ranucio." He took his favorite's arm, and without another look at me they passed together across the loggia, through the gate into the outer court, and so from my sight. CHAPTER III o'meara's lady For a full moment the Irishman and myself sat staring after the departing Italians. At length O'Meara shook his head, drained the cup of wine he had filled just before the coming of the crisis, and said "The divil!" even more soulfully than he had said it a few instants earlier. This done, he sat looking at me with so blank an expression that I was irritated into speech. "Well," I growled, "and what do you think of this?" O'Meara was seldom at a loss for an opinion, whatever the event. "I'm thinking you and I had best be after finding a prince in need of soldiers," he said lucidly, "for that, come one month and the end of your bargain, that son of the divil will be turning us out of Verona — and maybe killing us be- fore he does that same," he added, like the Irishman he was. There was not a little to be said for this view of the case. I knew Antonio too well to be deceived by the blandness of his farewell. He never forgave contumacy on the part of those with whom he had to deal, and the fact that I had won him a dozen bril- 44 Sir John Hawkwood 45 liant victories would not soften him at all now that I had dared refuse to aid him in his knavish scheme. The best I could hope was to be permitted to leave Verona quietly when the month was ended; and it would be quite in keeping with the Prince's char- acter if, as O'Meara suggested, he tried to take re- venge on me in the meantime. " 'Tis a black-hearted rogue he is, Prince or no Prince, and that jewel of a Delia Torre is his worthy follower," the Irishman muttered, drinking again. "Had ye consented to their nefarious dealing and carried ofi the Princess, would they have kept the bargain, do you think? Not they. When she was rescued, you would have hanged. Trust me for that — 'tis myself has the keen eye to read villains such as these." I made no response to this profound remark, though I quite agreed with the speaker. He was not one to be discouraged by silence. "Faith, and after this I've no doubt at all he killed his brother, as 'tis said he did, bad 'cess to him," he went on with ani- mation. "And what are you going to do now. Sir John, I should be glad to hear ?" "I am going to reflect seriously over the matter, so pray keep your thoughts to yourself and let me have peace," I answered rather savagely, though it was impossible for me to feel real irritation against him. And going across the loggia I flung myself down on a gilded settle hidden behind the marble pil- lars. 46 Sir John Hawkwood "Faith, with all the pleasure in life," O'Meara rejoined good-naturedly; and by way of obedience he immediately began to walk noisily up and down, his spurs ringing on the pavement. From time to time he paused to rock on his heels, and sang light- heartedly a song marked by a rich brogue and a merry rollicking lilt, which ran somewhat as fol- lows: "In me childhood I learned from the priest — And believed it, the more to me shame! — That the divil, that evil old beast,. Was for all this world's mischief to blame. Some years later, I learned in one minute Just he watching a dimple and curl. That for mischief the divil's not in it With a sweet little, shy little girl!" I smiled despite myself as I watched him. Far from home as he had travelled in the course of an adventurous career, he had the stamp of his land in every feature and gesture, and must have been known for an Irishman had one met him among the Turks. There was no better fighter in Europe, yet how boyish he looked and how gay ! A mass of red hair curled under his swaggering plumed hat, and his long-lashed Irish-blue eyes were merry and twinkling one moment, aggressive the next, and an instant later filled with a coaxing, flattering light if they chanced to rest on a pretty face, Abounding humor and rich Sir John Hawkwooti 47 joy of living spoke in the wide curves of his mouth, the quick swing of his shoulders, the half-rollicking, half-defiant toss of his head. He was honest and loyal to the bone, for all his flippant ways, and it meant much to me, placed as I was in Italy, to have such a friend. Even as I looked one of his quick changes of hu- mor came over him, and, abandoning his catch, he paused before the gate and shook his fist savagely in the direction whither the Prince and Delia Torre had gone. "Ill luck come to you both, with your proud scowling faces and sneering mouths !" he cried heartily. "If I had you in my troop I'd put you through your paces, the pair of ye ! May the divil fly away with you, say I — for you're no friends to Sir John, bless him ! and I've no manner of use for you " He started and wheeled about in sur- prise, for at this moment his animated tirade was abruptly broken by a great red rose which, striking him lightly in the face, rebounded into his out- stretched hands. The loggia was apparently deserted and empty, and nothing rewarded his eager gaze; but he had evidently some suspicion as to the invisible agency responsible for the flower, and no unpleasant sus- picion either, to judge from the sudden clearing of the anger on his forehead and the quick change of his blue eyes from savagery to delight. Recon- noitering with the cautious skill of an experienced soldier, he made a brisk circuit of the loggia, and 48 Sir John Hawkwood despite his quickness almost suffered a defeat, for the second rose, coming from an unexpected quar- ter, struck the back of his head and caused him to breathe an audible wish that he had eyes in that un- likely spot. Whirling about again, he proved too quick for the strategist above, who had no time to draw back behind the sheltering pillar of the gal- lery, and stood confessed in the full light of day. At the sight O'Meara gave a loud crow of triumph and rejoicing. "Aha, Madonna Francesca!" he cried, "you, is it, in ambush in the gallery there, and fling- ing roses as pretty as yourself?" The sight above was indeed a sufficiently charm- ing one to rejoice sourer eyes than those of the im- pressionable Irishman. Leaning on the rail of the gallery, framed by the gleaming whiteness of the marble walls and pillars and the clinging red masses of the vivid roses, was the slender figure of a girl in a pale green gown broidered with scarlet. She had a crown of misty gold hair, a pair of shy dark eyes fit to witch any unwary heart from the breast of the man who gazed into them, and a soft, coquettish, whimsical red mouth, just now a-curve with the most tempting smile to be imag- ined. "Good-day, Messer O'Meara," she said de- murely, gazing down at the enraptured soldier of fortune below. O'Meara flung out his hands in an ecstacy of ad- miration. "Indeed, and you're a vision to make the dead quicken again," he cried, enthusiastically; then, Sir John Hawkwood 49 moderating his voice to a coaxing tone, "Come down, Madonna. Sure, now, this loggia down here is a most inviting place, cool, green, flowery, many times fairer than that gallery perched in the air. Come down, then." Francesca di Montalto shook her head, though with a laugh. "No. From here I have a better view of you, with your knitted brow and set lips. Ah, how sour you looked when I first came out and saw you ! When you look so I should never dare come down to you, lest you should devour me." "Ah, Madonna," cried the Irishman, fatuous with delight, " 'tis a grave wrong you do me. Were I the sourest curmudgeon that ever breathed the air, one glimpse of you would set me to beaming, and make me as smooth as a summer morning !" "Yet you were out of humor before you saw me," the girl persisted. "I was that same," admitted O'Meara, scowling slightly even in his bliss at the remembrance of his tilt with the Prince and Delia Torre, and shaking his fist at the gate by which they had departed. "Foul fall their black hearts and their silky tongues ! But what for am I raving at the likes of them, when you stand there above me, welcome as flowers in May? Come down, Madonna." Francesca left the gallery and came slowly down the staircase, a witching figure as she moved among the roses. "I must do as you ask me, I suppose," she answered, as the Irishman advanced to join 50 Sir John Hawkwood her. "I would not be cruel to you now, when you have but just come home from battle. I hear there was great bloodshed at Lerino." "There was that, praise be!" O'Meara responded, meeting her at the foot of the stairs and kissing both her hands with fervor. "Ah, Madonna Fran- cesca, if there is anything on earth could give me as great pleasure as gazing into your eyes, 'tis a rousing fracas, a desperate fight, with the odds, maybe, a little against me, just to make the winning sweeter. And, bedad, 'twas a pleasure I got ; these Paduans fight wdl, and gave us a pretty struggle." His blue eyes shone riotously with pure joy in the recollection, and Francesca frowned and drew her hands pettishly away. "Fie, you make me shudder with your talk of blood," she complained, sitting down on a marble bench built in against the stairs. "To fight, to kill men, to see dead bodies all about you — I cannot see any pleasure in that, Messer O'Meara." Michael, who was wont to show an alarming tru- culence toward any who dared criticise him by word or look, and would have called any man on earth to account for such a speech as this, now looked as crestfallen as a guilty school-boy. "No, truly, I suppose no woman could," he admitted, sitting down beside her with a rueful look. "However," he added, cheering up swiftly, "I'll not say another word about such matters. Instead, we'll talk of you. Ah, ma- Sir John Hawkwood $1 vourneen!" rapturously, "where did you get your eyes? They're two stars from heaven " "You would make me vain if I believed you," Francesca pouted. "To how many other ladies have you said that?" "A hundred, no less," the Irishman confessed cheerfully. "Oh!" cried the girl indignantly, and started up from the bench. O'Meara restrained her. "But never with such fervor as I'm saying it now," he assured her hastily, whereupon she sank back appeased. I suppressed a chuckle. At first I had wondered that neither of them took any notice of me, but after a moment's reflection I realized that the screen of flowers and marble quite shut me off from the lady's sight. As for O'Meara, he was perfectly aware of my presence, and if he chose to do his love-making within my hearing, that was his own affair. "I swear on my soul it's the truth I'm telling you," he was protesting. "Since the night I saw you mask- ing it here in your Venetian dress, I've been no bet- ter than your slave. Sure, I love you, sweetheart. Say you love me, and bedad, I'll be the happiest man the sun shines on. Say it, say it. Is it without mercy you are, that you can take pleasure in the tor- ments of a fellow-creature ?" "But I do not love you," Francesca protested de- murely. "And my father hates you — it is well he cannot see us talking here." 52 Sir John Hawkwood "Hates me ? Heaven bless the old man ! But no matter," cried O'Meara. " 'Tis easy enough to solve that difficulty — we'll just be marrying virithout ask- ing his leave, since 'tis plain enough he'd be after de- nying it. Give me your consent, and 'tis little enough I'll care for his. You'll not starve virith me, Ma- donna, never think it; I'll dress you in silks and hang you with jewels if I have to take Padua to get them for you. Faith, though, for your sake I wish that instead of standing here a soldier of for- tune I had the inheritance that will be mine some fine day. Over in blessed Ireland, you know, is a castle that will come to me yet if I live long enough, and the lands and titles of the grimmest, most cantankerous old uncle the Lord ever made. Little good they do me now ! The old sinner turned me out because he hated my roving ways, and de- clines to hear my name spoken in his house, bless his heart !" "Why, then," the girl exclaimed, between laughter and disapproval, "how comes it you left Ireland?" "Heaven knows," said O'Meara. "There are men made like that. Madonna — men who must roam the world. I never yet saw a place so fair it made me forget that there were other places just. as fair yet to be seen — and, bedad, it was the same with faces till I saw yours and lost all interest in life save as it meant the joy of seeing you !" Francesca pursed her lips in an eflfort \o conceal her delight. "If my father knew that you left wealth Sir John Hawkwood 53 and comfort to come a-soldiering over here," she said severely, "he would think you even more foolish than he does now." "It is with your father's daughter I am con- cerned," rejoined the Irishman. "Ah, but the woo- ing of a woman is a maddening thing ! I have but one thought in my head — to win you; you have a thousand thoughts in yours, and talk of them all. Madonna, I implore you, take pity on me — say yes, or say no." "Then — no," Francesca murmured demurely, her eyes on her lap. O'Meara flung away angrily in the direction of the gate, whereupon she started up eagerly and pursued him. "Don't go!" she begged. "Go! I wasn't going, more black shame to me," cried O'Meara — thereby losing, it struck me, an opportunity to bring the pretty coquette very quickly to terms. "Had I the spirit of a cat, I'd speak to you no more; but I've no spirit left. Come, be mer- ciful," he urged, blarneying her. "Take pity on me, won't you now ?" "Ireland is very far away," she answered du- biously, enticing him back to the abandoned bench. "I should be very lonely there, without my father and the Princess Giulia." "The Prince's cousin?" said O'Meara absently. He was skilfully attempting to capture her hand, which, with equal skill, she kept out of his reach. "She's a fair lady, yet surely you can learn to live without her." 54 Sir John Hawkwood Francesca's pretty coquettish face grew very se- rious. "The Princess has been my friend since we were both children," she answered, "and surely no two have ever loved more than we, though her house is a royal one and mine sunk in poverty." "I understand — ^you've seen better days, you're poor but proud ; sure and I'm like that too," broke in the irrepressible Irishman. "She is very dear to me, and I think she would not be happy without me," the girl went on, un- heeding him. "She needs me, for in spite of her birth and riches she is not happy. Look you." She turned on O'Meara a sweet serious face of confi- dence, which made him gasp for admiration. "The Princess Giulia is akin, through her dead mother, both to Prince Antonio and his foe the Duke of Padua. She is a great heiress, with a splendid dowry of lands and castles and gold, and therefore in her childhood both the Duke of Padua and Can Sig- norio, Prince Antonio's father, claimed her as their ward when the death of her parents left her an or- phan. Well, Can Signorio, a shrewder man than his rival, got her into his hands and brought her here to his Court, where she has grown up ; and now Prince Antonio has his mind settled to wed her." She dropped her head with a heavy sigh of distress. "Well," said O'Meara, more from a desire to com- fort her than from conviction, "surely that is not such an evil fate, to wed with the last of the Scali- geri, the man who reigns over Verona?" Sir John Hawkwood SS "Indeed!" Francesca murmured, drawing away from him. "Do you think so? Then I am glad you have not the choosing of my husband !" "But that is just what I do hope to have," he as- sured her, and she dimpled demurely and allowed him to diminish the distance she had put between them. "But oh, indeed, Messer O'Meara, this Court is no place for a girl like my Princess, a lady who is young and beautiful and rich and good," she said, growing swiftly serious. "Verona is a place of plot- ting and evil, as all must admit who know its his- tory. The royal throne has blood-stains on it, and for a century now the Delle Scale have shed the blood of their own kin. Can Signorio slew two of his brothers who blocked his way to power; and Antonio " She bent closer to O'Meara, a look of horror on her face. "Three months ago there were two Princes of Verona, sharing equally in power — Antonio and Bartolomeo. All the city dreaded the first and loved the last. He was like a young god, Bartolomeo della Scala, with his blond hair and laughing eyes and merry mouth. He laughed from dawn till dark, .he was the happiest man on earth, and whenever he passed through the streets the people cheered for joy. All loved him, the nobles, the merchants, the peasants, even the beggars. He hunted and hawked and danced and feasted, and vowed that the gods, in pity of human misery, had created one man whose whole life should S6 Sir John Hawkwood be radiantly happy. Then came a morning when he was found stabbed in the Street of the Two Moors, near the Palazzo Nogarola. It was said he had gone by night to see old Nogarola's daughter, whom he loved, and that he had been killed by her father and young Malaspina, her betrothed. They were executed, these two men, and the girl died on the rack, protesting her innocence to the end. She spoke truth, Messer O'Meara. None of these were guilty. Bartolomeo died by the will of his brother, by the hands of bravoes hired by Delia Torre — ^he was stabbed in his sleep, lying on a couch in the pal- ace, where he had thrown himself when he came home weary from hunting. All the city knows this, yet still Antonio rules, and all fear him too greatly to dare whisper of his guilt." She put her hand over her face, and O'Meara muttered a fierce oath. "There, there, darlint, what for do you think of such things?" he urged sooth- ingly. " 'Tis true there are evil men in the world, but for all that 'tis none so bad a place. Sun and flowers and love are fitter matters for the brain of a dainty witch like yourself!" She paid him no heed. "And it is this Prince, this murderer, who dares to say he will wed my Prin- cess !" she cried passionately. "He loves her in some strange, cold, evil fashion of his own; when his eyes rest on her they have a gleam that makes me grow cold. Then, too, he desires her for her great dowry, which can add so much to his holdings. She has Sir John Hawkwood 57, refused to wed him, but he vows he will find a way to force her — and if he does, though she will be a great lady and the wife of a sovereign, she will never be happy again. Oh, when I think of all this I trem- ble for her. Antonio has set spies to watch her com- ings and goings, to listen when she and I talk to- gether in the hall or the gardens. He has bidden Delia Torre's wife be with her, talk to her of him, learn her mind and tell him how she looks upon him. That is a terrible woman. All the Court knows that, though she brought her lord a rich dowry, she was but a merchant's daughter ; yet now she bears herself like any queen, and never lowers her eyes before the Princess Giulia herself. Ah, this is an evil land we live in, a sad place for those who are weak and help- less!" "There, mavourneen, never fret like that, for you shall never be weak or helpless either while Michael O'Meara has a sword and a hand to hold it in," cried the warm-hearted Irishman, quite unmanned at the sight of tears sparkling in Francesca's pretty eyes. "But you're right in what you say of this country, bad 'cess to it; for plotting and stabbing and lying and all such black-hearted knavery I never saw a spot to match this bright sunny Italy of yours. Come, say the word, and I'll take you where you need never wrinkle that sweet little brow with pondering over forced marriages and murdered princes ; where, if we do fight sometimes — and sure, what would be the use of living if we didn't? — the fight is fair and S8 Sir John Hawkwood honest, and every man for himself, instead of a mat- ter for bravoes to settle on a dark night, or a cup of poison to finish at a dinner. Will you do it. Ma- donna? Will you mate with a poor good-for-noth- ing soldier of fortune who's not fit to touch the tip of your finger, and knows he isn't, but loves you more than all the gold the world could give him " Francesca had been listening with a shy demure smile and no sign of displeasure, but at this critical moment she cut him abruptly short. "Oh, hush, hush, Messer O'Meara!" she whispered, urgently. "Do you not see? It is Madonna Violante, Delia Torre's wife. She hates Sir John and all his fol- lowers, and I would not have her hear your love- making for the world." CHAPTER IV, VIOI