Love-at-Arms | Page 5

that he may anon inform
his master what men were present at this meeting."
Fabrizio shrugged his shoulders in a contemptuous indifference which
was voiced by his neighbour Ferrabraccio.
"Let him be informed," sneered the latter, a grim smile upon his rugged
face. "The knowledge will come to him too late."
The new-comer threw back his head, and a look that was half wonder,
half enlightenment gleamed in the black depths of his imperious eyes.
He took a deep breath.
"It would seem, sirs, that I was right," said he, with a touch of sternness,

"and that treason is indeed your business."
"My Lord of Aquila," Fabrizio answered him, "we are traitors to a man
that we may remain faithful and loyal to a State."
"What State?" barked the Lord of Aquila contemptuously.
"The Duchy of Babbiano," came the answer.
"You would be false to the Duke that you may be faithful to the
Duchy?" he questioned, scorn running ever stronger in his voice. "Sirs,
it is a riddle I'll not pretend to solve."
There fell a pause in which they eyed one another, and their glances
were almost as the glances of baffled men. They had not looked for
such a tone from him, and they questioned with their eyes and minds
the wisdom of going further. At last, with a half-sigh, Fabrizio da Lodi
turned once more to Aquila.
"Lord Count," he began, in a calm, impressive voice, "I am an old man;
the name I bear and the family from which I spring are honourable
alike. You cannot think so vilely of me as to opine that in my old age I
should do aught to smirch the fair fame of the one or of the other. To be
named a traitor, sir, is to be given a harsh title, and one, I think, that
could fit no man less than it fits me or any of these my companions.
Will you do me the honour, then, to hear me out, Excellency; and when
you have heard me, judge us. Nay, more than judgment we ask of you,
Lord Count. We ask for guidance that we may save our country from
the ruin that threatens it, and we promise you that we will take no step
that has not your sanction--that is not urged by you."
Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila, eyed the old noble with a glance
that had changed whilst he spoke, so that from scornful that it had been,
it had now grown full of mild wonder and inquiry. He slightly inclined
his head in token of acquiescence.
"I beg that you will speak," was all he said, and Fabrizio would
forthwith have spoken but that Ferrabraccio intervened to demand that

Aquila should pass them his knightly word not to betray them in the
event of his rejection of the proposals they had to make. When he had
given them his promise, and they had seated themselves upon such rude
stools as the place afforded, Fabrizio resumed his office of spokesman,
and unfolded the business upon which he had invited the Count among
them.
In a brief preamble he touched upon the character of Gian Maria Sforza,
the reigning Duke of Babbiano--seated upon its throne by his powerful
uncle, Lodovico Sforza, Lord of Milan. He exposed the man's reckless
extravagances, his continued self-indulgence, his carelessness in
matters of statecraft, and his apparent disinclination to fulfil the duties
which his high station imposed upon him. On all this Fabrizio touched
with most commendable discretion and restraint, as was demanded by
the circumstance that in Francesco del Falco he was addressing the
Duke's own cousin.
"So far, Excellency," he continued, "you cannot be in ignorance of the
general dissatisfaction prevailing among our most illustrious cousin's
subjects. There was the conspiracy of Bacolino, a year ago, which, had
it succeeded, would have cast us into the hands of Florence. It failed,
but another such might not fail again. The increased disfavour of his
Highness may bring more adherents to a fresh conspiracy of this
character, and we should be lost as an independent state. And the peril
that menaces us is the peril of being so loSt. Not only by defection of
our own, but by the force of arms of another. That other is Caesar
Borgia. His dominion is spreading like a plague upon the face of this
Italy, which he has threatened to eat up like an artichoke--leaf by leaf.
Already his greedy eyes are turned upon us, and what power have
we--all unready as we are--wherewith successfully to oppose the
overwhelming might of the Duke of Valentinois? All this his Highness
realises, for we have made it more than clear to him, as we have, too,
made clear the remedy. Yet does he seem as