The Shame of Motley | Page 5

Rafael Sabatini
my
back on the Court of Pesaro--"
"Aye," he broke in mockingly, "when Giovanni Sforza threatened to
have you hanged for the overboldness of your tongue. Not until then
did it occur to you to turn from the shameful life in which the best
years of your manhood were being wasted. There! Just now I
commended your truthfulness; but the truth that dwells in you is no
more, it seems, than the truth we may look for in the mouth of Folly. At
heart, I fear, you are a hypocrite, Messer Biancomonte; the worst form
of hypocrite--a hypocrite to your own self."
"Did your Excellency know all!" I cried.
"I know enough," he answered, with stern sorrow; "enough to make me
marvel that the son of Ettore Biancomonte of Biancomonte should play
the Fool to Costanzo Sforza, Lord of Pesaro. Oh you will tell me that
you went there for revenge, to seek to right the wrong his father did
your father."
"It was, it was!" I cried, with heated vehemence. Be flames everlasting
the dwelling of my soul if any other motive drove me to this shameful
trade."
There was a pause. His beautiful eyes flamed with a sudden light as
they rested on me. Then the lids drooped demurely, and he drew a deep
breath. But when he spoke there was scorn in his voice.

"And, no doubt, it was that same motive kept you there, at peace for
three whole years, in slothful ease, the motleyed Fool, jesting and
capering for his enemy's delectation--you, a man with the knightly
memory of your foully-wronged parent to cry hourly shame upon you.
No doubt you lacked the opportunity to bring the tyrant to account. Or
was it that you were content to let him make a mock of you so long as
he housed and fed you and clothed you in your garish livery of shame?
"Spare me, Excellency," I cried again. "Of your charity let my past be
done with. When he drove me forth with threats of hanging, from
which your gracious sister saved me, I turned my steps to Rome at her
bidding to--"
"To find honourable employment at my hands," he interrupted quietly.
Then suddenly rising, and speaking in a voice of thunder--" And what,
then, of your revenge?" he cried.
"It has been frustrated," I answered lamely. "Sufficient do I account the
ruin that already I have wrought in my life by the pursuit of that
phantom. I was trained to arms, my lord. Let me discard for good these
tawdry rags, and strap a soldier's harness to my back."
"How came you to journey hither thus?" he asked, suddenly turning the
subject.
"It was Madonna Lucrezia's wish. She held that my errand would be
safer so, for a Fool may travel unmolested."
He nodded that he understood, and paced the chamber with bowed head.
For a spell there was silence, broken only by the soft fall of his
slippered feet and the swish of his silken purple. At last he paused
before me and looked up into my face--for I was a good head taller than
he was. His fingers combed his auburn beard, and his beautiful eyes
were full on mine.
"That was a wise precaution of my sister's," he approved. "I will take a
lesson from her in the matter. I have employment for you, Messer
Biancomonte."

I bowed my head in token of my gratitude.
"You shall find me diligent and faithful, my lord," I promised him.
"I know it," he sniffed, "else should I not employ you."
He turned from me, and stepped back to his table. He took up a
package, fingered it a moment, then dropped it again, and shot me one
of his quiet glances.
"That is my answer to Madonna Lucrezia's letter," he said slowly, his
voice as smooth as silk, "and I desire that you shall carry it to Pesaro
for me, and deliver it safely and secretly into her hands."
I could do no more than stare at him. It seemed as if my mind were
stricken numb.
"Well?" he asked at last; and in his voice there was now a suggestion of
steel beneath the silk. "Do you hesitate?"
"And if I do," I answered, suddenly finding my voice, "I do no more
than might a bolder man. How can I, who am banned by punishment of
death, contrive to penetrate again into the Court of Pesaro and reach the
Lady Lucrezia?"
"That is a matter that I shall leave to the shrewd wit which all Italy says
is the heritage of Boccadoro, the Prince of Fools. Does the task daunt
you?" His glance and voice were alike harsh.
In very truth it did, and I told him so, but in the terms which
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