The Shame of Motley | Page 9

my journey
well-accomplished. The weather had changed again at sunset. It was
snowing anew, and the north wind was howling like a choir of the
damned.
Before me gleamed the lights of a little wayside tavern, and since it
might suit me better to lie there than to journey on to Gualdo, I drew
rein before that humble door, and got down from my wearied horse.
Despite the early hour the door was already barred, for the bedding of
travellers formed no part of the traffic of so lowly a house as this
nameless, wayside wine-shop. Theirs was a trade that ended with the
daylight. Nevertheless I was assured they could be made to find me a
rag of straw to lie on, and so I knocked boldly with my whip.
The taverner who opened for me, and stood a moment surveying me by
the light of the torch he held aloft, was a slim, mild-mannered man, not
over-clean. Behind him surged the figure of his wife; just such a
woman as you might look to find the mate of such a man: broad and
tall of frame and most scurvily cross-grained of face. It may well be
that had he bidden me welcome, she had driven me back into the night;
but since he made some demur when I asked for lodging, and protested
that in his house was but accommodation too rude to offer my
magnificence, the woman thrust him aside, and loudly bade me enter.
I obeyed her readily, hat on head and cloak about me, lest my interests
should suffer were my trade disclosed. I bade the man see to my horse,
and then escorted by the woman, I made my way to the single room
above, which, in obedience to my demand, she made haste to set at my
convenience.
It was an evil-smelling, squalid hole; a bed of wattles in a corner, and
in the centre a greasy table with a three-legged stool and a crazy chair
beside it. The floor was black with age and filth, and broken
everywhere by rat-holes. She set her noisome, smoking oil lamp on the
table, and with some apology for the rudeness of the chamber she asked
in tones almost defiant if my excellency would be content.
"Perforce," said I ungraciously, perceiving surliness to be the key to the

respect of such a creature; "a king might thank Heaven for a kennel on
such a night as this."
She bent her back in a clumsy bow, and with a growing humility
wondered had I supped. I had not, but sooner would I have starved than
have been poisoned by such foulnesses as they might have set before
me. So I answered her that all I needed was a cup of wine.
When she had brought me that, and, at last, I was alone, I closed the
door. It had no lock, nor any sort of fastening, so I set the three legged
stool against it that it might give me warning of intrusion. Next I threw
off my cloak and hat and boots, and all dressed as I was I flung myself
upon my miserable couch. But jaded though I might be, it was not yet
my intent to sleep. Now that the half of my journey was accomplished,
I found myself beset by doubts which had not before assailed me,
touching the manner in which this mission of mine was to be
accomplished. It would prove no easy thing for me to penetrate
unnoticed into the town of Pesaro, much less into the Sforza Court,
where for three years I had pursued my Fool's trade. There was scarce a
man, a woman or a child in the entire domains of Giovanni Sforza to
whom Boccadoro, the Fool, was not known; and many a villano, who
had never noticed the features of the Lord of Pesaro, could have told
you the very colour of his jester's eyes; which, after all, is no strange
thing, for-- sad reflection!--in a world in which Wisdom may be
overlooked, Folly goes never disregarded.
The garments I wore might be well enough to journey in; but if I would
gain the presence of Lucrezia Borgia I must see that I arrived in others.
And then my thoughts wandered into speculation. What might be this
momentous letter that I carried? What was this secret traffic 'twixt
Cesare Borgia and his sister? Since Cesare had said that it meant the
ruin of Giovanni Sforza--a ruin so utter, so complete and humiliating
that it must provoke the scornful mirth of all Italy--the knowledge of it
must soon be mine. Meanwhile I was an agent of that ruin. Dear God!
how that reflection warmed me! What joy I took in the thought that,
though he knew it