De Merode’s thin lips curled.
“They are not soldiers, they are bandits. They hide behind rocks and pick off my men as we ride. They rescue the prisoners we arrest—men who have spoken out against His Holiness or printed derogatory articles in their underground newspapers. They encourage the peasants to resist taxation, they plaster the walls with inflammatory posters. Wherever there is trouble in this province, you may be sure that Falcon is behind it.”
“Tell us about him,” said Miss Perkins persuasively.
“The man himself? I wish I could. He doesn’t always wear a mask, and yet although he has been seen dozens of times, we have no consistent description of him. Sometimes his hair is gray, sometimes it is black; sometimes he is bearded, and then again he will appear with a patch over one eye and flowing moustaches. He is always well mounted. He rides like a centaur, and on at least three occasions he has escaped capture by outriding his pursuers. Like his own person, his horses change appearance.” De Merode spoke as if he had forgotten we were present. He must have recapitulated this information again and again, in the hope of discovering some clue to the unknown’s identity. “Despite his gray wigs, he must be young; no elderly man could accomplish the physical feats he had performed. A man who had access to horses of such quality, and so many of them, must be a man of wealth. And if the proclamations issued in his name are written by him, he is well educated.”
“Young, rich, well educated,” Miss Perkins repeated. “Forgive me, Captain, but you paint a portrait which is irresistible to impressionable females. Don’t tell me that he is also handsome, or we will lose our hearts to your rebel.”
“I don’t know what he looks like,” said De Merode sharply. “And I would advise you not to say such things; I know you are joking, but in these parts we have lost our sense of humor where II Falcone is concerned. Anyone who is suspected of assisting him is subject to arrest. That is why—forgive me—I was suspicious of you. One of the men who was following you looked like a certain Antonio Cadorna, who is known to be one of the Falcon’s lieutenants.”
“But surely you don’t suspect us now,” said Miss Perkins.
“Hardly. There is no more loyal subject of His Holiness than Prince Tarconti.”
“Indeed,” said Miss Perkins thoughtfully.
She pinched me again when I started to speak. Thereafter she lapsed into silence, broken by ostentatious yawns. I decided she had learned what she wanted to know.
If the yawns were meant as hints, they had their effect. Soon the captain excused himself and resumed his place on horseback.
“ Miss Perkins,” I exclaimed, as soon as the carriage started up again. “What on earth has—”
“Sssh.” Miss Perkins gestured toward the carriage window. One of the soldiers was riding close by. I didn’t see how he could overhear, but Miss Perkins’ grave face kept me silent. She said aloud, “Sit next to me, my dear, put your head on my shoulder and try to sleep. We still have some distance to go.”
I obeyed. We could then converse in soft tones without being overheard.
“Are these ruffians really soldiers?” I whispered. “One of them was Irish—”
“They come from all the Catholic countries of Europe,” Miss Perkins replied. “Pio Nono has enlisted an army of crusaders, as he calls them, so that he won’t have to depend on the support of Napoleon, whom he hates. Some of them are honest fanatics, but many are only unemployed scoundrels who enjoy violence for its own sake. This young captain is one of the fanatics. He must be related to the Belgian De Merode who organized this army at the pope’s request.”
“And the Falcon—I have never heard such a wild tale! Why did you deny knowing Antonio?”
“Because he warned me this morning that he and his friend were wanted by the authorities. They accompanied us in order to protect us from ordinary bandits, of whom there are plenty, but I knew that if we should encounter a troop of soldiers, our guards would have to retreat. They were no match for so many armed men.”
“But why should they bother to protect us?”
“I’m not sure,” Miss Perkins said. “But the rebels hope for aid from England; they know they have English sympathy for their cause, since they are fighting for freedom. Your grandfather seems to be an important person; they may think you can influence him.”
“He sounds like a man whom it would be hard to influence,” I whispered. “A hard man.”
“We must not judge him…I liked Antonio. I convinced him that I sympathized with his cause, so he was ready to confide in me—up to a point. I do not think he was completely candid with me. He certainly did not tell me he was one of the Falcon’s men.”
“Then you had heard of this mysterious adventurer?”
“Oh, yes. I have followed the cause of Italian liberation with some interest. Il Falcone is not one of the well-known heroes of the movement; he seems to limit his activities to this province. Yet in his own way he is famous enough.”
“He sounds very romantic,” I murmured.
“Don’t be misled by the romantic trappings,” said Miss Perkins dryly. “If what I have heard of that young man is correct, he is a very shrewd person indeed. The mystery and the swashbuckling serve several practical purposes. They conceal the Falcon’s identity and they appeal to the peasants. As the Captain said, the poorer classes are apathetic, and yet no revolution can hope to succeed without their support. By playing the role of an Italian Robin Hood, our friend the Falcon hopes to win them over. I don’t envy him the job. The poor creatures are so downtrodden, so wretchedly poor, so uneducated that they are afraid to rebel.”
“I think it is very exciting,” I said.
Miss Perkins was silent for a long time. I began to think she had no more to say on the subject. Then she spoke in a voice I had heard from her once before.
“Exciting? Yes, I suppose it seems so to you. To me it is noble and terrible and pitiful. They are so young, these boys like Antonio. with their brave moustaches and their shining courage…But I have seen so many noble causes fail, Francesca. The race is not always to the swift, and virtue does not always triumph. Not on this plane of existence, at any rate.”
This time, when she fell silent, I had no wish to pursue the subject.
I fell asleep finally, but my sleep was troubled. I dreamed of a rider, a man on a big black horse, who fled before me as I tried to follow him. It was important to me that I catch up with him, but although I seemed to be running faster than any mortal could run. I made no progress for a long time. Then slowly I began to shorten the distance between us. I still could not see the rider’s face. Finally I was close, so close that I had only to stretch out my hand to touch him. As I did so, the figures of man and horse shifted, and changed outline. It was no longer a rider I followed, it was a bird—a falcon, with a cruel hooked beak, made for killing, whose flight took it straight up into the sky out of my reach.
Chapter 3
When I awoke, the interior of the coach was dusky with twilight. It took me a moment to realize where I was. I was stiff and aching with the discomfort of travel, and my dreams had left me in a state of depression. Or perhaps it was not the dreams. I was now close to the climax I had dreaded for days—the meeting with the unknown people who would decide my fate.
The view from the window of the carriage was not one to lighten dismal spirits. The sky was still bright, but I could not see much of the blue heavens; towering hills, shrouded thickly by underbrush, closed in around us. There was no sign of human habitation, only trees and an occasional strange rock formation. The road, which had never been good, had deteriorated even more, and the carriage jolted badly. It was this rough motion that had awakened me. in spite of the fact that Miss Perkins had wedged me into my corner of the seat with a variety of bundles and bags.
“Ah, you are awake,” she said, as I stretched my cramped limbs and yawned. “I was about to rouse you; we are almost there.”
“Oh, dear,” I said involuntarily. “I hope—I do hope Andrea is there to welcome us.”
“Well, well, I daresay we will manage somehow even if he is not. What interesting country this is! Quite picturesque in its natural wildness. I noticed several tumuli—mounds, you know—that may be Etruscan tombs.”
Her cheerful voice put me to shame. I sat up and tried to straighten my clothing and smooth my hair. It was impossible to see anything out the window now, for trees lined the narrow road so closely that their branches scraped the sides of the coach.
“Where is our escort?” I asked.
“They left us a few miles back—when Captain De Merode was satisfied that we were really going toward the Castello Tarconti. He promised, however, to call on us soon.”
