“Thank God,” said Miss Rhoda, with a sigh.
“What are you saying?” snarled Grandfather, turning on Stefano as if he needed some object on which to vent his anger. “You will not see him, or hear him; you are coming with us.”
“Oh, no.” Stefano shook his head. “Unlike my impetuous brother, I know there is no hope for Antonio, but I am not sufficiently depraved to enjoy the spectacle of a former acquaintance choking his life out at the end of a rope. Besides, my presence will be needed here. You may lock Andrea in his room, your Excellency, but I am the only person who can keep him there. Andrea is appallingly strong when he is in a rage; he is quite capable of battering the door down and massacring several footmen—even if they are not susceptible to bribery, which they probably are.”
“Hmph,” Grandfather grunted. “Very well. Suit your-self.”
He turned to the window and stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. Stefano looked at the tall, unyielding figure; and for a moment his face had an expression I had never seen on it before. Then he shrugged and gave his cane an expert twirl, catching it in his hand.
“Your commendation and thanks touch me deeply, your Excellency.”
“Oh. Stefano, don’t be so rude,” snapped Miss Rhoda. “Can’t you see we are all upset today? Your plan is a good one. I approve of it. I count on you to keep Andrea here, it would be disastrous if…. Well, then, I will go and pack.”
As she surged majestically toward the door, I picked up my skirts and fled. Considering Grandfather’s mood, it would be better for me not to talk to him. It is said that listeners hear no good of themselves; but my eavesdropping had been quite useful. It had relieved one worry. Andrea would be prevented from helping his friend. Did that mean, I wondered, that the mysterious Falcon would not make an appearance?
III
We reached Parezzo late on the following afternoon. It was a hot, dusty ride, through the heat of the day, and even with the windows wide open the great traveling coach had the approximate temperature of a baking oven. The first sight of the old city would have aroused a cry of admiration from people less preoccupied than we were. Like San Gimigniano, Parezzo is a city of towers. Square and massive, they are a grim reminder of the troubled days of yore, when only the thickness of a man’s walls protected him from the avarice and cruelty of his neighbors.
Frowning and formidable despite their age, the medieval walls followed the steep contours of the plateau on which the city stood. Only in one section, where a precipice plunged sheer into the green valley below, did the walls disappear, as if admitting that here man’s handiwork could not improve on nature’s own defenses. On a higher ridge above the town was the silhouette of battlemented walls—the old fortress, built in a remote age by a tyrant who commanded the streets of the town from that impregnable site. As a state prison and military barracks it still dominated the unfortunates who lived in its shadow.
After a steep ascent we passed under a great stone archway whose fourteenth-century masonry was guarded by modern soldiers. A crowd of people eddied around the gate. The soldiers were stopping everyone who sought entry to the city, checking papers and identities. The Tarconti arms on the side of our coach were a sufficient passport; we were waved on without delay.
Miss Perkins continued to point out architectural and artistic attractions until Miss Rhoda irritably asked her to stop blocking the window and cutting off what little breeze there was.
We were all crumpled and cross when the horses stopped in front of the Albergo Tarconti. It had once been a town house. One of the earlier Tarcontis, alive to the commercial interests of the family, had converted it into a hotel. We had the entire first floor to ourselves. It was a large, rambling structure, so there was more than enough room. Grandfather and his valet occupied one wing, while another was assigned to us ladies. A large central chamber, handsomely decorated, was to be used as a communal sitting room. It overlooked the piazza and had a long stone balcony running its entire length. The furnishings were amazingly fine for an inn—velvet settees and armchairs, marble-topped tables, porcelain lamps and a crystal chandelier. The beams of the ceiling had been carved, painted and gilded; one motif, repeated over and over, was the crest of the Tarconti family—a boar rampant on a field of blue.
A sponge bath and a change of clothing restored me to the state in which I had begun the day—one of physical ease and extreme mental disquiet. I went at once to the sitting room, where refreshments had been set out. Miss Rhoda had brought not only her favorite tea, but a maid who knew how to prepare it, and the scene that awaited me was, except for the setting, quite like the normal afternoon ritual. Miss Perkins, cup in hand, was standing at the window, so I joined her.
“Tomorrow they will carry chairs and tables out onto the balcony,” she said quietly. “The pots of flowers on the balustrades will be put on the floor so as not to impede our view. It is a beautiful old town. Francesca. The municipal hall is particularly fine, and so were some of the houses we passed on the main street.”
“Yes, I particularly remember the butcher shop,” I said bitterly. “Bloody carcasses hanging at the open door…”
But the piazza was beautiful. Of considerable extent, irregular in shape, it was virtually walled in by buildings of at least six stories in height. The cathedral, Santa Maria della Consolazione, was directly across from the inn. The communal palace dominated the eastern side of the square. Under its Romanesque arcade the town market was held twice a week. Its square tower rose high in the air, higher even than the campanile of the church. In the center of the piazza was a handsome fountain with a group of life-sized statues—Neptune, trident in hand, with dolphins at his feet.
On this day the spectator’s eye was held, not by the ancient beauties of the piazza, but by newer structures. The broad steps before the duomo were hidden by rows of wooden seats. Most were not more than long planks raised on temporary supports; but in the center was a sort of loggia, with luxuriously cushioned chairs shaded by a striped canopy. I was reminded of Miss Perkins’ description of the emperor’s box at the Colosseum, from which the cruel Caesars watched the murder of the early Christian martyrs; for the canopied loggia was situated so that its occupants would have a direct view of the gallows.
It was almost finished. Workmen were hammering at the high crossbeam from which the rope would hang. The platform was ten or fifteen feet off the ground, so that everyone could see well….
After supper, which was served in the sitting room, the nervousness that afflicted us all became increasingly apparent. Grandfather sat stolidly in the great velvet armchair that had been reserved for him; he was pretending to read a newspaper, but he never turned the pages. Miss Rhoda’s embroidery made no more progress than his reading, but the Contessa stitched steadily at the great altarcloth. The gold thread in her needle flashed in the lamplight as she drew it in and out of the velvet.
The rest of us didn’t trouble to conceal our feelings. Miss Perkins tramped steadily back and forth the length of the room, from the fireplace to the windows and back. Galiana was on the balcony, leaning over the railing and calling back descriptions of the progress being made on the gallows. It wast not quite dark outside, but soon the situation—especially the rhythmic pounding of hammers from outside—got on my nerves to such an extent that I determined to go to my room. I doubted that I could sleep, but at least the dreadful hammering would be muffled by distance.
I was gathering my work together when the landlord came to announce a visitor. I immediately sat down again. I would not have missed this visitor for the world. It was Captain De Merode.
I had never seen him so impeccably turned out. His boots shone almost as brightly as his gilded cuirass, and the beautiful white plume in his helmet would have graced any lady’s bonnet.
He accepted a glass of wine and sat turning the crystal goblet slowly in his hands.
“Well,” barked Grandfather. “How is it going, Captain?”
“Bien, très bien,” was the tranquil reply. “A pity that the young man must die; but he seems determined to end on the gallows. This is not his first offense.”
“And is he really the Falcon?” Galiana asked.
“It seems so.” De Merode sipped his wine.
“You know he is not,” Miss Perkins exclaimed; and then abruptly turned her back as De Merode glanced at her.
“I don’t know anything of the sort, mademoiselle. Naturally, he denies that he is. But one would expect Il Falcone to do that, even under the most strenuous questioning…”
“You have tortured him,” I burst out.
Grandfather crumpled the newspaper and hurled it to the floor.
“Francesca. be silent. Such matters are not…It is sometimes necessary…Whether the boy is or is not the man in question, he is a criminal who deserves death. Captain, what measures have you taken to prevent a rescue? For, no matter what the man’s identity—”
“Oh, of course we have taken precautions,” said De Merode readily. “The Falcon has a motley band of adventurers at his command; some of them might be foolish enough to attempt a rescue. To date, no such effort has been made. We have the prisoner in the deepest cell of the fortress, where he is guarded day and night by a dozen men.”
The Contessa raised her head from the cloth she was making for the glory of God.
“His men must know the impossibility of rescue,” she remarked. “The oubliettes of the fortress have guarded prisoners securely for centuries. The dangerous time, surely, is when the prisoner is removed to the place of execution.”
“Your intelligence is admirable, madame la comtesse,” said De Merode. Naturally we know that, and have taken steps. May I say,” he added, turning to Grandfather, “that I am honored to see you here, your Excellency. But I am sorry not to see the Counts Stefano and Andrea. Are they, perhaps, abroad in the town?”
I was certain that De Merode knew quite well where my cousins were; but he accepted Grandfather’s palpably false explanation without the flicker of an eyelash.
“What a pity they are both indisposed,” he remarked. “I had hoped that Andrea in particular would attend; his recent—er—indiscretion has been overlooked, thanks to the favor of His Holiness, but some small demonstration of enthusiasm for our holy cause might be well advised.”
Grandfather stiffened.
