“My grandson’s indiscretions, as you call them, are my affair, Captain.”
“I hope so, your Excellency. I sincerely hope so.”
De Merode drained his glass, put it on a table, and rose, adjusting his sword.
“I must take my leave. There is much to do, as you can imagine; but I could not neglect your Excellency. May I bid your Excellency good evening? Ladies….”
Finally he was gone. I felt as if some oppressive presence had left the room.
“What did he mean?” Miss Rhoda demanded. “About Andrea? You assured me. Your Excellency, that you had arranged—”
“This questioning is intolerable,” shouted Grandfather. I will retire. I suggest you ladies do so too.”
He went storming from the room.
IV
During the night, servants moved some of the furniture from the salon onto the balcony. Grandfather’s crimson velvet chair occupied the central position. There were other armchairs, footstools, and several low tables. Because of the orientation of the albergo, the facade was in the shadow when I went out at nine o’clock, but the air was already uncomfortably warm and Galiana, who had been in her chair since eight, was complaining about the heat.
“It will be an oven by noon,” she grumbled. “What a silly time for an execution! I thought dawn was the traditional hour.”
“The Captain wants the greatest possible degree of publicity,” said Miss Perkins. “He has a good eye for drama, you must agree.”
The scene was certainly lively and colorful. The viewing stands on the steps of the cathedra! had been decked with tapestries and cushions. In stark contrast, the gallows was draped in black cloth. The strands were as yet unoccupied; presumably these favored seats were reserved for dignitaries. I saw one man, with a gaudily dressed woman on his arm, turned away from them by a soldier.
The troops were already in position. The vivid reds and blues of their uniform jackets, the flashing brilliance of their weapons formed a continuous barricade all the way around the piazza. The poorer spectators, who did not rate seats in the stands, were beginning to congregate. One would have to come early for a good view.
I felt a little faint and turned away from the piazza with its ghoulish crowd. The servants were serving breakfast. I watched Galiana bite into a roll thickly smeared with preserves, and for a moment I thought I would be sick.
Then Miss Perkins, who was watching me, remarked, “You must eat something, Francesca. Unless you mean to fast as a religious exercise?”
Sarcasm was not one of her habits. I looked at her in hurt surprise. She gave her head a little sideways twitch, so I went to the serving table and took a roll. After a moment she joined me.
“Look at the stones in the facade of that house.” she said, leading me to the far corner of the balcony. “Unless I am mistaken, they are ancient Etruscan tombstones. One sees many such examples of building materials being reused.”
We stood with our backs turned to the others. Miss Perkins glanced around; then she reached into her ample bosom and produced a scrap of paper. Pantomiming silence, with her fingers to her lips, she unfolded it and showed it to me.
There was a single line in writing—emphatic, spiky handwriting, clearly disguised.
“Courage,” it read. “He will not die.”
Down in the lower-right-hand corner was a tiny hieroglyphic—a bird with a hooked beak.
Despite Miss Perkins’ warning I almost let out a cry.
“What does it mean?” I whispered. “Where does it come from?”
“I found it under my door this morning,” Miss Perkins replied softly. “The meaning is clear, I think.”
“Yes, yes, but…” Hope and astonishment closed my throat. I crumpled the uneaten bread in my hand. “It is kindly meant, a gracious thought; but why should he take the trouble to reassure you? Miss Perkins, are you—”
“No.” Her gray eyes were steady; I could not doubt her. “I swear to you, Francesca, I know no more about the Falcon than you do. I was about to ask you the same question. If he knows me well enough to be aware of my sentiments on this matter, he must have known that I would confide in you. It would be easier to reach me, in my cubbyhole near the stairs, than to get to your room; and you have a maid who might have found it first. Are you—”
“I am sure of only one thing, and that is that I am sure of nothing. Miss Perkins, I will go mad of suspense!”
“We must keep our heads, my dear. I was not joking when I said you should eat. Keep your strength up and be on the alert. One never knows.”
And this amazing woman then proceeded to eat the note, washing it down with a long swallow of tea. I began to giggle hysterically, though I knew she had done what had to be done.
Encouraged by the note, though utterly bewildered by its import, I forced down some bread and tea and then took my chair, determined to miss nothing. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone must hear it; but no one was completely calm that day.
Except perhaps the Contessa. Dressed in her usual black, looking icy cool despite the heat of the day, she had for once abandoned her embroidery. Her head was bent over her prayer book, and her lips moved continually. It should have been an edifying sight—this saintly woman praying for a man she despised—but I found it chilling.
Galiana’s giddy comments were scarcely less horrible. For once she had found enough excitement. Bouncing up and down in her chair, her bright eyes darting from side to side, she saw everything that went on, and commented on it.
As the sun mounted higher, the gaily bedecked stands began to fill up. As I had suspected, the occupants were distinguished persons; their clothing spoke of their wealth and social position, for all were dressed in their best. Several men wore gaudy uniforms with yards of gold braid, huge epaulets, shiny buttons, and the most fantastic hats. One portly gentleman, whose stomach was so large he could rest his folded arms on it, had a tricorne hat as large as that of the great Napoleon I, and rows of medals decorated the breast of his bright-blue coat. There were even a few ladies among those present. Some carried ruffled parasols to protect themselves against the sun.
There were so many soldiers that they stood literally shoulder to shoulder. The bright bayonets on the muskets formed a shining wall behind which the humbler townsfolk pushed and shoved for position. The central part of the piazza was kept clear, but the perimeter, behind the barricade of soldiers, was a jostling mass.
Beyond the spire of the duomo, on the high westward promontory, the stone walls of the fortress could be seen. I looked at them, thinking of the young man who lay there, in the deepest dungeon. Would they send a priest to him, before the end? I shuddered to think of the torments he had endured, of the mental torture suffered by one so soon to die. As the morning wore on with horrible slowness—yet so quickly for the condemned man—the hopeful mood inspired in me by the note began to fade. The Falcon might boast of his intentions, but how could he possibly succeed? The piazza was swarming with soldiers, all armed to the teeth. If the Falcon was contemplating a dramatic last-second rescue from the very foot of the gallows, he must be desperately foolhardy. There was no way out of the piazza. The stone-walled houses around it were like a barricade. Mounted soldiers barred the exits into the narrow streets and vincoli. Even the doors of the cathedral and the entrances into the other buildings were guarded. There were six soldiers at the inn door, under our balcony. Galiana, leaning over the balustrade, was exchanging remarks with them. Neither her mother nor Grandfather reproved her; they were too occupied with their own thoughts to notice, and she was taking full advantage of this unusual freedom.
I decided we had all been misled by the Falcon’s earlier demonstrations of reckless action. There was no reason to suppose he would wait until the last minute to attempt a rescue. No, he would perhaps attack the party while it was on its way to the place of execution, from the fortress. The streets were narrow, walled in by houses; from one of these a party of determined men might rush out and snatch the prisoner.
Then Galiana straightened up.
“Ah, but the Captain is a clever fellow,” she said, addressing me. “Guess what he has done now. The soldier just told me. He has moved poor Antonio from the fortress; it was done last night, in secret. He is now guarded in the new barracks, on the east of the town. The soldiers will bring him from there to the piazza, and now all the inhabitants of the houses along the route are being taken from their homes and imprisoned in the fortress until after the execution.”
She returned to her conversation with the soldiers, and Miss Perkins and I stared at one another in consternation.
“The Captain is a brilliant fiend,” she exclaimed. “Even if the Falcon learns of the change in plan, he will be unable to arrange an ambush. Oh, dear, oh, dear; this is dreadful!”
