“Signorina?” he said slowly.
“May I come in?” I held up a basket filled with food.
Instead of moving back, Alberto came out onto the doorstep and closed the door. He spoke urgently, waving his hands. I caught only a few words, but his gestures made his meaning plain. He was telling me to go back to the castle.
I stared at him, offended and hurt. He had gestured toward the horizon, and there, it was true, I could see storm clouds beginning to darken the sky. But the storm was a long way off. There was no hurry.
Suddenly there was a stifled exclamation from my groom. I turned and saw that another man had joined him. They spoke together, and the groom’s swarthy face turned a queer gray shade.
“Signorina,” he said urgently. “Subito—al castello, per piacere—”
“What is happening?” I demanded. “What—no!” For he had dared to lay hands on me and was pulling me toward my horse. I resisted, more indignant than frightened.
“Momento!” Alberto ran down the steps and caught the groom’s arm. Another conference ensued; and then the stranger turned to me.
“Signorina—will you come with me?” I started. He spoke not the local dialect but pure, elegant Tuscan. Even his appearance had undergone a subtle change. His dark face had a stubble of beard which, with his rough clothing, gave him a villainous appearance; but now I realized that his long, thin nose and fine-boned face were not those of a peasant. I hesitated. And then, some distance away, perhaps on the far side of the village, I heard sounds. Voices were raised, some in alarm, others in command.
“Si, soldati,” said the stranger. “The soldiers who search for the Falcon. Will you come, signorina?”
I picked up my skirts, lifted them high.
“Where?” I asked.
“This way.” I followed him into a street so narrow my hoops brushed the fronts of the houses. Then he stopped before a door half hidden in a deep archway, and knocked—a strange combination of knocks, with pauses in between. The door opened.
It was the dark, evil-smelling cellar of my worst imaginings. A single candle smoked and sputtered, giving off barely enough light to enable me to see shapes. I saw two people—men. There might have been others in the shadows, but I did not look farther; my eyes went straight to the man who was lying, as I had pictured him, on a bed of straw in the corner. The candle had been placed so that its dim light would fall on his body. His shirt was open, and rough bandages covered his breast. His head also seemed to be swathed in bandages, but he was conscious; when he saw me, he let out a stream of hissing, vehement speech, and tried to sit up. The effort was too much. He fell back, his head striking against the earthen floor.
His remarks ended a low-voiced but vigorous debate between my guide and one of the other men. I did not doubt that it concerned me. and the propriety of bringing me here, but I cared nothing for that. Pulling away from the hands that would have held me, I ran across the room and dropped to my knees beside the wounded man. As I did so, one of the guards struck out the candle.
“Stupido,” I said angrily. “How can I see?”
A voice spoke close to my elbow. It was that of my guide.
“Signorina, our leader has lived thus far only because few of us know who he is. Not even your family could save you if the enemy thought you could identify him.”
The reasoning was doubly convincing in its appeal to my fears for myself and for the wounded man. There was only one flaw in the argument. I already knew the Falcon’s real identity. His head was covered by a close-fitting hood that concealed even his hair, with slits for eyes, nose and mouth; but before the light was extinguished I had seen a mark on his bared chest—the same mark I had seen once before on the chest of my cousin Andrea.
Not for an instant was I tempted to mention this. There were traitors everywhere. Besides, there was no time for anything but the vital question.
“Does De Merode know he is here?” I spoke in French. It was necessary to communicate quickly and accurately now, and my assumption proved to be correct. My guide answered in the same language, and in the accents of a cultured man.
“Perhaps not. This town is known to be his base. It would be logical—”
I cut him short. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the town will be searched, down to the last kennel. We must get him out of here.”
“But where? No place in the village is safe now.”
“The castle. I will hide him in my rooms.”
“Impossible, mademoiselle! Some of the servants are with us, others are not. You could not get him to your rooms without being seen. Besides, the castle is probably being searched now. A troop of men, headed by De Merode himself, was seen riding in that direction less than half an hour ago.”
This news shook me to the core. Was De Merode already suspicious of Andrea? Several of his remarks, meaningless at the time, now took on a new and terrible significance. But Andrea’s absence would prove nothing; only the capture of the Falcon would do that, and that I must prevent at any cost.
“He can be hidden somewhere in the hills,” I said, urgency quickening my voice. “I’ll think of something. But first we must get him out of town. If he could ride—”
“I can ride, signorina. Or run, if I must.”
I had thought him unconscious. My hand was touching his breast, and at the sound of his voice I must have pressed down harder than I meant, for he gave a muffled grunt of pain. His voice was clearly disguised, a soft, hissing whisper. He spoke the local patois, but clearly and distinctly. He went on. “Where is your groom? Your horses?”
His men were well trained. With a minimum of speech and the utmost speed, the plan the Falcon had hinted at was carried out. I did not inquire whether my groom’s cooperation was forced or voluntary. While the falcon struggled into the jacket and plumed cap that was the Tarconti livery, I stood biting my nails with nervous excitement. We did not leave through the door by which I had entered, but followed a passageway into a tiny piazza nearby, where the horses were waiting.
The storm clouds had come nearer. The sky was a queer sullen gray. The dim light was a godsend, but we would need more help than that from heaven. My companion was a grotesque sight, for the jacket was far too small for him, and his masked face was hardly inconspicuous. The disguise, if it could be called that, would pass muster only at a distance; but that was all it was designed to do. Any soldier who caught a glimpse of us would assume I was accompanied by the same servant who had come to the village with me. He would not dare stop me. If he tried—well, we would have to face that if and when it happened.
My erstwhile guide, looking even more like a bandit, caught me in his arms and flung me into my saddle.
“Mademoiselle, I beg you, stay with him,” he said urgently. “He will try to send you away; but he is too weak, he can’t go far alone. If I can, I will meet you outside the town—he knows the place—but if I should be caught…. Promise you will not leave him!”
“I promise.” I turned the horse’s head to follow my “groom,” who was already disappearing into the roofed passageway.
Though it was past the hour when the town usually awakened to life after its siesta, there was not a soul to be seen. Even the dogs had disappeared. We went at a slow walk, the horses’ hooves scarcely audible in the dust that carpeted the black streets. He led, I followed; never were the vincoli wide enough to allow two horses to go side by side. It would have been a wonderful place for children to play hide and seek—winding, narrow, with culs-de-sac and mysterious low archways leading into unknown darkness. We, too, were playing hide and seek, but the loser of the game would pay a bitter forfeit.
I had not known this part of the town existed. It must not have changed for five hundred years. I would have been lost within a few minutes, but the man ahead of me seemed to know every foot of the way. He took a winding, circuitous path—and not always by choice. Several times he turned suddenly away from a street when the muffled sounds of activity were heard there. Once I saw a flash of scarlet passing in the distance.
Finally we came out of the village onto a narrow plateau. The transition was almost as abrupt as if a wall had separated town from country, and indeed a few crumbling foundations showed that the ancient walls had once stood here. From the high point a narrow path had been beaten through the weeds that covered the hillside. We were halfway down the path, within a few yards of a grove of trees, when a shout behind us made me turn my head.
Thunder muttered overhead; the sky was curtained with low-hanging clouds. But the scarlet coats stood out against the sober gray stone of the houses on the hill. One of the soldiers raised an arm, as if in summons; or perhaps he was aiming a musket, I could not see distinctly. I turned and rode on at the same deliberate pace. If I had been alone I am sure I would have urged the horse into a gallop. My hands were wet with perspiration, and my shoulders hunched in anticipation of a bullet.
No shot came, of course. The soldiers must have known who I was, and they would not dare to fire. But they would report having seen me, and if De Merode learned that his quarry had escaped the trap of the village, he might put two and two together.
