Max Brand

The Great Betrayal

Warsaw 2019

Contents

PART I

I. TIZZO RIDES TO BEATRICE

II. A LETTER

III. A SWORD AT HIS THROAT

IV. TO BE BEATEN—AND SPARED

V. WINE OF FRIENDSHIP

PART II

LEADING UP TO THIS INSTALLMENT

V. WINE OF FRIENDSHIP (continued)

VI. WASPS BEGIN TO HUM

VII. A STAR OF FIVE POINTS

VIII. "BEWARE OF ME TOMORROW"

IX. DRUNK WITH PRIDE

X. "FLIRT AND ANGEL"

XI. FESTIVITY IN PERUGIA

PART III

LEADING UP TO THIS CONCLUDING INSTALLMENT

XI. FESTIVITY IN PERUGIA (continued)

XII. MAROZZO'S TREACHERY

XIII. MAGIC FIRE

XIV. MAROZZO'S ACCUSATION

XV. MAROZZO'S SCHEME

XVI. UNEXPECTED ATTACK

XVII. TWO SPARKS

XVIII. MARVELS AND MIRACLES

XIX. THE BELLS OF PERUGIA

PART I

I. TIZZO RIDES TO BEATRICE

TO the credit of Tizzo there stood a number of things for a man who was not much past twenty and who had no more family than a rabbit in the fields.

Item: Five duels with the best blades of the town of Perugia, in all of which he was the conqueror, through luck and a certain nameless cunning of the hand none had resulted fatally.

Item: The great favor of Messers Astorre and Giovanpaolo, war lords and battle-leaders of the powerful and ruling house of the Baglioni.

Item: A purse filled either by his patrons, the Baglioni, or by clearheaded gambling, or by the wealth of his foster-father, Luigi Falcone; a purse worn out by these emptyings and fillings.

Item: Handsome lodgings in the inn.

Item: A one-eyed cut-throat with a patch on his face, a leering smile, and the cunning of the devil, named Elia and devoted to the service of Master Tizzo.

Item: A head of hair which, being cut short to accommodate a helmet; looked a little less burning red than in younger days when it had gained him the name of Tizzo, the Spark.

Item: Eyes the color of the blue of flame.

Item: An engagement to meet this night, under the moon, in the summer house of the country estate of Astorre Baglioni outside the city, the beautiful sister of Messer Astorre, the Lady Beatrice.

Of all of these articles in his favor, young Tizzo was most burningly aware. For the blue flame of his eyes showed him one who was enjoying the full savor of life to the very roots of his palate. He was this evening dressing with care, helped busily by Elia Bigi. He had drawn on long purple hose, a green doublet heavily embroidered with crimson, green shoes of soft leather that came half way up the calf of his leg; he had belted on his sword which was balanced at the right hip by a dagger. Scabbard of both sword and dagger were enhanced by rich golden chasings. Over his neck he hung a chain of massive gold, each link variously and curiously worked by a Florentine goldsmith, and supporting an intaglio which showed the noble profile of the famous Giovanpaolo, that Achilles of the condottieri of Italy. He was now swinging over his shoulders a black cloak which shone with an elaborate arabesqueing in silver when a messenger came to the door with a letter.

When Elia gave him the letter, he was about to throw it aside, but his eye saw the arms of the Bardi stamped into the seal and therefore he knew that it was a missive from his dearest friend in the entire city. So he opened the letter and read:

To my brother Tizzo, given in haste from my house; greetings, life, happiness, honor.

Tizzo, go not where you have willed to go on this night. Let your heart sleep. Do not follow it.

Ask me no more for my meaning or for the source of my information.

If I were free to come to you, I would be with you now and beg you on my bended knees to stay at home.

If ever you entered my house like a brave angel from heaven; if ever you saved me from a foul death beyond the holy hand of the church, alone, desperate, hateful to men; if ever I have sworn to you the eternal love of a brother for a brother, believe me now, ask me nothing, and lie quietly in your chamber tonight. It is your time of danger. If it passes, tomorrow will dawn brightly and the rest of your life may be spent in peace.

Farewell. My heart burns with anxiety. Be wise. Be prudent.

With all the blood of my body, thine,–

Antonio.

When Tizzo had finished the reading, he was so overwhelmed that he threw himself into a chair and bowed his head.

Elia, that hardy brigand, muttered: “You have lost a good legacy, at least. But take a glass of wine and lift your head again. There are still throats to be cut and purses to be taken in this jolly old world.”

As he spoke, he poured from a silvered pitcher a goblet of the rich, thick red wine of Tuscany and held out the glass to Tizzo, who took it, tasted it, and pushed it back into the hand of his servant.

“Or if it is merely a woman,” said Elia, “I can swear that there are others who–”

“Be silent!” commanded Tizzo.

He rose and paced the room, thinking aloud.

“He begs me as he loves me.–True, Antonio loves me. ‘Go not where you have willed to go on this night.’–How should he know where I am to go this night? Beatrice, my beautiful, noble, glorious, generous, brave, gracious, most perfect Beatrice!–Let my heart sleep? How can I let it sleep when it strides like a lion through my body?–Ask not for his source of information, which means that he has it from a high and dangerous authority.–This is my time of danger? No, by God, it is my time of love!–If this night passes in safety–by the Lord, poor Antonio has been visiting an astrologer. Elia!”

“Messer Tizzo?”

“Do you believe in astrology?”

“Well,” said Elia, “the sky is a large, clean page, and it would be a pity if God had not put some good writing on it, for wise men to read.”

“True!” said Tizzo.

HE went to the window and thrust it open to look up past the nearest battlemented heights and into the brightness of the heavens. A wind which never touched the earth made the stars tremble like leaves. Awe fell upon the irreverent soul of Tizzo.

He murmured: “But how could God waste his time to arrange symbols in the high heavens concerning the life of Tizzo?”

“Sparks in heaven to speak of a spark on earth,” said Elia. “How could the stars be better employed than to speak to you, master?”

“I shall remain at home.”

“The will of God be done,” said Elia, grinning behind his master’s back, because he was sure that this safe impulse would not be followed.

It happened that, at this moment, a sound of music turned a distant corner, the tremor of strings, singing, and the mingled laughter of women. Tizzo threw up his hands.

“I am called!” he said. “And I must go. ‘Is my horse ready?”

“It is, Messer Tizzo.”

“Not the mule-headed bay for carrying an armored man, but the chestnut Barb that flies?”

“The Barb is saddled. The silver bridle is on him and the yellow housings with the bells.”

“Bells?” said Tizzo. “Well, if they are waiting for me, let them hear me come! But give me that hat with the steel lining.”

“And the breastplate of Spanish mail?” queried Elia.

“Yes. Let me have it.–No, I shall not take it.–What manner of man would I be, Elia, if I feared to die? Love of her is my armor. Arrows will turn from me tonight.”

“I would put my money on a good cross-bow bolt,” said Elia, “or more still on a knife-thrust aimed at the back, or perhaps a little in a few dozen tiles, dropped from an overhanging roof.”

Tizzo, staring for a moment at his servant, suddenly broke out of the room and ran hastily down the stairs. In the courtyard he found the slender chestnut Barb standing, a gift from the richest of all the Baglioni, that Gridone who was the most fortunate of men, married to the loveliest of ladies, with the whole world of happiness already in his hands, as it seemed. The occasion of the gift hung now beside the saddle in a case of embossed leather, a common woodsman’s axe. The deceptively slender frame of Tizzo had seemed incapable of great efforts and yet with that axe he had cloven the massive jousting helmet, the finest product of the Milanese armorers. It had been put on a horse-post and he had split it from top to bottom with that deft, quick swing which he had learned from Falcone’s foresters in his boyhood. The reward had been a loud exclamation that ran all the rounds of Perugia–and this beautiful Barb mare which now put out her lovely head and whinnied for her new master.

Once in the saddle, he flew the mare down the crooked, winding, paved streets of Perugia until the dark and massive arch of a city gate appeared before him.

“Open! Open!” he shouted, as he came up.

The captain of the gate stepped into his path, a tall man in complete armor except for the head, which was shaven close and gray with premature age.

“Are you drunk or a fool?” he asked bluntly, for the soldiers of the Baglioni were at ease in their manners to the townsfolk. “It is my duty to open the gate to every young hot-head who wishes to take the country air at night?”

“Does this help you, captain?” asked Tizzo, thrusting out a hand on which appeared a ring with a large incised emerald on it.

The captain, regarding the design with a bowed head, stepped back and frowned.

“The ring may be stolen, for all I know,” he said.

Tizzo snatched off his hat.

“Do you know me better now?” he exclaimed.

The captain saluted instantly. “Messer Tizzo!” he said. “The light is dim; I could not see your face; forgive me!”

He ordered the small portal to be unlocked and it was done at once.

“Give me fortune, my captain,” said Tizzo.

The captain of the gate laughed. “If I don’t give it to you, you’ll take it anyway. I give you fortune, Messer Tizzo. May she be the daughter of the richest merchant in Perugia!”

THE last exclamation came as Tizzo leaped the Barb through the barely opened portal and let the mare speed away down the slope. He crossed the hollow at the same wild gallop, but let the mare draw down to a trot as he climbed into the hills again. To the right he saw the misty lights of the city of Assissi, the sacred place of pilgrimage, but those lights meant no more to Tizzo, on this night, than the distant stars of the sky. It was the face of Beatrice Baglioni that filled his mind, it was her remembered voice that silenced the hoofbeats of the mare as he drew near the high, dark shoulders of a great villa.

He did not go directly to the big house, but tethering the mare at a short distance from the corner of the stone wall, he climbed that wall like a cat, and dropped lightly down inside it.

Already he was well inside a realm of danger. It was true that he was a chosen friend and supporter of both Astorre and Giovanpaolo Baglioni, but the armed guards they maintained were apt to strike an intruder dead before they looked into his face or asked for his name. Besides, no matter how they valued him, they could not be expected to smile on a romance between him and their own sister, a lady rich enough and famous enough in name and in beauty to marry a prince of a great estate. The Baglioni were, he knew, generous, brave and true to their friends; but they were also ruthless in matters of important policy.

These things softened his step as he stole from place to place through the garden, dropping flat on the grass when he heard the jingling of steel and staying under the shadowed lee of a hedge until three men went by, the moonlight glinting on their armor.

But he went on again until he saw, in the midst of a silver sheen of lawn covered by the moonlight as with dew, the little summer-house which was the jewel of the garden. About it, statues stood at the corners of the hedges, dancing figures that seemed to move in this light.

And the fragrances of the garden flowers came as intimately as voices to the heart of Tizzo.

There was almost infinite peril about him, but to him it was the spice in the wine, the savor in the breath of life. He would not have altered anything.

When he looked up, he took note of the position of the moon and saw that it still lacked perhaps half of an hour of the position in the sky on which he had agreed with Beatrice. But now she was filling her heart with expectancy in the great villa. That was her room, there at the upper corner of the building–that one with the two lighted windows.

Yes, she was there, preparing to steal from the house.

And now she must be coming down the little winding steps which were cut into the wall. She would wear a dark cloak to hide her beauty and defy the moon. Slipping over the lawns like a shadow, she would enter the summer-house and then he would see, from his place of covert at the hedge above, the signal which they had agreed upon: the triple passing of a light across the face of a window.

He had to sit down on the grass and bow his head in his hands and tell himself stories of his past to make the time pass. When he looked up, the moon was already at the proper place in the sky. The moment had come!

But no signal flashed for him! He waited with a sudden coldness of the heart.

Strange things are done by the great to the humble. What if she had been playing with him? What if she had named the hour for him and, afterwards, had told the story to her maids, laughing pleasantly, wondering how long in the chill of the night the poor red-headed fool would wait in vain?

The window of the summer-house which faced him was, to be sure, unshuttered; but perhaps it was habitually left open to the cool of the night.

Impatience suddenly overwhelmed him, swept him away. He ran swiftly as the shadow of a stooping hawk across the lawn and peered in through the window. The moonlight made a slant path before him, and in the midst of it he saw nothing except a chair which lay on its side.

He was through the window instantly.

The air within was warmer, softer, and a perfume breathed in it that sent an ecstasy through his brain, for it was that fragrance which his lady preferred, he knew. That one chair overturned–that sparkling eye–he leaned and picked from the floor a small ring set with diamonds and knew it for one of the jewels of the Lady Beatrice. At the same time shadows moved softly from the dark corners of the room; he saw them by instinct rather than with his eyes.

II. A LETTER

AS full awareness leaped into the mind of Tizzo, he heard a voice more hateful to his ears than any other in the world, the young Mateo Marozzo crying: “Now! Keep him from the window! Now! Now!”

And those shadows were lunging from the corners of the room with a sudden thundering of feet.

This was the danger of which Antonio Bardi had warned him, faithfully. He heard the peculiar grating, clanging noise of the steel plates of armor; he saw the sheen of naked weapons already sweeping past the open window behind him.

There was no refuge in that direction. And since he could see no means of flight he followed the first impulse of a very brave man: with his sword swinging he leaped straight into the face of danger and charged the men immediately before him.

Their own numbers clogged their efforts. Two blades struck at him almost in the same instant. He caught one with the sword, one with the dagger, and burst straight through the fighting men. There was a door before him, barely ajar. Through it he leaped as a hand grappled his cloak and a sword smote the ledge of the doorway above his head. That assailant he heard crying out in the voice of Marozzo, once more.

He turned and struck the man to the floor with the pommel of his sword. Those others, recovering from their confusion, had turned to follow at his heels but he slammed the door and shot home the bolt. By the moonlight he saw a point of steel struck straight through the heavy wood and heard the impact of armored shoulders against the barrier.

It held firm and he turned to the senseless form on the floor. By the hair of the head he raised Marozzo and laid the back of the man’s neck across his knee.

“Take the rear way; cut him off; a thousand florins for him!” he could hear voices shouting.

But with the point of his dagger, with cruel deliberation, he cut a cross in the forehead of Marozzo. The point of the keen weapon shuddered against the bone, so strong was the pressure. And the blood looked black as it flowed down the face of Marozzo.

He, wakening with a groan, heard the voice of Tizzo saying: “Where is the lady? Marozzo, here is your death waiting in my hand if you lie; but you live if you tell the truth.”

“The convent of the Clares!” groaned Marozzo.

Tizzo flung the helpless body from him and sprang up. A fellow with an axe was smashing in the outer door to this room and there was a clamor of many voices near him. So Tizzo drew back again the bolt which he had just shot and leaped back into the first room.

Two soldiers were still in the place, but totally unprepared for this sally, and Tizzo leaped through the window and raced over the gentle slope of the lawn.

They were hopelessly lost behind him, in a moment, those fellows in the anchoring weight of their armor. He leaped the first hedge, gained the wall, and was over it and in the saddle of the Barb, while the clamor still poured aimlessly towards him from the distance.

The swift mare carried him from all danger, now, like a leaf in a strong wind.

And still, as he looked up, he saw the same moon which had promised him happiness sliding over the wide arch of the night and tossing a meager drift of clouds into shining spray.

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