A Dancer in Darkness Page 21

  Cariola stared. Antonio threw her his knife. Obediently she followed suit. Then they mounted again, astride. The player came forward and whispered to Antonio. Then the party set off up a narrow ravine. There was no moon as yet. It would rise late. The way was difficult. When they reached the ridge it would be easier. The Duchess was dulled by fatigue. That was perhaps merciful. None of them spoke. There were only the four of them. The players had tactfully disappeared into the landscape, having their own hides to save.

  The carts and wagons stood behind them, dark and forsaken in the road. There were things in them the Duchess would never see again.

  As they climbed higher, Loreto spread out below them. Then they reached the ridge, and plunged into the wood that ran along its crest. The player seemed certain of the way, and they had to trust him. Their worst fear now was ambush or banditti unknown to Antonio.

  The player was almost a dwarf. He sat on a horse too big for him, like an imp of darkness with saucer eyes, riding the nightmare through a dream. His teeth were chattering with cold. For the night became as cold as the darkness was sudden. The clammy breeze whipped into the Duchess’s split skirt, and oozed against her naked flesh. She was already sore from riding astride, but did not dare to slow down. As for Cariola, she was terrified and did not know what she did. She had no choice but to follow.

  It was midnight when they came to the meeting place. The Duchess blessed Antonio’s obsession with gipsies now. They rode into an open clearing, but found nobody there. The moon was up, and the shadows of the trees were like the shadows of men waiting. The Duchess was bewildered. She was sure they had gone astray.

  Antonio dismissed the player. In the silence the chink of coins was audible. As the player rode back towards his fellows at Loreto, Antonio stood in his stirrups and putting his fingers to his mouth, whistled like a bird of prey. The whistle echoed without an answer.

  “What do we do now?” asked the Duchess.

  “We wait. They will not come until they are sure the player is gone. Here we trust no one.”

  They waited. The horses stirred fretfully. From time to time Antonio peered about him. Then the shadows cast by the trees began to move. After all, they might have been betrayed. Why should they not be?

  Antonio grunted and jumped down from his horse, disappearing into the shadows. It was as though he had vanished and left only his empty saddle. The Duchess stared at it, fascinated. Behind her, Cariola began to sob. They could hear sounds in the wood. Even the horses seemed to shy at something.

  Antonio came back with some nondescript men. These were the gipsies. They were not so colourful as the gipsies of Amalfi. They were the scuttle-butt and rag-pickers of the region. But looking into their eyes, the Duchess trusted them. Antonio took her bridle.

  “Dismount,” he said. “And Cariola, too.”

  Cariola did not want to dismount. The Duchess jumped down, scarcely able to stand from so much riding. Unwillingly Cariola followed. Together they walked softly across the clearing into the safety of the trees, the gipsies leading the horses behind them. They went on for some way, and came to another clearing. There were more men waiting here. One of them brought forward a lantern.

  Antonio took from him a bundle, and led the Duchess and Cariola behind a shrub.

  “These are men’s clothes,” he said. “Change into them quickly.”

  The Duchess stared at him.

  “They are looking for two women and a man, whoever they are. Go on.”

  Cariola refused. Antonio stuffed the bundle into her arms. He was angry. “These men are banditti,” he said. “There are no women here. As one of them, you may be able to get through to Ancona. There is no other way.” He turned and strode out of the rustling shrubs, leaving a lantern on the ground. Its light shone up in their faces. The Duchess and Cariola looked at each other.

  Her skirt was mined anyway. With an impatient gesture, the Duchess began to tear off her clothes. Shocked, Cariola came to help her.

  Ten minutes later, and she was changed. Her poor torn dress and bodice lay on the ground beneath her. She wore hose, a doublet, soft leather knee boots which could be turned up to her thighs, spurs, and a short cloak. The clothes for some reason made her feel safer. For a moment she wondered what it was to be a man. It was like dressing up. But, as she tucked her hair under a large cap, she grew solemn again, and turned to Cariola.

  “Now you,” she said.

  Cariola was not to be persuaded. She was genteel. Even if her life depended upon it, she could not bring herself to dress up so. It made the Duchess furious.

  When Antonio returned, he was well pleased with her appearance. He smiled, examining her. With Cariola he was not pleased at all. But there was nothing to be done with her, except to disguise her in a cloak. They could not very well leave her behind, and not even the threat of abandoning her could make her change her mind. Terror had made her stubborn.

  “You will be more comfortable that way,” Antonio told the Duchess. He helped her vault into the saddle, and the company got under way. Her spurs seemed to drag her heels, and the small rattle the rowels made echoed like an explosion.

  Quietly, led by the chief of the banditti, they wound their way in and out of trees and open spaces along the ridges. Once or twice they passed a dusty stream bed. It was too dark to break into a gallop. Antonio’s horse stepped smartly beside her. From time to time she fell into a stupor, lolling in her saddle. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the moon on the sea.

  She did not know how long they travelled. With her legs she clutched the belly of her pony, and she dozed.

  She woke abruptly. Antonio had his hand on the bridle of her horse.

  “What is it?”

  “Something ahead. We shall have to go carefully.”

  Peering into the darkness she saw some sort of reflected glow against far-distant trees.

  “Where are we?”

  “Two hours from Ancona, at the most.” He shrugged his shoulders, but she could see how drawn his face was.

  “It might be agents?”

  “It might,” he said shortly. Very cautiously he led her horse forward, as it picked its way over the rough forest floor. They were among laurels now. At the nearest touch the trees would shake like a tower of bells.

  The glow became ruddier. Whatever it was, they were coming too close to it. These banditti knew how to move through the woods like shadows. So did their horses. But the Duchess held her breath. Then she was aware of a curious, high-pitched incessant whine, and the boles of the trees whirled with small torn shadows. She shivered.

  The company halted. They could only pray that none of the horses would make any sound. The chiefs and Antonio held a muttered conference. Then Antonio rode a little ahead, slipped from his horse, and, dagger in hand, disappeared into the trees. It was an anxious few minutes until he came back.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Dead drunk and snoring to the world,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Some bravos, by the look of them.”

  “After us?”

  “Yes.” He did not tell her he had seen Ferdinand. Apparently they had camped here for the night, and fallen asleep after too much wine. Their fire had disturbed a colony of bats. The bats shrieked and wobbled in and out of a charred tree, in and out of the flames. The air was full of the stench of them. Ferdinand was sprawled full length, next to Marcantonio. There were two others. If Ferdinand was here they were in double peril, but he saw no reason to say so.

  The company moved on, carefully skirting the hollow in which the fire burned. The horses made no sound. In half an hour they were safely away.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  The Duchess was too tired to sigh. For her the rest of the journey passed in a coma, from which she was jostled only when the company came to a halt on a rise of ground. She stirred and opened her eyes.

  It was almost dawn. The world was restive and silvery. A cock crowed. The sky was green and r
ose, and seemed about to shatter. Carioli was snoring on her horse. The Duchess looked around her. The banditti were fading away into the woods, just as her courtiers had done. It alarmed her.

  “What is it?”

  Antonio came up beside her. “They can come no farther,” he said. “It would not be safe.” He pointed ahead of him. “Look!” She looked and could see nothing. She nudged her horse on to follow Antonio’s. The grove behind them was already deserted.

  Below them lay Ancona and the sea. She could not believe it. The white walls of the city shone like a haven.

  “It is only a quarter of a mile,” said Antonio. “We are almost free.”

  She felt weak. “What will it be like?”

  “We will be together,” he said simply. “We have only to find a ship.”

  She understood. It did not matter where they went. Without dismounting, they touched, in sight of freedom. Somehow they had managed to break through. Yet she was a little afraid. Who would they be now? She was the Duchess of Amalfi no longer. What would they do?

  “Let’s race,” she said. She wanted to laugh.

  He glanced at her. “Well, why not?” He smiled. “We must wake Cariola, though. She must ache.”

  Of the aching of her own body the Duchess had become unaware. They wakened Cariola, and then set pell-mell down the slope, urging from the horses a last tired burst of speed, hit the plain in a shower of white dust, and whirled towards the city. Now the Duchess really laughed, and even on the wind, she could hear that Antonio had joined her. Money chinked in the saddle-bags, and Cariola was left a length behind.

  Bosola also would be there. He had sold her jewels. With the gold from that they might take ship anywhere. In that quick silent dawn the whole world opened out, and there they were in it, together, after all.

  VII

  It would be impossible to try to understand the Cardinal. He did not even try to understand himself. Instead he made use of himself, exactly as he made use of others, waiting to see what he would do, and then taking advantage of his own actions. At the moment, for his own reasons, he needed delay. Therefore he made use of his finer feelings. He did so sardonically.

  This ability to make use of himself was what made him so tricky and so difficult to defeat. For though his general strategy may have been predictable, his specific behaviour frequently was not. Other men are at the mercy of their whims. His whims were at the mercy of him.

  It was his custom to hand over the violent outcome of his plots to his brother, as the Inquisition handed over the condemned to the secular arm. He was by no means pleased at Ferdinand’s departure from Rome with Bosola and Marcantonio. He knew what it meant; and to tell the truth, felt sorry at the outcome of this latest of his plots. Besides, he needed time, for he had preparations to make. Therefore he sent two messengers to Ancona: one, publicly, to the Duke; the other, privately, to Bosola. Then he departed for Naples.

  Bosola reached Ancona after the messengers, but before the Duchess. Fear had hurtled him across the sands and the narrow cliff roads. He knew what it was to be caught between two masters. He could always explain to Ferdinand that he had followed the Duchess, who had turned back. He could never explain to the Cardinal.

  Therefore, though it was the middle of the night, he went at once to the house of the Cardinal’s agent there, which was outside the walls. The Cardinal’s letter awaited him. It told him to take the Duchess prisoner, and to escort her across Italy and back to Naples. The agent would arrange for a body of armed men, should Ferdinand prove difficult. At Naples he would receive further orders.

  There was no question as to which master he would obey, for even Ferdinand finally obeyed the Cardinal. It was for this reason that when the Duchess and Antonio galloped across the plain, Bosola was waiting for them. A servant boy had called him, as soon as the figures appeared. Since no one seemed to be in pursuit, Bosola rode out to meet them.

  To his surprise, they were so glad to see him that they asked for no explanation. After all, to them he meant freedom, and the exhilaration of their escape had made them as innocent as children.

  It was a new experience for him to be greeted so rapturously. It made him blink. Only Cariola, when she came up with the others, stared at him sullenly. But then she was clearly crusted with fatigue.

  He was relieved. It meant that he need invent nothing. He led them back to the agent’s house, to wait an hour until the town gate opened. They went willingly. No doubt they wished to take cover. As they rode along, Antonio frequently glanced back at the hills. It was only by self-restraint that Bosola prevented himself from doing the same. He went to consult with the agent as soon as they arrived. He did not know how he would handle Antonio, but he must put the matter in advance before Ferdinand should arrive.

  There he was interrupted abruptly by Cariola. Cariola acted as though he were not there. She was acutely embarrassed, her skirt still slit. She asked if perhaps there might not be a dress or two in the house. That was understandable. Dressed as they were, they made a peculiar company. The agent, as it turned out, was delighted to oblige, for a fee. He went upstairs and stripped his wife, to her very voluble indignation. Bosola looked towards the ceiling and grinned. The agent returned not only with his wife’s best black for the Duchess, but with her second best, for Cariola.

  She took them without a word, dourly. He waved her out of the room. No doubt the Duchess made a charming boy, but these clothes would suit her better. For the moment it would be best if he pretended to fall in with their plans.

  An hour later, when he went down to the parlour that had been turned over to them, he found Antonio and the Duchess asleep in each other’s arms, the agent’s wife’s dress trailing grandly over the floor, and Cariola dozing noisily in a chair. He waked them, and they set out in high spirits for the town gate, perhaps five hundred yards away.

  Antonio and the Duchess laughed and chatted merrily. The day was certainly a a splendid one. The dew still caught the sun. There was the smell of iodine in the air, and they could hear the surf.

  They reached the main road, and turned towards the gate. Here, because of the shadows of the walls, it was damp and cool. There were one or two people on the road ahead of them, a peasant with his cart, a traveller. The Duchess had her documents with her. These she passed to Antonio, who intended to present them with his own forged credentials. They rode confidently under the gate. Beyond they could see the street of the town, slanting upwards towards a market place. It was like an opening into another world.

  Antonio went to parley with the keeper. They scarcely noticed that there were more loiterers than usual. Antonio was gone a long time.

  The Duchess became nervous. She snapped her fingers impatiently and looked about her with feigned indifference. The laughter began to go out of her eyes. The borrowed dress did not suit her. To Bosola’s eye she was no longer the beauty she had been even a year ago. This early morning sun turned her complexion to chalk, and her hair was too fine not to receive more care than it had had. He hated pathos. He turned away.

  Antonio came slowly out of the gate.

  “We cannot enter,” he said quietly.

  Bosola looked instantly towards the still empty hills.

  “What do you mean, we cannot enter? Is the man stupid!” The Duchess spurred her horse forward. Antonio caught the reins.

  “You are banished from the territories of Ancona,” he said. “By order of the Duke.”

  “By order of my brother, you mean.” The Duchess’s voice was shrill. Indeed the matter was a shock even to Bosola. He must act quickly now, or Ferdinand would be upon him. He turned his horse aside.

  “None the less, we cannot enter.” Antonio waved towards the gate, where five guards barred the way with muskets. They were gaudy in striped German uniforms, and the muskets glittered in the pearl-grey light.

  It was as though panic danced among them with a giggling face. They did not know where to look. That mocking figure was everywhere. They could neithe
r advance nor retreat.

  Off to the left a boat put out to sea. They all watched it. It was a small felucca with a red patched sail. It was probably headed for Dalmatia.

  Exasperated, the Duchess tugged at the reins of her horse, and wheeled him around, so that her back was to the city, and to the boat. Antonio hesitated, and then leaped into the saddle and followed her.

  Bosola noticed that Cariola was watching him. He did not care for the look in her eyes. She might say anything, if she gave way to hysteria. He suggested quickly that they take shelter from prying eyes at the agent’s house, which doubled as a sort of inn. That is where they went. They could not stay there for long. The Duchess had presented herself in her own person. Word that she had arrived would quickly spread. Nor would they be allowed to stay in Ancona’s territory for longer than at most an hour. It was the Cardinal’s mischief, obviously.

  Yet in a way it made Bosola’s task easier. There would be no awkwardness now about the boat. His only task was somehow to remove Antonio. They held a conference in the parlour. In this emergency, the Duchess and Antonio seemed to accept him as a matter of course. That might make things simpler for him, or it might not.

  For the moment he excused himself and went to speak once more to the agent. It was essential now to round up a body of bravos as soon as possible. They must arrive before Ferdinand and Marcantonio could intercept them.

  When he returned the Duchess and Antonio were alone in the parlour. The Duchess seemed to have regained her composure. She had become deliberately impersonal.

  Bosola suggested that of the two brothers the Cardinal was the more reasonable, and that Antonio should come with him to Rome. The Cardinal might give him sanctuary. The Duchess watched him while he spoke. She might even have agreed, but at that moment there was a clatter outside. Antonio went to the window to look out.

  “Soldiers,” he said. “Or banditti.”

  They both turned to Bosola, questioningly.

  “I had them hired,” explained Bosola. “You will need protection against Ferdinand. “I will go see to them.”