The Justice of the Duke by Rafael Sabatini

Author:Rafael Sabatini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Chapter 5

THE SNARE

Messer Baldassare Scipione stepped out into the lane, and closed the green gate by which he had issued from his lady’s garden.

He stood a moment in the dusk of eventide, a fond smile upon his honest rugged face; then he flung his ample scarlet cloak about him, and departed with a jingle of spurs, erect and very martial in his bearing, as became the captain of the Borgia forces in Urbino.

At the corner, where the lane debouched into the Via del Cane, he came suddenly upon a very splendid gentleman who was lounging there. This gentleman’s eyes narrowed at sight of the valiant captain. He was Messer Francesco degli Omodei, cousin-german to Baldassare’s lady.

The captain’s bearing stiffened slightly. Yet his bow was gracious as he swept off his plumed cap in response to the other’s uncovering. With that he would have passed on had not Messer Francesco deliberately barred his way.

“Taking the air, Sir Captain?” he questioned, sneering faintly.

“By your gracious pleasure – and God’s,” answered Baldassare, smiling ironically into the other’s unfriendly face – a swarthy young face of a beauty almost classical, yet very sinister of eye and very cruel of mouth.

Flung out of countenance by that ironic counter, Francesco had no answer ready, whereupon: “You are detaining me, I think,” said the captain airily, and made shift to pass on.

“I will go with you, by your leave,” said Francesco, and fell into step beside the scarlet figure.

“The honour notwithstanding, I should prefer to go alone,” said Baldassare.

“I desire to speak to you.”

“So I had gathered. But I do not desire to listen. Will that weigh with you, Messer degli Omodei?”

“Not a hair’s weight,” laughed the other impudently.

Baldassare shrugged, and stalked on, his left hand resting naturally upon the hilt of his sword, so that the scabbard thrust up his scarlet cloak behind.

“Messer Baldassare,” said Francesco presently, “you come this way too often.”

“Too often for what – for whom?” quoth the captain stiffly, yet without truculence.

“Too often to please me.”

“Possibly. But not often enough to please myself, which, frankly now, is my entire concern.”

“I do not like it,” said Francesco, very surly.

Baldassare smiled. “Which of us can command what he likes? Now I, Messer Francesco – I dislike you exceedingly. Yet here I am suffering you to walk beside me.”

“It is not necessary that you should.”

“It would not be, had you the grace to perceive that your company is unwelcome.”

“There are ways of remedying such things,” said the other, very sinister now, and striking his hilt with his open palm.

“For you,” said Baldassare. “Not – alas! – for me. I am the commander of the Urbino troops. It is not for me to embark upon private quarrels. His Highness of Valentinois is impatient of disobedience to his laws. Messer Ramires – his podestà here in Urbino – is careful to enforce them for his own sake. I have no wish to hurt myself for the sake of hurting you. And you, Messer Francesco, being as craven as you are sly, presume upon this state of things to put upon me affronts which I may not resent.

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