But when it came to the ears of Count Antonio that the Lady Lucia was to take the veil on the morrow of the feast of St. Prisian, his rage and affliction knew no bounds. "If need be," he cried, "I will attack the city with all my men, before I will suffer it."

"Your men would be all killed, and she would take the veil none the less," said Tommasino. For Antonio had but fifty men, and although they were stout fellows and impossible to subdue so long as they stayed in the hills, yet their strength would have been nothing against a fortress and the Duke's array.

"Then," said Antonio, "I will go alone and die alone."

As he spoke, he perceived Martolo coming to him, and, calling him, he asked him what he would. Now Martolo was a devout man and had been much grieved when Antonio had fallen under a sentence of excommunication by reason of a certain quarrel that he had with the Abbot of the Abbey of St. Prisian in the hills, wherein the Count had incurred the condemnation of the Church, refusing, as his way was, to admit any rule save of his own conscience. Yet Martolo abode with Antonio from love of him. And now he bowed and answered, "My lord, in three days it is the feast of St. Prisian, and the sacred bones will then be carried from the shrine in the church of the saint at Rilano to the city." For it was at Rilano that Prisian had suffered, and a rich church had been built on the spot.

"I remember that it is wont to be so, Martolo," answered the Count.

"When I dwelt with my father," said Martolo, "I was accustomed to go forth with all the people of my village and meet the sacred bones, and kneeling, receive the benediction from the Lord Archbishop as he pa.s.sed, bearing the bones in their golden casket. And the like I would do this year, my lord."

"But are you not excommunicated in company with Count Antonio and me?"

asked Tommasino, lightly smiling; for Tommasino also stood condemned.

"I pray not. I was not named in the sentence," said Martolo, signing the cross.

"Go in peace, Martolo; but see that you are not taken by the Duke's men," said Count Antonio.

"But few of them go with the Archbishop, my lord. For who would lay hands on the sacred bones? The guard is small, and I shall easily elude them." So Martolo departed, and told the man they called Bena what had pa.s.sed; but Bena was a graceless fellow and would not go with him.

Now when Martolo was gone, Count Antonio sat down on a great stone and for a long while he said nothing to Tommasino. But certain words out of those which Martolo had spoken were echoing through his brain, and he could not put them aside; for they came again and again and again; and at last, looking up at Tommasino who stood by him, he said, "Tommasino, who would lay hands on the sacred bones?"

Tommasino looked down into his eyes; then he laid a hand on his shoulder; and Antonio still looked up and repeated, "Who would lay hands on the sacred bones?"

Tommasino's eyes grew round in wonder: he smiled, but his smile was uneasy, and he shifted his feet. "Is it that you think of, Antonio?" he asked in a low voice. "Beside it, it would be a light thing to kill the Duke in his own palace."

Then Antonio cried, striking his fist on the palm of his hand, "Are dead bones more sacred than that living soul on which the Duke lays hands to force it to his will?"

"The people reverence the bones as G.o.d Himself," said Tommasino, troubled.

"I also reverence them," said Antonio, and fell again into thought. But presently he rose and took Tommasino's arm, and for a long while they walked to and fro. Then they went and sought out certain chosen men of the band; for the greater part they dared not trust in such a matter, but turned only to them that were boldest and recked least of sacred things. To ten of such Antonio opened his counsel; and by great rewards he prevailed on them to come into the plan, although they were, for all their boldness, very sore afraid lest they, laying hands on the bones, should be smitten as was he who touched the Ark of the Covenant.

Therefore Antonio said, "I alone will lay hands on the golden casket; the rest of you shall but hold me harmless while I take it."

"But if the Lord Archbishop will not let it go?"

"The Lord Archbishop," said Tommasino, "will let it go." For Tommasino did not love the Archbishop, because he would not remove the sentence of excommunication which he had laid upon Antonio and Tommasino on the prayer of the Abbot of St. Prisian's.

Now when the feast of St. Prisian was come, the Lord Archbishop, who had ridden from the city on the eve of the feast, and had lodged in the house of the priests that served the church, went with all his train into the church, and, the rest standing afar off and veiling their eyes, took from the wall of the church, near by the High Altar, the golden casket that held the bones of the blessed St. Prisian. And he wrapped the casket in a rich cloth and held it high before him in his two hands.

And when the people had worshipped, the Archbishop left the church and entered his chair and pa.s.sed through the village of Rilano, the priests and attendants going first, and twelve of the Duke's Guard, whom the Duke had sent, following after. Great was the throng of folk, come from all the country round to gaze on the casket and on the procession of the Lord Archbishop; and most devout of them all was Martolo, who rested on his knees from the moment the procession left the church till it was clear of the village. And Martolo was still on his knees when he beheld go by him a party of peasants, all, save one, tall and powerful men, wearing peasants' garb and having their faces overshadowed by large hats. These men also had knelt as the casket pa.s.sed, but they had risen, and were marching shoulder to shoulder behind the men of the Duke's Guard, a peasant behind every pikeman. Martolo gazed long at them; then he moistened his lips and crossed himself, murmuring, "What does this thing mean? Now G.o.d forbid----!" And, breaking off thus, he also rose and went to the house of his father, sore vexed and troubled to know what the thing might mean. But he spoke of it to none, no, not to his father, observing the vow of secrecy in all matters which he had made to Count Antonio.

At the bounds of the village the greater part of the people ceased to follow the procession of the sacred bones, and, having received the Archbishop's blessing, turned back to their own homes, where they feasted and made merry; but the twelve peasants whom Martolo had seen followed the procession when it set forth for the next village, distant three miles on the road to Firmola. Their air manifested great devotion, for they walked with heads bent on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and downcast eyes, and they spoke not once on the way; but each kept close behind a pikeman. When the procession had gone something more than a mile from the village of Rilano, it came where a little stream crosses the highway; and the rains having been heavy for a week before, the stream was swollen and the ford deeper than it was wont to be. Therefore the officer of the Guard, thinking of no danger, bade six of his men lay down their pikes and go lift the Archbishop's chair over the ford, lest the Archbishop should be wetted by the water. And on hearing this order, the tallest among the peasants put his hand up to his hat and twisted the feather of it between his thumb and his forefinger: and the shortest of them whispered, "The sign! The sign!" while every man of them drew a great dagger from under his habit and held it behind his back. Now by this time the priests and attendants had pa.s.sed the ford; and one-half of the Guard had laid down their pikes and were gone to raise the Archbishop's chair, the remainder standing at their ease, leaning on their pikes and talking to one another. Again the tallest peasant twisted the feather in his hat; and without speech or cry the peasants darted forward. Six of them seized the pikes that lay on the ground; the remaining six sprang like wild-cats on the backs of the pikemen, circling the necks of the pikemen with their arms, pulling them back and coming near to throttling them, so that the pikemen, utterly amazed and taken full at disadvantage, staggered and fell backward, while the peasants got on the top of them and knelt on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and set the great daggers at their hearts. While this pa.s.sed on the road, the remainder of Antonio's band--for such were the peasants--rushed into the stream and compelled the unarmed pikemen to set down the Archbishop's chair in the midst, so that the water came in at the windows of the chair; and the pikemen, held at bay with their own pikes, sought to draw their poniards, but Antonio cried, "Slay any that draw!" And he came to the chair and opened the door of it, and, using as little force as he might, he laid hands on the casket that held the sacred bones, and wrested it from the feeble hands of the Archbishop. Then he and his men, standing in line, stepped backwards with the pikes levelled in front of them till they came out of the water and on to the dry road again; and one pikeman rushed at Antonio, but Tommasino, sparing to kill him, caught him a buffet on the side of the head with a pike, and he fell like a log in the water, and had been drowned, but that two of his comrades lifted him. Then all twelve of the band being together--for the first six had risen now from off the six pikemen, having forced them, on pain of instant death, to deliver over their pikes to them--Antonio, with the casket in his hands, spoke in a loud voice, "I thank G.o.d that no man is dead over this business; but if you resist, you shall die one and all. Go to the city; tell the Duke that I, Antonio of Monte Velluto, have the bones of the blessed St. Prisian, and carry them with me to my hiding-place in the highest parts of the hills. But if he will swear by these bones that I hold, and by his princely word, that he will not suffer the Lady Lucia to take the vows, nor will constrain her to wed any man, but will restore her to her own house and to her estate, then let him send the Archbishop again, and I will deliver up the sacred bones. But if he will not swear, then, as G.o.d lives, to-morrow, at midnight, I will cause a great fire to be kindled on the top of the hills--a fire whose flame you shall see from the walls of the city--and in that fire will I consume the sacred bones, and I will scatter the ashes of them to the four winds. Go and bear the message that I give you to the Duke."

And, having thus said, Antonio, with his men, turned and went back at a run along the road by which they had come; but to the village of Rilano they did not go, but turned aside before they came to it, and, coming to the farm of one who knew Antonio, they bought of him, paying him in good coin of the Duchy, three horses, which Antonio, Tommasino, and Bena mounted; and they three rode hard for the hills, the rest following as quickly as they might; so that by nightfall they were all safely a.s.sembled in their hiding-place, and with them the bones of the blessed St. Prisian. But they told not yet to the rest of the band what it was that Antonio carried under his cloak; nor did Martolo, when he returned from Rilano, ask what had befallen, but he crossed himself many times and wore a fearful look.

But Tommasino came to Antonio and said to him, "Why did you not ask also pardon for all of us, and for yourself the hand of Lucia?"

"A great thing, and a thing that troubles me, I have done already,"

answered Antonio. "Therefore I will ask nothing for myself, and nothing may I ask for you or for my friends. But if I ask nothing save that right and justice be done, it may be that my sin in laying hands on the sacred bones will be the less."

Now after Antonio and his men were gone, the Archbishop's train stayed long by the stream on the road, lamenting and fearing to go forward. Yet at last they went forward, and being come to the next village found all the people awaiting them at the bounds. And when the people saw the disorder of the procession, and that the pikemen had no pikes, they ran forward, eagerly asking what had befallen; and learning of the calamity, they were greatly afraid and cursed Antonio; and many of them accompanied the Archbishop on his way to the city, whence he came towards evening. A great concourse of people awaited his coming there, and the Duke himself sat on a lofty seat in the great square, prepared to receive the sacred bones, and go with them to the Cathedral, where they were to be exposed to the gaze of the people at High Ma.s.s. And they set the Archbishop's chair down before the Duke's seat, and the Archbishop came and stood before the Duke, and his priests and the pikemen with him. And the Duke started up from his seat, crying, "What ails you?" and sank back again, and sat waiting to hear what the Archbishop should say.

Then the Archbishop, his robes still damp and greatly disordered, his limbs trembling in anger and in fear, raised his voice; and all the mult.i.tude in the square was silent while he declared to His Highness what things Count Antonio had done, and rehea.r.s.ed the message that he had sent. But when the Archbishop told how Antonio had sworn that as G.o.d lived he would scatter the ashes of the sacred bones to the winds, the men caught their breath with a gasp, while the women murmured affrightedly, "Christ save us;" and Duke Valentine dug the nails of his hand, whereon his head rested, into the flesh of his cheek. For all the city held that, according to the words St. Prisian himself had uttered before he suffered, the power and prosperity of the Duchy and the favour of Heaven to it rested on the presence among them and the faithful preservation and veneration of those most holy relics. And the Archbishop, having ended the message, cried, "G.o.d pardon my lips that repeat such words," and fell on his knees before Duke Valentine, crying, "Justice on him, my lord, justice!" And many in the throng echoed his cry; but others, and among them a great part of the apprenticed lads who loved Antonio, muttered low one to another, "But the Duke has taken his sweetheart from him," and they looked on the Duke with no favourable eye.

Then Duke Valentine rose from his seat and stood on the topmost step that led to it, and he called sundry of his lords and officers round him, and then he beckoned for silence, and he said, "Before the sun sets to-morrow, the Lady Lucia shall take the vows;" and he, with his train, took their way to the palace, the pikemen clearing a path for them. And now indeed was silence; for all marvelled and were struck dumb that the Duke said naught concerning the bones of St. Prisian, and they searched one another's faces for the meaning of his words. But the Archbishop arose, and, speaking to no man, went to the Cathedral, and knelt before the altar in the chapel of St. Prisian, and there abode on his knees.

Surely never, from that day until this hour, has such a night pa.s.sed in the city of Firmola. For the Duke sent orders that every man of his Guard should be ready to start at break of day in pursuit of Antonio, and through the hours of the evening they were busied in preparing their provisions and accoutrements. But their looks were heavy and their tongues tied, for they knew, every man of them, that though the Duke might at the end take Antonio, yet he could not come at him before the time that Antonio had said. And this the townsmen knew well also; and they gathered themselves in groups in the great square, saying, "Before the Duke comes at him, the sacred bones will be burnt, and what will then befall the Duchy?" And those who were friendly to Antonio, foremost among them being the apprenticed lads, spread themselves here and there among the people, asking cunningly whether it concerned the people of Firmola more that the blessing of St. Prisian should abide with them, or that a reluctant maiden should be forced to take the veil; and some grew bold to whisper under their breath that the business was a foul one, and that Heaven did not send beauty and love that priests should bury them in convent walls. And the girls of the city, ever most bold by reason of their helplessness, stirred up the young men who courted them, leading them on and saying, "He is a true lover who risks his soul for his love;" or, "I would I had one who would steal the bones of St. Prisian for my sake, but none such have I:" with other stirring and inflaming taunts, recklessly flung from pouting lips and from under eyes that challenged. And all the while Duke Valentine sat alone in his cabinet, listening to the tumult that sounded with m.u.f.fled din through the walls of the palace.

Now there was in the city a certain furrier named Peter, a turbulent fellow who had been put out of his craft-guild because he would not abide by the laws of the craft, and lived now as he best could, being maintained in large measure by those who listened to his empty and seditious conversation. This man, loving naught that there was worthy of love in Count Antonio, yet loved him because he defied the Duke; and about midnight, having drunk much wine, he came into the square and gathered together the apprentices, saying, "I have a matter to say to you--and to you--and to you," till there were many scores of them round him: then he harangued them, and more came round; and when at last Peter cried, "Give us back the sacred bones!" a thousand voices answered him, "Aye, give us back the bones!" And when the pikemen would have seized him, men, and women also, made a ring round him, so that he could not be taken. And sober men also, of age and substance, hearkened to him, saying, "He is a knave, but he speaks truth now." So that a very great throng a.s.sembled, every man having a staff, and many also knives; and to those that had not knives, the women and girls brought them, thrusting them into their hands; nay, sundry priests also were among the people, moaning and wringing their hands, and saying that the favour of St.

Prisian would be lost for ever to the city. And the square was thronged, so that a man could not move unless all moved, nor raise his hand to his head save by the favour of his neighbour. Yet presently the whole ma.s.s began to move, like a great wave of water, towards the Palace of the Duke, where the pikemen stood in ranks, ready now to go against Antonio.

Suddenly arose a cry, "The Archbishop comes!" and the venerable man was seen, led through the crowd by Peter and some more, who brought him and set him in the front ranks of the people; and Peter cried boldly, "Where is the Duke?" But the Captain of the Guard came forward, sword in hand, and bade Peter be still, cursing him for insolence, and shouted that the people should disperse on pain of His Highness's displeasure. "Where is the Duke? Let him come out to us!" cried Peter; and the captain, despising him, struck him lightly with the flat of his sword. But Peter with a cry of rage struck the captain a great blow with his staff, and the captain staggered back, blood flowing from his head. Such was the beginning of the fray; for in an instant the pikemen and the people had joined battle: men cried in anger and women in fright: blood flowed, and sundry on both sides fell and rose no more; and the Archbishop came near to being trodden under foot till his friends and the priests gathered round him; and when he saw that men were being slain, he wept.

Then the lord Lorenzo hastened to the cabinet of the Duke, whom he found pacing up and down, gnawing his finger-nails, and told him of what was done outside.

"I care not," said the Duke. "She shall take the vows! Let the pikemen scatter them."

Lorenzo then besought him, telling him that all the city was in arms, and that the conflict would be great. But the Duke said still, "She shall take the vows!" Nevertheless he went with Lorenzo, and came forth on to the topmost step of the portico. And when the people saw him they ceased for a moment to a.s.sail the pikemen, and cried out, "Give us back the sacred bones!"

"Scatter these fellows!" said the Duke to the Captain of the Guard.

"My lord, they are too many. And if we scatter them now, yet when we have gone against Count Antonio, they may do what they will with the city."

The Duke stood still, pale, and again gnawing his nails; and the pikemen, finding the fight hard, gave back before the people; and the people pressed on.

Then Peter the furrier came forward, and the hottest with him, and mocked the pikemen; and one of the pikemen suddenly thrust Peter through with his pike, and the fellow fell dead; on which a great cry of rage rose from all the people, and they rushed on the pikemen again and slew and were slain; and the fight rolled up the steps even to the very feet of the Duke himself. And at last, able no longer to contend with all the city, he cried, "Hold! I will restore the sacred bones!" But the people would not trust him and one cried, "Bring out the lady here before us and set her free, or we will burn the palace." And the Archbishop came suddenly and threw himself on his knees before the Duke, beseeching him that no more blood might be shed, but that the Lady Lucia should be set free. And the Duke, now greatly afraid, sent hastily the Lieutenant of the Guard and ten men, who came to the convent where Lucia was, and, brooking no delay, carried her with them in her bedgown, and brought and set her beside the Duke in the portico of the palace. Then the Duke raised his hand to heaven, and before all the people he said, "Behold, she is free! Let her go to her own house, and her estate shall be hers again. And by my princely word and these same holy bones, I swear that she shall not take the vows, neither will I constrain her to wed any man." And when he had said this, he turned sharply round on his heel, and, looking neither to the right nor to the left, went through the great hall to his cabinet and shut the door. For his heart was very sore that he must yield to Antonio's demand, and for himself he had rather a thousand times that the bones of St. Prisian had been burnt.

Now when the Duke was gone, the people brought the Lady Lucia to her own house, driving out the steward whom the Duke had set there, and, this done, they came to the Archbishop, and would not suffer him to rest or to delay one hour before he set forth to carry the Duke's promise to Antonio. This the Archbishop was ready to do, for all that he was weary.

But first he sent Lorenzo to ask the Duke's pleasure; and Lorenzo, coming to the Duke, prayed him to send two hundred pikes with the Archbishop. "For," said he, "your Highness has sworn nothing concerning what shall befall Antonio; and so soon as he has delivered up the bones, I will set on him and bring him alive or dead to your Highness."

But the Duke would not hearken. "The fellow's name is like stale lees of wine in my mouth," said he. "Ten of my pikemen lie dead in the square, and more of the citizens. I will lose no more men over it."

"Yet how great a thing if we could take him!"

"I will take him at my own time and in my own way," said the Duke. "In G.o.d's name, leave me now."

Lorenzo therefore got from the Duke leave for but ten men to go with the Archbishop, and to go himself if he would. And thus they set out, exhorted by the people, who followed them beyond the bounds of the city, to make all speed. And when they were gone, the people came back and took up the bodies of the dead; while the pikemen also took up the bodies of such of their comrades as were slain.

Yet had Duke Valentine known what pa.s.sed on the hills while the city was in tumult, it may not be doubted, for all his vexation, that he would have sent the two hundred whom Lorenzo asked: never had he a fairer chance to take Antonio. For when the Count and those who had been with him to Rilano were asleep, Antonio's head resting on the golden casket, a shepherd came to the rest of the band and told them what had been done and how all the country was in an uproar. Then a debate arose amongst the band, for, though they were lawless men, yet they feared G.o.d, and thought with great dread on what Antonio had sworn; so that presently they came altogether, and aroused Antonio, and said to him, "My lord, you have done much for us, and it may be that we have done somewhat for you. But we will not suffer the sacred bones to be burnt and scattered to the winds."

"Except the Duke yields, I have sworn it, as G.o.d lives," answered Antonio.

"We care not. It shall not be, no, not though you and we die," said they.

"It is well; I hear," said Antonio, bowing his head.

"In an hour," said they, "we will take the bones, if you will not yourself, my lord, send them back."

"Again I hear," said Antonio, bowing his head; and the band went back to the fire round which they had been sitting, all save Martolo, who came and put his hand in Antonio's hand.