Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 18

Italiano

English

Chased like a wolf, running zig zag between the bushes and the boulders, loading in the escape the rifle and shooting against his closest pursuers, Blasco gained the top of the hill.

Behind him were the armored comrades; at first they had thrown themselves into pursuit all together, as in the column; but the captain, at the first shots fixed by Blasco, stretched out his men in chains, started part of it on the street, starting from the opposite side, to bypass and cut off the escape to the young man. But in order to really squeeze him into a circle and take him, he would have to have three times as many forces as he had under his command. One of the companions had fallen; two had gathered Matthew the Elder to take him to Misilmeri; four more had sent before, to accompany Christian and the field. Of his twenty-four men, seven were missing: He could not make his move except with seventeen men, which made it problematic to be able to take Blasco alive; he gave orders to his own to advance by shooting, so as to make the chase believe that he was tight and threatened on every side.

The thickness of the blows made from a distance assume that he had engaged a real fight and from two opposite points, two different groups, hearing the echo more or less distant, assumed it, while changing some element of their supposition.

Christian, the camper and the four armored companions believed that the great of the dragon had come to grips with the other campers; the three escaped campers, instead, imagined that Blasco had found some house or shelter, from where he sustained the fire.

"Will we leave him alone?" said one of them.

"Let's go!" answered the other.

Driven by gunshots, they pushed the horses. They met the two litters, gathered some information, and then, having made their decision, they pushed the horses and galloped along the path, for which the prisoners had been taken. Soon they saw them. The comrades of arms had stopped stretching their ear to orient themselves, and in this attitude they were suddenly seized by three shots and shouts:

"Leave them! Leave them!"

Surprised by those bullets that whistled at their heads, the armed comrades seized by dismay, fled by abandoning Christian and the camper, tied on the horses; their escape had a backlash in the bulk of the squadron that hunted Blasco, up the hill; for it was those shot and the fear of the comrades of arms, which the captain from above saw flee, made him believe in a counterattack, to which he thought prudently to oppose and, having gathered together the closest comrades of arms, he prepared himself. The campers, untied the two prisoners, had begun to shoot towards the hill, against the comrades of arms; this naturally produced a diversion and slowed down the hunt; the campers shooting and relegating drew to themselves the comrades, towards the path; then they fled and let themselves be chased.

As they all walked away from that place, Blasco passed those hills and hills, and went down to the city. He was torn, wounded to the humerus slightly, contusion, anxious, unwild; his appearance would draw the attention of the people and expose him to new dangers: he asked for shelter at that tavern where he had seen for the first time passing Violante dressed as an educator; one expressive glance was enough to understand himself with the tavernier. There he waited in the evening, hiding in a loft and saw, unseen, the company of arms, returning from the useless undertaking, stopping to drink and talk about it, between blasphemies and oaths; and he heard that Matteo Lo Vecchio was dead.

When he was sure he could go out, Blasco, disguised with a cloak and a round chapel of felt, left. Coriolano saw him appear, shortly after the Avemaria, in that clothing and was amazed.

"Well?" he asked earnestly. "What happened?"

"Dear friend," Blasco replied joyfully, "I believe I have received from my father a gift, for which I do not know whether he should be grateful or not; he gave me neither a fortune nor a regiment, but a patent of immortality."

He told him jokingly, but under the joke one felt bitterness, what had happened since his arrival at the castle of the Stone until his arrival at the tavern. Coriolano was passing from one amazement to another. He interrupted his friend's story with some exclamation; in the end he seemed to close himself a little.

"What I want to know now," said Blasco, "is if the ladies have arrived at their home without another accident..."

"They have arrived," Coriolano replied, "healthy and hello. But, I'm sorry, it's not them that you have to worry about..."

"Whose then?"

"Of us..."

"What do you mean?"

"Eh, it takes little to understand what will follow. A new and fiercer ban against you and the power given to anyone to kill you, willingly, without paying you a grain, in fact earning on a large bounty, and a series of annoyances against me, as a reflection of my fields; but this is the least, I will be able to get away from myself..."

"Instead, what hurts me most is precisely the annoyance I give you. I don't think about it. Didn't I tell you I was immortal? And then I've already made my decision."

"What's that?"

"I'm leaving."

"Why are you leaving?"

"What do you want me to do now? I had only taken a double commitment: the release of Emanuele and his benefactors, and that of the ladies of Motta. Now I have nothing left to do..."

"Do you believe?..."

"How can you not believe that?"

"Would you then abandon Violante to the jealous hatred of woman Gabriella?"

"Who else should she be jealous of if I'm not there?"

"But precisely because you turn away, the Duchess, losing all hope of regaining you, would vent herself on the maiden..."

"What say, in fact, it is true, but..."

"But you must put Violante safe from every attack..."

"His father is here..."

"A father is not a lover... or a husband..."

"Oh! Would you like me to marry Violante Albamonte?"

"Why not?" said Coriolano quietly.

Blasco gave in a thunderous laugh, which at the bottom had the whim of a hiccup.

"Ah, for bacco, the beautiful wedding: the daughter of the Duke of Motta, an Albamonte who becomes the wife of such a Blasco from Castiglione!..."

"Eh, no! She would instead be a woman Violante Albamonte daughter of the knight of Motta, who would become the legitimate wife of her cousin, Don Blasco Albamonte..."

"Dear friend, in four days I hope to leave for Spain; I will go to serve the old kings served by the Albamontes; get me some English or French vessel for my safety, it will be the last favor I will ask you... And let's talk about something else... Have you seen my brother Emanuele?"

"I've seen him. Don Girolamo led him to me..."

"Doesn't he yet know his origin?"

"I don't think he knows anything, nor does it seem appropriate and convenient to tell him now... It's good that you wait for your 21st year. When she is of age and can administer her estate, I have already told you, then it will be time to tell her. In the meantime go and clean yourselves up, my friend; I will wait for you at dinner, and at midnight you will go out with me..."

"Is there a meeting?"

"Yes..."

"And do you intervene?..."

"Yes..."

"Is there a big deal?"

"Great... and that may concern you..."

"You make me curious."

"Go and get mad, dear Blasco."

Blasco entered his room, stripped himself, meditated at his best and threw himself on the bed, a little tired and still agitated by so different and intense emotions. That idea put there by Coriolano as a solution, filled him with a desperate and deep pain, which made him feel all the crudeness of his condition. But youth and nature could more than pain, and he fell deeply asleep.

Coriolano had remained alone and thoughtful, in his large dining room, sitting on a leather high chair, bolted; he had next to him a leather bag, from which he drew in turn sheets of paper that he carefully read, writing down with a pencil a few words.

Three shots resonated at a wall at the same interval. He approached a small mirror closed in a turtle frame inlaid with ivory rosettes, and pressed his finger on one of them. A door, perfectly masked, opened in the wall and appeared Don Girolamo Ammirata.

"Enter," Coriolano said. And he went to lock the front door.

Don Girolamo, a nod to the knight of Floresta, sat down.

"Well?" asked these.

"Everything is prepared."

"Did you warn our notary?"

"Yes, sir."

"Witnesses?"

"They're ready."

"He's fine. Is there anything else?"

"I have proof that Nino Bucolaro betrays us... He sent Matteo Lo Vecchio and the rural company of Captain Mangialocchi against the campers and Mr. Blasco..."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"Very sure: I had placed the Orbo on the birro's heels. The Orbo saw the birro go to Antonino Bucolaro's house at night..."

"And then?"

"Then, the next day, Antonino came to see me at home, to talk to me..."

"And what did he tell you?"

"He began to talk to me about a hundred things; then he confirmed that Blasco is in possession of our documents and that he is a traitor, because instead of operating according to our orders and statutes, he acts on his behalf. I pretended to believe him. I ordered the Orbo to keep an eye on him, too. Well the Orbo saw, the same evening of the departure of Mr. Blasco, Antonino Bucolaro and Matteo Lo Vecchio disguised go to the tavern of uncle Alessio, under Santa Cristina la Vecchia, where shortly afterwards he stopped a carriage without coat of arms and without servants. Antonino Bucolaro and Matteo Lo Vecchio went out and entered the carriage, which passed by the road of Papireto. At the Walls those two disassembled. The Orbo, who had snuggled on the predellino back, let them go, and followed the carriage to the palace of Motta..."

"Huh?"

"The Duke was in the carriage. The next day Matteo Lo Vecchio was seen with Captain Mangialocchi and this morning they left on the way to the Abbot, evidently towards Misilmeri, from where Mr. Blasco was to come..."

Coriolano listened silently, corrugating his eyebrows: It was the only sign of emotion that gave his face. When Don Girolamo was silent, he said:

"Was Nino Bucolaro warned about this night too?"

"Yes, sir."

"He's fine. You have to prepare the blowers and keep ready for every surprise."

"I get it."

"You can go."

Jerome Amirata came out of the same way from whence he had entered; the wall returned to his place; Coriolano went to turn the key in the doorway and no one, going in, could ever have imagined that a minute before there had been another person there.

Soon after, Blasco woke up and remembered that he was waiting, got dressed quickly and went down to the hall from Lunch where Coriolano, lying in the high chair, slept or pretended to sleep, next to the brazier burning in a brass cup.

To the noise that he made, on entering, Coriolano opened his eyes without moving.

"That's you! I didn't expect you anymore: Sit down."

"I fell asleep: I was so tired... And I also had a few small wounds to treat."

"How? Are you hurt and didn't tell me?"

"Oh it wasn't worth it; a humerus burn and a bruise..."

"Less evil; they will not be such, therefore, to take away your appetite."

"On the contrary: I'm hungry as a wolf..."

"I'm glad."

He played and ordered that dinner be served: a vegetable soup, a roast chicken, cheese and dried fruit, and a couple of bottles of Castelvetrano's old wine.

"This wine is good," said Blasco.

"Do you like it?... When you get home, I'll send you some beatings..."

"Then I will never have it!..."

"Why? It's up to you..."

"In me? Ah! ah! I see! becoming Don Blasco Albamonte and marrying... et cetera, et cetera!... Excuse me, Coriolano, did you start acting as a wedding mediator?"

"For you, yes... We're serious, Blasco..."

"Do you really want me to take these things seriously?..."

"Why not? Only that you let me do it, fully returning to me."

"You stir up my curiosity and push me to entrust myself to your patronage."

"Be honest, Blasco, but forgive me if I ask you about details that you certainly and of course like to keep in the bottom of your soul. Will you promise to answer me with all sincerity?..."

"I promise you, although the preamble is such as to warn me..."

"Do you love a Violent woman?"

Blasco blushed and tried to evade the answer.

"What a question!..."

"Response yes or no, for God's sake! You're not an educator..."

"Well, yes, I love her. What do you want? It is a strange love, made of tenderness, which also has fatherlyness, and which at the same time has all the dedications of an endless devotion."

"I do not ask you the apology of your love, which I know loyal, pure and chivalrous... Tell me more, honestly, if you'd like to marry her. Do not discuss the probability, answer yes or no..."

"Yes, yes, yes!..."

"Finally! You seem to make your first confession. Now I tell you that it is up to you and me to marry Violent Woman..."

"To you and me?"

"Yes. It's very simple... You, Blasco, will begin by handing me a envelope stolen from Matteo Lo Vecchio to Don Girolamo Ammirata, and taken from you by a saddlebag, coming into your hands under known circumstances; plico which contains scriptures that do not concern you; that you should have returned - excuse me - to those to whom they belonged, and that I was waiting day by day to see me return from you... To persuade whom of duty of the convenience of the wedding that I will propose to him, I will think..."

Blasco had heard those words marveling, blushing, biting his lips. Although the tone in which Coriolano had pronounced them had the usual courteous coldness, there was in them and in the appearance of Coriolano a firm and resolute will, of which Blasco felt the weight. Indeed, he felt that he was in a difficult position: host, protected, blessed by Coriolano to whom he was bound by infinite obligations, could not have assumed a hostile attitude towards him; possessor of stuff not his in the end, could not have camped any right to hold it; affiliated to society and bound by an oath of obedience, could not refuse to obey his head. And yet a secret and indefinable instinct suggested to him a great distrust and a greater reluctance to deliver those cards, as if, in that act, he saw or felt a serious danger to Violant.

Nor did he smile at the mirage of the wedding with the maiden: That if possessing it, having it for itself all life, bound by love and with indissoluble bonds, was his ardent dream, he thought it was nothing but a dream, unrealizable and crazy.

"So," he replied, "if I had destroyed the cards, that you believe in my power, would this beautiful dream of marriage disappear?..."

"You didn't destroy them," Coriolano said coldly.

"This doesn't mean I can't destroy them," Blasco replied with the same coldness.

Then something unexpected happened. Coriolano got up; his face, usually so pleasantly courteous in his immutable serenity, I will rise terribly, his eyes flashed with an unsustainable anger, his jaws tightened with a grit of beast; all his appearance vibrated lightning. Blasco could not dominate his amazement, but he did not waver, even if the fixity of Coriolano's gaze put a stir and a disturbance in his blood.

"Blasco da Castiglione," said the knight of Floresta with an unrecognizable voice, "look!"

Taken from a corner, behind the shutters of the window, one of those iron bars, quite sturdy, that you They put it across for safety, and held it at the two ends, he added:

"You wouldn't be in my hands stronger than this squeeze!"

His hands stiffened, his sleeves seemed to burst at the swelling of the muscles of his arm, the squeeze folded in two like a rifle, and Coriolano threw it on the floor with noise.

"I could take you for life and break you with less difficulty than this iron;" she resumed, staring at Blasco, who seemed to be turned into a rock for the astonishment and an indefinite sense of malaise that numbed him. "I could break you like this, Blasco from Castiglione, but you are my guest, and I had for you, from day one, a tenderness more than fraternal, but you,... you will deliver those cards..."

"Never! Never!" stammered Blasco back and murmuring: "Don't look at me like that!"

As he turned back, Coriolano approached, always looking at him with his imperious gaze. Blasco stumbled into a chair and fell; the fall took him away from the singular charm of that look and gave him his spirit: But Coriolano was upon him, and took him by his arms, and lifted him up, and softened his voice:

"Why," he said, "why do you want to force me into violence? Even if you were my brother, my father, I wouldn't spare you: above me, higher than I, there is an idea of justice, of which I am the instrument, and to which I have devoted myself entirely: If justice required me to lay my hand on my father, on my own son, I would do so without hesitation. Don't force me into violence. Obey. You took an oath... Do you want to miss it? Do you want to be considered a traitor? Do you want me to report you myself?"

"Yes, I love to die better, but those cards, in which all the infamy is written that will fall, inexorably, on the name of an innocent girl, those cards I will never hand over to you... Rather, I will destroy them!"

"Don't do it, Blasco!"

But Blasco had exalted himself: He had lost the exact consciousness of what he said and did. Humiliated by the superiority of that mysterious man who seemed immensely great to him, he was ashamed and rebelled. In his words, in his gesture there was also his own offended love, there was the rebellion of his soul against what seemed to him an overwhelmment, an abuse. With a frantic and convulsive hand he opened the shot of the shirt, drew the bag that contained the envelope, ripped it, laced the canvas and, taking away the cards folded as they were, threw them on the brazier.

"Disgrateful!" cried horribly Coriolanus, throwing himself on the brazier. But Blasco, pulled a little gun out of his pocket, stole his way:

"Not a step, Coriolano!..."

The knight of Floresta, however, with a feline agility, grabbed his wrist and twisting it and holding it like in a vise, forced him to widen his fingers and drop the gun. Then he pushed him back and leaned on the brazier, where the corners of the cards were already blackened and curled up smoking.

"No! Coriolano, no!..." screamed Blasco, trying to stop him.

But Coriolano had already taken possession of it, and pressing them against the dress extinguished the incipient fire that reddened on the edges of the cards. One minute later, they would be consumed. Blasco was blinded by anger by shame and passion: His eyes filled with burning tears, his voice suffocated, his soul shaken by a hundred different thoughts and feelings, he pulled back and said:

"Lord, what you have done is a vile thing; before you were the head of a revolted sect, you were a gentleman. If the sword that you gird is not for you a sign of shame, out, for God's sake! Either you or I, one of us will come out of this room alive."

Coriolano shook his shoulders with a smile. He had taken up his cold and smiling mask:

"Fanciullo!" he said.

But at that very moment three shots resonated on the wall; a strange smile flashed on Coriolano's face. He went and pressed the button hidden in the turtle frame, shouting:

"Dim the lantern!..."

The wall opened; a man appeared in the shadow, in the act of settling the mask on his face.

"Is it now?" asked Coriolano. The other one showed yes.

"Great caifasso?"

"In the basket!"

Blasco from Castiglione, do you see this secret door? From there, willingly, I could bring, not seen by anyone, a legion, without leaving a trace of it. But a solemn duty calls us; take your hat and come. What will happen tonight concerns you closely."

He indicated with imperious gesture the open compartment in the wall and said to the masked man:

"Precede, and open the lantern."

The masked man obeyed. Blasco picked up his hat without saying a word, but before entering the dark end, he said to Coriolano with haughtiness:

"I hope, sir, that we will solve our game as soon as possible..."

"Don't doubt it; as soon as you don't believe..."

They entered into the void that the man's lantern was glowing before them. And the wall closed silently.