I
drew the curtains of my litter, and reclining there I gave myself up to
pondering the manner in which I should greet the Borgia sbirri when they
overtook me. From that I passed on to the contemplation of the position
in which I found myself, and the thing that I had done. And the
proportions of the jest that I was perpetrating afforded me no little
amusement. It was a burla not unworthy the peerless gifts of Boccadoro,
and a fitting one on which to close his wild career of folly. For had I
not vowed that Boccadoro I would be no more once the errand on which I
travelled was accomplished? By Cesare Borgia's grace I looked to--
A sudden jolt brought me back to the immediate present, and the
realisation that in the last few moments we had increased our pace. I
put out my head.
"Giacopo!" I shouted. He was at my side in an instant. "Why are we
galloping?"
"They are behind," he answered, and fear was again overspreading his fat
face. "We caught a glimpse of them as we mounted the last hill."
"You caught a glimpse of whom?" quoth I.
"Why, of the Borgia soldiers."
"Animal," I answered him, "what have we to do with them? They may have
mistaken us for some party of which they are in pursuit. But since we
are not that party, let your jaded beasts travel at a more reasonable
speed. We do not wish to have the air of fugitives."
He understood me, and I was obeyed. For a half-hour we rode at a more
gentle pace. That was about the time they took to come up with us, still
a league or so from Fabriano. We heard their cantering hoofs crushing
the snow, and then a loud imperious voice shouting to us a command
to stay. Instantly we brought up in unconcerned obedience, and they
thundered alongside with cries of triumph at having run their prey to
earth.
I cast aside my hat, and thrust my motleyed head through the curtains
with a jangle of bells, to inquire into the reason of this halt. Whom my
appearance astounded the more--whether the lacqueys of Santafior, or
the Borgia men-at-arms that now encircled us--I cannot guess. But in the
crowd of faces that confronted me there was not one but wore a look of
deep amazement.
CHAPTER IV. THE COZENING OF RAMIRO
The cavalcade that had overtaken us proved to number some twenty
men-at-arms, whose leader was no less a person than Ramiro del'
Orca--that same mountain of a man who had attended my departure from
the Vatican three nights ago. From the circumstance that so im
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