Chapter TWENTY-FOUR: Flight

Maria turned through the long, open window into the garden.

She looked at the trees, the roses on their trellis, the sky and the long shadows, but could not escape the sense of confinement, imprisonment, that had haunted her in the house.

Slowly she walked down the paved path. The yellow sunshine could not warm her numb flesh. She thought of Giovanna. Giovanna quiet, stooping, with her reserved eyes and expressionless mouth. She thought of Ludovic, with the casket held to his side. She thought also of his words about the convent, and his refusal to set her free.

The walk was set with lilies. Her red gown caught against them; one or two fell, broken, on the path behind her, but she did not notice.

Presently she came to the marble terrace overlooking the bay, and slowly she turned and stared at the palace.

With a cold force, she resolved that she could never enter it again. That she could not look on Giovanna’s face when her secret was dragged into the light… that she must escape.

Escape! It was all about her like walls. The peaceful trees, the quiet flowers encircled and held her. Aimlessly she wandered. The plash of a fountain and the crystal light of it, broke her distraction. She paused, holding back the thick citron.

Carlo di Durazzo sat on the marble rim of the fountain. His head was turned from her; he stared into the water where his blue habit was reflected, and the gilded fish clustered round his fingers.

Beside him sat the Dwarf, half asleep, on the long grass, with the shadow of his ungainly head thrown across his tawdry vest.

The citron bough slipped from Maria’s grasp. The confused terror and wretchedness of her thoughts found relief in words and action.

“Carlo!” she cried, and with a hot vehemence that startled herself.

At once he turned, scattering the fish like threads of gold through the shining water. At once he rose and came toward her, with a flush of expectation on his smooth face, as one who receives a long-expected summons.

Maria held out her hands.

“I cannot go back to the palace.”

Carlo took her cold fingers into his hot grasp. His indolent indifference fell from him like a discarded cloak. “Is it my chance--at last?” he said simply.

The Dwarf, awaking at the sound of voices, saw the King’s betrothed holding the arm of Carlo di Durazzo as the two slipped through the trees. Saw the red and blue garments shine between the thick leaves and disappear. He drew himself up, climbed on to the edge of the basin and laughed. He disliked the King of Hungary, who had told him that his voice was cracked and his wit stale. He saw the makings of a pretty scandal in those two hurrying through the garden, and a scandal that would touch Ludovic. Therefore he laughed and winked at the goldfish.

He amused himself by picturing their swift, cloaked flight from the half-slumbering palace through the sunlit streets to the Castel di Durazzo. The quick summoning of the Duke’s soldiers, perhaps of the discontented populace--sedition in a moment, scattered like flame, and as quick to seize hold and destroy.

The goldfish swam round and round in a busy idleness. The dwarf nodded to himself, half asleep again, and was again aroused by one stepping into the shade out of the heavy glare of the sunshine.

It was Luigi of Taranto, massive, gloomy; his red hair hanging over his red face, and his gray eyes narrowed.

“Good morrow, magnificence,” said the Dwarf pleasantly.

Luigi of Taranto leaned against the slim trunk of an acacia and folded his arms across his chest. He wore leather, much worn, with armor, and a great sword dragged in the grass beside him.

“Is the Queen abroad yet?” he questioned.

“I do not think so, magnificence.” The Dwarf stroked his chin. “Have you seen the Hungarian galley in the bay?”

The Prince nodded.

“I have seen the man who brought the letters to the King from it. Who do ye think he was, fool? Lasglo, who was here with Andreas! I spoke with him. He says Konrad of Gottif has returned, and with a woman.”

“We have enough women,” remarked the Dwarf.

Luigi of Taranto smiled sourly. “He has come to stir the King up against Naples. Hark to me, fool--if ye value your ugly skin, ye will leave Naples.”

The Dwarf caught one of the fish and held it slackly in his huge hand. “Ye would not vouch for the safety of this city of ours, magnificence?”

The other frowned.

“Even now the people fight the Hungarians in the streets. Riots and mutinies at every turn. Des Beaux his withdrawn to Baiae--we near the last struggle, fool.”

The Dwarf let go of the writhing carp and watched it swim away. So had Maria d’Anjou and her fortune slipped through the fingers of Hungary.

“Who is there to struggle?” he asked. “Ludovic is the master.”

“There is the Queen,” said Luigi of Taranto. “And the man who marries the Queen.”

The Dwarf looked at the water.

“Oh!” he said, under his breath, and he glanced at the Prince sideways. Aloud he remarked:

“And there is your splendid cousin Carlo.”

The Prince smiled.

“Fit companion for you and dancing minstrels is the splendid Carlo, and for naught else.”

Whereat the Dwarf also smiled, hugging his secret.

Luigi of Taranto moved from the tree.

“Here is a crown for some man’s winning,” he said breathlessly. “And a Kingdom to be striven for.” He checked himself, and looked down at the little deformity he towered over. “Hast been in the streets lately, fool?”

“Yea,” the Dwarf nodded.

“How seemed the people?”

“Discontented, magnificence. Hot against the Hungarians. One ran along preaching the end of the world--sedition is hot.”

“So seemed it to me,” said Luigi of Taranto thoughtfully, and he turned away with his eyes moodily on the ground.

The Dwarf took off his cap and fanned himself with it, chuckling.

“The Queen!” he mocked, “and the man who marries the Queen!” He made a grimace at the tall figure walking slowly, yet resolutely, toward the palace.

Then, meditating on the people about him, their situations, their actions, he arranged on the broad brim of the fountain little symbols of them, with a thoughtful air. For Giovanna, a dark citron leaf, regal, yet suggesting secrecy; for Maria, beside her, the petal of a lily, cold and fragrant; for Ludovic of Hungary, the gaudy striped blossom of a carnation, blood-red and gold; for Sancia, a humble daisy, pulled from the thick grass. There remained the Duke di Duras, Konrad of Gottif and Luigi of Taranto. The Dwarf felt in his pocket and brought out a little knot of blue ribbon for Carlo, and a little twist of leather cord for his cousin. To represent the fierce Hungarian, he picked up a piece of hard, dry stick and laid it by his master, the carnation. His arrangements complete, the Dwarf hunched up his knees and laughed. A steady little wind was blowing sweetly through the trees. He waited, watching to see which of his kings, queens and princes would blow away and which would linger.

For a moment, none of them stirred; but a japonica blossom, red and fresh as a drop of wet blood, fell into their midst.

“Now who is this?” questioned the Dwarf. Then he smiled hugely. “’Tis the woman who came from Hungary with Konrad of Gottif!”

Even as he spoke, the breeze, gathering in strength, swept away the daisy and caused the lily leaf to tremble.

“The scene is soon clear of Madonna Sancia,” commented the Dwarf.

But, with the next gust, knot of ribbon and the carnation had been swept into the fountain.

The others stood steadily. The Dwarf counted his survivors.

“Luigi, Maria, Konrad, the Queen--and the woman who came in the galley from Hungary!”