After that failure, three representatives of the Commune of Alessandria, accompanied by one of Vignate’s captains, presented themselves at Facino’s quarters in the house of the Curate of Pavone, temporarily appropriated by the condottiero.
They were ushered into a plain yellow-washed room, bare of all decoration save that of a crudely painted wooden crucifix which hung upon the wall above a straight-backed wooden settle. An oblong table of common pine stood before this settle; a writing-pulpit, also of pine, placed under one of the two windows by which the place was lighted, and four rough stools and a shallow armchair completed the furniture.
The only gentle touch about that harsh interior was supplied by the sweet-smelling lemon verbena and rosemary mingled in the fresh rushes with which the floor was copiously strewn to dissemble its earthen nudity.
Carmagnola, showily dressed as usual in blue and crimson, with marvellously variegated hose and a jewelled caul confining his flaxen hair, had appropriated the armchair, and his gorgeous presence seemed to fill the place. Stoffel, Koenigshofen, Giasone Trotta, and Vougeois, who commanded the Burgundians, occupied the stools and afforded him a sober background. Bellarion leaned upon the edge of the settle, where Facino sat alone, square-faced and stern, whilst the envoys invited him to offer terms for the surrender of the city.
“The Lord Count of Pavia,” he told them, “does not desire to mulct too heavily those of his Alessandrian subjects who have remained loyal. He realises the constraint of which they may have been the victims, and he will rest content with a payment of fifty thousand florins to indemnify him for the expenses of this expedition.” The envoys breathed more freely. But Facino had not yet done. “For myself I shall require another fifty thousand florins for distribution among my followers, to ransom the city from pillage.”
The envoys were aghast. “One hundred thousand gold florins!” cried one. “My lord, it will …”
He raised his hand for silence. “That as regards the Commune of Alessandria. Now, as concerns the Lord Vignate, who has so rashly ventured upon this aggression. He is allowed until noon tomorrow to march out of Alessandria with his entire following, but leaving behind all arms, armour, horses, bullocks, and war material of whatsoever kind. Further, he will enter into a bond for one hundred thousand florins, to be paid either by himself personally or by the Commune of Lodi to the Lord Count of Pavia’s city of Alessandria, to indemnify the latter for the damages sustained by this occupation. And my Lord Vignate will further submit to the occupation of the city of Lodi by an army of not more than two thousand men, who will be housed and fed and salaried at the city of Lodi’s charges until the indemnity is paid. With the further condition that if payment is not made within one month, the occupying army shall take it by putting the city to sack.”
The officer sent by Vignate, a stiff, black-bearded fellow named Corsana, flushed indignantly. “These terms are very harsh,” he complained.
“Salutary, my friend,” Facino corrected him. “They are intended to show the Lord Vignate that brigandage is not always ultimately profitable.”
“You think he will agree?” The man’s air was truculent. The three councillors looked scared.
Facino smiled grimly. “If he has an alternative, let him take advantage of it. But let him understand that the offer of these terms is for twenty-four hours only. After that I shall not let him off so lightly.”
“Lightly!” cried Corsano in anger, and would have added more but that Facino cropped the intention.
“You have leave to go.” Thus, royally, Facino dismissed them.
They did not return within the twenty-four hours, nor as day followed day did Vignate make any further sign. Time began to hang heavily on the hands of the besiegers, and Facino’s irritation grew daily, particularly when an attack of the gout came to imprison him in the cheerless house of the Curate of Pavone.
One evening a fortnight after the parley and nearly a month after the commencement of the siege, as Facino sat at supper with his officers, all save Stoffel, who was posted at Casalbagliano, the condottiero, who was growing impatient of small things, inveighed against the quality of the food.
It was Giasone Trotta, to whose riders fell the task of provisioning the army, who answered him. “Faith! If the siege endures much longer, it is we who will be starved by it. My men have almost cleaned up the countryside for a good ten miles in every direction.”
It was a jocular exaggeration, but it provoked an explosion from Facino.
“God confound me if I understand how they hold out. With two thousand ravenous soldiers in the place, a week should have brought them to starvation.”
Koenigshofen thoughtfully stroked his square red beard. “It’s colossally mysterious,” said he.
“Mysterious, aye! That’s what plagues me. They must be fed from outside.”
“That is quite impossible!” Carmagnola was emphatic. As Facino’s lieutenant, it fell to his duty to see that the cordon was properly maintained.
“Yet what is the alternative,” wondered Bellarion, “unless they are eating one another?”
Carmagnola’s blue eyes flashed upon him almost malevolently for this further reflection upon his vigilance.
“You set me riddles,” he said disdainfully.
“And you’re not good at riddles, Francesco,” drawled Bellarion, meeting malice with malice. “I should have remembered it.”
Carmagnola heaved himself up. “Now, by the Bones of God, what do you mean?”
The ears of the ill-humoured Facino had caught a distant sound. “Quiet, you bellowing calf!” he snapped. “Listen! Listen! Who comes at that breakneck speed?”
It was a hot, breathless night of July, and the windows stood wide to invite a cooling draught. As the four men, so bidden, grew attentive, they caught from the distance the beat of galloping hooves.
“It’s not from Alessandria,” said Koenigshofen.
“No, no,” grunted Facino, and thereafter they listened in silence.
There was no reason for it
