They sauntered forth to that covered balcony overlooking the great harbour where ranks of shipping drawn up against the mole were slumbering under the stars. A great towering galley was moving across the water with furled sails, her gigantic oar-blades flashing silver in the moonlight.
With his glance upon that craft, his voice subdued, Bellarion spoke, and the close-set eyes of the tall, elegant Regent strained to pierce the shadows about the young condottiero’s face.
“This is a very noble offer, Lord Prince …”
“I hope I shall never begrudge a man his worth.” It was a speech true to the character he loved to assume. “You are a great soldier, Bellarion. That fact is now established and admitted.”
Bellarion did not contradict him. “I do not perceive at present your need for a great soldier, highness. True, your proposal seems to argue plans already formed. But unless I know something of them, unless I may judge for myself the likely extent of the service you require, these generous terms may in effect prove an illusion.”
Theodore resumed his momentarily suspended breath. He even laughed a little, now that the venal reason for Bellarion’s curiosity was supplied. But he deemed it wise to probe a little further.
“You are, as I understand, under no present engagement to the Count of Biandrate?”
Bellarion’s answer was very prompt.
“Under none. In discharge of past favours I engaged to assist him in the campaign against the Marshal Boucicault. That campaign is now ended, and with it my engagement. I am in the market, as it were, my lord.”
“That is what I assumed. Else, of course, I should not have come to you with my offer. I lose no time because soon you will be receiving other proposals. That is inevitable. For the same reason I name a stipend which I believe is higher than any condottiero has ever yet commanded.”
“But you have not named a term. That was why I desired to know your plans so that for myself I might judge the term.”
“I will make the engagement to endure for three years,” said Theodore.
“The proposal becomes generous, indeed.”
“Is it acceptable?”
Bellarion laughed softly. “I should be greedy if it were not.”
“It will carry the usual condition that you engage for such service as I may require and against any whom circumstances may make my enemy.”
“Naturally,” said Bellarion. But he seemed to falter a little. “Naturally,” he repeated. “And yet …” He paused, and Theodore waited, craftily refraining from any word that should curb him in opening his mind. “And yet I should prefer that service against my Lord Facino be excepted.”
“You would prefer it?” said Theodore. “But do you make it a condition?”
Bellarion’s hesitation revealed him to the Regent for a man torn between interest and scruples. Weakly, at last, he said: “I would not willingly go in arms against him.”
“Not willingly? That I can understand. But you do not answer my question. Do you make it a condition?”
Still Bellarion avoided answering.
“Would the condition make my employment impossible?” And now it was Theodore who hesitated, or seemed to hesitate. “It would,” he said at last. Very quickly he added: “Nothing is less likely than that Facino and I should be opposed to each other. Yet you’ll understand that I could not possibly employ a condottiero who would have the right to desert me in such a contingency.”
“Oh, yes. I understand that. I have understood it from the first. I am foolish, I suppose, to hesitate where the terms are so generous.” He sighed, a man whose conscience was in labour. “My Lord Facino could hardly blame me …” He left the sentence unfinished. And Theodore to end the rogue’s hesitation threw more weight into the scales.
“And there will be guarantees,” he said.
“Guarantees? Ah!”
“The lands of Asti along the Tanaro from Revigliasco to Margaria to be made into a fief, and placed under your vicarship with the title of Count of Asti.”
Bellarion caught his breath. He turned to face the Marquis, and in the moonlight his countenance looked very white.
“My lord, you promise something that is not yours to bestow.”
“It is to make it mine that I require your service. I am frank, you see.”
Bellarion saw more. He saw the infernal subtlety with which this tempter went to work. He made clear his intentions, which must amount to no less than the conquest and occupation of all those rich lands which lay between High and Low Montferrat. To accomplish this, Alessandria, Valenza, and a score of other cities now within the Duchy of Milan would pass under his dominion. Inevitably, then, must there be war with Facino, who to the end of his days would be in arms to preserve the integrity of the Duchy. And Theodore offered this condottiero, whose services he coveted, a dazzling reward to be gained only when those aims were fulfilled.
On that seducer’s arm Bellarion placed a hand that shook with excitement.
“You mean this, my lord? It is a solemn undertaking.”
With difficulty Theodore preserved his gravity. How shrewdly had he not taken the measure of this greedy rogue!
“Your patent shall be made out in anticipation, and signed at the same time as the contract.”
Bellarion stared out to sea. “Count Bellarion of Asti!” he murmured, a man dazzled, dazed. Suddenly he laughed, and laughing surrendered his last scruple as Theodore was already confident that he would. “When do we sign, Lord Prince?”
“Tomorrow morning, Lord Count,” Theodore answered with a tightlipped smile, and on that, the matter satisfactorily concluded, they quitted the loggia and parted company.
They met again for the signing of the documents early on the following morning in the Regent’s closet, in the presence of the notary who had drawn up the contract at Theodore’s dictation, of two gentlemen of Montferrat, and of Werner von Stoffel, who accompanied Bellarion, and who, as Bellarion’s lieutenant, was an interested party.
The notary read first the contract, which Bellarion pronounced correct in all particulars, and then the ennobling parchment whereby Theodore created him Count of Asti, anticipatorily detailing the
