The Hound of Florence (20 page)

“Are you frightened of him?” laughed Claudia.

The mulatto continued to shake his head, and spreading out his fingers, waved his hand in the air, looking anxiously at his mistress.

Claudia took no notice of his gesticulations. “Well then, let him stop where he is,” she concluded, “his master will find him here when he comes.”

The mulatto left the room and the dog immediately crept out from his hiding place.

“You're a cunning creature!” cried Claudia, laughing in surprise. “Anyone can see what you want.” The dog gazed up at her and wagged his tail.

“Yes, I understand you. You almost speak, don't you? You want to stay with me,” she said. Bending over, she stroked him. “How could I fail to understand that? All right, Cambyses, you may stay with me.” He lay quietly down at her feet.

Presently, when Claudia was being dressed and the finishing touches put to her toilet by Peppina and Carletta, Cambyses sat by her, following every one of her movements with his eyes, and jealously observing everything the two servants did, as though he felt it incumbent upon him to protect Claudia from any ill-treatment.

Still keeping close beside her, he entered the room in which the Archduke was waiting.

“What do you think of your dog?” Claudia asked him with a smile. “Aren't you surprised, my lord?”

“So that is where the brute was!” exclaimed the Archduke frowning.

Claudia was highly amused by the Prince's vexation. “Yes, Cambyses was with me and he's not a brute, but a good clever dog.”

“He has again been away from home for two days,” said the Archduke, glancing disapprovingly down at the dog.

“For two days?” laughed Claudia. “Well, he has only come to me today. But he must have been here all the time. He came and paid me a visit early this morning, and has not stirred from my side since. I have grown quite used to him.”

“If you like him, keep him,” said the Archduke with a majestic wave of his hand. “I give him to you.”

“Really?”

The Archduke nodded.

Claudia kissed the palm of her hand and blew on it, as though she wanted to waft the kiss into the Archduke's face. “How lovely!” she cried in delight, passing a hand over the dog's head.

“You won't get much pleasure out of the cur,” said the Archduke with a smile. “He's a poor sort of present. He disappears every other minute, no one knows where.”

Claudia dropped on her knees and put her arm round the dog's neck. “Are you going to run away from me too, Cambyses?” she asked with her face quite close to his. “You won't, will you? I should be dreadfully upset if you did.” The dog nestled up to her and pressed his head against her breast.

Presently as Claudia was sitting at dinner with the Archduke, the dog lay at her feet, and overheard everything.

“So it's tomorrow?” Claudia enquired.

“Unfortunately, yes . . .” the Archduke replied.

“What time?”

“A little before midday. But we shall not go very far tomorrow. We are giving a farewell breakfast . . . the Grand Duke is accompanying me as far as Prato.”

“How soon will you forget me?”

“Not for a very long time.”

“But you will forget me in the end,” said Claudia softly.

“As long as I retain my youth,” the Archduke replied simply, “I shall not forget you, because I never had enough of you, and I shall often long for you.”

Her laugh was like a short song. “And what about when you are old?”

“When I am old,” he replied with the same simplicity, “I shall probably not forget you either, for then it will be a delight to think of you, and remember that once upon a time it happened.”

Claudia laughed louder. “Ah, woe is me!” she cried cheerfully, “how pat you have it all! How nice and tidy your heart is!”

And they went on talking, the dog lying at their feet, his head raised, listening.

Later on when they left the table and withdrew to the bedroom, the dog slipped in with them. They noticed that he had done so only when he suddenly pushed himself between them.

“Oh Cambyses!” cried the Archduke. “He must clear out. He can't stop here, can he?” And retreating a step, he looked enquiringly at Claudia.

“Certainly not.” She shook her head. “His eyes are like a man's. One is not alone when he is there.”

The Archduke went to the door and opened it a little. “Here, Cambyses!” He exclaimed, “Out with you!

The dog did not stir.

With a laugh Claudia went to the garden door and opened it. “Come along, Cambyses, there's a good dog!”

Still the dog did not stir.

“A stick!” exclaimed the Archduke, looking round. “Or a whip!”

The dog gave a short bark. It sounded like a contradiction.

“No, don't beat him!” Claudia was touched by his bark. “He'll go all right. Perhaps Caligula will be able to take him out.”

The Archduke thrust out his underlip. “I refuse to be provoked just now,” he said, and stretching out his arms he went toward Claudia.

The dog flew at him, baring his fangs.

The Archduke started back. “What's the matter now?” he exclaimed, trying to hide his fright under a laugh and making an attempt to get past the dog. But once more the animal barred his way and his snarl became a deep growl.

The Archduke tried to kick out at him. “Just you wait . . . !” he cried. But the dog became frantic with rage and snapped at him and the Archduke felt the brute's sharp teeth through his stocking. Beside himself with rage, he bent forward meaning to give the dog a blow with his fist, but Cambyses reared up on his hind legs and with his forepaws pressing on the Archduke's shoulders, forced him to straighten himself and then kept fast hold of him, snarling, snapping, and opening his huge jaws in mad fury.

Claudia screamed.

The Archduke reeled backward with the dog's forepaws still on him, twisting his blanched, livid face this way and that, in an effort to escape from the foaming mouth and gleaming teeth of the dog whose breath steamed into his nostrils. Suddenly he was seized with panic. He groped clumsily round the dog's neck, trying to seize it, but quick as lightning the animal snapped at him and bit him. Blood poured from the burning wound. Like one possessed the dog hung round his neck, barking, yapping, howling in his face, pressing him toward the door with such terrific force that he was obliged to yield step by step.

In a paroxysm of fear the Archduke suddenly began to grasp that it was a matter of life and death, and he groped madly about his girdle. At last he gripped the dagger he was looking for. Drawing it stealthily from its sheath, he summoned up all his strength and plunged the blade deep into the dog's body at the point where the neck leaves the breast and the shoulder.

Only a stifled cry was heard as the dog collapsed, dropping so heavily at the Archduke's feet that he wrenched the handle of the dagger from his grasp as he fell and lay quivering on the floor.

Again Claudia uttered a piercing shriek.

And they stood facing each other, pale as death, panting and beside themselves with fear.

The Archduke looked down at the dog who lay stretched out on the floor, quivering slightly. “Brute!” He was foaming with rage. “Ravening brute!” And he shuddered with horror.

“Oh, put him out of sight! Put him out of sight!” cried Claudia, quite beside herself, holding her hands to her eyes and sobbing aloud.

“Well call someone, for heaven's sake . . . the bell is there . . .” said the Archduke, speaking again with some effort.

“No, no! I don't want to call anyone. No!” Her voice became a wail. “I don't want anyone to come! For Heaven's sake put him out of sight at once!” She seemed to have taken leave of her senses.

The Archduke pushed the dog along in front of him with his foot. The blood was pouring in a thick stream from his neck, leaving a broad red streak across the carpet. The door leading to the garden stood open and the Archduke pushed the limp heavy body out on to the terrace. “Scoundrel!” he muttered, angrily closing the door.

“The curtain!” begged Claudia. “Now the curtain! There's the cord. . . . Yes . . . that one!” The Archduke tugged mechanically at the tassel, the gay figured tapestry slid forward and closed and all that met the eye was a woven wall-hanging of many colors, depicting an Arcadian scene in which blissful deities were condescending to consort with the beautiful lovelorn daughters of men.

• • •

When Caligula, the mulatto, stole across the terrace at dawn, to spy around, he found the young stranger stretched out close to Claudia's door.

He gazed down on the wretched man who had twice pushed his way violently into the house and nodded with a broad silent grin on his face. Suddenly his dull eyes gleamed with joy as he saw the dagger with its glittering bejewelled handle sticking out between the young man's neck and shoulder. The first tender rays of the rising sun sparkled in the diamonds, rubies and pearls with which the handle was studded, making it look more like a precious bauble than a deadly weapon.

Caligula bent down. He wanted to extricate the weapon from the wound and secure the tempting treasure for himself. But with a low cry he suddenly shrank back.

Lucas was still breathing!

Terrified out of his wits the mulatto stood for a moment rooted to the spot and gazed round. Then forming a sudden resolve, he darted toward the door and began to drum on the window-panes with his soft fingers. He also kicked the wooden panels with his slippered feet and called Claudia's name in a shrill terrified falsetto.

After a while the curtain inside the room was drawn aside.

Caligula pressed his fat mulatto face against the window-pane, and tried to see inside the room.

The Archduke had gone and Claudia was alone.

With strange convulsive warning gestures and signs, Caligula began to perform a dance which was bloodcurdling in its silence.

When Claudia appeared on the threshold he could only point down at the wounded man. “There! . . . there! . . . there!” was all he could stammer out.

Claudia gazed down horror-stricken. At once she saw the connection between the dog and the man. She did not understand the secret of their identity, nor did she waste time trying to think it out. Nevertheless, long after the event she at last understood the dog's mad fury and knew what the young man imprisoned in the form of the dog must have gone through that night.

“Carry him to my bed!” she commanded. “Take great care . . . do you hear, Caligula . . . take great care!”

The mulatto lifted the unconscious youth in his arms, as easily as though he were a child, and, after carefully undressing him, put him to bed. Claudia was convulsed by passionate sobs. At last, pulling herself together, she went up to Caligula.

“Listen,” she whispered, “listen! You must save him. Do you understand? You must!”

She caught hold of his wrists, and he could feel her whole body quivering as she implored him.

“If I can,” he muttered, releasing himself from her grasp.

But she caught hold of him again. “You can . . . I know you can heal wounds. . . . You must save him! I know you are a past master at healing. . . . You can ask anything you like of me!” And she sank almost unconscious on his breast.

Releasing himself from her once more, he went over to the wounded man. A moment later he left the room, but returned soon afterward with all manner of vials, bottles and instruments. His broad back concealed from Claudia what he was doing to Lucas Grassi.

After a while he took the dagger to Claudia, who was sitting huddled up on the floor by the window. She sprang to her feet, wrapped the weapon in a white silk cloth, locked it in a cabinet and turning quickly to Caligula, whispered, “Silence! No one must suspect anything of this!”

The mulatto folded his arms. “No one . . .” he repeated in a whisper.

Claudia staggered quickly toward him. “Tell me . . . will he die?” she whispered when she was close beside him.

“Perhaps!” replied Caligula softly.

She either did not or would not hear, but pressed him further. “Tell me . . . will he live?”

“Perhaps!” replied Caligula as before.

Toward midday the wounded man grew restless. He had not yet recovered consciousness, but was throwing his arms and legs about.

At that very hour the Archduke left the city of Florence.

Whereupon Lucas Grassi lay still and quiet, breathing heavily with his eyes closed.

Claudia sat on the bed watching him. “Oh my beloved . . . !” she sighed from time to time.

Now and again Caligula would come in and give the invalid all manner of strange treatments.

When it had been dark for some time, Lucas woke up. Glancing about him in confusion, he recognized Claudia in the flickering light of the candle. He closed his eyes and was lost in thought. Had he been dreaming? Had he really experienced that ­terrible scene?

His hand groped for the wound which gave a twinge as he touched it. His fingers felt the bandage.

“Claudia!” he said very softly.

“Beloved!” Eagerly she bent over him and tried to kiss him.

“No, not yet!” he implored. And as she drew back, he added, “Is it nearly midnight?”

“Why?”

“Is it nearly midnight?” she could hear the terror in his sick, feeble voice.

“Yes, beloved,” she replied in tender comforting tones. “Yes . . . nearly.” Whereupon, overcome with emotion, repentance and longing for forgiveness, she added, “What you have suffered . . . for my sake . . . but explain to me, I do not understand at all . . . you must have faith in me . . . and tell me.”

“Wait!” he implored, and she could tell from his voice that his terror had increased.

She said no more and Lucas too lay silent, but his breath seemed to come faster and faster.

The hour crawled by painfully on leaden feet.