THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE SILVER SKULL
 
 WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER. 
 
 THE RAIDERS. 
 
 THE PLAYACTRESS. 
 
 THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 
 
 BOG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 MEN OF THE MOSS-HAGS. 
 
 CLEG KEELY, ARAB OF THE CITY. 
 
 THE GREY MAN. 
 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 
 THE STANDARD BEARER. 
 
 LADS' LOVE. 
 
 TIIL RED AXE. 
 
 THE BLACK DOUGLAS.-' 
 
 KIT KENNEDY. 
 
 JOAN OF THE SWORDHAND. ■* 
 
 [ONI MARCH. 
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER'S WOOING. 
 
 LITTLE ANNA MARK. 
 
 SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS. 
 
 SIR TOADY LION.
 
 HE HAD RISEN. AND NOW STOOD WITH HIS BACK TO THE ROCK 
 
 [p. 216]
 
 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 BV 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO. 
 
 '5 WATERLOO PLACE 
 MDCCCCI
 
 PR 
 
 >ff/S 
 C 3 s'li 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 4 The Silver Skull ' is the result of two 
 circumstances, both happy in themselves. 
 
 It was my good fortune in youth to spend 
 a good deal of time in Italy. For many years 
 it was the only foreign land I knew well. Its 
 little wayside inns, its hill-set towns tower- 
 crowned and battlemented, the white farm- 
 houses, the brown shepherds' shelters, the 
 swarthy fisherfolk of Adria, the red-lipped 
 saucy-eyed maidens by the fountains, were to me 
 not merely the matter of romance, but romance 
 itself. In those days it was my fortune to meet 
 with the sons of the men who had fought the 
 Governmental forces under Gaetano Vardarelli 
 and taken the author of ' Italian Brigands ' 
 captive among the ruins of Paestum. 
 
 Still in those days, as one rode from Agropoli 
 southward, armed men would suddenly step out 
 upon the road with a demand for a password, 
 
 "0
 
 vi THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 and once a pistol was pointed at my breast in 
 open daylight upon the street of Monreale. 
 
 It was in Brindisi that I heard for the first 
 time of Ciro the Priest with the red eyes, the 
 Man of Seventeen Murders — of the Vardarelli 
 also, the heroes of the people, Robin Hoods of 
 the South, of Gaetano without fear and without 
 reproach, and of the death of young Don 
 Giovanni. But it was not till many years after- 
 wards that certain admirable articles in * Black- 
 wood's Magazine ' put me on the track of better 
 material than any popular tradition. With 
 some difficulty I traced out the author of these 
 papers, and found that they were written by a 
 lady, Mrs. E. M. Church, the wife of Canon 
 Church of Wells, whose uncle, General Richard 
 Church, was the man who put down and brought 
 to an end the famous Red Terror in Apulia. 
 
 I was fortunate enough to be able to induce 
 Mrs. Church to allow me the use of the 
 whole of her material for the present book, 
 which indeed in its main features can hardly be 
 called a romance, so close has the story been 
 kept to the material facts of history. 
 
 Further, Mrs. Church generously allowed 
 me access to all the extracts from the General's 
 journals in her possession. These are re-
 
 f 
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 markably full and copious ; also upon occasion 
 strikingly dramatic, supplementing in the most 
 satisfactory manner possible her volume, * The 
 Memoirs of an Adventurous Life.' 
 
 In this way sketches of places, pen-portraits 
 of the actors in the drama, descriptions of 
 costume, contemporary drawings and modern 
 photographs, accumulated till I had in my hands 
 the fullest justificative material from which it has 
 ever been my fortune to write a romance. I 
 desire in this place to express my appreciation 
 of the invaluable assistance I have received 
 from Mrs. Church and her husband, without 
 which this tale could not have been written. 
 
 The book has also gained greatly in ac- 
 curacy from the generous help given me by 
 Mr. C. C. Lacaita, whose knowledge of Apulia 
 and the * Heel of the Boot ' generally is un- 
 rivalled. I am aware that the mountain fastness 
 held by the Vardarelli lies somewhat too near 
 the seaward Apulian plain which was the scene of 
 Don Ciro's misdeeds, but perhaps the heroes of 
 romance rode somewhat more rapidly than in these 
 degenerate times the post-horses of commerce. 
 
 For the rest — this tale of Ciro the Priest is 
 still the popular epic of southern Italy. I have 
 since visited the chief scenes of the drama on
 
 viii THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 several occasions, and can bear witness that you 
 have it told you as you put your fingers into 
 the bullet pits on that gateway at Scaserba 
 where the Man of Seventeen Murders made 
 his last stand. 
 
 You can listen to the version of it retailed by 
 the concierge of the little Cathedral as you look 
 down upon the sunlit square, at one side of 
 which Ciro stepped over his dead comrades to 
 his death, and died, as every Apulian loves to 
 remember, with a cigarette between his fingers, 
 and a mock, blessing on his lips. 
 
 Howsoever 1 may have succeeded in telling 
 it, there is no truer and no stranger tale in all 
 the long history of Italy than that of 'The 
 Silver Skull,' which was the badge of as blood- 
 thirsty and ruthless a band of murderers as the 
 world has ever seen. 
 
 It is not one of the least interesting re- 
 miniscences connected with the story that a little 
 boy, riding at his uncle's side on his first visit 
 to Italy, carried with him through life the 
 picture of the Skull in the iron cage which he 
 saw bleaching over the gateway of Grottaglie. 
 This little boy was the late Dean Church of 
 St. Paul's. 
 
 S. R. Crockett
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 I. PUNCHINELLO ! PUNCHINELLO ! 
 II. THE MASQUE OF DEATH 
 
 III. THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 
 
 IV. THE HOUSE OF THE VARDARELLI 
 
 V. A MAID AMONGST MEN . . . . 
 
 VI. THE MAILED PRIEST .... 
 VII. A BLOODLESS LEAGUER . . . . 
 
 VIII. THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 
 
 IX. THREE BRAVE MEN 
 
 X. THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA . 
 XI. THE PLACE OF A SKULL . 
 XII. THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE . 
 
 XIII. TREACHERY 
 
 XIV. THE VENGEANCE OF THE SILVER SKULL 
 XV. THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF . 
 
 XVI. GIOVANNI'S WAY 
 
 XVII. THE FOREIGN OFFICER . 
 
 XVIII. THE DEFIANCE 
 
 XIX. A GREAT MAN'S END 
 
 XX. THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 
 
 XXI. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE VARDARELLI HOME 2l8 
 
 XXII. THE HALL OF THE DEAD 
 
 XXIII. THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 
 
 XXIV. THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE . 
 XXV. THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 
 
 XXVI. THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 
 
 v 
 I 
 
 12 
 
 24 
 
 35 
 42 
 
 49 
 58 
 70 
 78 
 92 
 
 103 
 114 
 127 
 138 
 156 
 166 
 178 
 1S5 
 
 195 
 
 210 
 
 232 
 247 
 263 
 280 
 292

 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 HE HAD RISEN, AND NOW STOOD WITH HIS 
 
 back to the rock Frontispiece 
 
 WE RODE ON AGAIN DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO 
 
 THE HEART OF THE HILLS .... to face p. 38 
 
 ' CERTAINLY I WILL OBEY YOU,' SAID I, ' YOU 
 
 ARE THE CHIEF' „ 60 
 
 THE HERALD TROTTED FORWARD WITH THE 
 
 WHITE STANDARD IN HIS HAND „ 62 
 
 DON GAETANO DISMOUNTED ON THE PLEASANT 
 HILL-SLOPE, AND STOOD MEDITATIVELY WITH 
 THE REINS ON HIS ARM „ 9-4 
 
 THEN WE STOOD A MOMENT TO BREATHE OUR- 
 SELVES, BEHIND A FALLEN MASS OF STONE 
 AND LIME ,, 106 
 
 ONE OF THE FOREMOST DECISI (AST LP HIS 
 ARMS, CLUTCHED AT THE AIR AND FELL 
 BACKWARDS , 124 
 
 I TRIED TO CRAWL, BUT AFTER A LITTLE WAY 
 
 THE PAIN OF MY WOUND MASTERED ME . „ 178 
 
 HE FIRED HIS CARBINE AT A MOVING SHADOW 
 
 FAR DOWN THE GLADE „ 194 
 
 HER FACE GREW IN A MOMENT GHASTLY AND 
 
 STRICKEN „ 222
 
 xii THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 WITHOUT A WORD TO ME THEY CARRIED DOWN 
 
 Giovanni first to face p. 234 
 
 WHEN HE TURNED AND FACED HIS EXECU- 
 TIONERS, THE LOW HOARSE GROWL OF 
 HATRED FROM THE PEOPLE STARTLED HIM 
 A LITTLE ,, 298
 
 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PUNCHINELLO! PUNCHINELLO! 
 
 I am that Isabella, the girl of the Vardarelli, 
 who, forgetting her maidenhood, rode with the 
 first and fought with the best ; on me it is laid 
 to tell this tale — yes, tell the tale from the 
 beginning, summer shine and winter rain, gray- 
 weather and black thunder-cloud, all the tale of 
 the gay Vardarelli riders, and of the sharp 
 knives and black hearts who did the bidding: of 
 the Silver Skull. 
 
 And I will begin from the beginning, even 
 as I am bidden. There is time enough to 
 write it, for the rains have come and the straws 
 are floating yellow upon every streamlet. 
 Also I am at peace and well. There is no ache 
 in my body anywhere, while over the gate of 
 Grottaglie there is an iron cage, and in the 
 cage . . . But wait : all that comes into the 
 
 B
 
 2 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 story in its own place. Yet some there are 
 who will doubtless say : c Why should a girl 
 of the Vardarelli tell the secrets of the band ? 
 Why should she write of that comradeship gay 
 and gallant, of Don Gaetano, whose glance 
 flashed from under his brows straight as a lance- 
 thrust is straight, of Vittorio Dini the Hunch- 
 back, of Geronimo, and of young Don 
 Giovanni, with the hair like the first tendrils of 
 the vine-leaves leaning against the house ? ' 
 Why, say you ? Because one that is more to 
 me than you all bids me. That is why ; and 
 though I have come to the end of these great 
 days, and though the bridle-reins of the comitiva 
 no longer tinkle up through the pine woods as 
 the twilight comes over the sea, nor jingle 
 across the plain when the night winds are still, 
 nor die away into the dawn among the moun- 
 tain fastnesses, think not that they are silent in 
 the heart of Isabella, once called ' of the Var- 
 darelli ; ' or dream that even now she regrets 
 having cast a leg across saddle-leather, and 
 ridden forth with the bravest — ruffled lace, 
 sweeping feather, high-crowned hat, jingling 
 buttons of silver filigree, carbine on thigh, sword 
 in hand, as gay a cavalier as any ! Ay, and 
 could do it over again, for all Some One's 
 sober looks as I write the confession. 
 
 The 20th of February, 18 — : that, I am
 
 PUNCHINELLO ! PUNCHINELLO ! 3 
 
 told, is the date. So be it. It matters not. 
 At any rate, it is a night not to be forgotten 
 by me till the gray walls and broad-shouldered 
 towers of Monte Leone crumble into dust. In 
 Apulia and all down the ' Heel of the Boot ' 
 it was the time of betwixt-and-between. The 
 gay French uniforms of Murat had done their 
 chasing from Bari even to Cape Leuca. The 
 girls plucked the grapes unkissed ; the 
 men . . . But stay, I am no historian. At any 
 rate, the French had gone, the time of the 
 Austrian was not yet. The Englishman, 
 Richard Church, had not been heard of. 
 The whole country was in the hands of the 
 Societies, and every man did that which was 
 right or wrong in his own eyes. The bolt kept the 
 treasure, the bar kept the castle ; and it was 
 * God and the Saints be good to those who fall 
 under the ban of the Silver Skull ! ' 
 
 I was but a little girl then, when the wild 
 deed was done which made the name of the 
 Decisi infamous over the world. 
 
 You know the Castle of Monte Leone ? 
 Well, at any rate, every one in Apulia and as 
 far as Trani knows all about the famous place 
 of Monte Leone : how it was built by the great 
 king, the father of our own Manfred ; how it 
 has seen more sieges, fetes, burnings, tarantellas, 
 pageants, funerals, than any other fortress or 
 tower in all Puglia — Monte Leone, the lion 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 couchant on the hills, looking out to sea across 
 the tributary plain. 
 
 I was, as I say, but a little girl then, yet I 
 remember those that dwelt therein. They 
 were all dear to me, and my heart greets them 
 even now across the years with a smile and a 
 tear. There was the Duke — grave mostly, his 
 Excellency always — a pleasant, jesting way 
 with him when my nurse brought me in with 
 the third flask of wine. What I came for I 
 know not, but at all events I was permitted to 
 stand on tiptoe by the table rim and peck like 
 the robins at each plate — the Duke being ever 
 kindest. And so till 1 reached the Mother 
 Duchess, who would pretend to scold and 
 shake her head under the lace of her mantilla 
 — for the family had been a Spanish one. 
 Very sternly she would bid me begone. 
 Then, when I had had enough, a tall dark 
 man, the major-domo of the castle, as 1 think, 
 would take me to my nurse, Brigida, who 
 waited at the door, balanced between pride 
 and a palpitating tremulous fear — happy to 
 see me trot to and fro among the great folk 
 (for was I not one of them ?) ; but devoutly 
 thankful, all the same, to have me again in her 
 arms safe and sound. 
 
 In February, 18 — , then, it was barred 
 doors and close quarters at Monte Leone. 
 The Sectaries were out. The Vardarelli were
 
 PUNCHINELLO ! PUNCHINELLO ! 5 
 
 up, the best of the Free Companions. Most 
 dreadful of all, the Decisi, the new society to 
 be mentioned only with bated breath, were 
 afoot, and were said to have sworn vengeance 
 against the wealthy Duke of Monte Leone, and 
 to covet the treasure hidden in his great chests, 
 iron-bound, bolted to the hall floor, with the 
 crossed muskets hanging loaded on the wall 
 above them. 
 
 But a little girl with a Spanish name knew 
 nothing of that : Isabella — < La Bella,' they 
 called me then, and, I know not why, the 
 name stuck to me — yes, and sticks even now, 
 when I am well into the thirties, and an old 
 married woman. 
 
 Monte Leone, therefore, was bolted and 
 barred — portcullis down, bridge up, lattices 
 closed every night at sunset. Such was 
 always the Duke's custom when he was at 
 home, save only on certain festal nights, upon 
 which the peasantry had been wont, perhaps 
 for a thousand years or so, to make a bonfire 
 in the courtyard, and dance about it, with 
 much snapping of fingers and circling of plump 
 waists, while the wine ran gurgling from the 
 ducal goatskins and smiling cooks brought 
 forth the broad brown loaves of bread, round 
 as the moon sailing in the soft Apulian sky. 
 
 The winter had been a dull time at Monte 
 Leone, so that by February Donna Brigida
 
 6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 waxed cross and combed my hair out every 
 night with tugs and wrenches which hurt till I 
 cried. Whereat she slapped me, and then, 
 waxing suddenly contrite, kissed and comforted 
 me equally without reason. 
 
 ' A dull time, by the Saints/ she would 
 mutter to herself — c never an open door for 
 Giovanni and Vito to come in with their 
 pipes and nonsense. Carnival indeed ! There 
 is no joy, no dancing, no flowing wine, no 
 mirth in this old echoing nutshell without a 
 kernel. Out upon such a place and such a 
 master ! ' 
 
 It was the last night of the Carnival, and 
 from our barred window we could hear the 
 c Ta-ran-ta-ra ! Ta-ran-ta-ra ! ' strummed and 
 whistled in the village, and then I got more 
 than my share of tugs and pinches from Donna 
 Brigida. 
 
 Twangling chords and lusty shouts in- 
 dicated the dancers in the hamlet. But up in 
 Monte Leone there was a light only in the 
 dining-hall, where the Duke and his mother 
 supped in state. As for me, I was of course too 
 young to be with them ; but I was being dressed 
 to go in with the dessert, and, as I say, peck like 
 a bird at the platters of fruit. 
 
 The night fell quickly, gloomy and 
 ominous. The mists crept over the plain from 
 the Adriatic. But I loved when they shut us
 
 PUNCHINELLO ! PUNCHINELLO ! 7 
 
 in all about ; for, to the eyesof a little girl, that 
 only made the logs burn better on the great 
 iron dogs of the fireplace and the silver on the 
 board glitter brighter. 
 
 ' Pulcinella ! Pulcinella ! Policimllo ! 'Nello ! 'Nello ! ' 
 
 Thus sounded the dancing strain some- 
 where without, and within the Castle all the 
 maidservants jigged wistfully to it as the sough 
 of the night wind brought the sound yet 
 clearer. 
 
 ' Pulcinella ! Pulcinella / ' 
 
 The Duke of Monte Leone was warm and 
 mellow with good wine. He drank only his 
 own vintages, heavy and resinous when new, 
 but refining with the years into a balmy and 
 lingering cleanness upon the palate, as the 
 spiders webbed them ever thicker and thicker 
 in the great arched cellars of Monte Leone. 
 
 The Duke lingered over his dinner. He 
 had turned his chair about so that he could sit 
 anp-le-wise to the table and watch his mother at 
 her lacework. He had carefully laid aside a 
 little plate of pickings for me when I should be 
 brought in. 
 
 ' Pulcinella ! Pulcinella ! ' 
 He's a rare good fellow, 
 With his flouts and jeers, 
 With his nose and his ears, 
 Policinella ! Policinella—ella—ella ! 
 A rare good fellow he !
 
 8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The Duke crossed his legs and smiled. 
 The wine spread kindly and liberally through 
 his veins till his feet beat the measure and his 
 head nodded involuntarily to the lilt of it. 
 
 1 Ha, mother,' he cried, at last, ' this is like 
 old times. Here comes Signore Pulcinella ! 
 We will have the courtyard lit. The beacon is 
 all ready set. Bring up the wine from the 
 cellar and open the gates. Is it not the last 
 night of Carnival ? ' 
 
 1 Philip,' said the Lady Mother, gently, 
 looking up from her work, ' is it safe, think 
 you ? The Societies — are there not many evil 
 men about ? ' 
 
 * None who would dare to harm us. 
 Monte Leone is still a lion couchant. There 
 are yet paladins in the hall. Look at Diego 
 there : who dare meddle with us while he 
 carries the keys ? ' laughed the Duke, and turning 
 sharply to his fat major-domo, he gave his orders. 
 
 ' Light the beacon. Get out the wineskins ! 
 Bid the cooks bring up the pasties and all that 
 is ready below. It is the last night of Carnival, 
 and shall we be less jovial here in ducal Monte 
 Leone than the farm folk and the village con- 
 tadint ? ' 
 
 1 With respect, Excellency,' ventured 
 Diego, who was frighted for his own throat, 
 ( is it not the case that the Decisi have sworn 
 your death ?
 
 PUNCHINELLO ! PUNCHINELLO ! 9 
 
 The Duke threw up his hands. 
 
 4 Time to die indeed,' he cried, ' when I am 
 not obeyed in my own house ! It is the night 
 of mirth, I tell you. Bid the youths and 
 maidens dance the " Pizzica-pizzica " — the 
 Donna and I will watch from the balcony.' 
 
 1 Ah, little snipe,' he cried, catching sight of 
 me standing breathless in the doorway, with 
 Brigida, eyeing the sudden bustle of prepara- 
 tion, ' behold, little snipelet ! Come, you shall 
 see the loveliest blazing fire, and you shall have 
 sweets and raisins, as many as you like — yes, 
 mother, and a sip of wine as well.' So with 
 one hand he caught me up to his shoulder, 
 being by nature a great jovial man and merry 
 of heart, while with the other he poured some 
 water over the spoonful of red wine left in the 
 bottom of his Mass. 
 
 o 
 
 ' Drink,' he said, ' drink to Signore Punchi- 
 nello ! Lo, here he comes, with his hooked 
 nose and long ears.' 
 
 And at the words I screamed aloud and 
 gripped the Duke about the neck. For up the 
 stairs there came the queerest squeaking voice, 
 like a squillo trumpet with a pea in it, whereat the 
 Duke and all laughed as at a huge joke. Even 
 the Lady Mother smiled, forgetting her fore- 
 bodings ; and all looked with bright eyes and 
 a happy expression towards the doorway of the 
 dining chamber.
 
 io THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The sound of drawn bolts came from 
 beneath. The hinges creaked and whined. A 
 gust of cool wet wind rushed up the stairs, 
 rioted with the table-cloth, and flapped the 
 heavy arras on the walls. I shuddered in- 
 voluntarily and clutched the Duke yet tighter 
 about the neck — so tightly, indeed, that he 
 unclasped my hands and set me down, without 
 taking his eyes from the doorway. For 
 though a great jovial man and kindly, he loved 
 not to be discomposed by any. Immediately I 
 was set down I ran and hid under the table. 
 The cloth had not been removed, and, as was 
 the custom at Monte Leone, it was of silk and 
 lace — old and priceless. The embroidered edge 
 hung down over the knees of the guests, but 
 where the chairs were thrust back I could easily 
 see from underneath it all that went on in the 
 room. 
 
 The sound of a quick merry pipe came jig- 
 ging up the stairs, and then again the strange 
 squeaky voice which set every one laughing 
 and crying, * Haste thee — come quick, dear 
 Signore Punchinello ! ' 
 
 Then the door, which the major-domo had 
 shut against the draught, was cautiously opened 
 an inch or two, and my little heart almost 
 stopped beating when I saw a long nose peep 
 round the corner and a red eye glance inquir- 
 ingly about the great dining-room. There
 
 PUNCHINELLO! PUNCHINELLO n 
 
 came a chorus of welcome, loudest of all being 
 the Duke's jovial { Ha ! ha ! ha ! Signore 
 Pulcinella ! Welcome, most respected sir. 
 Drink ! Sir Punchinello ! ' And with his own 
 hand he poured him out a full goblet of wine. 
 
 ' Your permission, noble Duke ! ' squeaked 
 the high voice, the sound of which had terrified 
 me, as Punchinello wriggled on his toes, bowed 
 nearly to the ground, comically wagged his head 
 amid shouts of laughter, and finally set the 
 wine down untasted. 
 
 So the mirth began, and the house-maidens, 
 glad of the infectious merriment, ran hither and 
 thither, singing snatches of song and dancing 
 in corners, with sudden carnations upon their 
 cheeks and their lips red as the geraniums of the 
 sea-board.
 
 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 
 
 It was as good as having one bitten by the 
 Great Spider in the house. Men and women, 
 gentle and simple, they took their cue from 
 the Duke ; and lo ! with a backward fling of 
 wooden doors, studded with iron, the men- 
 servants came staggering forth from the vaults 
 into the courtyard, hauling after them the car 
 with the creaking block wheels, and astride of 
 it Peppino the cellarer with his broad belt and 
 jolly paunch. His head was crowned with 
 flowers like the image of the heathen god done 
 in silver, and there were ribbons on the cask. 
 And ever this new god Bacchus leaned over 
 and drew great flagonfuls of red wine as the 
 men pulled him about the courtyard. 
 
 Most of this I could see in the faces of the 
 maids that served in the great room ; and in- 
 deed the Duke cried it aloud from the win- 
 dow-seat, where he watched the merry rout, 
 happy as a boy escaped from school. 
 
 The white comfits began to rain into the
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 13 
 
 room wherever there was an open casement. 
 They rattled like hail against the panes where 
 the windows were shut. Signore Policinello 
 laughed, waved his arms as if he had been a 
 magician, and took credit for all the mirth. 
 Everybody laughed, and even the Duke's 
 mother, whom I, a lonely child, had been taught 
 to call grandmother, laughed also. But, never- 
 theless, I hid me more secretly and securely 
 under the shadowy network of the lace-edged 
 table-cloth. And ever the Duke called for 
 better wine and still better, and quaffed till his 
 face grew red and jovial, and the mother 
 watched him with anxious eyes. 
 
 I saw Luigi Pavone, the tall servitor, stand 
 ready with yet another flask, one of those 
 pointed bottomless jars which wait, sun-dried 
 and dusty, in the cellar. And as the Duke's 
 hand shook, he filled and filled again. 
 
 Amid a rain of the white pellets of chalk 
 Signore Pulcinella lurched this way and that. A 
 moment ago his arm had been about the waist 
 of a serving-maid. The pair had skipped into 
 a gay little dance, and the Duke had laughed 
 at the antics of his jestership of the nose, that 
 most famous child of Italy whose advent tells 
 men and women all over the world that Carni- 
 val is really with them. But at the table's end 
 the girl's waist had been dropped. She danced 
 on alone, and as she came opposite the Duke,
 
 14 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 where he sat in the window-seat nodding his 
 head and drinking, she looked back for her 
 partner. Then all suddenly meeting her 
 master's eye instead, she crimsoned to the brow, 
 snatched up her apron with a quick, nervous 
 laugh, and ran to the end of the room. 
 
 But Signore Pulcinella, where was he ? He 
 was speaking low to Luigi Pavone. They 
 stood quite beside me. Luigi was resting his 
 wine-jar on the floor, with one corner of it lean- 
 ing against the calf of his leg, keeping a single 
 finger on the amphora's lid to show his dexterity, 
 when Policinello spoke to him. 
 
 * Soon ? ' said he, with a curl of his eyebrow 
 upwards. 
 
 ' To-night ! ' said Pulcinella, and passed him 
 with a glint of red light out of eyes that glowed 
 deep within the mask. He extended a hand 
 to Luigi as if to take his waist in a gay swirl 
 of the trodden measure. Mechanically the 
 fingers of Luigi went out to meet those of the 
 jester. They touched, in a curious clinging 
 fashion. The servitor's palm closed as if upon 
 money, and he of the long nose danced on. 
 
 * Pretty Teresina — O prettiest one ! ' he 
 said ; and his arm went about another girl's 
 waist. For it is a pleasant thing to be Sir 
 Punchinello at Carnival time. He has rights 
 that none dare dispute. And pretty Teresina 
 waxed prettier than ever to know that the
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 15 
 
 Duke's eyes were on her, and they danced a 
 measure down the floor of the great room. 
 For so the Duke desired, sitting and nodding a 
 sleepy approval ; and the Great Lady, his 
 mother, smiled too, because her son smiled, 
 and it was many days since he had done so 
 much. While all the more freely that they 
 were thus jovial in hall, the shouts of merri- 
 ment came up from the courtyard beneath, 
 where the house lads and the scullery wenches 
 made jocund mirth. 
 
 Such unbound jollity, so merry a Carnival, 
 had there not been seen for years at Monte 
 Leone. No, nor such a Punchinello as the 
 great merry fellow who went from maid to 
 maid, making each blush and bridle at the 
 things — such things too — as he whispered in 
 her ears. 
 
 But I, a little lass, hiding all alone and for- 
 gotten by Duke and nurse alike, under the fine 
 lace of the table-cover, somehow trembled, as if 
 there had been a wind blowing from the moun- 
 tains upon me, and my body thinly clad. 
 
 For beside me, leaning his thigh on the 
 table, stood Luigi Pavone, pale as death. After 
 speaking with the jester he had let the wine-jar 
 slip from his hand to the floor, where now 
 it lay slowly gurgling forth its rich contents — 
 wine resinous, scented like rosemary and red as 
 blood, while Luigi with chalk-white cheeks and
 
 16 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 injected eyes stared at something which lay in 
 the palm of his hand. I stole a little nearer, 
 that I might see what it could be that had so 
 frightened him. He held it hidden by his stiff 
 fingers from the roomful of revellers. But i, 
 standing all unseen behind him, saw plainly 
 enough through the interstices of the fine silk 
 and lace. 
 
 It was a little silver skull, with a thong of 
 human hair strung through the empty 
 eye-sockets and caught behind the head into a 
 loop ! 
 
 It had grown dark, and out in the court- 
 yard they lighted the torches. I was over young 
 to know that the darkness came too early to 
 be natural. I saw the Duke in the window 
 suddenly grow black against a great sheet of 
 pale blue flame. Then the thunder burst upon 
 the plain of Apulia, stunning us with a sharp 
 explosion of sound. 
 
 In a moment the room was very dark again, 
 blue-black this time, the dim square of the win- 
 dow and the Duke silhouetted against it being 
 all that remained evident to my sight. Silence 
 ensued for a long breathing — all were stricken 
 still, turned to marble. Then, as the echoes 
 died away on the hills behind Monte Leone, 
 there came another flash, a little one, and again 
 all the company stood petrified, saving that at
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 17 
 
 the farther end of the room I saw a man stare 
 suddenly white and aghast at something in the 
 palm of his hand, and Punchinello, with his 
 mask half off his face, leaning towards him. 
 And though I was but a little maid, in my heart 
 I knew what the man stared at, and dimly also 
 why the Merryman's red eyes gleamed redder 
 than before. So I crept farther under the table, 
 and shivered and waited for that which was to be. 
 
 Now the blessed saints strengthen me to 
 tell of that which followed ! I have ridden, I 
 have fought in such fashion as few maidens 
 can boast of ; but never have I seen aught half 
 so terrible as that night. 
 
 The blue lightning flame blazed broadly 
 forth again, filling all the banqueting-hall of 
 Monte Leone with light. I saw Pulcinella 
 stand erect with a dagger in each hand. 
 Flicker-flicker came the continuous lightning 
 flashes at the windows. Quick as the waving 
 of an aspen leaf in a light wind, I saw the blue 
 gleam on one broad steel blade. I saw it strike 
 the Duke. I saw it, no longer blue, strike the 
 Great Lady the Mother Duchess. Then, 
 thrusting the poor murdered body to the floor, 
 among the legs of the chairs and the scattered 
 crusts, I saw Punchinello disengage the steel 
 from the wound and, with a horrid laugh, drive 
 fiercely into the packed mass of the servitors. 
 
 There came a great knocking at the outer
 
 18 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 gates ; and I must have fainted away, for the 
 next thing that I remember returns like part of 
 a bad dream. I seem to see Pulcinella grown 
 into twenty, each with a bloody dagger, and 
 they are all dancing round a silver skull 
 which rests on the breast of the dead Duke. 
 They bow their heads and flap their ears 
 as they dance, now joining hands and now 
 solemnly reversing. And all the while I lay 
 looking through the lace of the table-cover, 
 seeing things that were strange for a little child 
 to see with unturned brain. 
 
 Then the great chests were broken open, 
 some of the grim jesters laying aside their 
 carnival masks that they might see the better. 
 And the contents were heaped, with tinkle of 
 coin and clatter of plate, on the table above my 
 head ; while 1 quaked as 1 heard the glass 
 jingle and shiver and the fragments fly over 
 the edge among their feet. 
 
 ' Little La Bella is as good as dead now,' I 
 thought, ' for they will be sure to look below the 
 table.' And something moved and thrust a wet 
 cold nose into my hand. My heart deadened and 
 stopped. But it was only Carlo, the Duchess's 
 spaniel, who wagged his tail at me. But as 
 soon as Punchinello came near he growled and 
 sprang forward to seize him by the calf. Then, 
 with an oath, the jester stooped to knife poor 
 Carlo with the same weapon that had killed his
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 19 
 
 mistress, and cast him twitching like a dead 
 rabbit upon the poor murdered body, whose 
 fate he had so vainly sought to avenge. 
 
 After that I must have fainted away again, 
 for when I came to myself all was dark in the 
 great hall of Monte Leone. The night was 
 blue-black outside, and the storm had passed, 
 only growling and flickering somewhere at a 
 great distance among the hills, not enough to 
 see clearly by. Yet I could discern lumps and 
 heaps, shadowy and undefined upon the floor, 
 and one larger than the rest in the window, from 
 which, if my ears reported aright, there came at 
 intervals a little whining whimper. 
 
 I was alone, a maid-child in the place of so 
 many horrid murders. The servitors were 
 either killed or sworn accomplices, the women 
 dead or carried off — none left to tell the tale, 
 save one little babe. 
 
 Nevertheless there in that place of fear I 
 abode all through the night, grasping a great 
 post of Spanish mahogany, the main support of 
 the dining-table. Now I trembled lest the 
 dead things were moving towards me, slowly 
 and painfully dragging themselves over the 
 floor. Again I dared not put my hand down, 
 lest I should touch a hidden murderer. 
 Living terror stirred in my hair and chilled my 
 bones. I had cut my face on the broken glass 
 when I fell the second time, and my hand was 
 
 c 2
 
 2o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 wet with something cold and gluey — like spilt 
 wine. But the Saints kept reason on her seat 
 within my brain, perhaps because I was too 
 young to know all that these things meant. Such 
 was my first knowledge of the vengeance of the 
 Decisi and of the dread Sign of the Silver Skull ! 
 
 The morning came slowly. Leaden-footed 
 and tardy it sifted up through the open 
 windows, seeking a way from the underworld. 
 The little square panes became flooded with 
 pale lemon colour, which somehow did not 
 make those dead things on the floor any clearer 
 or less dreadful. Indeed, the reflection from 
 the painted ceiling gave the shapeless mounds 
 a ghastly look of life, as if they were trying to 
 rise and walk in their sleep but could not 
 succeed. 
 
 I was but a child, but after all a child of 
 Apulia. And I did not go mad ; for within 
 my young heart I vowed that if God spared 
 me 1 should wait and find out and have 
 vengeance. I should discover who had killed 
 the dear Duke, he who had been my only 
 father, and slain my own Great Lady, that had 
 been so kind, so distantly kind, to me. And 
 so in the slow-coming morning I waited. 
 
 For this is not the end. 
 
 It was, I think, about eight of the clock, 
 and I could see all too clearly, when, after
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 21 
 
 listening hour by hour that no lurking 
 murderer remained, with infinite fear I came 
 forth from my hiding-place, and praying 
 tremulously to the Madonna that Punchinello 
 might indeed be gone, I crept downstairs, 
 shutting my eyes as I passed those shrouded 
 mounds and stagnant pools of blackness. The 
 whole house was still, save now and then for 
 the moaning whimper from the oriel where the 
 murderer had thrown poor Carlo. But I got 
 down safely at last, and ran across the courtyard, 
 where in a corner I came upon more dead men, 
 with their boot-soles all pointing towards me 
 and their heads turned away. 
 
 I arrived at the outer gate. The sun was 
 just rising over the sea, red and broad as a 
 shield hung on a peg in the hall. There was a 
 smell of frost in the air. 
 
 The storm had passed suddenly as it had 
 come. Before the gate five young men were 
 dismounting. They had cloaks of gray, and 
 wore feathers in their hats ; gallant to look 
 upon they were, all fair and noble as gods. 
 And their horses were well fitting to carry such 
 men as they. But I was distracted with great 
 fear, as indeed was small wonder, considering 
 that which I had left above and behind me. 
 
 c Spare me — do not kill a little child,' I 
 cried out, or words like these, £ and I will never 
 tell what I have seen, kind gentlemen ! '
 
 22 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Then the chief of them, a grave black- 
 bearded man, swung me up in his arms, but as 
 quickly set me down again. 
 
 ' Blood ! ' he cried, dusting his sleeve : 
 1 what means this ? Who hath harmed the 
 little maid ? ' 
 
 And his brow grew dark. Then, as I 
 pointed behind me into the quiet courtyard 
 now smiling in the sun, he gave me in charge 
 to a boy and strode within. His friends fol- 
 lowed him. The whining whimper waxed 
 louder and more shrill till it became almost a 
 shriek ; then, all suddenly, with a final yelp of 
 agony, ceased. 
 
 When the man came forth again, it was 
 with an ashen face marvellously pale. His lips 
 were drawn and chalky under his beard, and 
 his hand twitched as it rested upon the sword- 
 handle. He swung himself into his saddle 
 without a word. 
 
 * Give me the little maid ! ' he said gruffly, 
 as soon as he was settled. 
 
 ' It is the Silver Skull ! ' he said presently. 
 c From this day forth let none of the Decisi 
 cast their shadows between the sun and the 
 knife of Gaetano Vardarelli.' 
 
 So in the rose-tinted light of a young spring 
 morning, these five fair young men and I, a 
 little desolate maid, rode away and left the 
 murder-accursed house of Monte Leone. A
 
 THE MASQUE OF DEATH 23 
 
 fresh fanning wind was breathing through the 
 open doors as we went, and the frugal sun of 
 February glinted coldly in upon the black pools 
 in the quadrangle and on the shrouded mounds 
 up there in the banqueting-hall.
 
 24 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 
 
 c What do they call you, little one ? ' asked 
 my deliverer presently. 
 
 ' They call me " La Bella," ' said I, c but 
 the Great Lady — she says, " Come hither, 
 Isabella," when she kisses my cheek. Then 
 when she looks away I wipe it off ! ' 
 
 ( " La Bella " you shall be, then, littlest,' he 
 said ; c and we will be your brothers, we five. 
 By-and-by you shall be not " La Bella " but " La 
 Bellissima," the Fairest Flower of the Vardarelli. 
 And he will be a bold man who would pluck you 
 without our permission.' 
 
 So, in this wise I, Isabella of the house of 
 Monte Leone, became one of the brigand race 
 of the Vardarelli ; and though death hath sadly 
 broken the ranks, these five fair brave young 
 men are my brothers still — aye, and all the 
 comitiva also, though some have died in battle, 
 and one on the scaffold, and the rest are in 
 exile where the Albanian mountains show in 
 clear weather over the purple of Adria.
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 25 
 
 Now it may be wondered at, how I, who 
 till this moment had known no other will than 
 mine own, should go so quietly with these five 
 strangers — yes, and talk with them by the 
 way of the horror I had witnessed. Yet at 
 times I would fall into a transport of anger and 
 excitement, crying out that the terrible Pun- 
 chinello was coming with his long nose and 
 bloody knife, and struggling impotently in the 
 big kindly arms that held me so securely. 
 
 But as we rode farther from the shambles 
 at Monte Leone, and the February morning 
 shone full and fair over the distant plain of 
 the Adriatic, we came on a sight that in a 
 moment shamed my distempered childish anger. 
 Though it is now many years ago, and though 
 I have experienced a world of famous sights 
 since that day, I can still see the white towns 
 and townlets, the brown-beamed loopholed 
 masserie we passed on our way across the green 
 plain. 
 
 Now, it is well known to all on the seaboard 
 of Puglia, that our weather in February is often 
 as warm and sunny as the May of the North. 
 Just as our women ripen early, and for their 
 smiles, even at fourteen, stilettoes flash and 
 redden, so these chill February morns of ours 
 often lift upon days of mistily silver sunshine 
 and a sea glimmering with an inner light, while 
 in the long herbage the grasshopper whirrs his
 
 26 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 steely song as though it were already the heats 
 of midmost June. Then the leaves creep out 
 on the trees over all the plain, though doubt- 
 less up on the Abruzzi there are still white 
 long-clinging patches, and the slopes of Monte 
 Volture are white with rime. 
 
 Oh, I could sing a song of springtime in 
 my dear country. But this is not the place for 
 it. I had come, a little heart-sick maid, from 
 the castle wherein my life had been passed ; all 
 alone with five riders I had come, brigands 
 every one. Might not these very men have 
 wrought the terrible deeds of the night ? No, 
 it was written on their open countenances that 
 such creeping murder was not in their natures, 
 and the instinct of the child does not err. So, 
 ere we had gone twenty miles from the dark 
 pile of Monte Leone, I was already beginning 
 to rejoice like a babe in the motion of the 
 horse, and the strength of the strong arm 
 about me. The warmth of the morning sun 
 entered into me, and I began almost cheerfully 
 to question of whither they were taking me 
 and whom I should find at the end of the 
 journey. 
 
 ' You shall see our mother, and she shall be 
 yours as well, little one ! ' said Gaetano. And 
 at the name of their mother the five strong 
 young men saluted as at the appearing of a 
 superior officer. It was a gracious gesture ;
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF OROTTAOLIE 27 
 
 and, though I knew not why, it reassured me 
 wondrously. 
 
 So we rode joyously through bushes of white 
 cistus, not yet broken into flower. We trod 
 underfoot violets white and purple. We 
 clattered through the brooks which prattled 
 gaily down from the heights, yet red with the 
 rain of the night. And, forgetting for a moment 
 that which lay behind me, I shouted as the horse's 
 hoofs dashed the spray higher than my head. 
 The full day had come long ere we reached a 
 little wayside church which had a presbytery 
 built hard by. Even Sirius had gone out 
 before the fierce sunlight, like a willow-shaped 
 tongue of flame tossed upward from a bonfire. 
 But, as memory returned to me, I was 
 ready to weep again for very loneliness, when 
 under the caroub avenue, among beds of 
 pure white bloom, we saw a young priest 
 walking with a book in his hand from which 
 he conned his morning lesson. He did 
 not see us approach, being absorbed in his 
 devotion. And above him, as we came riding 
 up, the bell of the little church began to 
 rincr. 
 
 ' Bless me ! ' cried Don Giovanni, the 
 youngest and handsomest of the brothers, cross- 
 ing himself, ' it is a saint's day. 1 declare I 
 have not confessed since Easter. Let us go 
 in and pray.'
 
 28 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ' It will do you but little good,' said his 
 brother, before whom I was riding ; c but as 
 you will. It will rest the horses.' 
 
 But I think the sight of the tall young 
 priest, so quiet and still at his meditation, 
 shamed him. So, fastening their horses to the 
 wall-rings outside, the Vardarelli alighted, and 
 with bared heads reverently awaited the com- 
 ing of the holy father. 
 
 He paced slowly towards us, never raising 
 his eyes from his book. A quiet serenity 
 breathed about him. Even that terrible place 
 from which we had come seemed somehow 
 sanctified by the presence of true religion. As 
 he went by the five brothers kneeled on the sod, 
 and Don Gaetano humbly besought his bless- 
 ing. As for me, I stood looking up at him, 
 with, I doubt not, the large wonderment of a 
 child. 
 
 The young man raised his eyes and let 
 them rest upon us with a grave contemplative 
 silence. He was not tall, but his dress being 
 that of an abate, it made him appear more so 
 than he was. He possessed a lithe and manly 
 frame, accurately proportioned. His forehead 
 was broad but low, the face of a notable 
 squareness, the lips thin, compressed, and cutting 
 a straight line across his face. His eyes were 
 gray, cavernous, and piercing, having in them, 
 as he turned away, a certain red glint such as I
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 29 
 
 have seen in those of a wild thing of the woods. 
 An awe fell upon me as he stood gazing at us, 
 and when he set his hand upon my head I had 
 almost cried out with fear. 
 
 * Your blessing, most reverend father 
 Abate ! ' said Don Gaetano, bowing his head 
 yet lower. 
 
 The young man was silent while his eyes 
 ran over us, and in one long cool regard took 
 in all the details of our equipage and equip- 
 ment. Then he looked a little reproachfully at 
 the tethered horses, with their harnessment of 
 steel, as one that examines curiously the gauds 
 and vanities of another world. 
 
 1 You are good Christians ? ' he said at last, 
 in a full bell-like voice, casting his eye along 
 the little line of kneeling figures. As for me, 
 I thought I had never seen a man so reverend 
 and holy. The evil of the night seemed to 
 fall from my soul, and I felt composed and 
 thankful before the man of God as one whose 
 sins had been forgiven. 
 
 c We are indeed good Catholics,' said Don 
 Gaetano, without looking up. 
 
 'When were you last at confession ?' the 
 young Abate went on. 
 
 ' Truly we were all shriven last Easter, as 
 the custom is,' said Gaetano ; ' we are men of 
 the hills, and cannot so frequently come to our 
 duty as women are wont to do.'
 
 3o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The young man continued to look at us 
 severely, almost reprovingly. 
 
 ' Religion and humiliation are ever as 
 fitting for men as for women,' he said. * And 
 this little girl, is she your sister ? ' 
 
 1 From this day she shall be, if God will,' 
 said Gaetano Vardarelli. And he told of the 
 deed of blood that had been wrought in the 
 darkness of the night at the ducal house 
 of Monte Leone. The young priest lifted 
 up his hands in horror. His lips moved, 
 and he seemed to commune with God, 
 asking mayhap that the world might not be 
 destroyed by fire on account of the wickedness 
 of men. 
 
 ( The Duke and all his household, say you ? 
 God rest his soul ! And with none to anoint 
 with holy oil or shrive the poor passing spirits 
 hurried quick to death, each with his imperfec- 
 tion on his head ! ' 
 
 And he stood looking up into heaven with 
 such an expression of holy calm on his face 
 that it seemed almost like a benediction. 
 
 Then, with his hand held out, he gave us 
 each his blessing. 
 
 ' Now,' said he, when we had risen and the 
 Vardarelli stood still with uncovered heads 
 before him, ' it is the day of my patron saint, 
 and 1 celebrate mass. I fear ye are Free Com- 
 panions by your appearance, yet God is
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 31 
 
 merciful : come in, confess, and partake — that 
 is, if ye have not on your souls the guilt of" 
 blood spilt innocently.' 
 
 And he looked sternly at Don Gaetano, who, 
 as ever, was our spokesman. 
 
 ' I have indeed killed men,' he said, l but 
 always in equal fight, never with the hidden 
 dagger, never by private assassination. I am a 
 known man, even Gaetano of the Vardarelli, 
 and no man can say that I have slain any 
 unfairly. And for the rest, I have confessed 
 and been shriven.' 
 
 1 It is well,' said the young priest : ' tollow 
 me. But remember how it is written that 
 men of violence shall perish by the sword.' 
 
 He turned and walked before us up 
 the avenue of dwarf caroubs, his black robe 
 with its underfringe of lace sweeping the 
 daisies, and his whole figure breathing a peace 
 which was not of this world. But as he turned 
 I caught the pink glimmer in his eyes, as I had 
 seen it when the Duke's huntsmen had shown 
 me a wild cat taken in a trap. And though I 
 was but a child I remember being suddenly 
 stricken cold from head to foot. 
 
 As we passed the door of the presbytery a 
 dark-haired woman, with a stern set counte- 
 nance, came to the door and eyed us with 
 suspicion. The young priest bent his thick 
 brows upon her.
 
 32 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 c You are coming to mass, Bcttina ? ' he 
 asked softly. 
 
 But she heeded him not ; perusing the faces 
 of our company one by one, and especially that 
 of Don Gaetano, whose air of command 
 marked him everywhere as a natural leader. 
 
 I have since seen the look on the face of 
 one that stands for trial in the place of accusa- 
 tion, and scans the countenance of his judge to 
 forecast his sentence. At the time I only 
 wondered how a man so holy should have in 
 his house a woman with the ill conscience of 
 the evil-doer so plainly stamped upon her. 
 But when I spoke of the matter to Don 
 Gaetano he replied that such burdens are some- 
 times sent to devout priests to chasten their 
 spiritual pride and keep them humble like 
 other men. 
 
 c Bettina, you will come to mass,' said the 
 priest again, still in the same low tone, but this 
 time with a sudden metallic note in his voice 
 like the whetting of a knife upon a butcher's 
 steel. 
 
 The woman looked at him with a quick 
 inquiry in her eyes, and nodded. 
 
 I I will come, holy father,' she said ; { but 
 who are these gentlemen ? ' 
 
 I I know not,' he made answer. c What 
 matters that to you ? They are God's children. 
 Let meat be prepared for them, and wine, that
 
 THE YOUNG PRIEST OF GROTTAGLIE 33 
 
 they may eat and be refreshed, before riding on 
 their way and giving God the glory.' 
 
 With that he passed within the little church, 
 dropped momentarily upon one knee before 
 the altar, and then disappeared into the 
 sacristy. 
 
 Never shall I forget that morning's service, 
 there in that little church under the caroubs. 
 The Abate had a voice that now rang like a 
 trumpet, now pled like a woman ; and to me 
 the holy words were like a song, touching my 
 heart and breaking down the barrier of fear. 
 I sobbed with my forehead upon a bench, 
 while young Don Giovanni petted me when no 
 one saw, and whispered how that now I was 
 safe and that the Vardarelli would take care of 
 me. I would be their sister, the daughter of 
 their mother. So he did till my sobbing was 
 hushed and the bell tinkling caused us to 
 prostrate ourselves before that wondrous 
 solemn thing of which none but priests know 
 the meaning. 
 
 Presently, with chastened demeanour and 
 awed faces, we found ourselves sitting in the 
 wide cool house-place of the presbytery, where 
 there was nothing: but a great slab of stone 
 in one corner, on which was a piece of wood 
 shaped like a pillow and worn smooth in 
 the centre, an image of the Holy Virgin, a 
 reading-desk with an open illuminated volume, 
 
 D
 
 34 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 a crucifix on the wall, and underneath, also on 
 a pedestal, but in a place by itself, a white and 
 grinning skull. 
 
 The Abate came in, and bowing to the 
 crucifix, he laid his hand upon the skull, and 
 looking upon us with piercing eyes, he said, 
 1 Hew down the tree and cut off his branches, 
 shake off his leaves and scatter his fruits. Let 
 his heart be changed from a man's, and let a 
 beast's heart be given unto him.' 
 
 And though the five brothers of the 
 Vardarelli understood no more than I, that was 
 but a little child, we came forth from the 
 presbytery awed and shaken in our hearts, 
 because the holiness and the solemnity of the 
 young Abate abashed us. Then we mounted, 
 Don Gaetano once more swinging me into the 
 saddle before him. 
 
 And the young priest with the square face 
 and the straight lips followed us to the door, 
 and watched us ride away, silent himself and 
 stern, with a face like the justice of God look- 
 ing upon the sinful children of men. And we 
 were every one humbled before him. 
 
 Nevertheless I wished that his eyes had not 
 shone red like those of the trapped wild-cat 
 when the sunlight played crosswise upon them.
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE VARDARELLI 
 
 The road we went that day I know now, for 
 often and often I have ridden that way since, 
 and that with such a train of gay riders as 
 never since Manfred's day hath followed any 
 through Apulia save Gaetano Vardarelli alone. 
 But then, as we left the plain and fared north 
 towards the hills, a constant succession of new 
 experiences awaited me. The child, who had 
 scarcely ever passed the great gates of Monte 
 Leone, clattered through the crooked streets of 
 little white towns just shaking themselves 
 awake. Women were sweeping in doorways, 
 or, broom in hand, stood shrilly denunciatory on 
 the uneven pavement. But as we went on I 
 noted that, whereas at first few or none had 
 known my conductors, now at sight of Don 
 Gaetano every face grew suddenly respectful, 
 while at the coming of Don Giovanni every 
 woman smiled and the well-grown maidens set 
 their fingers to their cheeks and posed becom- 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ingly at the fountains of the villages as we 
 passed through. 
 
 And if Giovanni thought that his elder 
 brother were sufficiently far in front not to 
 notice, he would slip from his horse and with 
 hat in hand approach to pay his homage to 
 them, or turn the handle of the well-wheel on 
 the chance of the brief and perilous joy of a 
 stolen kiss. But not so if the keen eye of 
 Gaetano flashed round upon him. Then 
 would Giovanni pretend that he had dropped a 
 glove or desired to cut a riding switch, and so 
 leap on horseback again, waving his hand to 
 the maiden left standing wistful and alone, 
 most like a truant boy unsatisfied with his 
 adventure and yet glad to have escaped punish- 
 ment. 
 
 But I was pleased and proud too as I went, 
 pleased with the free swing of the noble beast 
 underneath me and the gloved hand of tall 
 Don Gaetano about me. For at the clatter of 
 his horse's hoofs bronzed men would come 
 forth to the doors of wide-arched shadowy 
 smithies, great dusky fellows with shoulders 
 bent a little with the swing of the forge- 
 hammer. Then in a moment they too would 
 toss their hats in the air and shout for the 
 honour of the c Capitano ! ' 
 
 Idlers on threshing floors set anglewise to 
 the slope, millers by the rushing rivulets,
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE VARDARELLI 37 
 
 shepherds nonchalantly watching their flocks 
 or tending the young tail-waggling lambs, 
 would spring to their feet and come running 
 to us. Even the great fierce Apulian dogs, 
 rough-coated and white-toothed, would all 
 unbidden cease their yelping chorus, and follow 
 briskly with bright eyes and arched bushy tails, 
 as though proud to be also of the comiliva. 
 
 1 The Vardarelli ! The good Brothers ! — 
 The Vardarelli ! ' So the report spread before 
 us as we went hillward. 
 
 And the peasants would heave their arms 
 into the air with a peculiar gesture, a sort of 
 backhanded episcopal blessing, which the 
 brothers as readily responded to. This, though I 
 understood it not then, I pleased Gaetano much 
 by copying. Afterwards I found it to be 
 the greeting of the mighty secret society of 
 the Carbonari, of which (among other things) 
 Gaetano Vardarelli was a notable leader. But, 
 as I say, I was only a little maid, knowing nothing 
 save that I sat beside the man to whom all did 
 homage — a thing which is ever pleasing to a 
 woman — and that the dark past had dissolved 
 like a cloud which the sun has drunk up. 
 
 Presently before us there opened up a deep 
 defile, into which the horses, with the quickened 
 pace which tells of home near by, turned their 
 well-accustomed steps. Gaetano, as ever, rode 
 first, and the four brothers followed two by
 
 38 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 two behind. At a little wayside house, a mile 
 or so up the defile, we halted, and a pair of the 
 young men, dismounting, drew over the horses' 
 shod feet a sort of boot of woven straw. Then 
 we rode on again deeper and deeper into the 
 heart of the hills. The mountains hung 
 imminent above us, and it would have been 
 small wonder if a little maid of the plains had 
 lost heart as she saw the purple slopes grow 
 steeper about her and finally shoot up into 
 precipices, while the path grew steadily more 
 and more perilous. 
 
 After a little, indeed, I could only shut my 
 eyes and turn my head inward upon the coat of 
 my conductor, for we seemed plastered like 
 flies upon the face of the great wall of rock. 
 Don Gaetano patted me gently on the cheek. 
 
 * Yet a little while, Bella mia,' he said, ' and 
 we shall be at home.' Then, just when the 
 path seemed about to end in utter destruction, 
 we passed into a rock-hewn tunnel, cool and 
 dark, with fern and flax growing in the clefts. 
 The horses' feet, still strawshod, sounded sud- 
 denly dull and hollow. I clutched Don Gae- 
 tano's sleeve in quick fear of the dark and of 
 falling into some unseen danger. The light 
 came again, the tunnel shot up into a magnifi- 
 cent archway, the hills swept round about us like 
 a wave, in an amphitheatre of inaccessible cliffs 
 — and lo, there beneath me lay the eagle's
 
 WE RODE ON AGAIN DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO THE HEART 
 OF THE HILLS
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE VARDARELLI 39 
 
 nest of the Vardarelli, the home that was to be 
 mine for many and many a day. 
 
 Val Demone, the fortress of the Vardarelli, 
 is a league-wide cirque among the hills, of 
 which few know the secret, and is almost im- 
 pervious to attack from any side. The path to 
 it at that time was little known, and kept 
 purposely perilous. The strengths were easily 
 defended, and the provision of food and water 
 within was sufficient for an army. In the time 
 of Joseph Buonaparte and Murat it had been 
 the headquarters of disaffection ; and now, 
 when the Bourbons were again settling upon 
 the two Sicilies like unclean vultures, under 
 the protection of the white-coated Austrians, 
 these five bold young men had made of 
 the Val Demone the impregnable fortress 
 whence Apulia and the Abruzzi were held in 
 fear, and which commandant after commandant 
 had assaulted in vain. 
 
 White walls ran four-square along the top 
 of a little hill which looked towards the great 
 natural archway through which we had passed. 
 These were pierced by small dark holes. 
 Towers stood at each corner and a dwelling- 
 house with porches and blinds was in the 
 centre, looking strange enough in its fortress- 
 like square. We rode into the great courtyard 
 littered with last year's olive-prunings, and at 
 the sound of the horses and the crying of Don
 
 40 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Giovanni, many swarthy lads swarmed out from 
 the open doors of the granaries and cattle-sheds. 
 The Vardarelli threw their reins carelessly to 
 these underlings, and leaped from their horses. 
 My conductor handed me tenderly down, and I 
 found myself looking about me in this strange 
 place, where over the flat roofs of the fortress 
 home of the Vardarelli the dark precipices 
 showed their impregnable fronts, and the blue 
 sky overarched the narrow valley like the roof 
 of some gigantic cathedral. 
 
 Upon the doorstep of the house stood a 
 lady, gray-haired indeed, but erect and tall as 
 any of her sons. Don Gaetano went forward 
 to her, doffed his hat, and respectfully kissed 
 her hand. In this he was followed by all his 
 brothers. But the lady did not return the 
 attention in any way, nor indeed did she 
 appear to take the slightest notice of it. She 
 kept her eyes fixed upon me with a cold and 
 threatening expression. 
 
 4 Which of you has fetched this woman-child 
 home to the house of Pietro Vardarelli ? ' she 
 said, in a high stern voice. 
 
 * Mother,' said Gaetano, ' I and my brothers 
 have brought you this child.' 
 
 * And whose child may she be ? Answer 
 me, Gaetano Vardarelli.' 
 
 Don Gaetano, still with his hat in his hand, 
 went up to his mother and whispered some-
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE VARDARELLI 41 
 
 thing to her, of which I only heard the words 
 * Silver Skull ' and ' Monte Leone.' 
 
 At that, as was natural, my grief came again 
 upon me, and, though I do not remember it, I 
 must have cast myself in a torrent of tears upon 
 the litter of the yard. For the next thing I 
 can recall is being carried up into a wide room, 
 with windows pleasantly open to the green 
 whispering leaves without and a cool floor of 
 limestone. The courtyard upon which it 
 looked was open to the sky at the top, and in 
 the midst a fountain plashed. The tall woman 
 sat by me, the severity somehow all gone out 
 of her face. She kissed my brow and smoothed 
 the white lace-edged linen, for I had been laid 
 down on a pillow. 
 
 ' Little daughter,' she was murmuring 
 soothingly in my ear, ' they tell me you have 
 never known a mother. I, on my part, have 
 five sons, but no daughter. Let me love you 
 with the love of a mother, and the Fratelli 
 Vardarelli shall stand about you to avenge your 
 wrongs.' 
 
 In this manner I became an inmate of the 
 famous house of the Vardarelli, whom the 
 ignorant now call brigands, forgetting all the 
 good they did and the blood they shed for 
 their country and her liberties.
 
 42 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A MAID AMONGST MEN 
 
 So the time passed on, and I had grown tall — 
 still, however, remaining slight and lithe as the 
 reeds by the water edges. During all this time 
 I had dwelt with men, no woman being near 
 me save the mother Vardarelli (who, in many- 
 things, was even as a man), and her maid 
 Bettina, an innocent chattering giddy-pate, who 
 taught me nothing. I had learned sword and 
 pistol, and had some skill of carbine also. I had 
 ridden to battle with the troop — aye, and seen 
 the generals of the Frenchman and of the 
 Austrian broken and foiled by the quickness of 
 the Vardarelli. I had seen convoys taken and 
 heard the music of the whistling balls. I had 
 waited all night behind the ambush, till, in the 
 morning light, the men of the White Coat 
 came jesting and tramping to their destruction. 
 I had worn the yellow, and blue, and red of 
 the Carbonari. Almost, but not quite, had I 
 forgotten the dead Duke, yet unavenged. 
 Only when I glimpsed Monte Leone on our
 
 A MAID AMONGST MEN 43 
 
 moonlight rides, towering above the valley 
 mists, I was glad to turn my eyes away and 
 talk to the nearest fine young fellow, who 
 blushed and trembled — glad, doubtless, to be so 
 distinguished by the sister of the Vardarelli. 
 
 The troop grew to four hundred — ay, and 
 upon occasion I have seen Gaetano ride out at 
 the head of a thousand horsemen, all well 
 mounted and creditably armed. In those days 
 there was no power in Apulia or in all the 
 Abruzzi like our Gaetano Vardarelli. We 
 acknowledged neither Emperor in Vienna nor 
 Bourbon in Naples. We were the Vardarelli. 
 
 And as for love or marriage — why, I never 
 thought of these things. For it was not with 
 me as with other girls, who may have but one 
 well-looking lad or two to pay them court in a 
 village or countryside. Every handsome youth 
 and gallant throughout three provinces rode in 
 turn with the Vardarelli — truly brave men too, no 
 extortioners or private murderers among them. 
 Every penny paid for protection was duly 
 added to the common good, and divided with 
 equal hand to all alike, fair day or foul day. 
 And I, little Isabel, even I had my share with 
 the rest. But of love, not one had ventured 
 to speak plainly to me — no, not so much as 
 to say that which would cause a maid to blush. 
 For, more than God or the devil, these men 
 feared Gaetano Vardarelli, who for a light loose
 
 44 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 word, spoken in jest, had once stricken down 
 even his favourite brother Giovanni, that was 
 to our captain as the apple of his eye. Of 
 service and courtliness, indeed, I had plenty ; 
 but I rode with that whole comitiva of men as 
 though I had been a curl-pated boy, and not a 
 grown and marriageable girl of sixteen, as in 
 truth I was. 
 
 Ah ! by Mary and the saints, these were 
 good days, before any one dreamed of the 
 coming of the Englishman and the breaking up 
 of the worthiest comity that Italy of the South 
 has known. Yet the end came from within. 
 For throughout Apulia there were evil men 
 scheming to do worse things, and our moderate 
 societies were not sufficient to satisfy their 
 greed. Men of the towns they were mostly, 
 who, sitting in their offices and upholstered 
 salons, and writing proclamations and threaten- 
 ing letters, killed and plundered by the vilest 
 and bloodiest means, bringing disgrace upon 
 our cause and even smirching for a time the 
 fair fame of the Brothers Vardarelli. That is, 
 in the eyes of those who knew us not. 
 
 So I grew up to be a great maid, seeing 
 naught but men. For the Lady of the Casa 
 was also almost a man, stern and just, 
 sending her sons forth to fight the tyrant, 
 whether French cavalryman or this last belated
 
 A MAID AMONGST MEN 45 
 
 Spanish Bourbon, hedged about in Naples with 
 Austrian bayonets and paper constitutions. 
 
 Jests in plenty there were among the 
 comitiva. But not in sight or hearing of 
 Gaetano and his mother. And this will I add. 
 Since for my sins and another's necessities I 
 have been compelled to frequent the society 
 of the great of Naples, and have eaten of the 
 tree of the knowledge of good and evil, now I 
 declare it plainly : I have heard more ill talk 
 and evil suggestion in one afternoon assembly 
 of dames of fashion than in ten years spent 
 among a whole comitiva of men with a price on 
 their heads. 
 
 So, about the camp-fire and on the great 
 threshing-floors of the masserie, the jest and 
 laughter ran clean and free. The younger 
 brothers of the Vardarelli, indeed, made love to 
 gentle and simple as they went. Yea, in all 
 Apulia and to the utmost Pontine marches there 
 was said to be no maid that could resist hand- 
 some Don Giovanni. Yet there I dwelt for ten 
 years, knowing nothing and learning nothing, 
 freer from evil communication and insult than 
 if I had been in a convent or in a college for 
 young donnas taught by white-swathed nuns. 
 
 Yet, without harm done or occasion taken, 
 I could be merry too ; and often, when bound 
 on some distant foray, I would clip my dark 
 curls close to my pate, and with a burnt willow-
 
 46 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 stick tip the well-nigh invisible down at either 
 side of my upper lip with black, abetted thereto 
 by Don Giovanni, who would even assist me 
 to give it the least saucy upward twirl at the 
 corners. 
 
 Also Giovanni taught me to fence, and the 
 stiletto play, and how to throw the knife so that 
 it will strike point foremost. But Don Gaetano 
 himself it was who taught me to shoot with the 
 pistol at a card at ten, twenty, and even thirty 
 paces. Till for sauciness and pride I would match 
 me against any of the comiliva for the price of a 
 sheep, knowing that Don Gaetano would readily 
 give me the wherewithal to pay if I lost. But 
 the good lads would seldom let me lose, pur- 
 posely shooting wide — because it was my custom 
 to cry when I lost. 
 
 Even thus was I, Isabella of the Vardarelli, 
 at sixteen years of my age or thereby, knowing 
 little save to read my Lives of the Saints, or 
 what I loved better (oh, shame to me !) the 
 voyages of Ramusio, or even the ingenious 
 tales of Boccaccio the Tuscan, in which I had 
 great pleasure. 
 
 But now I must tell of what befell one day 
 about this time, from which relation a juster 
 and livelier impression of the manner of my 
 life may be gained than from much writing 
 about it and about. 
 
 It chanced that certain of our company had
 
 A MAID AMONGST MEN 47 
 
 been captured by one General Corre while visit- 
 ing their friends in the town of Lecce, where, at 
 that time, was his headquarters. Though men of 
 inferior position, they were held responsible for 
 all the deeds of the Vardarelli, and were sent 
 as convicts to the castle of Brindisi. We were 
 forthwith to ride to their rescue, even as (when 
 he heard of the matter) Gaetano had sworn to 
 do ; and so the summons had been sent forth 
 to the band to meet us at the Masseria of 
 the Three Crosses, in order to teach the 
 Neapolitan and the Austrian alike who was 
 King in Apulia, by the right divine of the 
 strong hand. 
 
 1 Isabella,' said our mother, ' it will be a hot 
 day and an evil night. The way is long and 
 the mission perilous. It were better to abide 
 with me here in the house.' 
 
 And she looked at Gaetano that he should 
 support her. For with her, as with the rest of 
 us, the desires of the stern and silent man were 
 ultimate law. 
 
 But, knowing well that she would make 
 such an appeal, I had first spoken to Don 
 Gaetano, who, if I chose to coax him, would 
 deny me nothing — at least nothing that would 
 keep us two together. 
 
 So I had pled with him as he came from 
 the stables where he had been seeing to it that 
 the lads did their work, and that the horses
 
 4 8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 were fit for their journeying. And this was 
 the fashion of my pleading. I set my hands 
 clasped upon his shoulder, and asked him not 
 to send me away, but to let me ride with him 
 this day also, as on all the others. Whereat he 
 said nothing on that occasion ; but I knew well 
 enough by that very mark that my case was 
 won. 
 
 So, when his mother spoke, he said, ' I think 
 Isabella may safely enough ride with us. I will 
 keep her near me.' 
 
 1 There is not the less but the more peril of 
 that,' said the Signora, l for where the Chief of 
 the Vardarelli is, there is the front of battle.' 
 
 ' Then,' said I, somewhat saucily, ' there is 
 the greater reason that a daughter of the 
 Vardarelli should share it. Besides, 'tis not 
 Isabella, but your youngest son, Pietro, who 
 would mount and ride with his brothers.' 
 
 So, as was not uncommon, I got my way.
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MAILED PRIEST 
 
 It was a chillish morning for June when we 
 mounted to ride. Over the precipices an un- 
 seasonable and fretful tramontana was blowing 
 out the clouds in tatters and fleecy wisps. 
 The tall pines stood out solemn and black 
 against the glimmer of the sea as we emerged 
 from the dark of the Stone Gateway. The 
 rough upland pastures were gray and dew- 
 drenched under hoof, and the horses' feet 
 swished when the bent and withy sedges clung 
 to them, as in the early unsunned morning 
 they do about the scythe of the mower. 
 
 The sea also was gray when we first saw it 
 far in front of us, but speedily to the east we 
 marked it grow rosy red, then flush to a darker 
 hue, anon glimmer with inner light, and lastly 
 wink and thrill wine-hearted and amethystine 
 from Manfredonia to Cape Leuca, glowing 
 broad and equal under the risen sun from 
 horizon to horizon verge. The comitiva jested 
 and laughed low and heedless behind us.
 
 5o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Only Don Gaetano on his black horse noted 
 that which was around us, and lifting with his 
 hand the bridle-rein he indicated silently the 
 marvel of the sea and sky. 
 
 We halted at the town of Anduria for the 
 forenoon meal, as also to escape for an hour or 
 two from the great heat. There, as elsewhere, 
 we found many willing to entertain us for 
 love or fear ; and in the courtyard of the 
 deserted palace of the Prince of Francavilla we 
 stabled and watered our horses, while the 
 maidens made needless visits to the famous 
 well which neither shrinks nor increases (as 
 saith one Pliny), and the matrons clattered 
 and hasted, boiling and roasting, or stirring up 
 and combing out the pans of macaroni for us. 
 But meantime I, who seldom saw even the 
 outside of a Christian town, wandered away 
 through the streets, that I might see what 
 there was to be seen. I had on me a lad's 
 velvet suit with frogs and silver buttons, a belt 
 of silver too in which were pistols, a sword by 
 my side and a stiletto ready to my hand. I 
 was Pietro of the Vardarelli to all that had not 
 the freedom of the troop, and knew not also 
 Isabella the maid. So I returned boldly and 
 with interest the shy glances of the girls, and 
 pretended to twirl my moustache, with which, 
 truth to tell, Giovanni that morning had done 
 rather better than his most convincing best.
 
 THE MAILED PRIEST 51 
 
 The doors of the church stood open. The 
 day, though we had forgotten it, was Sunday, 
 and within there was gathered a congrega- 
 tion of old women, respectable citizens, and 
 such young persons as had not yet heard of the 
 arrival of the Vardarelli. 
 
 A priest was officiating at the altar, and, as 
 I entered, something familiar struck me. I had 
 seen the man before. But where ? I went as 
 near as I could, and, leaning against a pillar, 
 watched him closely. Not till he elevated the 
 host could I be sure of him. It was the young 
 priest who had officiated at the little church on 
 the morning when the Vardarelli carried me 
 home from the fatal halls of Monte Leone. 
 
 But there was a strange constraint about 
 him, which, at first, I could not understand. 
 He moved with a certain curious stiffness of 
 gait, like one that has a concealed wound. Yet 
 he was in the prime of life, and appeared to be 
 in the most vigorous health. His face had 
 grown heavier and more massive, his eyes were 
 deeper set, and the straight line of his mouth 
 was more cruel than before. But 1 could not 
 be mistaken. The smallest thing I had seen 
 that night and morning could never be washed 
 from my memory. It was the same man with- 
 out doubt. 
 
 As he lifted the host, I observed that which 
 struck me to the heart with astonishment.
 
 52 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 This officiating priest, in the midst of the most 
 solemn mysteries of the holy faith, wore a coat 
 of mail under his stole. Heavy iron rings were 
 upon his legs, and doubtless that projecting 
 point underneath the gold-bossed cloth of the 
 sacred garment meant either the hilt of a pistol 
 or a stiletto stuck in his belt. 
 
 Now, what could a priest be doing with such 
 an equipment ? Francavilla was quiet. The 
 Carbonari held every office. Each dignitary of 
 weight or importance was a sworn Good Cousin. 
 The priesthood was known to be with us to a 
 man. What could the man fear in Anduria ? 
 Not the Vardarelli, for none had expected us 
 there, nor even then did he know of our 
 presence. 
 
 But as I knelt on the cold flagstones, the 
 extraordinary solemnity of his voice, clear and 
 sonorous as a silver trumpet, arrested me. Do 
 what I would, I could not leave the church till 
 the end of the service ; and might not then, 
 had not Don Giovanni come seeking me, and 
 beseeching me to follow him, saying that Gaetano 
 was growing restless and angry because of my 
 absence, and would neither eat himself nor yet 
 let any of the others partake till my safe re- 
 turn. 
 
 As soon as I had gone into the room where 
 Don Gaetano was, he looked upon me severely, 
 and said a single curt word to me, forbidding
 
 THE MAILED PRIEST 53 
 
 me to leave his side again without permis- 
 sion. 
 
 1 1 am responsible to my mother for the 
 safety of her daughter,' he said. 
 
 Even as he spoke the word, a shadow fell 
 across the floor, and there in the doorway stood 
 the tall priest who had been officiating at the 
 church. He had doubtless seen me stand by 
 the pillar, and had followed Giovanni and my- 
 self. He must have heard Gaetano call me 
 ' daughter,' for he looked at me with a quick 
 and searching glance, whereat, giving him back 
 glance for glance, as he stood in the cross light 
 of the door and window, I saw very clear the 
 pink look in his eyes which I had seen on the 
 morning of the first dread home-coming from 
 Monte Leone. 
 
 Don Gaetano rose haughtily to his feet. 
 
 1 Reverend father,' he said, ' to what do I 
 owe the honour of this visit ? ' 
 
 The priest made no reply in words, but 
 held up two fingers to his chin in a peculiar 
 way — the sign, doubtless, of some secret society 
 of which I was not an initiate. 
 
 The sternness in Don Gaetano's eyes did 
 not diminish. It rather became more set and 
 determinate. 
 
 4 You come to me with that sign, and you 
 call yourself a priest ! ' he said. 
 
 The tall square-built man, with the eyes
 
 54 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 like shot silk, and the straight-lipped cruel 
 mouth, merely nodded. 
 
 ' Also I have come directly from the altar, 
 where I have been celebrating, as the day 
 requires. This youth knows it,' he said, 
 bending his brows upon me, and letting his 
 eyes dwell upon mine so long that a cold thrill 
 passed all down my body to my feet. 
 
 1 You accost me in broad daylight, with the 
 garments of a sacred profession upon you. 
 You boast that you come from celebrating 
 Mass. And you make me the sign of a 
 Society whose aim and end, whose beginning 
 and sole condition is murder — cold and calcu- 
 lating murder ! ' 
 
 ( Say not murder — necessary removal of 
 tyrants and traitors rather ! ' smiled the priest, 
 suavely. 
 
 * I have nothing to do with you or the 
 
 dogs of the ' began Don Gaetano, in a loud 
 
 voice. 
 
 4 Ah, your pardon ! ' interjected the priest, in 
 the high trumpet tone he had used at mass, 
 ' name not that name. If you are not of the 
 Brotherhood, how came you to recognise the 
 sign ? ' 
 
 1 I am the captain of the Vardarelli. It is 
 my business to know everything, evil and 
 good. I did not reply to your precious sign.' 
 
 * I, also,' said the priest, 1 1 know some-
 
 THE MAILED PRIEST 55 
 
 what. For instance, you ride to Brindisi to 
 take Lippo Nocelli and his brother out of 
 
 prison 
 
 ? 
 
 * It requires neither a prophet nor yet a 
 priest to guess so much. The Vardarelli do 
 not permit any of their company to be 
 Ferdinand's galley slaves.' 
 
 { If the Vardarelli had punished traitors and 
 aroused wholesome fear in tyrants by the 
 methods of the Society whose name I beg of 
 you not to mention aloud, Lippo Nocelli 
 would now have been eating macaroni and 
 drinking wine with the rest of the comitiva.' 
 
 1 Enough,' said Don Gaetano, impatiently : 
 1 for what purpose do you seek me ? ' 
 
 The priest drew from his breast a little 
 silver skull and offered it to Don Gaetano. 
 The Captain of the Vardarelli put it aside with 
 a gesture of disdain, whereupon the father 
 shrugged his shoulders and returned it to his 
 own breast. 
 
 ' As you will,' he said ; c you will not suc- 
 ceed in your mission without us, and if you do 
 not succeed now, you will regret it. There 
 comes a new English officer from Naples — an 
 Englishman, fierce and relentless, not like 
 Corre and those that have gone before him. 
 He brings Albanian troops and Swiss and 
 Austrian officers, who, being well paid, are 
 proof against the itch of the palm. Unless you
 
 56 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 unite with us, you of the Vardarelli must fall. 
 But, backed by the secret power of the Silver 
 Skull, you are invincible. That in which you 
 fail by day and at the sword's point, we can 
 effect at night, and with the little blade of 
 steel.' 
 
 1 1 am Gaetano Vardarelli, and need assist- 
 ance of neither man nor devil.' 
 
 And as he spoke he bowed a little ironically 
 to the priest. 
 
 1 Still you may — there is none invincible. 
 The spirit of man oft escapes through a very small 
 hole. The Council of Twelve meets to-night. 
 Take an equal number and meet us. We have 
 all the Terra di Otranto at our feet — the pro- 
 vince of Oria is under our thumb. They will 
 rise whenever the Silver Skull gives the word.' 
 
 * Sir,' said Gaetano, c I will meet you where 
 you will, if so be that our attack fails.' 
 
 c It will fail,' interrupted the priest, con- 
 fidently. 
 
 £ In that case I will meet you where you 
 will, and that not with any equal number. I 
 will meet you alone, or with but one companion. 
 Gaetano Vardarelli fears neither the Silver Skull 
 nor yet the hempen cord.' 
 
 ' Bring this fair " daughter " with you,' 
 sneered the priest, who chafed obviously under 
 our Gaetano's contempt, * and you may be the 
 more welcome.'
 
 THE MAILED PRIEST 57 
 
 My brother looked him squarely in the 
 face for a long moment, and then nodded 
 grimly. 
 
 ' 1 will,' he said — c I will bring this youth. 
 And if tongue or hand or eye offend — by Saint 
 Christopher, not Silver Skulls shall ye be, but 
 bleached skulls of rotten bone whose eyeballs 
 the vultures have picked out. The meeting- 
 place, sir ? ' 
 
 c Within the enclosure of Castello Rotondo 
 — the password, " The Blood of Tyrants." ' 
 
 And, turning on his heel without salutation, 
 the mail-clad priest clanked out and left us 
 alone.
 
 58 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 
 
 We rode on to Brindisi, where in the castle the 
 Nocelli were interned. Into the great plain of 
 Apulia we descended. The distant hills from 
 which we had come fell far behind in every hue 
 and tone of indigo. Beneath, betwixt us and 
 the sea, was the green garden of fair Puglia, 
 dotted with smiling white farms, wimpled 
 across to seaward by sluggish watercourses ; 
 and there beyond, with the castle of Brindisi 
 making a purple blotch upon it, spread the 
 perfect sapphire of the sea. It went to my 
 heart to look upon it, for even thus in the 
 days of my unforgotten childhood had ap- 
 peared the nearer vivid green of the plain, and 
 that distant cerulean bowstring from the castle 
 of Monte Leone. 
 
 Here and there, as we descended to the 
 plain, we saw the little cone-shaped summer- 
 houses of the townspeople of Brindisi, so built 
 to diminish the buffeting of the wind ; and 
 as the sun flashed on the gun-barrels of
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 59 
 
 the Vardarelli, and the light breeze bore 
 far the jingle of their bits and stirrup-irons, 
 we laughed to see figures in lightest attire 
 running into the vineyards and olive plan- 
 tations in order to escape from the terrible 
 comitiva. 
 
 We rode into Brindisi and boldly up to the 
 castle gate. Gaetano was first, and I close 
 beside him. At the drawbridge we saw red 
 and green uniforms, instead of the white for 
 which we had been on the watch. Instantly 
 our captain leaned forward, with a calm expres- 
 sion of triumph on his face. 
 
 ' Neapolitan militia ! ' he said ; ' our 
 brothers are safe this time.' For we had all 
 feared that the veterans of Austria might be in 
 garrison. 
 
 Then Gaetano called his trumpeter and bade 
 him ride nearer and summon the castle to 
 surrender. 
 
 1 We ask but two prisoners from your 
 hand,' so ran the message, ' but if you give 
 them not up to us, we will take them — and 
 your lives as well.' 
 
 The trumpeter was a fine young fellow, 
 with a scarf of red and blue and yellow 
 (being the colours of the Charcoal-burners) 
 wound about his waist. He seemed to think 
 but little of his hazardous mission. 
 
 1 Let me go with him,' said I to Gaetano,
 
 60 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 impulsively ; whereat the youth smiled well- 
 pleased, and offered me the white flag of truce 
 to carry. But Don Gaetano looked at me with 
 a quick glance of suspicion. 
 
 ' Abide here by me,' he said gruffly ; ' you 
 know not what you ask ! ' 
 
 Whereat I sulked, like the silly spoilt child 
 I was. 
 
 i Certainly I will obey you,' said I : ' you 
 are the chief. But do not presume on passive 
 obedience. You are not a lazy Bourbon 
 Ferdinand, and if you try me too far, I will 
 even leave the Vardarelli and set up a comitiva 
 of mine own.' 
 
 At that he laughed, ana reaching across he 
 pinched my ear and pulled certain little curls I 
 had not had the heart to crop which still 
 clustered behind them. 
 
 c Would you then leave me,' he said, turning 
 to young Giovanni of Salerno, the trumpeter, 
 4 if this empty pate set up a comitiva ? ' 
 
 { Ay, that would I ! ' said the lad heartily, 
 with such instant conviction that he set us all 
 laughing, ' and so would every young fellow in 
 your band, Don Gaetano — that is, if Don 
 Pietro were to set up his banner.' 
 
 Don Gaetano smiled grimly, as if inwardly 
 enjoying the jest. Then he said gravely, 
 ' Signore Pietro, I must e'en make you a lieu- 
 tenant, that you be not driven to extremes and
 
 v 
 
 • -« 
 
 CERTAINLY I WILL OBEY YOU. SAID I. 'YOU ARE THE CHIEF'
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 61 
 
 desert me, riding away with all the life of the 
 band at your tail.' 
 
 The herald trotted forward with the white 
 standard in his hand. The sun shone hotly 
 upon him ; but he rode gallantly enough, for I 
 think he knew, this vain Giovanni, that other 
 eyes than those of Don Gaetano were upon him 
 as he went. 
 
 We saw the sentinels turn inward and the 
 iron gates shut as he approached. Green coats 
 red-belted and feather-crowned swarmed along 
 the battlements as he went nearer. Certainly 
 it was a brave man's service the young fellow 
 was rendering, for we could see the musket- 
 barrels levelled at him as he rode, and hear the 
 short words of command. But he was within 
 a hundred yards of the tower ere he stayed his 
 advance. Then, standing alone in the middle 
 of the way, he blew the trumpet and waved 
 the white banner. We could not hear what he 
 said, but there ensued a great pother upon the 
 towers, and a running to and fro as of 
 stampeded horses. 
 
 Presently came Giovanni of Salerno back 
 laughing, but for all that sitting alert and gay 
 as if he had been only showing his steed's 
 paces at the fair of Bari. 
 
 c The commandant says that he will gladly 
 give up his prisoners, on condition that we will 
 shoot a hundred or two bullets into the doors
 
 62 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 and casements, in order to show to ' the 
 Englishman when he comes. For that all 
 Englishmen dwell upon the sea, and are easily 
 deceived concerning matters upon the land.' 
 
 4 Content,' smiled Gaetano : ' he is a wise 
 and gallant commandant. We will e'en 
 humour him. But bid him put outside such 
 a store of powder and ball as may recoup us 
 for the expense of fusillade. Powder and lead 
 is scarcer among the mountains than here in 
 the port of Brindisi.' 
 
 Then he turned to the troop, and in quick, 
 brusque sentences told them what was desired 
 of them, whereat many laughed, rocking in their 
 saddles. But he ordered us to dismount, and 
 leaving our horses in safety, we skirmished about 
 the land face of the castle. The guns began to 
 crack merrily, and the white smoke of the 
 return fire to rise. It was a noble engage- 
 ment, but not so much as a fly was wounded, 
 for the only bullets fired that day imbedded 
 themselves in the great doors of the castle or 
 1 spatted ' harmlessly against the walls. 
 
 1 Tis dry work in the June sun,' quoth one, 
 Big Antonio by name : ' I would rather be- 
 siege a wine-shop and its jolly Hebe than the 
 terrible defences of the castle of Brindisi. See 
 how the blood drips from me ! ' And the 
 rogue wrung the sweat from his brow with a 
 quick twirl of his fingers.
 
 
 V . 
 
 THE HERALD TROTTED FORWARD WITH THE WHITE STANDARD 
 IN HIS HAND
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 63 
 
 Just then another white flag rose from the 
 tower above the gateway. Don Gaetano waved 
 our herald forward. A green-coated militiaman 
 stood without the gate waving the flag in one 
 hand and holding a tricoloured scarf of Car- 
 bonari colours in the other. 
 
 ( Good Cousins without,' he cried, with a 
 voice in which fear of the terrible Vardarelli 
 fought with mirth at his message, ' we also are 
 all good cousins within. The Commandant 
 greets you well, and is sending out wine and 
 bread for his friends, and with it Lippo Nocelli 
 and his brother, that the Signori Vardarelli may 
 know in what respect they are ever held in the 
 castle of Brindisi.' 
 
 When this was repeated to the comitiva 
 there was an answering shout, and save for the 
 restraining influence of Gaetano they would have 
 ridden forward immediately. But the Chief, 
 having returned his thanks and compliments to 
 the gallant commandant, directed that the viands 
 should be carried to the open balcony of an 
 unused palace which looked towards the castle, 
 so that we might be assured that no treachery 
 was intended by this very complaisant general 
 of militia. 
 
 Presently we could discern the great pear- 
 shaped amphorae being stacked in the cool of 
 the fountain behind, where the spray played 
 upon them, while the loaves of bread were
 
 64 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 bestowed under the swinging creepers of the 
 balcony itself. 
 
 Then Don Gaetano made the porters taste 
 each jar of wine and each batch of loaves — for 
 poison had not been unknown in the annals of 
 Bourbon hospitality. But there was little evil 
 to be feared when four hundred Vardarelli were 
 in Brindisi with their horses ready and their 
 swords by their sides. So there we rested 
 merrily enough, and ate and drank to the 
 content of our hearts. Don Gaetano ques- 
 tioned Lippo as to his treatment and the 
 strength of the garrison. Lippo admitted that 
 he had been very comfortably off, and that the 
 militia were as little in love with their duty 
 as it was possible for men to be. They were 
 ready to be Ferdinand's men, or Murat's men, or 
 Good Cousins of the Charcoal-burners, just as it 
 suited them. c Good money and good wine have 
 no politics ! ' they said, leering openly at each 
 other. Well might the Vardarelli stick eagles' 
 feathers in their hats and call themselves Kings 
 of Apulia. For they at least knew what they 
 wanted, and if it was not given to them, why 
 then they took it. 
 
 So when the heat was somewhat abated 
 we set out to ride back. 
 
 ' But this Englishman — Giorgio,' I asked 
 of Don Gaetano : ' what of him ? Giovanni 
 says that all English live on the sea, and that
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 65 
 
 England is only a great black stone with rings 
 in it, to which they tie up their ships at 
 night. Have the English truly fins along their 
 sides, and are their fingers webbed like ducks' 
 feet?' 
 
 * Giovanni is a young fool — he speaks 
 wind,' said Don Gaetano. ' The English are 
 indeed great on the sea, but they are also great 
 on the land ; and in Spain and on the verges 
 of the Low Countries, have you not heard how 
 they put down the Great Emperor ? ' 
 
 'But this Englishman Giorgio, what of him ? 
 Will he destroy us ? ' 
 
 The Captain shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' He will do even as the others,' he said. 
 ' He will sweep a little while with his new 
 broom, like a child with a toy. He will make 
 very clean several places that were not very dirty. 
 He will keep far off from the Vardarelli. He 
 will write reports in fine ink on great rough- 
 edged blue paper, which will go to Naples and 
 be put into pigeon-holes till the judgment day. 
 Then one fine day his friend Nugent the 
 Austrian will be disgraced, and, poof! this 
 Englishman will vanish and Apulia again be 
 as though he had never been ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said I, ' even thus it was with Corre 
 and the others — so you have ever said, and it 
 has come true. But may not this Englishman 
 be different ? Is there no fear for the home
 
 66 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 of the Vardarelli beyond the Stone Gate, 
 for the end of the free riding and all that makes 
 our greatness ? ' 
 
 Gaetano reached a hand across to pinch my 
 cheek, as was his fashion, smiling grimly the 
 while. 
 
 1 The Vardarelli are not captains of militia 
 — nor I the commandant of the castle of 
 Brindisi,' he said. ' We are five hundred 
 men, sworn to live and die together. The 
 home of the Vardarelli shall not be violate 
 either by Englishmen from the sea or yet by 
 White Croat from the North. Have no fear ! 
 Even as the sun sets after it rises, so will the 
 Englishman come and go. Then another sun 
 will arise, and another, and another. And 
 after them all the mountains shall still stand 
 about and abide the same.' 
 
 Nevertheless the Englishman was nearer 
 than we knew. And we who had brought 
 
 o 
 
 down the castle of Brindisi by the simple 
 stamping of the hoofs of our horses were now 
 to be taken in hand like children, and that by 
 the outlander Church, or as we of Apulia 
 called him ' Giorgio ' — the Northern insular- 
 isms being markedly unwholesome to Italian 
 tongues. 
 
 It was dark when we reached the town of 
 Cerniola, and halted for an hour to rest the
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 67 
 
 horses. We had yet far to go, and a storm 
 was brewing. For hours we had heard the 
 hoofs of the steeds which drew the thunder car 
 stamping abroad over Adria. The lift above us 
 grew blue-black, the faint flicker of lightning 
 wavered here and there across it, and glinted 
 on the scabbards and musket-barrels of the 
 comitiva. Aloft the wind hooted down the 
 promise of a wild night. 
 
 1 You have your cloak ? ' questioned Don 
 Gaetano presently, flinging his words over his 
 shoulder after a long pause of steady riding. 
 
 1 No,' 1 answered ; ' it was left behind at 
 our first halting-place this morning.' 
 
 He said not a word of complaint or disap- 
 proval, but for all that he punished me. 
 
 I Then take mine ! ' he said shortly, and 
 denuded himself of his great rough coat of 
 faded Apulian blue. 
 
 I I cannot, Don Gaetano,' I said : c you 
 will need it yourself.' 
 
 1 Take it and put it about your shoulders : 
 do as I bid you,' he commanded ; ' here come 
 the first drops of the thunderstorm.' 
 
 1 Indeed, then, I will not ! ' I made reply. 
 And I dare say I tossed my head in the way that 
 was usually so effective with Don Giovanni 
 and the rest of the comitiva, whenever I, a 
 spoilt child, had resolved to have my own 
 way. 
 
 f 2
 
 68 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 But Don Gaetano looked at me with that 
 direct gaze before which no eyes could stand. 
 
 1 I am your captain,' he said : ' I order you 
 to put it on.' 
 
 Then I could not resist saying that which 
 only a spiteful girl would say. 
 
 ' Oh, I hate you/ — I blurted it out so that 
 those nearest could hear — ( I hate you for a 
 cruel tyrant, Don Gaetano ! * 
 
 1 So ? ' he said coolly ; c only do as I bid 
 you.' 
 
 I had perforce to ride on, with the hateful 
 cloak about my shoulders, but the tears rose to 
 my eyes, and fell down my cheeks. And I 
 took care that Don Gaetano should see them 
 too. I hoped that his heart would smite him 
 that he should thus tyrannise over a girl. Yet 
 I think that secretly I liked his masterful way. 
 
 But whether or no, certainly his stern equal 
 face showed no trace of emotion. The rain 
 fell and drenched him through and through. 
 The lightning illuminated his stalwart figure, 
 but never did he deign me a single glance, nor 
 did a word of pity for my misery escape him. 
 And this though he could not have helped 
 noticing my tears. Now on the other hand 
 Don Giovanni touched my arm often in sym- 
 pathy as we rode — but secretly ; and once he 
 offered me a scented kerchief. Yet Gaetano, 
 though I glanced at him often, would not so
 
 A BLOODLESS LEAGUER 69 
 
 much as look ; but rode forward with the rain 
 beating down upon him, and his face set like iron 
 into the darkness. Only once he put his hand 
 back and twitched the cape of his cloak over 
 my bridle arm, but without even looking at me. 
 And I hated him more for that than for all 
 the rest.
 
 70 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 
 
 It was at the cross-roads beyond the Casa Pa- 
 lumbo that one of our district scouts, who knew 
 that we should be riding home that way, 
 brought us word how the Englishman Giorgio, 
 who had come to rule Apulia for Ferdinand, was 
 sheltering at the Albergo Raimondo in the town 
 of Cerniola. The town lay beneath us in a 
 little cup ; and by the gathering and scattering 
 of the lights we could see that there was some 
 unusual excitement there. Presently, with a 
 pale-faced follower or two, the fat Syndic of the 
 place dashed up upon his mule. As soon as 
 he found himself in the presence of the full 
 muster of the comitiva, his hat was in his hand 
 and his eyes fairly goggled out with fear. His 
 breathing came in stertorous pants, and his 
 whole complexion grew mottled and unpleasing 
 as he stood within the circle of the lighted 
 lantern with which Don Giovanni had hurried 
 forward. 
 
 £ Great and famous chief of the Vardarelli,'
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 71 
 
 he wheezed, ' if it please you, there is come to 
 our town General Giorgio, which is to say- 
 Church, the Englishman ; and, hearing that 
 you are to pass this way with the comitiva, he 
 hath sent to command — I mean, of course, to 
 invite you to come and see him.' 
 
 Don Gaetano laughed a short hoarse laugh. 
 
 £ Did he say " invite " or " command," Sig- 
 nore Syndic ? ' 
 
 4 1 think — I am very much afraid that the 
 mad Englishman, not having the fear of death 
 before him, said " command " ! ' 
 
 The smile sprang again to the face of the 
 Chief. 
 
 ' Well said ! ' he cried. * 1 will go and see 
 this Englishman. 1 desire to look upon the 
 face of the first man who ever dared to say " 1 
 command " to Don Gaetano Vardarelli, riding 
 in full comitiva through his own country of 
 Apulia ! ' 
 
 The Syndic bowed low, and his attendants 
 fell in behind him. The wind blattered in 
 their faces and the lightning revealed that they 
 were well-nigh as pale as their master — whether 
 from fear of Giorgio the Englishman, or of the 
 Vardarelli, I know not. 
 
 4 Tell me, Sir Syndic,' said Gaetano, as we 
 rode on underneath the beating of the tempest, 
 c what force hath this Englishman with him in 
 Cerniola ? '
 
 72 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 I My lord,' quoth the Syndic, 'lama poor 
 man, but true of heart. He seemeth to be 
 alone, save for an attendant or two. But since 
 no man that is not mad would trust himself in 
 the path of the Vardarelli unsupported, or 
 would send such a message to the great Cap- 
 tain, I opine that he must have a large army 
 within call, but hidden we know not where by 
 the darkness of the night, the sudden storm, 
 and the difficulties of the country.' 
 
 I I thank you,' said Gaetano ; c you are a 
 worthy chief magistrate. But you know not 
 the disposition of the mad English, nor indeed 
 of any brave man. He may well enough be 
 all alone, and yet call for Don Gaetano ; or 
 he may have fifty thousand soldiers within 
 call, and yet mean no treachery. In either 
 case I would go and see the first man that 
 hath dared to impose his commands upon the 
 Vardarelli.' 
 
 The Syndic of Cerniola bowed his acknow- 
 ledgments as well as he could, for the wind was 
 undermining his hat-brim and playing briskly 
 at revolution with his flapping cloak. He was 
 wise and fat chief magistrate, and kept on as 
 good terms as he could with outlaw and inlaw 
 alike. But for all that his mottled complexion 
 told what this night's work had cost him, ere 
 he could bring himself to put his head in the 
 lion's mouth and set forth to intercept the
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 73 
 
 dread chief of the Vardarelli, riding there with 
 all his troop behind him. 
 
 1 We go to call upon the Englishman who 
 is come to teach us to obey Ferdinand, the 
 Bourbon of Naples ! ' cried Don Gaetano to his 
 nearest followers ; and though upon that night 
 of storm even his great voice could not reach 
 one-third of the force that followed him, the 
 news spread from man to man till every rider 
 knew that the comitiva must be riding full into 
 the heart of the hostile army of ' Albanesi ' with 
 which (so the tale rolled) the English General 
 had come from Naples in order to subdue the 
 province of Apulia. 
 
 We all thought our chief must be mad to 
 risk such a contest with unequal numbers. For, 
 as I could hear Don Giovanni muttering on 
 my right flank to the wind-clacking darkness 
 of the night, 'What soldier of King Ferdinand 
 would send such a message who had not a 
 force of a hundred to one ? And though the 
 Vardarelli are brave men and ready to die for 
 their leader and their cause of liberty, there is 
 little service to cither in their committing 
 suicide ! ' 
 
 And I could catch the grumble as it spread 
 like contagion among the long wavering 
 comitiva that stretched back underneath the 
 wind-blown city lamps and the blue flicker of 
 the storm.
 
 74 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 But we passed the wall without a sight of 
 any Neapolitan soldier. We rode through the 
 narrow streets of Cerniola. Not a dog wagged 
 his tail. 
 
 1 It hath all the marks of an ambush ! ' 
 quoth Don Giovanni behind me, in so loud a 
 voice that his elder brother turned angrily 
 upon him. 
 
 1 Don Giovanni, to-night you have all the 
 marks of a coward ; and if you cannot keep 
 your tongue still, from this day forth you shall 
 stay at home with the women — yes, with the 
 women and children ! ' And then, remembering 
 me, he added : 'As it is, my Pietro here is 
 worth a dozen of you, with your fears and 
 croakings.' 
 
 After that there was no more muttering. 
 
 Presently we came to the Albergo Raimondi, 
 which fairly blazed with lights. It seemed as 
 if the padrone had lighted every lamp and 
 candle within the walls. Yet not a soldier, so 
 far as I could see, was on guard. The stone 
 steps of the old palace were vague, untenanted, 
 in the great light. The landlord, whether in 
 fear of the Vardarelli or of his guest, had 
 conveyed himself away to a place of safety. 
 So there in the rain-beaten street we formed 
 up, and I would have remained with the 
 comitiva had not Don Gaetano called me to 
 accompany him into the presence of the
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 75 
 
 General, as also his brothers Girolamo and 
 Giovanni. 
 
 We went up the broad white marble steps 
 of the albergo with our hands ready upon the 
 sword-hilt, glancing this way and that for any 
 sign of an ambush. At least all of us save 
 Don Gaetano, who, merely dusting the rain- 
 drops from his coat and swinging his hat to 
 clear the dripping brim, strode upward as if he 
 were going upstairs to the Lady Mother in our 
 own Casa beyond the Stone Gate. For such 
 is the nature of one great man when he goes 
 to meet another. 
 
 At the landing we came for the first time 
 upon a soldier in uniform. He stood stiffly 
 on guard, with his musket and bayonet at the 
 shoulder. 
 
 Don Gaetano halted to answer his 
 challenge. 
 
 4 1 am Don Gaetano Vardarelli, and I have 
 come to pay my respects to the distinguished 
 General Church, at his own request.' 
 
 The soldier saluted like a wooden image 
 worked by wires. 
 
 ' I will inform Captain Cameron, who will 
 approach his Excellency,' he said. 
 
 So with the most admirable patience our 
 Gaetano stood waiting on the stairs till the 
 soldier had brought a young officer of quick 
 and alert mien, who by his appearance seemed
 
 76 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 to have been drying his steaming garments in 
 front of the fire. 
 
 * Don Gaetano Vardarelli ?' said he, bowing 
 courteously 
 
 c The same,' responded our Chief. * I am 
 come to obey the commands of the great 
 General ! ' 
 
 Again the officer bowed with the air of one 
 who has distinctions of his own if he cared to 
 reveal them. He was a tall lad, fair-haired 
 and fair-skinned, with a strong clear-cut face — 
 not handsome, perhaps, but yet with something 
 wondrously boyish and taking about the eyes. 
 
 ' I will at once announce you to the 
 General,' he said. 
 
 He stepped across the ante-room to an 
 inner door. At this he knocked, and inclined 
 his ear for the answer. 
 
 ' Who is there ? ' cried a voice from 
 within, amazingly rich and clear. 
 
 ' It is I, Cameron.' 
 
 * Ah, Cameron — well, what is it r ' 
 
 ' Don Gaetano Vardarelli, whom your Ex- 
 cellency desired to see, has come to pay his 
 respects to you.' 
 
 ' Bring him in at once ! ' the rich voice 
 said. 
 
 Captain Cameron smiled encouragingly 
 upon us, and motioned our Chief forward. 
 
 4 1 will take this youth with me,' he said to
 
 THE COMING OF THE ENGLISHMAN 77 
 
 Cameron, indicating me with his hand. The 
 soldier youth bowed again, like one who 
 dismisses a matter too slight to be disputed 
 about. And in another moment we were in the 
 presence of the most remarkable man it has 
 ever been my hap to see — General Richard 
 Church, the Englishman who had come to win 
 Apulia for the King.
 
 78 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 
 
 He stood behind an oaken table, upon which 
 at our entrance he had cast a sheaf of papers. 
 His unbuckled sword lay across it, together 
 with a pair of pistols. 
 
 His hair was already growing grey at the 
 temples — the early frost which comes to men 
 of quick and strenuous build ; yet his age could 
 not have been more than forty — a young man 
 I thought him to be in so great a position, 
 Commander-in-chief of all Magna Graecia and 
 alter ego of the King himself. 
 
 Don Gaetano bowed low — a gesture which, 
 though not natural to me, I strove to imitate as 
 best I could. The Englishman responded with 
 a short military salutation. Yet his blue eye 
 looked upon us with a not unkindly light, and 
 I think that he could not but admire the noble 
 figure of Don Gaetano, who, tall and erect, 
 with limbs and body firmed by a lifetime of the 
 manliest exercises, stood regarding him with a 
 calm face, and over whose broad brow the hair fell
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 79 
 
 darkly, black as cooling lava when y£tna is 
 white with snow. 
 
 The two men fronted each other level-eyed 
 in a kind of curious silence, then by a quick 
 instinct I knew that neither was disappointed in 
 the other. 
 
 ' Your son, Don Gaetano ? ' queried the 
 General, indicating me with his nearer eye- 
 brow. 
 
 1 My nephew ! ' returned the Chief, as suc- 
 cinctly. 
 
 * A most graceful cavalier ! I make him 
 my compliments ! ' said the Englishman, in 
 perfect Italian and with a gesture of fine 
 courtesy. I could feel the blushes rising 
 to my face under the pressure of that steady 
 eye. 
 
 He passed on, his eyes dwelling no longer 
 upon me as soon as he discovered my em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 c I am glad to meet you thus, as a man 
 ought to meet his fellow, eye to eye and face 
 to face. Ever since I came to the confines of 
 this your country of Apulia, I have heard only 
 of Don Gaetano Vardarelli as the bravest and 
 most humane of men. And to-night when I 
 found myself unexpectedly so near you, I could 
 not resist sending the Syndic of this little town 
 to ask you to visit me. By the way, what has 
 become of our noble Syndic ?'
 
 So THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Don Gaetano laughed a short pleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 ( I suspect,' he said, ' that that brave chief 
 of the municipality will be safe in some recess 
 of the wall of his house by this time, with 
 a heavy piece of furniture between him and 
 danger. He did not appear to relish his 
 office when I last saw him ! ' 
 
 The General Church smiled responsively. 
 
 * Indeed, I noticed something of the same 
 hesitation. I dare say he feared being ground 
 between the upper and nether millstone. But 
 have you your troop with you on this oc- 
 casion ? ' 
 
 The Chief of the Free Companions nodded, 
 with that calmness which in a nature like his 
 takes the place of pride. 
 
 £ I would give half my year's pay if you 
 were a King's man,' said the General, letting 
 his eye take in his visitor from head to foot. 
 
 * I am more,' said Gaetano : ' I myself am 
 King. In Apulia there is no royal house save 
 that of the Vardarelli — no King but their 
 chieftain.' 
 
 The General appeared not to hear that 
 plain statement of fact, in which there was 
 yet neither boasting nor false modesty. 
 
 ' 1 come,' he continued, c direct from Naples 
 with powers from the King himself. What must 
 I say to him when I return thither concerning
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN Si 
 
 the Vardarelli ? That you are no man- 
 slayers and midnight assassins, like certain 
 others ? ' 
 
 Don Gaetano nodded quickly. 
 
 * You may indeed say that with truth. 
 We of the Vardarelli have no blood on our 
 hands save that which has been spilt in fair 
 fight. We have nothing to ask from the King. 
 What matters it to us whether Buonaparte or 
 Murat or Ferdinand bear rule in Naples ? 
 The Vardarelli are kings in Apulia.' 
 
 £ As to that we shall see,' replied the 
 Englishman, smiling. ' You have had generals 
 sent out against you time and again ; but never 
 before have 1 set foot in Apulia myself. And 
 now I would come in peace and have Don 
 Gaetano Vardarelli as my friend, and not as my 
 foe.' 
 
 1 1 should indeed be proud to be called the 
 friend of so noble a General,' said the 
 Vardarelli — ' or even if he were compelled to 
 take the field against me, that in itself would 
 be an honour.' 
 
 The General drummed with his ringers a 
 little impatiently. 
 
 1 Don Gaetano,' he said, * why do you, if 
 indeed you are King of Apulia, allow such 
 murderous ruffians as the Decisi to remain 
 among you ? '
 
 82 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Don Gaetano for the first time seemed 
 somewhat put out, perhaps remembering his 
 too wide boast of power. 
 
 ' They do not flourish in my neighbour- 
 hood,' he said hastily ; ( they keep to their 
 own country — the mountains are free of them. 
 They abide only in the villages of the Tarentine 
 plain.' 
 
 ' But why do you not hunt them down, 
 lest men say that you are even as they ? ' 
 
 1 It matters little what men say of the 
 Vardarelli,' returned our Chief haughtily ; 1 1 am 
 not a Bourbon policeman ! ' 
 
 The Englishman laughed heartily. c You 
 mean that I am ? ' he said, with a certain quick 
 high humour which became him. 
 
 4 On the contrary,' returned Don Gaetano, 
 ' your Excellency is a most noble soldier. I 
 have heard of Capri and San Germane ' 
 
 It was courteously said, and it was the 
 General's turn to stammer and change the 
 subject. Indeed, I never felt so strongly what 
 a lesson in high courtesy it was to be present 
 at the meeting of two such men. 
 
 The General went to the window and 
 looked out. As he did so his face was lit up 
 by a lightning flash. 
 
 ' It is, I fear, a wild night without,' he said, 
 c and I must not keep your brave lads. I can 
 see them sitting their horses down there steady
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 83 
 
 as veterans. May I be permitted to review 
 them as they pass ? ' 
 
 Don Gaetano bowed. c Certainly, your 
 Excellency,' he said : ' but it is dark, and the 
 storm is fiercer than ever.' 
 
 * We are neither salt nor sugar, that a drop 
 of rain should hurt us,' said the Englishman : 
 * but you have some distance to ride, I doubt 
 not. I must not detain you. But I shall tell 
 the King that there is one noble man in Apulia 
 of whom I would advise him to make a friend. 
 And to you, Don Gaetano dei Vardarelli, T 
 would say — hasten to make your submission 
 and wear the King's colours.' 
 
 I There is no man in Apulia whom I could 
 be proud to serve but yourself,' returned Don 
 Gaetano. 
 
 c That also I shall be ready to arrange,' said 
 General Church : ' together you and I could 
 make Apulia quiet as a millpond. Apart, — 
 well, that would be so grievous, we need not 
 consider it.' 
 
 I I will consider your proposal,' said Don 
 Gaetano ; £ meanwhile believe that I and the 
 Vardarelli are neither murderers nor highway 
 robbers. No maid owes insult or scaith to 
 them. No woman needs blush for the comi- 
 t'rea of the hill-men, and if they have taken 
 aught from the rich, it has been to feed the 
 poor.' 
 
 G 2
 
 S 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 General Church smiled, as if he cared not 
 to enter into that part of the argument. 
 
 4 May I introduce my officers ? ' continued 
 Don Gaetano. The General made a gesture of 
 permission. The Chief blew a note on his 
 whistle, and immediately from the ante-room 
 strode in upon us his brother Don Girolamo, 
 followed hastily by the fair-haired young officer 
 who had introduced us to the General. 
 
 1 Go back, Cameron,' said the General, 
 speaking rapidly in French : ' this tall gentle- 
 man does not know that it is customary to wait 
 to be announced before entering/ 
 
 Don Gaetano understood him, and I could 
 see annoyance rise in his swarthy cheeks. 
 
 * Your pardon, General,' he said instantly, in 
 the same language : c the fault was mine. I but 
 made my ordinary signal to call in the brother 
 who is my senior lieutenant. I beg a thousand 
 pardons.' 
 
 The Englishman waved the matter aside 
 with his hand. 
 
 ' Introduce him,' he said. And the Chief 
 of the Vardarelli introduced his brothers one 
 by one, and to each of them the Englishman 
 said a pleasant and courteous word. 
 
 1 Now, Cameron, bring torches and attend 
 me to the door of the courtyard ! ' he said, 
 turning swiftly to his aide. 
 
 1 Tell the troop that they arc to be re-
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 85 
 
 viewed by his Excellency the General,' said our 
 Chief. 
 
 I took the command upon myself, as it was 
 spoken at large. So it chanced that the tall 
 young man whom his General had called 
 Cameron walked down the stairs with me. 
 
 * I think we would be friends if we knew 
 one another better,' he said, in broken Italian. 
 
 * I know it,' I replied, resolving not to be 
 outdone ; ' I am sure you are as gallant a 
 soldier as your General.' 
 
 The young man shook his fair close- 
 cropped head. * No,' he said, c there is no one 
 in the world in the least like our General. But 
 I should be glad to know more of you. Will 
 you tell me your name, that I may remember 
 it?' 
 
 I I am called Pietro of the Vardarelli,' I 
 said, holding my head down so that he could 
 not look at my confusion. 
 
 ' Mine is Walter Cameron,' he said. c I 
 come from a far Northern country where men 
 wear short skirts like women. Here, on the 
 contrary, the men are fair as women and wear 
 uniform.' 
 
 I dared not glance up at him, even to find 
 out whether or no he had pierced my disguise 
 and was laughing at me. But 1 was relieved 
 when at that moment we came out into the 
 courtyard, and he was compelled to leave me
 
 86 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 in order to find torches, while I gave my 
 message to the officer who had been left in 
 charge. 
 
 The comitiva had been waiting impatiently 
 enough in the rain, and they received the news 
 with delight. They believed that the town 
 was held in force by the King's troops, but 
 that out of respect for their chieftain the 
 Englishman had avoided making a show of 
 them. At the news that the great soldier from 
 Naples would review them, a cheer swept along 
 the line. 
 
 Scarcely was I again back within the court- 
 yard of the Albergo Raimondi when I saw 
 Cameron with the trembling old major-domo 
 busily lighting the torches. I hastened to assist 
 them. The young officer smiled as I 
 showed him how the matter was managed. 
 When all was ready, he poured some wine into 
 two glasses that stood ready, and pushing one 
 towards me, he said, ' Drink with me to our 
 better acquaintance, Don Pietro Vardarelli.' 
 
 I could do no less than drink to him, and 
 his eyes met mine with the straight Northern 
 look in them which I had grown to like so well. 
 I felt that this Captain Cameron was a man to 
 be counted upon. 
 
 ' I drink to you heartily, Signore Capitano ! ' 
 I replied.
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 87 
 
 ( Have you already forgotten my name ? ' 
 He smiled. 
 
 ' Nay,' I made answer ; * but it is not an 
 easy name to say as you say it.' 
 
 ' I have never found any difficulty : listen 
 and remember,' and he said it again, with that 
 peculiar sound which comes as easily to the 
 English as smacking their lips after good wine. 
 
 I shook, my head, smiling also. 
 
 ' Sir,' I said, ( we will turn it into the speech 
 of the South. I drink to you again the second 
 time, Don Gualtiero ! ' 
 
 Then setting down our glasses we shook 
 hands without words. 
 
 Long after I heard great artists who sell 
 what they paint, poets and storytellers who 
 write that which people buy, say that other 
 lands are lands of black-and-white like drawings 
 in books, but that our Italy is the one land of 
 colour. 
 
 And remembering that night, I know that 
 it is a true word. Let me think. In Cerniola 
 there was an albergo — a common enough house 
 — one that, like most of the inns in our part of 
 the country, had once been a noble palace. Its 
 lintels and corbels were all four or five hundred 
 years old ; carved devils leaned over its roof 
 and spouted full-lipped. Beneath were stone 
 arches, iron-grated lattices, galleried streets : all
 
 88 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 were seen under the red glare of the 
 torches. 
 
 And then the horses and the men ! Such 
 horses and such men ! There on the steps 
 stood our Don Gaetano — never prouder, I give 
 you my word, than when all his five hundred thus 
 defiled before him. On either side of the gate- 
 way stood one of the Vardarelli and the soldier 
 escort holding a torch, the light shining upon 
 their accoutrements. Behind were the major- 
 domo, and the Capitano Cameron with other 
 two. A little in front, by the side of Don 
 Gaetano, stood the English General, slight and 
 eager of face, the rain beating upon his head 
 and upon the uniform on which decorations 
 glittered in the red light. 
 
 1 Forward the Vardarelli ! ' came the order ; 
 and with Don Giacomo leading the comitiva 
 began its advance. I stood a little back behind 
 a pillar, where I could see without being seen. 
 Only the young captain seemed conscious that I 
 was there, for more than once he smiled across 
 at me. Even Don Gaetano had forgotten me 
 in the pride of his heart. And indeed it was 
 small wonder. 
 
 The lightning flickered in wispy tangles, like 
 the swift play of damascened sword-blades, and 
 the thunder rattled and growled overhead like 
 wheels on a wooden bridge. As each pair of 
 Vardarelli came in front of the stone stairs on
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 89 
 
 which stood the chiefs and the torches, their 
 swords flashed to a wild salute. And I saw the 
 hand of the General move in response, with 
 the stern mechanism that comes only to the 
 English in matters military. 
 
 1 Tramp ! tramp ! ' The horses clattered 
 over the stones of the street. The windows 
 opposite were blank and dead, though doubt- 
 less many a shivering rabbit-hearted burgher 
 peeped from behind them ; for when Vardarelli 
 were passing, it was time for the men of 
 Cerniola to hold their breaths. 
 
 Five hundred men, each with musket and 
 sabre ! Murat himself might have been proud 
 to lead such a troop, and if he had — faith, then he 
 need never have given that last famous com- 
 mand of his ere he fell forward in the sunshine. 
 
 I tell you Don Gaetano Vardarelli held his 
 head high as these men passed by, and indeed 
 small blame to him ! The trumpeters in the 
 van blew a warlike blast. The horses tossed 
 their bridle reins. The thunder roared above 
 and the lightning glinted down on steel 
 caparison and the blades of drawn swords. 
 Beneath were our Chief's horse and those of his 
 brothers held ready. The comitiva still passed 
 and the arm of the General unweariedly rose 
 and fell in the salute. 
 
 ' I bid you farewell, Excellency ! ' said Don 
 Gaetano, bowing his head.
 
 go THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The General held out his hand with the 
 hearty gesture of the English. The Chief 
 grasped it. 
 
 ' May this hand never meet mine save in 
 friendship ! ' he said, bending to kiss it. 
 
 ' Amen to so good a prayer ! ' cried the 
 General. ' 1 will tell the King that he must 
 make the Vardarelli the pillars of his throne in 
 Apulia. They are fine fellows all ! ' 
 
 The torches flickered and blew the smoke 
 in our faces as the fierce Adriatic gusts swept 
 up the narrow street. 
 
 In a moment more we were in the saddle. 
 
 ' Forward ! ' cried our leader, and we two 
 dashed quickly along the ranks to the front ; 
 and as we looked back we could still see 
 the slim figure of the Englishman saluting 
 the files as they passed in review before 
 him. 
 
 Don Gaetano raised his arm as the lightning 
 flashes came so swiftly together that they were 
 almost continuous. His voice rang out above 
 the growl of the thunder : ' Viva il generale 
 Giorgio ! ' 
 
 Then all the comiliva raised their swords 
 into the night, and a great shout of c Viva ! ' 
 went up from every hardy rider. Such honour 
 had never been paid to any before in all the 
 history of the troop. 
 
 The next moment we were out into the
 
 THREE BRAVE MEN 91 
 
 black night, clear of the town. The chief rode 
 by my shoulder. 
 
 He spoke carefully to me, glancing first 
 about him to see that none of his riders were 
 near. 
 
 ' Yonder Englishman was a brave man — a 
 man indeed ! ' he said : ' I love such men. In 
 all that town, saving only the young white- 
 headed officer and the frightened sentinel, he 
 had no supporter nor friend. I found out as 
 much from the postillions who brought him 
 hither. He travelled alone. He was wholly 
 in my power, and knew it. You have looked 
 on a very brave man to-night, little La Bella ! ' 
 
 c On three very brave men ! ' 1 corrected. 
 
 ' On three ?' he queried, turning quickly. 
 
 * Yes,' I said, laying my hand on his : c on 
 the English General, the young fair-haired 
 officer, and on the noblest of all, the man who 
 would not take advantage of another brave 
 man's weakness — my brother Don Gaetano 
 Vardarelli.' 
 
 And in this wise came General Richard 
 Church to Apulia.
 
 92 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA 
 
 It was the next night that our chieftain, in 
 spite of the deliverance of the Nocelli, ful- 
 filled his promise to hold converse with the 
 heads of the dread secret society of the Decisi. 
 His brothers endeavoured to persuade him 
 that by doing so he would risk his person. 
 They even came to me, beseeching me to use 
 the influence which they supposed I had with 
 Don Gaetano, that he should not part himself 
 from the comitiva. But I told them plumply to 
 carry their own messages, because that none 
 save Don Gaetano intermeddled with Don 
 Gaetano's business. 
 
 Don Giovanni particularly besought his 
 mother to interfere. 
 
 * It is for the sake of our own good name,' 
 he said : 'we of the Vardarelli, though we 
 have indeed levied contributions in the name 
 of the Carbonari and the Friends of Freedom, 
 have never had in the popular estimation 
 any connection with the midnight assassins
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA 93 
 
 of the Decisi, nor yet with their bloody 
 leader.' 
 
 But the Signora kept her face set and hard. 
 She shook her head in refusal. The Captain of 
 the Vardarelli was fortunate in his womankind. 
 
 ' If it is the will of the leader, go he will. 
 And I were no true Vardarelli if I gave advice 
 where it was not asked.' 
 
 I think that after this double rebuff they 
 approached Don Gaetano himself, though 
 perhaps not so directly. The four brothers sat 
 with him on the balcony. I could hear their 
 side of the argument, earnest and low-spoken, 
 and though I could not follow the exact words, 
 I knew its purport. But I heard also 
 Gaetano's reply clearly enough. 
 
 1 I have passed my word to go into the den 
 of the wolf, and to the den of the wolf I will 
 go ! But — I will take some few wolf-hunters 
 with me.' 
 
 It was five of the clock when Don Gaetano 
 awoke me from a light sleep. The heat of the 
 afternoon sun was cooling. We looked down 
 from the hillside upon the green plain of 
 Apulia, with the white farmhouses and 
 clustered villages dotted here and there upon 
 it. It ran right and left as far as the eye could 
 reach ; and along the utmost verge, where the 
 sky reached down to hook itself on to the 
 horizon, was stretched the dark purple bow-
 
 94 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 string of the sea. I knew well that down 
 there the dust would choke and the white 
 roads cut wearily across the monotonous plain. 
 But from our eagle's eyrie all appeared green 
 and fair. The summer's drought had left no 
 stain upon the landscape, nor had the autumn 
 redness yet come to burn up the vine leaves 
 and parch yet more the gray olives, turning 
 their leaves edgewise. 
 
 Don Gaetano dismounted on the pleasant 
 hill-slope, and stood meditatively with the reins 
 of his favourite black charger on his arm. He 
 looked down upon the land into which the new 
 power of the Ferdinand's Englishman had come 
 to contest the sway of the Vardarelli. But it 
 was not of General Giorgio that our Captain 
 was thinking just then. 
 
 4 La Bella,' he said presently, yet without 
 looking at me, * you are not afraid to trust 
 yourself with me in the den of the wolf ? ' 
 
 1 1 am not afraid to go anywhere with you, 
 Gaetano mine ! ' I made reply. 
 
 He seemed to sigh a little at my answer, as 
 if he desired some other — yet what I could not 
 judge. 
 
 ' Then I will take you with me, and leave 
 these fretful brothers and officers of mine 
 below. 1 would rather have my own little Don 
 Pietroj who comes with me willingly, than a 
 hundred pressed men armed to the teeth.'
 
 
 DON GAETANO DISMOUNTED ON THE PLEASANT HILL-SLOPE. AND STOOD 
 MEDITATIVELY WITH THE REINS ON HIS ARM
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMIT1VA 9 5 
 
 And he cast his eyes haughtily behind him 
 where his escort was grouped, whispering 
 apart, well knowing his fierce temper when 
 crossed, and not one of them willing that the 
 brunt of it should fall upon him. 
 
 c We shall rest at yonder Masseria,' Gaetano 
 went on, l there where the white tower looks 
 over the gray wall. We can shut the gate and 
 set sentries, so that these faint hearts may sleep 
 safely wrapped in their cloaks. Then you and 
 I, little Pietro, will take our lives in our hands 
 and venture forth to confront the Man of 
 Seventeen Murders.' 
 
 ' The Man of Seventeen Murders ! ' cried 
 I, aghast that any one should possess such a 
 terrible appellation. 
 
 Don Gaetano smiled. 
 
 ' That is but one of the many names ot the 
 Head of the Decisi, whom we go to meet to- 
 night. He has cognomens even more 
 terrible.' 
 
 ( Then why, Don Gaetano, do you place 
 yourself in his power ? ' 
 
 Our Chief shrugged his shoulders and 
 moved his foot impatiently. 
 
 ' Now you speak not like my little paladin 
 Don Pietro, but like one of these others. But 
 1 will tell you, because you are you. 1 go 
 because I am Don Gaetano Vardarelli — because 
 I do not choose that there shall be a man I am
 
 9 6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 afraid to face in all the provinces of the Eastern 
 Sea, from Bari even to Taranto — because I 
 would see this man and sound him with my 
 eyes. And if he be wholly evil, and a man of 
 blood, then after that will I make an end of 
 him — or he of me. But if, on the other hand, 
 he be eager for true liberty and striving in his 
 way to curb the proud and help the poor — then 
 I, Gaetano, will teach him to put by the 
 assassin's knife and to live cleanly.' 
 
 * And will you, my Chief, who have kept 
 yourself from blood, save that which is shed in 
 fair fight, join your hand with that of the Man 
 of Seventeen Murders ? ' 
 
 But he answered me not — the dark look 
 gathering ominously about his eyes. 
 
 1 Enough : it is my will ! If you like it 
 not, you can bide with the others ! ' he said 
 shortly. 
 
 I took his hand, and, lifting it to my lips, I 
 kissed it. 
 
 * I will go with you anywhere,' 1 made 
 answer ; ' I am ever safe and happy where you 
 are.' 
 
 At this he seemed to withdraw his fingers 
 from mine with a little shudder, and I thought 
 he was still angry. So that I suppose I stood 
 before him with the tears ready to overflow and 
 my eyes cast on the ground. Indeed, I do not 
 remember how I stood. At any rate, Don
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA 97 
 
 Gaetano looked at me, and let his hand drop on 
 my shoulder as if unconsciously. 
 
 1 Little one,' he said, ' bear with me. Fate 
 presses me hard to-night. I must do this thing. 
 But I know how safe it is. The Decisi may as- 
 sassinate the King or cross swords with the 
 Englishman, but they will think twice before 
 daring to lay a finger on a chief of the Varda- 
 relli. The proof of this is that I ask you to 
 come with me.' 
 
 He turned him about and signalled to his 
 men. Then he leaped to the saddle himself. 
 
 1 Yonder is the Masseria del Duca,' he 
 said ; c there is good cheer awaiting us there. 
 Often before have we tasted it. Whose appe- 
 tite among you is ready for oysters from the 
 Lesser Sea of Taranto ? Whose mouth waters 
 for lappered cream colder than the fountains of 
 Monte Volture, together with cured goat's 
 ham garnished with the pick of the Duke's 
 vegetable garden ? ' 
 
 So, much cheered by his words, the comitha 
 descended a path, narrow and rocky. It was 
 just at the edge of dark. A few stars were 
 struggling fitfully out and going in again. The 
 Adriatic was turning to a darker colour like 
 spilled wine. Forests crowned the nearer 
 heights, and fleecy olive trees mounted the 
 sides of the hill like small escalading parties, 
 as if desirous of ousting the green Aleppo-pines 
 
 H
 
 9 8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 from the supremacy of the upper air. Pre- 
 sently we came to the zone of oak trees, their 
 roots writhing and twisting through the steep 
 banks like a nest of snakes, and their branches 
 gnarled with age and split by the lightnings of 
 heaven. Indian corn was patched here and 
 there among the vineyards, black under their 
 roofing of broad leaves. In the more open 
 country wild horses galloped out of the cane 
 brakes where they had been lying down 
 to cool with dew their dust-caked, fly-galled 
 sides. 
 
 Since in these latter days I have travelled 
 more widely and seen other lands, I wonder 
 within me that the poets and writers of all 
 times have spoken so much of the beauty, 
 richness, and fertility of Italy. In the spring, 
 the time of colour, I grant you they are right : 
 in certain favoured vales, yes — the Lombard 
 plain, the Venetian seaboard, the fat fields that 
 cincture Bologna. But mostly it is rather gray 
 Italy, barren Italy, rocky and parched Italy, 
 dust-covered grim Italy, miasma-stricken Italy. 
 Look you how the naked scarp grins through, 
 how the hill torrent sinks into the rock-crevice 
 and is lost, or spreads out at the first sluggish 
 touch of the plain, making a swamp from 
 which at eve and morn rise the pale and hectic 
 spirits of fever and death. Dig a spadeful of 
 earth anywhere and smell it. Pah ! It carries
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA 99 
 
 with it the scent of dead men's bones. Death 
 lurks in the white mists belting the seaboard 
 pines. He stalks thin and wire-drawn in the 
 winds that blow acridly from the northern 
 mountains. 
 
 ' See Naples and die ' is often a true word, 
 spoken with a cackle of laughter. They tell 
 me that it was not always so — that it need not 
 be so any more — that men have undone that 
 which God had made. I know not, but I do 
 know that this Italy, the fair woman among 
 countries, waiting indolently to be loved, 
 secure in the eternity of her charms, is chiefly 
 beautiful in that which man can neither alter 
 nor mar — in the blue arch of her sky, in 
 her circumscribing sea, wine-hearted and ame- 
 thystine like the purple vintage of the Balkans, 
 in the air which (but for the death in it) tastes like 
 a draught of nectar, cold as the snow and light 
 as blown sea-foam. Above all, she is rich in 
 the flooding sunshine which draws equally 
 from a spadeful of scanty earth beset in the 
 cleft of a rock and from the late-drained sod- 
 den swamp the luxury of the vintage, the rosy 
 irradiance of peach-blossom, and the ripening 
 fruitage of autumn. 
 
 But I forget — the words flood upon me 
 when I think of this country of mine, when I 
 recall how she has been flattered like a woman, 
 covered in a garmentry of lying words like a 
 
 H 2
 
 too THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 woman, deceived like a woman, left forsaken 
 and desolate — like a woman. Yet now as ever 
 she is willing to be cozened by the same old 
 tale, and still she lays the unction to her soul 
 that she is the most favoured of lands and the 
 desired of the nations, having all the while her 
 nakedness laid bare to every passer-by, and 
 being but the cat's-paw of nations, a bankrupt 
 in wealth and a beggar in reputation. 
 
 But I did not think these things then — 
 when I was a slim lad, riding (as it seemed) 
 with my father or elder brother, mirthful of 
 visage, crisp of closely cropped curl, and sitting 
 my horse like some spare and adolescent 
 centaur. Yet even then I thought many 
 things, and I shall never be sorry that the 
 clatter of hoofs and the ring of spurs still echo 
 in my dreams, and that thoughts of a gay life, 
 when I called no man master, shine yet before 
 my waking eyes. I smile as I look upon the 
 maidens who are growing up in the shut 
 cloister of the commonplace, and think of that 
 night when the Vardarelli rode by, between the 
 red glare of the torches and the white pulse of 
 the lightning, of the slender upright figure of 
 the lonely Englishman reviewing us, calm as 
 Napoleon at the head of his Old Guard ; and, 
 perhaps most of all, I think of the night when 
 I accompanied Don Gaetano, to beard in his 
 den the Man of Seventeen Murders, the chief
 
 THE RIDING OF THE COMITIVA 101 
 
 of the dread Decisi, within the strange walled 
 village called Castel Rotondo. 
 
 Ere I go further I must tell the fashion of 
 this place. 
 
 Castel Rotondo sits aloft upon a hill ; 
 truly it cannot be hid. Who founded it, I do 
 not know. In outward fashion it is built like 
 the Coliseum, or the Cirque of Verona. The 
 walls rise sheer and windowless a hundred feet 
 into the air. The path to it winds perilously 
 up one of those limestone mounds which, like 
 Titanic molehills, diversify the plain of Apulia. 
 Within there is a warren of passages and 
 tumbled masonry, where a wild race are 
 reputed to live and breed ; hardly men of the 
 soil, but outcasts and broken folk of half a 
 dozen provinces. Till now I had never seen 
 their houses, but 1 often watched and wondered 
 at the gray circle lying like the crater of an 
 extinct volcano beneath me as we looked from 
 the mountains behind, or rising like some 
 fortress built by giants black against the 
 moonlip-ht as we rode seaward across the 
 
 o 
 
 plains. 
 
 But to-night I was to penetrate its 
 mysteries ; and when we saw it first, the place 
 seemed to have assumed a more sinister aspect, 
 since I now knew that it was the haunt oi" 
 murderers and ruffians, the deadliest and most 
 bloody upon earth.
 
 io2 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Beneath, three miles across the plain, the 
 battlements of Castel Rotondo cut a blank in 
 the vault of stars. That was all we could see 
 of it from the Masseria del Duca, where the 
 comitha was to abide and wait our return.
 
 i°3 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL 
 
 The Chief called together the Council of the 
 Vardarelli. Four brothers there were besides 
 himself; and I, Pietro of the Vardarelli, 
 who by favour enjoyed upon this occa- 
 sion the place of a listener. For I never 
 spoke, nor ventured an opinion unless I was 
 asked — a hard thing for a woman hearkening 
 to the discussion of affairs. But the comitiva 
 of the Vardarelli was a strange school ot 
 manners, and many things came natural to me 
 there which would not be taught by the good 
 sisters of the Convent of St. Catherine ot 
 Siena. 
 
 The four sat silently watching the eyes of 
 Don Gaetano. These were stern and cold, ami 
 had that arbitrary look in them which intimated 
 that he had made up his mind. The four Var- 
 darelli knew well that they were there not to 
 offer advice nor adventure counsel, but to 
 receive orders. 
 
 ' To-night,' said Don Gaetano abruptly, ' 1
 
 io4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 so to meet the Council of Twelve, the heads 
 of the Society of Death. I must needs 
 unmask them. I must — if I am to be any 
 more King in Apulia, and if the Vardarelli are 
 still to be the Vardarelli. I will measure 
 myself against their leader, the unknown one, 
 the Man of Seventeen Murders. I must find 
 out who he is, and in what daily guise he goes 
 about in this land. Till then there is no safety 
 for any of us. Our death may be already de- 
 creed by that secret assembly.' 
 
 At this Don Girolamo laughed contemptu- 
 ously in his beard. The Chief looked at him 
 sternly. 
 
 1 What is the matter of laughter ? ' he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 4 Who would touch the Vardarelli,' said 
 Don Girolamo, ' this great company of stalwart 
 fellows — that is, so long as they keep together ? ' 
 
 But the Chief had his answer ready. 
 
 ' What is to hinder one of the Decisi from 
 joining us, and at midnight or in the skirmish 
 stabbing swiftly and secretly, or sending the 
 musket-ball a little astray ? At all events, I am 
 going to Castel Rotondo, the Hill of the Wolf. 
 I bid you, Don Girolamo, follow me with a 
 hundred chosen men. You will abide till day- 
 break at the foot of the hill. If so be that our 
 Pietro here and I do not rejoin you by the light 
 of morn, storm the place. Let not one man
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL 105 
 
 escape. If the chief of the comitiva must die, 
 let him be remembered in the vengeance of the 
 VardarelhV 
 
 * Your will is your will ! ' said the brothers : 
 ' trust us. We will do the vengeance of the 
 Vardarelli ! ' They spoke all together, as if 
 repeating a set phrase. Yet withal I could see 
 they were far from approving the venture. 
 
 So we who were to accompany our Chief 
 left our horses at the Masseria del Duca and 
 stole out into the night. A late moon was 
 rising, a pallid sickle to the east, but being in 
 her last quarter, she gave little more light than 
 the stars. Don Gaetano went first, with the 
 quick stealthy step of one whose life depended 
 upon the silence of his foot, I followed him as 
 best I could, keeping my eyes upon the tower- 
 ing height of his shoulders, which loomed 
 black and massive before me. 
 
 Behind me strode Don Girolamo, revolving 
 what angry thoughts I know not, for in the 
 silence I could hear him grind his teeth, as I 
 had heard him often do in the troublous dreams 
 of the night, when we rested among the straw 
 of some barn, waiting for the day and the 
 adventure which should befall us. 
 
 Behind him struggled painfully a full 
 hundred men of the comitiva, mere flitting 
 shadows with their cloaks black about them, only 
 the pale gleam of stars or the pallid reflection
 
 106 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 of the white rocks glinting occasionally from a 
 silver button or the shining steel butt of a pistol. 
 
 As we drew nearer to Castel Rotondo, its 
 bulk loomed ever larger and blacker above 
 us. At last we were at the foot of the 
 hill. The hundred Vardarelli were left behind 
 with Don Girolamo, while without word spoken 
 Gaetano and I parted from them and took the 
 breast of the hill, save for each other's company, 
 alone. 
 
 Not a word we spoke till the gigantic 
 lower tiers of masonry rose immediately before 
 us. Then we stood a moment to breathe our- 
 selves, behind a fallen mass of stone and lime. 
 Don Gaetano put his hand on my shoulder 
 with an affectionate pressure strange to him. 
 
 1 Be brave, little one,' he whispered ; ' have 
 your weapons concealed but ready. Remember 
 the art of them which I have taught you. 
 Follow me and keep cool.' 
 
 He strode on again till he came to the low 
 gateway, which we saw as a black arch before 
 us. Suddenly in the shadow iron bars met and 
 stayed us : a portcullis or iron grating shut off 
 all entrance, and I could not help thinking 
 that, once we were on the farther side, it would 
 in like manner shut off all egress. 
 
 Don Gaetano drew the butt of his pistol 
 across the bars, and produced a grating noise 
 loud enough to wake the dead.
 
 THEN WE STOOD A MOMENT TO BREATHE OURSELVES. BEHIND A 
 FALLEN MASS OF STONE AND LIME
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL 107 
 
 1 Who goes there ? ' cried a stern deep 
 voice very near to us, the sound being more 
 startling that the speaker, drowned in the 
 blackness of the arch, was completely unseen. 
 
 1 A friend of the Silver Skull ! ' said Don 
 Gaetano, in a voice as loud and fearless. 
 Instinctively 1 drew nearer to him, and put out 
 my hand furtively to touch his cloak. Almost 
 I uttered a little cry, for all unexpectedly my 
 hand encountered his, as if it had been searching 
 for mine through the mirk midnight. 
 
 1 What come ye to seek ? ' the deep voice 
 came again from the unseen. 
 
 1 The Blood of Tyrants ! ' responded Don 
 Gaetano, with a tone of contempt in his voice, as 
 if he were tired of taking part in a tedious play. 
 The iron of the gate receded creakingly, 
 scraping and squealing over grooved and rusty 
 courses. 
 
 ' Enter, Enemies of Tyrants, enter friends 
 of the Silver Skull ! ' the voice went on. 
 
 We entered. The iron creaked, gritting in- 
 tolerably, and finally shut behind us with a hoarse 
 and startling clang. We heard the bolts shoot 
 home, and we stood in the Mouth of the Wolf. 
 c Follow me ! ' again came the deep voice. 
 And through the dense gutter of blackness 
 which led directly into the solid cliff-like 
 masonry of the walls, we issued presently into 
 the strangest place.
 
 io8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The moon was too low in the sky to cast 
 her light over the high round of the mighty 
 walls above and about us. But the stars 
 glittered and swung westward through the 
 limpid air. We seemed somehow to breathe 
 easier, and I stood close by Don Gaetano, 
 touching his cloak at intervals and experiencing 
 a certain sense of security from the contact. 
 I seemed somehow out of breath, as after a 
 race, yet I had not felt fatigued coming up the 
 hill. ' 
 
 We stood on a little green place, with grass 
 underfoot ; and on all sides of us masses of 
 masonry, arches, and columns rose to the 
 bounding heights of the exterior walls. The 
 eye could not take in at once all the innumer- 
 able clefts and openings that yawned on every 
 side, the confused mounds of stones, the 
 black blank orifices, the holes from which 
 smoke and a faint glimmer of light proceeded. 
 A great silence seemed to overspread us, a 
 silence which had been deepening ever since 
 we left the comitiva beneath ; and Don 
 Girolamo and his hundred men, though within 
 five hundred yards of us, seemed somehow in- 
 finitely remote and of another world altogether. 
 
 But on the other hand, though the ear could 
 not distinguish any particular and recognisable 
 sounds, yet a low persistent hum dwelt in the 
 air, which told that the place was aswarm with
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL 109 
 
 densely packed life. I have heard the same 
 muffled buzzing proceed from a hive of bees 
 before the exodus of the new nation. I have 
 heard it in a crowded church ; in the great 
 square of St. Peter's on Pilgrims' Day, 
 and, indeed, wherever masses of beings are 
 gathered together. It is the hum of Living 
 Silence. I cannot describe it otherwise, but 
 whoever has heard it, will not need to have it 
 described. I could hear, as it were, the sound 
 of many people listening and waiting — that 
 was all. 
 
 From the sonorous voice which had greeted 
 us out of the darkness, I had expected a giant 
 to issue forth ; and lo ! when we emerged 
 from the gloom of the archway, our guide was 
 less of stature than myself. But yet there was 
 something about the curious peaked cap he 
 wore, and the small-clothes which clung close 
 to his spindling shanks, which took me by the 
 heart. I had not been much afraid before, but 
 I was definitely afraid now. 
 
 Not till we had crossed the short turf of 
 the central space, and penetrated some way into 
 the blank blackness of an opposite cavern, did 
 our guide stay his progress or deign a word. 
 
 Even then it was Don Gaetano who spoke. 
 
 ' We are in safety now. Light us a torch, 
 whoever you are.' 
 
 The deep voice replied, as it seemed from
 
 no THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 somewhere near the ground, with a cackling 
 rattle of laughter : 
 
 ' Friends of the Silver Skull ought to know 
 the way to the Place of Skulls ! ' 
 
 My companion stamped his toot. 
 
 ' Hearken, fellow ! ' he said. * I am Don 
 Gaetano Vardarelli. I come here by invitation 
 of the Council of Twelve ; and if you do not 
 as I bid you, and that instantly — by the saints I 
 will throttle you and leave one skull more in 
 your precious Place of Skulls.' 
 
 A chuckle came from somewhere above 
 us this time. 
 
 1 Aha ! ' the voice said, ' first catch your 
 hare, then cook your hare — that is the order of 
 events, great chief of the Vardarelli. The 
 walls of Castel Rotondo are good against even 
 your thousand riders. You cannot catch me, 
 therefore lay aside your threats and wait for 
 that which shall appear ! ' 
 
 Yet after a little we heard the welcome 
 sound of steel striking upon flint. A worm of 
 faint illumination crawled along the blank wall. 
 A light sputtered, a torch flickered, then it 
 went low till blackness again quivered immi- 
 nent, ready to spring upon us, but finally it 
 decided to remain alight. Very gradually the 
 fire waxed and brightened. The black resinous 
 smoke rose lazily, -and we saw before us a little 
 old man with the face of a cherub, the oddest
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL in 
 
 peaked cap, and the frilled and pointed dress of 
 Punchinello. 
 
 Then it came to me what was the remem- 
 brance which had so daunted me at my first 
 entering, when 1 saw the dark shadow of our 
 guide going before us across the pleached grass 
 of the courtyard. It was the entrance of the 
 tragic jesters and the welcome the Duke had 
 given them. And very strange it was to think 
 that of all the inhabitants of Monte Leone that 
 night, the only survivor was the little maid who 
 had grown up among such strange surroundings 
 to be Isabella of the Vardarelli. 
 
 When he had done lighting his torch, the 
 little man looked quaintly down upon us from 
 the niche of the wall in which he had his 
 material concealed. 
 
 ' I am no murderer, that I would have you 
 know,' he said. ' But I have to earn my bread 
 and ask no questions. I can but take you to the 
 inner door of the Decisi, and then say, " God 
 help you ! " I am only poor Vittorio Dini the 
 hunchback, watchman of this accursed village 
 of Castel Rotondo. You are not in need of a 
 good watchman in your town, great chief of 
 the Vardarelli ? No ? Then when you are, 
 think of Vittorio, for he is a first-rate one. 
 Heard you ever a voice like this for crying the 
 hours ? There is not the like of it in the 
 Peninsula.'
 
 ii2 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 And the little man lifted up his head and 
 cried aloud : ' Twelve o the clock, and a fine 
 wholesome midnight ! ' 
 
 Then he wagged his head at us and held 
 up his hand deprecatingly, as from all about 
 came voices blaspheming him for interrupting 
 their slumbers v/ith his noise. He shrugged 
 his shoulders and rolled his eyes at us. 
 
 ' And they call it "noise" — that fine roll 
 of the R's, that glorious mouthing of the 
 vowels ! Why, had I been a priest they would 
 straightway have made me pope for the way I can 
 say " Orate fratres." But here it is but " noise " 
 and I, " Pig of Pigs — Accursed beast." Well, 
 it will be all one, some fine day. Meantime 1 
 can take you where it will be all one with you 
 this blessed midnight if the Council of Twelve 
 have aught against you. Ah, many is the 
 blooming lad I have conducted to the inner 
 door and seen vanish within, but never a one 
 has come back to tell the tale of what he found 
 there. Only the Decisi know — only the 
 Twelve " 
 
 He broke off sharply, as if in fear of a 
 hidden listener. 
 
 We had come to a doorway, at either side 
 of which stood two masked Punchinellos, with 
 the mask of a skull drawn over their heads and 
 naked swords in their hands. 
 
 At the sight our little guide instantly lost
 
 THE PLACE OF A SKULL n 3 
 
 all his communicativeness, and bowed low 
 before them. ' I have brought you,' he said, 
 ' two Friends of the Silver Skull. They know 
 the password.' 
 
 1 Tell it us ! ' said one of the masked 
 figures, without moving a muscle. 
 
 1 The Blood of Tyrants ! ' was Gaetano's 
 answer, as before. 
 
 ' That is the outer word,' said the masked 
 figure : c give us the inner — if you be indeed a 
 friend of the Silver Skull.' 
 
 c I am Don Gaetano Vardarelli, come to 
 meet your Council of Twelve : let that be inner 
 passport and countersign sufficient ! ' cried my 
 chieftain, with stern impatience in his voice. 
 
 The masked jester on the right bowed low 
 at the name, and withdrew.
 
 ii4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE 
 
 The firmness of Don Gaetano was not without 
 its effect. During the absence of his companion 
 the remaining Punchinello stood motionless in 
 the middle of the way, with his sword drawn and 
 the point lowered. Presently the messenger 
 returned, and, with a whispered word to his com- 
 panion, we were permitted to follow him. We 
 threaded our way through so many long and in- 
 tricate passages, that I had almost begun to think 
 we were either being led to our doom, or else that 
 we were being purposely carried this way and 
 that in order that we might not be able to find 
 the way back without assistance. 
 
 After a time we halted at a part of the vast 
 warren of passages, which, in the worn condi- 
 tion of the stonework and the glow of an 
 occasional polished surface of old oak, showed 
 more of the ordinary signs of human habita- 
 tion. With a word of caution to wait where 
 we were, our guide went on through a door 
 from the chinks of which a taint light straggled.
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE us 
 
 Now, I have always denied that there is 
 more curiosity in women than in men. And 
 also — perhaps because I had been brought up 
 entirely among the latter, perhaps because the 
 ordinary affairs of gossip and the petty politics 
 of domesticity do not appeal to me — I have less 
 curiosity than most women. Nevertheless, in 
 aught that has a taste of adventure, I confess I 
 am as curious as a village matron when 
 strangers are being entertained over the way. 
 On this occasion I took a couple of steps after 
 our guide, and bending forward glanced round 
 the edge of the door into a long low apartment 
 hung with black. A large number of men sat 
 round an oaken table. With one exception, 
 they were not terrible to look upon. They 
 were just such men as one sees in the shops and 
 lawyers' offices of a little country town any- 
 where in Italy. Gross men mostly, jovial-faced 
 men, with the stamp of long afternoon sleeps, 
 good living, and red wine at discretion, upon 
 their faces. I was sure that I had seen more 
 than one of them before. They were all look- 
 ing towards the door at which our guide stood 
 making his report, but the outer passage was 
 so dark that they could not see me in the 
 gloom. At the head of the table, however, ap- 
 peared a figure which made me tremble and 
 shrink away appalled. A tonsured priest, tall 
 and broad-shouldered, sat there, his pale ascetic 
 
 I 2
 
 n6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 face turned full upon me. The thin cruel lips 
 were compressed to a grim line, like a half- 
 healed wound, and there was a red glint in the 
 deep-set eyes which struck me to the soul. I 
 shrank back to Don Gaetano's side quivering 
 like a leaf. It was the same priest whom I 
 had heard say mass on the morning after the 
 murder at Monte Leone. 
 
 £ Enter ! Don Gaetano dei Vardarelli ! ' a 
 stern voice suddenly spoke from within. And 
 at the summons, freely and largely, like a 
 monarch who advances into an audience 
 chamber, our chieftain strode into the room. 
 His hat was on his head, and his hand on his 
 sword-hilt as I followed him closely, expecting 
 that we would confront that array of common- 
 place visages dominated by the terrible priest at 
 the head of the table. But a new surprise 
 awaited me. 
 
 In the interval between my stolen glimpse 
 of them from the darkness of the passage, and 
 the voice which summoned us to enter, every 
 man had donned his dress of masquerade. I 
 stood in presence of a company of jesters. 
 Twelve Punchinellos sat about the table, and I 
 could scarce avoid giving vent to a little cry of 
 terror, for I knew that I stood among a com- 
 pany of professed murderers. I could not even
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE 117 
 
 repeat a prayer. My tongue clave parchedly to 
 the roof of my mouth. 
 
 But none of them so much as looked at 
 me. Every eye was upon my Chief, and never 
 had I reason to be prouder of him than at that 
 moment. 
 
 He stood before the Twelve, giving back 
 glance for glance. Upon the table before each 
 man lay the sign of the Silver Skull ; beyond 
 that was laid a black dagger. The man at the 
 foot of the table, opposite the priest, had a 
 trumpet in his hand. Behind the leader, 
 now masked like the rest, the black banner of 
 the Decisi was unrolled. ' Agony ! Death ! 
 Terror ! Slaughter ! ' ran the legend across it ; 
 above, the skull and crossbones were wrought 
 in massive silver. These were the words with 
 which the Decisione had signed away many a 
 good man's life. 
 
 Don Gaetano cast his eye over the sombre 
 trappings of the council chamber, over the gay 
 fools' dresses, and upon the black banner with 
 its nerve-shaking legend. But they finally 
 rested upon the masked face of the priest with 
 a kind of grim amusement. Yet there seemed 
 small reason for mirth, for assuredly these men 
 were in earnest after their kind. Each of them 
 had countersigned his application for membership 
 of the Decisi by two murders committed in
 
 n8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 cold blood. This was a rule of the Society not 
 to be set aside in any case. 
 
 It was Don Gaetano who spoke first. 
 
 ' I greet you,' he said, * gentlemen of the 
 Decisione. I have come at the invitation of 
 your leader to confer with you as to the future. 
 I am Don Gaetano Vardarelli. I pray you 
 drop this masquerade and let us speak face to 
 face and man to man. I am, as you well 
 know, neither a novice to be terrified, nor yet a 
 victim to be executed.' 
 
 The man at the table head put his hands to 
 his throat, loosened some slight fastening, and 
 threw his costume over the back of a chair with 
 a jerk. 
 
 ' For me,' he said, * I will do even as you 
 ask, Captain of the Vardarelli ! ' His pale 
 chiselled face turned towards us as he spoke. 
 1 But you must pardon my comrades,' he went 
 on : { we of the Decisione work in secret, and 
 spread our power by ways that do not appear 
 on the surface. And though we have every 
 confidence in the discretion of the noble Cap- 
 tain of the Vardarelli — well, he is not alone ! ' 
 
 And for the first time the tonsured priest 
 cast his terrible eyes upon me, till the very 
 marrow chilled itself to ice in my bones. 
 
 1 With your permission I will sit down,' 
 said Don Gaetano, drawing a chair without 
 ceremony from the wall of the room, and seat-
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE 119 
 
 ing himself as calmly as he would have done 
 in the house of the Vardarelli. He had re- 
 moved his feathered hat at the same moment 
 as the leader had dropped his mask. As for 
 me, I retired to the door, and setting my heel 
 to it I placed my hand upon the handle, to 
 make sure that none should enter for purposes 
 of treachery without my knowledge. 
 
 For Don Gaetano sat there in the chamber 
 of his foes with the greatest indifference and the 
 most complete serenity. Yet — being after all 
 but a girl — I could not help thinking on the 
 maze of passages, the sentinels, the walled town, 
 and all that lay between us and the hundred 
 trusted fellows keeping their vigil at the foot of 
 the hill. 
 
 I cannot profess to give any detailed 
 account of the interview. The past held me 
 too strongly. As I looked at the priest I re- 
 membered vividly the room in Monte Leone 
 in which a frightened little child had crouched 
 under the fine lace of the table-cover. Who of 
 the tragic and terrible jesters now before me 
 had dealt those blows and done that deed ? 
 Almost of a certainty he at the head of the 
 table. Even as he talked to Don Gaetano, 
 I could see his red eyes trying to read my 
 soul. 
 
 Briefly, however, Don Gaetano ofteret] to 
 co-operate with the Decisi it they would
 
 120 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 renounce their propaganda of murder and ter- 
 rorism. 
 
 'The Vardarelli are not murderers!' he 
 declared again and again. ' You say that you 
 war only with tyrants. Well, mount and ride ! 
 Leave your desks and counters and come out 
 with me into the open field. That is fair 
 enough warfare, in God's sooth ! If Ferdinand 
 is beaten, — well, the land is ours from Bari to 
 Cape Leuca or further. If Ferdinand wins, — 
 well again : there is the less trouble about pro- 
 viding for our old age.' 
 
 ' That is truly said, Don Gaetano,' replied 
 the priest, steadily keeping his impassive face 
 straight before him, ' but there are many ways 
 of striking for liberty. My own profession for 
 instance,' — here he smiled a terrible smile as he 
 glanced at his abate s dress, — ' sufficiently pre- 
 vents me from riding at the head of a comitiva 
 such as follows the noble Chief of the Vardarelli, 
 whose captain we poor men of the Decisi have 
 the honour p/esently to entertain.' 
 
 'And who may you be, Sir Churchman, 
 who speak so boldly of liberty and rebellion 
 and death, yet sit serenely all the while in your 
 armchair ? You blow hot and cold in a 
 breath.' 
 
 ' I am the Abate Ciro of Grottaglie,' 
 answered the priest simply, yet not without a 
 curious dignity ; ' I give you my name. Don
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE 121 
 
 Ciro I am called, with other names which do 
 not matter. I am a loyal son of the Church ' 
 (he crossed himself devoutly). ' Though 1 
 have been much spoken against, these poor 
 lads of the Decisi have chosen me their 
 leader.' 
 
 Gaetano looked at him very straight. 
 
 ' 1 think I once heard you say mass, 
 reverend father,' he said. 
 
 The Abate smiled. 
 
 ' Yes, I say it well,' he replied ; ' but when 
 might that be ? ' 
 
 ' On the morning of the murder of the 
 Duke and his folk in the castle at Monte 
 Leone.' 
 
 The priest smiled like one well pleased. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' he said, ' that was in the first days. 
 We of the Silver Skull were young and reck- 
 less then. It was a fine piece of business — but 
 ill-timed — in fact, a blunder. We were over- 
 enthusiastic, and the deed brought us too much 
 into notice. We do our work with greater 
 finish in these later times. The dead branches 
 are lopped off the tree and fall to the ground 
 without a sound.' 
 
 Don Gaetano rose to his feet. He looked 
 about at the eleven silent figures wrapped in 
 their grotesque habits. 
 
 1 And these gentlemen,' he said quietly, 
 1 are they also all of the holy calling ? '
 
 i22 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 The Abate shook his head. 
 
 1 Nay,' he said, " they are but true patriots 
 — haters of tyrants. We are united in mind 
 and heart. Save the Vicar Vergine, I am the 
 only one of the sacred profession among the 
 Twelve.' 
 
 Don Gaetano nodded. 
 
 * So,' he said, ' I understand. Now it is 
 my turn to speak. I will tell you plainly, Sir 
 Priest, what I think of you and your Society of 
 the Decisi. I heard the Englishman whom 
 you despise, call you the Decided Ruffians. I 
 am of the Englishman's faction. You ask me, 
 Don Gaetano Vardarelli, to join a company of 
 sneaking underhand assassins, to work for one 
 cause with the butchers of Monte Leone. 
 Sirs, I am honoured indeed. Here is my 
 answer. I am not of Ferdinand's police. I 
 am no gendarme of the Bourbon. I will not 
 hunt you down — I have other work to do. 
 But be warned : abide in your own province, 
 keep within your own borders, gentlemen of 
 the Silver Skull. Meddle not with my country. 
 Lay no hand upon my people ; or beware of 
 the vengeance of the Vardarelli. 1 have 
 spoken.' 
 
 He rose, turned, and would have marched 
 out and left them. But, quick as the falling of 
 a star, I saw the flash of something which came 
 Irom above. A noose descended from the
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE 123 
 
 ceiling, caught Don Gaetano about the neck, 
 and pulled him off the ground. At the same 
 instant a dozen masked figures, who had been 
 waiting in some secret place for the signal, 
 flung themselves upon my Captain. His 
 hands were instantly pinioned to his sides. Yet 
 nevertheless, such was the strength which abode 
 in his fine frame that he flung them off him for 
 a moment, drew a pistol, and fired. One of 
 the foremost Decisi cast up his arms, clutched 
 at the air with fingers like claws, and fell back- 
 wards. At the same instant I felt myself 
 seized and held firmly to the wall. In a 
 moment more we were both overpowered and 
 in the hands of the murderers of Monte 
 Leone. 
 
 All the while the terrible priest stood 
 motionless in his place at the table-head, with 
 folded arms regarding us. He had taken no 
 part in the struggle. 
 
 The Decisi bound our hands behind our 
 backs and threw us into the corner like logs. 
 
 The wounded Punchinello lay groaning on 
 the floor. One or two others were kneeling, 
 trying to find his wound. And I remember 
 thinking how curious it was that they spent 
 most of the time adjusting their hooded masks 
 so that they could see out of the eyeholes. 
 
 * Abate,' said one, 'our brother Number 
 Two would confess. He seeks a priest.'
 
 r2 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 A change passed over the face of the Abate 
 Ciro. He advanced, kneeled reverently by 
 the side of the dying man, drew a cross from 
 his bosom, and held it to the place where, 
 under the mask, the lips of the wounded man 
 should have come. Then he set his ear close 
 to his mouth, while two of the Decisi supported 
 him in their arms. We could distinguish only 
 the murmur of low speech and the Abate nod- 
 ding with grave impassive face, as all priests do 
 when they listen to confession. 
 
 Then it was the priest's turn to speak. We 
 heard distinctly the solemn words of absolution. 
 He gave the dying man his blessing, and at the 
 same moment his body seemed to stiffen, and 
 we saw the jester's motley agitated first by the 
 rigors of the extreme agony, and then anon sub- 
 siding into the more terrible slackness of death. 
 
 The priest rose to his feet. He thrust the 
 crucifix he had used into his bosom. 
 
 'And now, gentlemen, we will attend to 
 your affair ! ' he said, in his ordinary tones, as it 
 he bade us good-day. 
 
 He called aloud, in a high commanding 
 voice, and a dozen men entered one after 
 another. They were all dressed alike, in the 
 habit of the jester of Carnival. 
 
 ' Take these two up and place them in the 
 garotte ! ' cried Don Ciro, pointing at us. So 
 with that half a dozen raised Don Gaetano and
 
 N 
 
 ONE OF THE FOREMOST DECISI CAST UP HIS ARMS. CLUTCHED 
 AT THE AIR AND FELL BACKWARDS
 
 THE COUNCIL OF TWEJLVE 125 
 
 two caught hold of me. As I felt myself lifted 
 I heard a voice whisper in my ear : 
 
 1 Be silent. Do not resist. All will yet be 
 well.' 
 
 And this indeed was very far from my 
 expectation. For, though no terrors such as 
 would now flood my heart in such a situation 
 took hold of me, from the moment when I saw 
 the red eyes of the priest I had given myself up 
 for lost ; so I only marvelled at the voice, and 
 was silent. They carried us into a long low- 
 ceilinged room, irregularly arched. It had 
 once been painted white, and the dim shadowy 
 forms of wheels and pinions were silhouetted 
 against the walls by the light of the torches. 
 
 The men placed Don Gaetano and myself 
 with our backs to a frame composed of solid 
 beams of wood. One of them noisily loosened 
 a screw, and the next moment I felt a strong 
 band of cold iron clasp my neck. 
 
 The Abate had followed us, pacing calmly 
 along in his black gown, as quietly as he had 
 done that morning in the garden when wc 
 found him reading his breviary. He held his 
 head a little before him, as if in reverent 
 meditation. 
 
 Pausing at the end of the framework, he 
 stood looking down on us. 
 
 ' Don Gaetano Vardarclli,' he began, alter 
 a long pause, ' you were pleased a little while
 
 i26 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ago to speak slightingly of the Decisi. It was 
 somewhat unwise, considering where you stood, 
 alone save for this lad, in the hall of judgment. 
 Know, then, that your death was decided upon 
 before ever you were invited to this conference. 
 With four blasts of the Trump of the Decisione 
 you had been condemned as a traitor. Yet, 
 like the silly fly, you came fluttering to your 
 own doom. You are here in the place of the 
 ancient Spanish Inquisition, so usefully brought 
 hither and so conscientiously worked by his 
 Highness the Cardinal Bibbiena. Your neck 
 is in the grip of the garotte. Behind you 
 stands a man with his hand on the wheel. 
 Each half-hour he will give the crank half a 
 turn. God forbid that I should destroy a soul 
 hastily ! You will have plenty of time : if 
 you have anything to confess, I will hear your 
 confession and give you my best ghostly 
 advice and absolution. Now you know that 
 which is before you. The Registrar of Deaths 
 will see to it that all is done decorously. I 
 bid you good evening, gentlemen both. Let 
 us return to the council table. We have 
 wasted too long over this matter.' 
 
 So saying, he paced out, with his hands still 
 clasped behind him, and the Twelve meekly 
 following.
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 TREACHERY 
 
 Don Gaetano had not spoken a word since he 
 had been taken, and he uttered no sound till 
 the priest had disappeared and taken the masked 
 figures with him. Then I heard his voice, 
 which, whether with the constraint of the iron 
 band or the dank and confined place in which 
 we lay, sounded hollow and strange. 
 
 ' Little Pietro,' he said, ' this is my fault. 
 For me to die is nothing, but I am heart-angry 
 to have brought you here.' 
 
 ' Do not trouble, dear Gaetano,' 1 made 
 answer ; ' you are with me, and that is 
 enough.' 
 
 I heard the creak of the wheel over my 
 shoulder, the whirr of the spokes, and the 
 panting of the man who had been appointed to 
 work our doom in the dark. Straining myself 
 to meet the dread compression, I waited. 
 
 'Surely,' thought 1, 'not half an hour has 
 gone by ! Yet, what matter ? The sooner ir 
 is over, the better for us both.'
 
 i28 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 No thought of mercy from such remorse- 
 less murderers as those in whose power we had 
 placed ourselves so much as entered my mind. 
 But instead of the expected pressure at my 
 throat, strange to tell the grip of the iron 
 slackened, and I felt that I could move my 
 chin downwards within the spiked collar which 
 had been pressing against my neck. At the 
 same moment I felt fingers busy with the 
 fastenings of my wrists, and there was a voice 
 in my ear. 
 
 1 Hush ! — no noise, for God's dear sake ! 
 I am Vittorio Dini, the watchman of Castel 
 Rotondo, and I look to be paid for this night's 
 work by the Vardarelli. I know that there are 
 a hundred of you outside and more in the 
 valley. I know that to-morrow they will leave 
 not a man of us alive in Castel Rotondo, 
 if you two be dead. I cannot go and warn 
 them to come at once and blow up the gate 
 with powder. But you, young sir, being 
 slight, must make your way through the 
 window there. You will find a ladder of rope. 
 I will give you the key of the outer gate, and 
 the pith and powder of the Vardarelli must 
 do the rest. But Don Gaetano must not forget 
 me for this.' 
 
 c Half an hour is passed ! ' cried a voice 
 from the doorway. 
 
 c Aye, aye ! ' responded antiphonally the
 
 TREACHERY 129 
 
 little hunchback watchman of Castel Rotondo. 
 And from behind us came again the clack 
 of the cogs and the complaining of the wheel. 
 
 { Half a turn ! ' he soliloquised aloud : ' one 
 more will surely finish them.' 
 
 The head of a Punchinello looked within, 
 paused a moment, and then vanished, evidently 
 satisfied with the zeal of our executioner. 
 
 t Haste you ! ' he whispered ; ' remember 
 there is but half an hour, and by that time you 
 must bring up the Vardarelli in full comitiva ! ' 
 
 The little man who had called himself Vit- 
 torio Dini raised me in his arms. My ankles 
 felt numb and tottery beneath me, and my head 
 swam. The next moment he had attached the 
 great key of the outer gate to my belt and bade 
 me get outside a window to which he led me. 
 
 { Remember,' he said, * this is death both to 
 Don Gaetano and myself if they come before 
 you arrive at the gates with the Vardarelli. 
 Therefore make haste ! But leave your cloak 
 behind you.' 
 
 The next moment I had wriggled through 
 the narrow slit of the glassless window. I felt 
 on either side for a rope, and lo ! there from 
 the window-sill a ladder swayed and turned. 
 It was precarious, but I was light, and so I 
 merely clung a moment till the motion steadied 
 itself. Then I began cautiously to descend. 
 The window rose above me as if soaring slowly 
 
 K
 
 130 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 into the air like a kite. Before I knew it my 
 feet touched ground. Then, though I could 
 not see, I felt that my hands were wet. The 
 rope had taken the tender skin ofF as I 
 descended. Yet at the time I felt it no more 
 than dipping them in running water. It was 
 rather pleasant than otherwise. 
 
 The stars glinted clear-shining, cold and 
 passionless above. They knew no change, 
 even in the hour of my terrible distress. 
 
 I stumbled blindly down the slope, tripping 
 over fallen corner stones massy with lime, 
 fallen doubtlessly from the bulk of Castel 
 Rotondo, which loomed a dense black above 
 me. It seemed a thousand years since we had 
 left Don Girolamo, and quite impossible that it 
 could be the same night, and that I would find 
 my brothers of the Vardarelli on the watch 
 beneath. Yet as it seemed I had not gone 
 twenty yards when I plumped into strong arms 
 that closed about me tighter than the garotte. 
 
 1 A dark lantern — quick, Pozzi ! — whom 
 have we here ? ' whispered the voice of Don 
 Girolamo himself. * Aha — our little Pietro ! 
 Where is the Captain ? Where is my brother ? 
 Tell us ! ' 
 
 In a word I told him, and I could hear the 
 whisper of ' Treachery ' run along the hundred 
 brave men crouching among the scattered 
 boulders.
 
 TREACHERY 131 
 
 Don Girolamo said not a word, but I could 
 hear him order a swift-footed lad back for the 
 rest of the five hundred. Then, with a sudden 
 unanimous movement, the whole hundred men 
 stood up, and I could see their forms blacker than 
 blackness against the dense vault of heaven. 
 
 ' The most of us must take the key and 
 force a passage if any stand in our way. But 
 the rope ladder by which Pietro descended still 
 hangs. The window (he says) is narrow, but 
 the more slender of us may enter. They can at 
 least defend the Captain with their lives till we 
 others arrange.' 
 
 I added to myself as Don Girolamo ended, 
 i Yes, or die with him if you are long a-com- 
 ing ! ' And indeed this last appeared to me 
 much more probable, when I thought of the 
 narrow and intricate ways by which Gaetano 
 and I had been led to the secret haunt of the 
 Decisi, in the vast tumble-down warren of Castel 
 Rotondo. 
 
 But at the word, seven or eight slender lads 
 drew readily out of the hundred, and stood 
 prepared to make the adventure with me ; 
 while Don Girolamo, the key ready in his hand 
 but making sure also of the powder and the 
 quickmatch, moved off up the path which led 
 to the main gate of Castel Rotondo. 
 
 The ladder was still a-swing from the win- 
 dow bars. And though my wounded ringers 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 now stung upon the strands as if they had 
 touched hot metal, I set my feet upon the cross 
 loops first of them all, and went upwards. It 
 seemed a long time before I arrived at the win- 
 dow. I gripped the lintel and leaped on the 
 sill. All was quiet within, but, as it seemed to 
 me, the grim whitewashed torture-chamber was 
 filled with light. I could see Don Gaetano re- 
 clining as I had left him, apparently limp and 
 inert. Edgewise I sidled through the narrow 
 aperture till I was wholly within. Then, as I 
 dropped lightly on the floor, 1 found Vittorio 
 Dini at my side. 
 
 1 How many are there with you ? ' he 
 whispered anxiously. 
 
 c Seven,' said I — ' all that could crawl 
 through the window-bars.' 
 
 He threw up his hands in consternation. 
 
 i Lord of the Seventh Heaven ! ' he said, 
 ' our throats are as good as cut, if seven be 
 all.' 
 
 * But there are ninety more at the gates, and 
 four hundred coming as fast as they can ! ' I 
 whispered. 
 
 * Ah,' he said, brightening, ' that is better — 
 so be they come in time ! ' 
 
 He motioned the brisk lads, who had mean- 
 time been dropping one by one from the inner 
 sill of the window, to take up their position 
 behind the wooden barricade on which our 
 backs had leaned.
 
 TREACHERY 133 
 
 c You have been away well nigh an hour, 
 and they will be coming in a moment more to 
 see the end. Get back into your collar. At 
 the last visitation I made a rattling at the wheel 
 and then scudded round and putting my own 
 head into the iron 5 I drew your cloak about me ! 
 But that may not serve us again. For then 
 Punchinello only looked in, rubbed his hands 
 quietly and chuckled. " All over ! " he said to 
 himself, I doubt not, and went to make his 
 report accordingly. But next time it will be 
 Papa Ciro who will come, and he will not be 
 put off with child's play ! ' 
 
 So right unwillingly (as at this distance of 
 time I may confess) I set my head again within 
 the collar ; and mightily unkindly it tasted 
 after the caressing of the night air and the 
 smell of the dew. I never knew before how 
 strong and unpleasant the smell of rusty iron is, 
 especially when it is about your neck and there 
 are spikes in it. 
 
 Ten seconds after the door opened, and the 
 square shoulders of the false priest showed 
 between the doorposts. Papa Ciro came in. 
 He held his hands still clasped behind him, 
 but now the meditative look was gone, and his 
 head was carried chin forward with a kind of 
 ominous truculence. 
 
 4 So, gentlemen of the Vardarelli, you have 
 defied the Decisi. Verily I have known some
 
 i 3 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 things better timed, Don Gaetano. After 
 learning the secret of Don Ciro Annicharico, to 
 flounce up " I will have nothing to do with you 
 — get hence, I am holier, better — no murderer 
 I ! " Aha, we shall see ! It was, as I say, at 
 least ill-timed. But in this the Vardarelli are 
 like women — such brave men, such long 
 curling moustachios, such accoutrements of 
 jingling silver, such fine curvetting horses ! — 
 But in their silly mouths they carry tongues 
 that must perforce wag and wag and wag. 
 Now, the Decisi — they ride not abroad in 
 clattering comitiva ; they take not the eyes of 
 the maids. Their pates, mayhap, are shorn 
 like mine. Only they strike. Is not that the 
 difference, Sir Capitano ? ' 
 
 He looked down upon us, his red eyes 
 glowing ferociously. Then he seemed sud- 
 denly to miss something. He looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 * Where is that rascal Vittorio Dini ? Give 
 another half-turn to the garotte, fellow. His 
 most virtuous highness is chill. He shall have 
 a comforter about his throat, so that he take 
 not cold.' 
 
 But at this moment up through the 
 swarming warren of the place there came a 
 vague uncertain sound, the stir and hum of a 
 disturbed and angry hive. It caught the quick 
 ears of the priest. Suspicion rose instant in
 
 TREACHERY 135 
 
 his breast. He paused with his head cast back 
 in act to listen. The noise increased. Sharp 
 explosions began to rend the air. 
 
 c Treachery ! ' cried the priest. l You are 
 clever, Don Gaetano — but you are not clever 
 enough for this ! ' And from underneath his 
 black soutane he flashed a long and dangerous 
 knife. He bent to where our Captain sat help- 
 less. But before he could strike I had twisted 
 myself free of the garotte and laid hold of his 
 arm. 
 
 1 To me, Vardarelli ! ' I cried. And at the 
 word the seven bold lads leaped from the 
 shelter of the barricade. I never knew before 
 what it was to have to do with a strong man. 
 I was battered this way and that. The odds 
 were eight to one, yet it was all that we could 
 do to hold him. His knife had dropped from 
 his hand at the first alarm, or I declare the 
 priest would have beaten us all. As it was he 
 kept us at bay, warding the knives with a 
 spoke of the garotte crank which had fallen 
 upon the floor from the hand of Vittorio 
 Dini. 
 
 Time and again he would have forced his 
 way through us to get at Don Gaetano, who 
 still remained helpless, his hands tied and his 
 neck in the grip of the iron ; but one and 
 another of us received the brunt of his attack. 
 Two ot the Vardarelli already lay senseless
 
 136 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 upon the floor, and indeed I was little better, 
 when from the passage outside we heard the 
 near shouting of the comitiva. 
 
 Ciro Annicharico was pent in a corner, with 
 the six of us striking at him with sword and 
 knife. But the armour that was under his 
 gown turned every blow as a roof turns rain. 
 He heard the shouts — ' Vardarelli ! Vardarelli ! 
 Forward the Vardarelli ! ' ring up the stair- 
 ways. I saw him twist his head this way and 
 that, seeking for a method of escape. There 
 was but one door, and outside that his enemies 
 would be a hundred to one. We counted 
 confidently upon his capture. But with a swirl 
 of his wooden bar he cleared us from before 
 him, and sprang upon the top of the great 
 beam to which in times of the Holy Office 
 prisoners had been suspended by the thumbs 
 to purge them of black heresy. The roof was 
 close over his head, coming down on either side 
 in the steep slant of a gable. Ciro Annicharico 
 set his hands to the tiles, and with the easy 
 gesture of one who tears paper he rent them 
 asunder, casting the fragments fiercely down 
 amongst us. 
 
 Then up through the tangle of passages, 
 led by the little hunchback Vittorio, came 
 storming the whole comitiva, with Don 
 Girolamo at their head. The priest stood one
 
 TREACHERY 137 
 
 moment poised upon the topmost beam, look- 
 ing down. 
 
 4 Fire at him ! ' I cried : ' do not let him 
 escape. It is the murderer of Monte Leone.' 
 
 Don Girolamo raised his pistol and fired. 
 The bullet clinked upon iron and spatted off 
 harmlessly against the tiles. The priest swung 
 himself out. One moment his terrible face 
 and tonsured head appeared at the opening. 
 
 * For this will I reckon with Vittorio Dini ! ' 
 he cried, and the next moment vanished. Don 
 Girolamo and half a dozen climbers sprang 
 after him ; but though they reached the sum- 
 mit of the tower scarcely a moment after he 
 had spoken, they saw nothing of the chief of 
 the Decisi. He had completely disappeared. 
 
 1 Truly he is the devil himself ! ' quoth 
 Don Girolamo, devoutly crossing himself. 
 But the Vardarelli were so happy to find their 
 Captain unhurt that they cared but little for the 
 escape of Ciro Annicharico. 
 
 But, as the event proved, in that they were 
 wrong.
 
 t 3 8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Thus was a well-kept secret revealed. The 
 Society of the Decisi, indeed, all men knew. 
 Its decrees had terrorised Apulia for many 
 years. Whenever a man had the name of 
 money, he was compelled to pay, or upon a day 
 there came to him some warning letter, signed 
 with four dots on behalf of the Decisi. Then, if 
 the man had no money or no will to part with 
 it, at night there came a knocking at his door. 
 It was burst open, and riot and outrage and death 
 stalked through the house, even as at Monte 
 Leone, sparing neither sex nor age. Or some- 
 times the master would be found lying quietly 
 in his bed even as he had fallen asleep, the 
 notice of the Decisi pinned to his breast with 
 one strong stiletto stroke. 
 
 Had a poor man a vineyard or a parcel of 
 ground which one of the chiefs desired, he 
 would be notified to sell it for such a price — 
 often one quite nominal ; and if he hesitated, 
 he too received the notice with four red dots 
 at the bottom, which meant, ' Deliver or die ! '
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 139 
 
 This much had long been known, but till 
 now their dread leader had masked himself. 
 From this day forth all men knew him for the 
 Abate Ciro Annicharico of the town of Grot- 
 taglie. The Chief of the Decisi had been a 
 legend and a secret terror before. Men spoke 
 of him with bated breath, as stronger than 
 Samson, more full of craft than Machiavelli, 
 more daring even than Don Gaetano. Yet 
 not for a moment had any ever suspected that 
 in the parish priest of Grottaglie, daily to 
 be seen reading his breviary in the quiet of his 
 garden, carrying the holy bread to the dying, 
 or ministering peacefully to his parishioners, 
 there was concealed the daring horseman who 
 had outwitted generals, both French and 
 Neapolitan, the thrice-banded c Wasp,' whose 
 sting was a stiletto point dealt in the dark, the 
 man whose cruel decrees, invariably carried out 
 to the letter, had for eleven years filled Apulia 
 with terror. 
 
 But the news that the Abate Ciro of Grot- 
 taglie was in verity the chief of the terrible 
 Decisi spread through the province with in- 
 conceivable rapidity. I doubt not but that the 
 Englishman, who, as they said, knew every- 
 thing, heard it the next day. The air was 
 full of Papa Ciro and his doings. Men 
 gossiped at the corners of the streets, women 
 at the wells : Ciro — Ciro, the terrible Don
 
 140 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Ciro was all the burden of their discourse. 
 And they looked over their shoulders as they 
 talked. 
 
 It was told how he had dealt with those 
 who had been sent against him in time past. 
 They detailed his multitudinous disguises 
 — soldier, gendarme, lawyer, Punchinello, 
 countrywoman, nun. He had deceived the 
 Neapolitan. Could a man from Naples hope 
 to get the better of a man of Apulia — even one 
 from such a despised and truly despicable 
 potters' village as Grottaglie of Taranto ? 
 Have you heard how he cheated the Corsican 
 Ottavio ? A Corsican, indeed ! — Why, Ciro 
 Annicharico could have bested the Little 
 Corsican himself — for after all was he not a 
 true Apulian, this Don Ciro of Grottaglie ? 
 
 A tale with spice in it that one was indeed 
 — macaroni and cheese, high cheese and garlic 
 thereto ! This Corsican general came in Murat's 
 time to make an end (as all the others had 
 done), and he set about it by offering gifts and 
 securities to Don Ciro if he would abide in 
 Bari, reform himself, and live peaceably. How 
 did he know him, say you ? He knew him 
 only as the chief of the Wasps of Taranto, not 
 as the priest : you see clearly his disguises 
 were infinite and wonderful. To Ottavio he 
 was only known as the brigand. He braved it 
 out in false hair, false moustache, velveteen
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 141 
 
 costume, rows of silver buttons, belts stuck 
 full as a pin-cushion with knives and pistols. 
 And such a rider of horses as he was ! 
 
 Now the General Ottavio, who was of the 
 pot-house order of nobility, loved horses and 
 those who could ride them. He had also a 
 famous imported English mare. But of this 
 anon. 
 
 At Bari, then, where the brigand went into 
 quarantine, General Ottavio had his head- 
 quarters. General Ottavio kept many horses. 
 He was well content, for he had discovered a 
 quick and easy way with the Society of the Silver 
 Death's Head. He would pension the leaders, 
 and the rest would remain quiet so long as 
 their chiefs sipped the honey of governmental 
 favour. 
 
 So Don Ciro became a great friend of the 
 General Ottavio. He was not known as the 
 Abate then, but no matter. They two rode 
 together, they chatted together ; wine, women, 
 and song, they tried them all. But as often as 
 they wearied, they fell back upon the beauty 
 ;md strength of horses — specially of the 
 General's recent acquisitions. One day, when 
 he had well drunken, nothing would suit 
 Ottavio the Corsican but that the Brigand 
 Chief must try the best in his stable — the fleet 
 steeds that no one in ignorant Apulia could be- 
 stride. The Banded Wasp must positively try
 
 142 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 them. The General would take no refusal. 
 The cavalier pleaded that he was growing old ; 
 he was out of practice ; he had a great stiffness 
 in his joints. His hand had lost its cunning. 
 
 He was persuaded, and over-persuaded, till 
 at last he gave way, and mounted as it had 
 been against his will. (So the gossips told the 
 tale at every wine-shop.) One horse after 
 another was tried, and of all the Apulian was 
 the best. This, however, General Ottavio, as a 
 Corsican, could not allow. ' II Guappo ' (the 
 Wasp) was jealous — the Tuscan, the Anda- 
 lusian, these were better. They might be a 
 little lazy, perhaps, but so famous a rider should 
 have plied the whip and set the rowels deep in 
 their flanks. ' The whip — the spurs ! ' cried 
 the brigand : * nay, it was a wrist of steel I 
 needed. That last brute nearly pulled my arms 
 out of their sockets.' 
 
 * I have yet one finer than all,' the General 
 said at last ; ' an English mare, for which I paid 
 two hundred gold pieces.' 
 
 1 She is naught,' quoth the brigand. 
 ' Nothing English can touch our breed in 
 Apulia.' . 
 
 ' Try her.' 
 
 c Nay, if it please your Excellency, I am 
 no longer the man I was. Let me be ex- 
 cused ! ' So the chief answered.
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 143 
 
 c Just this once, to please me 1 ' smiled 
 General Ottavio. 
 
 And the < Wasp ' reluctantly mounted. He 
 went slowly at first, turning, and passaging this 
 way and that. 
 
 ' Try her at the gallop,' said the General. 
 
 1 I am afraid I have lost my nerve — the con- 
 founded islandress pulls too strongly.' 
 
 < A gallop — a little gallop — to please me ! ' 
 
 The reformed chieftain pulled his hat off 
 his head, and bowed his dark curled wig upon 
 his saddle-bow. 
 
 * At your Excellency's command ! ' he said, 
 and went at a tearing gallop down the road to 
 Brindisi. But he never came back, and so the 
 General lost his famous English marc. 
 
 1 Served him right, did it not ? ' So the 
 tale was always ended. The brigands — they 
 may do a little wrong at times, and they 
 are certainly over free with the little willow- 
 leaf of the stiletto. But after all they arc 
 Apulian bred and born, and how should a 
 Corsican wild boar think to measure wits with 
 a Tarantine ? Look you, signorini, was the 
 foreigner not well served ? 
 
 * And now they have sent another outlandcr 
 to hunt our Abate ? Bagatella ! He will 
 make a barn-yard sucking calf of him. He 
 will drive him as with dogs — an Englishman, 
 forsooth ! Did you not hear how Ciro first
 
 i 4 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 took captive Don Gaetano Vardarelli, and then, 
 when driven into a corner, escaped from the 
 whole comitiva of the Vardarelli by tearing a 
 hole in the roof and leaping down a hundred 
 feet into the ditch all unhurt ? ' 
 
 So, by well and grinding quern, went the 
 clack of gossip. 
 
 It was Don Ciro — Don Ciro — Don Giro, 
 over all the land — nothing but Don Ciro ! 
 But of the man himself no sign or trace. He 
 ministered no more in the little church at Grot- 
 taglie. He walked no more with his cross swing- 
 ing at his breast, to and fro, back and forth and 
 turn again, in the little garden of the presbytery. 
 He had vanished from the land. It was thought 
 that he had gone to seek a sanctuary among 
 the mountains of Albania, which from the hills 
 of Martina you can see of a very fine winter's 
 morning white across the sapphire of Adria. 
 
 He had been heard of in Zante. A trading 
 sloop had taken him up at Cape Leuca. His 
 power was over, and he would return to Apulia 
 no more. I think we all believed this, mostly 
 perhaps because we hoped it. 
 
 That is, all except Don Gaetano and Vittorio 
 Dini. 
 
 This last had obtained his desires. He was 
 watchman in the town of Conversano, which 
 root and branch belonged to the Vardarelli. 
 His fine bass voice was heard at nights so long
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 145 
 
 as there were any loungers or passers-by, pro- 
 claiming the hour and the weather. 
 
 But as soon as the streets were quiet 
 Vittorio Dini withdrew himself. For he 
 remembered the words of the Abate as he 
 escaped through the roof, and was sore afraid 
 as he lay in his bed. He had reason, 
 
 In mid August the dog-star still rages in 
 Apulia. The heaven is brass, the earth iron. 
 But that makes it all the more grateful to steal 
 forth in the twilight, when the night cools 
 the earth and damps the white dust among 
 the parched vineyards, and listen to the 
 gray olives crackling like broom-pods with the 
 heat. 
 
 Abrupt as a stone thrown into a tarn 
 among the Apennines, the sun descends below 
 the horizon. The high clouds overhead are 
 still rosy at the fringes, while upon the surface 
 of the bounding sea there is reflected a faint and 
 pink iridescence, changeful and delicate as the 
 pearl-gray sheen upon a dove's breast. 
 
 It is a good time, and Don Gaetano and I 
 oft-times walked together in the cool of the 
 day, glad to escape from our oven of a valley, 
 to look out upon the great plain jewelled with 
 houses, or we would try to spy out the serrated 
 cloud to the east, which was the Albanian range 
 suspended over utmost Adrin. 
 
 1.
 
 i 4 6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Don Gaetano and I had become inseparable 
 comrades. He was to me as an elder brother. 
 He was indeed my only true friend, to whom 
 I spoke without thought as to what I ought to 
 say. And as I prattled on his grave Spanish 
 face would relax, and a younger, brighter ex- 
 pression would come into it. Sometimes when 
 alone with me he would grow almost boyish ; 
 and once, when we wished to see the moon 
 rise, we joined our hands and ran to the top of 
 a crag like a couple of children at their play. 
 Then, when we went back, the mother of the 
 Vardarelli would watch us carefully, even wist- 
 fully. And, always when Gaetano and I came 
 in, she would search our faces for I knew not 
 what. But when she found not that which she 
 sought, she would sigh a sigh that was half sad 
 and half thankful. 
 
 Yet, though we walked constantly together, 
 not a smile passed the lips of the most reckless 
 of the comitiva as we went by. Not a word 
 was said. The guards did not exchange covert 
 looks. Such was the respect in which Don 
 Gaetano was held, and such (I think also) was 
 the jealous regard with which the whole com- 
 pany regarded their little sister. 
 
 On just such a night — I remember it keenly 
 — we two were walking out. With us there 
 went three of the great Apulian wolf-dogs, 
 bristly and fierce at the footstep of a stranger,
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 147 
 
 but playful as puppies with us whom they knew. 
 Don Gaetano had reared them, and given them 
 to me as a body-guard. Their names were 
 Manfred, Duchessa, and Contessa. 
 
 Suddenly, at the turning of a path on the 
 hillside, out of the gray dark beneath us there 
 sprang a woman. She came rushing upward, 
 seeking (as it might be) the way into the valley 
 of the Vardarelli. She was tall and gaunt, 
 with gray locks hanging loose about her head, 
 and such an expression of madness in her eyes 
 as I had never seen before on any face. 
 
 As soon as she saw Don Gaetano she cast 
 herself prone at his feet. 
 
 4 Vengeance, great chief ! ' she cried ; ' for 
 God's sake give me vengeance. They have 
 murdered my husband — my husband, that was 
 my all. Childless and a widow they have 
 made me. Let the Vardarelli strike, for what 
 was done, was done for their sakes. Strike — 
 strike, and spare not.' 
 
 Don Gaetano reached a hand and tried to 
 lift her up. But she would not rise from her 
 knees, and only clasped her arms about him as 
 if she would not let go till she had his 
 promise. 
 
 c Tell me what is the matter, good woman,' 
 he said kindly. c Who is your husband ? ' 
 
 * The kindest and most innocent of men — 
 Vittorio Dini,' she cried ; c he that was keeper 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 of the watch at Castel Rotondo, the man who, 
 at the risk of his own, saved your honourable 
 life. And now he has been murdered for it by 
 Ciro and his accursed band. Vengeance be upon 
 those who have done this thing, and slain a 
 man so true and loving, my husband and my 
 all!' 
 
 And she grovelled in the dust at Don 
 Gaetano's feet, 
 
 Never had I seen the face of our Captain 
 take on a sterner or a graver aspect. 
 
 He bent and laid his hand upon her head. 
 
 * Tell me all from the beginning, omitting 
 nothing,' he said gently. 
 
 The woman rose, and standing before us 
 with her hands clasped tightly palm to palm to 
 give her some command over herself, she told 
 her tale. 
 
 ' Excellency,' she said, £ thus it was. When 
 my Vittorio came to be watchman at Conversano 
 and put behind him the evil life and the brigand 
 town of Castel Rotondo, I thought that I had 
 no more to live for. The old bad life was left 
 behind. Peace nestled about my heart like a 
 dove in its nest. Never since we were married 
 had my husband and I been so altogether 
 happy. Yet a shadow dwelt night and day 
 upon his countenance, and when I came upon 
 him suddenly, having perchance gone to the 
 well for water wherewith to cook the beans,
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 149 
 
 I would find him with his face between his 
 palms, and when he looked up again, his 
 countenance would be like death. 
 
 ' Ah, my Vittorio ! he was not beautiful of 
 body, but spite of his misfortunes and the life 
 he had been compelled to lead, the soul of him 
 was all beautiful within. Never an ill word, 
 never a blow these twenty years. Such was my 
 man — and is there a woman 'twixt Naples 
 and Taranto who can say as much ? ' 
 
 It was all exceedingly pitiful, for as she said 
 this the tall gaunt woman suddenly lifted up 
 her coarse gown as a barefooted child does by 
 the wayside when it has hurt its foot, and wiped 
 away the tears that trickled steadily down from 
 her eyes. 
 
 Don Gaetano patted her on the shoulder. 
 
 * Courage,' he said ; ' tell me all the tale, 
 and fear not but that 1 will have vengeance on 
 the murderers.' 
 
 At his words the woman seemed trans- 
 figured. She knelt and kissed his hand again 
 and again. 
 
 1 Ah, you will indeed ? ' she said ; * you 
 will kill Don Ciro the murderer ? You will do 
 vengeance upon Occhio Lupo the traitor ? 
 You will have no pity upon Bernardis the 
 lawyer. Oh, I know them every one. Olten 
 have I listened to their secrets. I will guide 
 you to their dens. Great and small, I know
 
 ISO THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 them. They shall taste the blood they have 
 shed — taste it, sweet as syrup it was in their 
 mouths ; but in their bellies it shall be bitter as 
 gall. And you, great captain, shall set the full 
 cup to their lips.' 
 
 * I am no gendarme,' said Don Gaetano ; 
 ' but if your husband hath died for the cause 
 of my release, I will certainly have vengeance 
 upon those who have killed him. I will swear 
 the vendetta against Don Ciro and all his band ! ' 
 
 The woman rose composedly up like one 
 much relieved, so strong is revenge among the 
 folk of our Italy. 
 
 1 It was last night, just as the sun went 
 down, that my Vittorio came in and sat down. 
 It was his night at home with me, and Luigi 
 Del Serio was to take his place — such being 
 my Vittorio's agreement with the Syndic of 
 Conversano. My man was more than usually 
 merry, and I blamed him for it, saying it was 
 well seen that the first of the new wine had 
 come into the town. My Vittorio has ever 
 been a sober man. But at vintage time — well, 
 your Excellency knows. And Vittorio was 
 such a good man to me, his wife, that once in 
 a way what right had I to complain ? Specially 
 since, in his modest cups, Vittorio was ever 
 kind and jovial. 
 
 1 He had brought with him a skinful of the 
 must and set it on the board, and nothing
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 151 
 
 would serve but I must sit with him and par- 
 take. Then, as we sat thus, to the door there 
 came one man and then another, men whom I 
 knew — not men from Conversano, but men 
 from Francavilla Fontana, Lecce, and the towns 
 of the plain — respectable men, citizens and 
 keepers of shops and hostelries. 
 
 '"Hola, Vittorio Dini ! what — are you 
 here ? " the first of them called out, looking in 
 upon us. " Well, this is good seeing ! We 
 are in Conversano for the buying of the new 
 wine. Come with us, that we may taste it 
 together." 
 
 'Then my husband, fearing no evil, and 
 being merry of heart with the must that he had 
 drunk already, cried out, " The saints forbid, 
 that such gentlemen as Bernardis, Occhio Lupo, 
 and the Vicar Vergine should stand on my door- 
 step and refuse to partake of my good cheer ! 
 Come in, gentlemen all. I am now in a good 
 place, and can afford it. There shall be no 
 stinting here. I am watchman of Conversano 
 by appointment, and this is my night of free- 
 dom. Here is new wine of the best. From 
 Monte Volture it comes, rarer than Vesuvio, 
 richer than Crapi, true lacrima Christi every 
 drop of it. Taste, gentlemen. Do me this 
 honour in mine own house ! " 
 
 { And so, with great embracing and triend-
 
 1 52 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ship, four men came in — all men of wealth and 
 position they were. 
 
 ' " Wife," cried my Vittorio, " this is indeed 
 an honour to our poor house. Run to the 
 house of Signor Cotrone. He will, I know, 
 send a loaf of white bread for the love of 
 me. Tell him the quality of my guests." 
 
 ' But the gentlemen forbade. They but 
 called to see their old friend, being on business 
 in the town. Nevertheless they would drink 
 of the good wine — the new wine of Monte 
 Volture. 
 
 1 The men were polite. They had come far 
 to see my husband, to do him honour. But 
 they had a message to deliver. It was the 
 business of men. " I understand, Signorini," 
 said I, and withdrew myself, though not 
 very willingly, to the outer room, where was 
 the fire of charcoal. But I contented me, 
 knowing that I could make Vittorio tell me 
 all at night. So I abode in peace while they 
 spoke together. 
 
 1 But I watched. Yes, of course. For 
 wherefore otherwise are doors made with 
 keyholes ? De Bernardis looked out once. I 
 was at the fireplace raking ashes. He went 
 back, and my eye was at the keyhole. I saw 
 the four men gather about my husband. 
 They pledged him in full goblets. 
 
 1 " Vittorio Dini," said one, " we pledge you
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 153 
 
 in your own blood, — you are a false traitor to 
 the Silver Skull." 
 
 * And with that he flashed a dagger and 
 struck my husband to the heart. The others 
 struck at the same time, and my Vittorio sank 
 to the earth with a toast on his lips, but with 
 the four stilettoes in his heart. Scarcely, I 
 believe, did he know that he was stricken. 
 
 ' " Did I rush in ? " you ask me. It was 
 my first thought. But even as my fingers 
 were on the hasp of the door, I thought, 
 " What use ? They are four of them — and all 
 strong men. They will slay me out of hand, 
 and there will be no vengeance, which would 
 be a sin. I will abide." 
 
 1 So I threw me down on my bed with a 
 hand behind my head, as if I had been weary. 
 At that moment the door opened and the first 
 of the murderers came out, walking cautiously 
 on tiptoe. I could see him from under my 
 eyelashes. Yes, they are long and black 
 though my hair is whitening. Vittorio loved 
 them. I saw the man : he was De Bernardis, 
 the lawyer. I have not yet done with him. 
 He shall die if I live till I meet him alone. 
 
 < And the others followed him. My back 
 was towards them, nevertheless I saw. Hoav 
 so ? Because there was a candle in the room- 
 in which they had slain my husband ; and, 
 shining through the open door, it cast the
 
 154 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 shadows of the men on the wall above my bed. 
 I saw Lupo sign to Bernardis that he should go 
 near and kill me. But I lay still. Then 
 Bernardis shook his head and passed on : as 
 one who would say " Please yourself, — there is 
 enough of blood in this place for my taste." 
 So I saw in the shadow above me the head of 
 Lupo the Wolf grow larger. He had taken two 
 steps nearer to me, and stood listening whether I 
 was really asleep. The shadow of his stiletto was 
 broad as a sickle on the plaster. But I breathed 
 hard — for, you see, I did not wish to die in that 
 hour. Where had my vengeance been then ? 
 " Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." So I 
 heard the priest say out of the Holy Book. 
 Well, it is likely. One must believe the holy 
 father. But I would rather attend to mine 
 own vengeances myself — yes, even I, poor 
 Palma, widow of Vittorio Dini, watchman of 
 the town of Conversano. 
 
 1 So I breathed hard and steady till the 
 murderers passed on. The room was empty. 
 Only in the next chamber the candle flickered. 
 And I knew that there was a heap upon the 
 floor. So I lay all the night, not daring to 
 move. For I thought within me, " They will 
 surely leave a sentry to kill me if I rise and 
 follow them." And I said also, " I will not 
 die till these four who killed the husband of 
 my youth sup sorrow and drink death from
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF THE SKULL 155 
 
 a full bowl. Then I also shall be ready to 
 die." 
 
 'That is all. To the justice, sitting on his 
 chair scratching his head in dull perplexity, I 
 denied all. I knew naught. I had been asleep, 
 I said. What use was it ? But now I come to 
 you, great captain. It was for you that 
 Vittorio Dim died. Now avenge me upon 
 mine enemy. I claim the blood right. I pro- 
 claim the vendetta, and I charge you to take it 
 up. You cannot deny it. Take up the oath 
 of slaying, Gaetano of the Vardarelli.' 
 
 And Don Gaetano softly took her brown 
 withered hand, the hand of a labouring woman, 
 and kissed it, saying softly, ' I swear ! '
 
 156 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding all my valorous intent, 
 somehow the fair-haired Englishman's look 
 troubled me. It abode in my heart of hearts 
 and rankled there. Why, I knew not, but I 
 could not forget it nor put it from me. It 
 spoke wonderment, and I thought doubt, 
 merging into contempt. Surely he must have 
 known that I was a girl, masquerading it there 
 with the co mi t ha, dressed like a boy. I had 
 never considered the matter in that way before, 
 but now I resolved to put away such escapades 
 for ever. 
 
 Yet again, who was this Cameron, this 
 Don Walter ? — An English captain of gen- 
 darmes serving for hire a Bourbon master ! 
 And was not 1 Isabella of the Vardarelli, and 
 the trusted companion of the chief, Don 
 Gaetano, who loved me even as an elder 
 brother ? 
 
 Nevertheless I remembered that look at the 
 foot of the albergo stairs ; and when Don
 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW EEAF 157 
 
 Gaetano came in and bade me be ready to ride 
 to Ostuni with him, I answered him right 
 shortly that I was a girl, and that for the future 
 I was going to abide and help the mother in 
 the Casa Vardarelli. 
 
 Don Gaetano first whistled, a low and in- 
 credulous whistle it was, and then sat him 
 down carelessly with his leg swinging on the 
 edge of a table, swaying his plumed hat in one 
 hand and watching me. 
 
 1 You are diligent to-day, little La Bella?' 
 he said. ' Yet you have neglected to feed 
 Salvatore, and you have missed the match with 
 pistols between Michele and our Giovanni. 
 Michele beat him hollow after ten trials, which 
 caused Giovanni to ruffle his curls, I can tell you. 
 But you will surely ride with us to Ostuni, 
 will you not ? There is a garrison there of 
 Ferdinand's which has been lately revictualled 
 — militia and provincials — and it is right that 
 they should pay toll dues to the Vardarelli of 
 their warlike stores.' 
 
 But I kept on sweeping the floor and 
 throwing back the curtains of the Casa 
 Vardarelli, as though I had not heard. I had 
 skirts down to my feet, and I was resolved like 
 iron to ride no more with the cotnitiva. But I 
 did not tell Don Gaetano this, for he would 
 not have understood, but made a jest of it, 
 being accustomed to think me petulant and
 
 158 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 desirous of having my own way and to be 
 made much of, which was false. 
 
 Then came the mother in. She sniffed at 
 the dust I was raising and looked from Gaetano 
 to me with a curious look. 
 
 'Who is making all this pother ?' she 
 began, thinking I had some wager with 
 Gaetano as to sweeping the rooms. 
 
 Whereat I ran to her, and without any 
 reason at all fell to weeping on her shoulder. 
 Then Gaetano rose in astonishment and came 
 towards us. 
 
 'What have you been saying to the girl ?' 
 asked his mother of the Captain sternly. For 
 though he was Captain of the Vardarelli, to the 
 Signora he was at such times only the eldest of 
 her boys. 
 
 1 Nothing,' he answered, rubbing his fore- 
 head in perplexity. ' I but asked La Bella to 
 ride with us to Ostuni to-nigrht.' 
 
 * Mother,' I hastened to say, < I will stay 
 with you ; I will ride no more with the 
 comitiva I ' 
 
 And at the time I meant it. 
 
 ' Do not send me away. After this I will 
 be a true maid of the Casa Vardarelli. I will 
 learn household work, and to sit still with sewing 
 in my lap — I will be your very own daughter. 
 I do not care for riding with the comitiva any
 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF 159 
 
 more. I wish to be as other girls. I will learn 
 to play upon the harpsichord ! ' 
 
 ' God forbid ! ' said Gaetano, and there was 
 quick mirth in his voice. I think my new 
 resolve appeared to him but a whim of girlish 
 petulance. 
 
 * Gaetano,' said his mother, l if you have 
 nothing more to do than thus to tease a girl, it 
 were better for you to be with the others at the 
 stables, or out on the hills with Dionisio seeing 
 that the lazy shepherds do their work among 
 the lambs.' 
 
 Don Gaetano went to the door with a head 
 that hung down like a child's that has been 
 chidden. He seemed always to leave his 
 sternness outside the Stone Gate of the Valley 
 of the Vardarelli. 
 
 When he was gone the mother sat on 
 the window-seat and drew me down near to 
 her, as if I were once more the little girl 
 who had ridden home on Don Gaetano's 
 saddle-bow. And 1 was comforted to feel her 
 hand upon my hair. She had a caressing way 
 of passing her fingers through it as I sat 
 at her knee, as light and cool as thistle- 
 down. I could have let her go on for ever 
 and ever. 
 
 1 You are like a kitten, little one,' she said, 
 smiling in her gracious way, for upon occasion 
 she could be tender as any. ' You are like a
 
 i6o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 kitten, that loves to be caressed. In a little 
 while we shall hear you purr.' 
 
 1 I want to be a girl like other girls,' I said 
 to her, leaning my head against her hand for 
 the comfort of it. ' I am tired of men and 
 men, and only men. Tell me about your own 
 girlhood, dear mother, and let me be a girl like 
 you. Hitherto I have been so unmaidenly ; 
 but now I am nineteen and a woman. I saw 
 the daughter of the Intendant walking through 
 the streets of Lccce. She wore a long white 
 dress that clung about her and fitted to the 
 shape of her body as she walked. She had a 
 silken shawl draped from the left shoulder and 
 falling over her right arm. Her hat of yellow 
 straw was wide in front, and bent prettily down 
 about her ears. I am going to learn how to 
 plait my hair thus after it has grown long 
 enough — yes, mother mine — and tie my hat 
 with bows of ribbon of pale blue like the 
 Intendant's daughter at Lecce. Then Don 
 Gaetano will not laugh at me any more, and 
 think me no better than a wild colt from the hills.' 
 
 1 Your own hair, Isabella,' said the Signora, 
 gravely, * is more beautiful and more becoming 
 than covered with a thousand bonnets of straw 
 of all the French fashions. A bold madam 
 she must have been indeed, that Intendant's 
 daughter, thus to be walking before the eyes 
 of men, alone and unashamed ! '
 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF 161 
 
 ' And she carried a parasol, mother, dan- 
 gling from her wrist, with a handle all of gold. 
 And she looked at me. 1 think that she knew 
 I was a girl, and despised me.' 
 
 But for all that I told her so much, I re- 
 vealed not the true reason why I desired no 
 more to ride with the comitiva — which was 
 that I had been so unhappy when, on the 
 night of the Englishman's reviewing the troop 
 in the street of Cerniola, the fair-haired lad 
 had looked at me from head to foot with doubt 
 and wonder in his eyes. 
 
 So the mother patted me on the cheek and 
 bade me go and do even as I liked — which indeed 
 1 should have done in any case, yet her saying 
 so comforted me. 
 
 So I drove in the cows from among the 
 woods up on the hillside where the pastures 
 are. I brought down a great back burden 
 of pine-cones and dead branches. They made 
 quite a little hillock by the side of the old 
 chipped axe-log, but really they were light. I 
 went out to weed in the vegetable garden, 
 where were the cabbages and the tomatoes 
 and the garlic. I knew these three apart — the 
 garlic by the smell, the others by their size and 
 colour. It was a fine thing to be a gardener. 
 
 ' Now,' I said to myself, 'I am a real girl 
 at last. And I am so happy. I will be wild 
 no more.' 
 
 M
 
 i6a THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 I could see the lads of the farm watching 
 me covertly, even coming near and offering to 
 help me shyly enough, but oftener disappearing 
 out of my sight with something which might 
 have been a sudden seizure of pain — or again 
 might not. 
 
 Well, I do not blame them. For I own 
 that the cows broke away in all directions, 
 instead of keeping the path, as they would with 
 little eight-year-old Matteo ; and when I had 
 them in the angle of the farmyard by the tower 
 steps at which they had been milked throughout 
 all their generations I essayed to milk them. 
 It looked so easy ; and having acquired the art 
 of sword-play, and how to throw a stone like a 
 boy, I judged there would be no difficulty in 
 learning in what manner to milk a cow. So I 
 had learned it by watching Beppo, who would 
 milk and milk, leaning his forehead against the 
 cow's side and sleeping soundly while the beast 
 chewed the cud and flicked the flies from Beppo 
 and herself. For Beppo could do all this ; and 
 what is more, he could always wake up at the 
 exact moment when the milk was within three 
 inches of the top of the pail. It looked so easy 
 when Beppo did it. But when I tried my hand 
 on Empress, our quietest cow, exactly in the 
 same way, she kicked over the pail, twirling her 
 tail in the air, and ran like mad all about the 
 enclosure of the masseria — to my shame, and 

 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF 163 
 
 doubtless to the secret delight of the boys, 
 whose watching heads disappeared from the top 
 of the wall, like rabbits at a warren when the 
 dogs come over the hill. 
 
 Then I came in and warmed me at the 
 cheerful fire in the house-place, thinking it was 
 made of the pine-cones and branches I had 
 brought. But, alas ! these had all been thrown 
 out : they would not burn, not being, as it 
 were, of the right vintage and selection. 
 
 Then came my horse Salvatore nosing to the 
 door, seeking sugar and caresses. Now it was 
 not in the human heart to resist his eyes and the 
 way he had of thrusting his nose up and nuzzling 
 it on your shoulder, blowing his breath upon 
 you from pure affection. It was a gracious 
 afternoon, late enough to be cool, and there had 
 risen a fanning wind from off the Sea of Adria. 
 
 c Beppo, quick, Beppo ! Saddle me Salva- 
 tore ! ' I cried before I thought. Then I went 
 in and changed into my Greek blouse and 
 kirtle, swung into the saddle, and set off at a 
 gallop towards the Stone Gate. The Signora 
 came to the door, hearing the clatter of Salva- 
 tore's feet ; and though she waved a hand 
 kindly I knew there was sorrow in her heart. 
 
 But in a moment, with the air singing 
 fresh in my ears and stirring my hair, the rest- 
 less spirit in my heart woke, and I rode through 
 the Stone Gate and out upon the little plateau 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 whence I could look down on the broad plain 
 of Apulia, with the pearly mist of heat still 
 upon it, scarce touched as yet by the sea breeze 
 which passed overhead between the hills and 
 the sea, bringing us coolness even in our 
 mountain fastnesses. 
 
 Beneath me I saw the comitiva, the low sun 
 glinting on bright scabbard and swinging 
 carbine-barrel, on clinking stirrup and steel 
 accoutrement. They had reached a wider 
 track, and were riding two by two, so that the 
 sparkles came glinting up and danced in my 
 eyes and in my brain. The tears also rose un- 
 bidden, forcing up the lids. 
 
 1 Why did they leave me ? Why did Don 
 Gaetano go without taking me ? He might 
 have known. It is too late to ride after them 
 now. Besides, I have put aside all these un- 
 womanly things. I will go back and help the 
 lady mother at the beadwork and to feed the 
 chickens.' 
 
 But for all that I could not go back, but 
 stood and watched the dancing glitter of the 
 long serpentine array of the gay riders, till they 
 melted into the plains and the night fell and the 
 stars came out. 
 
 Then, if the truth be told, I wept again — 
 why I cannot tell even now, much less at that 
 time. There were strange things stirring in 
 my heart, and I, Isabella of the Vardarelli, who
 
 THE TURNING OF THE NEW LEAF 165 
 
 a week ago had cared for nothing save to out- 
 ride, outrun, and outwit every reckless lad of 
 the comitiva, now cried for nothing — wanting 
 something, and not knowing what I wanted.
 
 i66 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XVI ' 
 
 Giovanni's way 
 
 And, indeed, I went no more abroad on any 
 adventure till that sad day on which I saw the 
 pride of the Vardarelli broken, and the gallantest 
 riders that ever were, scattered to the four 
 winds. 
 
 The leaders of the Good Cousins, as the 
 Carbonari were called among themselves, had 
 sent out the signal to rise to all the sections. 
 Ferdinand had fled to the Austrians for refuge. 
 All Apulia was instantly in flames. In the north 
 also there was turmoil ; but the Carbonari were 
 there in force. Trani was held by a republican 
 government. General Church had taken off 
 his newly raised police and the cavalry he had 
 drilled at Bari, no man knew whither. It 
 was guessed to Naples, where Nugent was in 
 peril. 
 
 As for the south of the province, it was 
 quiet in our hands. Only Potenza, among the 
 hills of Basilicata, held out for the Bourbon. 
 There was news that the west also was tranquil,
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY 167 
 
 in Good Cousinly keeping, and that Sicily the 
 Island was afire in the triangle betwixt the 
 three capes. 
 
 1 The time has come for Italy to be free,' 
 said the Mother of the Vardarelli. * Go, my 
 sons, let Potenza of Basilicata also have the 
 light, or at least perish with the torch flaming 
 at her doors.' 
 
 So in the mild Christmas weather we left 
 the Casa Vardarelli. We passed without a 
 forewarning of disaster through the Stone Gate 
 at the entrance of the Valley. For Fate and 
 the gods must have their sacrifice, and that 
 which is written be wrought out. To me the 
 Signora spoke in the morning. 
 
 c Go, Isabella, go, since I see it in your 
 eyes. I will keep the house. This once go — 
 that you may see the deed done that shall free 
 all the south from sea to sea. Go, I bid you. 
 Fear not, for you too are Carbonaro.' 
 
 And right gladly I went ; for such an array 
 had never left the hill country ; six hundred 
 men, all armed and mounted, all leal men, eating 
 the Vardarelli salt and owning Don Gaetano 
 as their captain. But it was my place to ride be- 
 side him. How could we know, as at the turn- 
 ing of the road we looked back and heard the 
 bugles play in the van and those in the rear 
 answer, what should befal that array of noble 
 men long ere midnight of the morrow ?
 
 168 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 At the cross-roads of Montrese we were 
 joined by the Vicar Vergine with eight hundred 
 men. They came, he said, to aid us in our 
 invasion of Basilicata. Cut-throat-looking 
 bandits they were — galley-slave ruffians — the 
 scourings of half a dozen provinces ; I 
 trembled when one of them so much as looked 
 upon me. The prisons of Gallipoli, the galleys 
 of Brindisi must have been ransacked from end 
 to end to produce such a set of scoundrels. 
 But they wore the Carbonaro colours, and 
 when every sword had a value Don Gaetano 
 could not well turn them back. 
 
 But he ordered me to ride closer to him, 
 and never on any pretext to stray or leave his 
 side. £ When one makes war I know it cannot 
 be done with rose-water,' he said, { yet it turns 
 my stomach that such fellows as these should 
 ride with the Vardarelli. Pah ! but when the 
 Bourbon is down and the work done, then I, 
 Gaetano Vardarelli, will know how to deal with 
 such rascals.' 
 
 I need not be long a-telling how we fell 
 into the trap. It is not good hearing for any 
 that have wished well to the famous comiliva, 
 the band of brave men who, to do a great good, 
 had mayhap often ridden over-close to the 
 frontiers of ill. Suffice it that we came to the 
 fords of the Basento. It was, as I say, the 
 Christmas time, and the rainy province. At
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY 169 
 
 dusk we prepared us to cross, but when the 
 first steeds dipped their hoofs in the water, 
 suddenly from all sides a volley was poured 
 in upon our company. The banks of the 
 river were already lined with white-coated 
 Austrians. Artillery played upon us from the 
 little wooded hills where the guns had been 
 cunningly sheltered by barricades of brushwood. 
 For well nigh an hour the Vardarelli stood 
 their ground, dismounting and sending back 
 their horses, those of us who were not shot 
 at the first fire seeking cover where we could 
 find it. 
 
 As for me, even as in the first turmoil and 
 confusion I turned me about to find Don 
 Gaetano, I felt a sharp intolerable pain of 
 burning in my shoulder. I put my hand to it, 
 and brought it away wet. Then I grew sud- 
 denly faint, for I knew that I was wounded. 
 
 At the same moment the Vicar Vergine 
 drew off his eight hundred cut-throats, and, 
 knowing where exactly we were posted, from 
 the hillside above us poured in a far more 
 deadly volley. So they tell me now, but 
 indeed I knew nothing of it, seeing only the 
 sky reel earthward and the yellow bent rise up 
 to smite me on the face. 
 
 Thus the comitiva was held between two 
 fires, and the true men were mown down by the 
 hundred. < Death to the Vardarelli ! ' shouted
 
 170 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 the traitors on the hillside, while the Austrians 
 said nothing, but served the grape into the 
 deadly muzzles of their guns. 
 
 1 Fall back, men ! Back to the horses ! 
 Retreat fighting ! Take what cover you can 
 find!' 
 
 It was the voice of Don Gaetano, and it 
 seemed to dominate even that last stricken field. 
 The whistle and shriek of the grape, the tear- 
 ing sound of the heavier metal, the thuds and 
 spouts of sand and soil as the storm of lead and 
 iron struck the banks of the river, the gasps of 
 the smitten men who threw up their arms and 
 fell, — that is all that I can remember of the 
 fray. 
 
 But they tell me now, those who saw the deed 
 done, how the Vardarelli gave back slowly and 
 reluctantly even under the fiercest fire of the 
 traitors on the slopes of the hills, and the 
 inevitable advance of the white-coated veterans 
 of the north. Sullenly the torn shreds of the 
 comitiva contested every inch of advance. 
 With set teeth, smoke-grimed to the eyes, they 
 fell back, leaving only their dead behind them. 
 
 And of this last I saw one incident ; yet 
 that one remains in my mind till this day, clear 
 as the sun which shines through the lattice 
 upon this written page. 
 
 I awoke to find myself swung up in strong 
 arms : and lo, there was Don Gaetano ! I saw
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY 171 
 
 his face close to mine as he raised me over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 1 Little one,' he whispered, l I fear I must 
 hurt you. The wound is painful, but not 
 serious. We shall win through yet.' His face 
 was set and terrible, yet he found time to let 
 his eyes dwell softly upon me. And above, 
 and all around us the bullets sang. God help me 
 — how shall I tell that which I saw next ? We 
 were falling back, rallying behind every tuft of 
 boskage, making a fortress of each vine plat- 
 form. The comitiva, or rather what was left of 
 it, faced both ways as it retreated along the 
 valley — firing back upon the soldiers behind, 
 and up into the ranks of the murderers and 
 galley-slaves of the Vicar Vergine, who 
 skirmished and sniped among the boulders of 
 the hillside. 
 
 Don Gaetano had thrown away his carbine. 
 His sword was useless in such warfare. But 
 he held his pistol in his hand even when he 
 carried me, wounded and helpless as I was. I 
 begged him to put me down and so save him- 
 self : he was the soul of the comitiva, — without 
 him to lead and hearten we were all as nothing, 
 motes that float in the sunshine. 
 
 But he only shook his head, and pressed on 
 like a man of iron. 
 
 Then we saw that which remains to tell. 
 
 There at our feet across the path lay young
 
 172 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Don Giovanni, his boyish face pale as death — 
 his lips, the desire of maidens, with a yellow- 
 ish gloss on them like monkish parchment — a 
 great welling wound in his side where he had torn 
 his sash away that he might the better see it. 
 
 * Gaetano — brother of mine,' he said, speak- 
 ing low and hoarse, * leave me not to that 
 hellish crew ! For God's sake — for our 
 mother's sake — lend me your pistol ! ' 
 
 His face looked eager, like that of a lover 
 who pleads for the favour of his mistress, and 
 he held up a shaking hand. 
 
 Don Gaetano looked at him, — how, I could 
 only guess from the tremulous throb in his voice. 
 4 Giovannino,' he said, pausing a moment, yet 
 without ever letting me touch the ground, 
 { is the wound unto death ? Is it beyond 
 remedy ? ' 
 
 The lad opened his breast wide, and laid 
 bare a rent whence welled the life-blood fast as 
 from a roof-spout in the rains. 
 
 4 It is unto death, dear Gaetano : I cannot 
 move. For our love's sake lend me your 
 pistol. I cannot fall into their hands ! ' 
 
 Don Gaetano's strong muscles twitched ; I 
 could feel the drag and quiver of them strain 
 him from head to foot. Without a word he 
 handed his younger brother the pistol. 
 
 A kind of divine joy overspread Giovanni's 
 beautiful face.
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY i 73 
 
 c Ah ! ' he said, with a smile and a long 
 sigh of relief, * this will open to me more than 
 monks know. This will baffle the traitors. 
 Tell Nita Caccarello of Cassano, the tanner's 
 daughter, that I loved her true. She will not for- 
 get me. If you live befriend her for my sake. 
 Wish me a fair voyage, my dear. Do not 
 let La Bella, the little one there, fall into their 
 devils' hands. Buonviaggio, brother of mine ! ' 
 
 And with a smile he set the shining muzzle 
 to his forehead. 
 
 Carefully Don Gaetano stooped and dis- 
 engaged the smoking pistol, thrusting it into 
 his belt. I saw and knew all this, for the 
 words of Don Giovanni had awakened my 
 senses to a state of intense acuteness ; wounded 
 as I was, I heard and felt with a threefold 
 keenness. The fragment of the dismounted 
 comitiva still held grimly on. They fired more 
 seldom, for the ammunition ran low. They 
 answered no sound to the triumphant shouts of 
 their foes, above and behind. As each man was 
 wounded he rose and shook himself to discover 
 if it were unto death ; then, according as he 
 found the matter, he limped back to the next 
 shelter or handed his powder save one charge 
 only to his nearest comrade. Thus did they 
 all, for the spirit of the Vardarelli was even as 
 the spirit of young Don Giovanni.
 
 174 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 And whenever there was a longer stand, 
 Don Gaetano would lay me down behind a 
 tree, under shelter of a rock, or behind the wall 
 of a hill-set masseria for a while, and move here 
 and there among his men, encouraging them. 
 
 But as the dusk came on, his face grew 
 ever sterner and more set. It was the deeper 
 depths of the gloaming when we halted at the 
 foot of a little hill. 
 
 1 It is useless,' he cried at last : c let each 
 escape as swiftly as he may. Let every 
 man save himself. There is no longer any 
 hope or gain in abiding to be killed one by one 
 between the Austrians and the devils up aloft 
 there. Let every man return as he may to the 
 Casa Vardarelli, and protect the Signora to 
 the death.' 
 
 ' And you, brother ? ' questioned Don 
 Girolamo, the last left of the five, saving the 
 Chief alone. 
 
 ' For me, I bide here by Isabella. Tell the 
 lady mother I will keep her daughter with my 
 life ! ' 
 
 Don Girolamo saluted his captain without a 
 word. The path through the valley wound 
 along a hundred yards lower down than the 
 little copsewood where we rested. Don Gae- 
 tano said nothing, but primed his pistols and 
 set them in his belt. Then he took my hand. 
 The straggling shots from the comitiva waxed
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY 175 
 
 fewer and ceased. The cries of the triumphant 
 enemy came nearer. We heard voices imme- 
 diately above us. 
 
 Don Gaetano turned to me with a mighty 
 tenderness on his face. The sternness had 
 passed quite out of it. 
 
 c La Bella,' he said, c it has come to this. 
 There is no other way, little one. You are my 
 mother's one girl. You are the little maid that 
 I carried in my arms out of the house of Monte 
 Leone. You are precious to me — yes, far 
 more precious than mine own life. You are 
 the only sister of the Vardarelli, their flower 
 and pride. I had dreamed — I had hoped . . . 
 God wot, I need not now tell you what. It is 
 perhaps as well. I cannot leave my sister to 
 fall into the hands of these devils. There is 
 but one way ' 
 
 * One way ?' said I, faltering in my speech, 
 as he paused, so that I scarce knew the voice 
 for my own. 
 
 * Giovanni's way ! ' said Don Gaetano. 
 1 Are you afraid, little one ? ' 
 
 I know not what I said, the perturbation 
 of my mind being so great — as also the pain 
 of my wound. But I think I can remember 
 telling him that I was not afraid to die. 
 
 1 Will it hurt much, or be for long ? ' I 
 asked, for that thought was most in my mind. 
 
 ' You will never feel it, little La Bella —
 
 176 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 carissima miaj he said. ' You have never 
 known the evil. For this I have slain men, 
 and you knew it not. For this I have purged 
 the troop. And I cannot let you fall into the 
 hands of the yellow-eyed wolves of Ciro's pack, 
 of the galley-slaves of the Vicar Vergine, nor 
 yet into those of the lustful white-coated 
 Croats from the north.' 
 
 ' Do it quick, dear Gaetano,' I said, — ' dear 
 brother mine, do it quickly. And do not be very 
 sorry. My wound pains me, and I must die. 
 But when the troop rides, by moonlight or 
 sunlight, think, as you mount, of the little La 
 Bella, the sister of the Vardarelli, who loved to 
 be by your side. Do not forget me, Gae- 
 tano ! ' 
 
 * The troop will never ride again ! ' said 
 
 Don Gaetano gloomily, and held his head aside 
 
 in act to listen. We heard an inhuman howling 
 
 o 
 
 over the hill, and shots came whisking and 
 scattering through the underbrush. < Hark to 
 them,' he said bitterly ; 'hear the traitors shout. 
 They came out of their holes but for this, to 
 make an end of the Vardarelli ; and, not daring 
 to do it openly, led us into an ambush. God 
 keep my arm steady ! Farewell : it takes an 
 infinity of love to do this. I have never 
 caressed you, La Bella, but I will hold you in 
 mine arm now. Dearest, the Mother of God 
 smiles upon your purity, which we of the
 
 GIOVANNI'S WAY 177 
 
 Vardarelli, rough dogs that we were, have yet 
 kept so sacred. And in the book of God let it 
 be written to our credit that you have lived 
 among sinful men, yet left the world knowing 
 nothing of the sin of men.' 
 
 c You have ever been kind to me indeed, 
 Don Gaetano,' I said, — * so kind and dear. But 
 make haste : I shall not fear if you hold me 
 close. And be sure that I am dead before 
 you go.' 
 
 I caught the glint of uniforms through the 
 wood — I saw Don Gaetano raise his pistol, and 
 his eyes looked into mine. Then a loud 
 withering volley crashed through the boughs 
 and threshed among the grass. Don Gaetano 
 fell back : I thought he was dead. There beyond 
 him lay the pistol that had fallen from his hand. 1 
 must reach it — and the Virgin would help me. I 
 would do as Giovanni had done ; but I was 
 desperately afraid. The galley-slaves would 
 be upon us in a moment. I tried to crawl, 
 but after a little way the pain of my wound 
 mastered me. Don Gaetano's body lay be- 
 tween me and the weapon. God help me ! 
 they were upon me. I could hear the horses 
 trampling ; I could discern the breathing of 
 men panting up the steep ascent. My fingers 
 touched the roughened horn of the grip. Ah ! 
 — at last 1 had it. Now the saints help me ! 
 
 N
 
 178 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE FOREIGN OFFICER 
 
 A strong hand snatched the pistol from mine. 
 I felt myself seized from behind. There was a 
 warm breath upon my neck. Too late — I knew 
 I was helpless in the hands of the devils of Ciro 
 the Priest ! 
 
 When I opened my eyes I saw a face look- 
 ing down into mine — one that was somehow 
 familiar, one that I had seen in dreams. The 
 moon was shining clearly above the tangle, and 
 one ray fell on the man's face. It was not, as 
 I had feared, that of Ciro the Devil, nor yet 
 the wolf's visage of Lupo, nor the splotched 
 purple brutality of the Vicar Vergine, which I 
 had seen that day lowering at me as I rode by 
 Gaetano's side. Rather it was a face young 
 and fair, with little curls about the temples — 
 crisp as birchen tassels. It looked strangely 
 like the face of John the Evangelist in the 
 picture at the Casa Vardarelli. 
 
 * Little Don Pietro,' he was murmuring in
 
 ST ■ 
 
 
 I TRIED TO CRAWL. BUT AFTER A LITTLE WAY THE PAIN OF 
 MY WOUND MASTERED ME
 
 THE FOREIGN OFFICER 179 
 
 the broken speech of the foreigner, harsh and 
 curious — ' I would have saved him if I could.' 
 
 Then I remembered and looked up. 
 
 c You are surely the Captain Cameron — 
 the English General's aide ? ' I said. c What 
 do you here ? ' 
 
 * I am indeed Captain Cameron. But tell 
 me, why did you try to kill yourself ? ' 
 
 * That I might not fall into the hands of the 
 Decisi — of the Vicar Vergine — of these your 
 gallant allies ! ' I answered with some bitterness. 
 
 £ They are no allies of mine, nor yet of my 
 General's, — that we shall show them when we 
 have Apulia again to ourselves. Though we 
 fight, we are Christians — we are not devils.' 
 
 Then I looked at my Greek dress, wishing 
 — I knew not what, so strange is woman's 
 heart. 
 
 c I am not Don Pietro,' I said ; { I am 
 Isabella, the sister of the Vardarelli.' 
 
 For a moment he sat silent, stricken dumb. 
 Then he laid me gently on the grass and stood 
 up. He looked all about. 
 
 f I wish to heaven I had not sent on my 
 men,' he muttered ; ' I feared that they might 
 have slain you in the heat of the fray. And — 
 well, something in your face haunted me. I 
 remembered our loving cup drunk at Cerniola 
 that night when my General reviewed the 
 Vardarelli.' 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 He looked at Don Gaetano. He bent over 
 him, and opening his coat placed his hand upon 
 his heart. 
 
 1 Come,' he said, c this is better. He is not 
 dead. We may bring him to, if only we can 
 get him to a place of safety.' 
 
 For we could hear his men crashing 
 through the woods like bullocks, and crying 
 fitfully each to the other. The rattle of 
 musketry waxed fainter and less continuous as 
 the pursuit rolled away across the foot-hills of 
 the Basento. 
 
 We had halted not far from the crest of the 
 hill. A dim shape like a broken-down out- 
 house was outlined against the sky as the moon 
 swam through fleecy clouds. 
 
 1 Are you afraid to bide alone while I 
 go up yonder ? ' Captain Cameron asked of 
 me. 
 
 I shook my head. Somehow I felt 
 strangely safe, like one that has already reached 
 heaven, and looks back to the weary struggles 
 and pains of earth. I saw him spring up the 
 hillside and disappear. Then in a moment or 
 two he was back again, holding a bottle in his 
 hand. 
 
 * It is no more than a deserted shelter- 
 house ; but I have found this,' he said, speaking 
 low and carefully. He bent down and set it to 
 my lips. A fiery liquid, such as I had never
 
 THE FOREIGN OFFICER 181 
 
 tasted, ran through my veins. Then he went 
 over to the place where Don Gaetano lay. 
 
 1 He has only fainted,' he said ; ' his heart 
 beats strongly.' And he poured a draught from 
 the bottle down Gaetano's throat. I heard him 
 choke and gasp, and then with a long sigh stir 
 as if to raise himself upon his elbow. 
 
 1 La Bella — where is La Bella ? ' were his 
 first words when he came to himself. 
 
 c Hush ! ' said the young English officer : 
 ' we are not yet out of danger.' 
 
 Don Gaetano half started, and glared 
 angrily at him. 
 
 1 Who are you ? ' he said in his old tone of 
 command, and put his hand instinctively to his 
 belt. 
 
 ' 1 am the English General's aide-de-camp. 
 1 was with him at Cerniola. I have fought 
 against you, but now I would help you if I 
 could.' 
 
 * Is La Bella dead ? ' he asked, not appear- 
 ing to hear the Englishman. 
 
 4 Nay, not dead, dear Gaetano,' I said 
 quietly ; ' but you and I are both wounded, 
 and owe our lives to this gentleman.' 
 
 The moon had by this time swept round so 
 that her beams fell clear upon the little down- 
 ward-sloping glade where we were. We could 
 hear the hoarse shouting as the eager searchers 
 came nearer. Captain Cameron drew a whistle
 
 i8 2 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 from his pocket and sounded three clear and 
 mellow notes. Then he listened anxiously. 
 
 There was no response, only a renewed 
 shouting and threshing of the bushes near us. 
 
 * We must get to cover,' he said ; c these 
 are not my fellows, or they would have 
 answered that signal.' 
 
 Something tall and dark moved towards us 
 through the gloom of the lower wood. Cap- 
 tain Cameron drew his sword, and stood ready 
 with a pistol in his other hand. But, suddenly, 
 when his left hand was raised to fire, there 
 came a low whinny of recognition and joy, and 
 a beautiful mare dashed through the tangle of 
 the trees into the open moonlight of the glade. 
 
 The young officer laughed a little helpless 
 laugh. 
 
 l Ah, Morna, that I should have nearly 
 shot you for a brigand of Don Ciro — my 
 pretty one ! ' 
 
 He said the last words caressingly as she 
 came nearer with outstretched neck. ' Hut, 
 you beast ! ' he added, as Englishmen do, when 
 the mare nuzzled into his neck. 
 
 c But this happens not amiss,' he went on, 
 as he lifted me upon the saddle. 1 1 will be 
 with you again in a moment, Don Gaetano.' 
 
 1 Put your hand on my shoulder if you can. 
 Gently, Morna, go very gently ! ' And both 
 the mare and I seemed of instinct to obey him.
 
 THE FOREIGN OFFICER 183 
 
 He had his hand upon my back, strengthening 
 it just at the part v/here the wound higher up 
 had made it weak. Almost I had forgotten 
 my hurt. We came, after a hundred paces or 
 so, to a hut, little more than a sort of watch- 
 tower storehouse, built on a kind of platform. 
 The door was open, and the one room a 
 mass of piled confusion. I could dimly see 
 this as Walter Cameron slipped me down from 
 Morna's back, where she stood quiet and steady 
 by the door. There was no light save that of 
 the moon, and her silver shining made the 
 shadows within loom black as night. The young 
 Northman laid me gently down on a bed of 
 rustling maize. There was a pleasant smell of 
 dry straw all about. In the centre I could see 
 a wooden table, with the silhouettes of bottles 
 and broken loaves of bread upon it. 
 
 * I will bring your brother to you in a 
 moment,' he said, and with a touch upon 
 Morna's bridle he was gone. 
 
 Then to me lying thus, there came up 
 through the night from the woody fringes of the 
 little hill the hoarse cries of searching men, and 
 in the distance I could still hear the faint rattle 
 of musketry. I lay there without sound or 
 motion, looking at the strings of Spanish 
 onions a-swing from the rafters. I could see 
 the roof and the moonlight thrusting white 
 stilettoes through the chinks. My shoulder
 
 1 84 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 did not pain me any more, but I felt strangely 
 weak and young — young and fretful like a 
 child. And I wished that the young fair- 
 haired officer would come back — yes, and Don 
 Gaetano. I wished for Don Gaetano also. 
 
 In a little while I heard the boughs parting 
 and whisking back again ; and presently a 
 voice sang up through the night, hoarsely, 
 1 Here they are ! Halt there, I tell you ! 
 Give your names.' 
 
 The voice of the Englishman answered, ' I 
 am Captain Walter Cameron, aide-de-camp to 
 his Excellency General Church, in the service 
 of his Majesty Ferdinand, King of Naples and 
 of the Two Sicilies.' 
 
 1 Ha — so ? ' came the reply. l And is that 
 mayhap Ferdinand himself you carry across 
 your beast ? Halt, I tell you — or I fire ! ' 
 
 The mare's footsteps sounded nearer. A 
 moving darkness blocked up the door. The 
 next moment it was slammed to, and like a 
 shout of anger and contempt came the Northern 
 voice, ending in a strange seldom-used abrupt 
 Northern oath, which carried in it a world of 
 defiance of Ciro and all his men. 
 
 * Fire and be damned ! ' it said. 
 
 And the next moment Ciro's answer came 
 in the storm of bullets which spattered on the 
 walls of the hut.
 
 i8 5 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE DEFIANCE 
 
 The Englishman hurled his oath at the priest 
 like a missile, yet with a certain gusto and satis- 
 faction, like the Grace-after-Meat which I have 
 heard the friars of the Brown Robe sing on All 
 Saints' Day at the abbey of San Leonardo on 
 the uplands of Manfredonia. 
 
 I never heard a man put so much pleasure 
 into an oath, and I trust that the recording angel 
 noted the intent and not the expression. Even 
 so did those that were below — for, though they 
 understood not the meaning of the English 
 words, they took the sense well enough. The 
 mare tramped through the door with her 
 burden on her back. It was an arched door 
 large enough to admit a vintagers' cart, which 
 stood with long straight arms raised to the 
 moon upon the courtyard at the farther side of 
 the storehouse. 
 
 Scarcely had Walter discharged himself of 
 his contempt, when a rattle of bullets pro- 
 claimed our besiegers near. I heard the quick
 
 i36 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 clip of steel on flint. A fiery worm crawled in 
 the dark, at the level of a man's hand. A light 
 sprang up, and a candle in the mouth of a 
 bottle illuminated the narrow limits of the hut, 
 like the sun in his strength, so great seemed 
 the brightness after the darkness. 
 
 Spat ! spat ! spatter ! Faster and faster 
 came the bullets upon the outer walls. One 
 hummed like a great bee through the window, 
 passed close to me, and buried itself, rustling 
 like a rat in the pile of maize in the corner. 
 
 I saw the fair-haired officer look quickly 
 about with the glance of a soldier. 
 
 * Thank God,' he said, ' those who dined 
 here had time to take neither their arms nor 
 yet their drink with them when they left. 
 They must have had some reason for their 
 haste. Don Gaetano, can you take a window 
 and fire if I prop you up and load your 
 musket for you ? ' 
 
 Don Gaetano nodded silently. He had 
 seemed never to take his eyes off this energetic 
 Scot. Without hurry Captain Cameron set 
 him by a window on the farther side, over- 
 looking the little green glade up which we had 
 come ; then, seeing that he could load for 
 himself, he passed him a flask of powder, a 
 handful of musket-balls, and two of the guns 
 which stood piled in the corner. 
 
 * This way, Morna ! ' he called cheerily,
 
 THE DEFIANCE 187 
 
 and taking the mare by the bridle, he led her 
 down a little descent to a stall beneath the 
 floor, where, as was evident, a beast had often 
 been sheltered before. 
 
 Outside we heard a shouting : ' Shoot 
 them ! Kill them — dogs of the Vardarelli ! ' 
 
 Captain Cameron mounted the rude ladder, 
 which led to the flat roof surrounded by a little 
 parapet whereon the onions and figs were wont 
 to be spread out to dry. He looked down 
 upon our assailants from behind his ledge, which, 
 though scarce knee-high, served to shelter him. 
 
 i Halt ! ' he cried : c are you King's men or 
 no?' 
 
 He spoke in Italian, clearly enough, but 
 with a strange mouthing of the harder letters. 
 
 ' We are Ciro's men — we are Decisi. We 
 know no king but Don Ciro. Deliver to us 
 the Vardarelli, that we may kill them ! ' cried 
 fifty voices. 
 
 * You shall suffer for this ! ' shouted the 
 young officer. * I have General Church's 
 authority for what I do. The Vardarelli are 
 my prisoners, and I am responsible for them. 
 If they have done wrong they shall be judged 
 by his Excellency.' 
 
 ' Bah ! ' came the answer : * we are greater 
 than the Vardarelli and Ferdinand's foreign 
 general — both together. We have fought the 
 Vardarelli and scattered them. We have
 
 1 88 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 thrashed the King's men a score of times ; and 
 now we will have Gaetano — and the girl too ! 
 
 My heart sank within me as I heard them 
 speak of the girl. For I thought the thing 
 was not known outside the comitiva. Now I 
 know that it was spoken of everywhere, and 
 that Isabella of the Vardarelli was famous all 
 over Apulia. 
 
 1 In the King's name I command you to go 
 back ! For the last time I warn you ! ' 
 
 A shout of laughter came up from all the 
 woods about. * We are greater than the King. 
 We care neither for Neapolitan nor yet for 
 Austrian. Your English general is dead — 
 superseded. We will have the Vardarelli or 
 take your life also.' 
 
 For a moment the young officer stood 
 silent, thinking. Then he spoke, making a 
 trumpet of his hands that his words might 
 carry the better. 
 
 * Come and take the Vardarelli, then. 
 Thank God, there are enough of us here to 
 show a hundred such traitors the way back to 
 hell ! ' 
 
 A score of muskets cracked. I heard the 
 whistle of the bullets over the roof, whisking 
 viciously past and whipping the leaves off the 
 trees with a brisk c risping ' sound. ' Come 
 down — oh, come down ! ' I cried : l they will 
 surely kill you 1 ' And, in spite of the pain of
 
 THE DEFIANCE 189 
 
 my shoulder-wound, I rose to my feet. As I 
 did so, I became conscious that Don Gaetano's 
 eyes were on me, thrilling me to the soul. At 
 the time I knew not why he looked at me so, 
 but I was soon to learn. 
 
 Up aloft the Englishman heard my words, 
 and prepared to obey them. But first he 
 shouted down to the traitors again, waving his 
 hand to them in a sublime contempt, standing 
 clear between them and the moonlit sky. 
 
 ' Shoot ! ' he cried, c blundering dogs. 
 You cannot even hit a man betwixt you and 
 the moon. Come on, and we will teach you 
 how to shoot and how to kill. Come, as many 
 of you as have vitals, that we may show you 
 where they lie ! ' 
 
 Then he came down, smiling and content 
 with himself, after the manner of Englishmen 
 when they have flouted a foe. I have seen the 
 way of them often since, and it does not serve 
 to make them the most beloved nation on the 
 broad forehead of the world. Yet in this 
 young man — well, I confess that I liked it. 
 Such noble scorn sat not ill upon him, seeing 
 that he was venturing his life to save his 
 enemies. As soon as he had come down I 
 spoke to him. 
 
 c Captain Walter, we are fighting for our 
 lives. We have no right to drag you into the 
 matter. Set me to a window and depart : they
 
 1 9 o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 will not harm you. Let us fight till we die. 
 Don Gaetano and I are not so keen of life, at 
 any rate. We are Vardarelli, and when the 
 play is played out — why, we are ready to pay 
 for our places.' 
 
 * Signora,' said the young man gravely, 
 * I will give you a window and a pair of pistols. 
 We will all do our best. But do not mistake 
 us Scots. We love fighting for its own sake. 
 And when we have no quarrels of our own — 
 why, we are thankful to be permitted to take a 
 hand in a friend's.' 
 
 He raised me gently in his arms, and set 
 me to a narrow slit, whence I could look 
 slantwise down upon the path up which I had 
 come upon the saddle on Morna's back, with 
 my green wound biting into me like a rusty 
 nail. 
 
 4 1 will take the door,' said Captain Cameron. 
 * It is thick and old, but it will not shut 
 altogether close. And that is as well, for there 
 is room to shoot through the crack ! Stand ! ' 
 He shouted the last word suddenly, in a 
 voice that shook the house. 
 
 A tall man stood bareheaded on the path- 
 way. He was within twenty yards of the 
 house. A white kerchief dangled in his hand. 
 He wore a long blouse which came almost to 
 his feet, black like a priest's daily cassock. It 
 was open from the waist, and I caught a
 
 THE DEFIANCE 191 
 
 glimpse of mail beneath it. It was the priest, 
 Don Ciro himself. 
 
 ( Englishman,' he cried, ' I bid you depart. 
 We have no quarrel against you. Give us the 
 man to kill and the girl to carry away, and we 
 of the Decisi will neither hurt nor harm you.' 
 
 ' On my part I offer you three minutes to 
 clear your vile carcass off that path ! ' the fair- 
 haired officer answered, speaking our speech 
 clearly, but as before with the curious Northern 
 burr, as if he had a pea in his throat. 
 
 The priest stamped his foot angrily. c It is 
 evident that you do not know Ciro Anni- 
 charico, chief of the Society of the Decisi, — I 
 am he. Again I warn you. Deliver me the 
 man and the maid, and go your way.' 
 
 * I am a soldier,' said the young man, very 
 quietly this time. * I am accountable solely to 
 my General. I take orders only from him. I 
 have nothing to do with you or your accursed 
 Society.' 
 
 * Well,' said the priest, ' I have warned you. 
 Pray remember that you have naught to 
 complain of afterwards, whatever happens to 
 you.' 
 
 And without any farewell he turned, and in 
 three strides disappeared down the path. In 
 the dusky silence which ensued I could hear 
 the laboured breathing of Don Gaetano, with 
 a fitful gasp in it every time when his wound
 
 192 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 caught him. I smelt the sweetish odour of the 
 chestnuts on the rafters. I heard the silken 
 crackling of the onion-skins. For at that 
 moment the noises all seemed loud and worthy 
 of attention — more than the pain of my wound, 
 more even than the terrible priest who had dis- 
 appeared down the path. 
 
 Then Captain Cameron took out of his 
 breast pocket a silver flask, and gave me 
 another glassful of the same stinging spirits, 
 which as before burnt my throat as it went, 
 but made me — spite of my wound — feel as 
 strong and well as in the days when I first 
 cozened the Signora to let me ride out with the 
 comitiva. To Don Gaetano he proffered a 
 double quantity of the same, keeping his eyes 
 restlessly about him in his quick alert way, lest 
 the enemy should come suddenly up the path 
 or rush across the glade. 
 
 The little hill hut had evidently been a 
 place of summer pleasuring to some town- 
 dwelling families before the troubles. After- 
 wards it had been occupied by peasants, who 
 had stored their produce there ; and more 
 recently still soldiers or brigands had partaken 
 of a meal and then tossed the yellow straw 
 about the floor to form a couch for their siesta. 
 As I have already mentioned, it stood high 
 above the fringing woods, clear of them on all 
 sides save one, where a natural spurt of under-
 
 THE DEFIANCE 193 
 
 growth straggled upward among the rocks and 
 stray vine patches. I have gone to look at the 
 place more than once since that night, and each 
 time I wonder more and more at the utter 
 inadequacy of our means of defence. 
 
 While we waited I could not help noticing 
 the silence of Don Gaetano, and the curious 
 way his eyes followed the young officer about. 
 He seemed like a man trying to argue some- 
 thing out with himself. It was clear moonlight 
 — the wondrous moonlight of Apulia, when 
 you can see the shadows of your fingers, cast 
 upon the white dust of the highway, as clearly 
 as on the wall at home when one lights a candle 
 at the hour of the children. 
 
 We sat at the windows and waited. It 
 seemed a long time to be silent. 
 
 { Here they come ! ' suddenly hissed 
 Captain Walter rather than spoke the words : 
 f sit tight ! Wait till you see the whites of 
 their eyes.' 
 
 There were perhaps ten men who came 
 bounding up the path. We could see the 
 smallest details of their costumes in the moon- 
 light, and the feathers in the steeple-crowned 
 hats, which some of them crushed down, as 
 with heads bent low to the ascent they raced 
 up the hill at speed. I think we all waited as 
 calmly as if we had been witnessing an assault- 
 at-arms in an amphitheatre. I know that I
 
 i 9 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 for one took my orders from Captain Cameron 
 as if he had been a drill-sergeant. 
 
 From Don Gaetano's window the first 
 pistol cracked, and then another. I could not, 
 of course, see to what effect ; but obviously 
 to a good one, for the assault was instantly 
 checked, and a scattering volley came against 
 the little hut, spattering the walls, hopping off 
 the roof like hailstones. One bullet only 
 entered through the door, and cut the string 
 of a thick double band of Spanish onions 
 swinging on a beam, which one by one de- 
 tached themselves in leisurely fashion, and 
 trotted across the like floor marbles in a boy's 
 game. 
 
 At that moment something, either a spent 
 bullet, or a fragment knocked from the wall, 
 stung me on the bone of the elbow, hurting 
 me even more than my wound. 
 
 I meant to call out to Don Gaetano ; but 
 instead, perhaps because Don Gaetano was 
 hurt and could not come to me, the word 
 which escaped, as it had been against my will, 
 was £ Walter,' the strange, uncouth Northern 
 appellation of the young officer. He fired his 
 carbine at a moving shadow far down the 
 glade, and was back through the doorway and 
 at my side in a moment.
 
 • N 
 
 HE FIRED HIS CARBINE AT A MOVING SHADOW FAR DOWN THE GLADE
 
 *95 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 
 
 4 What is it ? ' he said. ' Are you wounded 
 again ? ' 
 
 * I think not,' I answered : ( I was only- 
 afraid. But go back — go back. I was selfish 
 — I did not mean to cry out. I am quite re- 
 covered now.' 
 
 He went slowly round the little blockhouse, 
 peering through each window ; and at the end 
 smiled pleasantly, saying a strange thim*, which 
 then I knew not the meaning of. 
 
 ' Don Gaetano,' he said, ' I think at least 
 two of these rascals have gotten their kail 
 through the reek.' 
 
 The Chief did not answer, and there was 
 silence again as Captain Walter came over to 
 me, and, making me hold up my arm, discovered 
 that a spent bullet had indeed clipped nearly a 
 finger-breadth of skin from my elbow. The 
 darkness of the hut made Don Walter a lon<i 
 time in cutting a strip of plaster from his 
 
 o2
 
 i 9 6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 pocket-case and fixing it upon my arm. And 
 all the while the foes lurking in the woods 
 beneath gave neither of us any concern, nor did 
 the dim wavering forest show any token of 
 their presence. Also Don Gaetano was silent, 
 though I spoke to him often. At last I said to 
 the young officer : l Pray examine Don 
 Gaetano's wound again. I fear that he is more 
 sorely hurt than we know. He does not 
 speak.' 
 
 Then from his window Gaetano spoke in a 
 deep tone. 
 
 1 Stand to your post, Captain Cameron,' he 
 said ; ' and while we keep watch, I, Gaetano 
 Vardarelli, will speak with you. I have some- 
 thing to say as between man and man ; but as we 
 speak we can be mindful of our duty.' 
 
 He paused a moment, like an orator judg- 
 ing how best to begin a difficult speech, or a 
 chess-player deciding his opening. 
 
 4 Signore,' he said, ' we are here three of us 
 alone on a hill-top, with fierce enemies all 
 about, whose numbers we do not know, but 
 whose deadly and implacable nature we are 
 assured of. Two of us are wounded. One is 
 a girl, though not the less brave a soldier for 
 that. Help we can have none. My company 
 is scattered — your soldiery has long passed by. 
 The Decisi, who have sworn to kill me, know 
 the country, and can call out any number of 

 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 197 
 
 additional men, and wait any length of time. 
 But they will only wait till the moon sets, and 
 then rush the place. We must therefore decide 
 our purpose, and carry out our plans before 
 that time. Have you thought of any course of 
 action, Captain Cameron ? ' 
 
 The Englishman whistled softly, keeping 
 his eyes on the moonlit glade beneath us, 
 across which our enemies were bound to 
 approach us. 
 
 c Well, no,' he said, hesitating ; ' save that 
 I think that we can hold this place, poor as it is, 
 at least till the morning, against an army of 
 these dogs. Then surely General Church will 
 miss me, and send a detachment to the place 
 where I was last seen. And at the worst we 
 can die : it is not so bad, after all.' 
 
 Don Gaetano kept his stony silence for 
 another long minute. Then he spoke again, 
 and I knew by his voice that he spoke to 
 Walter alone, as one strong man to another. 
 For the moment I was put wholly aside, and 
 could only wait and be silent. 
 
 ' No, signore, that will not help us. You do 
 not know the Decisi, nor yet Ciro the priest, 
 their leader. Were we all men, we could wait 
 and die, with our swords in our hands, our 
 faces to the foe, and all our powder spent. 
 But we have with us this maid — and these are 
 the Decisi. — Hark ! '
 
 198 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 He lifted his hand so that I saw it — a dark 
 shape against the window. The blast of a silver 
 trumpet came thrilling up through the wood, — 
 another, and yet another ; and the third died 
 away in a sort of whining quiver which affected 
 me strangely. 
 
 ' I tell you I know that they will come 
 again with the first darkness, after the moon 
 has set behind the hills.' 
 
 ( Gaetano,' I said, daring to speak at last, 
 * do not think otherwise of me than of your- 
 selves. Am I not a Vardarelli ? Am I not 
 your sister ? If the worst come, I know what 
 to do. Do not fear for me.' 
 
 But, as I had supposed, he put me aside. 
 He did not even appear to have heard. He 
 spoke on sternly and without politeness to 
 Captain Cameron, as men are wont to speak to 
 men in times of peril and deadly danger. 
 
 ' Now, signore,' he said, ' I am a man about 
 to die. I knew it this morning when I rode 
 out. I knew it ere the first shot was fired at 
 the ambush on the Basento. I knew it when I 
 first set my hand to the place of my wound. It 
 is my fate.' 
 
 Then I think I cried out inarticulately, 
 fighting against such words from the brother 
 whom I loved. But neither he nor yet the 
 Englishman so much as glanced in my direc- 
 tion. Their eyes were on the several portions
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 199 
 
 of the defence for which they were responsible. 
 Don Gaetano was silent a moment. 
 
 * Signore Capitano,' he went on, in a re- 
 strained and level voice, ' you love this maid 
 honourably and truly ? ' 
 
 The young man started and turned about, 
 as if a bullet had struck him. 
 
 'By what right ' he began. 
 
 { I have a right,' Don Gaetano went on in 
 the same curiously level voice, but in a higher 
 key ; * to your post, and answer me ! ' 
 
 The young man, as if chidden by a superior 
 for neglect of duty, turned abruptly to the 
 open door, through which showed a strip of 
 moon-blanched hillside and the black shadows 
 of the trees lengthening as the moon dropped 
 inch by inch nearer the horizon. ' I do love 
 her, as you say, truly and honourably ! ' he 
 said. 
 
 And so strange is the heart within a woman, 
 that I was happy even though I knew that for 
 my sake one of these men before me must 
 die. 
 
 c It is well,' said Don Gaetano. ' Now I 
 will tell you my right to ask the question. I 
 also love this girl, but not as a brother loves. 
 For I am no brother of hers, save in name. It 
 is strange, is it not ? You have seen her twice, 
 and yet you tell me that you love her. Many 
 years ago I found this Isabel, a little child alone
 
 200 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 in a great desolate house, all her kinsfolk slain 
 by the Decisi. Ever since that day I have 
 cherished her more than my nearest kin — more 
 than the mother who even now waits for me, 
 and who must now wait in vain for ever — far 
 more than my own life : for fifteen years — for 
 fifteen years ! ' 
 
 A sob somehow escaped me, and in spite 
 of my wound I rose and went over quickly to 
 where Don Gaetano sat. But he never turned 
 his head from the open window-sill, never 
 altered the level intonation of his voice, though 
 I leaned on his shoulder, being weak, and wept 
 on his neck. Only he reached a hand backwards 
 and touched me on the cheek coldly, gently, as 
 we touch the dead. 
 
 c Go back, little one,' he said ; ' go to your 
 post. You also must prove yourself a good 
 soldier.' 
 
 He went on again, speaking to Walter, not 
 to me. 
 
 c Yes, I have loved her, I have cherished 
 her. In the midst of our reckless troop my 
 own mother, the mother of the Vardarelli, has 
 not been more sacred. I it was who brought 
 her home from the house of murder at Monte 
 Leone, a little child. She has grown up 
 among us like the very flower of joy. She has 
 been our beautiful saint — our La Bella. She 
 has ridden by my side by day ; I have watched
 
 •HER FACE GREW IN A MOMENT GHASTLY AND STRICKEN
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 201 
 
 her slumbers at night, innocent as an angel's, 
 sound as a tired child's. I have poured out 
 my love upon her thus — yes, for fifteen years 
 
 — and now ' 
 
 He paused, for the regret and pain in his 
 voice would not suffer him to go on. 
 
 * Dear Gaetano, brother of mine,' I said, 
 ' and I have loved you for it all. I love you 
 now.' 
 
 He spoke to me this time, and the level 
 voice was infinitely softer in a moment. 
 
 * Little one,' he said, ' I am not complain- 
 ing. You have given me all you could. I 
 am too old — too familiar to your eye and heart 
 — as you say, I was your brother. Yes, you 
 have loved me ; and for that good gift when 
 the time comes I will make it up to you.' 
 
 Then came the level passionless voice again, 
 and he was speaking, as I felt, not to me, but 
 once more to the man. 
 
 * Fifteen years — fifteen years, night and 
 day, hillside and housetop, riding out under 
 the stars, or in the white raiment and cosy 
 nestling cot, sleepless I have watched her. I 
 have seen her grow beautiful. 1 have taught 
 her all she knows, and marvelled at her spirit. 
 Comes this foresliero^ this man of the cold 
 North. An hour in a lighted hall, a walk to- 
 gether down a tavern stairway, a look into his 
 eyes, a meeting at night after a battle. Then,
 
 202 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 when this maid, whom I have cherished, is 
 hurt sharp and sudden, it is this stranger's 
 name, and not mine, which leaps to her lips 
 from her heart of hearts ! ' 
 
 I was on my feet now ; the pain of my 
 wound had mysteriously vanished. I went 
 and kneeled by his knee. The stern voice 
 softened again. 
 
 ' Nay, Isabella/ he said quietly, * I am not 
 complaining. All is as it ought to be — the 
 young to the young. You but follow your 
 heart. Go back, dear child, and hear me out. 
 To this man I speak.' 
 
 The silver trumpet of the Decisi blew 
 again from the other side of the ravine, and 
 underneath in the little cellar we could hear 
 the mare restlessly clattering her feet on the 
 hard earthen floor. 
 
 1 And now, signore, thus it stands. It has 
 come to the narrow and bitter pass with us, 
 and words must be few. But one of us two 
 can escape. They will rush the hut an hour 
 after the moon sets — that is, an hour before 
 the dawn. Then we shall not see clearly to 
 shoot. But there is a good horse below. One 
 of us is light and active, and unhurt, one 
 is heavy, and old, and wounded. One is her 
 brother — the other is " Walter." One must 
 go, and one must stay. I, Gaetano Vardarelli, 
 being the brother, will stay.'
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 203 
 
 Then Captain Cameron spoke, also as a 
 man to a man. 
 
 c No,' he said firmly ; < we three will hold 
 the place till help comes, or we will die 
 together. It is indeed a true word which I 
 have spoken : I love this maid — I love her 
 truly. But she owes all to you, nothing to 
 me. We two will not leave you to certain 
 death.' 
 
 1 Dear Gaetano, we will both stay,' I also 
 urged upon him, taking his hand. 
 
 He answered me not as before, on the con- 
 trary speaking harshly and abruptly as when 
 he was angry with the comitiva. 
 
 1 You shall go,' he said ; ' and at once, even 
 when the moon touches yonder tree-tops, you 
 shall stand ready by your beast. When she 
 sinks behind the hills of Marmora you shall 
 mount and ride for your life. You know not 
 the Decisi. You know not Don Ciro. Only, 
 sir, before you go you must promise me two 
 things — first to be true to this young maid, 
 whose life I place in your hands. And in your 
 charge I also place her death. Rather than 
 that she should be in danger of falling into 
 Ciro the priest's clutches, you will put your 
 pistol to her head and let out her life, even as 
 I, her brother who loved her, would have done 
 by the fords of the Basento.'
 
 2o 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Captain Cameron held out his hand. Don 
 Gaetano took it. 
 
 * I promise you both promises,' he said. 
 ' As I love her I will perform them.' 
 
 * Swear ! ' said Don Gaetano sternly, keep- 
 ing the hand in his own. 
 
 * It is not our Northern way, but if you 
 wish it, I will swear.' And he waited for Don 
 Gaetano to furnish him with the form of 
 words. 
 
 * I swear,' said Don Gaetano, in his deep 
 voice, ' to be true to this maid through life. 
 Also I swear to slay her rather than she should 
 fall into the hands of Ciro Annicharico or any 
 of his gang. By the love I bear her, and by 
 the God in whom I believe, I swear ! ' 
 
 And the voice of Walter Cameron, shamed 
 and constrained, followed the unaccustomed 
 words of the oath. 
 
 1 It is well,' said Don Gaetano. * Go and 
 make ready the beast.' 
 
 The young man hesitated, halted on one 
 foot in act to obey. 
 
 i It seems to me that I cut a poor figure in 
 all this,' he said. ' I do not even know if the 
 Signora will accompany me.' 
 
 1 She will go,' said Gaetano. ' I send her 
 to my mother. She will tell her what more 
 to do, if indeed she knows not of her own 
 heart.'
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 205 
 
 We were left for a moment together while 
 Walter Cameron went for his horse. I kneeled 
 at Don Gaetano's knee. I seemed to have 
 forgotten all about my wound. 
 
 * Dear Gaetano,' I whispered, with my head 
 against his shoulder, c I will not leave you. I 
 cannot leave you to die alone ! ' 
 
 I think he smiled ; at least, his stern face 
 relaxed, and he stroked my hair as he used to 
 do when I was a little spoilt child. 
 
 ' Nay, Isabella of mine, you will go as I 
 bid you, and tell my mother all. While she 
 lives do not leave her quite alone. Tell her 
 of Giovanni, of the others, of the comitiva — and 
 of me. Tell her I loved her with a son's 
 reverence, and thought of her at the last — yes, 
 almost at the very last.' He said these words 
 slowly, and I knew well of whom he would 
 think last of all. 
 
 ' 1 have no priest to shrive me — so kiss 
 me for a benediction, little sister. Once only. 
 Because I wished to keep you angel-clean, I 
 have not kissed you since you were a little 
 maid with an apron full of spiked chestnut 
 balls, coming to me that I might open them 
 for you with my knife.' 
 
 I would have set both arms about him, but 
 for very pain my left dropped to my side. 
 Nevertheless I set my lips to his and kissed
 
 206 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 him, till I tasted the salt tears that ran fast down 
 my own face. 
 
 The mare came slipping and straining up 
 the broken causeway from the stall underneath, 
 her master alternately chiding and encouraging. 
 Don Gaetano drew himself slowly to his feet, 
 holding first by the table edge and then by a 
 rafter. 
 
 1 See,' he said, smiling brightly, c already 
 you have strengthened me. I can stand erect. 
 I feel no pain from my wound. Give me a 
 sword.' 
 
 And the young officer — well, why should 
 I not say * Walter ' — gave him his own sword, 
 one his General had given him. Don Gaetano 
 flashed it above his head with a kind of joy. 
 
 4 Thank God,' he said, * I am yet strong 
 enough to die as a Vardarelli ought.' 
 
 Walter Cameron stood with darkened brow, 
 fumbling with the bit. 
 
 ' Don Gaetano,' he said, ' I cannot permit 
 — I insist that you go instead of me. I am the 
 youngest and unwounded, and as a soldier it is 
 my duty to stay.' 
 
 Gaetano pointed with his hand. ' The 
 moon is touching the tree tops,' he said. 
 c In a feAV minutes it will be dark. Make 
 ready.' 
 
 And as if to emphasise his warning the 
 trumpet of the Decisi blew below. They were
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 207 
 
 gathering for the assault at the moon-setting, 
 even as our Captain had foretold. 
 
 I do not know how Don Gaetano kept 
 himself erect for the pain of his wound ; but 
 there with his hand in mine he stood, the mare 
 waiting as patiently as any and as silently, till at 
 last the moon jagged itself behind the peaks of 
 Marmora, sank swiftly, and disappeared. 
 
 * Now,' said Don Gaetano, l mount, both of 
 you. Ride straight down the path. Your 
 hand, Captain. Kiss me, little one. My duty 
 to my mother. Go ! ' 
 
 We were in the saddle, and the mare stood 
 ready, trembling a little nervously and sniffing 
 the cold air through the open door. 
 
 1 Let me go first,' said Don Gaetano : c it 
 is the only way. God save you both, and bless 
 you unto ten generations ! ' 
 
 These were the last words we heard from 
 him, till down the hillside and away to the left 
 we caught his war-shout, even as I had often 
 heard it leading the comitwa to the assault. 
 
 c Vardarelli ! Vardarelli ! To me, Var- 
 darelli ! ' 
 
 And the shots began to go, we heard the 
 rushing of men and the frenzied note of the 
 trumpet summoning all. Ciro's men in the 
 direction in which they feared the Vardarelli 
 were attempting a rescue. 
 
 The mare was at her stride in a moment.
 
 2o8 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 Sure-footed she was, and had need to be, down, 
 that break-neck rocky path. Cameron rode 
 pistol in hand, and I clasped him about the 
 middle with my unwounded arm. 
 
 But no man withstood us, nor did we see 
 man or beast, till we came to the plain road at 
 the foot of the hill. Here was a sentinel of the 
 Decisi standing to his musket, eagerly listening 
 to the shots and the babel of sound up the hill- 
 side. He had not time to call the halt, and 
 scarcely even to raise his musket to bar our 
 way, when Walter's pistol went off, and the ball 
 struck the gun from his hands. He stared at 
 it uncomprehending, as if a miracle had been 
 wrought. Before he could recover himself we 
 were out on the open plain, and still no man 
 had molested us. But upon the hill we could 
 see the flashing of many muskets and hear the 
 deep voices of men. 
 
 c Let us go back,' I cried, my heart failing 
 me for very agony ; * let us go back and die 
 with him.' 
 
 1 Not so,' said the young Englishman : ' I 
 have sworn upon the love I bear you.' 
 
 And he set spurs to his beast. 
 
 Then, as we rode on and on, pealing down 
 the hillside we heard a great voice : * Come 
 forth, Ciro the murderer, and fight with 
 Gaetano Vardarelli. Stand forth, and fight for 
 your life — coward and traitor ! '
 
 A GREAT MAN'S END 209 
 
 There came a discharge of multitudinous 
 guns, and we heard the voice of our leader no 
 more, as the white dust of the highway rose 
 behind us and the tears ran down our faces for 
 a great man dead.
 
 2io THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 
 
 The noble Englishman, General Church, sent 
 to recover the body of Don Gaetano. And 
 the soldiers found him — how, I will tell in 
 another place. Then I went under escort, and 
 with Walter Cameron at my side, to tell the 
 tale to the mother of the Vardarelli, in the 
 house which had been my home for fifteen 
 years. 
 
 But first, that all may know how these 
 things came to pass, I add in this place the 
 confession of Giuseppe Caffiero, registrar of 
 deaths in the Society of the Decisi, delivered at 
 Francavilla Fontana, the thirtieth of April, when 
 he lay in prison under sentence of death. 
 
 * With regard to the death of Don Gaetano, 
 Captain of the Vardarelli, this is what I know. 
 We of the Decisi had accompanied the Var- 
 darelli, riding as friends with them, such of us 
 as had horses, or going fast through the marshes 
 and steep stony places to keep up with the
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 211 
 
 cavalry, those of us who were on foot. At the 
 appointed place we turned against them, taking 
 the side of the Austrians, whom may God 
 condemn ! This we did because it came as an 
 order from the Twelve. 
 
 * We pursued the Vardarelli, firing often 
 and killing many, for we had the higher 
 ground. The soldiers pursued with us ; and 
 if at odd times there was an accident and one 
 of the white-coats came in a bullet's way — why, 
 what harm done ? Besides, he was paid to run 
 risks, and being an Austrian it was probable 
 that he got his pay. So as often as a Croat 
 fell we stopped to examine carefully to see if 
 he had any of it left in his haversack or sewn 
 up in his pelisse. 
 
 ' Then came Papa Ciro amongst us, and 
 he commanded that we — that is, the company 
 that were with me — should halt. He had 
 work for us to do, so he said. Certain men 
 on whose head was a price, besides being 
 enemies of the Decisione, were defending them- 
 selves in a ruined hut at the top of a little 
 rocky hill. It was moonlight, and the men 
 were but two, and there was a girl with them, 
 very beautiful, the sister of the Vardarelli. 
 The men we were to kill, but the girl we were 
 to save alive and bring to Don Ciro. These 
 were the orders ; and Papa Ciro made the four 
 crosses in the air which meant that, if we 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 should fail in any part, we must die in full 
 meeting at the blast of the trumpet. 
 
 * It was poor enough work at the best — at 
 least for men whose forefathers had been 
 soldiers of the free lance and had fought 
 against Murat. I am a man from the north- 
 ward, joined to the Decisione through the 
 brothers of my wife, who had me made Regis- 
 trar because I could write well, and they hoped 
 that I might strengthen the hands of the 
 family in the council of the Twelve. 
 
 4 We were a hundred to one, and might 
 easily have rushed the place if these Decisi had 
 had the pluck of so many leverets ; but hither- 
 to they had stricken all their blows in the dark, 
 or fallen only upon unarmed men. And these 
 three aloft there in the hut above the woods 
 fought like paladins. 
 
 ' Once, twice, thrice, and yet again we went 
 up the hill ; but the bullets of these Vardarelli 
 flew true. Men bunched themselves suddenly, 
 and fell twitching like shot hares. It did not 
 take much to stop us, for in the moonshine 
 we were clear as targets set against a hillside. 
 Besides, the Decisi, as I have said, were more 
 at home with the stiletto than with this open 
 warfare of sword and musket. 
 
 c Then came Don Ciro, and right angrily 
 he spoke. But even he could not bring the men 
 up to their work. So perforce he was com-
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 213 
 
 pelled to put off the final assault till the dark- 
 ness would permit us to surround their place 
 of refuge on all sides. Then, by the hundred 
 as it were, we would whelm them, as a sudden 
 flood from the mountains submerges a dry- 
 stone in the torrent bed. 
 
 * The moon sank slowly. The blackness at 
 the roots of the pine trees spread upward till 
 it swallowed the bright spaces on which we 
 had been plain as flies on paper. Almost the 
 time was come, and Don Ciro himself in his 
 cassock and mailed shirt went about, his mouth 
 full of threatenings and promises. The last 
 rays from the sinking rim, slanted in silver 
 across the tree tops, lifted their ends, and were 
 not. But there remained behind a kind of 
 twilight, moist, green-black and luminous. I 
 am a man who sees things — not a man of dull 
 Apulia. Suddenly from above there came the 
 rushing of feet, the crack of pistols, and then a 
 great voice, crying : " To me, Vardarelli ! To 
 me, Vardarelli ! " 
 
 'Then it is hard to tell what befell after 
 that. I was away to the left of that last charge ; 
 but I had a dim vision of a giant form rushing 
 into the midst of us with a sword that fell and 
 flamed as it fell. I ran to do my part, but in 
 a moment I was cut through the muscles of 
 the shoulder as the blade swept round. The 
 Decisi gave back, bunching like frighted sheep,
 
 2i 4 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 all but Don Ciro, who withstood the Vardarelli 
 for a moment, but even he for a moment only. 
 The dark shape with the sword drave against 
 the priest, and he went over among the rocks 
 with a ring of iron and the volleying of oaths. 
 
 4 1 could hear the Decisi gathering in to the 
 noise of conflict from all sides. But the single 
 man who had charged a hundred was soon 
 brought to bay ; for without knowing it he 
 had run right into the centre of our position, 
 where the main body of the Decisi were en- 
 camped for the night. Yet even there he was 
 not conquered. He secured himself with his 
 back to a rock, which shelved behind into a 
 shallow cave of white limestone. From his 
 place he taunted and defied us to take him or 
 kill him. 
 
 c Then, while Don Ciro raged and incited 
 us to rush in, we heard the galloping of a 
 horse's hoofs growing faint in the distance. 
 And there broke out a cry among the Decisi 
 here and there : " They have escaped. Pursue 
 them — they have escaped." 
 
 * And above the noise the shout of Don 
 Ciro rose : " Death to the man who permits 
 them to get away ! A thousand ducats to the 
 man who brings me the man dead and the girl 
 alive." 
 
 * Away to the south we heard shouts and 
 stray shots, but in spite of that the sound of
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 215 
 
 the horse's feet waxed fainter and thinned out. 
 Then the man who had made the diversion and 
 drawn us from our positions taunted us, saying, 
 " O brave Decisi ! Come and kill me ! I have 
 drawn you all after one man, while those whom 
 ye sought were escaping. And even now ye 
 cannot kill me, that am a wounded man and 
 alone. Go back to your desks and counters, 
 and leave this work of fighting to the Var- 
 darelli, who are men ! " 
 
 ' So there, in the cave where the rock bends 
 over near by our encampment, the Vardarelli 
 abode, and we were all silent about him till 
 the morning came spev/ing up grey out of the 
 east. 
 
 ' And with the light the whisper ran round 
 the ring from man to man, " Papa Ciro has 
 killed Brunone Lupo with his own hand for 
 letting the other two escape ! " 
 
 ' Whereat the ring of the Decisi trembled. 
 There would be no faltering when we went 
 forward for the second time. It was when the 
 sun tipped the hills to the east that Don Ciro 
 gave the final word. More than a hundred 
 men obeyed. We could not fire, being so 
 near one to the other, when the circle closed 
 in on all sides upon the single man in the 
 centre. 
 
 1 Then, being in the second line* a little 
 behind Lupo dell' Occhio, I saw the man who
 
 2i6 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 was about to die very clearly. He had risen, 
 and now stood with his back to the rock. It 
 was Don Gaetano Vardarelli. I had often seen 
 him pass through Grottaglie at the head of his 
 comitiva. But he looked far prouder now that 
 he was alone and about to die. 
 
 * When I saw him he had fired his pistols 
 and thrown them away as useless. Now he 
 stood up to take his death, a sword in his right 
 hand and in his left a long stiletto. There was 
 a smile on his face, as if in his heart he was well 
 pleased. The first line swept in and engaged 
 him point to point. He seemed to gather 
 their swords and toss them aside like children's 
 playthings. Then the long steel streaked out, 
 and man after man of the Decisi fell shrieking. 
 But more and more succeeded, for the thought 
 of Brunone Lupo lay heavy upon them. There 
 was no hope for the brave man, for were we 
 not a hundred to one — aye, more if these 
 should fail ? But nevertheless there the Var- 
 darelli stood with the fencer's smile upon his 
 face. There, like a willow-leaf flashing grey as 
 to its under parts, wavered and flashed and 
 lunged the sword that was in his hand. He 
 used the stiletto after the fashion of a buckler. 
 But he kept his back to the rock and his head 
 up till his sword was broken a foot from the 
 hilt. Then with a quick movement he charged 
 straight upon the hundred blades of his foes,
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 217 
 
 struck Papa Ciro in the face with the broken 
 fragment, and with a score of swords in his heart 
 fell forward without word or groan. Thus 
 died Don Gaetano, of all the Vardarelli the 
 bravest, and the most chivalrous of the free com- 
 panions of Italy. And though we of the Decisi 
 struck him down, we owned that he was a great 
 man and a gallant. He had seventy-six wounds 
 upon his body when they took him up to 
 deliver him to his mother.'
 
 218 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE VARDARELLI HOME 
 
 This is the story of the home-coming of Don 
 Gaetano Vardarelli, as it was told to me by 
 Bettina, my maid, who was with the Signora 
 when they brought home her sons. It was 
 towards evening, and the heat had cooled as 
 the light breeze crept up from the sea and the 
 land mist gathered in the hollows where the 
 copses of wild olive are. 
 
 The mother of the Vardarelli had fretted 
 more than was usual with her from the time 
 the comitiva rode away, and she could no more 
 see the tails of the horses whisk as the black- 
 ness of the rocky arch swallowed rider after 
 rider. At this point it was Don Giovanni's 
 custom to rein his horse about and wave 
 his fair white kerchief to his mother — a 
 pretty man's act, and boyish in the doing 
 too. 
 
 In all the courts and outliers of the Casa 
 Vardarelli, so Bettina began, there was no man 
 left to speak to. Not that Bettina minded : a
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 219 
 
 bad breed they were, deceitful and vain. But 
 she needed help, and the well-rope was heavy, 
 for it was winter. There were no leaves on the 
 beech trees up on the mountain. All of them 
 were now blowing in the chill winds of the 
 evening this way and that along the paths by 
 which the cattle went and came from their 
 pastures. They swept in after Bettina each 
 time that the door was opened, with a rustle 
 like the Signora's skirts on Saints' days. It 
 made her nervous and terrified, she said, so 
 that she kept looking over her shoulder. 
 They were like ghosts whispering in the dark 
 corners of the stairs. 
 
 Speaking of the Signora, she was restless 
 and unsettled all that day. She would come 
 and stand by the door, with her Spanish 
 mantilla over her head, and gaze away towards 
 the black gash of the Stone Gate where she 
 had seen young Don Giovanni, who was as the 
 apple of her eye, kiss his hand to her for the 
 last time in the sunshine. 
 
 All the next day and the next after that she 
 would go the round of the barns and store- 
 garrets, and look at the fodder, the drying 
 herbs, and the ripening fruits, without speak- 
 ing or comprehending. Then again would 
 she go out and look long at the Stone Gate 
 under her hand, though there was now no sun 
 to shine in her eyes.
 
 22o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 But to her companion she spoke no word. 
 So at least avers Bettina. 
 
 However, towards the evening of the third 
 day she grew more settled. There came in 
 one Sandro, the shepherd from the hills, and 
 Bettina had his dogs to attend to and feed, so 
 that she had not the time given her minutely to 
 observe the Signora. For it was her duty to 
 abide in the kitchen and see that the evening 
 meal was prepared. Also Sandro sat in the 
 chimney corner, the season being Christmas and 
 the straw wrappings of his legs wet with the rains. 
 A good man, and unmarried, was this Sandro. 
 
 It was cheerful there by the ingle, Bettina 
 owned, and she lighted a candle that Sandro 
 might see the better. But up aloft in her 
 room the lady sat alone in the dark with the 
 casement open, listening — a dangerous thing to 
 do when the nights of winter fall chill and the 
 mists arise. Sandro and Bettina remembered 
 that, and shut the shutters on the lower 
 windows. Sandro was a brave lad, and, as yet, 
 unmarried. 
 
 So it came about that mayhap these two 
 did not think much concerning the Signora, 
 till without in the darkness of the courtyard 
 they heard all suddenly and unexpectedly the 
 tramp of horses. Then, remembering that 
 there might happen to be a rider or two of the 
 comitha who would not take it well to find her
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 221 
 
 thus with Sandro, and being, as she added, mind- 
 ful of her duty, Bettina ran upstairs to the great 
 supper-room where the lady was, who, as soon 
 as she set eyes on the girl, began to scold. 
 
 c Ah, useless one, good-for-nothing,' — so 
 she said, not knowing what she said — ' have 
 you been out again loitering and toying with 
 the lads, that you have forgotten to help me 
 lay the cloth for the five gentlemen and their 
 sister ? Make haste, lazy wench ! Here they 
 come. Would you keep the chiefs of the 
 Vardarelli waiting after so great a riding ? And 
 1 feared — yes, I feared greatly to let them go. 
 Yet here they are ! Yes, something seemed to 
 warn me. Destiny plucked at the strings of 
 my heart. But now, thanks to the saints, all is 
 well.' 
 
 And then at that moment there entered 
 below the men of the General's escort, whom 
 he had given to Walter that they might bring 
 to the valley the five brethren of the Vardarelli. 
 
 * For,' said he, * it is the right of every man 
 born of woman that at the last he should come 
 home to his mother, in order that she may 
 swathe him in the white linen, and kiss his 
 brow. Besides, they were very brave men, 
 these five ! ' 
 
 That was the word of the Englishman. I, 
 Isabella, heard him speak it, after Walter had 
 told him his tale when the pickets sent us in to
 
 322 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 him. He rode out in person to view the dead 
 bodies when they were gathered together be- 
 tween the little hill on which we had made the 
 defence and the fatal fords of the Basento. 
 
 The tear was in the General's clear blue 
 eye when he stood beside young Don Giovanni 
 and I told him how it happened. He sent 
 his own surgeon to care for my wound, 
 and ordered a mule litter to be made ready 
 for me that I might accompany and guide 
 the dismal procession home through the Stone 
 Gate of the Vardarelli. For that was to be no 
 secret any more. 
 
 So from this point I tell that which from 
 mine own hearing I know. 
 
 So it came to pass, after my Lady had done 
 scolding the giddy-pate Bettina, that she walked 
 to the table-head, where she turned her about, 
 and seeing me in the arms of a stranger, 
 wounded and pale, cried out, c Isabella, who 
 hath done this ? ' 
 
 And she would have come pitifully towards 
 me, save that the thing she saw behind me 
 changed her instantly into marble white and 
 rigid where she stood. Her arms dropped to 
 her side, her face grew in a moment ghastly and 
 stricken, and her eyes fixed themselves into a 
 stony stare. 
 
 For this is what she saw. Six stout Alba- 
 nians of the Guides, disregarding instructions
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 223 
 
 or not hearing them aright, came pacing 
 slowly in with the dead body of a man on their 
 shoulders. Sadly and with bowed heads they 
 marched with their burden to the table-head, 
 and laid him down crossways upon it, among 
 all that shining of the silver and the sparkling 
 of glass which loving hands had set out. It 
 was Gaetano Vardarelli ; and his mother's hand 
 almost touched the fingers which protruded stiff 
 and bloody over the edge of the table, with 
 Walter's broken sword-hilt still clenched in them. 
 
 And as the bearers retired with bent heads, 
 like men crushed with ill news, the tramp of 
 other six was heard on the threshold. And lo ! — 
 they also came in bareheaded, carrying Girolamo 
 her second son. Fair and unwounded had been 
 the face of Don Gaetano, in spite of his many 
 wounds, though the leaves had been blood- 
 matted on his breast and on his sword-arm ; 
 but the bosom of Don Girolamo gaped, and his 
 mother's eyes had fallen upon it ere the last 
 Albanian with quick instinct twitched the verge 
 of the dead man's tunic across it. But still the 
 mother of the Vardarelli stood like stone, fixed 
 and terrible. 
 
 They brought in Giacomo, the blood 
 washed clean from him by the waters of the 
 Basento, for he had fallen at the first fire. And 
 the mother who had borne him stood looking 
 like a statue on the roof of a duomo, stately and
 
 224 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 marble-pale. They brought in Dionisio, the 
 silent brother, whose care was the herds of 
 cattle and the horses upon the valley pastures. 
 On his brow still darkened the frown with 
 which he had faced the last terror, and his 
 fingers were clasped as if about the throat of 
 an enemy. This is the only mention I have 
 made of Don Dionisio, for he was a silent man, 
 and except when the comitiva rode full to the 
 brim, he dwelt apart among his beasts and was 
 little seen. But saving Don Gaetano there was 
 no better man among all the riders of the Var- 
 darelli. So they laid the dark man down, and 
 from under his frowning brows his open eyes 
 seemed to behold his mother. Yet she looked 
 into them and no muscle moved — not a nerve 
 twitched upon the face of her whose breast had 
 suckled these four strong men. 
 
 Then, because there were no more bearers, 
 five men only came in with the last of the 
 Vardarelli, and Walter Cameron passed silently 
 from my side to take the head. So, very 
 gently, as if they too had loved him, they 
 brought in young Don Giovanni to his mother. 
 The love-locks were still hanging fair upon his 
 shoulders. The curls were comely upon his 
 brow, as if he had arranged them carefully to 
 visit Nita Caccarello the tanner's daughter 
 among the vineyards of Cassano. There was a 
 smile still on his lips, the smile with which he
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 225 
 
 used to tease his mother for what he wanted, 
 knowing well that she could not refuse him 
 anything. It was the smile with which he had 
 thanked Gaetano for the pistol. 
 
 Then, when the mother saw that and the cruel 
 crimson blotch of ooze upon his right temple, 
 there came a strange breaking cry forth from 
 her heart of hearts, and she fell face downward 
 upon the neck of her youngest-born. 
 
 1 Giovannino, little son,' she wailed, ' surely, 
 surely they might have left me my little one ! 
 Ah, why did I let him go ? But yesterday he 
 sported out there among the lambs in the 
 spring. My sons, my four dear sons, they are 
 dead. But for them, I had pledged them. 
 They have but gone the way they walked in — 
 they have died the man's death they prayed 
 for. But the little one — the son of my love, 
 the son of my old age — I cannot spare him. 1 
 cannot — I cannot ! O God, take them all — 
 but give me back the young lad Giovanni ! ' 
 
 Then through streaming tears I went 
 forward to comfort her, and knelt beside her, 
 striving to take her head on my shoulder. 
 But she cast me off, I think not knowing what 
 she did. 
 
 After that she took the fair head of the 
 young man within her hands, half raised him 
 in her arms, and as gently laid him back again. 
 Then she rose to her full height, and with a 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 quick upward sweep of her arm she dashed the 
 hair out of her eyes and faced Walter and all 
 of them with the quiet dignity of the lady of a 
 great house. 
 
 1 Tell me,' she said, almost calmly, . ' who 
 hath done this thing ?' 
 
 Then would Walter Cameron the Scot 
 have spoken, but I would not permit him, 
 knowing that being an enemy the Signora 
 would not listen to him with full belief. So I 
 myself found words, and told what I knew of 
 the ride with the Vicar Vergine, and all the 
 treachery of the Decisi by the fords of the 
 Basento. The lady stood bending her brows 
 and looking over the dead, and as it seemed 
 through me also, at something that lay beyond. 
 And ever as I spoke on and on, she nodded 
 slightly as if she had been marking a score at 
 the card play. 
 
 But when I told of the great deed of 
 Gaetano, and how he had caused me to flee 
 with the Englishman to save me from Ciro 
 and the Decisi, all suddenly with a white 
 breaking fury she turned upon me, grappling 
 at her side for the knife that happily was not 
 there. 
 
 ' God in heaven, what do you dare tell 
 me ? ' she cried. * And did you, called a 
 daughter of the Vardarelli, flee with the 
 stranger and the enemy and leave Don
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 227 
 
 Gaetano Vardarelli there to die for you, 
 wounded and helpless and alone ? ' 
 
 * Mother, mother ! ' I cried in an agony, l it 
 was his will — not mine ! ' 
 
 1 His will ! ' she cried, with a world of scorn 
 in her voice — ' his will ! Would a true 
 Vardarelli have done this, or the bastard 
 daughter of a great house ? You are not my 
 daughter. I desire never to look upon you 
 again. Yet, for the sake of my son who loved 
 you, I will not kill you. But go — go — go ! 
 Shame not my sight any more — coward and 
 traitress that you are ! ' 
 
 Then came Walter Cameron forward and 
 bowed before her as she stood looking at me 
 with the eyes of a hunted tigress turned to bay. 
 But not a word did she deign him. 
 
 ' It is indeed no fault of the maid, your 
 daughter. Nor yet of mine. For your noble 
 son Don Gaetano would I most readily have 
 laid down my life. Time and again I desired 
 him to permit me to stay in his place, but he 
 was already sore hurt, even to death, and could 
 not support himself in the saddle, much less 
 this wounded maid. So that is the reason 
 why it was my part to go and his to stay.' 
 
 The glance of the mother of the Vardarelli 
 swept slowly from Walter to me and back 
 again. Then I could bear no more, the pain 
 of my wound coming upon me and taking me
 
 228 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 as at first. So, my hand slipping from her 
 shoulder, she let me fall unheeded to the floor. 
 And even then the Signora had no pity. 
 
 * Let her alone,' she said, when the nearest 
 servitor would have raised me. But without 
 heeding her words Walter Cameron came and 
 carried me in his arms to a couch. 
 
 1 Nay, my lady,' he said, * I respect your 
 grief ; but if this maid be not your daughter, 
 she is at least a woman and wounded.' 
 
 Then there came one with his arm in a 
 sling, who stood forward with confidence, like 
 one with great tidings which all must be 
 willing to hear. • Noble lady,' he said, c have I 
 your permission to speak ? ' 
 
 The Signora eyed him, perhaps remember- 
 ing him as one who had been of the comitiva, 
 and gave him leave to speak more by her 
 silence than by any overt allowance. He 
 began in a clear and confident tone. 
 
 1 I was with the young Don Giovanni 
 when he was about to die. I had fallen in a 
 bush with a bullet through the fore arm, but 
 Giovanni was wounded to the death. Yet ere 
 he died he caused Don Gaetano to promise 
 that he would not permit the Donna Isabella 
 to fall into the hands of the devils of Don 
 Ciro. And I heard our Chief promise that ere 
 that should come to pass he would give his life 
 for hers. That is all I have to say.'
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 229 
 
 There came a slow softening over the face 
 of the lady mother, as she turned to the couch 
 where Walter had laid me down. 
 
 f Since that was the last request of Don 
 Giovanni Vardarelli, I will pardon you,' she 
 said. ' But a true daughter would most surely 
 have died with her chief. — Officer of Ferdinand,' 
 she continued, turning to Walter, l will you 
 take off your soldiers ? I thank you for the 
 respect that you have shown to my sons. But 
 now I desire to remain a space alone with 
 those who have eaten the bread and drunk the 
 wine of the Casa Vardarelli.' 
 
 So with a unanimous salute the soldiers 
 strode sadly and slowly down the wide stair- 
 case, and the lady was left with one or two of 
 the shepherds from the hills and those few 
 house servants who had not ridden with the 
 comitiva. 
 
 The Signora watched the men file out with 
 a fixed countenance, and then, lifting a white 
 napkin from among the silver, spread it 
 lovingly over the brow and eyes of Don 
 Giovanni. After she had done this she walked 
 slowly to the table-head and stood looking 
 upon those who remained in the room with a 
 certain grave hopeful scrutiny. 
 
 c Men who have tasted the salt of the 
 Vardarelli and lived under their shadow,' she 
 began, speaking low and solemnly, yet so
 
 230 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 clearly that all might hear, ' I bid you swear 
 the vendetta. I bid you take up the blood 
 feud against those who have betrayed the true 
 and noble — against those who have made us 
 this day desolate, and me a widow and child- 
 less. Against Ciro Annicharico and all his 
 band, against the Vicar Vergine and the 
 Council of Twelve, against all that pertain to 
 or acknowledge the Silver Skull, sleeping or 
 waking, man or woman, in the street or kneel- 
 ing at the altar of asylum, wherever you find 
 them, swear that they shall die by your 
 hands ! ' 
 
 But even as she was speaking, and especially 
 at the dread names of Don Ciro and the Silver 
 Skull, I could see the men edge one behind the 
 other. Some made as if they would go out by 
 the door. At last one bolder than his fellows 
 found heart of grace to utter a few hesitating 
 words. 
 
 ' We are but shepherds of the valley,' he 
 said. l It is true that we have lived under the 
 protection of the Vardarelli. But we are only 
 poor peasant men, rude, unlearned, and weak. 
 We are no fighters, and can scarce defend 
 ourselves. We cannot take up the blood feud 
 against Don Ciro and the Decisi.' 
 
 Then the eyes of the lady fairly blazed and 
 her face twitched with contempt.
 
 THE VARDARELLI COME HOME 231 
 
 ' Cowards and dastard at heart — get hence ! ' 
 she cried, pointing to the door. 
 
 1 We would aid you with the corpse-dress- 
 ing/ said one ; ' we would dig the graves and 
 help at the funeral of these your sons. For 
 they were good men and died well.' 
 
 * Get hence, quickly, ere I set the dogs on 
 you ! ' she cried, yet more fiercely ; ' leave me 
 with my honourable dead. Pollute not the 
 noble clay with one touch of the hands of 
 cravens. I can bury mine own dead. And as 
 for the grave, it is already digged — -where ye 
 know not of.' 
 
 And with the whips and scorns of her 
 tongue, sharp as scorpion stings, she drove the 
 men from her presence. But ere she turned 
 away, lo ! in the doorway of the Casa Vardarelli 
 stood another woman, haggard and gaunt, 
 wild-eyed and fearful of aspect. The Signora 
 paused and looked at her. The gaunt woman 
 opened her arms. 
 
 ' I also am a woman childless and desolate, 
 sorrowful and without a husband. I am she 
 that was wife to Vittorio Dini. / will swear 
 the blood feud unto the death of deaths. / 
 will take on me the vendetta against the Silver 
 Skull ! ' 
 
 And with a breaking cry the two women 
 fell into one another's arms.
 
 232 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 
 
 I heard the lady go out, treading steadily down 
 the stairs to the outer court, the widow of 
 Vittorio Dini following her. Their footsteps 
 died away in the direction of the cattle sheds. 
 Then for a long space there was a great stillness, 
 with only the spent hushing of the wind through 
 the corridors of the Casa Vardarelli, and the 
 heavy silence of the dead men lying on the 
 table. Then Nita, Don Giovanni's favourite 
 long-haired cat, that he had named after his 
 sweetheart, the tanner's daughter, leaped up, 
 and, treading softly across the others, went and 
 rubbed herself against the cold hand on his 
 breast, mutely praying for the caress which she 
 had never before lacked. At first she arched 
 her back and purred loudly, looking ever round 
 to see what could be the matter with her master. 
 Then, conceiving perhaps that he must be 
 asleep, Nita curled herself upon his breast and 
 went to sleep also. 
 
 By-and-by I heard the creak of the ungreased
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 233 
 
 waggon wheels, and rising from the couch where 
 Walter had laid me down, I limped painfully to 
 the window, holding to the wall as I did so. 
 There, immediately beneath me, its high narrow 
 wheels of solid wood crushing into the damp 
 straw of the yard, was a great waggon with two 
 magnificent Apulian cattle in it, the very pair 
 which had been a chief pride to the heart of the 
 herdsman Dionisio. 
 
 Then up the stairs came again the women's 
 footsteps ; and without a word to me they carried 
 down Giovanni first, Nita following them like 
 a faithful dog. Then they took Dionisio out 
 of my sight. Not a syllable did they vouch- 
 safe me ; even their glances avoided me. And 
 so the waggon creaked away, till only out of the 
 distance came the complaining shriek of the 
 ungreased axle. 
 
 So in like manner after an hour did the 
 women with the bodies of Giacomo and Giro- 
 lamo, taking them two and two, till there 
 remained but Gaetano alone. Then I went to 
 sit by him, and looked with heavy heart at the 
 man who had given for me his life, lightly and 
 freely, even as in the storm he had cast off his 
 cloak for me. Then tears, little accustomed to 
 my eyes, gushed out. This was a man who 
 had indeed loved me truly, silently, greatly. 
 Y et because love comes not at call, neither goes 
 at bidding, I had not loved him in return.
 
 234 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 But to my undoing I had cast my heart at the 
 feet of a stranger, of an enemy of the house to 
 which, when I was an orphan and an outcast, 
 this Chief of the Vardarelli had brought me home. 
 
 So when the Signora came again, I begged 
 her to let me accompany them, saying that I 
 was recovered of my hurt and could help to lay 
 the head of the greatest Vardarelli in the grave. 
 But the mother vouchsafed me neither look nor 
 word, bending to the load of the heavy man 
 like a young wrestler at a trial of strength. 
 
 So following the two women as they took 
 their painful way, at the door I found Salvatore, 
 my own horse. How he had come back, by 
 what strange method of escape, all the way 
 from the marches of the Basento, across the 
 foot-hills, along the perilous screes of the 
 mountains, up through the Stone Gate, without 
 rider, without saddle, without bridle, I know 
 not and shall never know. At all events, 
 there he stood waiting, with tired bowed head, 
 in the courtyard. Yet he whinnied when he 
 saw me, even as in happier days, and thrust 
 his nose forward into my hand in quest of 
 sweet cake. Then I put my head down and 
 whispered to him that he must do me one 
 more service. So with a hand upon his mane I 
 managed to guide him to the steps which led 
 up to the granary. And from them I 
 mounted painfully upon his back, and slowly
 
 WITHOUT A WORD TO ME THEY CARRIED DOWN GIOVANNI FIRST
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 235 
 
 pacing as at a great procession, I followed the 
 cart wherein was the body of Don Gaetano. 
 It was a long way before me, already toiling 
 up the steep slants of rugged pathway which 
 led to the yawning blank of the Stone Gate. 
 But Salvatore, treading gently as if he knew 
 that the least slip of careless foot might hurt 
 his mistress, gained, as a horse always does, 
 upon the tardy-footed slow-plodding oxen. 
 
 The two women walked on either side of 
 the car, both of them looking straight before 
 them, as though their eyes saw through the 
 walls of rock out into the green plain where 
 their beloveds had met their deaths. When 
 the oxen paused at the Stone Gate, I was close 
 to the Signora, my mother. Yet she neither 
 looked nor spoke, and there was that within 
 her eyes which kept me from venturing a word 
 to her. The reverence of a great sorrow fell 
 upon me as I looked, for vengeance dwelt 
 stark naked in them. 
 
 So there, in the blue shade of the lime- 
 stone cavern, upon a shelf whereon the mule- 
 teers were wont to rest, the bodies of the four 
 men were laid ; Giovanni being farthest within, 
 out of the sun. From the great solid-wheeled 
 wain the two women carried Gaetano, till he 
 rested alongside the others, hand to hand and 
 foot to foot. The mother looked them over, 
 touching them softly, and settling an arm
 
 236 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 across a breast whence it had fallen down. 
 Then, returning for a moment to the cart, she 
 lifted a pick easily as a labouring man does, 
 and strode back within the arch of the Stone 
 Gate. 
 
 Midway she paused at a recess which I 
 knew well, for I had often seen the riders of 
 the comitiva pause to light their tobacco there 
 when the wind blew shrill through the tunnel 
 itself. And once or twice, riding that way at 
 nightfall to look down upon the glorious pro- 
 spect of the plains outspread beneath, I had 
 found it tenanted by a lad and lass, anxious to 
 sit together awhile safe from prying eyes. 
 
 For, as I have said, there were ways — in 
 such cases there always are ways. At least, 
 so Bettina, my maid, used to tell me. And, 
 indeed, the thing was done, for I saw it, though 
 it was the sin unpardonable for one of the 
 Vardarelli to bring any woman near the fortress 
 of the comitiva. 
 
 The Signora, with one blow of her pick, 
 brought down the crumbly plaster which in 
 that dim place so perfectly simulated the blue 
 limestone of the mountains. Then, with a 
 little labour easily performed, she revealed a 
 door, narrow but high, which, being opened 
 without a key in some way known to herself, 
 led straight into the heart of the hills. Slipping 
 from Salvatore, I followed the two women as
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 237 
 
 best I could. Well aired the passage was, 
 wide and cool, with a chillish wind blowing in 
 our faces as we penetrated ever deeper into the 
 bowels of the rock. The light must have 
 filtered in somewhere high above our heads, 
 for I never quite lost sight of the two, who 
 stalked before me without turning their heads, 
 till we all came to a wide hall, lighted dimly 
 from unseen crevices. Standing within the 
 dusk of the doorway, so near to the mother of 
 the Vardarelli that I could almost touch her 
 dress, I could see the upward sweep of the 
 walls, though I could not distinguish the clefts 
 through which the light stole. 
 
 Yet the thing which I heard was so much 
 more wonderful than that which I saw, that 
 presently I had become all one great listening 
 ear. You have perchance heard a child sobbing 
 in the dark, it may be after it has been beaten 
 for a fault. Well, that is what I heard, multi- 
 plied a million times. In that place there was a 
 mighty hush of slow sobbing — various, too, like 
 distant music or the moaning of the wind. I 
 could distinguish the passion of grief scarcely 
 subdued — the pause, the catch, and then the 
 regular pulsing throb when the tears rise too 
 high in the throat to be wholly restrained. 
 But all so mighty that it seemed as if the earth 
 itself trembled and cried out. 
 
 Suddenly the Signora turned round upon
 
 238 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 me, as if she had known of my presence all the 
 time. * Give me your hand, Isabella,' she said, 
 speaking without anger, and almost with a kind 
 of pride in her voice : 1 1 will show you where 
 the Vardarelli bury their dead.' 
 
 And with eagerness in her face and impa- 
 tience in her gesture, she pulled me forward, 
 so that, my shoulder paining me, I could not 
 repress a little cry. For beneath my eyes there 
 sprang into sight a wonderful thing. The grey 
 smooth floor of the hall became smoother as it 
 took a slight downward and circular inclination, 
 like a filler wherewith one pours wine into a 
 narrow-necked jar. I stooped and touched the 
 stone underfoot. It was wet, and glistened 
 like a well-oiled whetstone. 
 
 Another step, and lo, it seemed that I could 
 scarce keep my feet upon the grey slope ! 
 Immediately before me I saw a vast circular 
 chasm yawning like the pipe of a great volcano 
 (which they tell me it had once been). I could 
 see the first yard or two down the smooth 
 throat of it well enough in the sifted gloom. 
 Then it sank plumb into the blackness of dark- 
 ness, running clear down into the belly of the 
 earth. 
 
 It was not built in tiers of masonry like a 
 well ; it was not lichened and creviced like a 
 well in the natural rock. But rather it was 
 smooth and polished like a stone on which the
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 239 
 
 children of a village have slid and rolled 
 throughout their generations. 
 
 Then I had fallen with weakness or terror 
 had not the mother of the Vardarelli held me 
 with a right hand strong as a man's, and a wrist 
 like woven steel. 
 
 ' Look, girl,' she cried—' look well. Here 
 is where we will this day make an end of the 
 great house of the Vardarelli ; and here shall 
 we three be joined with the men of our house. 
 Hearken : the dead are calling us ! My hus- 
 band is there. Yes, 1 come ' (she leaned for- 
 ward as if to look down the shaft), ' I come, 
 Ferdinand my husband ! But first I will bring 
 you all the children you gave me. They are 
 dead, indeed, but there were no cowards 
 among them. And then I also will come to 
 you ! ' 
 
 As she spoke, the mighty sobbing rose 
 nearer and clearer and more thrilling beneath 
 us, but with strange halts and variations. 
 
 Suddenly my lady pulled me back. * Not 
 yet,' she cried ; < ah, not yet ! I forgot : there 
 is yet much work to be done ! ' 
 
 And we stood again on the rugged and in- 
 durated limestone, clear of the smooth basin and 
 the dread blackness of the shaft. I felt the air 
 suck suddenly downwards. A leaf which had 
 somehow blown in from without swirled round 
 and round, and then plunged into the vortex.
 
 2 4 o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 In a moment it appeared again, being thrown 
 out, as it were, by some alteration in the direc- 
 tion of the currents of air. The sobbing grew 
 louder, and a cool wet wind blew in my face. 
 All my body thrilled and trembled with quiver- 
 ing expectant awe that yet was not fear. 
 
 ' Look — look ! ' cried my lady, pointing 
 downwards. Then up through the darkness of 
 the well-throat I saw something rise grey and 
 almost colourless. It seemed to sway out of 
 sight and back again, rising and falling as 
 though a mighty pulse were beating in some 
 strong heart deep underneath. Something 
 limpid-clear swept up towards us, saying as 
 it came, c Hush ! ' It seemed to whisper 
 pleasantly and dreamily, like a wind off the sea 
 at eventide when the leaves rustle in the 
 orange gardens. Once and twice it failed to 
 reach us, but the third time the whole basin 
 was filled to the brim with water. A greenish 
 glimmer trembled all athwart the walls of the 
 cavern, and our ankles stood cool and wet in 
 the plash of a curling wavelet. I had fallen 
 forward on my face, but the grasp of the 
 Signora never wavered upon my unwounded 
 arm. A long moment the water stood so, 
 boiling up smoothly in the centre like a pot of 
 pitch upon the fire. Then with a roaring sound 
 it fell suddenly away, sucking and gurgling back 
 round the mouth of the funnel, and lo, once
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 241 
 
 again the basin was wet and smooth, and the 
 central shaft black and empty. 
 
 ( This is the place of rest — these are the 
 banks of Lethe. Here rest those for whom 
 the upper world has ended ! ' said the mother 
 of the Vardarelli. And she laughed a little as 
 if she were glad. 
 
 Then we went back through the narrows of 
 the cave into the shifting lights of the Stone 
 Gate ; and when we came to the shelf whereon 
 the five dead men were laid — lo, there imme- 
 diately before us was a man standing with folded 
 arms, as it had been musing upon them. He 
 did not hear us. His head was bare, and an 
 officer's plumed hat lay on the ground. I 
 knew the man at a glance. It was the 
 Englishman himself, General Richard Church. 
 
 Then all suddenly a great anger flashed in 
 the face of the mother of the Vardarelli, seeing 
 him stand there. I saw a stiletto gleam in her 
 hand, and ere I could stop her she had flung 
 herself towards him like a tigress. 
 
 Her hand was already uplifted to strike 
 when, without haste or token of surprise, the 
 General turned his eyes upon her. They 
 were blue and cold as the sky seen from the 
 summit of the Gran Sasso. But the power 
 was in them. 
 
 As was his custom, the General rode with- 
 
 R
 
 242 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 out his sword. His charger cropped the grass 
 a little way down the path into the Valley of 
 the Vardarelli, also, as usual, bridle-free. He 
 was wholly defenceless, for he had dropped his 
 little riding-whip on the ground, where its gold 
 head glittered like a new-minted coin. 
 
 It was a noble thing to see : the English- 
 man, slight and of middle height, with folded 
 arm and broad brow over which the dark hair 
 curled, in appearance little more than a boy ; 
 before him the mother vengeant, knife in 
 hand upraised to strike ; then near by the 
 widow of Vittorio Dini, leaning forward and 
 showing her white teeth like a hound in 
 leash. 
 
 It was a conflict of soul with soul. Don 
 Richard never so much as unfolded his arms. 
 He only fronted the Signora with the same 
 calm sad aspect with which he had mused over 
 the dead bodies of the slain. So there these 
 three stood like a painted picture for the space 
 of a minute. Then the mother of the Var- 
 darelli found words. 
 
 1 Murderer ! ' she cried, * are you come to 
 gloat over those whom your treachery hath 
 slain ? ' 
 
 The General did not cease to gaze at her 
 with his clear blue eyes, full of wonderful 
 melancholy and tender regard. He shook his 
 head gravely and sadly.
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 243 
 
 * Nay,' he said, c not my treachery, Signora, 
 but the treachery of the man with whom I shall 
 reckon.' 
 
 The lady laughed aloud, — Mother Mary, 
 what a laugh ! 
 
 * Two make a bargain ! ' she cried. * It 
 was your agreement with Don Ciro. There lie 
 my dead, slain by your deed : what hinders 
 that I should kill you in return ? ' 
 
 The blue eyes grew milder. There was 
 almost a smile in them. 
 
 I Because I also loved the great dead,' he 
 said, very gently. « 1 have come to mourn for 
 them. I have come to bury them with 
 honour.' 
 
 The mother drew herself up proudly. She 
 had let her knife drop to her side, but still held 
 it ready. 
 
 I I can bury mine own dead, I thank you,' 
 she said scornfully. ' Go, colleague of traitors, 
 slayer of my children. You brought my dead 
 home to me. For that take your life at my 
 hands.' 
 
 The Englishman dropped his head with a 
 certain grave courtesy, unfolding his arms and 
 placing his hand where the hilt of his sword 
 ought to have been. 
 
 t Nay, Signora,' he said, < you mistake 
 me. Richard Church is neither traitor nor 
 traitor's accomplice. I neither make nor keep 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 counsel or compact with the Decisi, save that 
 of the rope and the musket-ball. The Austrians, 
 and not I, dealt in this dastardy. I fought 
 against your sons when they were alive and 
 powerful, even as men that are men love to 
 fight, honouring one another all the more. 
 But of the treachery I had neither knowledge 
 nor part.' 
 
 Even then the lady did not relax her stern 
 attitude of hatred and contempt. 
 
 c Words are but wind,' she said. c I care not 
 whose was the traitor's part. There are my 
 dead — nothing can alter that. Leave me ! ' 
 
 ' Signora,' said General Church, * is there not 
 such a thing as justice — such a thing as 
 vengeance ? I can give you these things.' 
 
 The knife dropped ringing from the hand 
 of the mother of the Vardarelli. She sprang 
 forward, falling upon one knee and clutching 
 the General by his coat. All the haughty 
 anger went out of her face, even as a candle 
 that is blown out by a puff of vagrant wind. 
 
 c Will you indeed do this ? ' she cried : ' as 
 you hope for God's mercy, will you give me 
 satisfaction in the blood of Ciro Annicharico the 
 priest ? Will you revenge me upon the Vicar 
 Vergine and all that carry the cursed emblem 
 of the Silver Skull ? ' 
 
 c I will,' he replied firmly ; ' I shall take 
 neither sleep nor pleasure, I shall deny myself
 
 THE HALL OF THE DEAD 245 
 
 the taste of wine and of the lips of woman, till 
 I have left not one of that vermin alive on the 
 face of the earth.' 
 
 The other woman, who was the widow of 
 Vittorio Dini, was now kneeling before him 
 also. ' Swear it,' she cried : ' swear it by the 
 blood of him who died under the traitor's 
 knife.' 
 
 c Swear it,' said the mother of the Vardarelli, 
 * swear it upon these my dead.' 
 
 General Richard Church reached a hand to 
 each of the women, and gently raised them, 
 with the courtesy and distinction natural to him, 
 — a greater man he was even than my Walter, 
 but his eyes were colder. 
 
 Then he walked to where Gaetano lay, and 
 placing a hand softly upon the broad pale brow 
 he said, c Gaetano Vardarelli, bear me witness — 
 thou whose word was honour, whose nod an 
 oath — I swear that I will not halt nor stay till 
 every Decisi hath died the death, till the sole 
 Silver Skull shall be the bleaching head of Ciro 
 the murderer, which I shall set in derision over 
 the gate of his own town of Grottaglie.' 
 
 Then the Signora, more like a graceful 
 bashful maiden than the haughty mother of the 
 Vardarelli, took the Englishman's hand and 
 humbly kissed it. 
 
 c And I,' she said, l will not cease till we 
 have hunted down Ciro Annicharico, who
 
 246 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 betrayed my sons and left me childless. I had 
 meant that this day we three, I the bereaved 
 mother, this the widow of Vittorio Dini, and 
 my daughter Isabella, should die with the dead, 
 here in the place of the dead. But the time is 
 not yet, and while the murderers live we must 
 live also ! ' 
 
 Then the widow of the watchman of Castel 
 Rotondo took the General's hand in her turn. 
 
 ' I also will swear that I will show you the 
 secret haunts of the Silver Skull — I will deliver 
 the Twelve into your hands — if you promise 
 that no mercy will be shown to any : none to 
 Lupo the wolf, nor to Bernardis the lawyer, nor 
 yet to Ciro the devil.' 
 
 1 1 promise,' said the General solemnly, 
 ' there shall be no mercy. As they have 
 measured to others, even thus shall it be meted 
 to them ! So help me God I '
 
 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 
 
 His Excellency General Richard Church was a 
 man of his word. He had looked with pro- 
 foundest sorrow upon the five dead men, who 
 lay in the shadow of the Stone Gate. Now 
 with bared head he helped the two women to 
 carry them into the Hall of the Dead. They 
 were laid in order round the smooth basin, 
 which I had seen so strangely filled with water. 
 Wc heard beneath us the sobbing come and so 
 
 to to 
 
 in the throat of the mountain, yet it seemed 
 that we stood a long while before it grew as 
 loud as it had been at first. The widow of 
 Vittorio Dini and I fell on our knees, moved 
 by the fear of that which we were to see, but 
 the Englishman and the mother of the Vardarelli 
 stood erect. Then, with one great lift, the clear 
 water rose again up the throat of the well, and 
 lapped cold about our feet. The dead men 
 seemed by some strange power to be upborne 
 and to rise to their feet as if they had been 
 alive, Gaetano stiffly erect like a soldier on
 
 248 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 parade. His face was turned to me as if bid- 
 ding me also swear the oath of vengeance. 
 But the young Giovanni went down with a 
 wave of the hand which recalled his careless 
 and debonnair grace of other days. A moment 
 only they were visible together in the black 
 well-eye. Then they sank for ever out of 
 sight. 
 
 For not till the resurrection of the good 
 and the evil does the burying-place of the 
 Vardarelli give up its dead. 
 
 The Signora stood fixed and calm, when 
 without priest or blessing or unction of Holy 
 Church her sons disappeared. Then she ex- 
 tended her hand, and for all funeral service 
 solemnly pronounced these words : — 
 
 4 The God of battles receive and pardon the 
 sinful souls of these men treacherously slain ! ' 
 
 Then came we forth from the door into the 
 peace of the evening light. The General 
 picked up his hat and stood with it in his hand, 
 waiting for the Signora to speak. She looked 
 at him intently out of her keen dark eyes. 
 
 1 Go, gather your men,' she said. l So soon 
 as we of the ruined house have again made fast 
 and secret this place where the dead await the 
 judgment, I will follow you to your camp. 
 But remember that Ciro the murderer is strong, 
 and that you will need every true man.'
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 249 
 
 A faint smile overspread the calm face of 
 the English soldier. 
 
 ' Ciro will find,' he said, nodding his head, 
 ' that one man is more than even he can reckon 
 with.' 
 
 He bowed low before the two women, 
 whistled on his horse, and having swung him- 
 self into the saddle he disappeared, holding his 
 hat in his hand till he had turned the corner 
 from which I had so often watched the evening 
 striding eastward across the Apulian plain. 
 
 Then without word spoken we went back 
 to the desolate house of the Casa Vardarelli, the 
 two women in front walking one on either side 
 of the empty bullock cart, whose patient oxen 
 had stood all the while blinking their eyes and 
 flicking their tails in the shade. And behind 
 them my own Salvatore paced slowly and 
 sedately, as if following the muffled drums at a 
 military funeral. 
 
 It was the end of the comitha of the Varda- 
 relli. And yet not the end. 
 
 Christmas it had been when the fords of the 
 Basento ran red with Vardarelli blood, and the 
 foot-hills of Basilicata had been dotted with dead 
 and dying men. Carnival was now in posses- 
 sion of the world, and yet General Church had 
 made no sign. He abode still in Lecce with a 
 few troops, hardly sufficient for a body-guard in
 
 250 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 case of a determined attack by the Decisi. Ball 
 after ball he attended ; reception followed 
 reception, as if the sole object of life were 
 gaiety. 
 
 And day and night the mother of the 
 Vardarelli raged at his inaction, but the widow 
 of Vittorio Dini calmed her. 
 
 1 Be content,' she said : * in this the English- 
 man is like God Himself. He waits to strike. 
 It is not our way in Italy. A man is our foe, 
 — we take the knife in hand, and smite him as 
 he passes by, putting our fate at once to the 
 trial to kill or to die. The man that day may 
 be on his guard, or he may wear a shirt of mail 
 upon him. In either case the edge of our steel 
 is turned, and with the return stroke we die. 
 " What matter ? ' say we : c: we have made the 
 attempt. We have vindicated our honour. It 
 was our ill-luck. Some evil eye crossed us." 
 But to the Englishman a month, two months 
 are as one day, and he will not strike till the 
 enemy is surely in the toils.' 
 
 c But so foolishly to expose himself as he 
 does — with Ciro Annicharico in this town, in 
 this disguise or that ! What hinders that the 
 priest come behind and strike ? Where would 
 our vengeance be then ? ' 
 
 £ That, too, is policy,' said the woman 
 shrewdly : £ it throws Ciro off his guard more 
 than aught else. For it hurts his pride that the
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 251 
 
 General never asks after him, nor so much as 
 mentions his name. " A fool of a general — a 
 copper coin to be played with ! " he says 
 publicly, and abides near in this city of the 
 plain in fancied security, instead of seeking his 
 old haunts. But bide you awhile. I have 
 heard from my sister who lives among the 
 mountains that there are very many troops 
 there. The mounted gendarmes patrol every 
 road and daily close in upon the plain. In a 
 little there will be no escape for the Decisi, who 
 till now have fled thither at every danger like 
 rats to their holes. But General Church is 
 stopping the earths ! By-and-by he will hunt 
 them in the open. Bide awhile. This 
 Englishman has sworn the vengeance, and he 
 will surely perform it.' 
 
 My first wound, which indeed had proved 
 little more than a rude tear in the muscles of 
 the shoulder, had bled freely and weakened me. 
 But now it rapidly healed, and was almost well 
 by the end of Carnival. I also dwelt at Lecce, 
 in the house of Don Francesco Vozzi, a master 
 shoemaker who had been much bound to the 
 Vardarelli, and now was proud to entertain the 
 Signora and myself. The lady spoke but little to 
 me, but would go forth at morn, an hour or so 
 after sunrise, to walk outside the city and look 
 over the plain as if she could indeed see the blue
 
 252 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 hills among which were hidden the Stone Gate 
 and the Valley of the Vardarelli. 
 
 There she would stand, her eyes fixed, her 
 fingers knotting and writhing over each other, 
 and her thin lips moving in what I thought at 
 first to be silent prayers, as of one who tells her 
 rosary — but which afterwards I found to be 
 great curses upon the Decisi, and especially 
 upon Ciro Annicharico, the head of the Society 
 of the Silver Skull. 
 
 One day, when she had been long absent 
 from the Casa Vozzi, I went to find her, having 
 with me Captain Walter Cameron. And so we 
 took our way, speaking little, yet happy to be 
 walking together through the crowded streets, 
 still full of the outrageous mumming of the 
 last days of the Carnival. As I expected, we 
 found the mother of the Vardarelli at the great 
 gate which looks towards the north. She stood 
 with her lace mantilla over her head, in the 
 Spanish fashion which became her tall figure so 
 well. Her hands were clasped behind her, and 
 her eyes were far away. 
 
 We stood quiet awhile ere we spoke to her ; 
 and after a space she turned her eyes upon us, 
 and beckoned us to approach as a queen might, 
 with one slight movement of the head. 
 
 * You have chosen this man ? ' she said 
 abruptly, bending her brows upon me.
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 253 
 
 < Nay, mother,' I said ; c this man hath 
 chosen me.' 
 
 And it was true ; for though but few words 
 had passed between us, we understood each 
 other altogether. 
 
 A bitter smile dawned on the Signora's face, 
 as of a winter's storm with the promise of snow, 
 both angry and chill. 
 
 ' I do not blame you,' she said ; ' how 
 should you think of the dead as I do ? The 
 young to love, the old to vengeance ! You 
 brought them not into the world. You died 
 not with them, as I died the night this man 
 brought home my five sons. Nevertheless the 
 God of happy folk — who is not my God — bless 
 this young man and you ! Isabella of Monte 
 Leone, I wish you well. As for me, the God 
 of vengeance preserve me till I see the head of 
 Ciro the Priest severed from his body and 
 dripping the life-blood drop by drop into the 
 dust of the highway. Then will I defile his 
 dog's mouth with filth, and stand ready for the 
 worst that God can lay upon me.' 
 
 At that moment there came past us a pro- 
 cession of the Brothers of Pity, their strange 
 cloaked figures and hooded masks horrid with 
 eyeholes like the orbits of a skeleton. And 
 from the midst one taller than the rest swiftly 
 turned a head upon us and then looked 
 away. I caught the red glint in the eyes, the
 
 254 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 devil's flicker which I had seen so many years 
 ago at Monte Leone. And I put my hand all 
 trembling upon the arm of Walter Cameron, 
 for I knew that once more and not for the last 
 time I had looked upon Ciro the Priest. 
 
 Walter and I walked back a step or two 
 behind the Signora. I would have taken her 
 arm and walked with her, but she motioned me 
 away with an impatient movement of her hand. 
 So with a strange willingness in my heart I 
 walked through the streets of Lecce by the side 
 of this soldier and foreigner. Once and for 
 ever he and I had claimed each other ; and 
 when a team of wide-horned oxen came 
 shouldering along in a dark part of the way, it 
 seemed natural that Walter's hand should seek 
 mine and draw me into the shelter of a door- 
 way, where very close together and with our 
 hearts beating wildly we stood in the shelter till 
 the blessed wain had lumbered slowly by. 
 
 I write little of our loves, for indeed that 
 which has come and gone between us since is 
 better than any oaths and protestations. And 
 at that time, in the press of so many terrible 
 events, I felt that we could only hold to one 
 another and wait. Still the dusk of the door- 
 way even for a moment was doubtless great 
 comfort. 
 
 At last General Church seemed to wake 
 from his dream of pleasure. He spent less of
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 255 
 
 his time in the society of the Intendant's 
 daughter, and if he paid as many compliments 
 as ever to the handsome women of Lecce, he 
 dispatched the business more quickly. He was 
 still to be seen everywhere, but he went now 
 with a guard. Even in the ball-room he was 
 observed to keep his back to the wall, while in 
 the street his hand was ever on his pistol and 
 his chill blue eye glinted warily at all who 
 approached. 
 
 At last upon the morn of a day of sudden 
 storm, there came the order for which we had 
 been waiting. We were to be ready to march 
 — I mean Walter was to be ready, and we had 
 arranged it between us that where he went one 
 Don Pietro, once ofthccomitiva of the Vardarelli, 
 whom he did not now despise, was to accompany 
 him. 
 
 That night found us once more at the 
 Masseria del Duca, where I had not been since 
 the night of the rescue of Don Gaetano. 
 Above us a tearing and gusty wind blew thin 
 wisps and scarts or cloud athwart the sharp 
 hooks of the crescent moon, while the chill wind 
 piped and whinnied in the chimneys and stair- 
 case slits of the masseria. 
 
 c It was ever the fashion of the General,' 
 said Walter, smiling upon me as wc stood 
 apart, ' to order the most difficult operations on 
 the worst nights. A plaguey uncomfortable
 
 256 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 trait in a commander ! ' he continued. c I 
 wonder where we will land to-night, and if it 
 will be our good fortune to glimpse the red eyes 
 of your Don Ciro.' 
 
 We rode from Lecce with two hundred 
 cavalry ; but Walter, who knew something of 
 the General's dispositions, whispered to me 
 (doubtless in excess of his duty) that we were 
 but a link in the chain of steel which his chief 
 had for months been drawing about the Decisi, 
 and that we should see things done ere the 
 mornino- which would make men's ears tingle 
 from one end of Apulia to the other. 
 
 It was strange to stand once more under 
 the gloomy walls of Castel Rotondo. Our two 
 hundred men all dismounted, and, tying wisps 
 of rag and hose over their boots, crowded on 
 either side of a little low door in the wall. We 
 waited a long time there in the chill buffeting 
 of the blast, hugging our cloaks as well as we 
 could about us, to keep our arms dry and our 
 bodies warm. 
 
 It was half-past twelve when the little door 
 opened and a woman's head looked cautiously 
 out. Even in the uncertain glimmer of the 
 midnight I knew her for the widow of Vittorio 
 Dini, who had been the watchman of this same 
 town of Castel Rotondo and had admitted us 
 the night Gaetano and I penetrated into the 
 presence of the dread Twelve.
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 257 
 
 As she stepped out and stood beside us, a 
 man in a long blue military cloak followed her, 
 and with a gasp of surprise I recognised the 
 General himself. 
 
 He glanced about him. c Is all ready r ' 
 he said in a whisper to Walter. 
 
 1 All is ready, General,' was the answer. 
 
 i Do you, then, Cameron, follow me with 
 fifty men, and let the others be prepared to 
 secure the doors and walls, so that none escape.' 
 
 Having given this order, General Church 
 turned and motioned to the woman to lead the 
 way. Walter followed, and as we were entering 
 the door he reached a hand back for me to take. 
 And thus, with our heads bowed low, we stole 
 deviously this way and that through the inter- 
 minable passages, seeing only the back of the 
 one immediately before us in the pale shine of the 
 dark lantern carried by our guide. Suddenly 
 with a click even that was shut off, and we were 
 left in complete darkness. 
 
 In the hush which followed I could hear 
 two men talking together. I wished greatly to 
 look, though mostly I have no curiosity ; but 
 for a time, perhaps in fear of my making a 
 noise, Walter held me back. Then as the 
 General advanced a step or two we followed him 
 cautiously, till round the edge of the leathern 
 curtain, dusty and tattered like the door-screen 
 of a church, I could see two men in the Punchi- 
 
 s
 
 258 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 nello mask affected by the Decisi, with the 
 Silver Skull of the order swinging round their 
 necks. They had drawn swords in their hands, 
 but they stood together carelessly, half turned 
 away from us, and evidently completely at their 
 ease. Presently some noise within sent them 
 to their posts, where they stood stiffly for a 
 while. Then, as nothing happened and no one 
 came forth, they again relaxed their discipline, 
 dropped the points of their swords, and 
 approached each other to resume their con- 
 versation. 
 
 As they turned their backs again upon us, 
 what was my surprise to see Walter and the 
 General step out softly, and without a moment's 
 hesitation throw their arms about the men's 
 heads, clasping their mouths with the palms of 
 their hands ! Haifa dozen men received each of 
 the brigands as they fell. Gags were deftly 
 thrust into their mouths, and without a cry, or 
 so much as the clatter of a sword-point on the 
 flagged floor, the inner sentinels of the Twelve 
 were disarmed. 
 
 We stood once more at the door of the 
 terrible tribunal, and even as before I peeped 
 in, setting my head between Walter and the 
 English General. The latter, feeling me touch 
 his shoulder, turned half about with a quick 
 high look. But when he saw me he smiled, 
 and made a little more room for me to see
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OF THE TWELVE 259 
 
 better. For, saving my Walter alone, there 
 never was a more gallant gentleman in any 
 land than Richard Church, the Englishman. 
 
 I could now distinguish the whole twelve 
 lounging as before in their places, their masks 
 off, and some with their elbows on the table. 
 At that moment the General turned about and 
 shook his head with a disappointed expression 
 at Walter. 
 
 In a moment I saw what he meant, for the 
 place at the head table was not filled by the 
 clear-cut monk-pale features of Don Ciro, but 
 by the purple visage of the Vicar Vergine. 
 The Registrar of Deaths was on his feet, and 
 he read from a paper : 
 
 ( With three blasts of the trumpet we, the 
 Supreme and Secret Council of the Decisione, 
 have decreed the death of General Church, and 
 have appointed [here followed a string of 
 names, about twenty in number] to carry out 
 this act of justice. We also condemn to the 
 death that is irrevocable Captain Gualtero 
 Cameron, Major Schmerber, and others of his 
 officers. What say the Decisione ? ' 
 
 The Twelve, with one accord, held up 
 their hands, and cried : c Let them die.' 
 
 But all this while, noiselessly and steadily, 
 the soldiers, with their muffled feet, had been 
 stealing past and taking up their positions 
 about the walls of the great darkened council
 
 2 6o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 chamber. The roar of the storm hooting 
 through the passages and moaning without, 
 and their intentness on the matter in hand, 
 kept the men at the table from observing the 
 slight creaking which their uninvited guests 
 made as they moved breathlessly to their 
 places. There was but one dim and shaded 
 light on the table, and that was in front of the 
 Registrar of Deaths, so that it might shine 
 upon his papers. But nevertheless I could see 
 the bayonets of the troops glimmer about the 
 room like a swarm of fireflies on a May 
 night. 
 
 ' Blow the trumpet, in token that the doom 
 of the condemned men has been approved in 
 full council, none dissenting ! ' So cried the 
 Registrar of Deaths. 
 
 And the Vicar Vergine, lifting a long 
 silver trumpet from the table, blew three lusty 
 blasts upon it. 
 
 Hardly had the echoes of the last died 
 away, when a stern high voice fell on their 
 ears, in a moment chilling them to stone with 
 the onfall of an intolerable dread. 
 
 It was the voice of the General, sterner 
 than that of a judge pronouncing doom 
 
 ( Sit still in the places where you are ! 
 Move not a muscle, dogs and murderers, or 
 ye shall instantly die ! ' 
 
 The li^ht of the lantern in the hands of
 
 THE LAST COUNCIL OL THE TWELVE 261 
 
 the widow of Vittorio Dini shone full upon 
 such an array of ghastly countenances as it has 
 never been my lot to witness. I have seen 
 dead men who died in agony before and since ; 
 but the worst of them were as sleeping 
 children to these twelve Decisi, when they 
 looked upon the encompassing ring ot 
 bayonets. 
 
 Their eyes in a moment became fixed and 
 injected. Their ashen lips writhed or became 
 set in a terrible smile. Some of them dropped 
 grovelling: on the floor. One fat tradesman 
 rolled about crying for mercy, and seeking to 
 clasp the General's knees. But the widow of 
 the dead watchman of Castel Rotondo spurned 
 the wretch backward with her foot. Only the 
 Vicar Vergine sat still in his president's chair, 
 and his countenance did not pale. He made 
 a snatch at a pistol which lay before him, and 
 pointed it at the General. But Walter 
 Cameron with a quick upward cut of his 
 sword sent the weapon flying from his hand. 
 
 It exploded with a loud report against the 
 ceiling of the council chamber. 
 
 Then there ensued a long silence, broken 
 only by the weird and terrible laughter of the 
 woman who had guided us, as she went the 
 rounds and held her lantern to the faces of 
 the men who had condemned her husband to 
 death and killed him before her eyes in the
 
 262 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 inner chamber of their home. One by one 
 she counted them, gloating over each as a 
 miser upon his most precious jewels. And 
 round about them the soldiers stood with 
 levelled muskets, while the manacles were 
 being slipped upon the hands that had been so 
 lately uplifted to swear the deaths of General 
 Church and Walter Cameron. 
 
 So we went out, with the laughter of the 
 widow of Vittorio Dini pealing in our ears and 
 mingling mockingly with the craven waitings 
 of the wretched prisoners. 
 
 At the gate sixty others of the Decisi met 
 us under guard, having been taken by the 
 soldiers after the capture of the Twelve. 
 
 When we came back into Lecce and told 
 the mother of the Vardarelli, she said but this 
 one thing; : 
 
 * So far it is well . . . but Ciro Annicharico 
 is yet alive ! '
 
 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 
 
 The prisoners taken at Castel Rotondo were 
 safe lodged in the prison of Francavilla, waiting 
 their trial and sentence. General Church might 
 have hanged them out of hand, for he had 
 returned to Apulia with the powers of alter ego 
 to the King. Most of the prisoners were men 
 who had lived in the pale of respectability, yet 
 who had terrorised and blackmailed the towns 
 in which they dwelt. But by great good 
 fortune the complete papers of the Society 
 of the Decisi had also fallen into the General's 
 hands. They were excellently kept, and in 
 that black record of crime there was evidence 
 to end all that company of murderers and 
 traitors ten times over. First, upon the page 
 devoted to each member's name there were 
 chronicled the two diploma murders, which 
 they must prove that they had committed in 
 cold blood to the satisfaction of the Committee 
 of the Society. Then, following this proof of 
 worthiness, came the record of each man's
 
 264 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 service from the first day he had been upon the 
 roll of the Silver Skull. 
 
 The right to wear that emblem of death 
 signified that the wearer was a member in full 
 standing and with a clean sheet. The privilege 
 was often withdrawn for certain periods and 
 afterwards restored. The papers recorded its 
 restoration to different individuals who had re- 
 trieved their characters by specially choice pieces 
 of brutality. 
 
 One man only appeared to have been able 
 to override the edicts of the Society, to bend it 
 to his will ; and as if to point the moral of who 
 was master among the Decisi, across several of 
 the neatly written and clerkly pages were dashed 
 these bold words — c I, Ciro Annicharico, for- 
 bade it ! ' — or, still more abruptly, £ Cancelled 
 — Ciro Annicharico.' 
 
 And Ciro was still at large. Also what of 
 the mother of the Vardarelli ? 
 
 The great outlaw was heard of here and 
 there throughout the province. Before the 
 seizure of the Twelve at Castel Rotondo he 
 had with great boldness walked the very streets 
 of Lecce in broad daylight, having passed in 
 various disguises through the lines of sentries. 
 He had even attended the theatre, in order, as 
 he said, to have a good look at this General 
 who was so curiously different from Corre and
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 265 
 
 the others whom the Government of Naples 
 had sent against him. 
 
 But since the Twelve lay in their triply 
 guarded prison, he had grown more wary. He 
 seldom moved now without a large body of 
 desperate men with him. For all who knew 
 their names to be on the roll of the Society felt 
 that for them there was no hope save in bold 
 defiance or instant flight ; because upon each 
 mouthing desperado and sleek gormandising 
 city knave the terror of the cold blue eyes of 
 the Englishman lay like a sentence of death. 
 The province seethed with turmoil and discon- 
 tent. Deputation after deputation came to 
 General Church, representing this one and that 
 among the Twelve to have been a man honest 
 and irreproachable ; but the General only 
 smiled and said, * He shall have full justice.' 
 So the deputies had perforce to let that content 
 them, and depart. 
 
 It seemed strange also that ever since the 
 night of our return from Castel Rotondo the 
 mother of the Vardarelli had vanished, we 
 knew not whither. Walter himself had ridden 
 with an escort in search of her, even across the 
 plains into the mountains and through the 
 Stone Gate of the Casa Vardarelli. He had 
 found the valley bare and untenanted, save for 
 the little outpost of Albanians which the General 
 had sent there to keep its strong defences out
 
 266 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 of the hands of Ciro. The Signora had not 
 gone home. 
 
 One day, while Walter was away on a 
 mission of inquiry, an orderly came to the 
 house where I abode with a letter from the 
 General, a letter curiously abrupt, lacking most 
 of the compliments usually deemed necessary. 
 The gist of it was that if I could receive the 
 General he would come immediately to pay his 
 respects to me. I replied that it was more fit- 
 ting that I should wait upon him, for I was no 
 fine city miss to stand on etiquette. So, 
 saddling Salvatore while the astonished orderly 
 waited, I rode at once with him to head- 
 quarters. As we turned the corner of the 
 great street, the daughter of the Intendant 
 met us. She came mincing delicately along 
 the pavement, and seeing me riding with a 
 common soldier turned upon me a contumelious 
 shoulder. 
 
 In five minutes I was standing by Salvatore's 
 bridle at headquarters while they went to tell 
 the General. 
 
 He came out instantly bareheaded, and 
 almost running like a boy in his eagerness. 
 He wore a plain closely fitting military coat of 
 dark blue, without lace or decorations, which 
 had obviously been recently buttoned on in 
 haste. He took my hand in his quick impetu- 
 ous fashion, and after seeming about to stoop
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 267 
 
 and kiss it, he ended by shaking it vigorously 
 in the manner of the English. 
 
 * My dear lady, wherefore did you trouble 
 to come thus ? ' 
 
 ' You wished to see me — so I came,' 1 
 replied. 
 
 ' But I ought to have come to you, and 
 would have done so as soon as I had your per- 
 mission,' said the General, smiling upon me 
 with the blue eyes which could be so warm and 
 friendly upon occasion. 
 
 1 You are busy — I am idle,' 1 answered ; 
 ' therefore it was my duty to come to you.' 
 
 * Will you enter ? ' he said, still smiling. 
 1 Signora Isabella, I am indeed honoured, but 1 
 cannot conceal it from you that you must have 
 shocked the good ladies of Lecce by thus com- 
 ing to visit me.' 
 
 ' I am the sister of the Vardarelli,' I 
 answered ; c I am not dependent for my good 
 name upon the gossip of the dames of Lecce.' 
 
 4 You are a soldier's sister. You ought to 
 be a soldier's wife — that is, if a soldier indeed 
 ought to have any wife save his good sword.' 
 
 And he touched the plain hilt of the weapon 
 which, as was usual with him, he had un- 
 buckled as soon as he came in, and which lay 
 on the table half hidden among papers, 
 despatches, and a miscellaneous scribble of 
 notes.
 
 268 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ' It is my intention to be a soldier's wife,' I 
 told him plainly, * but not till the end has 
 come.' 
 
 He had been rustling with his hand among 
 a sheaf of papers, apparently searching for a 
 particular one. But at my words he looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 i What end ? ' he said, with the set sternness 
 coming back into his face. 
 
 4 When Ciro the Priest has paid the penalty 
 of his crimes and the Vardarelli are avenged ! ' 
 I replied. 
 
 4 Ah ! ' he said, with a smile, c then I advise 
 you to get your wedding dress ready.' 
 
 4 My wedding dress is always ready,' I 
 answered : 4 it is the dress in which I have the 
 honour to stand before your Excellency.' 
 
 4 And a mighty pretty dress it is ! ' answered 
 the General, bowing with great gravity. ' And 
 the man whom you will make happy is — my 
 lucky rascal Cameron.' 
 
 4 Sir,' I said, c I have promised to marry 
 Captain Cameron ! ' 
 
 He bent his head among the papers with an 
 action which showed that the blue eyes were a 
 trifle short-sighted. At last he found what he 
 was seeking, and turned about to me with a 
 grave deference which carried something of 
 boyish shyness in it, very attractive in such a 
 man.
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 269 
 
 ' You are sure that nothing would change 
 your mind, or cause you to refuse to marry 
 Captain Cameron ? ' 
 
 * Nothing in the world ! ' I answered 
 bravely. 
 
 1 Not if he acted dishonourably ? ' said the 
 General, smiling. 
 
 * I know the man I love ! ' I answered, giving 
 him glance for glance. 
 
 I Or loved another ? ' continued the 
 General. 
 
 * I know my man ! ' I repeated curtly, for 
 the subject wearied me. 
 
 The General advanced and held out his 
 hand. ' Will you do me the honour to shake 
 hands with me ? ' he said, lightly. ' Cameron 
 is a deuced lucky dog. Why was not he the 
 General and I your escort down those stairs at 
 Cerniola ? ' 
 
 Then his face altered and grew very 
 grave. 
 
 I I did wrong to jest,' he said, ' because I 
 am going to try you very high. Now I shall 
 know whether there is indeed any faith in 
 woman.' 
 
 * I am not a woman only,' I answered, ' I 
 am also a soldier. All my life I have been the 
 comrade in arms of honourable men. I am of 
 the Vardarelli.' 
 
 * Nay,' he said, « you are not a Vardarelli,
 
 2 7 o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 and that is just the point. What would you 
 say if this paper I hold in my hand, found 
 among the archives of the Decisi, were to prove 
 you to be the legitimate daughter and rightful 
 heiress of the Duke of Monte Leone ? ' 
 
 4 1 should say,' I answered, l that I was sorry 
 for the dukedom, but that it would not make 
 an ant's load of difference in my fate.' 
 
 * You would marry my lad Walter even if 
 you were legally established as Duchess of 
 Monte Leone in your own right ? ' 
 
 1 Certainly,' said I, ' and also if I were legally 
 Queen of the Two Sicilies ! ' 
 
 * And you would hold to it even if this I have 
 in my hand ' — groping for a second paper — 
 ' were a patent of restitution from the King- 
 giving back to you all your rights and estates ? ' 
 
 I nodded only, for this iteration wearied 
 me. 
 
 The General smiled a little sarcastically. 
 
 4 It is an easy saying, but it will be different 
 when Monte Leone is yours, and when from 
 the topmost battlement you can look down 
 every way and see from horizon to horizon 
 naught that does not belong to you.' 
 
 Then, though I have ever been long- 
 suffering and too forbearing by nature, anger 
 swift and desperate took hold on me. 
 
 1 Give me the papers ! ' I cried, and sprang 
 towards the General so quickly that, being
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 271 
 
 taken by surprise, the short-sighted eyes could 
 not follow my movements. I snatched the 
 papers out of his hand, and running to the 
 fire-place dogs, on which the pine cones were 
 crackling, I thrust them into the hottest of the 
 blaze and held them there. 
 
 In a moment General Church followed. 
 He caught me by the wrist with a hand that 
 was like a vice, and with the other rescued the 
 papers, which, being on thick parchment, did 
 not burn easily. 
 
 1 Little spitfire ! ' he said, smoothing them 
 and examining the browned parts carefully, 
 while continuing to hold me at arm's length ; 
 ' your husband, be he who he may, will have 
 a stirring time of it. He will not die of 
 ennui ! * 
 
 Then quite suddenly the tears leaped up 
 into my throat, and snatching my wrist out of 
 his grasp I threw myself down on a couch and 
 wept. Yes, for all my bravery and defiance 1 
 wept. And no wonder, for what woman can 
 bear to be thwarted and played with, tantalised 
 and made naught of — at least by a man she does 
 not love ? 
 
 At this the General suddenly grew exceed- 
 ing serious. 
 
 * Good Lord ! ' he muttered ; * suppose any 
 one should come in ! I did not think of this.
 
 272 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 What on earth shall I do with her ? If it 
 were any other woman, I declare I would ' 
 
 And he sat down on the couch beside me. 
 I felt his arm steal round about me till his 
 hand rested on my shoulder. 
 
 * Little girl,' he said, 'you are like a 
 daughter to me. You cannot think that I 
 would hurt you or play with your feelings. 
 Forgive me ; I am not an old fellow as years 
 go, but I am rough and awkward, and I crave 
 your pardon.' 
 
 He took my hand and bent to kiss it, 
 stooping so low that I could see the crisp gray 
 hairs about his temples. 
 
 ' Ahem ! ' said a stern voice immediately 
 in front of us, which made us both start. The 
 General snatched his arm from about my 
 shoulder, and rose to his feet. I looked up ; 
 and there, with his hand raised to the salute, 
 stood Walter Cameron, looking very white 
 and stern, as I had never seen him before. 
 
 ' I have the honour to report, your Ex- 
 cellency,' he said, speaking in a tone high and 
 hard, ' that I have fulfilled the commission 
 which you entrusted to me, and found no 
 person of the name at the place you designated : 
 I therefore return you the letter.' 
 
 The General bowed distantly, and not yet 
 being ready with words, he only slightly
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 273 
 
 cleared his throat and drummed upon the 
 table in front of him, as was his custom. 
 
 Walter went on. I could see his fingers 
 busy with his sword. 
 
 1 And also I desire to resign my commis- 
 sion,' he said. ' I have been recalled to 
 England, and I leave immediately. I con- 
 gratulate your Excellency.' 
 
 He finished unbuckling his sword, and 
 flung it with a clash of steel on the table. 
 Then he saluted sternly the second time, and, 
 turning on his heel as on a pivot, he strode to 
 the door v/ith his head erect and his shoulders 
 squared. I never saw him so handsome and 
 grand. I could not cry out, I admired him so. 
 Yet I declare I could have run after him and 
 knelt down on my knees to beseech him to 
 marry me. I was so proud of him, even 
 though I knew him to be thus grievously in 
 the wrong. 
 
 But by this time the General had come to 
 himself. With a swift movement he was 
 first at the door, and stood in front of Walter. 
 
 * Cameron, you unspeakable donkey,' he 
 said, ' stand where you are and listen. 1 was 
 doing your business, man. You are not in 
 the least worthy of that fine girl there. She 
 is a thousand times nobler and more loyal than 
 you ' 
 
 He had caught Captain Cameron by the 
 
 T
 
 274 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 wrist as he spoke ; but black anger was in my 
 lad's heart (I was getting my first sight of the 
 quick Scottish temper which afterwards it was 
 my lot to know so well). And being the 
 larger and stronger man, he simply swept 
 General Church out of his way and strode on 
 towards the door. But the General was a man 
 also, and, being an Irishman by birthright, 
 possessed a temper equally quick and high. 
 
 ' Ho, guard there ! ' he cried at the top of 
 his voice ; and the sergeant on duty opened 
 the door from without, even as Walter's hand 
 was on the latch. 
 
 ' Arrest Captain Cameron ! ' said General 
 Church, pointing straight at him with his 
 finger. 
 
 The sergeant gaped and stood aghast. 
 
 * Soldiers, do your duty ! * cried the chief, 
 with his fingers still outstretched. 
 
 The Albanians, who were always on guard 
 at head-quarters, wheeled into line, and stood 
 right in Walter's path, with their bayonets 
 pointed at his breast. 
 
 Then I ran to him and clasped him about 
 the neck. He never gave me a look, nor 
 even, as he might have done, an answering 
 pressure. He only put up his hands and 
 gently enough unclasped my fingers. 
 
 1 Remove the lady,' said General Church 
 sternly. And the sergeant gently led me back
 
 THE DUCHESS OE MONTE EEUNE 275 
 
 to the couch, following the direction of his 
 commander's hand. 
 
 * Now, Captain Cameron, go to the table 
 and take up that sword 1 ' 
 
 There was a battle of eyes and wills. 
 Walter looked at the steady bayonets of the 
 men of his own command as if he would 
 almost have preferred to cast himself upon 
 them ; but habits of discipline and long custom 
 prevailed. Perhaps also something else was 
 working in his heart. 
 
 He slowly faced about, marched to the 
 table, picked up his sword, buckled it to his 
 belt, and saluted. 
 
 4 Now, Captain Cameron, will you be good 
 enough to consider yourself under arrest ? 
 Deliver your sword to the sergeant of the 
 guard. Sergeant Pappiani, take Captain 
 Cameron's sword.' 
 
 The sergeant did so. 
 
 * You can retire, Pappiani,' continued the 
 General ; l but hold the men under arms out- 
 side there. Guard the door, that none pass 
 out without my permission.' 
 
 So we three were again left alone, with 
 Walter standing between immovable as the 
 granite of the hills, his eyes straight before 
 him, apparently seeing neither of us, but 
 gazing into the opposite wall like a seer into 
 futurity. A grim smile played about the
 
 276 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 General's face as he watched him awhile in 
 silence. 
 
 Then he went up, and placing his hand 
 upon the young man's shoulder, he looked 
 steadily into his eyes. 
 
 4 Walter,' he said, ' I have shown you that 
 I am your superior officer. But I would have 
 you remember that I am something more.' 
 
 He paused for the space of the breathing 
 of a breath. 
 
 1 Walter, lad,' he went on, c do you re- 
 member the night at Subiaco when you and I 
 faced death like two brothers ? Have you 
 forgotten when Ferdinand crossed my will, and 
 I sent him back his power of alter ego and his 
 General's commission ? Was there not a young 
 man who resigned also, like the young fool he 
 was, swearing that he would go back to 
 England with me and enlist as a private in my 
 troop, rather than part from me ? A young 
 tool — something like another of the breed who 
 is this day angry with his friend without cause ! ' 
 
 I heard Walter breathe hard and gasp, as if 
 something he could not swallow had stuck 
 midway in his throat. The General went on, 
 without ever taking his eyes off him. 
 
 ' There was a night also when that young 
 man and I faced the Vardarelli, and being all 
 alone in a hostile town braved out the comitiva. 
 Has he forgotten that ? And another day
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 277 
 
 also, when I was wounded and left for dead on 
 the field when we fought against Murat ; and, 
 so they tell me, a young Scottish lad stood 
 across me with his sword in his hand and kept 
 a dozen at bay, taking the points he could not 
 parry on the left arm, which for protection had 
 only a little shoulder-cape wrapped about it.' 
 
 He set his hand against the breast of 
 Walter's tunic. My lover's hand twitched up- 
 ward as if to grasp his superior officer's wrist 
 again. 
 
 c Attention ! ' said the General sternly. 
 ' Captain Cameron, do not forget that you 
 are a prisoner under arrest — remember your 
 duty ! ' 
 
 And with a little sharp twitch he unfastened 
 the neck of Walter's tunic, and on the fair 
 white of the lower curve from which the 
 shoulder spread away, a red scar appeared. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, c for the sake of whose 
 life do you wear that decoration ? ' 
 
 Walter Cameron was silent. 
 
 1 Well, in that case I will tell you myself,' 
 he said. ' It was for your General's sake. 
 Now, this being our record, yours and mine, 
 Walter — do you think that Richard Church is 
 the man to make love to your sweetheart 
 behind your back ? ' 
 
 My lad's eyes dropped from the wall to the 
 ground, avoiding those of the General, who still
 
 278 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 looked steadily into them. He moved his feet 
 uneasily, like a chidden child. 
 
 1 I beg your pardon, General,' he muttered : 
 1 1 thought ' 
 
 * Nay,' cried the General, with sudden 
 gaiety, l not mine. Beg your sweetheart's 
 there, of whom you are not half worthy. But 
 stay ' — he stretched out his hand with a quick 
 change of mood, — * first let me introduce you ! ' 
 
 Then coming towards me he bowed 
 graciously and said, ' My Lady Duchess of 
 Monte Leone, permit me to present to you one 
 of my most gallant and promising officers, 
 Captain Walter Cameron.' 
 
 Walter instantly straightened himself and 
 looked still doubtfully from one to the other of 
 us. 
 
 * Is this another jest ?' he said, with mighty 
 gravity. He did not love to be trifled with, 
 this boy. 
 
 The General put the papers into his hand. 
 
 1 Read for yourself,' he said. ' Duchess or 
 not, you have a small vixen on your hands, 
 Walter, my lad, and so I warn you. Also you 
 have a prettyish temper of your own. Between 
 you, you will manage to keep your mdnage 
 lively. See where she tried to burn the Duke's 
 acknowledgment of herself, her mother's 
 marriage certificate, and even the King's recent 
 deed of restitution to all the lands and castles
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MONTE LEONE 279 
 
 pertaining to the Dukedom of Monte Leone, 
 which I myself was at some pains to obtain 
 for her. You can do as you like with the 
 papers. I wash my hands of the pair of you. 
 I declare you are more trouble than Don Ciro 
 himself ! ' 
 
 And the General went out smiling, catching 
 up a pile of papers as he went. 
 
 Walter turned to me with the parchments 
 in his hand. 
 
 ' It is true, or at least the General says it is,' 
 I said, replying to his unspoken question. 
 
 He knitted- his brows with sudden vast 
 thoughtfulness, glooming at me in a boyish 
 way he had — which, however, I liked. 
 
 4 1 must think of this,' he said stiffly 
 
 I went straight up to him, and — consider 
 it unmaidenly or not, I care not — kissed him 
 on the mouth. 
 
 1 Think of it after we are married ! ' I 
 said.
 
 'So THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 
 
 ' Yes, you were a very bad boy,' I said to 
 him afterwards, when I had forgiven him ; 
 1 but do you know, I do not think I ever loved 
 you so much before.' 
 
 c My little Pietro is altogether a woman — 
 after all ! ' was what he said in reply. 
 
 1 But remember I am to wear my Greek 
 dress and ride with you everywhere just the 
 same,' I added ; for it is better always to 
 make sure beforehand, — l after we are married, 
 I mean.' 
 
 * And when will that be ? ' he said, smiling 
 down upon me. 
 
 The thought sobered me, for I was 
 ashamed to recall how little I had thought 
 lately of the Signora who for so long had been 
 as a mother to me. 
 
 * When we take Ciro the murderer,' I said, 
 4 and when we find our mother ! ' 
 
 Walter bent and kissed my hand. f I will
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON GIRO 281 
 
 do both for your sake, and that ere long,' he 
 said bravely. ' Be ready ! ' 
 
 Yet the thing was something more easily 
 said than done. 
 
 Easter and the joyous time of the year had 
 come when we heard the next of the matter. It 
 was at Lecce, and the bright little town was 
 never gayer — too gay for me, indeed — so, 
 instead of wearying myself by attending balls 
 and receptions for which I felt no inclination, 
 I diverted myself by riding constantly with 
 Walter's troop. Yet for all that there was a 
 pain of remembrance in my heart, and never a 
 stirrup tinkled or a horse's hoof clattered but I 
 thought of the dead that had been dear to me, 
 and of the happy days and nights with the 
 comitiva. 
 
 Nevertheless it was sweet and refreshing 
 when the breeze from off the sea fanned my 
 face. I loved also the swift motion of Salvatore, 
 the sense of Walter riding at my bridle-rein, 
 the oft-baffled, ever-recurring quest for Ciro, 
 the skirmishes with the broken and desperate 
 bands of the Decisi — skirmishes which were 
 always to the death. For, knowing the doom 
 that awaited them, quarter was neither asked 
 nor given. Such things were better than 
 pirouetting in the ball-rooms of Lecce under 
 fire of the scorns of the Intendant's daughter
 
 282 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 and of the other fine ladies of whom at this 
 time our General appeared to be so fond. 
 
 Yet it was at a ball that we heard our first 
 news of our mother, who for two months had 
 been lost to us. The General, whose energy 
 in social matters put all to shame, had given a 
 ball in order, as he said, ' to repay with one, a 
 thousand courtesies.' All the beauty and 
 fashion of the southern province were there. 
 Much against my will, I also had to go, for the 
 General insisted on it. So I put on me a 
 Spanish dress of black lace, which set my figure 
 well enough. A fold of it over my head and 
 another draped over my shoulder — these served 
 to render me as little conspicuous as possible. 
 And for the time it was pleasant enough for 
 me, who hitherto had been more accustomed 
 to the rattle of the powder-pouch and the 
 muskets crackling like thorns under a pot, to 
 listen to the compliments of the brilliantly 
 dressed officers, and watch Walter passing from 
 this one to that other, as was the duty of the 
 General's aide-de-camp. 
 
 General Church had arranged a brilliant 
 Spanish dance in which the whole pageantry of 
 the bull-fight was enacted — the ring, the bull, 
 the fighters, the dartmen, and all the rest of it. 
 The spectacle was just at its gayest. The poor 
 bull, in the person of one of his cleverest and 
 handsomest officers, was being baited with
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 283 
 
 confetti and transfixed with ribboned fans held 
 in fair but implacable hands. The whole scene 
 sparkled with flashing wax-lights, polished 
 floors, uniforms of scarlet and pale blue, bril- 
 liant dresses of a thousand gay colours. 
 
 ' Toro ! Toro ! Brava, Toro ! ' they shouted 
 after the right Spanish fashion, as the bull, 
 with mimic horns strapped upon his head and 
 his eyes bandaged, cleared his front with a 
 swoop and scattered the laughing crowd of his 
 enemies. 
 
 From the steps of the musicians' platform 
 the English General watched with a bright 
 smile, sometimes taking part, apparently as 
 light-hearted and free from care as a boy on a 
 holiday. 
 
 Then, suddenly beginning at the outer 
 door, a vague hoarse murmur made its way up 
 the stairs and began to fill the ball-room. The 
 noisy play ceased. The brilliant pageant stood 
 still as if it had been painted on canvas. Every 
 eye was turned towards the door, in which } 
 solitary as a prophet come to announce the 
 doom of the world, stood a woman. 
 
 I was at the far end of the room, and at 
 first 1 did not recognise her. And small 
 wonder it was ! For this gaunt Maenad, with 
 her hair bleached white as snow, wind-tossed 
 about her brow, her weather-beaten face, the face 
 of a desperate man rather than that of a great
 
 284 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 lady, a grenadier's belt from which protruded 
 the butts of a pair of pistols and at which 
 swung an artilleryman's sword, bore small 
 resemblance to the mother of the Vardarelli 
 sitting at home with her knitting, or passing 
 about the house with gentle step and gracious 
 courtesy. 
 
 Yet the mother of the Vardarelli it was. 
 I would have flown to her, but her arm was 
 upraised, and with a kind of fascination I 
 waited for her to speak. 
 
 * Come quickly,' she cried : c Ciro the 
 Priest is surrounded at Scaserba with all his 
 men. He has slain many, but he cannot 
 escape if I take back help to-morrow ! ' 
 
 The General went forward to thank her for 
 her tidings, but she had already vanished from 
 the ball-room. He gave a quick order or two 
 to his officers. Walter passed me, hastening 
 to do his master's will. 
 
 * Isabella,' he whispered, c meet me at the 
 Taranto gate. You will be in at the death. 
 If they can but hold him, this means life to 
 you and me ! ' 
 
 As I hurried back to my lodging, the day 
 was breaking. The streets of Lecce were full 
 of people. The trumpets of the cavalry blew 
 fitfully. Squadrons of mounted men moved 
 about or rode swiftly in a given direction. In 
 haste I threw off my dress of Spanish lace
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 285 
 
 and flung myself into my old Greek tunic, in 
 which I had ridden so far and so often. I 
 found a sleepy groom, and bade him open the 
 stable and help me to saddle Salvatore. 
 
 In half an hour I was waiting for Walter 
 at the Taranto gate. The first rays of the sun 
 were striking upon the lofty white houses of 
 Lecce as the General with his staff came riding 
 out. Beside the General was the mother of 
 the Vardarelli on a black horse. She looked 
 straight before her, with eyes that devoured 
 the plain in front. 
 
 Then came Walter, with his Albanian 
 cavalry ; and with a gay toss of his bridle-reins 
 Salvatore swung once more into his place at 
 the head of the squadron. 
 
 It was a hot ride, but away across the 
 straight and dusty road we went without pause, 
 save once to water the horses and dash a 
 handful of water over our heated brows. As 
 we neared Scaserba, the tower in which the 
 wolf had turned to bay, the excitement in the 
 ranks waxed well-nigh unbearable. 
 
 At last there before us were the white walls 
 of the masseria, with the square tower crown- 
 ing all, and the rebellious town of Grottaglie 
 lying sullenly beyond. 
 
 The white puffs of smoke rose, and from 
 all about there came the sharp rattle of 
 musketry.
 
 286 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ' Hurrah ! ' shouted the General, waving 
 his hand like a boy ; ' we are yet in time.' 
 
 And the Albanian horsemen responded with 
 a lusty shout. 
 
 The masseria of Scaserba, where Ciro had 
 entrenched himself, had been, like most of the 
 larger farmhouses of the plain, designed as a 
 place of refuge against sudden incursions of 
 pirates from the sea or brigands from the 
 mountains. A strong outer curtain loop- 
 holed for musketry, a tall square tower with 
 thick walls excellent for defence, no height 
 near from which it could be overlooked — that 
 was Scaserba, a strong place, well chosen for 
 the last act of a desperate venture. 
 
 Ciro had already been besieged for twenty 
 hours when we arrived. He had attempted 
 repeatedly to break through during the night, 
 but the militia of the province, aided by a 
 squad of regular cavalry, had continually met 
 and thwarted him. He had offered money to 
 the officers ; but the taking of the Council of 
 Twelve had begun a new regime in Apulia, and 
 now the officers of the local troops refused 
 with scorn that which a year or two before 
 they would have accepted with thankfulness. 
 Besides, the fear of certain chill blue eyes was 
 upon them. 
 
 As our brigade of cavalry swept out upon 
 the wide space in front of the masseria, the
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 287 
 
 wild beast Ciro must have known that he had 
 come almost to the end of his tether. Yet the 
 dog was game. The great gate opened. 
 There was a quick rush of smoke-grimed, 
 desperate men ; sword in hand, the besieged 
 did not stop to fire, but threw themselves 
 upon the nearest of the troops, who received 
 them with a steady volley. No more than one 
 or two succeeded in breaking through, only to 
 find themselves in the presence of a thousand 
 horsemen. 
 
 But Ciro was not among the prisoners. 
 
 After a pause the white flag went up from 
 the top of the tower. The Chief of the Decisi 
 desired to treat with us. 
 
 But the General bade Captain Cameron 
 return answer that there were to be no terms 
 save surrender without condition. It may be 
 guessed that I did not let Walter ride on such 
 an errand alone. Four Albanian troopers 
 accompanied us, and as we rode forward 
 Salvatore's nose was level with that of the 
 ambassador's charger. 
 
 As we came near to the wall we saw a dark 
 figure in priestly cassock standing by the flag- 
 staff. His hand was on the pole. A bloody 
 handkerchief was wrapped about a brow grimed 
 with battle-smoke. Yet withal the man was 
 not without a certain fierce dignity, as he 
 stood there at bay in the midst of an army.
 
 288 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 ' I desire to see General Church,' he cried 
 out, as we rode near. 
 
 4 The General declines to see you ! ' said 
 Walter curtly. 
 
 'Declines to see me, Ciro Annicharico of 
 Grottaglie — me, who have dealt with far 
 greater generals than he, and have held the 
 province of Otranto in my hands for eighteen 
 years ! ' 
 
 ' Even so,' repeated Walter : * he will 
 neither see you nor treat with you.' 
 
 A spasm of white anger passed over the 
 priest's face. c Tell him,' he cried, * that if he 
 will not treat with me he shall surely die.' 
 
 4 Death is common to all, as men of your 
 profession ofttimes remind us ! ' said Walter, 
 with grave irony. 
 
 I think the priest had not hitherto observed 
 us much, but at this speech he bent his brows 
 and frowned down upon us. 
 
 ' You are pleased to be witty, Sir Officer,' 
 he said. ' I have met you before, and this fair 
 lady. My compliments to both of you. I 
 may even yet have the pleasure of better 
 acquaintance. In this world fate has many 
 ups and downs — and who knows ? Well, 
 deliver your message, underling. What 
 terms of capitulation does the General offer 
 me ? ' 
 
 ' None 1 ' said Walter, yet more briefly.
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 289 
 
 Ap-ain the outlaw glared sudden anger and 
 furies. Black death was in his eye. 
 
 * He will offer me no terms ? I am to him 
 as a wild beast to be hunted down ? Then I 
 will be a wild beast indeed ! Ho, below there ! 
 Fire upon them ! ' And, snatching a musket, 
 he pointed it at Walter. 
 
 Instantly, with his hand on Salvatore's 
 bridle, Walter wheeled. 
 
 * Bend your head down and ride for our 
 lives ! ' he said. 
 
 And we rode like the wind, while behind us 
 the whole masseria blazed with musketry fire, 
 and the bullets hissed and spat about us. 
 
 A horse passed us, saddle-empty ; and, 
 glancing behind, I saw that two of our brave 
 Albanians were lying on the ground. 
 
 * O wait ! ' cried Walter, in an agonised 
 tone, ( only wait ! For this treachery I will 
 reckon ere the morning light with Master 
 Ciro.' 
 
 There was no talk of parley after that. 
 The General wore his fighting look when we 
 went back. Indeed, he seemed almost rude, 
 and, turning to the chief of his staff, he said : 
 
 * Schmerber, are you asleep ? Can you not 
 hurry on that gun ? ' 
 
 It was six o'clock when they brought a six- 
 pounder into position, and opened fire. The 
 gates gave way. Even the tower began to 
 
 u
 
 2 9 o THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 crumble. It was a hot evening, the prelude to 
 a lowering thirsty night. The troops suffered 
 and waited. But an enemy more terrible than 
 General Church was fighting for us within the 
 masseria of Scaserba. Since the beginning of 
 the fight the well had been in our hands, and 
 for nigh upon three days Ciro and his men had 
 been without water. 
 
 It was at the first ray of the morning light 
 that the white flag was again run up. 
 
 c Take no notice of it : they violated the 
 last ! ' cried the General. 
 
 Then after a pause the fragments of the 
 gate were drawn back, and a score or two of 
 men appeared. They had guns in their hands, 
 which they threw into a corner. 
 
 ' For God's sake give us water ! ' they 
 cried : ' we surrender.' 
 
 ' Where is Ciro Annicharico ? ' cried a voice 
 which had not spoken before — that of the 
 mother of the Vardarelli. She had been help- 
 ing the artillerymen to serve their gun all the 
 night. And in fear of the evil eye they had 
 permitted her. 
 
 ' Bring out Ciro the Priest, or we will fire 
 again,' she cried. The match was in her hand. 
 The gun was loaded this time with grape. 
 
 ' Do not shoot unarmed men ! ' cried one 
 from the open gate. ' You want Don Ciro. 
 I am he ! '
 
 THE CAPTURE OF DON CIRO 291 
 
 * Come forward ! ' cried the General, speak- 
 ing to the Chief of the Decisi for the first time. 
 
 So the great outlaw came forward with a 
 firm step, and held out his hands to be 
 manacled. 
 
 The steel clicked, the troopers fell in, the 
 others who had fought along with Ciro were 
 secured, and in an unspeakable rapture of 
 cheering the army turned to march back to 
 Francavilla with their captives. 
 
 The tall woman who had served the pfun 
 came near to Don Ciro. 
 
 ' I am the mother of the Vardarelli ! ' she 
 said, with the joy of vengeance beaconing in 
 her eye. 
 
 The priest looked at her and smiled. 
 c Ah ! ' he said calmly, ' my compliments to 
 those five gallant gentlemen, your sons. I 
 trust you left them in good health ! ' 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 
 
 That night Francavilla was illuminated from 
 end to end. No man slept, neither in the 
 town nor among the soldiers. There were 
 rumours of a rescue, so the General had ordered 
 that the little city should be kept as bright as 
 day, and that any citizen who refused to con- 
 tribute his candles should be brought before 
 him in the morning. The Twelve had been 
 brought from prison, and in the hall of justice 
 a military tribunal was trying both them and 
 their chief. 
 
 ' What needs such a man with a trial ? ' 
 said Walter to his General ; l has he not been 
 tried and condemned a dozen times ? ' 
 
 4 1 know it ! ' said General Church. 
 
 c Is he not an outlaw, and ten times 
 a murderer ? Nay, does he not boast of 
 
 it?' 
 
 1 1 know it ! ' repeated the General 
 placidly. 
 
 ' Do we not risk a rescue ? Are you not
 
 THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 293 
 
 the King's alter ego> whom no man can call in 
 question for his acts ? ' 
 
 ' 1 know. But let him be tried all the 
 same,' said the impassive Englishman. 
 
 < Well,' muttered Walter, ' at least I will 
 see that he is condemned " all the same," if it 
 were only for the sake of my two poor 
 Albanians ! ' 
 
 So the military tribunal was constituted, and 
 Ciro immediately began to make a speech, 
 thinking that the old major of dragoons who 
 presided must be General Church himself. 
 
 When he was undeceived, and told that 
 the General would not see him, and was not 
 even present, he only replied, ' I understand ! ' 
 And from that moment to the end of the trial 
 he spoke neither one thing nor another, neither 
 good nor evil. 
 
 Major Schmerber it was who pronounced 
 sentence, first upon the Twelve, and then 
 separately upon their chief. 
 
 * Ciro Annicharico, you have been found 
 guilty of many murders clearly proven, and 
 indeed not denied, of treason high and low, of 
 all crimes known to man — and also of violating 
 a flag of truce. You are condemned to be shot 
 to-morrow at daybreak ; thereafter to be be- 
 headed, and your head to be set over the gate 
 of your own town of Grottaglie.' 
 
 { Well,' said Don Ciro coolly, £ at least 1
 
 294 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 shall be able to keep an eye on my parishioners. 
 Give me a flask of wine. It is dry work, 
 listening to so many speeches.' 
 
 The fatal morning came. In Francavilla 
 Fontana nothing was heard but the roll of the 
 drum, the clatter of cavalry, the steady march 
 of foot. In the wide piazza the troops 
 gathered early, long before the east began to 
 redden. Behind them stood the people of the 
 town in dark masses, many with their hands 
 under their cloaks and the hilt of the stiletto 
 in their grasp. But the Englishman had 
 overawed them, and there was to be no overt 
 resistance. 
 
 When at last the sun rose, he looked upon 
 the serried lines of troops forming three sides 
 of a square. On the fourth nothing was to be 
 seen but a long line of high gray wall, plain 
 and bare in the morning light. Yet that was 
 the place towards which all eyes were turned. 
 There was still a bite in the morning air when 
 the strains of the sacred chant were heard and 
 the white garments of the priests were seen 
 approaching, mixed with the blue-and-scarlet 
 of the military. The crucifix was carried aloft 
 in front. Behind came ten men chained two 
 and two. One of the eleven taken at Castel 
 Rotondo had died in prison ; so that last of all 
 in solitary dignity Ciro Annicharico walked to
 
 THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 295 
 
 his death with firm step, clad in his best habit 
 of Abate, which his weeping housekeeper had 
 brought him during the night from the 
 presbytery of Grottaglie. 
 
 The first ten came weeping and cringing, 
 their faces white and mottled with fear, glancing 
 this way and that, some murmuring prayers to 
 the saints, and others asking this one and that 
 in the crowd to forgive them for having 
 murdered a father — a brother. Only Don Ciro 
 walked firmly apart, keeping his head proudly 
 up, and with a little smile of contempt on his 
 face as the rabble shouted at him. 
 
 ' Death to Ciro ! ' they cried. 
 
 His smile showed that he had not forgotten 
 how a day or two before they had shouted, 
 ' Death to II Generale ! Death to the soldiers 
 of Ferdinand ! ' He had seen these same men 
 rushing to the walls and firing a volley in 
 honour of the death decrees of the Decisi. 
 
 So Ciro shrugged his shoulders and waggled 
 the cigarette which he kept alight in his mouth 
 scornfully at them. 
 
 When the cortege arrived at the wide piazza, 
 Ciro looked around him. The ten of the 
 Council were on their knees, muttering fervent 
 prayers and receiving the last sacraments. The 
 great murderer looked over them with a scath- 
 ing contempt. Then opposite to him he saw, 
 for the first time, General Church sitting his
 
 296 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 horse in the midst of his staff, raised a little 
 above the throng on a platform which had been 
 erected in front of the church. 
 
 ' Am I to be shot along with that canaille ? ' 
 asked Ciro Annicharico. 
 
 ' I do not know,' said the sergeant, with 
 some kindness : ' I will ask the General.' 
 
 ' No,' he said, coming back : ' you are to 
 die last and alone.' 
 
 Ciro bowed in the direction of General 
 Church, and an expression of relief crept over 
 his countenance. 
 
 * May I be permitted to return my thanks 
 to His Excellency for this favour ? ' he said. 
 
 He paused while he continued to look at 
 the man who had conquered him. 
 
 ' He is very young ! ' he said as calmly as 
 if he had been at Communion. 
 
 Two of the mission priests, having prepared 
 the others for death, came near to offer ghostly 
 consolation to the chief of the Decisi. 
 
 He waved them haughtily away. 
 
 1 I am the Abate Ciro Annicharico, and your 
 superior ! ' he said. ' Have you read your 
 morning office ? No ! Then to your cells and 
 your breviaries ! Go, I command you ! ' 
 
 And the priests obediently did as they were 
 bidden. 
 
 Then even as they went there came a 
 volley, and certain black figures pitched for-
 
 THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 297 
 
 ward irregularly like a wave breaking against 
 the gray wall — or perhaps more like a swathe 
 of grain which bends forward and falls over the 
 mower's scythe. 
 
 Giro turned his eyes observantly upon the 
 double line of soldiers who had fired. He 
 seemed to be criticising their formation. Then 
 half of them fell out and the remainder busily 
 reloaded. 
 
 The sergeant motioned him forward. He 
 obeyed after a pause, leisurely sauntering 
 rather than walking, blandly nodding to this 
 one and that in the crowd. The cigarette in 
 his lips was briskly alight. At the upper end 
 lay the bodies of the ten as they had fallen. 
 Ciro gathered the skirts of his new Abate's 
 
 o 
 
 gown daintily, and stepped over the one who 
 lay immediately in his path, face upwards. 
 
 4 Ah, Bernardis ! ' he said pleasantly, like 
 one who unexpectedly recognises an acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 When he turned and faced his executioners 
 the low hoarse growl of hatred from the people 
 startled him a little. But, recovering himself, 
 he shrugged his shoulders and bowed cour- 
 teously right and left. He took his cigarette 
 from his mouth, looked carefully at it, flicked the 
 ash from the end with a dainty movement of his 
 little finger, and set it again in his lips. Then 
 seeing the twelve muskets levelled at his heart
 
 298 THE SILVER SKULL 
 
 and the sword of the officer upraised, he 
 smiled upon the assembled people, crossed 
 himself like a good churchman, and stretched 
 out two fingers in the apostolic benediction. 
 
 4 1 give you my blessing, good people all,' 
 he cried aloud, in the great voice in which I 
 had heard him say mass on the morning after 
 the massacre at Monte Leone. 
 
 The volley rang out, and Ciro Annicharico 
 fell slowly forward on his face as if some one 
 had pushed him from behind. 
 
 Then a woman ran out of the crowd, and 
 with a sword that flashed once and again, she 
 smote fiercely at the dead body. 
 
 A moment after she raised the dripping 
 head in both her hands high in the air before 
 us all, crying, — ' This is the head of Ciro 
 Annicharico, who betrayed the Vardarelli to 
 the death ! ' 
 
 We were married, Walter Cameron and I, 
 in the great church of Francavilla. The 
 General and all his staff were present. l For,' 
 said His Excellency, ' it is not often that two 
 of my officers wed each other.' 
 
 We were to ride out early the next morn- 
 ing, because General Church had laid upon 
 Walter the honourable duty of carrying the 
 news of the death of Ciro and the pacification 
 of Apulia to the King.
 
 WHEN HE TURNED AND FACED HIS EXECUTIONERS. THE LOW HOARSE GROWL 
 OF HATRED FROM THE PEOPLE STARTLED HIM A LITTLE
 
 THE SILVER SKULL OVER THE GATE 299 
 
 It is your right, Colonel Cameron,' he 
 said, l and besides, it will be a famous marriage 
 jaunt for you. I detail Captain Pietro there to 
 accompany you.' 
 
 In spite of the lateness of the season the 
 night after our wedding had fallen chill with a 
 touch of frost in the air. The sun had not 
 yet risen when we rode through the gate of 
 Grottaglie, for, as our duty required, we had 
 been early astir. 
 
 As we came near we saw the first red 
 beams top the little hills of Scaserba and 
 strike upon something which shone bright as 
 burnished metal over the orate. A woman 
 
 o 
 
 was sitting by the wayside steadfastly looking 
 up at the bright object with a kind of holy joy 
 on her countenance. The sun shone on her 
 also, but the face we looked upon was the face 
 of a dead woman. 
 
 It was the mother of the Vardarelli, look- 
 ing with unshut eyes at the frost-whitened and 
 bloodless head ot the murderer of her sons, 
 which grinned down upon her from the iron 
 cage over the gate of Grottaglie. 
 
 TRINTED BY 
 
 S! OTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUAKE 
 
 LONDON
 
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 page — we might say, not a dull sentence — in it. . . .' 
 
 VICE VERSA; or, a Lesson to Fathers. Cheap 
 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, is. 6d. 
 From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.— ' If ever there was * book made up from 
 beginning to end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a "merry" book, or a book 
 of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, but a perfectly sober 
 and serious book, in the reading of which a sober man may laugh without shame from 
 beginning to end, it is the book called "Vice Versa; or, a Lesson to Fathers." . . . 
 We close the book, recommending it very earnestly to all fathers in the first instance, 
 and their sons, nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.' 
 
 A FALLEN IDOL. Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp 
 
 red cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 From THE TIMES. -'Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed over 
 "Vice Versa.". . . The boy who brings the accursed image to Champion's house, 
 Mr. Bales, the artist's factotum, and above all Mr. Yarker, the ex-butler who has turned 
 policeman, are figures whom it is as pleasant to meet as it is impossible to forget.' 
 
 LYRE AND LANCET. With 24 Full-page Illustrations 
 
 Square i6mo. y. 
 From THE SPEAKER.-' Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in "Lyre and 
 Lancet." . . . One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy we have had 
 for many a day.' 
 
 London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W.
 
 PALL MALL GAZETTE.—' When the Hawonh Edition was announced 
 we expected something with which no other version has provided us, 
 and we are not disappointed.' 
 
 In 7 Volumes. Large crown 8vo. cloth, gilt top, 6s. each. 
 
 THE HflWORTH EDITION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE AND WORKS 
 
 CHARLOTTE BRONTE 
 
 (CURRER BELL), 
 
 AND HER SISTERS 
 
 EMILY AND ANNE BRONTE 
 
 (ELLIS and ACTON BELL). 
 WITH PORTRAITS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Including Views of places described in the Works, reproduced from Photographs specially 
 
 taken for the purpose by Mr. W. R. Bland, of Duffield, Derby, in conjunction 
 
 with Mr. C. Barrow Keene, of Derby. 
 
 Introductions to the Works are supplied by Mrs. HUMPHRY WARD, 
 
 AND 
 
 An Introduction and Notes to Mrs. Gaskell's ' Life of Charlotte Bronte 
 by Mr. CLEMENT K. SHORTER, the eminent Bronte authority. 
 
 CONTENTS OF THE VOLUMES: 
 i. JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronte. With a Photogravure 
 Portrait of Charlotte Bronte, from a Drawing by G. Richmond, a Photogravure of 
 Rochester and Jane Eyre, from a Water-colour Drawing by Frederick Walker, 
 A.R.A.; a Facsimile of the Title-page of the first edition, and 8 Full-page Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 2. SHIRLEY. By Charlotte Bronte. With a Facsimile of the 
 
 Title-page of the first edition, and io Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 3. YILLETTE. By Charlotte Bronte. With a Photogravure 
 
 Portrait of M. Heger, Facsimiles of the Title-page of the original edition and of a 
 page of the original MS., and 8 Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 4. THE PROFESSOR, by Charlotte Bronte, and POEMS, 
 
 by Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Bronte, and the Rev. Patrick Bronte, 
 &c. With Facsimiles of the Title-pages of the first editions, and 8 Full-page 
 Illustrations. 
 
 5. WUTHERING HEIGHTS. By Emily Bronte. AGNES 
 
 GREY By Anne Bronte. With a Preface and Biographical Notice of both 
 Authors by Charlotte Bronte. With a Portrait of Emily Bronte, Facsimiles 
 of the Title-pages of the first edition, and 8 full-page Illustrations. 
 
 6. THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. By Anne 
 
 Bronte. With a Portrait of Anne Bronte, a Facsimile of the Title-page of the 
 first edition, and 6 Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 7. LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE. By Mrs. Gaskell. With 
 
 an Introduction and Notes by Clement K. Shorter. With nearly 100 hitherto 
 Unpublished Letters from the Brontes, father and daughters, Photogravure Portraits 
 of Mrs. Gaskell and of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls, a Portrait of the Rev. Patrick 
 Bronte, 11 New Illustrations, Facsimiles of a Letter by Charlotte Bronte, and of 
 a page from Charlotte Bronte's M S. of ' The Secret,' &c. &c. 
 
 «»• The LIFE AND WORKS OF THE SISTERS BRONTE are also to be had 
 in 7 vols. Large crown 8vo. handsomely bound in cloth, price 5s. 
 each ; in small post8vo. limp ureen cloth, or, cloth boards, gilt top, 
 price 2s. 6d. each : and in small fcp. 8vo. bound in cloth, with gilt 
 top, with Frontispiece to each volume, price Is. 6d. each; or the 
 Set, in gold-lettered cloth case, 12s. 6d. 
 
 London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W.
 
 NEW EDITION O F W. M. T HACKERAY'S WORKS. 
 
 In 13 Volumes. Large crown 8vo. cloth, gilt top, 6s. each. 
 
 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION OF 
 
 W. M. THACKERAY'S COMPLETE WORKS. 
 
 THIS NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 COMPRISES 
 
 ADDITIONAL MATERIAL and HITHERTO 
 UNPUBLISHED LETTERS, SKETCHES, 
 and DRAWINGS, 
 
 Dcrivedfrom the Authors Original Manuscripts 
 and Note-Books. 
 
 AND EACH VOLUME INCLUDES A 
 
 MEMOIR, IN THE FORM OF AN 
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 By Mrs. RICHMOND RITCHIE. 
 
 iSST The 13 Volumes are also supplied in Set eloth binding, gilt top, 
 price £3. 18s. Od. 
 
 1. VANITY FAIR. With 20 Full-page Illustrations, 11 Woodcuts, a Facsimile 
 
 Letter, and a new Portrait. 
 
 2. PENDENNIS. With 20 Full-page Illustrations and 10 Woodcuts. 
 
 3. YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS, &C. With 24 Full-page Reproductions of Steel 
 
 Plates by George Cruikshank, ii Woodcuts, and a Portrait of the Author by 
 Maclise. „ „ „„ 
 
 4 THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON: THE F1TZBOODLE PAPERS, 
 &c With 16 Full-page Illustrations by J. E. Millais, R.A., Luke Fildes, 
 A.R.A.. and the Author, and 14 Woodcuts. 
 
 5. SKETCH BOOKS:-THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK; THE IRISH SKETCH 
 
 BOOK; NOTES OF A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND 
 CAIRO, &c. With 16 Full-page Illustrations, 39 Woodcuts, and a Portrait of 
 the Author by Maclise. 
 
 6. CONTRIBUTIONS TO 'PUNCH' &c. With 20 Full-page Illustrations, 26 
 
 Woodcuts, and an Engraving of the Author from a Portrait by Samuel 
 
 7. THE A HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND; and THE LECTURES. With 
 
 20 Full-page Illustrations by George du Maurier, F. Barnard, and Frank 
 Dicksee, R.A., and 11 Woodcuts. 
 
 8. THE NEWCOMES. With 20 Full-page Illustrations by Richard Doyle and 
 
 11 Woodcuts. 
 O. CHRISTMAS BOOKS, &c. With 9 Full-page Illustrations, 122 Woodcuts, and 
 a Facsimile Letter. 
 
 10. THE VIRGINIANS. With 20 Full-page Illustrations, 6 Woodcuts, a Photo- 
 
 gravure, and a new Portrait. _ ___.„ 
 
 11. THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP; and A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY. 
 
 With 24 Full-page Illustrations by Frederick Walker and the Author, 
 6 Woodcuts, a Facsimile of MS., and 2 Facsimile Letters. 
 
 12. LOVEL THE WIDOWER; ROUNDABOUT PAPERS; DENIS 
 
 DUVAL, &c. With 20 Full-page and 11 Text Illustrations by Frederick 
 Walker, A.R.A., Charles Keene, and the Author, and 2 pages of MS. in 
 facsimile. 
 
 13. BALLADS AND MESCELLAN1ES. With 35 Full-page Illustrations by the 
 
 Author, George Cruikshank and John Leech, 35 Woodcuts, 3 Portraits of 
 Thackeray's Ancestors, an Engraving of the Author from a Drawing by Samuel 
 Laurence, and a Photogravure, from a Drawing by Chinnery, of Thackeray 
 at the age of 3, with his Father and Mother. The volume also contains a Life 
 of Thackeray by Leslie Stephen and a Bibliography. 
 *»* A Prospectus 0/ the Edition -with specimen pages, will be sent post free 
 on application. 
 
 ^London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place, S.W.
 
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