: NINTH MAN MARY H EATON : VORSE THE NINTH MAN By Mary Heaton Vorse . OF "ONE-NINTH OF YOU ARE TO DIE!" WAS ECHOED TO us LIKE A TOLLING BELL THE NINTH MAN A Story By MARY HEATON VORSE With Illustrations by FRANK CRAIG Publishers HARPER & BROTHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON MCMXX THE NINTH MAN Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published July. 1920 ILLUSTRATIONS "ONE-NINTH OF You ABE TO DIE!" WAS ECHOED TO Us LIKE A TOLLING BELL Frontispiece IT WAS A STRANGE PROCESSION THAT CAME BEFORE OUR EYES Facing p. 10 OUR BEAUTIFUL AND ARROGANT LADY SAT BROODING " 28 "THERE WAS A GIRL HERE ONCE SOME POOR RELATION OF COUNT BARTOLOM- MEO'S" . . ..." 32 2133685 THE NINTH MAN THE NINTH MAN CHAPTER I IT might have been said of us that our city was the iron pot, we in it the broth, and the edict of Egidio Mazzaleone the stick with which to stir the broth. It was a fine, big stick with a point at the end of it, as we found out, though at first sight it had a harmless look beside the naked sword which was what we had expected. As the stick stirred and the broth boiled and bubbled over the blue fire of his insolence, many a strange thing was cast to the top things good and things bad that none had guessed were simmering and cooking at the bottom of the broth, flavoring the whole of it. I shall go on to tell you of the wry faces that the town of San Moglio made as it cooked slowly over the insolence of Egidio Mazzaleone. I have found out that it is always so in this world. You may call any handful, if you will, a city, for among them you will have in little the picture of i THE NINTH MAN the state: they love and die, bear children, buy and sell, and strive for power, and the days will go by one like the other and you may think that you know each of your fellows as a book; then singe them with the fire of a great event and, behold, your town will turn on you an unaccustomed and terrifying face. Myself, I cannot even now distinguish the events as they came, they happened so quickly, one on top of the other, like a dog tumbling down-stairs. Whether it was his head or his tail that went first you would be at a loss to tell. We were in sore straits in the city, I know that. There was wildcat fighting; there was a surrender to a greater might of mind and body than we could show this I know, too. Then there was peace; we wondered that we were not burned and pillaged like the cities that had fallen before us. Before he en- tered the gate we had made a shrewd fight of it; but he had more of everything than we any outsider would have foretold the end. He had more men; and though it may not be becoming of a soldier to say it, a clerk like myself may perhaps be per- THE NINTH MAN mitted to tell the truth: he had the greater genius for fighting not more bravery, mind you, but as much; I grant you that. And, more, he had a brain in that misshapen head of his. After our defeat came the edict. What it meant I did not know, except that it was respite from death; and I had not drawn long breaths enough that I myself was safe, as well as the persons of those I loved, when my young mistress came to me. "They say that I and all of the house are to appear in the public square and walk in person past Egidio Mazzaleone." She frowned at me as though I had done this thing. "Lady," I made haste to reply, "I know not." She pressed her lips together as if she would have spoken angrily to me, but she did not, and went to the window. "See," she said, looking at the crowd in the street that wandered aimlessly up and down, on their faces the frozen look of those who still stare death in the face. It seemed to me that they had the desolation of driven sheep who smell the slaughter- THE NINTH MAN pen and know the meaning of the smoking, sick, red smell of it. Among them all there were those who walked insolently as though to dare Death, but there were none who remained uncon- scious of his shadow. As my lady bade me look, I saw one who walked outside the circle of this walking fear like a happy child in a field of lilies. This young man belonged, it seemed by his habit, to some religious order. To us, at the window above this restless moving people, driven hither and thither in their cold suspense, he seemed like a dweller from some other world who walked outside the circle of our concern. He had a rough-hewn and clown- ish face, and his eyes had the gentle and brutish gaze of the lads who tend goats on the mountain, but the high serenity that had made him solitary in a crowd shone from them. "Bring him to me," said my lady, "for I will learn the truth from him." I gained him with difficulty through the shifting throngs, and without surprise he followed me so unquestioningly that I thought him little better than a poor witless THE NINTH MAN fellow, until I saw him greet my lady, and the look he poured on her was as kind as water on a parched flower. "What is the news?" my lady asked. "Are we to walk before Mazzaleone like sheep? Is it true?" "So it is commanded by Mazzaleone," said he, and his voice sounded like a deep bell. And I saw that this thing of so great importance to us, and so great a hurt to our pride, was less than nothing to this strange man. "Who are you?" my lady asked him. "The least of all things: the youngest of the Brothers Minor," he answered. We had heard of these lay preachers from Assisi, for their fame had spread greatly in those days. "Do you preach in San Moglio?" "I am not worthy. I cannot speak. But as I go to and fro I talk to children about my Master," said he, humbly. "I wait with hope and dread when my hour to speak shall come and the coal of speech shall be laid on my lips." My lady considered his words and asked him questions concerning Brother Francis, 2 5 THE NINTH MAN and as he answered her we were so delivered from our shame and apprehension that it was only as he went away that my lady asked again, "When shall this conquered and unhappy town walk past its conqueror?" "In three days," he answered. And as he went, my lord Count Bartolommeo Conti came clanking in, and the Brother Minor greeted him as he had my lady, to which my lord made no answer at all. And when the Brother Minor was gone: "What did here this lout?" asks he. "That is Brother Agnello he was here at my request," my lady made answer in her softest tone of most level insolence, and she turned and watched the Brother Minor as he wandered aimless and unafraid through the shifting panic. CHAPTER II FOR three days he let us stew; under the mask of clemency, and of giving us time to learn the edict for which dis- obedience was the pain of death, Maz- zaleone let suspense have its way with us. His heralds cried the edict out through the town; through each little street went the command that on the third day, that being a Friday, all of us, noble and simple, men and women, young and old, should walk before the loggia. And for this no explana- tion was given ; the bare command stripped down to its bone, and nothing more, was the edict of Egidio Mazzaleone and it seemed to us that it was as menacing and as lean as himself. Behind it we felt that terror was lurking. Some said he would butcher us one by one; others said that our leaders and great men only would be slaughtered before our eyes ; and again there were those with higher imaginations who hinted at torture and burnings. That it meant no good to us none of us doubted. Meantime not a house was thrown down nor occupied by the soldiers of Mazzaleone; THE NINTH MAN all was left as it was found. The men-at- arms were as stern and yet as even as Maz- zaleone himself. But there they were, the iron witnesses of our defeat, we who three times had been taken and three times had shaken off the yoke of Pisa free men and had more than once entered, victorious, through the gates of other cities, not count- ing the fortresses, the castelli, and in- trenched strongholds fiefs of the empire that we had made our own, one after an- other, forcing their nobles to become citizens of our own commune. Now, while Mazzaleone's men patrolled us, we went about our business. The pot- houses were overrun and there was much quiet talking among the nobles. And, al- though we came and went unmolested, the people were not allowed to congregate in the streets or the piazza. He kept moving those who would stop to prattle, did Egidio Mazzaleone; and while we moved about we pondered upon the meaning of his edict until the hide of each one of us felt an un- comfortable itching, as though it already felt the prick of the sharpened sword. The third day we had ceased to prattle THE NINTH MAN so much; each man stayed more at home. The women wept and the men sat with their heads in their hands. A cold sort of fear plucked at the entrails of us, for it is one thing to go to your death smoking hot, your sword in your hand, and by chance have another man's sword thrust into you before you can at him, and another to march forth in the cold morning to have your throat slit. In the morning of The Day we started forth early. I and a few of the other young scribes of the city had been sent for by Mazzaleone, and stood in the loggia to count the townsmen and tell their names for what purpose I did not then know. It was a strange procession that came before our eyes as odd a procession as ever any town witnessed, for there were our chief men and our nobles with their heads up; there were their ladies, and there were the poor of the town. Here a man who had missed a right hand for theft, and there an old woman hobbling on crutches, and children were there. As I looked I saw that, spread like a mourning veil over the crowd, were those dressed in black, and I saw that it was our THE NINTH MAN nobles who had been moved to do this. Mazzaleone sat in the loggia, his captains about him, and he saw it and smiled. "This spectacle," I heard him say, "is more diverting and instructive than I thought." And the captain behind him, to whom he spoke, answered: "Small honor it seems to have taken such a town." Indeed, as one looked down upon it it seemed that there were more old hags and women and children and pottering old men than aught else. Very different, indeed, from the time when all such were within- doors and our burghers and stout men-at- arms were out with their clanking swords by their sides. So San Moglio walked along three abreast through a solid line of Mazzaleone's men. In the beginning, as they came close, I was told to count upon the ninth, and as the ninth came, small black ballots were given them, which they were told to keep. All came docilely. Pride made them come so in the case of our black-robed nobles; cold fear, some of our burghers. 10 IT WAS A STRANGE PROCESSION THAT CAME BEFORE OUR EYES THE NINTH MAN Only old Count Gervaise Deverti came protesting. It was he whom it had taken the commune three years to smoke out of his perch in Santa Croce, and during that time he sold his right in his castello for four thou- sand florins and later signed papers which were in my master's possession and which I saw with my own eyes, promising that he would not in any wise help his faithful vas- sals who fought for him three long years while he had sold and resold them. When no sign was left of Santa Croce, and his vas- sals came to live in the commonwealth, always he gave himself great airs at the resistance which he, solitary, had made against the town. With the bombast of his race he refused to go forth in the morning, whereupon the men of his own household trussed him up like an old turkey and brought him up squealing and gobbling. He and a young Count Guido Mazzafini were all that made a disturbance that day. And for Guido it was a greater tragedy. He was a boy of sixteen, and his two broth- ers and his father had been killed in the fray, and when they led him forth he made resistance and blubbered with rage, and 11 THE NINTH MAN fought with the guards that held him. At the noise of him, Mazzaleone lifted his hand and said in his low voice that had the sound of a flicker of flame in it always : "Stop the noise for me." So they cut his throat, and the blood spouted up like that of a stuck pig. And they threw his body aside in the gutter. At that, though the house of Mazzafini was not beloved in the city, a murmur went through the crowd, the growl of a checked tiger, and at the same moment the short swords of Mazzaleone's men leaped forth from the scabbards and I could see them shining like the white hills above San Moglio when the sunlight strikes them. At the glancing forth of the light of steel the murmur of our people died like distant thunder. All was tranquil again and the march went on as before, three by three, and each ninth man got his sinister ballot of black ebony. Then the heralds in the loggia gave tongue: "Thus saith the most clement of con- querors, Mazzaleone! 'San Moglio shall go free for thirty days' time while he takes his much-needed rest among those who $p THE NINTH MAN warmly received him. Thirty days passed, he will depart and take no other toll of blood than this: Each ninth man shall designate secretly whom he wishes put to death in the public place. Thus shall San Moglio judge San Moglio.' " There was silence. The simple and noble of the town stood as though death had struck them all. The heralds cried again and again cried into the silence of our amazement. Then again, and still we moved not, we spoke not, but a sigh swept us like wind in the olives. And there was no sound but the heralds accompanied by men-at- arms making their way out to the four quarters of San Moglio. Then suddenly a gray -haired hag, who to see better had climbed the wrought-iron fountain near the loggia, raised her lean arms above her head and laughed and laughed and still laughed. Revenge was in her laugh, and relief, and she waved her clenched fists in air and laughed her hideous relief and her hideous revenge, and then a very pandemonium of joy broke from that silent crowd. Strangers nrabjiaced. The spell of fear THE NINTH MAN was broken, so they shouted and howled to- gether, except certain of our greatest, who slunk away ashamed, while in their hearts they echoed the words I heard Mazzaleone speak gently to one of his captains : "The love of life, Hugolino, is a foul thing." CHAPTER III AS I would have gone, my duties being ^TlLover and my lists given to the captain, I heard the voice of Mazzaleone as though he spoke low in my ear, yet he was many paces behind me, say, "Stay, boy," and I wheeled as though the voice of him had been a power that turned me on my heels; and I hope I looked at him squarely enough while he told me I was to go forth into the city and bring him back news of what I saw. "Be eyes for me," said he. He sighed deeply, as though a great weak- ness were upon him, and I with a fear in my heart turned and left him, to do as he bade me fear, because I now saw the game of cat-and-mouse which he was playing with us. I had heard of other conquerors pos- sessing a town; but he possessed us, it seemed to me, as no conqueror had possessed any. Though I had but a shadow of the subtlety of his imagination, I hated him that he should sit there and watch us through the narrow, bright slits of his eyes, and rest his long, tired length with the spectacle of us. 15 < THE NINTH MAN Yet as I went from him, love struggled with hate in my heart, and both of them were subject to admiration. And when later his page boy, Carlo, killed himself be- cause of more than a passing displeasure of Mazzaleone, I did not wonder, for the least sight of him stirred thus powerfully the hearts of those who came near him in one way or another, as he had stirred the town of San Moglio. Even as he possessed the town so he possessed me. I became a part of him his eyes. That is why certain scenes are burned into me as by fire. There are times yet when I see in my sleep the narrow uphill streets of San Mo- glio, red and black with the flames and smoke of torches, the town rushing through, a hun- gry flood in pursuit of hot and smoking life after its cold fear of death. I was young. I thought of and had loved San Moglio as I might love a fair and warlike and austere woman, and I had found that the soul of Sam Moglio was like the lean hag who lusted for life and for revenge even from the grave. Bands of men and boys and women, ,ltoo went through the streets, terrible and 16 THE NINTH MAN revolting in their rejoicings. The business of living and dying and of buying and selling for a moment sank to unimportance. "We are to live," San Moglio shouted, "therefore, let us live." And they lived at their hardest. The savage rejoicing of the piazza would not spend itself, and finally it was the sight of three fat women teetering and shrieking, crying and dancing, as though they were girls, around a May-pole, that sickened me. I went out up to the little piazza of Ogni Santi, and there sat by- the fountain a man whose head was bowed on his hands, and as I came nearer I saw that it was the Brother Minor, Agnello, and I saw that he wept. And as he wept he cried aloud, "The Lord take from me this cup." Two loutish boys were throwing mud at him, but he heeded them not; and they, still tormenting him, cried, "Why do you *i 99 weepr Said he, his hands in his eyes, "Because I have but thirty days to live innocent, and then, by taking an innocent life I give my innocence." And he wept again, and the boys laughed together, and one cried: 17 THE NINTH MAN "Kill yourself, then!" Then they ran off after their sheep, crying, "Kill yourself!" At this he dropped his hands from his eyes, and, kneeling upright, he raised his face up to heaven and gave thanks to God that from the mouths of children he had been taught how to avoid the sin of taking the life of another. So I stayed there for a time and went back into the town as though refreshed with water. Though he had not seen me nor spoken to me, I was glad to have come near him in his simplicity, for San Moglio was keeping step to some mighty and inaudible music, as a city will when it becomes a mob. The very children ceased their play and ran through its streets, small shrieking furies, more terrible than the wantoning girls, their grace and their youth, and that they knew not why they ran, marking the depth of us. It seemed to me that in all this great city, but for my lady, I saw not one familiar face. Can the whole heart and soul of a town be like a changeling, or had San Mo- lio worn a mask? I wondered. Or under the torture of Mazzaleone's suspense had 18 THE NINTH MAN the town gone mad? Everywhere I saw change, even as great as in my cousin Gemma, a meek and pious girl. A long- eyed girl she was, downcast, too timid to look at one straight, given to shy, sidelong glances, a slim, honey-colored girl. I liked to tease her, to see the soft pink mount in her bashful cheeks. Now as I passed by her house I saw her at the window, herself, but changed soft yet, like a hazy sky in summer, but beckoning, inviting, and glan- cing now at Guido and now at young Leon- cavello, playing them more skilfully with her white and desirable innocence than any courtezan, while my aunt watched the game. As I told these things to Mazzaleone I felt as ashamed as one who sees his mother indecorous in some public place. "Give them life," said he; "they snap at it and gulp it down like a hungry dog; and since they wish amusement they shall have what they wish. Everything they wish they shall have I could envy them their gusto," he added. And so he set about giving a festa of great magnificence, and asked all the nobles within the town of San Moglio; and he 19 THE NINTH MAN judged them rightly, for even the nobles, in their zest for life, had no mind to show spite to Mazzaleone. For the common people there was dancing in the street, and wine and music for all who wished. And so it was that the whole town fell to its great, lustful rejoicing, that they were to live. CHAPTER IV AND I will wager that in all its life San .lA^Moglio had never seen gathered in the palace of the Podesta such a company; for there faction met faction as friends; old hate smiled at old hate; sworn enemies met for the first time without the drawing of swords. Nor could Mazzaleone's own eyes dis- tinguish where a feud lay; one would have supposed that each felt a dear joy in thus seeing close at hand his own enemy. I saw Beatrice degli Oddi talking with her broth- ers, though all San Moglio knew that they had sworn to tear her in pieces when that happy hour came that they might lay their hands upon her. And she talked with them as though they had never been parted; as though they had not sworn her death so bitterly that she had not left the palace of Ugo da Sala since he took her there from her father's house, Da Sala's men killing her kinsman as he lifted her over the threshold. I stood near Count Bartolommeo, and heard him say to my lady, "There is the making of a rare fight below," for in the 3 21 THE NINTH MAN courtyard, where the vassals of the rival houses met face to face, there was no smooth talking, and a menacing growl arose from it through the corridors and up the hallways. I had seen the retainers of Malatesta da Mogliano glommering at those of Casa- matto, and the men of Cola degli Oddi itch for the throats of those of Da Sala. The halberdiers of Mazzaleone formed an iron bar, behind which the men could only show their teeth at one another. As my lord spoke his dearest enemy, Carlo Graziani passed, and he and my lord saluted each other, Graziani with the gravity of his dis- gruntlement. In times of peace a month was barren when there were no broken skulls given and taken between our house and that of Graziani, nor had these men met in many years, save when the common cause of San Moglio called them together. I could see a flame of interest in my lord's face, for it seemed to pique his bold humor. Then all at once his face darkened, and my gaze followed his and fell on my lady talking with Mazzaleone. They conversed together as old friends. At this sight the heads of the company bent toward them like THE NINTH MAN grain in the wind, for my lady was not of San Moglio. A peace offering of Barga to us, the living symbol of Barga 's good faith, she had come here a young bride, a lovely white thing, silent and proud, and as Count Bartolommeo had warmed her in the fire of his love she had warmed toward San Moglio. None of our household knew what had changed her from fire to ice toward him. But changed she was, and the city knew it; and since then it seemed that her heart was ever tugging and straining up toward the Bargese heights. And who knew what her friendship with Mazzaleone might portend for San Moglio? She walked slowly around the assembly, flashing her laughter here and there, at her ease with Mazzaleone. Before Count Bar- tolommeo she paused, and I of many heard her say: "I knew him when I was but a little maid ... in my father's house he was there with a broken wrist. I called him * the lean man Egidio,' and knew no other name." And Bartolommeo joined them in their walk, he also at his ease and smiling. And then there happened a strange thing. THE NINTH MAN It was as if this sight had been some unseen torch and had set to flaming the smoldei ing hates and feuds, the smothered hatreds of years; and now, without a word being spoken, without the outward suavity of the scene being changed, this fire crackled round through the assembly as fire might catch a light festooning of drapery. With hatred came revenge. The thought of the black ballot and its use stalked exultant through us. Enforced peace was upon us, and with enforced peace a handy, silent weapon had Mazzaleone given to San Moglio. Down in the courtyard the men of San Moglio became more restless, and the men of Mazzaleone more alert, and as I went through to bid our torch-bearers be ready, I saw one of the men of Casamatto fling forth his arm, and in his hand was a black ballot. "This," cried he, "for Count Malatesta and his house!" CHAPTER V S he spoke there came up from the town . the roar of a brawling mob. Some were killed that night. . . . All night the sound came to me. The men of Mazza- leone herded home the fighting factions as day broke. By the next day the fire of revenge I had seen start in a ballroom had spread itself through the smallest quarters of the town. Each man saw how he might be revenged upon his enemy. There were few in Moglio who might not profit by the death of some one. Changed was the temper of the town. They had been wallowing in life. Now from one day to another they were wallowing in the thought of death. Eye met eye ques- tioningly, for each man hugged to his bosom the thought of old scores long due. In this temper they continued their rejoicing, and that pallid specter, assassination, rejoiced with them; and with assassination and re- venge smirked along the love of gain, asking: "If you must kill your man, why not kill him whose death will be most to your advantage?" 25 THE NINTH MAN And in this day and the days which fol- lowed I had heard enough of such rumors to sicken me, until revenge for injuries to wipe off old hate seemed to me a clean passion. Then whisperings in corners began, while the braggadocio fellows openly showed their black ballots and talked of what they would do with them. The people became quiet, but there was a tenseness to the whole town, like the draw- ing of a bow across strings taut to the break- ing-point. As the fury of a crowd is worse than the fury of one man, so much more was San Moglio terrible, the whole of it aquiver with its desirous revenge, men and women locking within themselves some secret hate, until the sum of their hates made a whole so dark and sinister that it seemed to me my fair city had become a hell, and I cried out to Mazzaleone: "What have you done to us?" "I only set the men's feet keeping step to the time of Death," said he; "the tramping of many feet to one rhythm, or the beating of many hearts to one love or one hate, is more terrible or more beautiful than any other thing, Matteo." CHAPTER VI T)ONDERING upon the changed face of 1 the town and upon its altered and so sinister temper, I walked slowly through the great hall. What I saw there was nothing, and yet it struck a chill as of death through me. My lady sat by the window with the sun shining square upon her loveliness and upon the gold of her hair; but she was sunk in so deep thought that she was unconscious of all around, as unconscious as one who sleeps. As though she knew not what she did, she played with a black ebony ballot as though it had been a jewel. Her eyes did not leave it, but watched it, as it passed from one hand to the other, as it fell from her hand to the palm outstretched to re- ceive it. Across the room sat my master, Count Bartolommeo Conti, and fastened upon her a look of inconceivable malignity. He also watched the ballot, and he knew and I knew that my lady was not conscious of him nor of me nor of space, nor of aught in all the world but that she held death in her hand, THE NINTH MAN and she was well pleased that she held death in her hand. I had come into the hall with sedate and slow step, thinking to find no one there. And slowly I traversed its long length, but while I was in that room scarcely did my breath come to me. It seemed to me that in crossing that silent room I lived more than the span of years that I had reached, and I pushed through the heavy door; and although I walked so slowly, as though absorbed in my own thoughts, panic was at my heels. I wanted to run from this sight: my master standing there in the insolent pride of his strength, watching my lady, who played so lovingly with the thought of death that she forgot life. As I got through the door it was as though I ran into the arms of my own chattering fright. In the corridor without was Father Giorgio. "Have you seen, Matteo? Have you seen?" he cried at me. His fat cheeks were limp and gray, and it was the first time I had seen he was old. "Oh, my poor Bartolommeo !" he cried. "My poor lady! Have you suffered as OUR BEAUTIFUL AND ARROGANT LADY SAT BROODING THE NINTH MAN much as that? But this can't be! This can't be!" and he shoved out his two fat hands in front of him as if shoving some- thing away from him, and then, half talking to himself and half to me: "Was it not enough that I should see the soul of her frozen in a night, and see the softness of her wither? And I must, too, see this? My poor Bartolommeo ! A hard man he is and a strong man, but before God I swear he is not bad. It was to him only as if he had killed a whining dog. The black night's work it was. The black night's sowing! But not this harvest! You see, Matteo, she must not do this!" In the hardness of my youth there was that in his complete discomposure that disgusted me. I plucked him by the sleeve and said to him in a tone of authority un- becoming in me to use to a priest of God: "Come, Father, who can tell who listens here?" I led him down the long, deep flights of stairs and along the corridors to his own room, wondering into what hell I had now stepped, and frightened that life in my own house, where I served those whom I loved. THE NINTH MAN should turn so ghastly a face upon me. I had often talked in the garden with Simon- etta, my lady's tiring-girl, concerning my lord and my lady. We knew that my lady gave to my lord a cold, unvarying, grave courtesy. We called her among ourselves the most arrogant lady in the land, for we had both seen that she had the highest of arrogance, that which gives to all and asks from none. Pity she gave, and love and tenderness and kindness, to all who needed it. She asked nothing in return, and held herself as one who needs nothing; yet we, who lived so close to her, suspected her of a soft, tender heart, needing all those things and receiving none of them. We remem- bered, too, a time when she gave more to my lord than courtesy, and when he gave less than the jealous love which he now gave her, for he could not let her be, coming near her as though to bruise himself against her calm, as though he would hold her soul as close in his hand as he did her body, and with a fury that this forever escaped him. We knew that her gaiety dropped like a flag of mourning when he came near her; and it was this flame of life that burned so THE NINTH MAN headily within her that made her beloved by all, this and her joy in play, for she played as eagerly as children play, some- times witli a child's serious eyes and some- times with a child's laughter. When her gaiety was at its height she seemed like some wild thing, and those who beheld it must needs run after it. It was like a flashing and scarlet thing. None of this, nor tenderness, was for my lord. This change, so Simonetta said, had come from one day to another. All these things came tumbling through my mind as I traversed the corridors with Father Giorgio, he shaking as with the ague. As he got in his room he turned to me and said: "She has drunken too deeply of the loathing horror of life. This loathing has shaped her into a frightful, tortured thing, and there is no forgetting for her. I know the very night when the flesh of her became so degraded in her sight that she would have rejoiced in a purifying fire that merci- fully could have burned it from her. But he did what he did in anger." He stopped, and then as though he must tell, to relieve his mind of some intolerable 31 THE NINTH MAN burden, said, "There was a girl here once some poor and distant relation of Count Bartolommeo's. You knew her." I nodded. She had been a soft thing too soft for my taste with brown eyes like a dog's. And one day she went away and came back no more, and there had been some gossip, and that was all. "Some months after the girl had gone I sat one night in my room," said he, "and with me Bartolommeo. I heard a whim- pering as of a scared animal, and the curtain was held aside, and there stood my lady, and she pushed the girl in ahead of her; the girl was huddled under a cloak. "'And what do you here?' he cried. 'What do you want?' "'You, my lord,' said my lady, looking at him straight. And the girl bowed her head. "The black fury of the Contis, which kills what comes in their way, came over him. "I told you to begone,* said he, 'and to trouble me no more. Have you come whim- pering back to show your shame?' '"Your shame and hers, my lord,' said THE NINTH MAN my lady. 'Where will you have her hide her shame?' "'Where it will trouble her no more/ cried my lord through his blackness, and he pointed to that doorway." I looked where Father Giorgio pointed, and shivered, for our town is built on a hill, scrambling to its summit no one knows how. A mountain stream cleaves the town in two, cold as ice in midsummer. The garden of the Contis sits with its feet in the water, while that door leads to a narrow corridor and the corridor to a bridge, and thence is a narrow stretch to the town. Far below the bridge runs the silent stream, and many have gone through that door who have never returned. "You come to me for counsel,' he cried, 'and to know where to hide your shame. Now hide it deep and hide it fast,' and he spoke in a tone that no man can resist. He opened the door and bowed low. "My lady stepped up to him, and, 'My lord,' she cried, 'my lord!' He swept her away as though she were paper. '"Pass, Madonna,' said he. "And the girl with the cloak around her 33 THE NINTH MAN bigness passed out before him and stood at the door, shivering. Then he said: " * There are less pleasant ways of dying. Pass!' "She went out into the darkness, whis- pering, and he mocked her as she went, and whimpered after her and closed the door. And my lady said : "'You have rendered a great service, in that you have made my greatest grief my greatest joy, my lord.' '"And what is this joy? 5 he asked. "' That I had no son, my lord. In times of darkness I can remember that and my heart can become glad that I am childless.' "'You are young,' said he, 'and I am still your loving husband. The hour is very late. Let me conduct you to your room.' So he went with her." Then Father Giorgio dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. "I loved him," he said. "I raised him from a little boy and she has made my heart to break with pity and she has death in her hands." CHAPTER VII I FELT that I must leave the house. It was noon. San Moglio sat at meat, but I had stomach for neither meat nor drink this day. I walked up the hill and sought solitude in a little-frequented place hardly larger than a handkerchief at San Moglio's summit. In the shadow of a church portico sat Brother Agnello, and he threw crumbs to the birds. My heart was gladdened that there were those who could feed birds in the sunshine. I sat myself beside him, and a little blond child came up and leaned herself against his knees and reached up shyly for a bit of bread. And some other children joined us, some shyly, some boldly. When all the bread was gone but the last bit, the boldest two quarreled for it, and one snatched it, at which the other wept and said: "I shall tell my big brother what you have done to me and he will kill you with his black ballot." "Ah, but my father," said the other, "will kill him first, for he, too, has a black ballot." 35 THE NINTH MAN "Nannetta has one also," piped one of the little children. "And who will Nannetta kill?" And here, walking with importance, came another child and three smaller children following her at a distance, and those about the knees of Brother Agnello called out, "And who will you kill, Nannetta?" Then she says, with the manners of an heiress: "That is not yet decided. My aunts and mother talk about it all the long day, as do my father and his brothers, and no two of them agree." Her pockets were full of sweet cakes, and these she distributed. But a big, quiet boy, who had borne him- self like a man among his inferiors, spoke up and said, "Nannetta gives herself airs; but there are other children who have the bal- lot." And he pressed his lips together as one who would say no more. "He himself has it," cried a child, and he pointed a chubby finger at his brother. Julio himself has it. I saw him, as he thought I slept, bring it from between his mattresses and look at it." At this they crowded about Julio. THE NINTH MAN "And what will you do with it, Julio? And what doth thy father say?" "Hist!" said he. "My father does not know, nor my mother. I shall kill my mas- ter with it, and then I shall be free. More- over, those children who now use their ballots as their fathers and mothers say are fools, for they must undoubtedly some day work and be bound over as ap- prentices, and they had better kill their masters." There being no more bread, and the noon hour being past, the children ran away, all but the little blond girl, who had remained pressed close to Brother Agnello's side. And now when they were all gone she lifted the skirt of her pinafore and groped in her pocket, bringing from it a ballot which she mutely showed to him; and he, feeling in his scrip brought out its fellow, and the two smiled at each other like children who compare their marbles. "No one knows," she whispered. "She lives with her grandmother," Broth- er Agnello then said to me, "and the old dame is deaf and blind and the little maid too shy to talk to any." 4 37 THE NINTH MAN "And what shall you do with yours?" he asked her, gently. She shook her head. "I know not. And you with yours?" she made bold to answer. "With mine I shall kill myself," said he, in his simple way, "so no blood shall be upon my head." "Then I, too. Then I, too!" she said, clapping her hands. "I, too, will kill my- self like you, Agnello!" At this he was troubled. Then he said: "Why, no! I am as one already dead, so do you cast your ballot for me, and you shall live and not one more be killed besides. So you shall be innocent." With that a light as from heaven streamed over his face, and the little maid clapped her hands, crying: "That I will do! That I will do!" and glad enough that she need not kill herself. But he did not hear her. And I went away, leaving him as one who listens to the voice of God's angels speaking. CHAPTER VIII FOR a time it seemed as though the lust for revenge held sway in San Moglio. None thought of aught but killing, from our beautiful and arrogant lady, who sat brood- ing while she held death in her hand, to the very children who prattled in the street con- cerning whom they would kill. Then came the thought of being killed. It came silently, like a frost in early sum- mer. Death was still the thought of San Moglio, but each man now feared his own. The red desire of killing and of revenge turned pale, and by each man's hearthstone sat a cold little shadow of fear. I thanked God I had made no man my enemy. There were those who had tried to leave the city, but had been turned back with stern menace by Mazzaleone's men, and we knew that those who were caught in attempted flight would be incontinently killed. The fear that sat with us gave bravery to some timid ones, and these the men caught, and such pieces of their bodies as were left when the soldiers were through with them were burned in the public place. 39 THE NINTH MAN Under the stress of fear many an odd marriage took place. It was said that to save her father's life young Concetta da Moreale was married to Bernabo de Monte- marte instead of to Donati, her betrothed, and that the Donati had sworn vengeance on Bernabo, who laughed and said he had not long to live, anyway, and he and his would take life for life. Many an old debt was paid. Enemies of long standing embraced and swore friend- ship, each fearing the other, since no one knew in whose hands death lurked. Simon, the old usurer who lived next me, and had a face like a scholar and talons like a hawk, received threatening letters every day, de- manding of him that he should remit this and that debt; and his wife, almost as great a miser as himself, would come daily to my mother and weep, telling how that as yet he had not remitted one stiver. I had heard that my cousin Gemma was seen of an evening coming out from the back gate of the Mancinis* garden; and stung with shame for all knew young Man- cini, his beauty and his profligacy I waited for her homecoming, and says I: 40 THE NINTH MAN "What now, cousin?" And she looks up at me with a wan smile. "Dying, I please myself, cousin." '"Dying'?" says I, gaping at her. "Aye," says she, "for my two gallants love me so well that each would kill me for the other's spite, and now they have so much for which to kill me, and I have had my heart's desire." So whether in my mother's house or the palace of the Conti, Death brooded. But his darkness was blackest at the palace. Mazzaleone's long shadow was ever at our door and the whole town gaped at the trio of them my lady, rosy as with love, between Mazzaleone, lean and pale as a drawn sword, and Count Bartolommeo, red and powerful in his lusty joy of life. The town talked openly that my lady would kill Bartolom- meo and that then Mazzaleone would find a bride, but none doubted that Bartolom- meo's heavy fist would fall first. So the shadow of death distorted the faces of all dear to me. On my dear lady's it cast a softness and joy more terrible than aught else. She grew young in the presence of Mazzaleone, 41 THE NINTH MAN and when she sat alone she seemed as one who hugs a sweet secret. It was in that day that I shook with an ague of disgust for life, and I wished aloud in my ignorance that death would menace me as well; and then, as if in answer to my wish, there came to me in my room Simon- etta, my little friend, of whom I had less thought of sweethearting than had she been my sister. She had been crying, but now her eyes were clear. As I looked at her she cried: "Oh, Mat- teo, I have had to come to you. Before you die, I want to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you, Matteo." Had not dismay given me thought, I could have seen how vain were my boasts of a love of death. When ever did a young and lovely sweetheart come less desired to any man? I had not sense enough left to play the gallant. "Death?" I cried. "And why death, Simonetta?" "Oh!" she answered, wringing her hands, "it is the shoemaker's lame son, Oreste. He hates you, Matteo!" A weight was lifted from me. I hardly 42 THE NINTH MAN knew the lad. Well I remembered him sitting all day before the cobbler's door, and sometimes dragging his legs painfully be- hind him, like a lame dog. So why should he hate me? So I fell to comforting Simon- etta, and found the comforting of her sweet. But the thought of the shoemaker's son stayed with me and tormented me in my sleep, and in the early morning I made my way to the shop, and he sat in his little chair, grinning horribly. He said: "Ha! you have come. They brought thee word, Matteo. Now it is my turn to love life, for it is better to have crooked legs and live ones than straight legs and dead ones. Be proud of your straight legs while you may, Matteo." And he spoke to me with such spite and such venom that it distorted the face of him. "And what have I done to thee, Oreste?" I cried. "When I was little and would have played with you, you ran away. And what have you done to me?" says he. "Morning and night you have passed me by, a living reminder of what I was and what you were. Morning and night you have made my lot THE NINTH MAN bitterer to me, for all the things that I had not you had. But now I shall soon have that which you have not. Morning and night, when you were wont to pass by here, there will be a happy and rejoiceful time for me instead of one of shame and envy." So astounded was I, I had no word for him, for I had never thought of him. I re- membered, indeed, that when I was a lad I had plagued him, thoughtless, as had the other lads. "But I never hurt you, Oreste," I fal- tered. And he mocked me. "The serene lord has forgotten that he took from me the only sweet thing I ever had. When we were lads, Matteo, I had a little sweetheart. When the others ran away and would not play with me, she sat with me. When they mocked me, she com- forted me. Then you came one day and taught her to play with you, and to laugh at me like the others. Since that day I have known the worth of pity and have taken none of it." Thus he drowned me with the pent-up venom of years. And I had gone to him as- sured that morning, and having found that 44 THE NINTH MAN I had a sweetheart instead of a friend in Simonetta, and feeling no little pride in my- self, therefore, I now slunk away, having received a death-sentence from a mad and relentless judge. I went to my own home, and I had hardly got within the doors when Simon the usurer's wife came crying and shrieking to us. My mother and I ran with her, not making head nor tail of her lamentations. She kept repeating over and over, "He was so afraid of death he has killed himself!" We thought her gone daft, until in the court- yard gate we came upon Simon himself, swinging where he had hanged himself. And he swung to and fro gently in the morning breeze, a wagging pendulum of fear. I was now no more a young philosopher with the keen eyes of Mazzaleone. No longer did I move upon the outside, marvel- ing over the turpitude of men. Now I knew why Gemma had sought her secret and shameful love, and why my lady sat with her black ballot in her hand, and why Simon the usurer had killed himself, for there were times when panic was in my breast and I 45 THE NINTH MAN felt I had best stick my own knife in my breast and not wait for who knows what death at the hands of Mazzaleone. I knew why men and women sat silent and brood- ing, for I sat that way also. I pondered this and that means that I might find of ridding myself of the cobbler's son. So I, together with the rest of San Moglio, brooded with fear in the thoughts of death and thoughts of murder. And the cob- bler's son read my thoughts, for he stayed well withindoors and grinned at me as I passed. For comfort I sought Brother Agnello, and found him preaching to some gaping women at a street corner, telling them that through the mouths of children it had been revealed to him that it was God's will that he should take the blood of San Moglio on him, but his words were to me like the bab- bling of a madman, for I sat now in the dolorous heart of San Moglio and I knew that its heart was full of hate. The sight of him became bitter to me, and it seemed to me I encountered him always when I went abroad, and the blond child with him. Now the children tormented him, now men 40 THE NINTH MAN stopped and listened to him for a moment and passed on, laughing. A few old v/omen listened to him, but for the most part he waited unnoticed up and down the streets or was mocked as a fool. My lady saw him from her window, thus talking at a street corner. "What does the Brother Minor, Mat- teo?" says she. For some time past she had been light of heart; almost had she the gay innocence of a child. It seemed that the aching wound of her spirit had found some ease. "He preaches," I made reply, "that all in San Moglio shall cease from hating and killing and shall love one another." I spoke bitterly. "He begs them to place their bal- lots of death upon him, as he is already as one dead, and he has for disciple this blond child with him." At this she sighs. " Poor, gentle brother !" says she. " Poor gentle flicker of mercy and pity!" CHAPTER IX ATOW together with many others I turned 1\ myself to the church, to try there to find some comfort; and on the next Sunday I and all our household were at mass, and in his insolence Count Bartolommeo had asked Mazzaleone to attend with us, for, like a man who cannot leave a wound alone, but must for ever be picking at it, he seemed to find a perverse pleasure in throwing my lady and our town's conqueror together and watching the joy she had with him. Shy she was with Mazzaleone, and sweetly bold also, as though she had gone back to the days of her little childhood when she had played with the lean man, Egidio. Small comfort was mass to me this day, and small comfort the preaching afterwards for there was in it the fear of hell as though it were not already burned into the heart of each one of us ! "One-ninth of you are to die!' 9 was echoed to us like a tolling bell; more sure than the pestilence, more sure than war. One-ninth of this wicked city was to die, was the com- fort that the priest gave us. It was as 48 THE NINTH MAN though death brooded in a dark cloud over that still and frightened congregation. We were to die, and some of us knew at whose hands, and some did not, and few there were who did not fear the stab in the dark. In that cathedral we all drank deep of the black draught of terror, and the fear in one man's eyes found a mirror in the fear in every other man's, until I believe that as we went out into the sunlight many and many a one was not far from the fear that killed Simon, that intolerable fear of death which prefers death to the fear of death. I know that I should have liked to run from the accursed place, for so was the cathedral to me; and the preaching brother, instead of being a priest of God, seemed to be a priest of Terror itself. As we walked out in the sunlight we saw coming across the piazza a strange proces- sion. At the head was Brother Agnello and the little maid who now no longer quitted him. There was a witless girl following him, with her baby in her arms; and there, strangely enough, was Tommaso, an ar- morer, a man of some substance and ac- credited of hard, good sense; and behind THE NINTH MAN him a tall, gangling youth of good family, but much shunned by his mates as a sense- less sort of dreamer, one Ercole de Fabriano. And this assembly was completed by a little hobbling company of age and misery. Thus they faltered across the piazza, a thin, wavering band of pity. My lady, whose gladness had suffered in the cathedral, as must needs any one in that terrible place of terror, said to Mazzaleone, "This is the Brother Minor of whom I told you, who wishes to take our sins upon himself." Mazzaleone beckoned to him, and his men held back the crowd as Brother Agnello approached. "Tell the people what you wish," says Mazzaleone to him in that gentle voice of his that one hears from so far. Then says Tommaso, with heat, "He sees no sense in your useless slaughter, nor do I, and takes that slaughter on himself; and I, as a sensible man, am with him." "And are you the only man of sense," asked Mazzaleone, "in all San Moglio?" And one would have sworn his voice was sad. "Now speak," says he. Thus was the coal 60 THE NINTH MAN of speech laid upon the lips of Brother Agnello. So there he faced that congregation who, under the ban of death, streamed forth from the cathedral and from hearing the word of God preached to them. And they were held back by Mazzaleone's men. "Oh, my brothers!" cried he. "Oh, my brothers, slay not one another, but cast your ballots for me, unworthy, and deliver your- selves from sin and the pain of death, for I am as one dead." What he said more I could not hear, for a murmur went through the company; then they barked their laughter at him like hungry wolves. Mazzaleone raised his hand and the men set down their pikes which had formed a bar, and the congregation swarmed forth, each man carrying with him his burden of fear and hate, and the little company of mercy was swallowed up. Says Mazzaleone, "It is easy to lead a company to victory with the voice alone, but it is only with a sword one may stop the rout of panic or an army when it loots a town." 51 CHAPTER X 4 S I have shown, each man within our JL\ gates brooded on death; but there were larger doings afoot than such small killings as glut one man's hate or satisfy one man's desire of profit. Higher hates than these there were, and greater discomforts than an older brother sitting in the place that a younger coveted; greater riches to be snatched than that of a relative too slow in dying. The Degli Oddi and the house of Da Sala had long striven for power one with another, and at varying times had split the city in two, and the old rivalry had been given an edge of hate through the marriage of Beatrice degli Oddi to Ugo da Sala, and now they carried on a novel warfare. The rival houses dreamed wholesale assassina- tion for their own ends. There began through the town a buying up of the black vote of death. This I knew because the Conti supported the house of Da Sala, and day by day they met to discuss and to count their gains and whisper among themselves of the activity of their enemy, THE NINTH MAN and though the vote was to be given se- cretly, they devised means by which they might keep an eye upon their own men whom they had bought and mete out pun- ishment to them later, or beforehand fill them so full of the fear of some less easy death that they might be sure of their word. Thus they trafficked for men's lives in men's greed. And I, as scribe, kept the lists. Much talk there was among them as to what black hatred could have possessed the soul of the cobbler's lame son, that his ballot could not be bought from him, for ever he made the same answer to Count Bartolommeo's steward, when asked his price: "Sound legs," says he; "nothing less!" and laughs at himself. One day Ugo da Sala asks, "Are all ac- counted for in your household?" "All but the ballot of my lady," Count Bartolommeo makes reply. "Ah!" said Count Ugo da Sala, "I did not know of hers. And her disposition of it?" "I have my private use for it," replies my lady, and her voice sounded light of heart. 5 53 THE NINTH MAN And at this my hand tightened on the arms of my chair. Meantime the mind of our Podesta, Mes- ser Gubbio di Grollo, had further imagin- ings, and he called together a great conclave of all the principal men and nobles, and in this assembly sat also Mazzaleone and his captains. He was a spare man, Messer Gubbio, with the long face of a horse, and wind, when he talked, as long as his face; but for all that a just man and a man of force. He made a long speech which went to the effect that too long had fear and hatred rioted among us. Since one-ninth of the town were to die, we should turn this fact to our advantage, as a wise man might turn any event in life, however grievous. "So," says he, "let us all sacrifice to the common good our factional hates and our personal revenge. As a vigorous tree ac- quires vigor by pruning, let us prune the town of San Moglio, and let us see that the ninth that are to die shall be those who are not beneficial to a strong state: the weak- lings, the feeble-minded, the paupers, and such few as are bitten with the madness of a too overweening ambition." 54 THE NINTH MAN As he spoke I saw that a great mirth had been lighted in Mazzaleone, and that the so reasonable speech of Messer Gubbio filled him with silent laughter. Messer Gubbio went on to counting out each contrada of the city that lists might be made of those who have the ballot, and how each great house and each man of importance in each contrada should possess himself of the people's confidence. "But," says some one, "what then of the ballots of the poor and the maimed and the unworthy and the weaklings themselves whose pruning shall help our town? What of their ballots? Shall weak kill weak?" "Oh," says Messer Gubbio, "those will be easily bought up for gain." And all in the company nodded and bowed together as gravely and discussed as gravely as the Podesta himself. Only Ludovico da Casamatto, a stern old noble, sprang to his feet, and says he: "Away with your slaughter of your towns- men! My blood be on my own head!" And young Juliano di Donati, a wild youth, but one of great bravery and pride, "And mine, as well!" 65 THE NINTH MAN "And mine!" cries another, a cadet of the Moreale. And Messer Gubbio: "Sirs! Sirs! Are not your lives of more value than those of a witless girl or a blind beggar? Consider." Then cries out the angry old Lord Ludo- vico, "I have considered for the hour past, until the blood of innocents and the unfor- tunates is swilling about my ankles." Now a dispute arose high on this side and that, many for the plan, and some against it. As for Mazzaleone, he took his own terrible and silent joy in the spectacle; as one who bathes upon a hot day, so did he bathe in the ebb and flow of the passions of men. And in the midst of this dispute there came the shrill noise of the singing of chil- dren, and from the back of the hall came down the Brother Minor, Agnello, and the blond child beside him, and following his band, to which had been added a woman or two and some youths and maidens ; and the wavering voices of the old men and the shrill piping of the children cut through th^ talk as a tiny ray of light the black darkness of night. Silence followed in their wake, and all stared at them in amazement. 56 THE NINTH MAN Then says Brother Agnello in his deep voice like a sweet bell, "In the name of Christ, my Master Messer Gubbio." "What do you wish?" says the Podesta. "The gift of five minutes," says he, and smiles upon us. Some there were who cried, "Cast him forth!" And others, "Let him speak." Old Ludovico Casamatto cried out in his hot, angry voice, " Let him speak, say I, for he asks in the name of Christ, and I have heard enough talk in the name of the devil these days past!" He stood before them, his hand on the shoulder of the little maid, as though he were bathed in a pool of light, as though love itself shone from his eyes. "O men of San Moglio," he cried out, "I am sent here that I, who am one already dead, may take away from you your fear. Cast upon me the bond of death, for who are you that you shall judge in this town what ninth are worthy to live and which must die? For who may judge such things but God?" As the first day I had met him he had 57 THE NINTH MAN taken from my lady and myself our appre- hension and left us with peace, so it seemed now that peace streamed from him in a great flood. Then said Ludovico de Casamatto: "Here, brother, take mine, then, and I will go with you. Who follows me?" And many there were who joined him, and a hush fell upon all. Agnello stood awhile and em- braced them in the silence of his regard, and then he walked out in silence from among them into the waiting crowd of poor people and of halt and lame who had heard of the beneficent design of Messer Gubbio and had come to learn their fate. When Brother Agnello appeared, and after him the little company of nobles, there arose a cry from all the stricken of San Moglio, and there were there the sons of women stricken with palsy and the children of blind fathers, and there were there the children of the poor, and they took Agnello up in their arms and bore him along. And the noise of their shouts was the first glad thing we had heard si ace the fear of death had been over us. CHAPTER XI THEY bore him along triumphant on their shoulders, scaling the steep streets of San Moglio, and behind him hobbled the maimed and the very poor, and the very old, and the mothers of feeble children, and all those innocents upon whom great fear had been cast by the wise plan of Gubbio di Grollo. And there came not a few of the nobles and the first men of San Moglio, some sick with the thought of killing, and others drawn by curiosity. They bore him up to the little Piazza Ogni Santi, and he went out on a balcony above a doorway, and all of the misery of San Moglio was packed into this piazza, and the nobles were jostled among them, and far down the streets came others, until every street that led away was packed with the people of San Moglio. They cried out to him: "Are we saved? Tell us, Agnello, are we saved?" He waited until it was quiet through all the place, and then said he: "And who could harm you? For upon me be your blood; for it was for this that I was born." THE NINTH MAN And the words that he spoke, that had once seemed to me the ravings of a madman, now seemed as though they were spoken by the voice of God. I felt, when I heard him speak, as if I had been dying of thirst and he gave me to drink. I had forgotten what hope was, and love, and, lo, here were both. And thus he delivered me, as he did all those wretched ones before him who had had to suffer not only the pains of poverty and of their feeble bodies, but also, under the wise plan of Messer Gubbio, the fear of death. Brother Agnello called forth from all of us those fair things, love and hope, and he linked us together into a mighty army of love, and not one of us who heard him could have lifted his hand to kill his fellow-man. Hate was gone from among us: the San Moglio that I had seen turning to me the face of one who lives in hell was now full of the rejoicing of heaven, and we who heard him speak believed that for this end was Brother Agnello born. Mighty and terrible is the tramping of an angry crowd, and red with lust a city drunk with the love of life, and worse a city that THE NINTH MAN plays with the thought of death and re- joices at revenge, and terrible a city whose face is gray with fear. It seems as if no force there be on earth great enough to over- come such things; and, lo, the voice of one man unfriended, unhelped, with no other weapon but the love in his heart had been stronger than all other things. I joined the crowd that went rejoicing to their homes, transformed from the children of fear and hate to the children of love and pity. But as I went past the cobbler's shop, the cob- bler's lame son sat and grinned his hate at me, and as I went into the great hall Mazza- leone and my lady sat talking in low tones by the window, and she turned away a blushing cheek as though she were his sweet- heart; and Bartolommeo in his lustful pride stood apart and talked with other ladies, yet his eyes rested for ever on the two by the window. CHAPTER XII AS I saw these sights I saw that we were AJL still fast in the mire of hate, but I had seen the hearts of a multitude beating in tune to love; yes, I had seen hate turned into love. Late that day Mazzaleone, as was his custom, had me tell him the things which I had seen in the city, and of what had happened to Brother Agnello; and as I told him my heart beat high, for it was as though I had seen a miracle of God that day. "And so you, Matteo," says he, smiling his wry smile, "believe that this lay preacher has been sent to take the sins of San Moglio on him and to keep the people from glutting their hates?" "Sir," said I, "none could hear him with- out that belief ." He looked at me and there was a sort of pity in his gaze. "Men," says he, "are evil in their ways. Lustful and revengeful, Matteo. And in this town there is many a deep-rooted hate and many an old revenge that has dragged out its long span of years. In these days you and I, Matteo, have seen liate blossom and flower, and in fair gardens THE NINTH MAN have we seen revenge put forth its dark ond powerful roots. Can the few soft words of a preaching boy uproot such revenge as you and I have seen?" "To God in His mercy all things are pos- sible," I replied. "Amen," he answers, "but where do you look here for God? Has He busied Himself in softening the heart of the Da Sala for the Degli Oddi? There is no peace for that old hate this side of death, and I know others more relentless than this. I have put a sure and sharp weapon in their hands and the sight of it has made them all come yapping for blood. What does he offer them, this poor Brother Agnello poor Brother Lamb that shall so slake their ancient thirst for blood? Thirst for blood, Matteo, is sated by one thing red blood sates it. Are Mes- ser Gubbio di Grollo and his friends moved with pity, think you, as they sit even now, seeing what men they may summon to do their merciful work; and what men had he whose hearts chanted love and forgiveness?" "They were the poor," said I, "and women and some nobles, too," I added, stoutly. 63 THE NINTH MAN "How much pity would they have, do you think, if they were offered riches, as they may be, any one of them, by to-mor- row? They are the weak and the poor who form your Army of Pity a little band that to-day sings hallelujah to God, and to- morrow will sell his brother's life for less than twenty pieces of copper. Where your town breeds one Ludovico Casamatto it spawns twenty of the breed of Sala. A knowledge of the hearts of men has been my business these many years." "Hark," said I, for far off they were sing- ing, and this time the piping children were drowned by full-voiced singing of men as a great procession moved along the street. Joy and light walked with them. Gladly would I have joined them. "There are many who are not there," said Mazzaleone in his low, flickering voice. "I do not see the cobbler's lame son." Then he says, after a pause, "And what night shall my men slit his throat for you, Matteo?" I looked at him without answering. "And did you think," says he, "that I would let him wreak his spite upon my 64 THE NINTH MAN friend? It would be a great pity to have so merry a tongue silenced for the whim of a spiteful cripple. I will send my men when you wish this very night, perhaps. For his malicious face does not please me as I go to and fro. What say you, Matteo?" "I say I cannot, my lord," I answered in a low voice. It was as though some one else spoke within me, for God knows life would have been sweet to me without that jeering face that had taught me to know the black heart of San Moglio. That evening, like a fool, I told Simon- etta, and she wept in my arms, crying that I did not love her. "I would kill him," cried she; "I would stamp on him as I would crush a spider," and there came back to me Mazzaleone's words: "And were you to find mercy in the hearts of all men, Matteo, yet would you not have softened the merciless hearts of loving women." I hungered for the peace and rest that death of the cobbler's son would give me, and, doing so, perceived that the whole city of San Moglio was a battle-field as was my own heart; that each soul which had the 65 THE NINTH MAN power of life and death must fight thus dolorously, even as I did. I felt my own weakness, and the words that Mazzaleone had spoken, without love and without hate, from the depths of his knowledge of the hearts of men, echoed themselves in me. As he had said, he had set men's feet keeping step to the tune of death, and Brother Agnello had cried to us above this march of death until all the heart of all San Moglio was torn. It is a strange thing to see a town having to fight life and death within itself. The company of pity which never wavered were happy, and those who sought death always were happier in their own way than those who wavered and swayed, as must I. Many a man I saw, and woman, who were athirst for blood as a hungry man for meat at one moment, and at the next moment put from them all thought of revenge and all thought of death, and then must go a-licking their chops again at the sweet thought of death. When such battles fight themselves out in the silence of a man's soul it is bad enough for him, but when he feels his fel- lows fighting it, when the air is full of it and THE NINTH MAN the town heavy with it; when the sweet faces of girls show its conflicts and the desire to kill comes into the placid eyes of mothers of children, then is one's own torment made tenfold. When Mazzaleone asked me, "And what do you think of it, boy?" I replied to him in my agony: "I think, sir, that the taking of no city could have caused you more pleasure." "I have seen a gallant fight," says he, "and a man lead a forlorn hope." "Then let him win," I cried. "Am I fate or God," said Mazzaleone, "to meddle with this vast spectacle? You do me too much credit. I am only one who sits watching by the wayside without meddling." So the battle raged in me as it did through the city streets and in the houses and palaces, till the town was sick with its own doubts. Even among the houses of Da Sala and Degli Oddi had the voice of Brother Agnello penetrated. "I had thought that this hate was made of harder stuff," said Mazzaleone to me. "Love is a terrible force, Matteo; so strong 67 THE NINTH MAN a solvent of the fierce and strong things of life that we should all beware of it. Few men have used it as a tool, for the reason that love in its pureness is rarer than the rarest jewels." "But many have used hate," I told him, "as you have done. And what of us whose hearts must die on the battle-field of love and hate?" So for that whole week through the battle raged in me as it did through the city. Now I longed for the death of the cobbler's son, and now the thought of having his throat slit in the dark sickened me. When I saw Brother Agnello my soul was bathed in light, and when I went into the shadowed house of the Conti it was as though the soul of me was bathed in blood, for Andrea and Malatesta, the Count's two brothers, were often there, holding long conversations with Bartolommeo about what none doubted, for in the pot-house and in the courtyards of the palaces, and in the palaces themselves, there was talk enough. All knew that Maz- zaleone was with us as if there was his ap- pointed place, and so did our lady receive him. THE NINTH MAN One day Simonetta heard Andrea say to our count, "How now, brother; how long shall this shame persist, and when shall I rid you of it?" "Wait," said my lord count; "there is time enough, there is time enough." "There's never time enough," said Mala- testa, "for a woman to make a plaything of the honor of our house." "Who says that any has done this?" says Count Bartolommeo. "Shall I be coward enough to plunge all San Moglio in blood because of tattling tongues?" He stood there before them, black and powerful, a man to love, Simonetta reported him, for his sure courage and for his inso- lence. Menace there might have been in him, but no weakness ever. Through this blackness my lady walked as though she saw nothing and heard noth- ing, until that I could have cried aloud to her to beware of Bartolommeo and his black brothers. Until each night as she went to her bed I thought that I might never see her again. I knew that Bartolommeo was fight- ing the fight as to whether he should be killed or kill. I knew that he was looking THE NINTH MAN around with that shrewd mind of his to see what road there was to keep my lady and his own life. The days dragged by slow as the coming of death, yet they ran, and each day Mazzaleone said to me, "The days grow short; shall it be to-night?" Each time I shook my head. So for a week all San Moglio fought; now its men and women drew themselves together in a knot of venomous hate, and again, with hearts calm and hate dead in them, listened to Brother Agnello, and none might tell who would gain the victory until but two nights and one day were left us and Si- monetta did not cease to cry. "Let the others listen to Brother Agnello, but be sure that the cobbler's son will not." So at last, for I loved life, "He shall die," I told her. At that she kissed me and left me, and I felt I had betrayed my Master and that the triumph of love was far away; and I wept. CHAPTER XIII I HAD not much time for such womanish moments. Soon Simonetta returned to me, and there was fear in her face. "It is Mazzaleone's bidding that you and I shall come to the foot of the garden," said she. In our house that evening there was a great company assembled, since those who live under such a shadow as we do not love solitude. When we gained the great hall we stood aside while Mazzaleone was talking to this one or that one. Then says he to my lady: "The night is warm. Shall we walk for a while in the garden?" Together they walked forth into the night. After a moment, as we had been bidden, we followed them. Our garden marches down, terrace by ter- race, to the river. A narrow slit it is, and full of solemn cypresses, and at this season full of oleander bloom. It seemed to me as I walked past their ghostly flowers that I had never heard so much rustling among the leaves; unrest was in the air, and fear. I felt that there was some hidden menace 71 THE NINTH MAN about, and Simonetta shivered and slid her hand into mine. Then as we came to the foot of the garden where the high wall keeps out the river, I saw that the wall was alive with Mazzaleone's men-at-arms, and that behind each cypress stood one of the men of the Conti. For a moment my lady stood alone by herself, while it seemed that the night waited, panting; the moonlight fell upon her and I marveled that any woman could look as sweet as she, and so happy, when a sea of blood was lapping at her very feet. It seemed strange that anything with so in- nocent a look could live at the core of so much hate and so much conflicting desire. So for a second it seemed that this night stood quiet to watch her, as did the men hiding in night's darkness. I knew that Mazzaleone's men waited and that among the cypress-trees waited the men of our house, all with their eyes upon her. Then from behind us came the whispering sound of the soft drawing of swords, and I heard the voice of Mazzaleone say: "Quick, toward the wall!" and he stood before her while Bartolommeo and Andrea 72 THE NINTH MAN and Malatesta leaped toward her. There was the sound of the men now unleashed, then her dear voice from the midst of them : "Wait, my lords. It seems that here there is some mistake. And have you thought, Egidio, that my lord Bartolommeo has taught me to trust men so that I would go with you? It is true," says she, "that I have been nursing to myself the thought of escape, and you yourself, Egidio, had given me it. And I thought of that escape in my own death, and for a while, as one dying may wish to drink of a cool cup of water, I have taken pleasure in the friend of my childhood. For I loved your strength and I loved the subtlety of your wit, and they were the fairest things I had ever known. But in these latter days I have seen for the first time a strength that is beyond your strength and a power that makes naught of your subtlety. To this higher strength and power have I given my life. And now I say adieu to you, Egidio, and to you, Bartolommeo, I say adieu." So alone she walked up the terraces one by one, and Mazzaleone's men vanished from the wall, and under each cypress-tree 73 THE NINTH MAN our men stood silent. Half-way up the gar- den she turned to a little door which led over the bridge, and by the door stood two of those whom we afterward came to know as the Poor Ladies of Santa Clara, and she went with them. From the other side of the bridge there came to us the singing of Brother Agnello's company of mercy. Thus Mazzaleone and Bartolommeo suf- fered her to go. For they could have stopped her no more than death, and they could follow her as little as one may follow the soul when it flies from the body. And so they bowed their heads as before death. CHAPTER XIV I COULD not sleep, and before day broke I went forth into the silent streets and mounted to the Piazza Ogni Santi as though in search of Brother Agnello, for my soul thirsted for the sight of him. Though it was yet dark, I found him kneeling there, and with him many of his company of mercy, but he knelt apart as one praying by himself, so I knelt there among the others. And in the dawning light I saw that tears streamed down his cheeks, and I wondered if he, too, doubted. At sunrise he went into the church of Ogni Santi and confessed his sins and prepared as for death, and came forth again, and again knelt. He walked as though he saw no one. But now there was a great peace upon his face, and thus all day he remained. All day he knelt and he spoke not one word nor moved, but knelt there si- lently before God, and silence was upon the piazza where he was. The crowd that came and went unceasing moved as silently as those who carry the dead. And the silence of the piazza gained to the street, and from the street to the houses and the palaces. 75 THE NINTH MAN There was over San Moglio a hush as though the town held its breath in silent prayer. Yes, there was throughout that city the silence of those who pray beside the dead. In the palace of the Podesta sat Mazzaleone, his head sunk in his hands, and saw no one. As noon struck, the silence of San Moglio was broken by the clanking of Mazzaleone's men as they went forth into the great piazza, and there they built a scaffold for the mor- row. The noise of their hammerings echoed through the silent town through the hot hours of the afternoon, but none stopped to watch them, and few there were in the piazza save those who came and went, walking as on some urgent business. For all knew that silent above the town in the Piazza Ogni Santi Brother Agnello sat with God. The noise of the building of the scaffold lasted through the day, and dusk came, and yet went on the noise of building, until at last it stood there complete, a monstrous emblem of hate and the lust of revenge. Brother Agnello sat with God above the town, but as night came Hate came skulking 76 THE NINTH MAN forth. As the city had been quiet through the day, so it was restless through the night, for the scaffold and the darkness between them bred strange doubt in our hearts. Dark groups of people moved restless through the streets up to the Piazza, Ogni Santi, and from there it seemed that they were sucked down to the great piazza against their will. Fear moved among them in the darkness of the night and whispered its warnings into their ears. That quiet, restless ebb and flow of dark forms through dark streets gripped at my heart. I think it seemed to many, as it did to me, that Brother Agnello fought alone against the devils that had so long ruled our hearts. As for me, I fought no more; I strove no more. I was weary with the fight, and with the other drifting shadows I drifted to the Piazza Ogni Santi and back again to the scaffold. And I cared nothing if to-morrow meant life or death, so that it brought peace. I surrendered my spirit to the Brother Minor and found myself praying as if to a saint, "Save us if you can." In that night I ceased to be myself and became a part of the sleepless suspense of that wak- 77 THE NINTH MAN ing town which knew not if to-morrow would see the scaffold an altar or streaming with blood. In the darkest hours I came on a lad I knew blubbering in a doorway. And when I asked him, "Why do you cry?" "I'm afraid of the devils," he whimpered. "The devils run through the streets, Mat- teo. The devils run and I fear them. Stay with me, Matteo." Many there were who said afterward that there were dark shapes among us who were no men of San Moglio; dark shapes herding us back for ever and for ever to the scaffold in the piazza. As the lad shook with fear I sat down beside him, and as I comforted him a wan peace came over me, and I sat there as San Moglio whispered to itself unceasing while it waited sleepless for dawn, as though all San Moglio were but one person, waiting to know if its soul were given to God or the devil. The lad slept a little on my shoulder, and as the first grayness of dawn came he awoke, and we went together to the great piazza, and there on the scaffold we saw standing a dark figure. I knew that this was Brother Agnello. The piazza was full already of waiting people and of the restless 78 THE NINTH MAN sound of their muttering. I heard those who talked of devils and others who had heard children singing. As light came I saw that at the foot of the scaffold sat three of the Poor Ladies, and one of them was my own lady, and leaning against her was the little blond child. Around about were many of Brother Agnello's disciples and many of the company of mercy; and some were so weary that they slept. With the growing light the crowd grew until the piazza was filled with the people of San Moglio. The gray of sleeplessness and fear and doubt was in their faces, and they all looked up to Brother Agnello as though imploring peace from him. Then the sun came and I could see his face. He looked on us with his gentle gaze and with such love as a mother who comforts her sick child and soothes it to rest. So he stood for a long while, and though he spoke no word I have never heard God's Word so truly preached. Then beside me I heard a low sobbing, as of a woman who mourns the death of a dear son. The noise of her sobbing was a little noise, but one that was born in the very 79 THE NINTH MAN heart of grief. I heard a man's voice say, "Do not grieve, mother, since it was for this that he was born." I turned and saw the old woman who had first laughed her joy and revenge, and comforting her was the cobbler's lame son. Many there were who wept, and this low sound so filled our ears that when the trum- pets blared forth and the heralds cried that those with the ballots should form in line, their noise came to me as afar off, as a sound without meaning. As one in a dream I made my way through the crowd and joined the other scribes near Mazzaleone in the loggia. He sat among his captains, very grave and weary, and I knew he, too, had kept San Moglio's vigil. Not once did his eyes leave the Brother Minor. He sat there as one who does honor to a power mightier than his own. Now all was silent. No one moved, no one spoke. And then the silence was rent by the brazen voices of the trumpets and by the heralds crying that the balloting should begin. At that moment, and before any could THE NINTH MAN cast a ballot, Brother Agnello took a short sword from the soldier who stood beside him on the scaffold, and cried out: "O God! accept my life unworthy for the lives of these!" He drove the sword through his heart and thus he died. Then from all that great congregation of people went up a cry to heaven, and all sank upon their knees, while Mazzaleone arose and said to me: "The ballots have been cast." THE END I A 000038069 1