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Updated: June 18, 2025
Both at Milan and Mantua there was great exultation when the news became known; poets and painters alike did honour to the victors: Sperandio designed his noble medal, and Mantegna painted the Madonna della Vittoria to immortalize Francesco Gonzaga's triumph.
The Italians could not hold out against this double attack; the 'furia francese' rendered all their strategy and all their calculations useless, especially as for more than a century they had abandoned their fights of blood and fury for a kind of tournament they chose to regard as warfare; so, in spite of all Gonzaga's efforts, they turned their backs upon the French rear and took to flight; in the greatest haste and with much difficulty they recrossed the torrent, which was swollen even more now by the rain that had been falling during the whole time of the battle.
They had now grown to be a family of such consequence that they could not be offended with impunity, and it was a great misfortune to the Bonacolsi that Francesco happened to covet Filippino Gonzaga's wife.
And thus, being turned from anger, the balance of her mind was quick to adjust itself, and she bethought her that perhaps there was reason in what this knight advanced, and that his reception had lacked the courtesy that was his due. In a moment, with incomparable grace and skill, she had soothed Gonzaga's ruffled vanity, and appeased the Count's more sturdy resentment.
"Did you expect to pelt the enemy with these, or did you reckon upon no enemy at all?" Now this question touched so closely upon the truth, that it fired in Gonzaga's bosom an anger that for the moment made a man of him. It was the last breath that blew into a blaze the smouldering wrath he carried in his soul. His retort came fierce and hot.
With Sister Gonzaga's hands, your voice, and the doctor's yes, I will say with Doctor Bontius' candor, it won't be difficult to recover entirely." "Good, good," murmured the physician. "Kind Sister Gonzaga's injuries are not serious and she will stay with you, but when it is time for you to sleep, you will be moved elsewhere.
Seeking vainly to compose the features that a chilling fear had now disturbed, he turned to see who came. Behind him stood Peppe, his solemn eyes bent with uncanny intentness upon Gonzaga's face. "You were seeking me?" quoth Romeo, and the quaver in his voice sorted ill with his arrogance. The fool made him a grotesque bow. "Monna Valentina desires that you attend her in the garden, Illustrious."
"Nay, I hold Messer Gonzaga's an ill counsel. Show mercy to Fortemani now, where he expects none, and you will have made a faithful servant of him. I know his kind." "Ser Francesco speaks without the knowledge that we have, Madonna," was Gonzaga's rude comment. "An example must be made if we would have respect and orderliness from these men."
With Sister Gonzaga's hands, your voice, and the doctor's yes, I will say with Doctor Bontius' candor, it won't be difficult to recover entirely." "Good, good," murmured the physician. "Kind Sister Gonzaga's injuries are not serious and she will stay with you, but when it is time for you to sleep, you will be moved elsewhere.
Peering cautiously through the arrow-slit, and favoured by the fact that Gonzaga's back was towards him, he saw that he was no more than in time. The courtier was bending down, and by the creaking sound that reached him Ercole guessed his occupation to be the winding of the arbalest string. On the table at his side lay a quarrel swathed in a sheet of paper.
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