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Updated: June 4, 2025
That unspeakable vagabond, Mariani, who had known the man and had ministered to his vices in one or two other places, kissed the ground, in a manner of speaking, before him, and shut him up with a supply of bottles in an upstairs room of his infamous hovel. It appears he was under some hazy apprehension as to his personal safety, and wished to be concealed.
It is thanks to your daring and resource that the seneschal Mariani was able to bring me this letter, this piece of culminating proof against Ramiro del' Orca. It is fortunate for you that Mariani was not put to it to ride to Faenza to find me, or else I am afraid we had not reached Cesena in time to save your life. I met him some leagues this side of Faenza, as I was on my way to Sinigaglia."
"It is I Mariani the seneschal," came the old man's voice, very softly, but nevertheless distinctly. "They have taken the key." I groaned, then in a gust of passion I fell to cursing Ramiro for that precaution. "You have the letter?" came Mariani's voice again. "Aye, I have it still," I answered. "Have you seen what it contains?" "A plot to assassinate the Duke no less.
The Governor of Cesena straightened himself from his task, pulled the pike from the flames, and restored it to the man-at-arms. Then turning to Mariani: "Fetch me wine," he bade him curtly, as he seated himself once more upon the chair from which he had risen to perform that deed of ghastly ruthlessness.
I brought my teeth together and stood breathless in apprehension, fearing that the noise might awaken him, and cursing myself for a careless fool to have forgotten those infernal bells. Above me I heard a warning hiss from old Mariani, which, if anything, increased my dread. But Ramiro snored on, and I was reassured.
Instantly I dropped on all fours, lest Ramiro, awaking suddenly, should turn; and I waited for the least sign that should render advisable my seeking the cover of the buffet. In the gallery above I could picture old Mariani clenching his teeth at the noise, his knees knocking together, and his face white with horror; for Ramiro's snoring had abruptly ceased.
An elderly man who stood beside him one Mariani, the seneschal of Cesena stepped forward also, solicitude in his glance. "Bring me wine," bawled the ogre. "Must I tell you what I need? If you do not put those eyes of yours to better service, I'll have them plucked from your empty head. Bestir, animal." The old man caught up a beaker from the buffet and handed it to the boy.
For just an instant I allowed myself to be tortured by the hope that a miracle had happened, and here was Cesare Borgia come a good eight hours before it was possible for Mariani to have fetched him from Faenza. The same doubt may have crossed Ramiro's mind, for he changed colour and sprang to the door to bawl an order forbidding his men to lower the bridge. But he was too late.
It was also the time when the floating "shopping women" drifted in to reinforce their luncheons with Timmins' artfully veiled alcoholic preparations. His row of bottles labelled "Vin Mariani," "Moxie," and "Nervura" were never empty, and the oldest toper would have found them veritable "well springs of joy in the desert."
It was the face of Mariani, the seneschal of the Castle of Cessna. One glance we exchanged, and intuitively I seemed to apprehend the motive of this midnight visit. He came either to bring me aid or to seek mine, with vengeance for his guerdon. I stood aside, and silently he entered my room and closed the door. "Quench your taper," he bade me in a husky whisper.
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