The Shame of Motley | Page 8

time might have inured me; for had I not for
three years already been exposed to rough usage of this kind at the
hands of every man above the rank of groom? And had I once rebelled
in act as I did in soul, and used the strength wherewith God endowed
me to punish my ill-users, a whip would have reminded me into what
sorry slavery had I sold myself when I put on the motley.
It had been snowing for the past hour, and the ground was white in the

courtyard when we descended.
At our appearance there was a movement of serving-men and a fall of
hoofs, muffled by the snow. Some held torches that cast a ruddy glare
upon the all-encompassing whiteness, and a groom was leading
forward the horse that was destined to bear me. I donned my
broad-brimmed hat, and wrapped my cloak about me. Some murmurs
of farewell caught my ears, from those minions with whom I had
herded during my three days at the Vatican. Then Messer del' Orca
thrust me forward.
"Mount, Fool, and be off," he rasped.
I mounted, and turned to him. He was a surly dog; if ever surly dog
wore human shape, and the shape was the only human thing about
Captain Ramiro.
"Brother, farewell," I simpered.
"No brother of yours, Fool," snarled he.
"True--my cousin only. The fool of art is no brother to the fool of
nature."
"A whip!" he roared to his grooms. "Fetch me a whip."
I left him calling for it, as I urged my nag across the snow and over the
narrow drawbridge. Beyond, I stayed a moment to look over my
shoulder. They stood gazing after me, a group of some half-dozen men,
looking black against the whiteness of the ground. Behind them rose
the brown walls of the rocca illumined by the flare of torches, from
which the smell of rosin reached my nostrils as I paused. I waved my
hat to them in token of farewell, and digging my spurless heels into the
flanks of my horse, I ambled down through the biting wind and drifting
snow, into the town.
The streets were deserted and dark, save for the ray that here fell from a
window, and there stole through the chink of a door to glow upon the

snow in earnest of the snug warmth within. Silence reigned, broken
only by the moan of the wind under the eaves, for although it was no
more than approaching the second hour of night, yet who but the wight
whom necessity compelled would be abroad in such weather?
All night I rode despite that weather's foulness--a foulness that might
have given pause to one whose haste to bear a letter was less attuned to
his own supreme desires.
Betimes next morning I paused at a small locanda on the road to
Magliano, and there I broke my fast and took some rest. My horse had
suffered by the journey more than had I, and I would have taken a fresh
one at Magliano, but there was none to be had--so they told me--this
side of Narni, wherefore I was forced to set out once more upon that
poor jaded beast that had carried me all night.
It was high noon when I came, at last, to Narni, the last league of the
journey accomplished at a walk, for my nag could go no faster. Here I
paused to dine, but here, again, they told me that no horses might be
had. And so, leading by the bridle the animal I dared no longer ride,
lest I should kill it outright, I entered the territory of Urbino on foot,
and trudged wearily amain through the snow that was some inches deep
by now. In this miserable fashion I covered the seven leagues, or so, to
Spoleto, where I arrived exhausted as night was falling.
There, at the Osteria del Sole, I supped and lay. I found a company of
gentlemen in the common-room, who upon espying my motley--when I
had thrown off my sodden cloak and hat--pressed me, willy-nilly, into
amusing them. And so I spent the night at my Fool's trade, giving them
drolleries from the works of Boccacci and Sacchetti--the horn-books of
all jesters.
I obtained a fresh horse next morning, and I set out betimes, intending
to travel with a better speed. The snow was thick and soft at first, but as
I approached the hills it grew more crisp. Overhead the sky was of an
unbroken blue, and for all that the air was sharp there was warmth in
the sunshine. All day I rode hard, and never rested until towards
nightfall I found myself on the spurs of the Apennines in the

neighborhood of Gualdo, the better half of