"There is ill news," he said at last. "Cavalcanti is in a raging fever,
and he is sapped of strength, his body almost drained of blood. I even
fear that he is poisoned, that Farnese's dagger was laden with some venom."
"0, surely...it will be well with him!"I faltered. He shook his head
sombrely, his brows furrowed.
"He must have been stark mad last night. To have raged as he did with such
a wound upon him, and to have ridden ten miles afterwards! 0, it was
midsummer frenzy that sustained him. Here in the courtyard he reeled
unconscious from the saddle; they found him drenched with blood from head
to foot; and he has been unconscious ever since. I am afraid..." He
shrugged despondently.
"Do you mean that...that he may die?" I asked scarce above a whisper.
"It will be a miracle if he does not. And that is one more crime to the
score of Pier Luigi." He said it in a tone of indescribable passion,
shaking his clenched fist at the ceiling.
The miracle did not come to pass. Two days later, in the presence of
Galeotto, Bianca, Fra Gervasio, who had been summoned from his Piacenza
convent to shrive the unfortunate baron, and myself, Ettore Cavalcanti sank
quietly to rest.
Whether he was dealt an envenomed wound, as Galeotto swore, or whether he
died as a result of the awful draining of his veins, I do not know.
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