He who neglects what is done for what ought to be done, sooner effects his ruin than his preservation.
Machiavelli, the Prince, Chapter 15
“Is the report true?”
“Yes, my lady,” said the messenger. “I am afraid it is. The Prince marches at the head of an army of five thousand.”
“What else have you learnt?”
“Five hundred of his best knights are in the vanguard. In all there will be a thousand horse at his disposal when the Duke of M- arrives.”
“And what about the Prince himself?”
“They say he is happy to be at their head since it is a while he has taken up arms. He is dressed in a new suit of armour with a coiled red codpiece.”
“No wonder,” said the Countess, “he has broken his bank.”
The Countess threw up her arms and turned to the Lady di Belvedere. ‘Does he expect me to fill his coffers once again?”
The Countess of V- had once been in love with the Prince.
The Prince whose coiled red codpiece stirred her imagination even in recollection, was charming and witty and dazzled her with an array of gifts including a dashingly written sonnet in the Petrarchan form, a baby leopard and a score of peahens and peacocks. And yet now he had declared war on her. The Prince, like all men of power, was treacherous.
“I will have them all stuffed,” she muttered. “No, correct that, I will stuff them down his codpiece!”
Now, as she paced her chambers, fretting over her plans, her friend the Lady di Belvedere sought to give her courage.
“Take heart, Contessa,” she said. “Your Captain is a fine soldier and leader of men. If there is a man who can defeat the Prince, he will find a way.”
“While it is true the Captain is a fine soldier,” said the Countess, “when a man is outnumbered two to one, it becomes more a test of his moral character than his military intelligence.”
“Contessa, the Captain is a man of honour. He has sworn allegiance to your cause.”
“Be that as it may,” said the Countess, “a man of honour is also a man of fortune, especially when he does not hold the purse strings.”
Of the impending battle there came conflicting reports. The first messenger told that Captain whose name was Antonio Furioso had taken up his position on the high ground around the hill of Montepeloso and was prepared to defend it with his life. The second messenger came and informed the Countess that the Duke of M- was marching to join forces with the Prince and would soon be at the foot of the aforementioned hill, that is the Hairy Hill (so called because there was a copse and nothing to speak of around it). The truth of the matter came with the third messenger. While the Duke of M- had not arrived upon the field, Captain Furioso had thrown in his lot with the Prince and now they marched together on the city. “It cannot be,” said the Lady di Belvedere. “The Captain would surely not betray us.”
But the Countess did not show her despair or feign incredulity. “Come,” she said, “there is no sense in us wasting time here. We will retire to the Monastery of Sant’ Anna. The abbot is my friend. He will give us protection.”
Meanwhile, as the Countess and the Lady di Belvedere beat their hasty retreat to the monastery of Sant’ Anna, Captain Furiosa was in conference with the Prince.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” declared the Prince having listened the report of spy. “The Countess is now is the guest of the abbot of the Monastery of Sant’ Anna.”
The Prince was laughing gaily as he spoke. “I cannot imagine the Countess as a nun. But I will give my eye teeth to be her brother for one of night.”
“Principe,” said the Captain, joining in the banter, “the Contessa is not to be underestimated in her devotion, and nor I believe is her sister.”
“I was not aware she had a sister.”
“Not only of her flesh, though her flesh be rare, but also of her spirit.”
“Who do you speak of?”
“The Lady di Belvedere.”
“In that case we shall both be piously entertained. My sword may not have been put to use, but it has not forgotten the way to the bedchamber.”
“Principe,” said the Captain, “neither of us shall rest in a monk’s cell tonight.”
In the chapel adjoining the monastery the Prince found the Countess. She was kneeling in prayer before the simple altar with a modest icon of the Saint. The Prince knelt down beside her. In her hand was a book. She clasped it to her all through her silent prayer.
The Prince could help admiring her sense of devotion, nor could he deny how prettily her kerchief framed her pale features and her forehead strained with pious thoughts.
It was the Prince who broke the silence.
“Contessa,” he said, “perhaps we can take a turn in the cloister to discuss our business.”
“Principe, is it your custom to show such impatience in the house of God?”
“Forgive me,” said the Prince, “I did not mean to step out of place.”
“Yet now you intend to step in my place.”
“Au contraire, I am happy for you to step within my place or without this place.”
The Countess offered the Prince her hand.
She stood up, and he escorted out into the cloister.
“I would like to believe you, Principe. You will have me as your vassal. I cannot see that is much of a place.”
“However, my lady,” said the Prince, “if we join hands, you will have your place as my equal, as well as my place in Lombardy.”
The Prince’s meaning was clear, but the Countess feigned ignorance.
“You are too good to me,” she said. “You will swear it by this good book.”
“I will swear it,” said the Prince.
“And you will not do me down?”
“Contessa, I will not do you down. I only seek your happiness.”
They talked on for half an hour or more until the Countess seemed satisfied.
“Now,” she said, “we have this understanding. You will take this book as a token of my regard and a reminder of your pledge.”
The Prince retired to his room.
The following morning his door was closed.
Captain Furioso smiled. The Prince had been successful.
When the Prince did not appear, however, he grew anxious and knocked on the door. There was no answer.
Captain Furioso entered the room. The Prince was lying with his head back. A book was in his hand.
The Captain chuckled to himself as he picked up the book. “So it is, Principe, in love and war.”
Several hours later, the Countess was called to the Prince’s quarters by the abbot.
Entering the prince’s room with her, the Lady di Belvedere let out a cry.
On the floor beside the prince lay Captain Furioso with a book in his hands.
“Do not touch it,” said the Countess.
The Countess, who was wearing gloves, picked up the book and opened it. “See the illustration here,” she said, “it was done by the one of the monks under the abbot’s charge.”
When the Lady di Belvedere saw the curse, hidden in the colophon, she bemoaned her fate. “As this book is cursed,” she said, “so my life is cursed.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” said the countess. “Now you are free to live your life as you please.”
Lady di Belvedere wiped her tears, though she knew she would be forever tied and bound to her mistress.