Read Online Then and Now by W. Somerset Maugham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: W. Somerset Maugham
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see to the provisioning of the troops.'
'You must be making a pretty penny out of it,' said Machiavelli slyly.
Bartolomeo burst into a fat laugh.
'A bare profit, if that. The Duke isn't a man to trifle with. At Urbino the men almost mutinied over the quality of their food, and when the matter was brought to his attention and he discovered that their complaints were justified, he hanged the three commissioners.'
'I can well understand that it makes you careful.'
They rode out to the camp. It was three miles from the city. There were three companies of fifty lancers under Spanish captains, and a hundred lancers, Roman gentleman who had joined the Duke's army for adventure and to win renown. Each lancer was mounted, and had a page on a pony and an infantryman as attendants. There were twenty-five hundred mercenaries; and the Duke's conscripted soldiers, six thousand of them, were expected to arrive in two days. He had sent an agent to Milan to collect five hundred of the Gascon adventurers who were scattered in Lombardy and another to hire fifteen hundred Swiss. His artillery was formidable and in good condition. Machiavelli was interested in military affairs, of which he had gained some experience in the unsuccessful siege of Pisa, and he flattered himself on his knowledge. He kept his eyes open. He asked a lot of questions, both of officers and men, and sorting the answers, accepting what looked like truth and rejecting what was improbable, formed the opinion that the Duke's force was far from negligible.
On getting back to the city he found a message from Agapito da Amalia to say that the Duke desired to see him at eight o'clock that evening. After dinner he sent Piero over to Bartolomeo's house to tell him that he was to have an audience with the Duke that night, and if Bartolomeo would meet him later at the Golden Lion they might drink a cup of wine together; it was possible that he could only get into communication with Aurelia through her husband and therefore must make friends with him. Bartolomeo was a trusting soul, who liked good cheer and good company, and such a proof of confidence as the envoy of the Republic was now offering could not fail to flatter his conceit.
Machiavelli went to his room and had a siesta, then decided that it would be worth his while to have another talk with Serafina. He had a notion that he could get more out of her than Piero had. She had spoken well of Bartolomeo to him, but that might have been from discretion; if he knew anything about human nature she must be less grateful for the benefits the fat man had conferred on her than resentful on account of those he had omitted. Machiavelli thought himself clever enough to induce her to divulge her real feelings.
When he awoke he strolled downstairs as though to go to the parlour and on his way sang, a little more loudly than was necessary, the catch of a Florentine song.
'Are you there, Monna Serafina,' he said as he passed the kitchen door. 'I thought you were out.'
'You have a fine voice, Messere,' she said.
'A thousand thanks. May I come in for a minute?'
'My eldest son has a beautiful voice; Messer Bartolomeo used often to have him over and they would sing together. Messer Bartolomeo is a bass. It is strange that a man so big and strong should have a voice of so little power.'
Machiavelli pricked up his ears.
'My friend Biagio Buonaccorsi, Messer Bartolomeo's cousin, and I are fond of singing together. What a pity I couldn't bring my lute with me! It would have been a pleasure to me to sing some of my songs to you.'
'But my son left his lute here. He wanted to take it with him, but it's a valuable instrument which was given to his father, my poor husband, by a gentleman to whom he had done a service, and I wouldn't let him take it.'
'Will you let me see it?'
'It hasn't been touched for three years now. I dare say some of the strings are broken.'
But she fetched it and put it in Machiavelli's hands. It was a lovely thing
'You must be making a pretty penny out of it,' said Machiavelli slyly.
Bartolomeo burst into a fat laugh.
'A bare profit, if that. The Duke isn't a man to trifle with. At Urbino the men almost mutinied over the quality of their food, and when the matter was brought to his attention and he discovered that their complaints were justified, he hanged the three commissioners.'
'I can well understand that it makes you careful.'
They rode out to the camp. It was three miles from the city. There were three companies of fifty lancers under Spanish captains, and a hundred lancers, Roman gentleman who had joined the Duke's army for adventure and to win renown. Each lancer was mounted, and had a page on a pony and an infantryman as attendants. There were twenty-five hundred mercenaries; and the Duke's conscripted soldiers, six thousand of them, were expected to arrive in two days. He had sent an agent to Milan to collect five hundred of the Gascon adventurers who were scattered in Lombardy and another to hire fifteen hundred Swiss. His artillery was formidable and in good condition. Machiavelli was interested in military affairs, of which he had gained some experience in the unsuccessful siege of Pisa, and he flattered himself on his knowledge. He kept his eyes open. He asked a lot of questions, both of officers and men, and sorting the answers, accepting what looked like truth and rejecting what was improbable, formed the opinion that the Duke's force was far from negligible.
On getting back to the city he found a message from Agapito da Amalia to say that the Duke desired to see him at eight o'clock that evening. After dinner he sent Piero over to Bartolomeo's house to tell him that he was to have an audience with the Duke that night, and if Bartolomeo would meet him later at the Golden Lion they might drink a cup of wine together; it was possible that he could only get into communication with Aurelia through her husband and therefore must make friends with him. Bartolomeo was a trusting soul, who liked good cheer and good company, and such a proof of confidence as the envoy of the Republic was now offering could not fail to flatter his conceit.
Machiavelli went to his room and had a siesta, then decided that it would be worth his while to have another talk with Serafina. He had a notion that he could get more out of her than Piero had. She had spoken well of Bartolomeo to him, but that might have been from discretion; if he knew anything about human nature she must be less grateful for the benefits the fat man had conferred on her than resentful on account of those he had omitted. Machiavelli thought himself clever enough to induce her to divulge her real feelings.
When he awoke he strolled downstairs as though to go to the parlour and on his way sang, a little more loudly than was necessary, the catch of a Florentine song.
'Are you there, Monna Serafina,' he said as he passed the kitchen door. 'I thought you were out.'
'You have a fine voice, Messere,' she said.
'A thousand thanks. May I come in for a minute?'
'My eldest son has a beautiful voice; Messer Bartolomeo used often to have him over and they would sing together. Messer Bartolomeo is a bass. It is strange that a man so big and strong should have a voice of so little power.'
Machiavelli pricked up his ears.
'My friend Biagio Buonaccorsi, Messer Bartolomeo's cousin, and I are fond of singing together. What a pity I couldn't bring my lute with me! It would have been a pleasure to me to sing some of my songs to you.'
'But my son left his lute here. He wanted to take it with him, but it's a valuable instrument which was given to his father, my poor husband, by a gentleman to whom he had done a service, and I wouldn't let him take it.'
'Will you let me see it?'
'It hasn't been touched for three years now. I dare say some of the strings are broken.'
But she fetched it and put it in Machiavelli's hands. It was a lovely thing
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