Antwerp (Belgium) -- History -- 16th century -- Fiction
"How visibly it has diminished!" he said, sighing. "I believed my treasure
inexhaustible, and by one thought the twentieth part has disappeared. Will
it not go as fast in Germany? Will not gambling and drinking deprive me of
the whole in a few months and leave me in misery? What sombre thoughts! A
moment ago, and everything wore a smiling aspect; now, my mind is tortured
by fear and anxiety. But why need I be troubled? When I have spent the two
hundred crowns, Signor Turchi will send me more. But it is not well to
rely too much upon that; his head may fall under the axe of the
executioner. In that case I would be as badly off myself. The discovery
would drive me from Germany into Netherlands or Italy. Instead of living
in luxury, I would infallibly fall into the lion's jaw, and the gallows or
the wheel would be my well-merited fate. But if the murderer of Geronimo
be not discovered, I can return quietly, and my master would receive me
kindly for fear I would betray his secret. That depends in a great measure
upon my care in acquitting myself of the task entrusted to me. I will
accomplish it loyally and well. The sight of this gold no longer gives me
pleasure. A full cup of wine first, and then to work bravely!"
He uncorked one of the bottles and half emptied it; then muttering a few
words as to the strength and energy imparted by the liquor, he took the
lamp, and fixing his eye on the bottle, said:
"It will take me only a few minutes to throw the body into the grave and
fill it up; but the rest of the work will require more than an hour. That
is a long time to be separated from you, is it not? To keep me company, I
will take the half-empty bottle; that will not hinder me from doing my
duty properly; on the contrary, it will give me courage and strength. Now
to work!"
He re-corked the bottle, put it inside of his doublet, took the lamp, and
slowly descended the staircase.
The passage leading to the cellar in which Julio had thrown Geronimo's
body was rather long, and he had time to feel the effect of the wine, and
it so raised his spirits that he commenced jesting about hid past anxiety,
and on nearing the cellar he sang the first notes of a joyful song.
But the words expired upon his lips, he trembled in every limb, and turned
ashy pale.
A voice answered him from the cellar.
Immovable from terror, Julio fixed his eyes upon the door, and strove to
comprehend the words which fell indistinctly upon his ear.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed, "it is Geronimo; he lives!"
Shuddering, he withdrew a short distance down the passage, and was for a
time as motionless as a statue. At last, with deep emotion, he said:
"What can this mean? The signor said at the first thrust his dagger met
metal, but that the wound in his neck was deep. Suppose it were merely a
flesh-wound? What shall I do? Shall I let him live?"
He was painfully undecided.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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