# Brazenhead in Milan/Chapter 6
### CHAPTER VI.
#### DESPERATE DOINGS WITH A BISCAYAN.

When he was told off for the duty of strangling three ruffians who lay chained in the well of Santa Chiara, Captain Brazenhead hesitated, but only for a moment. It appears that, for once, he doubted of his prowess. "'Tis true, I once hanged a running dog, when I was a lad," he allowed; "but since then the sword hath been my arm; and sometimes the long-bow, sometimes the long-bow. Yet tell me over their names and conditions, that I may consider them."
The three prisoners, they told him, were Lo Spagna, Squarcialupo, and a nameless young man, an Egyptian. Lo Spagna was a one-armed man of surpassing strength and infamous conversation, consorting with Hussites and Waldensians, suspected of a plot to take off the Duke in the Sacrament. Squarcialupo was old in sin. He had been in the galley at Lerici, and having torn up a bench with his teeth, had used it as a club and freed himself. Retaken at Bergamo, he had been offered his freedom upon condition that he would eat one of his fellows on the chain, and had shortly refused. "A very contumacious villain," was Captain Brazenhead's comment; "but too good for the cord. Well, and who is your third?"
Nothing was known about the Egyptian, save that he had a ragged ear, and was branded on the shoulder with a galloping horse. "Why," says the Captain, "and how else would you brand an Egyptian? But continue." This Egyptian, they said, was in the Well, on the information of the Augustinian Order, for atheism. At this the Captain's eyes showed a dangerous light. "What! he denies God! If he does so, he strangles; but I'll never believe it of any but the Jews."
There seemed no room for doubt, however. The proof was that when he was put before an image of the Holy Virgin, he addressed it in an unknown tongue, which was exactly what a man would do when he intended to deny her divine attributes.
The Captain shook his head. "It looks black against him, and so it does. I take a whipcord in my poke for this renegade. He shall say the Ave backwards before he chokes."
One whipcord, then, three sacks, and three swords besides his own, formed his equipment for the execution of the Law's decree. "There may be nothing in it, after all," he considered; "and I'll not spoil sport until I am obliged." It will be seen that he again intended to temper justice with hard knocks.
To the Pozzo Santa Chiara he strode in his awful array, and was lowered into it by a bucket on a windlass. Now, the well was literally that, thirty feet deep and fifteen across. In the midst was a brick pier, to the which the three condemned ruffians were fettered, two by the leg and one by the neck. The rains might rot and the sun shrivel them, for all was open to the sky.
The dreadful apparition of a man, whiskered, gigantic, masked, clothed in blood-red, with four swords under his arm, three sacks over his shoulder, and the end of a whipcord hanging from his trunks, produced its unfailing effect. The chained wretches backed the length of their tether, and squatting on their hams, blinked and gibbered at their doom. The Egyptian, clasping his brown knees in his bands, buried his face between them and appeared to be praying to the devil.
Nothing in the executioner's first words extenuated their despair.
"Friends of Misery," he said, "you bond-servants of concupiscence, an offended God and the Law's sacred nature alike demand your righteous extermination. They demand it of me, Testadirame, and it is not likely that I shall fail them. Prepare then to account for the uttermost farthing of your debts, and see me notch the tallies, by Cock." The Egyptian did not move nor cease his prayers; Squarcialupo sniffed through one nostril, while he held the other firmly against his knee. "Stand up, Lo Spagna," the Captain roared, "stand up, you left-handed devil, and meet Testadirame, drinker of blood."
The little, black-bearded, snub-nosed man bent nearly double amidships, shuffled to his feet, and saluted the dreadful swordsman. He, erect and discerning, assorted him at once.
"There is this to be said of thee, Lo Spagna, that if thou hast lost an arm, thou canst spare it better than most. That which thou hast is too long by cubits. What, Barbary, canst thou scratch a flea? Canst thou pitch a cocoanut? Ha, tree-topster, show thy tail, then."
At this shocking mirth Lo Spagna mouthed uneasily, and uneasily rubbed his knee. Captain Brazenhead shook his sword at him. "Say the Credo, thou toe-fingered mock man, say the Credo, or I lop thee into firewood lengths, for the doubter I believe thee." By, a pardonable confusion he had supposed him the atheist of the party, and was agreeably surprised. "Credo in unum deum omnipotentem," the fellow quavered forth, and finished without a throw-back. By force of habit his yokemates quired Amen.
So far the wretch had cleared himself. "This is indifferent well," admitted his executioner, and bent frowning brows upon Lo Spagna, considering how he should most surely convict him of sin. "Now listen to me," said he, sure of his man. "Thou hast crossed the Bidassoa."
Accusation of an unheard of crime caused the little man to dance up and down, like a bear asking for supper. He protested vehemently. "Never, my lord, by all my hopes! I would not do it—I should shame to do it—oh, that I should live to be accused of such a deed! I am an old Christian, my lord, a very old Christian, and the only cross I know is that of salvation." He began to chant: "O Crux! O Crux, spes unica! O lignum vitæ stirps Davidis! O sæccula sæculorum!" And looking keenly up: "You see that I have my clergy."
But the Captain spurned him. "I see that thou art a very vile Biscayan, clergyman or none. Yet for the sake of a little person, known to me in Bilboa, when I was there in '89, thou shalt fight with me for thy deplorable life. I had believed thee an atheist, upon my soul, and had a cord for thy wry neck. 'Tis better for thee to be a one-armed ape of Spain than so outrageous a fellow. Hold thee still now, while I loose thy fetter."
The little man was loosed, and slowly, pleasurably, straightened himself.
"By stretching," said the Captain, "thou mightest reach my nipple yet. Horrid food for thee there, Biscayan. Take now what blade thou wilt. This of Ferrara is the longest; have thou that. Stay a little. Tie me up my right arm with this cord, wherewith I shall shortly strangle the atheist, when I have found him. Tie me close, dog. Dost thou think that I would crow over a Biscayan the less?" Deftly Lo Spagna bound him up, and they began their bout. The other pair, squatting by the pillar, watched and wondered and hoped greatly.
The Biscayan, if such he was, proved himself a marvel of his age and nation. Such agility, lightning advance and retreat, thrust and parry had scarcely been seen since Bernard del Carpio engaged the dwarf Malimart. He would run in, drive and duck; then turn and fly like the wind. Such were his tactics. Twice Captain Brazenhead, thinking to have him, chased him round the limits of the well. But Lo Spagna ran so fast that he caught his enemy up. Pursuer became pursued; the unchivalrous might have said it was the greater man who ran, the justiciar who fled from justice; but we know that it could not be so. Pursuing who might, they ran like greyhounds: then to it again, one, two, one, two, until for a third time the Biscayan, stooping, ran in and delivered his point. Turning immediately, he ran, his fate after him. Captain Brazenhead chased Lo Spagna, Lo Spagna sped faster and chased Captain Brazenhead. Then suddenly, as they slipped round like beetles in a cask, the Egyptian edged out a foot and brought the Captain down. Was this treason? I fear it. Lo Spagna buffeted into him and flew over his head, his length on the floor. Immediately Captain Brazenhead arose, set his foot on the other's chest, and nicked the point of his sword into his throat. "I dig—thou diest—is a good verb, and an active verb. Phew! Bilboan, thou art a monarch of the chase. Say thy prayers now, say thy prayers, for I must kill a man this day—and why not thee? But that none shall say that I deal unfairly by a fine little rogue, have at thee left-handed. Now beware."
The Biscayan writhed under the sword's point. "One word, one word, noble enemy," he faintly urged.
"Say on, dead man." It had been fine to have watched the Egyptian just then—the pondering, sphinx-like face he had.
"That little person of my people known to your Excellency—had she a red poll?" Thus far the Biscayan. The Captain's eyes grew dreamy.
"It was something reddish. There was a tang. I know that I called her Judas when I was merry, and Foxy when she crossed me."
"And her eyes, noble sir? Her fair eyes?"
"They were not what you would call a pair," said the Captain. "But one was well enough, inclining to the yellow. With that she could make pretty work, I assure you."
"And so she could," the Bilboan said, "and I should know it, for she was my aunt."
Starting, Captain Brazenhead somewhat recoiled, and in so doing plucked his sword out of Lo Spagna's neck with the kind of noise you make when you draw a cork. A spasm of pain contracted the prisoner's features; but in his eyes hope shone bright. As for Captain Brazenhead, he knew that he must once more have mercy. "Cock's body, and is the world so paltry small?" The sword's point drooped nerveless to the ground. "I spare thee, Bilboan, for thy aunt's merry sake. Thou mayst bless her name in thy prayers."
"She was a fine woman," said the little man, sitting up and closing the wound in his neck. "May she go with God!"
"She was a knowing one," replied Brazenhead. He turned to his business. "Into the sack with thee, Barbary, and lie quiet until I have done with those pampered rogues." Here the Egyptian wetted his lips,
"Sir," said the Biscayan, "I will help you there, if I may, for my aunt's sake."
"By Cock, and you shall!" the hero cried. "A main! a main! Three arms to four! Stand up, you drolls."
He turned short upon the chained men, who were already on their feet, a murderous couple: the one, a square-headed, heavy man of past middle life, with hanging chops and not a hair upon him; the other, the Egyptian, hatchet-faced, lithe, and walnut-brown, with restless eyes which could never meet yours, and tight lips never soothed by smiling. The bigger was enormously strong. His muscles rippled as he moved, like incoming waves. The younger was all wire and brain; no ruth was in either, nor law, nor quarter. Captain Brazenhead sized them up and down when he had set them free.
"Now, my bravoes," he said, "we shall have sport. You know my way, and if ever I saw rufflers, ambushmen behind a hedge, or outlaws in a clump of scrub, then do I know your way also." He flung two swords with a generous gesture at their feet, then balanced his own. "Take your fancy, little men, and get to work. There's light enough for the game we play, and a rare game it shall be." The Bilboan lined up with him. and he set on with a shout.
A further episode in the career of Captain Brazenhead in Milan will appear in the next number.