At Valsecca, the regular posting-station between Vercelli
and Pianura, he sent Cantapresto forward to the capital, and in a stormy
yellow twilight drove alone across the waste land that dipped to the
marshes. On his right the woods of the ducal chase hung black against
the sky; and presently he saw ahead of him the old square keep, with a
flight of swallows circling low about its walls.
In the muddy farm-yard a young man was belabouring a donkey laden with
mulberry-shoots. He stared for a moment at Odo's approach and then
sullenly returned to his task.
Odo sprang out into the mud. "Why do you beat the brute?" said he
indignantly. The other turned a dull face on him and he recognised his
old enemy Giannozzo.
"Giannozzo," he cried, "don't you know me? I am the Cavaliere Valsecca,
whose ears you used to box when you were a lad. Must you always be
pummelling something, that you can't let that poor brute alone at the
end of its day's work?"
Giannozzo, dropping his staff, stammered out that he craved his
excellency's pardon for not knowing him, but that as for the ass it was
a stubborn devil that would not have carried Jesus Christ without
gibbing.
"The beast is tired and hungry," cried Odo, his old compassion for the
sufferings of the farm-animals suddenly reviving. "How many hours have
you worked it without rest or food?"
"No more than I have worked myself," said Giannozzo sulkily; "and as for
its being hungry, why should it fare better than its masters?"
Their words had called out of the house a lean bent woman, whose
shrivelled skin showed through the rents in her unbleached shift.
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