THE EYES OF A BASILISK

(AN EPISODE OF THE FRENCH WARS IN ITALY, FROM THE MEMOIRS OF THE GOOD
KNIGHT YVES D'ALLEGRE)

I

There is not one that looketh upon her eyes but he dieth presently.
The like property has the basilisk. A white spot or star she
carrieth on her head and setteth it out like a diadem. If she but
hiss no other serpent dare come near.--PLINY.

A strange story is mine, not of love but of hatred, the slow coiling of
a human serpent about its prey, with something more than human in the
sudden deliverance which came from so unexpected a quarter when all hope
had gone and struggle ceased.

Certes, I am not one of your practised romancers thus to reveal my plot
at the beginning, and yet, with all I have told, you will never guess in
what mysterious guise, yet so subtly that it seemed a breath of wind had
but fluttered a leaf of paper, the enemy we feared was struck with such
opportune paralysis.

Let those who doubt the truth of this tale or the existence of the
basilisk question Cesare Borgia, for we saw the creature at the same
time as we rode together near Imola in northern Italy. It was the
beginning of that campaign in which I, much against my will, was in
command of the French troops, which his Majesty Louis XII. had sent to
aid his ally in the conquest of Romagna. I would far liefer have gone
with my brother knights deputed to sustain Louis's right to the
Milanese, for it is one thing to fight honourably for France and
another, as I soon discovered, to aid a villain in the massacre of his
own countrymen, and all for aims in which I had no interest. But it was
only by degrees that I was enlightened concerning the character of
Borgia. He was brave beyond doubt, and courage had for me great
fascination. I never saw him flinch but once, and that before a thing
which seemed so trivial that I counted it but a matter of physical
repulsion.

[Illustration: _Alinari_

Caesar Borgia]

We were riding thus side by side in advance of our men, when a small
snake darted from the thicket and hissed its puny defiance. I stooped
from my saddle, impaled it on my sword, and waved it writhing in the
air. But Cesare, to my astonishment, turned deadly pale and galloped
incontinently in the opposite direction.

When I rejoined him after throwing the reptile into the underbrush he
explained the seizure. The astrologer, Ormes, had predicted that he
would meet his death neither from natural s