The Silver Devil (27 page)

Domenico
did not answer; he was studying the play of light on the jewel that hung around
his neck.

Sandro
said dryly, "No one is like to tell them they are being hoodwinked."

"They
are not blind—nor forgiving once they have been slighted. Cabria has enough
enemies to spread a tale like this: Rome, the Spanish states, Romagna, and
Naples. They would delight in turning our few allies against us. Venice plays a
waiting game in case we should threaten to join with the Turks and sail against
them; Ferrenza holds to us by old marriage ties: but Urbino and Milan would
never stomach such an affront. If they were to learn that their ambassadors had
done reverence to a paramour of yours, they would join with our enemies and
bring the whole state down in revenge."

Sandro
opened his eyes wide. "I did not think you were so unworldly, my
lord," he said blandly. "Paolo Orsini lived openly with his mistress
before he married her, and it is common knowledge that for twelve years the de
Poitiers woman was treated as Queen of France. Men are not so scrupulous."
His eyes were smiling, but in them was the hard look I remembered seeing
before.

"Neither
the Orsini nor the Valois trod a knife's edge on the brink of damnation. I tell
you we need every fingernail of advantage! When there have been Raffaelle dukes
for five hundred years, then perhaps they may flout opinion. But now we must be
cautious." The archbishop looked at Domenico, waiting indifferently for
the debate to end. "Nephew, answer me this one question. What will you do
when the time comes for your true bride to take her place?"

The
beautiful mouth twisted.. "Marry her. Spare your breath, Uncle; the
ambassadors will not question what they are told. They will see what they are
bidden to see—Savoy's daughter."

I
said unsteadily, "Your Grace, please listen to my lord archbishop. If
there is such danger—"

"Enough."
He flicked my cheek. "You may find it sweet to be a duchess, even if it is
in jest. And remember, I know how to punish disobedience."

Suddenly,
there in the flood of sunshine, I shivered. I heard Sandro's voice making some
laughing comment, and as I turned away, Domenico's fingers caught my wrist, and
I felt a spasm of shock go through him. I looked up to see him gazing straight
past me, at the opposite wall, and reflected in his face was the image of the
unhappy girl in unbecoming black. Half-unconsciously his fingers moved, tracing
the shape of the silver ring on my finger; he was gripping my wrist until his
knuckles showed white. Then suddenly, blessedly, the door opened, and Piero
came trotting over the threshold.

"Your
good Grace, there are carriages arriving down below— men from Pisa and Mantua
and I know not where. Ippolito is conveying their lordships to their chambers,
but I thought you would wish to know of it."

Domenico
turned sharply, turning his back on the portrait. "Well, we will
come."

"And,
my lord," Piero bowed low to Sandro, "I am told there is a post come
for you—from Naples."

Sandro
gave a short laugh. "The old beldam is loyal, at least! I hope she has
sent money with it."

Domenico
moved away from me, and Piero hurried to his side, swaying into the curve of
his arm like one resuming a half-forgotten habit. "Come, my dear
lord."

I
watched them go, too dazed and shocked to marshal my thoughts into any sort of
order. When the door closed behind them, I stood gazing blindly at the painted
panels, conscious only of a great yawning emptiness.

"And
of course you will obey him," the archbishop's voice said behind me,
"even though it could mean your ruin."

I
turned to find him watching me impassively, so still that not even the whisper
of his silks disturbed the silence.

"I
have no choice. The duke will have everything to answer his wishes, no matter
what anyone may say."

"Not
quite everything, perhaps." The old man smiled, a startlingly sweet smile
that held a ghost of Domenico's radiance. "Have you forgotten what I told
you of Genoa?"

"No,
my lord, but I heard someone say"—I stared him straight in the
face—"that you did not care whether you bestowed me there or in my grave
so long as you were rid of me. After that your offer did not seem so
kind."

He
nodded slowly. "It did not matter then, I admit. But now it is not I who
seek to be rid of you. You are not stupid—you know my nephew cannot let you
meet his bride. He may succeed in the trick he means to play tomorrow, but only
so long as you are gone from court before Savoy's daughter comes. He cannot
confront the false with the true. Have you considered that?"

My
hands gripped together, hard. "No, but I have always known I must be cast
off sooner or later. There is no help." Even in that moment, the
realization of what he meant seemed less terrible than the thought of the years
without Domenico stretching ahead of me.

"I
can still help you, if you wish it, to save my nephew's soul from another sin.
I could send you to Genoa before he expects it. If you were to go tonight,
before the coronation, the greater part of his mischief would stay
undone."

I
hesitated. Faced with so sudden a decision, even damnation seemed unimportant.
The archbishop spoke again, his voice low and persuasive.

"You
waver, daughter, but remember all you see around you; too many women in this
court have sold their salvation for want of resolution."

I
closed my eyes, remembering. One woman had borne three children to different
men; another had been an honest merchant's wife before Duke Carlo favored her,
and now she was nothing but a court whore. And I had begun to catch hints of
other earthly punishments; disease and madness were not uncommon things among
the great. The high-piled wigs of fashion were sometimes worn from grim
necessity, and that white, dead-looking flesh had a sinister cause. No doubt
many of those corpselike palace women had been fair enough once. I shivered
uncontrollably and said, "My lord, if you can help me, I will go."

The
old man nodded slightly. "You are wise, my daughter."

"But
I do not know how I shall escape. The duke scarcely lets me from his
side."

He
shrugged. "Unless his habit is changed, he sends you alone to your waiting
women."

I
nodded half-reluctantly.

"Then
tonight, when you leave him, do not go to them. Leave the palace instead."

"I
cannot. All the doors are guarded, and he sends a servant to escort me in case
I should lose my way."

The
archbishop made a dismissive gesture. "I will supply your escort from
among my men. Leave it all to me. One of my gentlemen shall meet you and carry
my commendations with you by word of mouth to the abbess in Genoa. It is wiser
not to write them."

His
plan was ready, I thought despairingly. It only wanted my consent. "If the
duke should miss me…"

"I
can supply your place with a willing woman." The thin lips smiled
sardonically. "I have never known my nephew to refuse an offered
bedmate—if she only stays him for half an hour, you can be clear of the city.
He will never know where you have gone."

My
heart felt leaden, but I managed to say stiffly, "My thanks, my
lord."

Footsteps
sounded outside the door, and the archbishop's expression changed. I caught his
whisper, "After supper, when you go to your own chamber. My servant will
be waiting." I barely had time to nod before Piero was bowing in front of
me.

"Mistress,
the duke sent me to find you. You should have followed him."

I
paid little heed to the curious glance he gave me. I was thinking: This is the
last time he will fetch me to the duke.

Supper
was ending in the familiar riot, in Diurno as in Fidena. The torches struck
flickers of color from the painted walls, and music was loud in my ears. I sat
still amid the noise, staring at the flame reflected on the rim of my wine cup.
Beside me I could hear Domenico's voice directing Ippolito to call him at dawn,
and I strove not to think of where I might be when the dawn came. The
archbishop's face was expressionless, skulllike again as the old man brooded;
then as Domenico rose and drew me to my feet, he looked up, and I saw the quick
gleam in his gray eyes.

"I
hear you have had letters from Ferrenza, Domenico."

The
duke's lips curved scornfully. "Oh, from Amerighi! Yes."

"What
was in them? Does he come here for your coronation?"

Before
he answered, Domenico glanced at me. "Go on, I shall not be long. I must
play the statesman a little for my uncle."

For
a moment longer I stood, storing up the sight of him in my memory; then I
dropped my gaze and turned without a word. The voices followed me, fading into
the hubbub as I walked towards the door.

"He
cannot come, but he renews his vows of friendship and sends yet another
invitation for me to visit him."

"I
do not trust this friendship," the archbishop responded thoughtfully.
"He has an army to match the pope's own."

"But
he will not use it against us. I am his good cousin still."

The
huge doors closed behind me, leaving me suddenly cold and desolate. For an
instant I wanted to rush in again, forgetting wisdom and salvation; then a
figure stepped out of the shadows.

I
could see only the glimpse of a pale face and the black and scarlet of the
archbishop's livery as the man accosted the soldier who was my escort.

"But
I have orders—" the guard protested. There was a clinking as some coins
passed from hand to hand, and then he chuckled and fell back a pace.
"Well, then, take her if you have a mind to her, so long as the duke does
not find out—and make haste, or he will come before you are done."

His
footsteps died away down the passage, and the cloaked man turned to me.
"Lady, I am sent by my lord archbishop."

"I
know. He promised to send someone, but I did not think he could have done it so
swiftly."

"It
is bis trade; he is the pope of spying and statecraft. That dog of a guard was
right, however, and we must hurry. By your leave, lady...."

Obediently
I went with him through the darkened corridors. It was easier to obey than to
think, and soon the little familiarity I had with the palace was lost. We were
hurrying through rooms I had never seen before and along bare stone passages to
what looked like the kitchen quarters.

"Quickly,
now! There is a carriage waiting."

Already,
I thought miserably.

The
night wind blew in my face as he opened the door. We were in a little courtyard
which served one of the kitchens, and where the carriers' carts should wait
stood a small carriage drawn by two restless horses. The gentleman thrust me in
and scrambled after, with a quick word to the coachman; then the carriage door
slammed, and with a great jerk the carriage rumbled forward. It was apt, I
thought, that I should be carted away like refuse.

The
archbishop's man sat silent, moving easily with the lurching motion of the
coach. I could see only the shadow of a beaky profile, and to him I could have
been nothing but a shadow in a silver-webbed gown. It was cold, and I wished I
had thought to bring a cloak. I wondered momentarily if the archbishop still
held Domenico in talk, and my nails dug into my palms in sudden anguish. I had
thought I could bear the pain of parting from him, but now I sat staring into
the rushing darkness thinking only that every turn of the wheels was taking me
further from the man I loved.

The
gentleman said suddenly, "You need not fear pursuit, lady. The archbishop
knows well enough how to hold the duke in check."

I
said tautly, "The duke is not easily stopped."

"No,
but my lord archbishop has thought of that." Meant to soothe, the calm
words stabbed at me like knives. "He will tell the duke that you fled
because you hate him and to avoid a public shame. His Grace is too proud ever
to pursue an unwilling woman—he will not follow you."

Remembering
how little unwilling I had been, I wanted to laugh. But it was true—Domenico
would not own by word or deed that he wanted a woman who would have none of
him. So I nodded meekly and sat back in my seat, trying not to think or to
remember. The gentleman advised me to sit at ease and then said no more. But I
could not; I sat erect and tense against the seat back, listening to every
sound on the road outside.

The
horses settled down to a steady pace, and my companion composed himself for
sleep. The lights of the city had fallen away behind us, and now there was
nothing between me and the end of my journey but the empty hours of travel.

I
must have been dozing in a torpor of misery and exhaustion when the coach
jerked to a halt. It was so violent that I was almost thrown to the floor. I
heard the archbishop Vman utter an exclamation, and then he flung open the
coach door and jumped down into the dark roadway. There was shouting outside
and the sound of hoofbeats. Dazed, I wondered whether we had lost a wheel, but
at once I realized that the floor of the coach was still level. As the door
slammed on me, I was beside it, wrestling with the catch and vainly trying to
see through the tiny window.