The Silver Devil (36 page)

The
soldier looked at him with scared eyes and ran on.

As
I climbed the stairs, I had to fight my way through a current of frightened
courtiers, all seeking news, which threatened to force me back the way I had
come. But somehow I kept my feet and managed to reach the head of the stairs in
safety.

It
was at the end of the gallery leading to my chamber that I noticed the boy.
About fourteen, slender and small for his age, he was craning curiously after
the fleeing crowd with excitement sparkling in his eyes, level with my own as I
passed by him. It was then that the stupid, desperate idea came to me.

In
clothes like his, I could follow the duke unnoticed; he would not pay any heed
to a page. If I could reach the battlements undetected, once there I could keep
out of sight: Nothing would matter so long as I was near Domenico. He need
never know I was there.

"Boy."

He
looked around in surprise; then his eyes widened as he recognized me.
"Madam?"

"Have
you another suit of livery?"

His
jaw dropped, and he stared dumbly. I could have shaken him.

"Have
you? Answer yes or no!"

"Yes,
madam." He swallowed hard. "Yes, I... I have."

"I
will buy it from you. If you bring it at once to my chamber, you shall have my
purse."

He
eyed it as it hung at my girdle, and a strange expression crossed his face.
"To... your chamber, madam?"

I
wondered if he were simple. "Yes, you know which it is—the tapestried
chamber near the duke's."

"Yes,
madam." His gaze lifted from my purse to my face. "I will not let His
Grace's men know what I am about."

He
was gone before I could wonder at his words; he could not know why I wanted the
clothes. But there was no time to stand and puzzle. I hurried to my chamber and
began to undress, throwing my gown to the floor in my haste and wrapping a silk
robe around me as a tap came at the door. I opened it thankfully, and the page
stood there, a smirk on his face, his color rising as he saw my undress.

"I
have brought the livery, madam." He tried to sound unconcerned, but his
voice cracked and betrayed him.

"Good—put
it there on the chair, and I will pay you." I turned to pick up my
discarded dress to search its folds for my purse, so intent on the search that
I hardly heard what the boy was saying.

"I
have done nothing yet, madam."

"You
have done as I asked and brought the livery quickly. Did you think I would
cheat you? Here." Roughly I disentangled the purse and held it out to him.

He
stared at it as though he expected it to vanish before his eyes.

"But
I thought... I thought..."

His
bewilderment checked me even in the midst of my haste. "What did you
think?"

His
eyelids flickered and fell. "Only that... only that many ladies offer
great fees for small errands and then ask a different thing. I thought you were
at the same game while you are safe from the duke."

I
stared at him in unbelief, then shook my head slowly. "No. I wanted what I
asked for, and no more. How old are you?"

"Nigh
on fourteen." His eyelids lifted again. "But you need not fear that I
am unskillful. The lady Caterina says..."

"No,
I am sure you are not." I smiled rather bitterly. "But I have no time
for such things. Here is the payment for your livery. Is there a cap like the
one you wear? I must have a cap."

"No,
madam..."

"Then
give me yours into the bargain, instead of the other thing." I took the
velvet cap from his unresisting fingers and handed him the purse.

"There,
now we are quit."

He
backed away, still gazing at me, then scrabbled behind him for the latch of the
door. As it opened, he half staggered, then almost fled down the echoing
gallery.

I
made haste, trying to blot out the little unpleasant memory. I did not know how
long I had before the Spanish forces reached the city; I had to reach Domenico
before they attacked, or I might never find him in the press of battle.
Whatever the boy had thought of my request, he had fulfilled it handsomely— he
had brought hose and knee breeches, a linen shirt and a stiff black doublet
badge with the silver hawk of Cabria. When I had put it on, I looked in the
glass and blessed the tyranny of fashion, for in a pease cod-belly doublet it
would take sharp eyes to see what was there and what was not. There were no
shoes; the boy must only have possessed one pair, so I found the black boots I
wore for riding and put them on. My hair I twisted into a thick rope and
stuffed under the velvet cap. There was no time to wonder at the unaccustomed
freedom of breeches—splashing my face with cold water from the ewer erased all
traces of the duke's pale mistress, and it was a fresh-cheeked page I saw in
the mirror. Then I was running as fast as I could along the gallery and out
into the clamorous morning, leaving the chamber door swinging behind me.

There
were stairs cut into the face of the tower that the archers used to reach the
battlements. As I climbed among them, I was straining my eyes to see what was
happening outside the city walls, but then giddiness and my old fear of falling
seized me so that I had to shut my eyes and grip the stone wall until the
sickness passed. The bowmen cursed and prodded me in the back, and one man
muttered about the milksop lads they were breeding nowadays. When I opened my
eyes, I did not look down again but kept my gaze upwards, watching the toiling
men ahead silhouetted against the blue shield of sky as it brightened into the
late summer's full furnace. It was going to be a hot day.

A
lieutenant in charge of the archers asked my business, and when I told him I
had come to seek my master, he waved me away without a second glance. Men see
what they expect to see, and no one at a time like this would take note of an
insignificant page—all I had to do now was to find the duke.

Along
the battlements arrows were being fitted to bowstrings in a single motion that
rippled along the line of men like the sweep of an eagle's wing. They would
stand like that, waiting for the signal to draw their bows, for hour after hour
if they had to, with little hope of a single shaft landing on the distant
enemy. Tradition demanded that the duke's bowmen, his Fifty, must attend him in
battle, but I had heard bitter grumbling that they were not with their fellows
on the outer walls, where their bows might do some good.

Keeping
my head down, I moved away from the head of the steps and along the narrow
rampart. From here I could see the turmoil down below in the streets, already
shrouded by the haze of heat and dust over the city. From the palace to the
great bastioned wall the streets were thronged with people, scurrying like
brightly colored dolls. They were surging and shouting with panic, but from so
high above the frantic crowd movements looked aimless and the hubbub became a
wordless roar.

Then
horsemen came spurring, out of the palace gate. I saw them riding among the
frightened people, laying about them with staves and spear butts to clear the
streets, driving the citizens back into houses and shops. I should have been
down there now, I thought suddenly, not peering down from the palace gateway as
though I were in some way greater than they.

I
tore my eyes from the milling crowd and looked out over the city walls—and saw,
massed like a field of wind-stirred grain, men and horses spread over every
inch of the plain to the very lee of the walls. And opposing them, strung out
in chains and clusters along the outer battlements, the black-clad troops of
Fidena.

Even
then I did not feel fear — the danger was too great, too unthinkable, like the
nightmare which had first gripped me when I knew I was the duke's prisoner. I
turned my back on the Spanish army and went in search of Domenico.

It
was many minutes before I found him. He had left the gateway and gone along the
ramparts to the western corner, where the walls of the city and palace joined
and the mass of gray stone dropping sheer to the foot of the gorge above the
bay bordered both at once. To the south the wall bellied out to encircle the
city streets, and the close-pressing army could be seen quite plainly. To the
north and northwest the river cut through the frowning gorge, and on the
opposite bank more men were massing; their ranks followed the river line to the
incongruous bright waters of the bay and clustered thickly before the towers
that guarded the bridge. Domenico stood with Ippolito beside one of the huge
cannons which gaped across the gorge, unattended now, for every soldier had gone
to line the southern fortifications. The quartet waited nearby, and his
commanders were impatiently awaiting their orders, but he stood as though he
were alone, watching the enemy beyond the walls.

My
heart almost stopped with love, and it was only by a supreme effort that I did
not run forward. What use was a disguise if I betrayed myself the moment I saw
him and was ordered away again? I bowed my head and slipped through the group
of men to where a couple of other pages hovered aimlessly, Domenico's little
eunuch and Ippolito's young nephew. No one even glanced around; they were
watching the duke.

From
where I now stood, I could see the glitter in his eyes that betrayed the
beautiful mask. It was pure childish pique, a hot, infantile fury that any
man's army should invade his dukedom. It held him, trembling, in a travesty of
stillness, and fanned the anger in his brain to a reckless white heat.

In
the streets the citizens had been driven indoors, and Fidena lay in uneasy
quiet. On the plain the Spanish army waited in silence. Not a word, not a
breath, disturbed the sudden quiet, and my skin began to prickle as minute
followed crawling minute.

I
began to wish insanely that the Spaniards would attack— anything to break this
awful silence— and knew that this was their way of playing on our nerves,
stretching the seconds as the day grew hotter. The courtiers began to sweat,
but no one moved. The whole scene might have been the picture of a battle in
some monkish chronicle, the stillness broken only by the occasional stir of a
restless horse.

I
strained my eyes. There were no war machines, no siege towers or battering
rams; perhaps they were being made ready somewhere in that sea of enemy
soldiers, and their arrival would be the signal for the attack. My teeth were
chattering despite the hot sun. I felt horribly conscious of my absurd disguise
and of how angry Domenico would be when he learned that I had disobeyed him.
The quartet were whispering among themselves; Baldassare was trying to silence
Guido, whose poise was crumbling into panic.

"...I
tell you we must flee the city—we could escape even now or else make terms with
their general! The Spanish king would ask only an oath of allegiance, and the
duke could still reign in safety and keep whole skins for himself and
us...."

"Quiet!"
Unaccustomed firmness rang in Baldassare's whisper. "What you counsel is
treason, and if he were to hear..."

"He
does hear." Domenico did not turn his head, and his eyes were still on the
distant walls. "I knew you were a coward, Vassari, but I did not think you
fool enough to be careless of your tongue."

Guido
froze, his hatchet face pinched and gray under last night's paint. He started
to stammer something, but Domenico's head turned sharply, and the flame in his
black eyes froze the excuse on his lips.

"Take
the coward's part if you will. But never let me see your face again."

There
was a long, strained pause, and then Guido turned and went without a word. His
footsteps were loud in the silence, and as his feet touched the stairs leading
down from the tower, I heard him break into a run. The silence was almost
unbearable as the noise died away, and Domenico's black-gloved hand clenched
hard. The others were exchanging furtive glances, and I knew that now the most
arrant coward among them would hesitate to voice the idea of truce or flight.

Suddenly,
there was a stir. The Spaniards at the south wall were changing their position,
surging back and turning, their spears bowed like bending rushes in a
fan-shaped spread around one particular spot. At once everyone swept forward to
see what was happening. I found myself thrust to the back and could not see;
then Santi swore softly, and Ippolito exclaimed in an incredulous voice,
"They have opened the gates!"

Domenico
stood as though turned to stone, and around him everyone was shouting.

"There
is a traitor in the city!"

"We
cannot hope to stop them now!"

"Who
has done this?"

I
felt sick. The commanders were raging; below, enemy troops were pouring into
the city I had been born in. But I only had eyes for Domenico's dreadful
stillness. Then his color changed, a violent trembling took him, and curses
began to pour out of him in a dizzying stream of filth. I had heard foul
language enough in the taverns, but his cursing then made the men around him
blanch. I do not think they could have calmed him if the sky had not suddenly
darkened and clouds of arrows come slicing overhead from beyond the southern
walls. As foot soldiers and spearmen pressed in through the gates, the Spanish
bowmen were loosing their shafts from where they stood, trying to pick off the
soldiers from the walls. The terrible hissing clouds made everyone gasp and
turn again to look down into the city streets.