The Silver Devil (45 page)

No
one spoke until we had left the town behind. The mere chance of meeting
soldiers unbargained for — whether they were enemies or no — had shaken the
confidence which the quiet days in the mountains had lent us. It was as though
contact with mankind had reminded each of us that we were fugitives, and we
were tasting afresh the bitterness of it. Without warning, I found myself
thinking of Maddalena, for now we were like her—badged as surely by the hatred
of men as she by her leprosy.

Night
was falling when we reached open country again, and I noticed Santi glancing
worriedly about him; there was nowhere we could sleep in this open valley, so
near the common haunts, and we would not risk lying by the roadside as we had
done before. Then I saw a dark shadow against the darkening sky, a barn
standing isolated in the midst of a field.

"Messire,"
I called quietly, and he started.

"What
is it?"

"Over
there — a barn, I think. We could sleep there."

"Where?"
He strained his eyes in the gloom.

"To
our left, beyond that dip in the ground."

He
peered, and then his heavy face lightened. "You're right, I think.
Blessings on all farmers who build their barns close to their hayfields and far
from their homes! What do you think, my lord?" He addressed Baldassare,
who had come up by his elbow.

"It
will do well—we shall be spoiled to lie under a roof two nights together."

I
smiled at the dryness of his tone. I had never liked him so well in the court
of Fidena—there he had seemed a frippery creature, one of the painted
satellites who encircled Domenico. But now, in adversity, he was assuming a
character of his own, and what had shown as a look of mild kindness in his eyes
was proving to be a strength and patience I had not suspected.

Santi
said, "Tell the duke," and I spurred forward obediently, just as a
voice called sharply,

"Marcello!"

I
heard Andrea snicker, "Ganymede, he means," and then I met the
flickering flame in Domenico's eyes.

"We
did not give you leave to leave us."

"I
ask Your Grace's pardon."

"We
do not grant it. If you will not know your duty"—his gaze held
mine—"you must be taught."

I
was thankful that he could not see the color that stained my cheeks in an
uncontrollable tide. "It was my duty that kept me back. There is a barn,
if Your Grace will consent to sleep there—Messire Giovanni thinks it will
suffice."

"Messire
Giovanni!" he echoed sardonically, and I knew my use of the big man's name
stung him.

"If
Your Grace will..."

"Why
this ceremony?" His voice had roughened. "Do you think my title will
sweeten this hell?"

My
throat grew tight, and I said woodenly, "As you please." I would have
gone then, but he stayed me with a hand on my horse's bridle.

"I
will suffer your barn, good boy," and I saw his fingers clench, "so I
need not sleep among the general ruck. And you shall stay by me and keep off
the dreams."

My
heart was beating fast as I turned and signaled to Santi to turn off the road.
We tethered the horses outside the barn and went inside in silence.

It
was dark and smelled sweetly of hay, and so warm that I knew we would hardly
need our cloaks. Santi put down his basket of loaves to light a wax taper from
his tinderbox, and the little flame showed a high, windowless place heaped high
with hay. In one corner a ladder led to the loft, and a lantern hung beside it;
by some miracle it was not dry, and after a minute or two Santi could blow out
his taper and survey the barn in a dim yellow glow. When the reeling shadows
had steadied, Andrea indicated the high dark loft and giggled, "Your royal
chamber, Your Grace."

"So."
It was so quiet that I was not sure I had heard it, but Andrea's giggle was
silenced as the duke's head turned; then Domenico's fingers closed around my
wrist, and he caught up one of the loaves from Santi's basket.

"Come."
His whisper was quite clear in the warmth of the barn. "We will lie
somewhere less populous."

The
rest became ostentatiously busy spreading their cloaks on the hay and dividing
the rest of the bread. I felt myself pulled back out of the circle of lamplight
and looked up apprehensively into the beautiful, shadowed face. As I climbed
after him into the hay-strewn loft, I heard a ripple of knowing laughter that
came from throats other than Andrea's.

I
did not understand why no one came in the night to disturb us, until I learned
later that Santi had slept like a great door ward at the foot of the ladder. It
was as well for my boyhood that they did not, for no boy ever lay with his
lover as I lay with Domenico that night. His dream came to him, and he
smothered his screams in my breast; I thought he would never sleep, and it was
only thanks to my fear of discovery that I was dressed again in my boy's
clothes when the soldiers broke in upon us with the first glimmer of the
morning.

I
heard the commotion below and rolled over quickly to peer through the hole in
the floor of the loft and found myself face to face with a stranger climbing
the ladder. It would have been absurd if it had not been so startling. I
recoiled, and Domenico said sharply, "What is it?"

The
man's head and shoulders came through the floor and peered around, a ridiculous
armed tortoise. "Well!" He sounded startled. "Are there no more
of you?"

Domenico
shook his head. His hands on my shoulders were clenching, slowly clenching,
until I felt sick with the pain.

"Will
it please you both to come down?" the soldier inquired sarcastically.
"We have the rest of your crew safe enough."

"Who
are you, and whom do you serve?" Domenico demanded. The half-hidden face
hardened.

"It
is for us to ask the questions—come down quickly."

He
backed down the ladder to watch us descend. My palms were slippery as they
gripped the wooden rungs, and I tried not to see the ring of faces watching—our
own men and a score of others. A crimson, glowering Santi was being held by
three men, and Baldassare's lips were tight with impotent anger.

The
man who had mounted the ladder now stood back and regarded us, arms akimbo. He
was evidently the leader, and clearly he had counted on dominating the
situation until he found himself having to look up into Domenico's face. He
grunted and thrust his thumbs into his belt.

"You
are the captain of these men, I take it."

Domenico's
eyes lit. "You take it correctly."

"And
why did you bring them here?"

"To
sleep."

"You
have a charter then, do you, to sleep where you fancy? Or do you style yourself
King of Italy?"

I
felt Domenico tense and prayed that he could hold on to his temper. I held my
breath as he opened his mouth to speak and then let it out in a gasp of relief
when he only said in a stifled voice, "No."

"I
should think not!" The soldier grinned. "Our lord would have a word
or two to say to that, not to mention the duke."

"The
duke?" Domenico's head lifted sharply. "Is there a duke in these
parts?"

"Where
have you come from?" It was a jeer. "Of course there is a duke! The
pope's domain ends an hour's ride south of here, beyond Bolsino."

A
sound escaped Domenico that made everyone jump; a hiss like a cat's of sheer
exultation. There was a blaze of triumph in his face, and he said lightly,
"Our thanks." Luckily the soldier was hardly listening to him.

"It
is good you are so pleased," he retorted angrily, "for you'll wish
you had never come here soon enough. Our lord sent us to see what manner of men
passed through Bolsino in such haste, all mired and dirty—and talking so soft,
like singing birds," he added scornfully.

As
he spoke, I noticed again the harsh accent I had heard in the market, and again
it stirred something in my memory. Someone I knew spoke like that, and I could
not quite remember who it was.

The
soldier continued. "We've orders to bring you before him if we think fit,
and I've a mind to do it—entering a man's barn without his leave could be a
crime. Perhaps you'll speak less haughty then and look humbler, too."

"What
lord is this of yours?" Domenico spoke as though he had not heard.

The
man answered, "The Count of Mesicci," and scowled at his own
compliance.

For
a moment the fair face was a mask of calculation; then Domenico said,
"Well, we will follow you."

"We
are honored." The soldier's face was flushing ominously, and I could see
grins on the faces of one or two of his men. "I know my lord will be
grateful for your presence. Bring him after me," he shouted suddenly,
"before I flay him alive!" and he turned on his heel and stalked out
of the barn.

Left
behind, his men circled warily around Domenico and closed in almost
apprehensively. He suffered them to hem him in, but as one of them put a hand
on my elbow to draw me away, he said suddenly, "Do not touch the
boy."

One
of the soldiers laughed. "Don't be jealous, captain. I'm one for a wench
myself."

I
wished miserably that it were jealousy. But it was no more than the warning
snarl of an animal whose dead quarry is approached too closely.

Surrounded
on all sides by the count's men, we were forced to travel at a hard pace—too
hard for our tired horses to keep up for any length of time. I thought that the
leader's anger was betraying him into foolish haste, for there was no sign of
any dwelling, when suddenly I saw a single stone tower clinging to the side of
the valley above us, half-obscured by trees.

The
castle of Mesicci was old, nearly as old as the Palazzo della Raffaelle but
barely one-tenth the size. It looked as though it had once been a watchtower,
and even now it was a building for use and not for luxury. From its gates the
road fell steeply away, curling down the side of the valley, and straight ahead
the rocky side of the cleft reared straight up into the sky. Then the soldiers
closed in behind, blocking out the view.

When
we had dismounted, we were taken under guard to the castle hall and stood
waiting while the leader sent a message to his master. I glanced up at
Domenico; his face was as still as a mask, his eyes shuttered and somehow
withdrawn. Only his black-gloved hands betrayed him. To lose everything now,
after four days' bitter journeying, for the intrusion of some unknown petty
nobleman!

The
count had assumed such nightmare stature in my mind as we waited that when he
came himself in answer to the message I almost laughed aloud. He was a little
old man, fat and self-important in a furred gown as tight as a sausage skin,
scarlet with exertion, puffing and blowing in his haste. He came through the
doorway almost at a run, then stopped and shook himself and his robes into good
order.

"So
these are the vagabonds, are they?"

"Yes,
my lord." The leader of the soldiers was wooden-faced now.

"Hmmm!
Well, which is the leader, good Enrico?"

"That
one, my lord." A jerk of the helmeted head indicated Domenico.

"He
is very tall." The count made his height sound like a deliberate
impertinence. "Make him take off his hat in my presence."

Domenico
turned then, assessing the little fat man coolly, and before anyone could move,
he doffed his hat with a deliberation that made an insult of the courtesy. The
count gobbled.

"Well,
I... firm!" He took in his prisoner's unearthly fairness with starting
eyes, and his florid countenance took on an alarming hue. There was a silence
while he took several deep breaths, and then he crossed to a high carved chair
on a dais at one end of the hall. Seated so, he seemed suddenly more
formidable, and I lost all desire to laugh. This man was the ruler of this
castle and these Territories, even if he was bald and as fat as butter, and his
feet did not touch the floor when he sat in his state chair.

The
count's fingers laced themselves comfortably over his ample stomach. "Well
now, who are you, sirrah, and where do you come from? Answer me that."

"We
are riding on the Duke of Cabria's business." The very expressionlessness
of Domenico's voice was somehow disdainful. "We come from his city of
Fidena."

"The
Duke of Cabria!" The count's eyes popped. "What business makes you
risk your heads crossing the Papal States?"

"We
were sent in haste to the Duke of Ferrenza, to give a message to him." As
Domenico spoke, I heard a stir of excitement from among the Cabrians, as though
the words had some meaning I did not understand.

"Haste
indeed to travel like that—if you are indeed from Cabria. I heard that a mess
of soldiers, some sort of deserting military perhaps, had passed through
Bolsino." The count's tones grew peevish. "And I sent for you to make
sure that you meant no harm to my people. You could be bandits," he added
suspiciously. "Why should I believe this rigmarole of yours?"