The Silver Devil (48 page)

Baldassare
was waiting under the trees, the look of long strain gone from his face, and
beside him stood a small plump man with a pudgy face and thinning hair who
immediately stepped forward and bowed to Domenico.

"Welcome,
Your Grace! I am Filippo Marcionni, secretary to His Grace of Ferrenza. His
Grace will be here directly, but he did not wish you to enter his palace
ungreeted — if you will please to dismount, you and your followers, the grooms
will see to your horses."

Dismounting,
I gave a farewell pat to the nervous mare I had ridden for so long, thinking
absurdly that my last link with that long ride was breaking. Marcionni was
bowing again; looking at the sober richness of his clothes, I realized for the
first time just how shabby all of us had grown.

"If
Your Grace will allow me, I will inform the duke of your arrival; he was
insistent that he should know at once."

I
felt a pang of astonishment, for this overwhelming graciousness accorded ill
with the old count's tales of a half-mad recluse. But perhaps, I thought with
an involuntary smile, it is only his talkative kinsmen that the duke hides
from.

Domenico
was questioning Baldassare almost under his breath.

"How
were you received?"

"Coldly
at first, Your Grace; the duke would receive no visitors, they said. I told
them I was an envoy from the Duke of Cabria, and they said I should have ridden
to the capital."

"And
then?"

"I
sent one of the grooms with a message to the palace—he was loath to go, but I
greased his palm for him, and a little later there came one to say that no
petitioners come here. I said that I was no petitioner but came on business to
His Grace of Ferrenza."

Domenico's
voice was bitter. "You lied. We are petitioners right enough. Go on with
your story."

"They
told me the duke would do no business, that he was in retreat here, and much
else besides that I will not repeat. At last I made them understand that I was
in earnest, and they fetched Master Secretary Marcionni; after that all was
well, for he took me to the duke at once." "What did Ferrenza
say?"

"But
little." Baldassare frowned. "I could not understand him. He was...
strange. At first he was cold and reserved— civil, but he stared through me;
then when I told him I came from Cabria, he... he changed. He smothered me with
welcomes, made me sit down, sent for wine for me to drink— Your Grace's name is
a powerful charm with him."

Domenico
said nothing. There was no answering smile on his face, and after a moment
Baldassare continued.

"Under
Your Grace's pardon, I thought for a little that he was foolish. When I said
that Your Grace was at hand, he did not seem to understand me. He only stared,
and then said, 'Raffaelle is coming here,' and he..."

"Well?"

"He
smiled, Your Grace. Like a — well, like a saint! He was transfigured!"
Baldassare looked eager. "I swear that Your Grace will be made truly
welcome."

Before
Domenico could reply, the door behind him was thrown open, and he turned
swiftly. Marcionni stood there, bowing on the threshold and ushering out the
man behind him, and I saw Domenico's expression of negligent watchfulness wiped
out by a look of cold shock. It was gone in an instant, masked, but the white
fingers had clenched; and I realized then that for all their professed
friendship, he had never seen the duke before.

Amerighi
was nearly as tall as Domenico himself, rawboned and loose-limbed and thin
almost to emaciation. He had a bony, sardonic face with a long nose and
down-drooping hazel eyes, and a thin, straight mouth that had once been smiling
and was now ridged with lines of ill health or grief. It was a gaunt face, a
little forbidding—clean-shaven in contradiction to fashion—but not unattractive.
His chestnut hair was combed smooth and lay like a cap over his head in a
straight, glossy fringe. For a moment I thought I felt a pulse of recognition,
but then I forgot it, for I saw the way he was looking at Domenico, staring
almost hungrily, drinking in every line of the beautiful face and graceful
body. Then, even as I looked, his face changed; he gave a wholly charming smile
and came forward, his hands held out.

"My
dear cousin." His hands gripped Domenico's and held them. "At last,
the promised visit!"

"Unlooked
for, I fear, after so long a delay." Domenico's smile did not touch his
eyes.

"Unhoped
for," the elder man corrected gently. "You must be worn to death
after so long a ride! Come in and refresh yourselves." His glance barely
skimmed the rest of us. "And afterwards you shall tell me what occasion
makes me so happy."

"I
thank you, cousin."

Amerighi
shook his head. "No, it is I who am grateful. I have ordered a chamber to
be prepared for you, and my servants will see your people bestowed fittingly—if
you want anything, I beg you will ask for it."

I
had already turned to follow the plump secretary, fear of the unknown beginning
to cramp my stomach, when Domenico answered.

"I
must crave your courtesy for my mistress."

I
stood paralyzed. There were startled movements among the Cabrians and I knew
they were staring blankly at one another... except Santi. And perhaps
Baldassare. I heard Amerighi's deep, rather grave voice, and thought
irrelevantly how beautiful it sounded.

"At
your service, cousin. Does she come after you?"

"No,
she is with me." Domenico's voice altered. "Felicia..."

I
turned as though compelled and went to his side, and with every step I could
feel the eyes on me, astonished, almost accusing. Somehow the silence was worse
than an outcry.

For
the first time, Amerighi looked away from Domenico. "A pretty
fellow," was all he said, but it brought the blood stinging to my cheeks.

"A
prettier wench." Careless fingers pulled off my cap. "I thought it
best for her to ride so among my men—we came in haste, and there was little
time for gallantry." His fingertips brushed my flaming cheek, and I looked
away to find Amerighi gazing from one of us to the other with an odd, arrested
look on his face. Behind us I could hear voices receding in the distance as
Marcionni led the others away. I longed, suddenly, to be going with them, to be
free of this stranger's curious stare and the breathtaking touch of Domenico's
fingers.

Amerighi
said in a tone that robbed the words of any compliment, "I wonder you
ventured so delicate a lady on so long a voyage."

"She
ventured herself. I beg you will use her well."

Amerighi's
dark brows lifted. "What should I do else? The lady is welcome, for your
sake and her own. Will you present me?"

I
sensed Domenico's reluctance and spoke before he could. "In these clothes
I am Marcello, Your Grace. I shall not feel like myself until they are
changed."

"Marcello,
then." The hazel eyes smiled, but I had the impression that Amerighi's
brain was racing. He ushered us out of the sunlit courtyard and in among the
cool shadows of the palace; to my sun-dazzled eyes it was pitch dark, and I was
still blinking when I found myself in a small, richly furnished room with a
long window looking out on the lazily stirring trees. Amerighi was handing me a
cup of wine, and the metal in my hands felt cold and heavy.

"If
you will give me leave, I shall take order for your night's lodging. We are ill
prepared for guests, especially such great ones." He went to the door and
paused by it. "Forgive me, but you have no baggage?"

Domenico
shook his head, and Amerighi smiled.

"Then
we must contrive. I will not be long."

As
the door closed, Domenico turned to me, a brooding look in his eyes.

"What
do you think of our civil cousin, Felicia?"

"That
he will prove a generous benefactor."

"Belike
he will." The white fingers drummed impatiently. "But that was not
what I meant. Do you think we are as welcome as he says?"

The
question echoed my own uncertainty, and I said after a moment, "If he has
asked you to visit him before, and you have refused, he must be doubly glad to
see you now."

"Do
you believe that?" His fingers gripped my chin and forced it up.

"I
do not know what else to believe. I have no cause to mistrust him—he had been
kind beyond mere courtesy, and I have scarcely seen him yet. But there is
something..." I shrugged. "It is as Baldassare says; he is
strange."

"Mistress
Wisdom." The derision in his eyes made my hands clench. "For my part,
I would be happier if he seemed less kind."

"What
do you mean?"

"It
is all too easy." The black eyes frowned. "If I were Ferrenza, I
would not deal so gently with a ruffian calling himself a duke."

My
voice quivered with a laughter that was close to tears. "Perhaps all men
are not as distrustful as you, Your Grace."

He
stared at me suddenly, piercingly. "What, do you like him, then?" he
demanded softly.

My
eyes fell before his. "I... I do not know. I have said, I do not know
him." I could not find words for the unease which assailed me when I
looked at Amerighi.

"True,
and you shall not know him long." Domenico's voice was edged. "I
shall speak him fair and get his army from him as soon as I may; then when
Fidena is mine again, you will not need to suffer his gaze upon you."

It
was himself rather than me that he should guard from those long, calculating
looks of Amerighi's, I tried to say; but even as my lips parted, the door
opened again, and Amerighi came in like a shadow.

"That
is done." Not a glimmer of expression betrayed the fact that he had seen
Domenico's hand cupping my face. "My valet will attend my good cousin of
Cabria and supply your wants from my own wardrobe—I think we are enough of a
size. The lady is more difficult, but something is being done." The
intense gaze dwelt on Domenico. "I hope I may have your company at supper,
if you are not too tired with traveling—I feel we have much to discuss."

Domenico
nodded. "I shall be glad of it, cousin. There is a matter of great
importance to us both on which I would like your opinion."

"I
shall be impatient to hear it—I am eager to know what brings you so far from
your city— Fidena, is it not? Or are you dwelling in Diurno at this time of
year?"

"You
have a good memory." Domenico's voice was toneless. "We came from
Fidena; the court does not remove to Diurno until it is fully autumn."

"I
remember. You Dukes of Cabria have always had a fondness for Fidena, have you
not?"

"We
have.... I marvel how you found that out."

"One
hears gossip." Amerighi's long hands made a slight, dismissive gesture.
"Living here in seclusion, I have little to do but learn the news. I have
always harkened to news from Cabria because of our states' old alliance and our
friendship."

"We
too have heard gossip on our way here." Domenico sipped his wine slowly.
"There is much talk of this seclusion of yours; they say you have turned
hermit. For a while we were doubtful of our welcome."

Amerighi
laughed. "My subjects cannot understand my dislike of pomp and pageantry!
I have always disliked them. Since my cousin Bartolomeo has shown himself
willing to take on the burdens of public life, I have loaded them on a willing
ass and retired to this palace, which suits me better. I care more for
superintending my treasures than for governing the state. No one cares for
proper order but myself; the people live out their useless little lives without
thought, without pattern!" He broke off, his face relaxing into a rueful
smile. "But where is the sense in repining? If they will not learn, they
will not, and they must be ruled by one who is content to suffer their
stupidity. I myself," again that slightly deprecating movement of the
hands, "rather choose to withdraw."

"Yet
I have heard that you keep your private army garrisoned here. Is not that a
strange sort of retirement?"

"I
have said I like to superintend my treasures, cousin, and my army is the
greatest of them." The thin mouth curved. "I created my army as a
sculptor creates a statue, molding, refining, ever seeking the best men, the
rarest skills. Now I have a collection of mercenaries whose prowess is the vaunt
of Italy; a small force, but invincible. Every man is an expert, proved in his
craft, and they have not been beaten yet. I keep them here, close to my hand
and my purse-strings, for fear they might be tempted from my service by one
richer."

"I
applaud your judgment." There was the faintest of smiles on Domenico's
lips, and he was watching Amerighi through his lashes. "Nothing is of
worth but what is duly prized."

"As
you prize this lady." Amerighi glanced swiftly around at me. "We
weary you, do we not, madam, with all this talk of soldiers and statecraft? I
will send for a servant to take you to your chamber, and you may rest there
until suppertime. By now they should have found you something more fitting to
wear, and you can cease to be Marcello."