The Silver Devil (24 page)

Crushed
beneath the satin-skinned hardness of his smooth body, I forgot the deaths that
seemed to stick to his hands; I forgot that the priest had called my
unwillingness my salvation, for now it was as though it had never been. Now I gloried
in his driving strength and the demand that spread my legs inexorably wide; I
was straining to meet him as urgently, my nails clawing at his back in animal
impatience.

I
heard him say something against my cheek, and then a sound I scarcely recognized
as my own voice, gasping shameless release and satisfaction.

When
at last we uncoupled, he did not release me but still held me hard against him,
deliberately tormenting me with the ease with which his least movement could
arouse me, taking a long revenge for my coldness. I was half-laughing,
half-crying with frustration as his hands cupped my breasts, hiding the
capitulation in my eyes by pressing my mouth to the strong column of his throat
and tracing the sweep of muscle from his neck to the curve of his shoulder. I
was almost beyond caution; I only luxuriated in the momentary joy.

The
drop of sober reality in this Lethean draught was the knowledge that he cared
nothing for me—I was a piece of goods reclaimed at a bloody price, a thing
desired and taken; his triumph was the triumph of a prince entering a
reconquered fortress. He did not care who yielded to him, came the fleeting
thought; the surrender, not the woman, was what satisfied him.

It
was much later, gazing up at the ceiling, that I suddenly remembered something
Domenico had said to Antonio. "Your Grace..."

He
was running an idle hand up the inside of my thigh and grunted an enquiry.

"I
did not want to visit my brother, so you need not have lied to prevent me. Now
he will know when the court does not go to Diurno that you were speaking
falsely."

"But
I was not." He rolled over so that his weight pressed me back on the
pillows, and he nuzzled my outspread hair. "The court leaves tomorrow
morning, and you with it."

"For
Diurno!"

"For
Diurno, sweet. Did you think I meant to be crowned out of the capital?"

"I
did not know. I never thought of it."

The
black eyes glinted. "I did not send my tottering great-uncle there for his
health. He has gone to oversee the last of the preparations and order the ceremony
in the Cathedral of San Giovanni."

I
dimly remembered that the archbishop had taken his leave days ago, the day
after Maddalena had spoken to me. In the pain of losing Domenico I had paid
little heed to his departure, assuming only that he was going back to his own
palace. I said, "No one told me where he had gone."

"And
you had other things to think of." His arms tightened around me.
"Like denying me your bed. Belike if I had not sent him hence so suddenly,
you might not be living now....You must take heed not to trust my uncle too far
if he is so determined to rid you hence. And do not eat or drink with him, for
I know"—there was a strange twist to his mouth—"the sort of herbs
that grow in his garden."

"He
might only mean to send me to Genoa," I argued, but I did not believe it.

Domenico's
laugh was half-choking. "Whatever he means to do, I will prevent it. You
must now fix your thoughts on Diurno, for I will not spare you on so long a
journey."

It
was a long journey. It lasted six days, each as interminable as the days of my
imprisonment. At first I was in a fever of excitement, seeing buildings and
landscapes I had never thought to see, the thrilling steepness of the mountain
roads, the towns set like jewels high up on the rocky passes. But by the third
day, when we were past the mountain peaks and had turned due south for Diurno,
I had begun to notice the discomforts of travel more than its excitements.

The
weather was hot, and the cavalcade moved at a crawling pace along the rocky
roads. Every bone in my body ached from the jolting of the coach; and now the
lie I had told Domenico had come true, and I was sick indeed—that I would not
bear a bastard yet a while was little consolation.

For
company I had only Niccolosa, and there was little talk between us; I tried at
first to draw her out and make her talk to me, but she was sunk in some reverie
of her own and returned me few answers. At night we stayed in towns and
villages whose inhabitants seemed unsurprised by the sudden descent of the
duke's retinue—Ippolito told me that they stayed in these same places when the
court passed, each spring and autumn, between Diurno and Fidena. But at last,
when I had begun to think the journey would never have an end, we arrived at
the capital.

It
could hardly have been more different from the place where I had been born.
Fidena stood starkly on the plain between the mountains and the sea, its
fortified walls visible for miles around. Diurno seemed to burst Upon the
traveler around a turn of the road, its houses clustering thickly like
rose-colored ants on a swelling hillside. On the crown of the hill the palace
sprawled like the pale bloated queen of this glittering anthill; and yet it was
beautiful.

As
the procession rumbled into the city, inching up the curving road that wound
between the steep terraces, people poured out of their homes to shout and
cheer, and soon the clamor was deafening. I would have looked for Domenico, who
was riding, to see how he liked it; but Niccolosa pulled me back from the
carriage window and rebuked me for behaving like a hoyden. "You will see
enough from the coronation procession, my lady. There is no need to go craning
out of the window!"

I
was about to reply when I remembered the last time I had craned out of a
window. I nodded meekly and sat back until the coach finally came to a
standstill.

My
legs, stiff and cramped, threatened to give way under me as I climbed out; all
around me strangers scurried hither and thither, each bent on his particular
task. There were so many coaches that the ones entering had to wait for those
before them to be taken away and all the horses stabled—nobles and servants
were everywhere, al! eagerness to go inside the palace and claim their own
apartments. Only I stood in the sunny courtyard beside Niccolosa, feeling
utterly lost.

Ippolito
bowed before .me, smiling reassuringly, and took my arm. "Madam, you are
to come to the duke—that is, if I can find him for you in this hurly."

Relief
flooded me, and I followed him through the crowd to find Domenico already dismounted,
waiting with the quartet around him; it was their shrill chatter that guided
us. I went to Domenico without another thought.

His
gloved fingers gripped mine, and then he said, "Look, my great-uncle waits
to greet us."

I
hung back instinctively. "Your Grace, he will not like to see me in your
company, after..."

"Let
him dislike it! He will have heard of what has chanced, and this will be fine
proof of his defeat."

He
turned, drawing me with him towards the great staircase that led to the main
doorway; broad, high-soaring, flanked by towering statues three times the
height of a man. The titanic figures dwarfed the busy courtiers below—they even
dwarfed the tail figure in scarlet robes who waited at the forefront of his
followers on the first broad landing.

Above
and below, all the noise was suddenly stilled as we climbed the steps, hand in
hand. I would have hurried, but Domenico's fingers forced me to slowness. He
climbed unhurriedly, as though he knew the world would wait for him. The
scarlet figure stood unmoving, rigidly upright, as we stopped a few steps below
him and Domenico knelt with ostentatious grace to kiss the old man's hand.

The
very extravagance of the courtesy made it a taunt, and a muscle twitched in the
archbishop's lined cheek as he gazed down at the bright head. Then he said,
"Rise, my son," and drew the duke to his feet again. Their formal
embrace was performed without a trace of affection, and both men's faces were
impassive as they ceremoniously kissed each other on both cheeks. Then, to my
astonishment, Domenico beckoned me forward.

I
thought as I knelt before the archbishop that before so many watching eyes it
would be like him to humiliate me as he had before. But then, incredibly, his
skeletal hands raised me, and I felt myself enfolded in a torrent of whispering
silk. The scents of rosewater and incense mingled in my nostrils; there was a
bony cheek laid against mine, and the brush of cold lips. I stood passive,
bewildered, unable to credit what was happening.

"Welcome."
The archbishop turned to Domenico as he released me, his eyes as hard as flint.
"I am glad to see Your Grace."

"Your
lordship honors us."

"I
speak with the voice of all Cabria." Now the old man's words were very
clear, carrying to the listening crowd below. "We are amply recompensed
for the duke your father's death— not only in this speedy crowning of your fair
self, but in knowing that your marriage comes hard upon it. The Duke of Savoy's
loss will no doubt be our gain." There was a fleeting dryness in his tone.
"And with your noble bride beside you, Cabria will know many more
prosperous days."

"Prettily
said, Uncle." Domenico's smile was ironic, and below I saw a rippling in
the crowd and caught the echo, Savoy.

"The
preparations for Your Grace's coronation are well advanced now." The
archbishop had dropped his public tone of utterance. "But I wish to
consult with you again on the marriage question."

Domenico
shrugged. "As you will, but you cannot alter me."

"Domenico..."
The archbishop fought to control himself. "I saw your grandfather's
crowning and ordered your father's"— his voice now was all sweet
reason—"but I never knew them to grant the honors to their married
duchesses that you would bestow on the Duke of Savoy's daughter."

"It
is no more than the wench deserves. We cannot do less for our intended bride.
Nor will we offer less."

The
arrogance of that was unanswerable. The archbishop glanced swiftly at me as
though to measure the pain the words had given me, and then shrugged in his
turn. "Well, that is for tomorrow. Today I must extend you the city's
loyal greetings and bid you welcome to your palace."

Domenico's
eyes glinted with amusement. "Our thanks, my lord." As he moved after
his uncle his fingers slipped from mine, and I hesitated, not knowing if I should
follow; they were talking of state and I was forgotten. Then the rest of the
court came streaming up the steps, and all around me was a sea of light and
color, the very air buzzing with speculation.

"Savoy's
daughter! Have you heard of her before?"

"I
did not know he had one. The four sons, but a daughter..."

"My
lords, she is a bastard." I recognized Piero's voice, full of delighted
laughter. "It seems my lord's Grace has a fondness for the breed."

"A
bastard! How do you know?"

"His
Grace is not a hard man to unhusk, once you are as close to him as I. Why do
you think my lord archbishop looks so sourly upon the match?"

"Oh,
my lord archbishop!" There was a high-pitched titter. "He looks
sourly upon everything, my dear."

A
woman's voice said speculatively, "I wonder why he marries her—for her
face or for her dowry?"

"Her
dowry, what else?" came the sardonic response. "He can have pretty
mistresses by the score, but only one wife to fill his treasury for him."

I
wondered jealously whether the Duke of Savoy's daughter was tall or short, dark
or fair, and if she would love Domenico as well as I did; and in that moment I
understood why Maddalena had hated me so much. If the new Duchess of Cabria
were an angel, I would not be able to bear the sight of her. Piero's mocking
voice was loud in my ears; it seemed we two were engaged eternally in a game of
King of the Castle, one up, the other down. Now that my brief sun was setting,
he was climbing high once more, his treachery condoned or else forgotten.

Someone
bowed to me, and I looked up, startled, into Ippolito's friendly face.

"Madam,
will it please you to follow me?" His voice was gentle. "His Grace
has sent me to take you to your apartments."

I
said, "I did not know where I should go."

"I
know, and the duke forgot it. The lord archbishop has him in talk about the
coronation, but he bade me tell you he will see you at supper."

But
at supper Domenico said little to me, only watching me with an odd calculation
that made me wonder whether he was planning to discard me here; and even while
he talked idly of the coronation ceremony to the Archbishop, he was subtly and
scientifically wooing Piero back to his old place at his elbow.

I
had not realized how much of the player there was in Domenico—how aware he was
of his own attraction, how confident of his beauty. He courted Piero with the
shamelessness of a practiced harlot, luring him with glances and innuendos and
soft, caressing words. I watched Piero's instinctive caution blossom into
astonished delight before my eyes. Gradually he came closer and stayed longer
until he was fast by Domenico's side, a rabbit magnetized by a swaying snake.