The Silver Devil (46 page)

"I
have the duke's signet." Domenico drew it from his finger as he spoke.
"Look for yourself—my lord."

The
count nodded his permission, and Domenico dropped it into Enrico's outstretched
hand. The ring was borne down the hall to the dais, and the bald head and the
helmeted one bent over it in consultation. At last Enrico said, "It looks
real enough."

"Of
course, of course." The count was flushed again, this time with
excitement. "It never leaves the Duke of Cabria's finger save on a royal
embassy or in times of great peril. It is well for you, fellow"—he blinked
at Domenico—"that you did not try to trick me with forgery—I should have
known it at once. Your duke stayed here at this castle, twenty years ago, and I
saw this very ring on his finger then."

"My
fa—" Domenico checked his forward impulse, and his black eyes were
suddenly searching. "My lord, is it Duke Carlo you mean?"

The
count looked annoyed. "Who else, fellow? He was taking his bride back to
Cabria, and they stayed here for a night—what are you staring for?"

Domenico
said in an odd voice, "Duke Carlo died two months ago. His son reigns in
Cabria now."

"What?"
The count bounced to his feet. "Are you certain of this?"

"I
was at the new duke's crowning."

"But
the son is a boy— a stripling! Far unfit to rule! How old is he, do you
know?"

There
was a faint smile on Domenico's soft mouth, as though he mocked himself.
"Nine and twenty."

"So
much! And the years ill spent, from all I have heard," the old man fumed.
"Witchcraft and murder and women and I know not what else. It is said he
had dined on human flesh," he finished interrogatively.

"I
have never been bidden to such a banquet."

"All
nonsense, I dare swear, all nonsense," came the reluctant reply, "yet
there may be something in it for all that.... You say it is the son's business
you are bound on now?"

Domenico
nodded, then added, "Yes, my lord."

"Then
it is sure to be some mischief. Why does he send messages to our duke?"

Domenico's
long lashes veiled the flash in his eyes as he answered. "His Grace does
not confide in me so deeply, but I think they are to inform him who is reigning
now in Cabria."

Baldassare
snorted and managed to turn the sound into a cough. The count glared at him,
then nodded self importantly, "Yes, very likely that is their tenor. The
son does well to continue friendly towards our duke, good fellow—the Amerighis
are a mighty family, and our state was never so prosperous as it has been since
this duke ruled us. You must bear my commendations to him when you go."

A
long relieved sigh whispered from every Cabrian throat, and Domenico bowed
ironically. "At your lordship's service."

"Yes,
well, that is settled. Unhand these men, good Enrico, they are not brigands, as
you feared." The count left the dais and came bustling towards us.
"Now I think of it, you shall all stay and dine—and make yourselves
cleanly—" He added a little too quickly, "while I write a letter to
my lord the duke."

"Our
business is urgent." There was a note in Domenico's voice that spelled
danger.

"Urgent,
to tell him that Carlo della Raffaelle is dead at last? If that news is two
months old it can wait a few hours longer, and I tell you, fellow, you will do
your new master little credit by presenting yourselves in Majano as you are
now."

Domenico
stiffened, but the moment he spoke I realized it was in surprise rather than in
anger.

"Majano?
We are bound for the capital."

The
count rolled his eyes sapiently. "Well, you may go there and welcome, but
the duke is not there. His good Grace has lately become weary of government,
and he shares the burden now with his brother-in-law, who is also his cousin.
It is the good Bartolomeo who keeps in the capital, and the duke has removed to
his summer palace in Majano, where he lives like a monk, I am told." The
discontent in his round face was a comic contrast to the eagerness that had
been there when he asked for news of Domenico's licentiousness.

"Where
is Majano?" Momentarily all Domenico's pretense of servility had deserted
him, and he spoke with unthinking command. The count answered him with a look
of astonishment.

"Why,
little more than half as far as the capital. From here you may ride southwest
across the hills to meet the river and then follow its curve to Toli; once
there, there is a road, a rough one, it is true, but good enough, which will
take you to Majano in two days' riding."

Domenico
nodded abstractedly, and I knew that his thoughts had gone on ahead,
calculating, altering plans of which he had told me nothing. Pain caught at me
as I realized how little of his thoughts he had ever willingly shown me. Even
now I did not know whether he had meant to go to this duke all along or whether
he had stumbled into his land by mistake and had woven a swift mesh of lies to
extricate us from the count's interrogation.

The
count's voice broke in on my thoughts. "Go now then, you and your fellows,
and Enrico will show you where you may clean yourselves. We will eat in two
hours from now—it seems"—he eyed us all complacently—"that your duke
is not overlavish with his servants."

It
took longer than I would have believed possible for us to clean ourselves.
Enrico and his men escorted us to the stableyard and indicated the well; mere
servants of another state's ruler, it seemed, did not merit much in the way of
courtesy. As an afterthought our saddlebags were brought, with a comb or two
and a mirror, and with the aid of the mountain-cold water we sluiced off the
grime of our travels. Domenico was called back to wait upon the count, and his
absence made us behave foolishly: Lorenzo and I emptied a whole bucket of water
over Santi's woolly head as he bent over the well coping, and he spluttered and
roared in mock rage while we giggled like children.

Our
soaked clothes dried on us in the heat of the stables as we set to to give the
weary horses their first thorough grooming in days; then, before I had even had
time to wash my hands again to rid them of the horse smell, one of the castle
servants came hurrying to tell me that "my captain" was asking for
me.

"Where
is he?" I demanded, breathless.

"In
the castle hall with my master and his family. I will take you back to him—you
had best hurry; he does not look like the patient sort."

"No,"
I agreed wryly, "he is not."

Most
of the household was foregathered in the hall when I reached it. At the dais
end the count and his family stood talking, eyeing Domenico with undisguised
curiosity: the count and his wife had three daughters, and the sight of them
made me acutely conscious of my breeches and of my whole, shaming masquerade.
What would these wellborn women, with their ordered hair and modestly cut,
well-worn brocades, say if they knew the truth?

The
soft snap of the duke's fingers cut short my thoughts, and as I turned, he
slapped my cheek lightly with his glove, a gentle buffet that was almost a
caress.

"You
attend me disgracefully, Marcello." The hooded eyes glimmered. "I had
to send a slave to search for you in the end." The empty fingers of the
glove rested on my cheek and were drawn down the side of my neck like the brush
of a butterfly's wing. I swallowed and turned away.

"Your
pardon, Your Grace." Even to me my voice sounded breathless. The laughter
faded from his eyes and he stood still, his empty glove resting its fingertips
on my shoulder, and then he seemed to wake and crumpled the glove in his other
hand. I noticed absurdly that he had not been able to rid himself of the blood
of the two Spaniards he had killed; it was lodged in the cracks beside his
fingernails in spider-fine lines of brown.

He
thrust his hand back into the glove again, and I looked up to meet his eyes,
black and utterly opaque.

"What
do you mean to do?" The words were out before I could stop them.

"Bear
with this old dog if I can. Eat his food and leave his letter in a ditch on the
way to Majano."

"Then
you are truly going to the Duke of Ferrenza?"

He
nodded. "I have not so rich a choice of friends. Amerighi is my professed
ally—it is time he proved his goodwill. He has been soliciting me to visit him
time out of mind—and now I shall do so, with my mistress and all my
court." There was a sardonic twist to his voice. "What better could
he wish for?"

"When
you are done conferring, fellow," the count called out, "I would
speak with you myself. Come here."

Domenico
did not move for an instant; then, with a studied deliberation, he moved to the
count and bowed low. Near me one of the Cabrian lords hissed "Sa-sa!"
and Santi stiffened like a dog about to utter a warning snarl. It was like
watching a leopard making obeisance to a pug-dog; at any moment the dog might
be rent to shreds. Around us the talk had fallen silent.

"Here
is your master's ring again, sirrah," the count said importantly,
"and the letter you must bear to my kinsman the Duke of Ferrenza. And here
I have writ you a safe-conduct to take you through our lands to Majano;
otherwise, you and your men will find the liegers less easy than we of
Mesicci."

Domenico
bowed his head. "My good lord."

"Well,
and you will deliver my letter?"

"With
all due care." Was there the faintest emphasis in that toneless voice?

"Hm!
Ha, well—here's for your pains, then."

Everyone
was watching as though spellbound as the coins passed from hand to hand.
Domenico stood as though carved in stone, staring at the money in his palm;
then he lifted his eyes, and the blaze in them made the count start.

"Well,
are you dumb?"

"Dumbfounded,
rather, at your lordship's generosity." Baldassare's voice made everyone
jump. "My lord, our captain is not a man of many words; I thank you for
him, and for us all, for your hospitality."

The
words were the expertly gauged flattery of a man who has made his fortune by
flattering; but Baldassare's face was anxious, and he was watching Domenico,
not the count.

The
little man's alarming color subsided, and he grunted. "Prettily said,
fellow; you are all welcome. Come on, now, and eat well before you
depart."

Lorenzo
dug me in the ribs as we followed him, and nodded towards the duke. "Do
you think he can keep his temper?"

I
shook my head. "I do not know. Perhaps, if nothing else provokes him.
Quick, let us sit down."

When
the meal was over, I realized I had not tasted a crumb, for I had been too
intent on Domenico. The count and his family passed down the chamber on their
way out and halted near us.

"Well,
fellow, I wish you all Godspeed!" The count puffed a little as Domenico
rose to his feet, purposely towering over him. "Take heed, mind, that you
deliver my letter!"

I
saw a scathing answer rise to his lips, but the count had gone. He stood
perfectly still as the hall emptied, his face frighteningly calm, and then said
softly, "And we are to run the errands of that old dog and thank him for
his payment. Bow to an upstart yeoman who should bend his knee to us, and
smile, and answer insults patiently...."

His
voice was rising dangerously, and I could see the flush I dreaded rising in his
lean cheeks. I caught his arm instinctively, saying, "Your Grace..."
and he spun around on me so fast that in that blurred instant all I saw was the
lightning flare between his lashes and the sweep of his hand as he struck.

The
blow rocked me with its force; I felt as though my head had been jolted from my
shoulders. Baldassare was gripping the duke, and Domenico stood with one arm
around his shoulders while great shudders shook him from head to foot. I held
my hand to my stinging cheek, trying not to weep. So now I could not even
comfort him; what had seemed like joy when he discovered me was nothing but
pleasure in regaining a thing he had thought lost. I averted my eyes as he
lifted his head and heard him say "Marcello," sharply, just as the
door behind us opened.

"My
lord bade me tell you that your horses are ready," one of the count's men
said, "and you can be on your way."

"We
will come presently." Domenico's answer was curt, his gaze never leaving
my face as he spoke.

"You're
an absolute fellow!" The man said half-admiringly, and withdrew.

I
did not hear a footfall in the silence after he had gone, but the duke's hands
gripped my shoulders, and I knew he had come up behind me. Paying no heed to
those around us, he pulled me around to face him, and his piercing eyes scanned
my face.

"Did
it hurt?" His voice was so treacherously gentle that I felt my heart turn
over.

"Your
Grace is no weakling," I answered stonily. "Am I to ask your
pardon?"

I
was so startled that I looked full into his eyes. There was mockery there, and
the dying embers of his rage, and a hard intentness that made my eyelids fall
before it. His fingers dug cruelly into the hollows of my shoulders.
"Answer me, boy."