The Silver Devil (10 page)

"No,
but ten days is a long time in the duke's affections. Follow, my lady, or he
will be growing impatient."

Maddalena
glared, then turned to me. "Come, then. I wish you joy."

She
swept imperiously ahead, her wooden chopines clattering on the stone flags, and
as I followed her, the two guards stepped from their station outside the door
and fell into step behind me. They thought of everything, I thought; even this
panic that makes me want to run and lose myself in this echoing maze.

Their
footsteps and Maddalena's made the only sound as we went along; the palazzo
might have been empty. It was only as we reached a long, bare gallery of
vaulted stone that the first sounds came to meet us; at first a whispering
growing through the ringing footsteps, then swelling to the din a thousand
magpies chattering. I glanced at Niccolosa, beside me, but her stern face
showed no surprise.

At
the end of the gallery were two great double doors, carved and chased,
glittering as though with sweat in the harsh light. I did not know how apt the
thought was until the doors opened and the heat and the noise engulfed me both
together.

It
was like stepping into hell. Blackness yawned before me, a hall so vast that
walls and roof were lost in shadow; facing me, a table curved in a half-circle
of silver threatened to crush me like a crab's great claw. There were other
tables behind it, rank upon rank, crowding the shadows; only in front of me
there was emptiness, as I stood on the brink of what seemed a black frozen lake
that reflected the blaze of the torches.

For
a moment longer the raucous charter went on. Then heads began to turn, and I
found myself confronted by row upon row of blanched, staring faces in a
terrifying silence. I looked around me helplessly for the two women, but they
had drawn back from the threshold, leaving me alone and absurd in the doorway.

In
that frozen instant the court looked like the picture of an inferno from one of
the painted Bibles in the cathedral. Gone were the opulent colors of the duke's
triumphal procession—everywhere black and silver gleamed with a lurid
phosphorescence, turning the courtiers to giant insects under an uplifted
stone, or lizards disturbed by a sudden light. The silence grew deathly.

Then,
somewhere, someone tittered, and another voice took it up. In moments the whole
assembly was rocking with jeering laughter as I stood ridiculously before them.
My hands clenched uncontrollably; I had been prepared for any humiliation but
the martyrdom of laughter. I stood with downcast eyes praying that
something—anything—would divert the court's attention.

Then
I heard, swelling through the laughter, the music of drums and trumpets. It came
from outside, beyond the huge, studded doors behind the silver table, and the
eyes were turning away from me towards it. Suddenly the whole chamber seemed to
erupt in swinging patterns of brilliance and blackness as the court came to its
feet. Servants ran to the doors and flung them wide, and the music surged in
unchecked, throbbing through me like a giant's pulse.

I
stood rooted to the spot, staring at the oncoming nobles, the brightness of
their clothes and jewels hurting my eyes. I recognized Piero's slight,
swaggering figure beside a tall, dark-haired courtier with a kindly face; and
after them a short stocky man, walking defiantly out of time with the beat of
the music. My heart leapt to my mouth, but an instant later I realized I was
mistaken—the cropped black hair and square, sardonic face belonged to
Alessandro della Raffaelle, Duke Carlo's bastard son. He must have been nearly
fifteen years my senior.

He
nodded to right and left, and for a moment his eyes seemed to rest on me down
the length of the hall; then he stepped to one side and turned, looking back
the way he had come like a dog awaiting its master.

By
now the hall resounded with shrieking trumpets. Fresh torches were borne in,
and at last, moving slowly between the bowing ranks, came the Duke of Cabria.
As he walked, his eyes never left my face.

I
must have swayed, but I did not fall. Even from where I stood I could read his
expression: pure satisfaction, as though to see me there amused him. The
trumpets ceased, and in silence he walked the length of the hall and paused by
the silver table. In the whole vast assembly there was not a sound.

Then
his hand flew out in a swift, imperious gesture, and at once every man and
woman dropped to one knee and lifted an arm in salute. I was left standing like
a fool, staring into the eyes of the man who had come to the Eagle.

I
did not stop to reason how or why he was there. He was waiting for me to kneel,
late and confusedly; instead, I stayed stubbornly erect, meeting his gaze about
the courtiers' bent heads. They seemed to have been kneeling forever, but still
he waited, watching me.

Then,
suddenly, he laughed. It was shrill and a little malicious, but there was a
note of genuine amusement in it. The commanding hand fell to his side, and the
court rose with a great rustle. I felt the curious eyes fasten on me again like
so many leeches.

"You
are welcome, lady."

He
spoke softly, moving deliberately around the table towards me; the courtiers
were as still as stringless puppets. He stopped in front of me, and my breath
caught suffocatingly in my throat. Then, with an absurd defiance stiffening my
back as haughtily as his, I sank to the ground in a deep curtsy. The rustle of
my skirts sounded as loud as a falling forest.

A
white hand, heavy with rings, raised me. My fingers trembled in his,
uncontrollably, and I looked up into the eyes that had haunted my feverish
dreams and saw them blazing with satisfaction.

He
was toweringly tall and slender, every poise and motion a conscious beauty;
doublet and breeches fitted him like a skin, turning him to a living, moving
silver statue. Diamonds studded his hands and flashed in his ears—even his hair
glimmered as if with Stardust. But all I saw in that first moment was the
fiercely beautiful face, its proud profile, white skin, and the shapely,
sensual mouth under the cropped and silken fair beard. The silver-gilt hair
clustered in thick curls over the small, proud head; radiantly, blindingly
fair, with a devil's dark eyes set in the face of an archangel.

For
a long moment he looked down at me, his eyelids drooping and a faint,
disquieting smile on his lips. I prayed he could not see my shaking hands or
the sudden dryness of my lips; but he could, for there was a glimmer of
laughter between his lashes.

"Come."
The word was no more than a breath, and I followed him to the head of the great
table, too bemused even to fear. I was beginning to think that I must be caught
up in some monstrous dream, that in a moment I would wake with the sights and
sounds fading into dusk and silence in Antonio's attic. But the silver table
was solid beneath my fingers, and my awareness of the man beside me was almost
a tangible thing. He had seated me at the right of the duke's carved chair, and
as he took his place in it, no one moved to prevent him. Around us the
moth-pale heads were laid together, and the whispering began like a breaking
sea.

He
said softly, his narrowed eyes belying his light tone, "You look at me as
though I were a ghost. Am I so monstrous?"

"I
thought the duke would be here." It was all I could say.

"The
duke?"

"Our
duke. The Duke of Cabria. He sent for me." "How do you know he is not
here?"

I
met the intent gaze steadily enough. "I have eyes."

"And
you would know the Duke of Cabria if you saw him?"

I
nodded, certain now that he was baiting me. "I saw him on his way to the
cathedral. And though you sit in his place and take his homage, you are little
like him."

"A
bold wench, this." He spoke over my shoulder to the Bastard, who sat on my
other side, watching and listening. "She says to my face what no one else
dares whisper behind my back. Shall we make her know us better?"

The
Bastard grinned. "If you are bent on knowing her, Brother, it is a pity
she should not know you!"

Brother?
I thought. No, surely the name must be a title of affection. No two men so
different could be close kin.

Alessandro
said relishingly, "I must present my brother to you, lady. Domenico
Giordano della Raffaelle, Duke of Cabria and Lord of the Marches. These and
sundry other weighty titles he has lately inherited from our lamented father,
Duke Carlo. And he is said to favor his mother," he added wickedly.

"Do
you mean the duke is dead?"

Sandro
lifted his wine cup in mock salute. "He is, lady. And now long live the
new duke!"

I
shook my head in disbelief. "When did he die?"

"The
night I had you brought here." It was the duke himself who spoke; he might
have been referring to the death of a dog or a mule, he spoke so calmly.
"Only such a coil could have made me defer this business so long. Were you
not told of it?"

I
was silent, not daring to trust my voice. A half-forgotten phrase of
Beniamino's was repeating itself in my head. That silver devil... silver
devil...

"I
wondered why Piero called you cold." Amusement quivered in his voice.
"I did not find you so in your brother's house. Did you think that old
ram, my father, wanted you?"

I
nodded dumbly, and he laughed.

"Faith,
he would have done you little harm! You need not fear I cannot bear my part
more ably than he could."

I
found my tongue. "Your Grace, your friend spoke truly; I will not yield
willingly to you or any man."

Alessandro
whistled. "There's for you, Brother!"

Dark
eyes studied me for a long moment, then the duke said softly, "We shall
see."

My
face flamed, and I turned sharply away to stare at the chattering nobles. They
were glancing often at the high table, discussing each word and look. I had
feared the father when I should have feared the son—all I had heard I had
misconstrued, because I had not known of Duke Carlo's death and had not recognized
his son in the procession. Now I understood Piero della Quercia's gibing
comments and Maddalena's jealousy.

I
did not dare look back at Domenico. Sprawled catlike in the silver chair, he
was watching me; I could feel his eyes resting on my bare shoulders as actual
as a touch. So the black and silver has a reason, I thought: not just a macabre
fashion but court mourning, worn for Duke Carlo.

Servants
were threading their way between the tables with platters and dishes, the
torches striking flickers of gold and angry red from the silver as they passed.
Someone heaped my plate, and I looked at it with nausea—so much rich food after
so long fasting threatened to turn my stomach. I averted my eyes quickly and
met Domenico's gaze.

He
was leaning back in his chair, watching me with a lazy possessiveness that
terrified me suddenly. I gasped and started to rise to my feet.

"Drink
some wine, lady." His voice checked me. "You take your pleasure too
sadly."

"I
do not take pleasure in this," I retorted breathlessly.

"True,
it is trifling. But you shall know greater ones tonight."

Alessandro
was leaning forward, listening blatantly, and he grinned as he caught my eye.
"My lord and brother, the lady blushes. You had better tame your
tongue."

"She
is modest yet." The duke's tone was idle. "I am making war on a
scrupulous virginity."

"Then
parleying is a waste of time. You had best resort to battery."

"I
will take your word. Your generalship is famous—for the most part."

The
Bastard's jaw tightened for an instant, then he grinned. "No delaying,
then! If you are to fight, you will have no stomach for feeding, and a city
starved by siege is soonest entered." I tensed, and the duke laughed.

"I
can be patient a little longer. I have a mind"—his voice was almost a
purr—"to give our stepmother duchess's diamonds to this lady. Perhaps they
will soften her heart a little."

"Those!"
I thought Alessandro would say more, but he checked himself. "I did not
think Gratiana would have given them back without blood."

"They
were the gift of our father, hence the state's. She gave them back when I bade
her."

Alessandro
looked fascinated but forbore to press the question. "Good, they will
shine the brighter on this lady. They have hidden that old hag's wrinkles for
too many years."

"So
I thought. Ippolito..."

Miraculously,
the man he addressed heard the murmur from his place beside Piero and rose at
once to bow at the Duke's shoulder. He was dressed in black, with barely a
trace of silver, and his dark face reminded me of a contented cat's. He
listened attentively to Domenico's lazy instructions, and as he hurried away, I
watched him until he was swallowed up in shadows; anything rather than look at
the duke. It was a relief when Alessandro claimed his attention.

"Brother,
if you are in a bountiful humor, will you grant me a favor?"