The Silver Devil (13 page)

"My
lord secretary, convey this message to my brother and to my great-uncle the
archbishop."

Ippolito
made an unwary movement, and I read astonishment in his dark face.

"Tell
them, with all due love and compliment—I trust you for some nimble speech or
other—that we would have their voices in a great matter. Say we will hold a
council in six days' time, touching the general state and the succession—that
will bring them." He smiled, derisively, and turned to stroke the hair
back from my face with negligent fingers.

"But
Your Grace—"

"Are
you here yet?" The bright head did not turn.

"They
are bound to ask what this means, Your Grace. What should I tell them?"

"Say
that you do not know." Domenico's fingertip traced my bruised lips.
"Then you will be speaking the truth."

"Your
Grace..."

"Ippolito..."

Just
the name, no more. But that one word, sweetly spoken, sent the man hurrying
from the chamber without daring to reply.

Domenico
chuckled softly. He leaned back voluptuously, stretching in total abandon, and
spoke to his mirrored image on the ceiling.

"This
will put wildfire in 'em—they will try now to learn my mind from each other,
and neither one will guess it!" His head turned, the exultation in his
face transforming it to a devil's mask. "Sweet, you cannot guess what they
are to ratify! — they will hate it, but they seal it or they bleed. I shall
have my will approved by the state council, and not even the commons can murmur!"

He
was alight with laughter, as though the sweating terror of the night had never
been. I gazed at him, bewildered. "Why, what is the matter?"

"It
is not for you to know." He thrust himself up from the tumbled pillows as
he spoke, and my hands gripped together. That was all I meant to him, a
creature fit to bed with, dismissed and forgotten as soon as his mind turned
back to state affairs. The pain of the thought startled me. Domenico had turned
his back on me and was consulting with Piero, who had come hurrying to the
bedside.

"I
have ordered Your Grace's gray gelding. I thought you would be weary of the
mare."

I
winced at the words, but a white hand flashed up with the speed of a snake
striking, caught Piero's wrist, and twisted. I heard the courtier's breath hiss
between his teeth.

"Your
Grace, I pray you..."

"Good
friend, spend your wit on a fitter subject."

There
was a small, sickening jar of bone, then Piero was free. His other hand cradled
his wrist for a moment, then he bowed ironically. "Always at Your Grace's
service—I shall dispose of last night's stale business." His shapeless
fingers gripped my shoulder. "Come, mistress."

"You
are something too forward," Domenico spoke softly. "Our commerce is
not done yet. Take her to the old witch and give orders for her to be dressed
to ride out with us in two hours. Then come to us again."

The
hand on my shoulder tightened spasmodically, then fell away. Piero murmured
under his breath, "Well, well!" and then said tonelessly, "As
Your Grace wills."

The
duke gave him a swift, keen glance and said mockingly, "Have you waited
all night, Piero, to dispose of her?"

The
weak mouth hardened. "Your Grace knows well how vigilant I am. I will call
the attendants." As he turned away, his toe caught the white velvet robe as
it lay on the floor, and he picked it up and tossed it on the bed. "Yours,
madam."

"And,
Piero, order a horse for her—the gray will do, the young one."

"Your
Grace, I cannot ride!"

The
words burst from me involuntarily, and the duke's eyes narrowed. "You are
too absolute."

Panic
gave me courage. "It is not willfulness—I cannot ride because I have never
mounted a horse. I have lived all my life in the city, and my brother keeps no
horses—I would fall off," I finished doggedly.

The
black eyes danced. "I will teach you to ride."

Piero
was waiting by the door and averted his eyes ostentatiously as I clutched the
white robe around me and slid out of bed. His whispered "He has taught you
much already" as I followed him was not for the duke's ears.

It
seemed the duke's orders had the power of magic, for clothes were there,
although Niccolosa could not have known in advance that they would be wanted.
Riding clothes of severest gray, calecons, kid boots, and embroidered
gauntlets, all miraculously fitting. But before she dressed me, she helped me
salve the worst of the marks on my skin and staunch the last of the bleeding;
then she eased on the garments tenderly, sparing my smarting flesh with a care
that said more than words. I looked at her grim face, unemotional, absorbed in
settling the ruff at my throat, and said tentatively, "Thank you,
madonna."

Her
eyelids flickered. "You do not call me madonna. My name is Niccolosa, and
His Grace the duke has placed me in your service."

She
closed her mouth tightly. I colored, watching her covertly; it seemed almost
the strangest thing of all that someone to whom I would have curtsied humbly a
short while since should serve as my waiting woman. Yet she was accustomed to
her tasks—she went about her work unhesitatingly, even though it sorted ill
with her air of authority. I wondered if she could have been a servant of the
banished duchess and had chosen not to follow her mistress into exile.

She
finished coiling my hair high on my head, pinned the small feathered hat
securely, and then turned me to the mirror. I saw my own face white and set,
the eyes shadowed, the lips vivid—this morning the most sophisticated woman
would not paint my mouth as they had last night, for it was already reddened,
stinging from Domenico's kisses.

"Mistress,"
Piero's voice spoke from the doorway without warning, "the duke desires
your company."

For
a moment I went cold. Then I said levelly, "Well, where must I go?"

"To
the eastern courtyard. I am sent to fetch you." He extended his hand, and
gingerly, disliking the contact, I put mine into it and let him lead me from
the room. There were no guards this morning—it appeared I was thought less
likely to escape now that the duke had done his pleasure.

Piero
was silent for a few moments and then said lightly, "You were a virgin,
then. I doubted that; there are few left these days. I thought not any, but I
was mistaken."

"Was
the priest's word not enough?" I asked sharply.

"He!"
Piero's chuckle was silvery with scorn. "He was so enthralled by your
sweet face that no man would give him credit. It was rumored that he had had
you himself."

I
turned my head away, angry and sickened, and after a moment he spoke again.

"His
Grace is a fine lover, is he not? A delicate lecher—I know his bed tricks from
the old time. Between the sheets he is a monarch, a very god." He was
watching my averted face as he spoke. "It is as well he tired—he is a
witch."

Suddenly
and vividly, I remembered the dead woman of his nightmares. "Who was it he
tired of?"

"Why,
of me." Piero smiled sarcastically. "It was long ago, but my lord
does not change; it is only his lovers who alter."

"Is
that why you want me?" The question was out before I could stop it.
"You would rather take the flesh that he has touched than forage for
yourself?"

"What,
madam wiseacres!" His prominent eyes were furious. "Do you think it
is my habit to take his leavings? I do not care what carrion he feeds on—he may
take fifty harlots in a night and welcome. But you..."he hesitated.
"I owe you payment for that blow. I will not forget it, even if you
do."

"And
was it undeserved?" I said quietly.

Ahead
of us servants were springing to open heavy doors, and after a moment Piero
shrugged.

"Well,
let it go."

He
thrust me ahead of him into blinding sunshine. I shielded my eyes and gasped,
for without realizing it I had become accustomed to the torch-pricked gloom of
the Palazzo; then I looked eagerly around me, breathing the first fresh air I
had known for a week.

The
courtyard was full of men and women and horses, and after my long solitude the
bustle was a sweet taste of normality— this was what I had always known, the
rushing of grooms, the tramping of strangers' horses, the chatter drifting up.
I started down the steps with Piero gripping my arm, guiding me towards the
middle of the melee. I could see the bob of bowing courtiers ahead of us and
knew the duke must be there. As I went, I could see heads turning and sense the
nudges and whispers; but today there was no scorn, no howls of laughter, only
the wariness of wolves not daring to attack. I kept my head high, but the naked
curiosity in their faces was making me feel sick.

My
heart was thundering as Piero led me up to the duke, and a queer apprehension
was beginning to take possession of me. He was standing beside the gray horse
he had ridden in the procession, talking in a low voice to Ippolito, and the
sight of him made me catch my breath.

He
was wearing black, only the starched ruff relieving the deathliness of it—but
the look on his face was amused, carefree, beauty and charm wiping out all the
cruelty, his ruffled hair shining like floss against the horse's flank. He
turned and saw me, and his eyes narrowed.

Piero
released me, and I sank quickly into a curtsy. Domenico's fingers gripped the
scruff of my neck as I rose, drawing me towards him lightly but irresistibly;
his kiss was as avidly sensual as if we had been alone, and I was dizzy when at
last he lifted his head.

"There's
enough of duty. Have you not learned that yet?" He spoke very softly
through the whispering that eddied round us. "Such courtesies are our due
from slaves, but you must learn to be bolder."

I
said, "I cannot be proud of my dishonor," and his long lashes
drooped.

"I
shall teach you that, too. Come and see your mount."

Those
nearby drew back and bowed as he turned, and I found myself standing before a
sleek-skinned gray gelding, smaller than the duke's but still, to my nervous
eyes, a great, looming beast.

"Your
Grace made an excellent choice," Ippolito commented cheerfully. "It
is a fine horse."

Domenico's
hooded gaze did not waver. "Do you like him, lady?"

"He
is beautiful. I will not quarrel with Your Grace's choice."

His
lips twisted. "A worthy doctrine!"

I
flinched; even in his lightest teasing there was an edge of viciousness. To
stop my thoughts, I reached out tentatively to pat the horse's neck, and at
once my hand was imprisoned and held, fingers fluttering in distress, against
the breast of Domenico's fine doublet.

"Madam,
do you think you can manage him?" Ippolito's question seemed to come from
leagues away.

"I
can try." I stood scarlet-cheeked as the nobles broke into shrill
laughter, as though I had said something witty. They would be willing to
acknowledge me, even give me eminence, as long as the duke stayed by my side.

A
noise behind me made me turn quickly. Sandro had come down the palace steps at
a clattering run, and now he greeted the duke with a perfunctory bow and a
broad grin. "You are stirring late, Brother! Are you turned
sluggard?"

"My
sleep was broken." It was so light and sardonic that no one else could
have seen the shadow in Domenico's eyes as he glanced at me.

Sandro
saw the look and misinterpreted it. "Mine, too—I thank you for your
generous gift, Your Grace. But now I must clear my wits with a good hard ride
if I am to do myself justice at your council. What is the matter?"

The
eagerness in his voice was just insufficiently veiled. At the back of my mind I
could hear Beniamino saying, "He would inherit if that silver devil
died," and knew what made Sandro's blue eyes so bright and hard.

An
unpleasant smile touched the duke's soft mouth. "You are confusing
business with pleasure. Brother. State matters are for council; we are
riding."

Sandro
grimaced. "I shall make a sad botch of the work, then, for you know my
skill in debate!— unless I have studied the matter for days before, our
reverend uncle flays me with his wits."

"Content
yourself, he knows no more of this than you." The white lids drooped
dismissively, and Domenico turned his shoulder. "We are wasting the
morning—I have promised to teach this lady to ride, and this is her first
lesson." He mounted his horse in one flowing movement; the animal
curvetted and was instantly brought under an iron control. "Lady,
come...."

Awkwardness
stiffened my limbs to a puppet's as I turned to the smaller gelding. I could
not imagine how I was to reach that high-towering saddle; the silken flank
loomed like an unscalable cliff. Then, as I looked helplessly around for some
assistance, one of the courtiers slid from the throng and, with a deferential
"Madam," lifted me bodily into the saddle.