The Silver Devil

by Teresa Denys

  The knife was resting on its point. The fingers of his right hand barely touched the hilt. Then he softly flicked the fingers of his other hand.

  I rose slowly, painfully, and went to him with the oddest feeling of relief. If he killed me, I would not have to remember this night. He turned a little in his chair to watch me, the knife between his hands, and I went down on my knees beside him. I could feel his gaze resting on my bare throat; for a long moment he was still, and then I met his eyes and saw the blaze in them.

  I never saw him move. The knife went flying across the room to fall with a clatter somewhere in the shadows, and then he was out of his chair and shouting harshly for me to be taken out of his sight.

  Trembling so that I could hardly stand, I was lifted to my feet and led away. I half expected to be taken to the dungeons, and it was with a sense of shock that I found myself in my own chamber: the room I had left so many hours ago, thinking never to see it again. They left me alone then, and, at last, too weary for any further thought, I fell into bed and slept as though I were dead already.

  I woke with a feeling of dread. The nightmarish events of the previous night had faded, and it was only when I recognized the hangings of the bed I so seldom slept in that I remembered. I lay still, apprehensive, piecing together the memory of how I came to be there, until Niccolosa—a silent, subdued Niccolosa— came to rouse me. Looking at her folded lips and expression­less face, I wondered how much she knew of what had hap­pened last night, but there was nothing to be learned from her manner.

  Although it was barely dawn, others were up before me—I could hear the scuffling of feet in the corridor and voices in the antechamber, and I wondered for one frightened moment whether the executions were taking place here and now. Then I remembered. It was Domenico's coronation morning, and while the deaths he had ordered were being meted out, the prepara­tions were going forward for him to mount his throne.

  Niccolosa touched my arm. "My lady, you must get dressed. You are to ride in the coronation procession, remember."

  "No, not now. The duke will have changed his mind after . . ."

  "But his servants brought your gown not half an hour ago, and there is a letter for you—he expressly desires you to wear it today."

  "A letter?" I stared incredulously as she held out a sealed and folded sheet, and broke the wax with fingers that trembled suddenly.

  "Ippolito will come for you two hours before noon," it said without greeting or superscription. "Be ready to go in state through the city, and tell the old woman that if you appear less than a duke's daughter, she shall answer for it."

  It was signed, with slashing, arrogant strokes, "Cabria."

  After a moment I began to laugh. I should have known that nothing would make him alter his plans. The ceremony would go on as he had ordered it, and I would ape the part of his betrothed in front of half the statesmen in Italy—and if after­wards he chose to kill me or discard me, I would have served his turn.

  Niccolosa looked anxious. "My lady . . ."

  I managed to swallow my laughter before it broke into weep­ing: "Very well, I shall not disobey His Grace's commands."

  "First you must eat, my lady. There is time enough for you to break your fast. . . ."

  "No." I shook my head, and her lips tightened.

  "As you will, my lady."

  "I am sorry, Niccolosa." I tried to smile. "But I am too afraid. Food would make me queasy."

  She nodded and said no more. "Well, I will summon your ladyship's women."

  As she moved towards the bellpull, I said bitterly, "Where are my masking robes?"

  She did not pretend to misunderstand me. "The women will bring them when they come. They were made to His Grace's order."

  The door opened to admit servants carrying burdens of spill­ing brightness that made me gasp and run forward to touch them cautiously, for fear they might vanish. For a moment I was enchanted. Then I remembered that these robes were to deck an impostor; their beauty was as much a mockery as the court's reverence would be. The finer I was, the more they would jeer behind my back and laugh up their sleeves at my impudence, knowing that I was no more than a puppet that jerked to the duke's command. And for my pride's sake I could not—would not—admit that my usurped dignity tasted as bitter as gall.

  It was with less than half an hour to spare that I was ready at last, for Niccolosa had glimpsed Domenico's note and had taken as many pains with my dressing as if I had been what I pretended to be. The process of readying was so long and elaborate that I felt worn out with standing still long before she pronounced the work done.

  The gown was cloth of silver, stitched with diamonds in a pattern of scrolled leaves and flowers like a frozen summer, so heavy that I could scarcely move. Over it went a mantle, spreading behind me in unnumbered folds of wrought silver: a plain cross lay on my breast, a necklace of diamonds clung about my throat, and over so much brightness my hair hung like a black cloak. It was the duke's order that I was to wear it so, loose like a virgin's, and not all the chains of pearls and diamonds twisted up in it could disguise the mockery behind the lying blazon of maidenhood.

  When I looked into the mirror I did not know myself. There was no vestige left of Celia's drudge, hardly any trace of the girl who had pleaded to be set free on that first night, but a ghost of fear lay in the gray eyes. But now it was the fear of a different loss. With a bitter little smile I noticed the distinction between bride and mistress; silvery lawn filled the breast of my gown and framed my face in cobweb-fine ruffles.

  Niccolosa was watching me in the glass; then, as she had done once before, she patted my hand.

  "I will fetch my lord Ippolito," she said and left me.

  To keep my thoughts at bay, I began to pace the room, learning to manage the crushing weight of the silver robes. I found I had to draw the train after me as a horse draws a cart, throwing my weight forward with the first step so that my burden would run smoothly after me. I had just contrived a full turn without tripping when I heard the door open at the other end of the room.

  "If you are ready, madam . . ." Ippolito arrived hastily, resplendent in dark gray velvet, and his mouth dropped open in the middle of his cheerful greeting.

  I nodded and walked slowly towards him. To try to move quickly was a waste of effort; I had to walk in long, smooth steps amid a susurration of silk and silver. Ippolito stood watching me like a man in a trance, and then he swallowed and closed his mouth.

  "Well, madam." His friendly smile overspread his face again. "For a minute I thought I must salute some unknown royalty! I never saw a lady look lovelier," he added soberly.

  I looked up at him in anxiety. "Will I serve the duke's turn for Savoy's daughter?"

  A shadow—I thought it was pity—crossed his dark face. "She will be hard put to it to excel you. But come." He spoke with sudden briskness. "You are to ride in an open litter to the cathedral, and I am threatened with exile or death—or both—if you are an instant behind your appointed time. So do not think of anything that may make you heavy-hearted and slow your steps!"

  Most of the court was already mounted and waiting when Ippolito led me down the Titans' staircase, between the two stone giants. As I stood at the head of it, face after face was upturned to stare back at me, and I was aware of an unnatural silence, spreading outwards from the foot of the steps like circles in a pool. My hand must have tightened on Ippolito's, because he glanced at me quickly and led me down to the waiting litter.

  "Where is the duke?" I could not suppress the question.

  "In his chamber still, cursing his men." Ippolito's eyes twinkled. "I had rather manage fifty women, all impudent, all possessed of a fiend, than deal with my lord's Grace when he would be point-device! The daintiest lady is a sloven to him, and he will outswear the devil himself if things are not just as he would have them. He means to go last in this rout so that the crowd will be gaping for him when he comes."

  I smiled at the indulgent note in his voice and
said, "Take care he does not hear you," and he laughed.

  "I told him he was mountebanking it, and he smiled and said, like a full-fed tomcat, 'I would have them know without asking which is the duke.' "

  He handed me into the litter, and as Niccolosa and the maids fussed around me, arranging my train, I was aware again of the continuing silence. The courtiers' eyes were watching my every movement as though for some portent, almost as though they watched Domenico. Then, at some signal I could not see, the stragglers began mounting and the riders moved up to take their places. White-clad servants mounted the great black horses which bore the litter, and pages in the same livery were raising a silk canopy over my head, dulling the fierce beat of the sunshine. For an instant I felt as though I were choking on the lie I had to act, but it was too late: The air was full of clattering hooves and the swell of music as the procession moved off. I could not look back to see whether Domenico was following, for until horses and riders found their slow rhythm, the litter swung so that I was nearly flung out.

  During the progress through Diurno I was waiting for a denunciation that never came. I was so certain that someone would see through my imposture that I could hardly believe in the cheers and blessings shouted at me in the streets. By the time the procession disgorged its load before the bronze pan­eled doors of San Giovanni, I was giddy with the noise and the motion of the litter.

  Niccolosa had ridden before me, an incongruous figure on horseback, and she was at my side to manage my cumbersome robes while I waited for someone to tell me what was to happen next. It was as though I was caught up in a nightmare in which I was the only one not to know some ritual; I dared not stir a step for fear of making some fatal mistake.

  Then, with a clamor of trumpets, the doors swung wide, and people poured forward into the torchlit cathedral.

  The interior was as bright as day, a dazzle of gold and colors, and the high vaulted roof dwarfed men and women to scurrying insects as they fled to their places. I stood and watched them with as much awe as did the people in the streets outside—soon, I thought, they would remember I had no right to be there and turn me out.

  The trumpets blared again; heads were turning to stare back along the central aisle, and I shrank back instinctively. Then someone—I never saw who it was—took my hand and urged me forward. I obeyed numbly, walking towards the distant altar and halting where I was bidden, at the foot of the dais which bore the Cabrian chair of state. It was only then that I realized I stood alone and advanced before the whole congregation.

  For a moment I wanted to turn and run. But even as I gazed about me, the feverish roll of drums began to echo around the walls. Looking back, I saw acolytes swinging censers, a jeweled cross borne high; then the tall figure of the archbishop, his face a rapt mask below his glittering miter. Ranks of clergy fol­lowed him, and behind them, slow and stately, walked Ippolito, Piero, Sandro, and all the officers of the court. Now the trumpets rang and redoubled, harsh with pride, and I heard a long shivering sigh run through the court. Turning, I looked up and saw Domenico.

  He alone of all the court—and I, in obedience to his order—had ignored his edict. Beside the mourning splendor of his coronation robes, every other man seemed somehow gaudy or squalid.

  He was wearing silver from head to foot, ablaze with white fire from a crust of diamonds. They flashed blue white on his hands and in his ears and on the cope of the great mantle which swept the ground before him, stiff with filigreed silver. He should not have been able to waik for the weight of it, but he moved unhesitatingly towards the altar, his uncovered head arrogantly high. His fair face was incandescent with flaming pride, and a tiny, sneering smile hovered on his mouth as though the homage he received was no more than his due. He did not glance right or left as he walked, but my breath caught almost superstitiously in my throat. He looked magnificently, insanely beautiful: Lucifer aspiring to mount God's throne.

  The dark gaze swept unseeingly over my face as he passed and mounted the steps of the dais. Then the archbishop moved forward, and in the sudden silence the coronation ceremony began. Of it all, I have only recollection of the scarlet figure moving around the silver one; the smell of incense and the scent of rose petals strewn underfoot; and the moment when the archbishop lifted the ducal crown and placed it on Domenico's bright head.

  The old man worked swiftly, but long before he had done, the packed congregation was sweltering. I could hear Sandro breathing heavily, like a dog, and even from where I stood, I could see the sweat shining on duke and prelate. But at last, with a harshly proclaimed benediction, the archbishop drew back, and the silver figure stood alone before the state chair; the whole assembly sank to one knee with a brittle rustling like the clap of bats' wings. The archbishop stepped forward again and knelt to take the oath of allegiance; then the crowned head turned, and the black eyes met mine in a silent, inexorable command.

  Slowly, hardly aware of what I was doing, I walked to the foot of the dais. A hand in its embroidered glove was extended, and I kissed it, keeping my head bent for fear of what I should see in his face. Then I felt myself raised; gloved fingers lay lightly on my shoulders, drawing my head down, and the duke kissed me on both cheeks and, lingeringly, on the mouth.

  I almost stumbled as I stepped back. It had not been a sudden yielding to an impulse to shock; he had meant to do it, a deliberate act before the greatest in Italy. Was it his rejection, performed with cruel ceremony, or only the formal greeting to his supposed bride?

  I remembered nothing of the rest of the ceremony or the return through the streets to the palace. My mind was too full of the arrogant demand of Domenico's kiss. It was not until I found myself in the midst of the banquet, surrounded on all sides by music and laughter and the noisy antics of dwarfs and fools, that I awoke from the dream which held me.

  The ambassadors, at first stiff and formal, had unbent and grown visibly more cordial as they saw the opulence of wealth spread before them. Domenico had taken care that they should be served with the best of everything and attended by the most attractive of the noblemen's wives, and by now they had lost their air of reserve and were eating and drinking as heartily as any of the court. Everywhere there was noise; song and shouted conversation filled the swag-decked hall. Sandro and three of his cronies were entertaining the court with a dance mocking the triumph of Death, black-clad and masked like skulls, clash­ing their swords in feigned fight. Beside me I could hear Domenico laughing, his still face convulsed with mirth and his cheeks flushed with wine. It seemed impossible that last night he had sent seven people wantonly, viciously, to their deaths.

  He glanced around suddenly, and I flinched. Around us the revelry continued unabated; but in that instant there had been an odd, unfathomable expression in his dark eyes which left me wordless. He moved again then, rising to his feet abruptly.

  "My lords Ambassadors," his gaze swept them, "and my noble lords, we cannot revel it further tonight. Use your plea­sure in our absence—Cabria bids you welcome." He turned to me, looking down at me without a change of expression. "As for you, fair lady, we bid you good night. We must part from you for a little."

  I rose and stood passively as he touched his lips to my brow and turned away. It had come at last—this was his rejection—the end of my masquerade and end of my bittersweet hold on his favor. And but for my folly in listening to the archbishop . . .

  I checked the thought angrily. What did it matter? It was over, and there an end. Domenico said sharply, "Attend us," and then he strode out of the hall with his men at his back and his train spreading behind him like a glittering sea. The doors closed behind him: He was gone, and there was nothing.

  In dignity there was nothing I could do but call my women and go to my own chamber. I could hear the hiss of speculation beginning to grow; then, clenching my hands to stop their trembling, I left the hall without a backward glance.

  I walked swiftly, forgetting the weight of the silver robes, and soon outdistanced the waiting women�
��yesterday I would not have done so, but already their diligence was slacker. I had gained the head of the stairs and turned along the first gallery when an amused voice said, "Well, mistress, so the phoenix dies in flames?"

  I turned sharply. Piero was standing in the shadow of a nearby doorway, and as I halted, he stirred the bright folds of my skirt contemptuously with his toe.

  "He has provided you with a goodly pyre—I did not think he could hold to one woman for so long, but I knew he must tire at last. That escape of yours pricked his pride."

  "You knew I ran away?"

  "Who do you think told the duke of it? I heard the arch­bishop wooing you to it yesterday, but I never thought you would be so foolish as to go at his bidding. The old man only wanted you gone to smooth his own path, could you not see that?"

  I ignored the jeering note in his voice. "I wonder you betrayed him! Would you not rather have had me gone?"

  He shrugged lightly. "Oh, my hand was forced. That old crow Niccolosa came to seek you when you were after your time, and I had no choice then but to tell what I knew. Where were your wits, to rush to your own downfall so? If it were not that to murder you would please the archbishop, I doubt you would be alive now."

  Sudden tears constricted my throat, and I shook my head dumbly. I would have gone past him, but he moved into my path.

  "What will you do now that he has cast you off—or should I say, who will be your partner?"

  "I will not hear you." My voice shook, and he caught my arm.

  "You cannot choose. Till now you were backed by the Duke of Cabria, but your unaided power is less, I think. You cannot still hope that he will change his mind—I can testify that he will not."

  The raw note in his voice startled me. "What I do is none of your concern, my lord."

  "Oh, but it is." There was an excited glint in his eyes. "I have waited a long time for this. I mean to have the use of you before the duke spoils your beauty for other men."