My thoughts were circling, panic-stricken, when the priest spoke again. "I will bring her to you."
"I am much beholden to you." There was infinite irony in the smooth words. "Pray make haste, or truly I think the duke will come himself if you do not."
As the sandaled footsteps approached the door, I was out of bed, staring wildly around me, seeking for an escape that I knew was not there. Father Vincenzo's voice came sharply from the doorway behind me.
"Daughter, what is the matter?"
I said unsteadily, "I heard you talking. You lied to me." "What did you hear?" He came towards me and caught my hands in his.
"That the duke sends for me. I have done nothing—why does he keep me in prison for nothing?"
I was almost stammering, and the Jesuit gripped my restless hands and held them still. "Softly, lady. You are no worse now than you were before you learned all this—you need not fear for your life. The duke would not set me to cure you of your fever only to have you killed. Consider calmly, and you will see that it is so."
"But why should he take me prisoner? And why did you not tell me?"
"I feared to raise this very storm by speaking. It would have gained you nothing and perhaps hindered your recovery—you would not have learned the truth yet if I could have prevented it."
I said through chattering teeth, "I have the right to know what is intended towards me."
"Yes." There was compassion in the priest's eyes. "But knowing the duke's intent would not have altered it. Come, daughter, have courage, and I will take you to His Grace's envoy."
He gently draped the dingy bedcover around my shoulders, and I lifted my head in a sudden spurt of pride as I went with him to the door. My legs were unsteady, and I remember feeling annoyed by my slow progress, but at last I reached the massive door, and Father Vincenzo pushed it open.
The room beyond the door was wide and bare, seeming so bright for a moment my eyes were dazzled; then I saw a man standing against the opposite wall, as incongruous as a shining moth in a tomb. A small, spare, shapeless man in black brocaded with silver, his hair and beard bleached to the color of sun-whitened barley, his thin face a mask of paint. He stood deliberately posed, one hand on his hip, the other stroking his beard; then he bowed with an ironic air that made an insult of the courtesy.
"Lady, good afternoon!"
The sudden affected lightness stirred my memory: this was the man who had complained in the courtyard of the Eagle the night I was taken.
I said, "Is it afternoon, sir? The hours are so alike I cannot tell one from another."
He straightened swiftly, smiling, but his eyes were watchful. "All that is at an end. I am sent by the duke to deliver you and to bid you welcome to his court."
"I have tried His Grace's welcome." My hands clenched in spite of myself. "Farewell would please me better, sir."
One eyebrow arched coolly. "Would you be gone before you know the reason you were brought here? On my honor, the duke intends you all love and friendship. He bids you to his banquet."
"And it was for that he imprisoned me? You mock me, sir. I never knew a duke invite a tavern wench to share his supper."
"You do not know this duke, then." The murmur was mocking.
"I know enough." I glanced bitterly down at my filthy shift, half-hidden by the gray coverlet; at the thinness of my hands, grown paler since I had done so little work. He followed my gaze, and I noticed that the malicious intelligence of his heavy-lidded eyes contradicted the weakness of mouth and chin. His lips curled in a faint, ironic smile.
"Come, we are laggard. It wants two hours to supper, and by that time you must be made ready. The duke has given orders for your dressing. We must not linger."
I did not move. "What does he mean to do with me?"
"Should I speak it before the priest?" His eyes glinted, and laughter shook his voice. "On my life, he means to use you well! And use you thoroughly, or I do not know him." He met my bewildered gaze and sobered a little. "You are here awaiting his pleasure, lady."
I whispered no, and the room spun before my eyes. Someone steadied me, and I could hear the man addressing Father Vincenzo above my head.
" 'Slight, you have been secret with her! I did not dream she had not guessed it. Innocent indeed!"
The priest paid him no heed. "Can you stand, daughter?"
I drew a deep breath and nodded, and the man came forward with a quick, tripping step like a trotting pony, eyeing me up and down. "Father, she is a prodigy if she does not dissemble. You should be glad, lady, that you are honored with the duke's notice and should not stand like a lightning-struck tree."
"Am I to be overjoyed that such a tyrant would lie with me? It is more like to drive me to despair!" My hands were trembling, and I thrust them behind me. "You have pretty notions of women!"
"Well, well!" His eyes widened. "Have I affronted virtue?"
His tone turned the word to a sneer, and I retorted, "No more than you meant to, sir."
"Perhaps a little more." He was stroking his beard, his expression thoughtful. "My pretty notions have not so far encountered such wrathful modesty. It may be I shall alter them a little."
I did not heed him. "Why does the duke want me when he has never seen me?"
"He saw you once, it seems, and that once was enough." The man was looking at me strangely as I fought to control my rising tears.
"Sir, I..."
"Lady, for correctness, you should address me as 'my lord.' Piero Ottavio della Quercia, first gentleman to the Duke of Cabria, at your service."
The sarcasm made me so angry that I forgot my fear for a moment. "I beg your lordship's pardon. Can you tell me why your master should want me more than another?"
Piero surveyed me slowly, insolently. "Oh, lady, you cannot be so modest!"
"I do not want your compliments!" My voice almost broke.
He shrugged. "His Grace is not the man to subdue the dictates of his flesh—and, moreover, he is the duke. He will have what he will have."
"But there must be women who would account it an honor to do what he would force me to. Why will he not take one of them?"
"Because he soon tires of those who are too willing." There was an oddly brittle note in Piero's voice. "He is surfeited with brood mares and must mount the unicorn."
"He cannot command my honor!"
Piero smiled. "Do not be too sure."
"That... that white-haired lecher!" I was almost past speech.
"Would you call it white?" he enquired musingly. "It would be more politic to call it gold. He would mislike the imputation of old age if he heard it. Do you not think him handsome, lady?"
I remembered the coarse, cruel drunkard's face, the gold-powdered hair, and shook my head. Piero raised his eyebrows.
"Then you must study to find him so, for he dotes on admiration. There are few about the court who deny his beauty— you must be hard to please."
"I am not his sycophant!"
"Well, you may change your mind." Piero's gaze seemed to travel beyond me as he spoke. "He is a kind of witch, and he will win you."
In spite of myself, I was silenced by the ache in his voice that sounded almost like sorrow. Then, without meaning to, I burst out, "My lord, let me go! You could tell the duke I escaped you—he would not care greatly—"
He laughed softly. "He would care enough to have my life for it! His Grace is not gainsaid by man or woman."
I turned away so that he should not see my tears, and his shapeless fingers caught my wrists and gripped them.
"Why, lady, you are distracted!" The words were mock soothing, but Piero's eyes were bright with some unnamed excitement. "You would be no better by reserving your virginity but in the name of maid—but once you part with it, you purchase wealth and honor beyond your dreams!"
The blood scorched my cheeks. "I am not for your market. Save your wit, my lord."
He flushed in his turn, but angrily. "Well, be a fool if you will! I only advise you to sel
l while you can; if the duke should force his passage, you will get nothing by it, unless you breed by him."
A cry of revulsion tore my throat, and I tried to twist away, but he held both my hands fast. His color had risen; he was in the grip of some excitement that made him tremble, and his words came rapid and fevered.
"Why should you not? You do not look barren, and I will take my oath the duke has strength enough to bring you to it."
"Let me go!" I could find no other words.
"Where? Back to the gutter, to your home? Who there will believe in your chastity? Better stay—a duke's whore is better than a common harlot or a beggar. Better stay."
There was a silence as I fought for words to deny him but could find none. What could I do if I were set free? Antonio would never have me in his house unless, like the other whores, I paid him rent. My chastity was gone in the eyes of honest folk already. Piero's hand touched my shoulder in what I thought for an instant was a caress.
"So." It was an almost inarticulate sound of triumph. "I will leave the lady to your mercies, Father; call me when you have done."
He was gone in a whirl of silk and perfume, leaving Father Vincenzo standing before me like a mute.
I said with difficulty, "What did he mean?"
For a moment I thought he would not answer. Then he said reluctantly, "I am not only your physician but the duke's. I am bidden to ensure that no woman he lies with has any disease that could harm him. It is no more than a task I must do; you need not fear me."
I flinched away from him. "Father, I give you my word..."
"I dare not take it. Many are sick who do not know it themselves, and the duke's health is the health of the whole state. Be still and trust me, and it will soon be over; but if you will not, I must have you held."
The resistance drained from me on a long shuddering sigh. "I will not fight you. What must I do?"
He did his work deftly and in silence while I stayed dumb with shame and humiliation. As he had promised, it was over quickly, but when he had done, I could not look at him.
"There is nothing to cure." He sounded ashamed. "I am sorry I had to do this thing, but I am sworn to obey the duke. I shall tell him."
"I hope he rewards you well," I answered bitterly.
"Lady, pardon me for my office. Remember that the prisoner forgives the hangman."
The note of pain in his voice was so sharp that I nodded speechlessly and heard his quick breath of relief. Then, with a swish of robes, he strode across the room to call Piero.
"What, are you done already?" The courtier spoke from the doorway, his voice edged with sarcasm. "You have made short work!"
All the color drained from Father Vincenzo's face. He said in a low voice, "She is clean enough to be corrupted. Now let me pass."
"Always your servant, Father." Piero stood aside and swept him a flourishing bow. He laughed as the door closed and turned to me, his eyes fever-bright.
"My congratulations, lady, for being all that the duke could desire. Although in truth," his lips twisted, "he does not ask much! Any that is shaped for a woman and is less than wholly rotted will serve his turn—so the priest can freshen her for him. But you are new enough, and fair enough, to hold him a little longer." He studied me thoughtfully, his fingers stroking his beard in that habitual, irritating gesture. He took & step towards me, and I flinched.
"You must learn not to be so squeamish with His Grace," he remarked sardonically. "He is soon impatient with a cold wench."
"Perhaps he will tire the sooner and set me free."
"Why"—he moved nearer still—"where would you go, after he casts you off? You were better to choose yourself a gallant who is close to the duke and live under his protection. If you chose rightly, you would scarce know you had stepped lower than the topmost rung of the ladder."
"A rare stratagem," I retorted, "if I could find a man willing to take up the duke's neglected whore."
"You need not seek far."
"Who would be such a fool?"
"I think I would, for once." He was so close now that his body pressed against mine, and I twisted to escape him. But I was hard against the wall and could not thrust him away. His face was only inches from mine, and I could see the paint grained in his skin; the traces of brown at the roots of his silvered curls, and the way his breath came quickly between his parted lips. I realized then that my struggles excited him, and I stood still.
"Even if you were enough of a fool to take the duke's leavings," I answered angrily, "I doubt I would take such a foolish offer."
For a moment I thought he would murder me, but then he laughed. "You will not have the choice, lady. You will find I am dear to His Grace, dearer than twenty harlots; and when he begins to look sullenly upon you or gazes on another woman and smiles, then I will beg you of him. He is as like to take it as a favor that I will husk the grain that he has thrashed. It will not be long," he added as I made a little sound of disgust. "His Grace is no more constant than the moon."
"Then I wish his mind had changed when I lay sick," I said. "The delay ought to have outrun his patience."
"You mistake." For an instant there was something like tender reminiscence in Piero's eyes. "He is a sort of child in that—he wants nothing so much as the thing that is withheld. And once he has it"—he stepped away from me and shrugged elaborately—"he breaks it, like as not, or tosses it away unvalued."
"He is a monster," I whispered.
"A royal one." Piero's excitement was dying; he was once again the brisk and dapper courtier I had seen at first. "Come, we have debated long enough—you must be dressed, and fitly. Time is precious."
As I hurried in Piero's wake through a labyrinth of passages, those we met stared at me as though I were some freak from another country. Two guards flanked me, helping me when weakness made me stumble, but I would not let them support me; it seems strange that I should have striven for dignity at such a time, but my pride would not support such humiliation. I kept up as well as I could, half-blinded by the harsh alternations of fire and shadow and chilled to the bone by the howling drafts.
The Palazzo della Raffaelle seemed to me the palace of a nightmare, a crannied warren of gray stone stretching into seeming infinity. Blazing lights loomed up in the blackness of its sudden turns and vanished again as swiftly. And always before me was Piero della Quercia's hurrying back, his stride somewhere between haste and swaggering, the silver threads in his cloak gleaming in the torchlight. At last, when I had lost all sense of direction and no longer knew how far we had come, he turned suddenly into a doorway and bowed me ahead of him into a high tapestried chamber. Two women were standing there, waiting.
"Madonna Niccolosa." Piero addressed the elder woman with a brusqueness that carried me straight back to the Eagle. "Here is your charge. You know your duties from the duke's secretary."
The woman nodded. She was tall and forbidding, wearing severest black, with gray hair high-piled above a harsh-boned face. She was not young, but she stood erect and stiff; only her hands, veined and swollen-knuckled, betrayed her age. When she spoke, it was with a harsh, slow accent, in a voice devoid of all expression. "We do, my lord."
"Very well. The fashion of her dressing is to be as the duke pleases — none of your nun's attire, remember."
He must dislike her, I thought, to treat her so rudely. Her lips thinned at his tone, but she answered him levelly enough.
"We have had His Grace's commands. He sent them himself."
"Did he so?" Piero sounded startled. "What was the order?"
"Lombardy silk, and silver," she said grudgingly, and he gave a low whistle.
"But nothing else, Piero!" The younger woman spoke for the first time, and I jumped; her voice was as deep as a man's, husky and intriguing. "That is some comfort, for he sent no jewels for her. He will not waste his treasure on such a common wench."
Piero surveyed her mockingly. "What, are you jealous, Madonna Maddalena? He has squandered enough upon you to mai
ntain you for the rest of your days—now you must give place."
"Not to that," she returned scathingly, glaring at him.
Suddenly I remembered where I had seen her before. She had ridden in the procession to the cathedral; I remembered noticing her because her hair, a lovely dark bronze, was one of the few not bleached to fairness. It was dressed in two horns on her head in the Venetian fashion, and her gown—a wonderful thing of black and silver—threw its color into relief and showed off her delicate, faintly tawny skin. But it was the antagonism in her face that shocked me; as she glanced towards me, her enormous pale-green eyes were smoldering and her mouth was hard. She could not have been much older than I was, and I wondered why she should be jealous of that disgusting old man—but then I noticed her jewels.
They weighed down her thin fingers, circled her pliant neck, and lay across her breast like a hauberk of mail; diamonds, glittering like a web of fallen stars even in this grim place. Evidently Madonna Maddalena coveted such favors.
Piero did not answer her, but his smile was malicious as he bowed. "Ladies, I take my leave—and you were best to use all haste. I will send someone to bring you to supper in good time." A click of his fingers to summon the waiting guards, and he was gone.
It was Maddalena who spoke first, breaking the oppressive silence. "And we are to make that beautiful. My God!"
The older woman frowned. "Madam, we must waste no time on blasphemy."
"We need a hundred years for such a task." The green eyes surveyed me a moment longer; then she said, "Well, call the maids and let us begin."
I hardly knew what went on for the next hour; I was too dazed with shame even to raise my eyes. Maddalena kept up a flow of scornful little comments on my plainness as I was bathed and dressed, but I barely heard them; my whole mind was slowly succumbing to overwhelming dread.
For the first time I was beginning to realize what submission to the duke's lust would mean. Until now my fears had been instinctive, a dread of the unknown, but now as I turned and returned, moving like a puppet to order, I had time to think. I remembered my stepfather kneeling by my bedside with his breeches gaping open, his hand dragging back the covers and his voice a threatening growl in my ears; I remembered Messire Luzzato's wet, pouting mouth and greedy eyes. Then I thought of the man I had seen bowing in the street to those other women; I imagined the scrabblings of those podgy fingers, the kisses of that slack mouth, and nearly retched. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps he is so old that he will be impotent, and then I shall be safe.
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