"I could not choose." Suddenly I felt cold: cold and very calm. "Am I free to go now?"
The laughter left his face. "Where?"
"Back to the city. You can want no more of me now you have done your pleasure."
"That is for me to decide—I said you shall stay until I bid you go, and it is treason to disobey."
"Stay where?" I demanded stupidly.
"Here in the palace, to supply the office that you did last night. A prisoner is not ransomed so easily." The mockery in his voice did not touch his eyes; they were watchful beneath the heavy lids. I stared back at him uncomprehendingly.
"But why?"
His hps curved cynically. "You will learn soon enough."
"But Your Grace..."
"Your Grace!" he mimicked. "So ceremonious!"
"I am no greater now than I was yesterday."
"Not many will think so." He lay back, watching me with a sort of lazy curiosity. "To be the Duke of Cabria's mistress is no slight honor."
"Not slight," I retorted recklessly, "but something common."
"You shall be no common mistress." His face was unreadable. "But I shall not let you go before I choose. And you shall swear to be true to me."
I said in simple astonishment, "You cannot command that! Your fancy will sicken speedily enough—you will have change, and then my constancy will be as irksome as Madonna Maddalena's!"
"Yet I command it." His eyes were slitted and angry.
"Why? To satisfy your tyranny?"
His hand, vicelike in my hair, pulled me stooping over him. "I do not trust any man—or woman either—to stand by what he says unless he swears to it."
"I owe you no faith. I will not swear."
"Why, do you not love me?"
The sudden, silken question nearly made my heart stop beating; I would not meet Domenico's eyes, for somehow I dared not. At last he said, "Do you not, indeed?" He spoke in an odd, stifled tone, his fingertips stroking my neck. "Take heed you love no one else, then, or the man you choose shall pay for it—his hand if it touches you, his eyes if he looks too long—or if his speech charms you, I shall take his tongue. There are other forfeits." His hand slid from my throat to my breast. "But beware my jealousy if I spare your oath, Felicia."
"There is no such man," I said, and remembered Piero della Quercia.
"Then the court will be so much more populous. You are a niggard with your vows, lady"—he was drawing my head down to his—"but more generous with your deeds; I think I will take my sureties the silent way."
Before I could answer, a pounding broke out some where beyond the confines of the bed-curtains; the sound of someone hammering at the door. Domenico looked around sharply, all the amusement drained from his expression.
"Who's there?"
"Piero, Your Grace, and Ippolito."
"Attend me, then."
I flinched and buried my face in the pillow as their footsteps crossed the floor and the bed-curtains rattled back; then as a single fierce blade of sunlight invaded the gloom, Domenico stirred and stretched luxuriously.
"What hour is it, Ippolito?"
"Past nine, Your Grace. You are after your usual time."
"Go call my men." It was a relaxed and drowsy purr, and through the concealing veil of my hair, I saw the two men exchange quick, startled glances. It was Piero who answered.
"They attend Your Grace in the next room."
Domenico nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "We will ride this morning. Order the horses."
Piero bowed and went to the door. I thought he would have spoken, but then he gave an almost imperceptible shrug and went away with his quick, trotting step. Domenico yawned, looking up at Ippolito with narrowed eyes.
"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, ki
d 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 arou
nd for some assistance, one of the courtiers slid from the throng and, with a deferential "Madam," lifted me bodily into the saddle.
As soon as I had righted myself and gotten a grip on the reins, I looked down to thank my benefactor and to my astonishment saw a boy hardly older than myself; slight, black-haired, with an obstinate chin and a look of admiration in his brown eyes. I murmured, "Thank you, sir," and he blushed vividly as he stepped back.
The crack of a whiplash made me look up. Domenico was bending to catch my horse's leading rein from the groom's slackened fingers; it was only when I saw the man's hand go to his bloodied cheek that I realized that the lash had laid it open. It was petty, pointless cruelty—and all for something that the groom would have given at a word.
When the mounted cavalcade moved off, however, I had no thought for anything but keeping my seat on a jolting, sliding, swaying horse. Remembering conflicting instructions for heel and thigh and hand, now to hold the reins, use the whip, stay upright without clinging to the saddle... For me every moment was an agony, and Domenico knew it. I could see the secret knowledge in the curve of his lips as he watched me, mercilessly ordering the movements that would punish my sore and aching body; once when the horse jolted me, I could not suppress a cry, and I looked up to see him laughing as though the sound delighted him.
That day was the first time I had been beyond the gates of Fidena since the day I was born, but I did not think of that; I cared only for the next step of the jouncing brute beneath me and whether it would decide to ignore my signals and go its own way altogether. I even blessed the strip of hide which tethered me so close to Domenico.
The horse's hooves were cutting into the tawny earth, crushing the sun-dried grass and leaving a swathe of destruction across the field that sloped towards the river gorge. The sea was faint and distant in the heat haze; flies hung in a cloud around the horses, and plumy tails lashed constantly to keep them at bay. Then I shivered, for a shadow had fallen across our path.
The frowning face of the tower that guarded the bridge over the river gorge soared into the sky, casting its shadow close and dark. Sandro followed my gaze and grinned.
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