The Silver Devil (40 page)

Tears
were stinging my eyes as we drew rein by the roadside and started to make camp
for the night. The afternoon was scarcely worn, but horses and riders alike
were tired, and no one argued when the order came. At first I thought the duke
would not dismount—he still sat on his horse after everyone else was out of the
saddle, staring unseeingly ahead—but then Andrea went to him and said
something, and at last he slid to the ground and suffered his horse to be led
away. The courtiers crowded around him solicitously, but after one look at his
face, they drew back. He brushed by them as though they did not exist.

Santi's
gruff voice spoke into the silence. "There is a stream not far from here,
and good fruit growing all around. We may as well eat, for my belly is as empty
as a drum."

There
was a murmur of agreement, and I suddenly remembered that I had had nothing to
eat since the afternoon of the day before, except a few mouthfuls of the duke's
nightmare banquet. I had not spared a thought for food since then, but when
Lorenzo, Ippolito's nephew, offered me a handful of olives, I took them with
fingers that trembled with eagerness and wolfed them like a famished schoolboy.

I
had not even given a thought to my disguise for what seemed like infinity, and
a curt order from one of the nobles to take the horses to the stream jolted me
back to remembrance. I obeyed hastily, keeping my head down, trudging slowly
away from the men while I considered what I should do.

Without
Domenico's protection I did not dare let anyone know my true sex; since he no
longer cared what became of me, my boy's clothes were my only safeguard. Apart
from those like Andrea Regnovi, who were pederasts, and boys like Lorenzo too
young to care whether I was man or woman, there were those who would regard a
duke's discarded mistress as benison from heaven on this journey; rough,
soldierly men like Santi who had no use for other men, and incorrigible lechers
like Vario Danese. For the moment, it seemed, my boyhood must continue.

The
stream was low, a tepid trickle over the rounded pebbles, but the horses
lowered their heads and drank thirstily while I knelt and drank from my cupped
hands. I tried to force myself to consider dispassionately the consequences of
what had happened and not to remember that now Domenico would never hold me in
his arms again.

I
did not know where he was bound, or why, nor had I any idea of how long the
journey would last, but it did not seem to matter. I resolved then that I would
follow him for as long as I could, and when I could follow him no further, I
would take whatever chance befell. How my life ended no longer seemed
important; all I cared for was to hoodwink the rest for as long as I could and
to pray that Domenico would not choose to betray me on some idle impulse.

As
I led the horses back through the trees, again I saw him, and my heart turned
over with love. The men had made camp in an olive grove, and he was standing
beside a straight young tree gazing up at the dappling of the sunlight slanting
between the leaves. I remembered him in another olive grove, on the ride to
Diurno for his coronation, stretched out on the ground and teasing me with
laughter lighting his black eyes. Then as I watched, he drew his dagger and
plunged it into the tree trunk, gouging and tearing viciously until the sap ran
down the trunk like blood. The frenzy of destruction lasted until the bark was
in ribbons and the tree's crown of leaves was rent and torn; then with a
strange little sound like an animal, deep in his throat, he drove the blade
deep into the trunk and leaned against the ruined tree, shaking from head to
foot. It was like a deliberate defacing of my memory, a sign that those days
were over for good, a rejection more savage for being so impersonal. I had flinched
at every blow, as though I were the one being struck.

Beside
me Lorenzo watched and said nothing. He had hardly spoken since he heard of his
uncle's death, and there was a shadow in his sea-blue eyes which had nothing to
do with the duke's violence. I muttered to him, "Come on," and we
tethered the horses and went to sit at the edge of the clearing with the other
pages, hearing the whine of Andrea's voice as he complained to Baldassare.

"Of
all foolishness...! Now we are to sleep in the open, where any Spaniard may
stumble over us—what is wrong with the hostelries of Pinzi? It is less than two
leagues back along the road, and there we could sleep soft and eat well—what
was in the duke's mind to make him sheer away from its outskirts as though the plague
were there?"

"Because
he knows that the Spanish will go straight to Pinzi when they hear from those
soldiers where they met with us!" Baldassare sounded genuinely angry.
"When the Duchess Gratiana hears we are on the northward road, she will
send troops after us to revenge the death of Lord Sandro. The duke has foreseen
her thought and brought us past the place she will look for us."

Andrea
looked discontented. "And why are we on the northward road, my good lord,
when Diurno lies due west? Answer me that, in your wisdom!"

Baldassare
frowned. "That I do not know, but I would guess that we are not bound for
Diurno."

The
conversation lapsed into whispers after that, and I heard no more, but I
glimpsed an appalled expression on Lorenzo's face and felt a sinking of my own
heart. Inwardly I had assumed that we must be going to Diurno—where else would
the duke seek help?—and had imagined that that one thing was at least
foreseeable. There was a second small garrison of men in the hills above the
city; the archbishop still waited there to receive Savoy's daughter, if she had
not come already. But now I saw no limit to my childish masquerade and must
ride unwanted at Domenico's back for heaven knows how long.

A
massive hairy hand touched my shoulder, and I jumped. Lorenzo looked past me
and said over my head, "Messire Giovanni," giving Santi a faint,
fugitive smile. I mumbled an apprehensive greeting, and Santi bent low to
whisper in my ear; then he moved on again, leaving me staring after him
wide-eyed in fright.

Lorenzo
had turned away and was peering at the activity around the fire, and so he did
not see my change of expression. I dragged my gaze from Santi's receding back
and looked down at my hand.

"Hide
your ring," he had said in my ear, "or one of yonder lords will
recognize it."

The
pearl winked mockingly back, a reminder, a badge of my identity. Quickly,
furtively, I drew it off and slipped it into my dagger sheath, where the dagger
itself would keep it safe and hidden, but it would do me small good now that
Santi knew.

I
wondered, sickened, how long he would keep silent. He was moving among his
fellows now, exchanging a few words with one of them—my heart was in my mouth
before I realized he was directing him to build the fire higher. When he
turned, it was heavily, as though he were faced with a task he did not relish,
and I watched him come towards me with long, slow strides.

My
eyes slid away to the yellow buds of flame growing on the piled twigs—to the
dimming sky between the leaves—to the branches stirring in the night wind that
had sprung up, making the hair prickle on the back of my neck. I looked
anywhere but at the shape of the big man who stood in front of me now, his
shadow blotting out the sky.

"Here,
boy." The rough voice was low, and the thick fingers snapped as if to a
dog. I rose and followed him without a word to where the horses were tethered.

The
trees thinned here, and below I could see the road we had traveled skirting the
rising slope. We must have turned inland, I realized, for now the dark mass of
the mountains crouched ahead of us.

Santi
strode ahead until he reached the edge of the trees, then waited until I came
up beside him. It was very quiet. Not even the murmur of the other men's voices
disturbed the waning day, and I waited in trepidation for Santi to speak. For a
moment he did not turn, but then he suddenly frowned down at me, and my heart
quaked as I looked up at that brutal, meaty face.

"Lady,
how did you come here?"

The
question was so unexpected that I could not answer. Then, as I stood gaping at
him, I met his eyes for the first time and saw the worry in them.

I
swallowed and said, "Lord Ippolito sent me. He met me as he was coming
after the duke, and when he... when he was killed, his last words were 'Go on!'
I could not do less for him than do as he wished."

The
horse master nodded. In the gathering dusk his gaze was uncomfortably shrewd,
but he only said, "And why are you dressed like that?" and made an
embarrassed gesture towards my page's livery.

"I
bought these clothes from a boy at the palazzo so that I could go up to the
battlements. And now"—my voice shook—"I think I am safer as a
page."

"Will
the duke not keep you safe enough?"

"No,"
I said levelly, "not now."

There
was a moment's silence; then Santi said, "Then you mean to continue as you
are?"

"There
is nothing else for me to do. I cannot... I have nowhere else to go."
Something in his silence made me look up to find him gazing at me with troubled
eyes. "Will you keep my secret, messire?"

After
a long moment, he nodded slowly. "Yes, lady. But this journey will be a
grief to you, I think."

"So
it is already. Thank you, messire."

Even
in the poor light I saw him flush; then he grunted and gestured to my velvet
cap. "You must cut your pretty hair, lady; you cannot wear that thing day
and night. Do it tomorrow, before the men are up—I will stand guard and make
sure that no one sees you."

I
nodded quickly and looked back towards the camp as someone's voice called him.
The duke wants you.... The words gave me a sudden pang. It should have been I,
not Santi, who was called: I hurried away from Santi before the stupid tears
could spill and ran back to my fellow pages, angrily scrubbing my eyes with the
back of my hand. If I could not control myself better, I told myself sternly,
no alliance in the world could save me from discovery.

I
wanted to sleep, but my thoughts would not let me rest; they and the bitter
cold. I had never before slept out of doors, and this windswept hill was the
crudest dwelling I had ever known. Things crept and stirred in the darkness,
tiny unnamable sounds; once a bat wheeled close against my cheek, soft and
obscene so that I nearly cried out. I dared not stretch out on the ground for
fear I should freeze—instead, I crouched, clasping my knees and shivering. Few
of the others slept more than fitfully; The night was alive with little
grumbling murmurs, rising and dying away like the eddies in a marsh, first in
one place and then in another. Somewhere a horse whickered and stamped, and I
caught the far-off howl of a wolf.

Numb
with cold and utter loneliness, I did not hear the footsteps until they were
almost upon me. Then a gruff voice said, "Here," and someone dropped
a heavy cloak around my shoulders; Santi vanished into the dark again before I
could draw breath to thank him.

I
huddled myself into the warmth with a whimper of relief. It was good heavy
wool, well lined, and smelled of tobacco. Going by its size it must have been
Santi's own; he would miss it, I thought tiredly. I must find him and give it
back to him....

I
awoke stiff and cold but still wrapped in Santi's cloak. The dawn was breaking,
and it was the shrill song of a bird that had woken me. Around the glowing
embers of the fire, men were stretching and groaning, and I forced myself to my
feet in haste. As I slipped out of the enveloping cloak, the morning air struck
me like a blow, and I staggered as I straightened.

Near
me Lorenzo lay stretched out under his own cloak, his eyes closed, his cheeks
bearing the telltale stains of tears he would not shed in daylight. I turned
away, not wanting him to wake and see me looking at him, and caught sight of
the massive figure of Giovanni Santi crossing the clearing towards me.
Yesterday I would have flinched in dread; in the palazzo I would have turned away
in dislike and distrust; now I felt only gratitude and relief. I had never
thought to look beyond the big man's villainous appearance—only when I was
forced to recognize it could I see the steadiness of his ruffianly gaze or hear
the diffident note in his growling voice.

"You,
Marcello!" He hailed me for the benefit of anyone who might be listening,
and I almost jumped at the strange name. "Come and help me, quickly
now!"

One
of the other men shouted a jest, and Santi stopped to scowl at him from under his
heavy eyebrows. I was scrambling in his wake in an effort to keep up with his
long, curiously light-footed stride until we were out of sight of the camp,
then he slowed so that I could draw level with him. The olive trees screened us
from curious eyes as we stood, beside an outcrop of rock where the stream fell
tinkling and ran down the hillside. Santi looked grave.

"You
had better make haste, lady. I will stand guard over you."

I
nodded and quickly splashed my hands and face in the stinging water to drive
away the sleep which clung to me. The cold shock made me gasp, but it cleared
my brain and brought me back to a sense of urgency. Santi had his back to me,
scanning the hillside as I snatched off my cap and drew my dagger; then memory
assailed me so suddenly and sharply that I stood paralyzed, my hair streaming
around me, and a great dull pain in my breast.