Denys, Teresa

by The Silver Devil

  "Go to your chamber; call your women and keep them about you. I shall send for you when it is safe."

  "But, Your Grace..."

  "There is no time to dispute." There was an ugly curve to his soft mouth. "Obey me, or I shall have you arraigned for treason. Go!"

  He turned away, leaving me thunderstruck. I could barely comprehend what was happening; I could only think stupidly that he had ordered me away. Ippolito had answered the summons, and they were conferring together—the words came to me dimly as I stood half-dazed.

  "We will stand on the battlements above the palace gate and see all that passes on the south wall from there. There is no time to reach the city wall itself—"

  "Your Grace must arm. You are too fair a target clad as you are."

  "Good Ippolito! I had forgotten it. Hurry, then!" He glanced back as he reached the door, his eyes narrowed and angry. "Felicia, go!"

  There was nothing I could do but obey, and with what dignity I could muster I walked through the men and women beginning to gather themselves together, and out of the great hall, feeling sick with dread. I thought, if he goes to the battlements now and is killed, I shall never see him again.

  The clatter of running feet sounded as a soldier came racing towards me. One noble less drunken than the rest rose staggering to his feet and caught the man's arm as he passed. "What's toward? What now?"

  The soldier shied away, trying to free himself. "I have to tell the duke.... There is another troop of men on the opposite bank of the river gorge. Two hundred and fifty bowmen are there already, aiming at the northern battlements, and the duke has ordered every man to the south walls!"

  The nobleman released him and swayed back against the wall. "God curse him," he said thickly. "This heat of his will kill us all."

  The soldier looked at him with scared eyes and ran on.

  As I climbed the stairs, I had to fight my way through a current of frightened courtiers, all seeking news, which threatened to force me back the way I had come. But somehow I kept my feet and managed to reach the head of the stairs in safety.

  It was at the end of the gallery leading to my chamber that I noticed the boy. About fourteen, slender and small for his age, he was craning curiously after the fleeing crowd with excitement sparkling in his eyes, level with my own as I passed by him. It was then that the stupid, desperate idea came to me.

  In clothes like his, I could follow the duke unnoticed; he would not pay any heed to a page. If I could reach the battlements undetected, once there I could keep out of sight: Nothing would matter so long as I was near Domenico. He need never know I was there.

  "Boy."

  He looked around in surprise; then his eyes widened as he recognized me. "Madam?"

  "Have you another suit of livery?"

  His jaw dropped, and he stared dumbly. I could have shaken him.

  "Have you? Answer yes or no!"

  "Yes, madam." He swallowed hard. "Yes, I... I have."

  "I will buy it from you. If you bring it at once to my chamber, you shall have my purse."

  He eyed it as it hung at my girdle, and a strange expression crossed his face. "To... your chamber, madam?"

  I wondered if he were simple. "Yes, you know which it is—the tapestried chamber near the duke's."

  "Yes, madam." His gaze lifted from my purse to my face. "I will not let His Grace's men know what I am about."

  He was gone before I could wonder at his words; he could not know why I wanted the clothes. But there was no time to stand and puzzle. I hurried to my chamber and began to undress, throwing my gown to the floor in my haste and wrapping a silk robe around me as a tap came at the door. I opened it thankfully, and the page stood there, a smirk on his face, his color rising as he saw my undress.

  "I have brought the livery, madam." He tried to sound unconcerned, but his voice cracked and betrayed him.

  "Good—put it there on the chair, and I will pay you." I turned to pick up my discarded dress to search its folds for my purse, so intent on the search that I hardly heard what the boy was saying.

  "I have done nothing yet, madam."

  "You have done as I asked and brought the livery quickly. Did you think I would cheat you? Here." Roughly I disentangled the purse and held it out to him.

  He stared at it as though he expected it to vanish before his eyes.

  "But I thought... I thought..."

  His bewilderment checked me even in the midst of my haste. "What did you think?"

  His eyelids flickered and fell. "Only that... only that many ladies offer great fees for small errands and then ask a different thing. I thought you were at the same game while you are safe from the duke."

  I stared at him in unbelief, then shook my head slowly. "No. I wanted what I asked for, and no more. How old are you?"

  "Nigh on fourteen." His eyelids lifted again. "But you need not fear that I am unskillful. The lady Caterina says..."

  "No, I am sure you are not." I smiled rather bitterly. "But I have no time for such things. Here is the payment for your livery. Is there a cap like the one you wear? I must have a cap."

  "No, madam..."

  "Then give me yours into the bargain, instead of the other thing." I took the velvet cap from his unresisting fingers and handed him the purse.

  "There, now we are quit."

  He backed away, still gazing at me, then scrabbled behind him for the latch of the door. As it opened, he half staggered, then almost fled down the echoing gallery.

  I made haste, trying to blot out the little unpleasant memory. I did not know how long I had before the Spanish forces reached the city; I had to reach Domenico before they attacked, or I might never find him in the press of battle. Whatever the boy had thought of my request, he had fulfilled it handsomely— he had brought hose and knee breeches, a linen shirt and a stiff black doublet badge with the silver hawk of Cabria. When I had put it on, I looked in the glass and blessed the tyranny of fashion, for in a pease cod-belly doublet it would take sharp eyes to see what was there and what was not. There were no shoes; the boy must only have possessed one pair, so I found the black boots I wore for riding and put them on. My hair I twisted into a thick rope and stuffed under the velvet cap. There was no time to wonder at the unaccustomed freedom of breeches—splashing my face with cold water from the ewer erased all traces of the duke's pale mistress, and it was a fresh-cheeked page I saw in the mirror. Then I was running as fast as I could along the gallery and out into the clamorous morning, leaving the chamber door swinging behind me.

  There were stairs cut into the face of the tower that the archers used to reach the battlements. As I climbed among them, I was straining my eyes to see what was happening outside the city walls, but then giddiness and my old fear of falling seized me so that I had to shut my eyes and grip the stone wall until the sickness passed. The bowmen cursed and prodded me in the back, and one man muttered about the milksop lads they were breeding nowadays. When I opened my eyes, I did not look down again but kept my gaze upwards, watching the toiling men ahead silhouetted against the blue shield of sky as it brightened into the late summer's full furnace. It was going to be a hot day.

  A lieutenant in charge of the archers asked my business, and when I told him I had come to seek my master, he waved me away without a second glance. Men see what they expect to see, and no one at a time like this would take note of an insignificant page—all I had to do now was to find the duke.

  Along the battlements arrows were being fitted to bowstrings in a single motion that rippled along the line of men like the sweep of an eagle's wing. They would stand like that, waiting for the signal to draw their bows, for hour after hour if they had to, with little hope of a single shaft landing on the distant enemy. Tradition demanded that the duke's bowmen, his Fifty, must attend him in battle, but I had heard bitter grumbling that they were not with their fellows on the outer walls, where their bows might do some good.

  Keeping my head down, I moved away from the head of the ste
ps and along the narrow rampart. From here I could see the turmoil down below in the streets, already shrouded by the haze of heat and dust over the city. From the palace to the great bastioned wall the streets were thronged with people, scurrying like brightly colored dolls. They were surging and shouting with panic, but from so high above the frantic crowd movements looked aimless and the hubbub became a wordless roar.

  Then horsemen came spurring, out of the palace gate. I saw them riding among the frightened people, laying about them with staves and spear butts to clear the streets, driving the citizens back into houses and shops. I should have been down there now, I thought suddenly, not peering down from the palace gateway as though I were in some way greater than they.

  I tore my eyes from the milling crowd and looked out over the city walls—and saw, massed like a field of wind-stirred grain, men and horses spread over every inch of the plain to the very lee of the walls. And opposing them, strung out in chains and clusters along the outer battlements, the black-clad troops of Fidena.

  Even then I did not feel fear — the danger was too great, too unthinkable, like the nightmare which had first gripped me when I knew I was the duke's prisoner. I turned my back on the Spanish army and went in search of Domenico.

  It was many minutes before I found him. He had left the gateway and gone along the ramparts to the western corner, where the walls of the city and palace joined and the mass of gray stone dropping sheer to the foot of the gorge above the bay bordered both at once. To the south the wall bellied out to encircle the city streets, and the close-pressing army could be seen quite plainly. To the north and northwest the river cut through the frowning gorge, and on the opposite bank more men were massing; their ranks followed the river line to the incongruous bright waters of the bay and clustered thickly before the towers that guarded the bridge. Domenico stood with Ippolito beside one of the huge cannons which gaped across the gorge, unattended now, for every soldier had gone to line the southern fortifications. The quartet waited nearby, and his commanders were impatiently awaiting their orders, but he stood as though he were alone, watching the enemy beyond the walls.

  My heart almost stopped with love, and it was only by a supreme effort that I did not run forward. What use was a disguise if I betrayed myself the moment I saw him and was ordered away again? I bowed my head and slipped through the group of men to where a couple of other pages hovered aimlessly, Domenico's little eunuch and Ippolito's young nephew. No one even glanced around; they were watching the duke.

  From where I now stood, I could see the glitter in his eyes that betrayed the beautiful mask. It was pure childish pique, a hot, infantile fury that any man's army should invade his dukedom. It held him, trembling, in a travesty of stillness, and fanned the anger in his brain to a reckless white heat.

  In the streets the citizens had been driven indoors, and Fidena lay in uneasy quiet. On the plain the Spanish army waited in silence. Not a word, not a breath, disturbed the sudden quiet, and my skin began to prickle as minute followed crawling minute.

  I began to wish insanely that the Spaniards would attack— anything to break this awful silence— and knew that this was their way of playing on our nerves, stretching the seconds as the day grew hotter. The courtiers began to sweat, but no one moved. The whole scene might have been the picture of a battle in some monkish chronicle, the stillness broken only by the occasional stir of a restless horse.

  I strained my eyes. There were no war machines, no siege towers or battering rams; perhaps they were being made ready somewhere in that sea of enemy soldiers, and their arrival would be the signal for the attack. My teeth were chattering despite the hot sun. I felt horribly conscious of my absurd disguise and of how angry Domenico would be when he learned that I had disobeyed him. The quartet were whispering among themselves; Baldassare was trying to silence Guido, whose poise was crumbling into panic.

  "...I tell you we must flee the city—we could escape even now or else make terms with their general! The Spanish king would ask only an oath of allegiance, and the duke could still reign in safety and keep whole skins for himself and us...."

  "Quiet!" Unaccustomed firmness rang in Baldassare's whisper. "What you counsel is treason, and if he were to hear..."

  "He does hear." Domenico did not turn his head, and his eyes were still on the distant walls. "I knew you were a coward, Vassari, but I did not think you fool enough to be careless of your tongue."

  Guido froze, his hatchet face pinched and gray under last night's paint. He started to stammer something, but Domenico's head turned sharply, and the flame in his black eyes froze the excuse on his lips.

  "Take the coward's part if you will. But never let me see your face again."

  There was a long, strained pause, and then Guido turned and went without a word. His footsteps were loud in the silence, and as his feet touched the stairs leading down from the tower, I heard him break into a run. The silence was almost unbearable as the noise died away, and Domenico's black-gloved hand clenched hard. The others were exchanging furtive glances, and I knew that now the most arrant coward among them would hesitate to voice the idea of truce or flight.

  Suddenly, there was a stir. The Spaniards at the south wall were changing their position, surging back and turning, their spears bowed like bending rushes in a fan-shaped spread around one particular spot. At once everyone swept forward to see what was happening. I found myself thrust to the back and could not see; then Santi swore softly, and Ippolito exclaimed in an incredulous voice, "They have opened the gates!"

  Domenico stood as though turned to stone, and around him everyone was shouting.

  "There is a traitor in the city!"

  "We cannot hope to stop them now!"

  "Who has done this?"

  I felt sick. The commanders were raging; below, enemy troops were pouring into the city I had been born in. But I only had eyes for Domenico's dreadful stillness. Then his color changed, a violent trembling took him, and curses began to pour out of him in a dizzying stream of filth. I had heard foul language enough in the taverns, but his cursing then made the men around him blanch. I do not think they could have calmed him if the sky had not suddenly darkened and clouds of arrows come slicing overhead from beyond the southern walls. As foot soldiers and spearmen pressed in through the gates, the Spanish bowmen were loosing their shafts from where they stood, trying to pick off the soldiers from the walls. The terrible hissing clouds made everyone gasp and turn again to look down into the city streets.

  Some citizens had come out from their houses to make a stand, and the Cabrian soldiers were fighting with the bitterness of despair; but the Spaniards outnumbered them five to one, and the fight was clearly hopeless. The black banners were giving way before the golden leopards of Naples, and always the fighting crept nearer the palace walls. One of the pages cried, "Look, they are firing the houses," and as he spoke, I saw gouts of flame beginning to stream from the wooden tenements against the outer wall. That would be the old quarter, I thought numbly; where I lived with my mother and foster father before Antonio was married.

  I do not know how long I crouched on the parapet, the rough stone hurting my knees, peering down at the fighting. The other two boys were still young enough to see it as a game of soldiers at first—it was only as the fighting came closer that they saw what devastation followed the battle, and their excited chatter was silenced. Renewed argument was breaking out among the lords. By now the sunshine was blotted out by a pall of smoke and dust, the air was thick with gunpowder and the meaty reek of blood, and ashes were flying by on the wind. The arrows had almost ceased to fly, for the footsoldiers had pressed so far into the city that they had forced their foes out of bowshot.

  Ippolito's boy, sharper-eared than I, turned to his fellow with a face peaked with fright. "They are saying we ought to flee the city."

  Cautiously edging closer, I tried to catch the drift of the argument. It was not easy. All the men were shouting at once; Domenico stood in their midst
like a trapped leopard, spitting his outrage and fury at creatures who had never dared to withstand him before. They ringed him in like hunters, drowning his voice with the power born of desperation.

  "Your Grace, this is not cowardice but wisdom!"

  "To stay here would be folly! The city is burning!"

  Domenico's voice caught in his throat in a little choking snarl. "They cannot burn stone."

  "Will you be broiled alive on your own leads? For God's sake, Your Grace..."

  "You can reach the mountains and seek help from there."

  "Seek help? I?" The black eyes flared frighteningly silver.

  "Then live in exile if you prefer it." The captain of the guard was angry, too, and past choosing his words. "Only get out before they raze your palace about your ears, and do it quickly while you can still get clear."

  Riccardo D'Esti hurried to soften this speech, his fixed smile a dreadful thing to see. "Your Grace, if you escape, we lose only the city. But if you are taken, we will lose everything! Our lives, our..."

  His voice stopped suddenly. I thought for a moment that it was drowned in the hiss and clatter that rained down around us. Then, with a look of surprise on his face, he teetered slowly to his knees and fell with an arrow deep in his back.

  "God's nails," Santi growled, "it's the dogs on the other side of the gorge. They're shooting now."

  At once the others turned on the duke with redoubled energy. He must go, they said, for the state's sake and his own—take a few men and ride for his life to the mountains, to Diumo. There he could consult with the archbishop and mold an alliance to strike back against Spain. "Why not with Savoy?" one of them demanded. "Your Grace's bride's great father?"

  I saw the murderous glance Domenico gave him and was as startled as he. But perhaps the Duke of Savoy would not give his daughter in a landless match, and Domenico hated even so unintentional a reminder. He did not answer the suggestion, only shook his head curtly.

  A second flight of arrows rattled over the battlement, and suddenly Santi, who had been watching the fighting through the smoke, thrust his way through the ring of men.