‘You heard what she said?’
‘It was nothing but a mumble, from either of them. Like you’d use to a lover. Lover it was, too, on account of the noise they were making not that long after. Gave that bed a beating.’ His eyes disappeared in their creases, but either memory, or the gravity of his listener, made him serious. ‘Oh, you can believe I kept quiet — that was a tight corner to be in. I couldn’t hope for any favours from her if she found I’d been watching.’
‘Watching?’ The word was a pounce and Poggio nearly dropped the cup.
‘Listening! I meant listening! I couldn’t see anything, I tell you. I had the door a little open, yes, but it opens away from the bed, as your honour will have seen.’
Sigismondo bent his head a little in agreement. ‘And then?’
‘He must have left. I couldn’t hear anything after they’d finished. The fireworks were going off. She’ll be lying there resting, I thought, and doesn’t she need to after that bout of Venus. Lying there with a smile on her face, shouldn’t wonder, and drowsy. Just the mood to grant a favour to poor Poggio. So I pushed the door a bit and peeked round the arras to see could I get out without her seeing where I’d been, and then I saw…’ He stopped, and looked into the cup as if wondering where the ale had gone. His mother was quick to fill it. In the pause, Benno could be heard walking the horses round before the hut. ‘And then you saw?’
‘I saw her hand. It was over the edge of the bed and it didn’t move and I thought, she’s asleep. I didn’t dare waste more time, her maids might come back, anyone might — so I crept out, then I made a bit of noise so she’d wake up.’
‘And she didn’t?’
Poggio looked round at his mother who had come close, listening clearly for the first time to this tale, her sacking apron bunched in her hands.
‘She was as dead as Noah’s wife, wasn’t she?’ Poggio went treble with stress. ‘Lying there like that. I didn’t need to touch her to know she was dead.’
‘But you did.’
‘Did what?’ Poggio put down the cup.
‘Touch her. When you took the ring.’
‘Well,’ Poggio flung his arms wide, exasperated, ‘what could I do? She’d have done me a favour if I’d asked her. She’d got me sent away in the first place. She owed me.’
‘To the tune of two thousand ducats?’
Poggio’s mother drew in breath among her teeth with a hiss, caught her son a hard backhand on the ear, picked up the cup and gave herself some of her own ale.
‘It was worth more,’ Poggio said indignantly, holding his ear. ‘That mean old tradesman-’
‘You used the wrong story on the goldsmith. Once he thought your mistress needed the money and had no place at Court, he knew he could name his own price.’
Poggio, still rubbing his ear, scowled. Then he demanded, ‘Who was the Judas? Who put you onto me?’
Sigismondo rose towering above him, sword still in hand. Even Poggio’s mother shrank back a little, treading on a hen.
‘I am asking the questions, Poggio. Where is the money?’
The sword shone, even in that poor light, and Poggio began a rapid excavation of his clothes, rummaging in his jerkin and untying cords, watched intently by his mother, and unwound a long linen strip full of knots. He deposited this on the ground at Sigismondo’s feet with a series of little thuds as the knotted-in coins fell. One of the hens came to peck hopefully at the pile. When he had done, and held his shirt up to demonstrate, Sigismondo uttered the one word, ‘And?’
Poggio hesitated, Sigismondo whipped the sword to his throat and he backed, turned and ran to the wall, leapt from one projection to another until he reached his hiding place, and with rear and legs still outside, scuffled till he could drop down with a small leather bag.
‘The last. I swear it.’
‘Save your oaths for the Duke. You return now to Rocca with me.’
Poggio flung out his arms again. ‘I’ve told you everything. I’ve given you all the money, everything! Count it!’
Poggio’s mother enveloped him again, tearful, and howled, ‘Don’t take him to his death! He’s told you everything! You have the money!’
Sigismondo made a small dismissive movement with the sword, and hummed a derogatory arpeggio. ‘If he had — but as it is…’ In that hum, at least one of the two listeners heard the well-oiled levers of the rack. Poggio’s mother released her son and, seizing the broom from the wall, started to belabour him vigorously. Poggio ducked, the blow caught a hen that flapped up aiming for the rafters. Poggio darted from her, trying to avoid the blows. The pig ran, hens exploded into the air, smoke bellied from the fire, Poggio’s mother pursued him wielding the broom, screaming, ‘Tell him, tell, you fool!’
Sigismondo stood by the door and waited.
Poggio fell over the pig and his mother caught him.
As the outrage of hens and pig subsided and she could be heard, she said, ‘Will you let him go if he tells you all the truth?’
‘First, I will hear it. Then, I have the Duke’s authority to do what I think fit.’
Poggio, his head clamped in the crook of his mother’s arm, was choking. Sigismondo hoisted him from her grip and set him down. The hens in the rafters shifted and peered down, commenting nervously. The sword’s tip just touched Poggio’s throat, keeping him rigid.
‘What did you see when you pushed the door open and looked out into the Duchess’s room?’
‘I told you: the Duchess’s hand.’
‘Before that.’
The sword made a tiny movement and Poggio gasped, his head jerking up. A drop of blood appeared on his neck.
He said hoarsely, ‘The Lady Violante.’
‘In the Duchess’s room.’
‘Yes.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘Standing there. Looking at the Duchess.’
‘How?’
Sigismondo withdrew the sword a few inches and Poggio clasped both hands on his chest. ‘Like this.’
‘She was holding something?’
‘I thought she was. I couldn’t see it. It shone, but it could have been her dress. She had gold on her dress.’
‘How long do you think she had been there?’
‘I don’t know. I’d heard the man go, but I hadn’t heard her. She was at the end of the bed. You saw the room? You know the curtains were closed on the bed except this side? She stepped towards the bed and I ducked back. There was a sound — oh I don’t know, I think she sighed. Perhaps she was praying?’ Poggio looked up, taken with this idea. ‘She’d be praying, wouldn’t she? Then there were more fireworks going off in the court, and when I dared to look again, she’d gone.’
‘Were they friends, she and the Duchess?’
‘The Duchess wasn’t kind to her. She would find fault with her clothes and her manners. Said she was too extravagant and too free — but the Lady Violante, you know, she never quarrelled with her. The Lady was brought up by the Duchess Maria, God rest her, like her own child, and this Duchess knew the Duke loved the Lady Violante and of course they wouldn’t quarrel. Of course not. I suppose the Duchess wouldn’t be much older than she is. The Lady’s got a good heart. She spoke up for me when the Duke sent me away.’ He rubbed the itch out of the scratch on his neck and examined the smear of blood on his finger, which he wiped off on his hose. ‘She’s a lovely lady.’
Sigismondo had taken off his cloak and jerkin, without comment on this, and was engaged in wrapping round his body the long rope of linen pockets that had been piled on the ground before him. Poggio and his mother watched yearningly as he put away their golden future, but the sword was at all times near his hand. Jerkin and cloak went on again and he surveyed the pair, not unkindly. Poggio’s mother clasped her hands.