‘Why now, my lady? Why never before?’
‘She never dismissed all her maids and guards before, or when she did, there was always Cecilia. So I watched, until I saw, as I thought, the Duchess going away down the stair.’
‘Why did you think it was she?’
‘A cloak with a hood. I thought it was a cloak that she wears. Everyone had put on cloaks to see the fireworks.’
‘There was no one else?’
‘I listened. If I had heard anyone I would have waited longer.’ She caressed a ringlet, twisting it in her fingers and looking down her nose at him. ‘If Leandro Bandini did not kill her, was it the one I saw go away?’
‘Possibly, my lady.’
She looked thoughtful, drawing the ringlet out straight and examining it as if for quality. ‘She had made sure no one would see this visitor.’
‘Did your ladyship know of any admirers of her Grace who might have this privilege?’
‘You put that very well,’ she said critically. ‘Did I know who her lovers were?’ She let the ringlet spring back, laughing, and looking him in the eyes. ‘No. There were lovers. Cecilia knew. Some of her women will have known, I suppose, but nothing would make them tell, not even you.’
Sigismondo certainly knew that anyone can be made to speak, but he asked only, ‘Did his Grace know?’
‘He never spoke of it. If he suspected, he never accused her. Not even in their quarrels.’ She smiled wickedly at the memory. ‘They were at each other’s throats a few days ago when she found that my father had given one of his villas to Caterina Albruzzo. So stupid, being jealous. The Duchess Maria never was. She wasn’t jealous of my mother, or at least she was never fool enough to show it. When my mother died, she had me brought to the Palace and treated me as her own daughter. My father loved her for it.’
A scratch at the door. It opened, the curtain was drawn back and a page bowed to her. ‘My lady: his Grace’s Council is over and he wishes to see you.’
The Lady Violante extended a hand to Sigismondo. ‘Come with me.’
As the page withdrew, Sigismondo took her hand on his and bowed over it. She stood still. ‘Do you intend to tell my father that I was… there?’
‘If he does not ask me, I have no reason to tell him.’
The fingers of her other hand pressed his lips. She leant a little towards him. ‘Silence, then.’
Her hand resting on his, she allowed him to escort her to the Duke’s presence.
Way was cleared for them by the Duke’s page and the lady’s, walking side by side. The Palace seemed filled now with grave elderly men talking excitedly or arguing in voices that stopped abruptly when they saw who was near; backs bent all along the way. The debate continued when they had passed. The general effect, now that mourning was universal, was of a scattering of crows cawing among themselves. Corvine glances examined the man who surely ought to be following behind the lady, not pacing at her side.
The doors to the Council chamber were opened for the approaching pair, and closed behind them, shutting them in with silence. The Duke sat absorbed in thought, his great carved chair askew from the head of the long table, his arm along its Turkey carpet of deep blues and reds. His secretary shuffled scrolls and papers together, and fussed at attaching his inkhorn to his girdle. A wine cup stood untouched before the Duke.
Against the wall by the window, watching his brother with a concerned look, was the Lord Paolo. Beside him, on the cushioned windowseat, his son Tebaldo sat awkwardly, shifting himself to ease his body from one pain to another. In this proximity, family likeness and difference were very clear; Tebaldo had inherited the melancholy fold of the upper lid, and his face had the particular sadness of one who is often ill. The Lord Paolo’s eyes now widened as he saw in surprise what man escorted his niece.
The Duke’s reverie lasted no longer than it took for him to realise that his daughter had come into the room. He surged to his feet and advanced to embrace her. Tebaldo stared openly at Sigismondo, unannounced and, to him, unexplained.
The Lady Violante looked back at her escort from her father’s arms and said, ‘This man tells me that Leandro Bandini claims that I invited him, and in secret, to the Palace.’
The Duke exclaimed. His brother strode forward, saying, ‘What insolence!’ and in his anger the resemblance to the Duke was suddenly strong. ‘I hope no one knows of this. People will say such dangerously foolish things. Has anyone else heard this tale?’
‘No one but the lady, my lord, and I.’
‘You spoke with young Bandini?’
Sigismondo bowed, and Paolo, after a long, considering look, turned to his niece. ‘It may be di Torre used your name to lure the boy. We must never forget that the terrible quarrel of their houses may be the root of all this.’
The Duke’s voice broke in furiously. ‘God’s bones, I’ll make them pay for their wreckage of our peace. If this can be proved on di Torre, it is his own death. Yet I cannot believe that, even to destroy Bandini, di Torre would murder his Duchess. Can it be possible?’
He seemed to ask himself, not his audience, but Paolo replied with a shake of the head, reluctantly, ‘Men will stop at nothing when they seek revenge. They see nothing but their own aim. The past gives us too many examples of it — it’s like a spell blinding them to their actions. Di Torre must have done this if the Bandini boy is innocent.’
The Duke had listened to his brother but now he turned the falcon stare on Sigismondo who, even standing without movement or words, made his presence felt.
‘Did you find the dwarf?’
‘I found him, your Grace, and have the money to restore to the jeweller.’
‘Your Grace, was the dwarf then found who stole the ring? I thought the jeweller could not tell which it was. Which was it? Might he have killed her for it?’ Paolo had come to his brother’s side and both, so like and so unlike, looked at Sigismondo.
‘Poggio, my lord, the one you banished, took the ring. But no, I do not believe from all he said that he could have killed her Grace. He found her dead.’
Paolo leant forward, intent. ‘Then, did he see no one? Can he bear witness to one who might be the murderer?’
‘He saw no one. And he cannot bear witness.’
‘He cannot? Did you not bring him back?’
‘I was bringing him, your Grace, when we were set upon by robbers. We drove them off, but Poggio died in the fight.’
‘Poor little wretch,’ Violante said, ‘he always made me laugh.’ She looked up at her father, leaning against him, and he stroked her hair.
‘Let that be his epitaph, that he made you laugh. I would have punished him for the theft, but I would not have had him dead. God rest his soul.’
With the others, Sigismondo gravely signed himself. Violante took her father’s hand as it descended from touching his shoulder, and plaited her fingers with his, saying coaxingly, ‘Your Grace does not mean to execute Leandro Bandini? If he has indeed been tricked, you would kill an innocent man.’
The Duke sighed, raising their interlocked fingers to look at them. ‘When cities are to be ruled, the innocent do not always escape. I must take measures that will guard Rocca against my enemies, far as well as near. Duke Francisco is a bird of prey that doesn’t sleep-’
His brother made some involuntary movement and the Duke glanced at him. ‘That tireless advocate of mercy, your uncle, has persuaded me only now, in Council, that I must not be ruled by these fears, that Rocca cannot be taken if its citizens remain loyal. But how do I ignore things that have happened? When I-’
‘The blood on the gates?’ Only his daughter dared interrupt. The Duke slightly nodded.
‘That, and other things.’
‘What things?’ She clasped her fingers with his into a double fist. ‘What have they dared to do?’
Her uncle put out a soothing hand. ‘Some jailbird, perhaps some agent of Duke Francisco — some one man may be responsible for it: daubing his Grace’s statue with blood, putting rhymes on the walls. If his Grace stands firm and ignores such provocation, all Rocca will be behind him. Rumour is not-’