"He
will never marry me." That dreadful, cracked whisper was my own. "He
would not if I were an empress. And if he asked me, I would refuse him."
Both
women tried to soothe me; Maddalena seemed half-startled by what her words had
done. But all I could think of was that I had fallen in love with my brother.
When
Bernardo came to fetch me, I went with him like one in a dream. By habit, I
followed; by habit I waited, sitting on the great bed. It was not until
Domenico came to me that the dream dissolved, and I found myself facing
reality.
To
my horror my new knowledge made no difference to my inward response. When he
kissed me, I felt the same excitement, the same languor. I was so deep in
iniquity that I could love my own brother as carnally as if he were no kin. But
somehow I forced myself to stay rigid in his arms, and after a few moments he
lifted his head and looked down at me, his dark eyes angry and puzzled. "I
thought we had thawed this ice, Felicia."
"Your
Grace, I cannot." I could not say more. "Forgive me."
In
answer he bent me back with a strength that made me shiver, I longed so much to
succumb to it. His kiss was rough, as demanding as it had not been since the
first night when he forced me—then his hold eased and his watchful eyes
searched my face. "What is the matter?"
I
wanted to tell him, but I could not speak the words. If he had taken me knowing
that the deed was incest, why should my knowledge of it make him pause? Instead
I whispered brokenly, "I beg you..."
His
beautiful face was grim. "This is more than coyness. Is it that you are
sick?"
I
said yes, snatching at the excuse, and his frown lightened. "You should
have told me—I am not such a novice that I know nothing of women's matters. We
will forbear tonight."
Shaking
with reaction and relief, I stood beside him with bent head as he summoned
Bernardo. Inwardly I knew that this excuse would not serve me long, but now it
was a respite from the first shock; by the time the plea of illness had ceased
to serve me, I might have thought of another. But my eagerness to escape almost
betrayed me. As Bernardo appeared in the doorway I hurried towards him so
quickly that Domenico tensed with sudden suspicion, and even through my
unhappiness I could sense the sudden distrust that radiated from him, scorching
my skin.
"Take
the lady back to her chamber, sirrah." His voice sounded curt.
"Your
Grace!" Bernardo was obviously astonished, but he extended his arm to me
without continent. I took it gratefully, and my clutch, as on a lifeline, made
him glance at me in surprise. I managed to force my lips into an unsteady
smile, and then he led me out into the gallery and back to my own room.
Tactfully, he did not ask why he had been called for such an unusual office but
only bade me good night in a tone of heartfelt sincerity and kissed my hand at
parting.
For
three nights after that the duke did not send for me, and I spent their watches
on my knees, praying for God's forgiveness; I dared not take this sin to Father
Vincenzo. The days I spent by Domenico's side, an unresponsive statue, avoiding
the question in his eyes each morning or answering it with a mute denial.
I
had expected the pain of estrangement, the longing to cast out my conscience
and kiss the grimness from his sensual mouth and the glint of growing anger
from his eyes. What I had not anticipated was the physical agony of separation,
the consuming ache of loneliness. There was a fever in my flesh, a terrible
sense of emptiness, as though I were starving to death. I hoped—or perhaps
feared—that lacking me Domenico would find another woman to lodge with, but the
court spies were abuzz with the prodigious news that the duke was lying alone.
I
no longer marveled at how I came by the news of the palace. Like the rest of
the court, I was learning to glean it from a word or a look. Bernardo told me,
stumbling with shyness, of the Duke's bad dreams since I left sleeping with
him; more than anything else, the news nearly overset my resolve. But, I told
myself grimly, it was for the best in the end—I might save Domenico's soul by keeping
away from him.
After
supper on the third night I sat alone at the banqueting table in the light of
the dying torches. The hall was half-deserted, filled with strange scufflings
and shadowy forms that shunned the light and drew back into the dark. The court
was pairing: partners were being chosen for an hour, or a night, or longer.
Spies watched alertly for every new coupling that might alter the intricate web
of policy and lust spun every night. A countess who bedded with a lord would
cause gossip tomorrow; a countess who bedded with her groom would cause a
scandal. Honors would be called into question, an eyebrow raised—and somewhere,
sooner or later, there would be a swift, secret death for the groom.
I
was learning, I thought, as I listened to the noises in the shadows. I was
learning to be surprised if a couple stayed together longer than a day; not to
be surprised when men paired with men. I was even learning to ignore the sights
and sounds that gnawed like rats on the edges of my consciousness.
I
saw the light gleam on the supple line of Domenico's silvered body, and my
breath caught treacherously in my throat. He was sitting on the edge of a
nearby table, one foot swinging negligently, a wine cup in his hand; and across
the uncertain patchwork of fire and dark his eyes were fixed remorselessly on
my face, and he was watching me with a dark, malicious satisfaction.
He
has found a new woman, I thought, and I felt the pain stab deeper even than the
agony of my conscience. But I must not love him—it was a deadly sin. I almost
murmured the words aloud.
The
hand that swung his jeweled pomander in a bright arc gripped it and suddenly
held it still. "Your thoughts are wandering, lady. What is it? Are you
missing your gallant?"
"I
have no gallant, Your Grace."
"True,
you have not." There was an unpleasant smile on his lips. "Not
now."
"Nor
ever—"
"No?"
His eyebrow lifted idly. "Well, time will show. Come and see him—the sight
of you may loosen his tongue."
The
protest died on my lips as he took my hand and drew it through the crook of his
arm, closing my fingers on his embroidered sleeve. No one followed us as he
drew me with him down the torchlit passage; only shadows moved behind us.
As.
we walked, he talked lightly to me about the preparations for his coronation,
now barely seven days off. The archbishop, he said, was half-dead with work,
but now everything was ready, and it only remained for the courtiers to order
their clothes for the ceremony. "I have passed an edict," he told me
lazily, "that they may put off their mourning for that one day—it will
make a braver show."
I
answered him at random, for my thoughts were racing. Outwardly we were dawdling
purposelessly through the deserted corridors, and yet I sensed instinctively
that Domenico knew where he was going. We had long ago left the part of the
palace that I knew; now we were in the bleak stone catacombs where the soldiers
and the servants lodged. I stared around me uneasily, and Domenico's fingers
tightened on mine.
"This
should not be strange to you; you were lodged close by for long enough."
I
moistened my lips. "Are we near the dungeons?"
"Directly
above." He pushed open a heavy, studded door as he spoke, and I saw stone
steps curling down into dimness. I did not recognize them, but I knew the smell
at once—the rising chill of dank air with, I now realized, a faint tang of
salt. The dungeons must be on a level with the caves that run from the bay, I
thought detachedly.
The
stairs led down to a dark, paved corridor like a tunnel where a single torch
flared and guttered, and in spite of myself I clung tightly to Domenico's arm.
He walked surefootedly even in the dark; I guessed he must have come this way
often and fought not to let my teeth chatter between cold and fear.
The
corridor led through a vaulted archway on to an iron-railed gallery, and I
stumbled to a halt. Below stretched a vast, bare cavern of a room, bunched
torches flaming against the stone pillars which supported the scooped roof, and
as I saw the pieces of machinery scattered across the straw-covered floor, I
had to suppress a cry. It was the torture chamber.
I
stared around me, fear choking in my throat. "Why have we come here?"
I fought to keep my voice steady.
"To
end this masquerade." Domenico spoke lightly, his lips smiling, but his
eyes were brilliant as quartz with anger. "You must not think I am quite a
fool, Felicia — I know you are not sick; that is the oldest trick in the world
to hide a strayed affection. I warned you, did I not, of what would happen to any
man you favored too much?"
"But
I do not favor anyone! I—I want to lie alone, that is all."
"You
should not have let me see your inclination," he continued as though I had
not spoken. "Now the slave is small good to any woman, and never will be
again—it is a pity, he was comely enough before."
I
pulled back when he would have drawn me down the shelving steps. "Your
Grace, I have no gallant. I give you my word—"
"You
are lying. Come down and see him now; he has been here since last night and
found it a harsher lodging than your arms."
My
fingers shrank under his, and his hold tightened, clamping my arm cruelly
against his side.
I
whispered, "What have you done?"
His
smile broadened. "Come, and I will show you."
My
first thought was that the stench was unbearable. Blood and human filth mingled
with ammonia and the sweet, sickly smell of burning flesh; the air was thick
with the miasma of corruption. I could hear strange whimpers and ragged,
panting breath from among the devilish machines on the straw-covered floor, and
I wanted to cover my ears. I tried not to see the cadaverously thin, chained
bodies and the torturers sweating at their work despite the cold.
Domenico
halted beside a long table in the middle of the chamber, and reluctantly,
obedient to his unspoken order, I looked down at what was on it.
"How
do you like him now?" His voice was taut. "He cannot kiss you—the
ropes will not let him lift his head—but you can kiss him if he is so dear to
you."
I
did not answer him. I could not. I only recognized Bernardo da Lucoli by his
mop of black hair; he had been in the torture chamber a long time.
"Have
you racked him to the uttermost?" Domenico sounded almost scientifically
interested as he surveyed Bernardo's broken body.
"Not
far short, Your Grace. His joints are so loose that he swoons when I turn the
wheel."
Hot
tears sprang into my eyes, and I twisted free and ran blindly, back across the
slippery floor to the gallery stairs, then up them, sobbing as I ran. I should
have remembered the savagery that raged in Domenico if he were thwarted, I
thought: but how could I have known he would do this?
As
I reached the gallery, hands caught me and spun me around, and Domenico shook
me viciously.
"So
you weep for him—will you deny now that he was your lover?"
"Yes!
And I will say it if you do the same to me!" I glared up at his
tear-blurred shape. "Your pride will not let you believe I am unwilling,
so you have invented a scapegoat. Bernardo has never done any more than kiss my
hand—the rest you have imagined for yourself!"
"I
have not imagined your coldness, Felicia. Something has made you harden your
heart against me—what is it, if not love for another man?"
My
lips parted, but no sound came. From somewhere below came a smothered scream,
then the sound of someone sobbing.
Domenico
continued, still gripping me, "Something has altered you. What is in that
shallow boy to make you shrink from me after so long? Do you love him so much
that you can forget what we have done together?"
I
shook my head helplessly.
"Then
why are you so changed?" It was the rage of a spoiled child who could not
understand and could not accept that there was a thing he could not have. In
that moment I loved him so much that I almost forgot the dreadful reason I had
first denied him. A pulse was beating fast in his temple; he must be enraged
almost past thought.
"I
am not changed." My voice almost broke. "I want you to let me go
free, that is all."
"Free?
Why?" I sensed his sudden alertness. "Because I do not pay you richly
enough?"
"No!
I do not want..."
"You
have been gossiping with that whore Maddalena." Now the anger in his voice
was adult, cold and terrifying. "You have compared her price with yours,
and you find my bounty wanting, do you not?"
The
blood drained from my cheeks. "I do not want your money! I never
did!"
"A
jewel beyond price?" There was an ugly twist to his mouth. "Would you
persuade me it is not for sale?"
"Not
to you. Not at any price."