why he should care.
"You
may thank God for it, my dear Tomasso." The second voice was musical and
cultured. "If she had died, we would none of us see old age. He has asked
for her fifty times since you brought her here."
The
first man gave a quiet whistle. "Amid so much! The duchess in hysterics,
the whole state in uproar, and he wants news of some fool of a girl!"
"This
one seems to be of importance. More than I guessed..." The words faded
thoughtfully.
"Well,
she's a pretty wench but not to my taste. Too starved-looking."
"You
are here to guard her, my dear Tomasso, not to tumble her." The other
spoke lightly and coldly. "I advise you not to touch her, lest he hear of
it. It is true, though." The brittle voice changed. "She is a fair
piece—good enough to shorten a long night."
"What
would you know of that, Piero?" Tomasso's voice was jeering.
"Enough,
my dear, believe me! And yet I wonder what makes him ask so often."
"Is
he so impatient, then?"
"
'Heart, we have had nothing but her ever since he saw her!" Piero's laugh
was long and high, a meaningless trill. "Until he found out who she was
and how his hand could reach her, the whole place was like a bear garden. We
had to search the city streets to please him, and now I am deputed to be her
overseer until he finds leisure to speak with her."
I
ought to care, I thought stupidly. They were talking about me, and what they
said was important. But I could not care, could not even make myself
understand; my mind was a jumble of dream and reality. Their words were
meaningless; I heard them, but their sense washed to and fro over me like waves
above a drowned corpse.
"How
long is that like to be?"
"God
in Heaven knows. 'Piero,' he said, 'my excellent Piero shall keep her close for
me while this exigent lasts. I trust no other to render her to me safely.'
'While this exigent lasts' affords no clues."
Tomasso
swore. "And I have to coddle a sick wench in these vaults until he has
leisure! By all the saints!"
"He
will not ask for her yet," Piero warned. "He cannot, not until he has
spoken with the duchess."
"He
speak with that old beldam! But he shuns her like the pestilence!"
"He
cannot do so now, my dear. She has written him a fair letter, 'your gracing'
him some score of times, begging that she may have private speech with him. He
cannot refuse her."
"He
will not like it." Tomasso's grin sounded in his voice. "We know what
Gratiana means by 'private speech.' "
I
tried to turn my head to look at him, but the movement made the sickness pound
in my head again. It rose in my throat, choking me, and for a moment I thought
I would vomit; then the nausea passed and I lay still again, sweating.
"I
must have given her too strong a dose," Tomasso said gruffly.
"Indeed,
I think you were too liberal." I felt a cool touch on my hot forehead.
"You did not use your brain, as usual. You gave a weak wench sufficient
for a lusty soldier—and she can have eaten little worth the name before she had
the drug."
"I
could not know that!"
"No,
but the duke will not think so."
"You
know his mind, of course...."
"Of
course, my dear Tomasso! Who else should know it, if I do not?"
The
sound of the duke's name transfixed me like a spear thrust. Unbelievingly I
forced my eyes open, trying to force my cloudy brain to work; the words made no
sense, but they chilled me with fear.
"Look,"
Tomasso said sharply. "She is awake."
Someone
bent over me, and I felt myself lifted and pillowed against a thin shoulder.
Piero's voice murmured, "Such eyes! Now I see why..." Then he called
sharply above my head, "Fetch some water, Tomasso, and give it her; then
go and fetch the duke's leech, quickly!"
The
water he held to my lips was the coolest, sweetest thing in the world. I would
have gulped at it, but the cup was withdrawn.
"Gently,
lady, gently." Piero sounded amused. Still I could not see him clearly; he
was only a voice and a pall of thick, cloying perfume.
"Where
am I?" I could hardly
"You
may thank God for it, my dear Tomasso." The second voice was musical and
cultured. "If she had died, we would none of us see old age. He has asked
for her fifty times since you brought her here."
The
first man gave a quiet whistle. "Amid so much! The duchess in hysterics,
the whole state in uproar, and he wants news of some fool of a girl!"
"This
one seems to be of importance. More than I guessed..." The words faded
thoughtfully.
"Well,
she's a pretty wench but not to my taste. Too starved-looking."
"You
are here to guard her, my dear Tomasso, not to tumble her." The other
spoke lightly and coldly. "I advise you not to touch her, lest he hear of
it. It is true, though." The brittle voice changed. "She is a fair
piece—good enough to shorten a long night."
"What
would you know of that, Piero?" Tomasso's voice was jeering.
"Enough,
my dear, believe me! And yet I wonder what makes him ask so often."
"Is
he so impatient, then?"
"
'Heart, we have had nothing but her ever since he saw her!" Piero's laugh
was long and high, a meaningless trill. "Until he found out who she was
and how his hand could reach her, the whole place was like a bear garden. We
had to search the city streets to please him, and now I am deputed to be her
overseer until he finds leisure to speak with her."
I
ought to care, I thought stupidly. They were talking about me, and what they
said was important. But I could not care, could not even make myself
understand; my mind was a jumble of dream and reality. Their words were
meaningless; I heard them, but their sense washed to and fro over me like waves
above a drowned corpse.
"How
long is that like to be?"
"God
in Heaven knows. 'Piero,' he said, 'my excellent Piero shall keep her close for
me while this exigent lasts. I trust no other to render her to me safely.'
'While this exigent lasts' affords no clues."
Tomasso
swore. "And I have to coddle a sick wench in these vaults until he has
leisure! By all the saints!"
"He
will not ask for her yet," Piero warned. "He cannot, not until he has
spoken with the duchess."
"He
speak with that old beldam! But he shuns her like the pestilence!"
"He
cannot do so now, my dear. She has written him a fair letter, 'your gracing'
him some score of times, begging that she may have private speech with him. He
cannot refuse her."
"He
will not like it." Tomasso's grin sounded in his voice. "We know what
Gratiana means by 'private speech.' "
I
tried to turn my head to look at him, but the movement made the sickness pound
in my head again. It rose in my throat, choking me, and for a moment I thought
I would vomit; then the nausea passed and I lay still again, sweating.
"I
must have given her too strong a dose," Tomasso said gruffly.
"Indeed,
I think you were too liberal." I felt a cool touch on my hot forehead.
"You did not use your brain, as usual. You gave a weak wench sufficient
for a lusty soldier—and she can have eaten little worth the name before she had
the drug."
"I
could not know that!"
"No,
but the duke will not think so."
"You
know his mind, of course...."
"Of
course, my dear Tomasso! Who else should know it, if I do not?"
The
sound of the duke's name transfixed me like a spear thrust. Unbelievingly I
forced my eyes open, trying to force my cloudy brain to work; the words made no
sense, but they chilled me with fear.
"Look,"
Tomasso said sharply. "She is awake."
Someone
bent over me, and I felt myself lifted and pillowed against a thin shoulder.
Piero's voice murmured, "Such eyes! Now I see why..." Then he called
sharply above my head, "Fetch some water, Tomasso, and give it her; then
go and fetch the duke's leech, quickly!"
The
water he held to my lips was the coolest, sweetest thing in the world. I would
have gulped at it, but the cup was withdrawn.
"Gently,
lady, gently." Piero sounded amused. Still I could not see him clearly; he
was only a voice and a pall of thick, cloying perfume.
"Where
am I?" I could hardly
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