Di Torre pointed once more at Ugo Bandini. ‘Understand, sir, that I believed these instructions came from you.’
‘We are quits there, sir. I believed that the mind behind all these machinations was yours.’
Sigismondo hummed genially. ‘So that both of you were prepared to sacrifice your Duke to save your children.’
‘I am no Brutus, sir, to send my son to death for my country’s sake.’ Ugo Bandini put out a preventing hand to Leandro who would have interrupted. ‘I too had no choice in the matter.’ He and di Torre were regarding each other now as if reassessing their enemy as a possible human being.
‘You must understand, my lords,’ Sigismondo’s voice gathered force, had an urgency that brought Cosima a sense of the danger still surrounding them, of an enemy not conquered, ‘you have been tricked, both of you and by the same person. Both of you have had spies in your house, the slave Sascha and the secretary Giulio.’
‘Sascha!’
‘You left the city unconscious in a litter. She left, wearing your dress and riding with one of the bravos; she let your dress be seen as he let the false Bandini colours he wore be seen. She was bitterly paid for her treachery.’
Cosima could only think, why did Sascha do that? Did I treat her badly? Did she hate me and I never knew?
‘They will not have been the only spies. There’s no time now to explain all that needs to be made clear, and you must trust me and, for once, each other. Your children are both safe for this moment, but their lives, and yours, depend on the events of this coming day.’
He had moved to the windows and peered through a crack in the shutters as if to estimate how close that day might be to its dawn. Now he turned and spoke almost casually to di Torre. ‘And your instructions, my lord, were?’
‘To open the gates. That is,’ Cosima heard a constriction of the throat, an effort at dignity in this admission of being a traitor, ‘as a Chief Councillor of the Duke’s, to send messages with my seal, that no alarm was to be raised, nor any effort made to prevent, when armed troops arrived and entered; that they were the Duke Ippolyto’s men, come to help our Duke to put down riots.’
‘Riots?’ Bandini asked.
‘Riots would be provided,’ Sigismondo answered drily. Cosima, once more seated on the tapestry bench along the bedfoot, saw her father’s face and was sorry for him for the first time. After all, it was for her sake he had been ready to do this, even if she were not a person but merely his daughter.
He now raised his head and said to Bandini, ‘What did you have to do?’
Bandini made a giving gesture with both hands, his tone almost conciliatory. ‘Money. Troops, mercenaries, must be paid. If you were to let in the men Francisco has hired, I was to be their paymaster,’ and he put a hand on Leandro’s shoulder, ‘if the boy were not to die.’
‘Instead of which,’ Sigismondo’s voice held a note of ironic cheerfulness, ‘Duke Ludovico was to die. Now, if we are to prevent that, you must do as I say.’
‘First, first,’ Jacopo clicked his fingers towards Angelo, ‘look after your mistress. Put her to bed. What an hour for her to be up.’
Angelo curtsied and came to give Cosima attendance. At this point Leandro sprang from his chair and hurried forward. Sigismondo, humming in strong deprecation, drew him sharply away.
‘Angela, the Lady Donati will certainly be waiting. See your mistress to her room.’
Di Torre and Ugo Bandini were left, on either side of the great hearth where the brazier stood. Sigismondo fed it with wood and it gave out a grateful warmth in this hour before dawn.
Bandini took his son’s face between his hands and kissed him on the brow. ‘You should rest, child. You are exhausted… and your hands are still bloodied.’
‘All is ready.’ Sigismondo opened the door and Benno came in at once, laden with a vast swathed jug of steaming water. He set it down on the hearthstone and fetched a big earthenware basin glazed with a pattern of dolphins. He filled it with a splash that made the brazier hiss like a cross cat, and stood back. The light caught his face and di Torre started.
‘What the devil is that rogue doing here?’
Sigismondo had observed that the sight of Benno seemed to arouse in people the desire to kick him or at least shout at him. Di Torre, affronted at the vision now gawping amiably at him, reached out and shook him hard. ‘Answer me!’
Sigismondo said, ‘He is one who risked his life bring your daughter back to you.’
‘He?’ Di Torre stepped back. ‘He?’ One might have thought that he would on the whole rather not have had her back on such insanitary terms.
Sigismondo picked up the great cloak that lay on the bed, and brought it to Ugo Bandini, whose son was already peeling off his shirt and preparing to wash, kneeling on the hearth.
‘Sir, before light discovers you, you must be home. Whatever you do, show no joy for what you have seen here. Continue to mourn, and do exactly what you will be told to do. My man, who brought you here, will come with word.’
Bandini bent once more to kiss his son’s face, wet though it was, and then folded himself in the cloak.
‘You too, my Lord di Torre. You must return home.’
‘But my daughter? Am I not to remain to escort my daughter?’
‘You mistake, my lord.’ Sigismondo was benign. ‘You came to see that she is safe. She can’t return with you yet. There is still at least one in your house who might betray that she is there. Our enemy will not have relied only on the slave girl. They will be watching you. This was why you were brought here in such secrecy and by a long route. I’m told that you complained of it, but you do not know how much you have to fear. Ever since we took the lady from Duke Francisco’s power they will have looked for her to be brought back to you. Your part in this is to do just as you were engaged to do by him.’
‘By Duke Francisco?’ Di Torre’s face was that of acute alarm, and he resisted Sigismondo’s guidance towards the door.
‘Do just as he bade you. Trust me.’
‘My daughter…’
‘Is in her bed, in the room of the good lady who has taken such excellent care of her since her rescue.’ Sigismondo was as convincing with a disingenuous statement as with the truth.
They reached the outer door. There was some grunting as Bandini, even assisted by Sigismondo’s arm, made work of getting from the high sill down to the street. A gruff young man in a hooded cloak, quite unrecognisable as the maidservant, was there to guide them both home, but he lounged at the wall and did not help. Bandini might have laughed as di Torre was helped down — his old enemy clinging to the doorjamb like a frantic old badger in his furs. Sigismondo closed the door softly, barred and bolted it, and returned upstairs.
Leandro lay on the bed. He had pushed back the covers but not pulled them over him. Sigismondo tucked them round him while Benno dealt with the basin and water jug. Leandro roused a little. He had a thousand questions to ask, not least about Cosima, but the only one that was in the forefront of his mind and that he could, so to speak, lay hands on was, ‘What is my father to do tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow? It is today.’ Sigismondo drew the bed curtain. ‘He too must do just what the Duke Francisco ordered.’
‘You want my father to commit treason?’
Sigismondo smiled. Leandro’s tired mind attempted to wonder whose side Sigismondo was really on; but he slept.
Chapter Twenty
Leandro woke, with the brisk resilience of youth, because of shouting in the street in the still early morning. He had a moment of disoriented wonder at the size of the place, the painted ceiling, the tester, and his own ease. As a crescendo of shouting ended in a metallic clash, he rolled from bed, taking the padded quilt and swathing himself as he went, and peered through the shutters. Disappointingly, he saw only people running away, but in his mind was Sigismondo’s riots will be provided.