"To seek the Emperor's Lieutenant you need not go as far as Milan. You
will find him in Piacenza."
He looked at me, as if he did not understand. "How?" he asked.
I explained. "While you have been cooling your heels in the ante-chambers
of the Vatican to obtain this endorsement of your infamy, the world
hereabouts has moved a little. Yesterday Ferrante Gonzaga took possession
of Piacenza in the Emperor's name. To-day the Council will be swearing
fealty to Caesar upon his Lieutenant's hands."
He stared at me for a long moment, speechless in his utter amazement. Then
he swallowed hard.
"And the Duke?" he asked.
"The Duke has been in Hell these four-and-twenty hours."
"Dead?" he questioned, his voice hushed.
"Dead," said I.
He leaned against the rail of the bridge, his arms fallen limply to his
sides, one hand crushing the Pontifical parchment. Then he braced himself
again. He had reviewed the situation, and did not see that it hurt his
position, when all was said.
"Even so," he urged, "what can you hope for? The Emperor himself must bow
before this, and do me justice." And he smacked the document. "I demand
my wife, and my demand is backed by Pontifical authority. You are mad if
you think that Charles V can fail to support it."
"It is possible that Charles V may take a different view of the memorial
setting forth the circumstances of your marriage, from that which the Holy
Father appears to have taken.
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