Papà walked around to stand behind Mamma, to hold her shoulders and give support, and, I thought, to stand above Duke Yago in height and placement at the table. It was a gesture quite unlike Papà, and made me realize he had no fondness for the man and his inflated consequence.
Without waiting on wine or greetings or to discover the tenor and direction of the conversation, Duke Yago said, “Nephew, did you know the flagellants have returned to Verona?”
Periodically the flagellants, men and women filthy, unhoused, and with their faces covered and their backs bared, arrived in a pack to wander the streets, mortifying their flesh with whips in penance for their sins. And our sins, too, if one was to believe their accounts. They called themselvesdisciplinati,and in return they required bread and wine, blankets and shoes.
“I’d heard that report, Uncle.” Cal settled into his chair at the head of the table. “Indeed, as podestà, I had to allow them to cross through the city gate, direct them to the arena where they can sleep, and tell them which routes to follow through the city.”
Duke Yago appeared not to note the reminder of Cal’s position. “What do you intend to do? Wherever go the flagellants, so goes trouble.”
That was true. Some citizens welcomed them and the holy frenzy they brought with them. Others feared them, and justly, for they had no stake in Verona’s peace or property, and yes, trouble followed them like the stench of dried black blood.
“I would ban them, but such a move puts them on the roads around the city, blocking merchants and visitors. I prefer to keep them here, under my eye, regulated and hemmed in by Verona’s laws.”
“They cover their faces to hide their lawlessness.”
“I won’t allow such behavior.”
“They won’t listen to you!” Duke Yago used his own whip of scorn.
“Then they’ll visit our dungeons and scatter like autumn leaves under the wind of my displeasure.” Indeed, the icy breath of Cal’s assurance made me shiver; he would not allow thedisciplinatito defy him, or his uncle to chide him.
Duchess Lugrezia smiled so charmingly, I wanted to raise a shield to protect us all, and in a voice as welcoming and cordial as a courtesan’s, she said, “Come, Yago, these many years since your wounding, Callie has done well without your avuncular advice, or at least well enough”—she put down her knife—“if one discounts the food at the palace.” Her gaze swooped in on me. “I hope, my dear Rosaline, your advent will improve matters.”
Perhaps this will amaze you, gentle reader, but if my temper abruptly gains the upper hand over my tact . . . tact will lose. “I promise, Duchess Lugrezia—”
I must have had that tone in my voice, for Mamma shook her head at me.
“—that when I’m mistress of the palace, my improvements will start with a value-enhanced guest list.” I smiled with at least as much charm as she had.
Mamma dropped her head into her hand.
Lugrezia nodded with approval. “That is exactly what I hoped you would say, dear Rosaline. Because our nephew brings to table plebeians who would be better served a meal on the paving stones of the street, and when reproached, he talks about his duty to Verona’s citizens.” She flapped a hand at Cal, and that warm voice echoed of amused affection. “He will be, I anticipate, guided by you in household matters at least.” She picked up her knife and began poking at the peacock again.
I couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t comprehended my insult. She remained untouched by my scorn. I looked around the table, and saw equally stunned expressions to match the one I wore, and some warm commiserations from those who had encountered Duchess Lugrezia before. In fact, Papà grinned at me, Mamma still frowned a reprimand, and Cal wore such a smooth expression I knew he was hiding something, probably a loud bark of laughter. At me.
Damn it, I was tired of getting it wrong every damned time.
“Did I neglect to mention that Lugrezia has the shell-covered hide of a sea cow?” Elder asked.
“You did so neglect,” I answered shortly.
“Both of them do, and neither has been blessed with humor. Look not for jesting in any future dealings.”
“Does she talk to herself?” Duke Yago was staring at me. “Sign of madness, you know.”
I found myself releasing my breath. The whole evening had been one simple-wittedness after another, and this was no worse than the rest.
Mayhap Nonna Ursula and I thought alike, or mayhap she heard my thoughts the way she heard Elder’s words, for she sat with chin firm, eyes bright, hands caressing the rough knob at the top of her cane. She leaned close and said, “Rosie, you have given me a marvelous idea. We’ve had enough of the meal and the company, and I can offer an excuse of fatigue and you can offer to help me to my fainting couch. Come, let’s find a private place where we can talk with no one overhearing.”
CHAPTER20
Nonna Ursula didn’t wait for my reply; obviously, I’d do as she wished.
Everyone should do as she wished.
“I’m weary,” she announced. Silence fell, the men leaped up and all eyes fixed on her. The company waited, breath bated, for a pronouncement—spreads terror like manure,I remembered—but she merely smiled with those strong teeth. “Rosie will help me. Good night.”
The company slumped as if released from a great stress.
