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she was being hurt; she would answer his taunts with taunts of her own.
    ‘You call killing things sport,’ she said. ‘And the more cruel the killing, the greater is the sport to you.’
    He did not answer her. Instead, he bared his teeth at the dog and murmured:
    ‘Come, little Guido, dear little Guido. I would feed you, little Guido.’
    Caterina dropped to her knees; her usually sallow cheeks were flushed; she was frightened that she was going to lose her spaniel, one of the best friends she had. ‘Guido,’ she whispered frantically, ‘you must not go near him. If he catches you, you must bite.’
    ‘If he were to bite me,’ said Alessandro, ‘I would cut him into little pieces.
    Or perhaps I should put him into a cauldron and bring him slowly to the boil. I do not allow dogs to bite Alessandro de’ Medici, Duchessina .’
    ‘You shall leave my dogs alone,’ she said with dignity, rising and looking at him. ‘Go and have your sport with others if you must, but leave my dogs alone.’
    ‘When I see the Holy Father,’ said Alessandro, ‘I shall tell him that the Duchessina has become a hoyden who wastes her time frolicking with dogs.
    Then they will be taken from you. Perhaps I shall ask that they may become mine.’
    She was trembling. The Holy Father would believe Alessandro! How
    strange it was that the great man, who cared so much for power and hardly anything for his six-year-old cousin whom he courteously called his niece, should be affectionately disposed towards her ugly bastard half-brother.
    ‘Then,’ she retorted, ‘ I shall tell that I heard one of serving girls screaming in your apartments, and I shall see she holds nothing back when she is
    questioned.’
    ‘You forget I have a way of enforcing silence. That girl will not relish losing her tongue.’
    ‘I hate you!’ said Caterina vehemently. ‘I shall tell Aunt Clarissa.’
    ‘Even if she believed you, she would not consider me worthy of
    punishment.’
    ‘Then I shall tell the Cardinal.’
    ‘He will not believe ill of one whom his master loves as the Holy Father
    loves me.’
    In spite of her training, an impulse to run to him, to kick him, scratch him and bite him came to Caterina. She might have done so, for her mounting fears for her dog were fast destroying her control, had not the door opened that moment and Ippolito entered the room.
    What a contrast he made to evil-looking Alessandro! Ippolito was the
    handsomest young man in Florence; he had inherited all that was best in the Medici family, and none of its shifty weakness and cruelty. He was only sixteen, but he was loved by the Florentines, who looked upon him, in spite of
    illegitimacy, as their future ruler. They saw in him his illustrious ancestor, Lorenzo the Magnificent, as well as his noble father, the Duke of Nemours; already the boy had shown himself to be by nature bold and courageous, yet kindly, a lover of the arts. He possessed those qualities for which the Florentines looked in a leader, and it was hoped that the time would soon come when this young man would take the reins from the hands of Passerini, who ruled the city under Clement, that Pope whose vacillating European policy had brought unrest to Italy.
    Caterina rejoiced to see Ippolito. She admired him; he had never been
    unkind to her, although it was true he had not time to bestow upon such a very little girl. She knew Alessandro was afraid of Ippolito and that Ippolito had nothing but contempt for The Moor.
    Caterina said quickly: ‘Ippolito, Alessandro threatens to hurt my dog.’
    ‘Surely not!’ said Ippolito, advancing and glancing contemptuously at
    Alessandro. ‘Has he not dogs of his own on whom to play his vile tricks?’
    ‘I will thank you to remember to whom you speak!’ cried Alessandro.
    ‘I do not forget it,’ answered Ippolito.
    Now that Caterina’s control had broken down, she could not restrain herself, and, emboldened by the presence of Ippolito who would always take the