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tableau in the street—the three riders
isolated in the midst of the noise and the gaudy, stirring cavalcade, two of
them jesting together like a couple of topers and the third sitting astride his
horse like an image and staring up at me. I still could not rid myself of the
sense of dread that swept over me whenever I thought of that deliberate,
calculating gaze.
    A
slap brought my thoughts back to the present, and I looked around wildly at
Celia. "Will you be content when you have worn a hole through my best
jug?" There was suspicion in her face. "What is the matter with
you?"
    I
mumbled something and bent my head over the pots. I could not explain; even if
it had not meant telling her of how I had sat in the sun and seen the
procession in spite of her, I could not have said why the memory of something
so trivial should prey on my thoughts. I felt like a criminal waiting to be
arrested; every footfall set my heart pounding with a guilty fear.
    Antonio
came in presently, grumbling at the wickedness of the strayed servants and the
folly of dukes who took bread out of honest men's mouths. "If he had to
make his living by feeding the beggars in this stinking city, he would not give
bread away so lightly. How can I make any profit when half the population is
out sniffing after the garbage from his supper?"
    "Perhaps
they will all come here later," I ventured.
    He
snorted. "Yes, stuffed too full for aught we can sell them—they will all
be surfeiting on veal and roast partridge and turn up their noses at the food
in this house! We will be lucky if we have a dozen customers in the rest of the
night!"
    He
strode off, fuming, and Celia followed him. I could hear her voice in the
distance, berating him for letting the servants slip away; he should have
stayed here, she said, instead of coming with her to stand like a stock, when
the man near her had proved to know more about the notables than he! He would
have been more use staying at home, and now perhaps he would take her counsel
another time!
    Antonio's
rumbling reply was lost in a sound from the gateway. I tensed instinctively, my
hands dangling unmoving in the greasy water as I listened, and I found myself
holding my breath. Late visitors, I told myself. Merchants, probably, come from
a distance to see the duke's triumph and now looking for somewhere to stay out
of the reach of their careful wives. Well, they would have a lean night of it,
for the courtesans were where the pickings were, waiting outside the gates of
the Palazzo della Raffaelle.
    The
soft clop of hooves and the jingle of harness passed under the gateway and into
the yard. Swiftly, I darted across the kitchen and peered out; riders, some
half-dozen of them. I could see them distinctly in the light of the lamp—the
horses were too good for tradesmen, and yet the clothes were too plain for
ordinary citizens. One of them dismounted and walked towards the door of the
taproom, and as I listened to the voices of the others, a chill of fear began
to take possession of me. They were wearing dark cloaks and broad hats that hid
their faces, and their whispers sounded furtive, like a conspiracy.
    "In
this place?" came softly. " 'Slight!"
    "It
is a fool's errand." Another voice, less muted, sounded full of
indignation. "We have asked everywhere, doffed caps to the goodsirs for
streets around, and still the answer is the same—none such in the house."
    One
of the others murmured something, and I caught the words, "a
mistake." A light laugh trilled in answer.
    "Do
you dare think that, dear fellow? Obey orders, and keep such thoughts locked
between your teeth!"
    "He
is very sure," said another voice.
    "He
is always sure. When the search proves fruitless he will say he never really
believed what he spoke."
    I
gripped the windowsill tightly, the rough wood hurting my wet hands. My mind
was suddenly full of remembered stories of the tyranny of the duke's guards, of
the men and women who had vanished simply because they caught the