Three days after leaving Novi, Facino's army, reduced by Theodore's contingent of three thousand men which had been left behind, but still in great strength, reached Vigevano, and halted there to encamp again outside the town. Facino's vanity was the main reason. He would not cross the Ticino until he could sit a horse again, so that he might ride lance on thigh into Milan. Already his condition was greatly improved under the ministrations of a Genoese physician named Mombelli, renowned for his treatment of the podagric habit, who was now in Facino's train. A week passed, and Facino now completely restored was only restrained from pushing on by the arguments of his physician. Meanwhile, however, if he did not go to Milan, many from Milan were coming to him. Amongst the first to arrive was the firebrand Pusterla of Venegono, who out of his passionate vindictiveness came to urge Facino to hang Gian Maria and make himself Duke of Milan, assuring him of the support of all the Ghibelline faction. Facino heard him without emotion, and would commit himself to nothing. Amongst the last to arrive was the Duke himself, in a rash trustfulness which revealed the desperate view he must take of his own case and of the helplessness to which his folly and faithlessness had reduced him. He came accompanied by his evil genius Antonio della Torre, the fop Lonate, the captain of his guard Bertino Mantegazza, and a paltry escort of a hundred lances. With those three attending him he was received by Facino in the house of the Ducal Prefect of Vigevano. 'Your highness honours me by this proof of your trust in my integrity,' said Facino, bending to kiss the jewelled ducal hand. 'Integrity!' The Duke's grotesque face was white, his red eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. 'Is it integrity that brings you in arms against me, Facino?' 'Not against you, Lord Duke. Never yet have I stood in arms against your highness. It is upon your enemies that I make war. I have no aim but the restoration of peace to your dominions.' 'Fine words on the lips of a mutinous traitor!' sneered the Duke. He flung himself petulantly into a chair. 'If your highness believed that, you would not dare to come here.' 'Not dare? God's bones, man! Are these words for me? I am Duke of Milan.' 'I study to remember it, highness,' said Facino, and the rumblings of anger in his voice drove della Torre to pluck at his master's sleeve. Thus warned, Gian Maria changed the subject but not the tone. 'You know why I am here?' 'To permit me, I hope, to place myself at your potency's commands.' 'Ah! Bah! You make me sick with your fair words.' He grew sullen. 'Come, man. What is your price?' 'My price, highness? What does your highness conceive I have to sell?' 'A little patience with his magnificence, my lord,' della Torre begged. 'I thought I was displaying it,' said Facino. 'Otherwise it might be very bad for everybody.' He was really growing angry.