'Here's news,' he said, and his voice trembled. 'Estorre Visconti has been created Duke of Milan.' He paused, and the little dark eyes blinked up at the tall Bellarion standing composed at his side. 'You knew already?' 'Not so, highness.' 'And you show no surprise?' 'It is a bold step, and it may cost Messer Estorre his head. But it was to be expected from what had gone before.' The beady eyes returned to the parchment, which shook in the podgy fingers. 'Fra Berto Caccia, the Bishop of Piacenza, preached a sermon to the people lauding the murder of my brother, and promising in Estorre's name a Golden Age for Milan, with immunity from taxation. Thereupon they laid at his bastard feet the keys of the city, the standard of the republic, and the ducal sceptre.' He dropped the parchment, and sat back folding plump, white hands across his paunch. 'This calls for action, speedily.' 'We can provide action enough to surfeit Messer Estorre.' 'Ha!' The great flabby face grew almost kindly, the little eyes beamed upon the condottiero. 'Serve me well in this, Bellarion, and you shall know gratitude.' Bellarion's gesture seemed to wave the notion of reward aside. He came straight to facts. 'We can withdraw eight thousand men from Bergamo. The place is at the point of surrender, and four thousand will well suffice to tighten the last grip upon the Malatesta vitals. Perhaps the Lord Estorre has not included that in his calculations. With eight thousand men we can sweep him out of Milan at our pleasure.' 'And you'll give orders? You'll give orders at once? The army, they tell me, is now in your control. Facino's authority has descended to you, and has been accepted by your brother captains.' And now this arch-dissembler went to work. 'Hardly so much, highness. Facino's captains have sworn fealty, not to me, but to the Lady Beatrice.' 'But ... But you, then?' The news dismayed him a little. 'What place is yours?' 'At your highness's side, if your highness commands me.' 'Yes, yes. But whom do you command? Where, exactly, do you stand now?' 'At the head of the army in any enterprise into which the Countess sends her captains.' 'The Countess?' The Prince shifted his bulk uneasily in his chair, slewing round so as to face the soldier more fully. 'What then if ... What if the Countess should not ...' He waved his fat hands helplessly. 'It is not likely that the Countess should oppose your own wishes, highness.' 'Not likely? But--Lord of Heaven!--it's possible.' He heaved himself up, nervous, agitated. 'I must know. I must ... I'll send for her.' He reached for a hand-bell on the table. But Bellarion's hand closed over his own before he could ring. 'A moment, Lord Prince. Before you send for the Lady Beatrice, had you not best consider precisely what you will say to her?' 'What is to say beyond discovering her disposition towards me.'