'They tell you? Who told you?' There was a threat to that unknown person in the inquiry. 'Can I remember? A court is a place of gossip. When men and women discover a piece of unusual knowledge they must be airing it. It doesn't matter. What matters to me is whether you, too, had heard of this. Had you?' The pleasant voice was suddenly hard; it was the voice of the master, of the man who holds the whip. And it intimidated, for whilst the young Duke stormed and blustered and swore, yet he did so in a measure of defence. 'By the bones of Saint Ambrose! Did you not hear that he slew my dogs? Slew three of them, and bewitched the others.' 'He must have bewitched you, Lord Duke, at the same time, since, although you heard him claim to be my son, yet you venture to practise upon him without so much as sending me word.' 'Is it not my right? Am I not lord of life and death in my dominions?' The dark eyes flashed in that square, shaven face. 'You are ...' He checked. He waved an imperious hand towards Squarcia Giramo. 'Go, you, and your curs with you.' 'They are here in attendance upon me,' the Duke reminded him. 'But they are required no longer.' 'God's Light! You grow daily more presumptuous, Facino.' 'If you will dismiss them, you may think differently.' The Duke's prominent eyes engaged the other's stern glance, until, beaten by it, he swung sullenly to his knaves: 'Away with you! Leave us!' Thus he owned defeat. Facino waited until the men had gone, then quietly admonished the Duke. 'You set too much store by your dogs. And the sport you make with them is as dangerous as it is bestial. I have warned your highness before. One of these fine days the dogs of Milan will turn upon you and tear out your throat.' 'The dogs of Milan? On me?' His highness almost choked. 'On you, who account yourself lord of life and death. To be Duke of Milan is not quite the same thing as to be God. You should remember it.' Then he changed his tone. 'That man you were hunting to-day beyond Abbiate was Francesco da Pusterla, I am told.' 'And this rogue who calls himself your son attempted to rescue him, and slew three of my best dogs....' 'He was doing you good service, Lord Duke. It would have been better if Pusterla had escaped. As long as you hunt poor miscreants, guilty of theft or violence or of no worse crime than being needy and hungry, retribution may move slowly against you. But when you set your dogs upon the sons of a great house, you walk the edge of an abyss.' 'Do I so? Do I so? Well, well, my good Facino, as long as a Pusterla remains aboveground, so long shall my hounds be active. I don't forget that a Pusterla was castellan of Monza when my mother died there. And you, that hear so much gossip about the town and court, must have heard what is openly said: that the scoundrel poisoned her.'