Without answering him, and already anticipating the nature of the clothes he bade me don, I lifted one of the garments from the heap. It was a foliated jester’s cap, with a bell hanging from every point, which gave out a tinkling sound as I picked it up. I let it fall again as though it had scorched me, the memory of what stood between Madonna Paola and me rising like a warning spectre in my mind. I would not again defile myself by the garb of folly; not again would I incur the shame of playing the Fool for the amusement of others. “May it please your Excellency to excuse me,” I answered in a firm tone. “I have made a vow never again to put on motley.” He eyed me sardonically for a moment, as if enjoying in anticipation the pleasure of compelling me against my will. He sat back in his chair and threw one heavily-booted leg across the other. “In the Citadel of Cesena,” said he, “we fear neither God nor Devil, and vows are as water to us—things we cannot stomach. It does not please me to excuse you.” I may have paled a little before the sinister smile with which he accompanied his words, but I stood my ground boldly. “It is not,” said I, “a question of what a vow may be to you and yours, but of what a vow is to me. It is a thing I cannot break.” “Sangue di Cristo!” he snarled, “we will break it for you, then—that or your bones. Resolve yourself, beast, the motley or the rack—or yet, if you prefer it, there is the cord yonder.” And he pointed to the far end of the chamber where some ropes were hanging from a pulley, the implements of the ghastly torture of the cord. Of such a nature was this monster that he made a torture-chamber of his dining-hall. “Let the rogue make acquaintance with it,” laughed Lampugnani, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth behind the black beard that bushed his lips. “I’ll swear his dancing would afford us more amusement than his quips. Swing him up, Illustrious.” But the Illustrious seemed to ponder the matter. “You shall have five minutes in which to decide,” he informed me presently. “They say that I am cruel. Behold how patient is my clemency. Five minutes shall you have where many another would hang you out of hand for bearding him as you have done me.” “You may begin at once,” said I. “neither five minutes nor five years will alter my determination.” His brow grew black with anger. “We shall see,” was all he said. There was a silence now in which we waited, a storm of thoughts battling in my mind. Presently Ramiro caught up one of the flagons and applied it to his cup. It proved empty, and in a gust of passion he hurled it against the wall where it burst into a thousand pieces. Clearly he was very angry, and it taxed my wits to account for the little measure of patience he was showing me.