“Does this mean that you are come to your senses on the score of a stipend, Ser Galeotto?” quoth the Duke. “I am not a trader out of the Giudecca to haggle over my wares,” replied the burly condottiero. “But I nothing doubt that your magnificence and I will come to an understanding at the last.” “Five thousand ducats yearly is my offer,” said Farnese, “provided that you bring three hundred lances.” “Ah, well!” said Galeotto softly, “you may come to regret one of these days, highness, that you did not think well to pay me the price I ask.” “Regret?” quoth the Duke, with a frown of displeasure at so much frankness. “When you see me engaged in the service of some other,” Galeotto explained. “You need a condottiero, my lord; and you may come to need one even more than you do now.” “I have the Lord of Mondolfo,” said the Duke. Galeotto stared at him with round eyes. “The Lord of Mondolfo?” quoth he, intentionally uncomprehending. “You have not heard? Why, here he stands.” And he waved a jewelled hand towards Cosimo, a handsome figure in green and blue, standing nearest to Farnese. Galeotto looked at this Anguissola, and his brow grew very black. “So,” he said slowly, “you are the Lord of Mondolfo, eh? I think you are very brave.” “I trust my valour will not be lacking when the proof of it is needed,” answered Cosimo haughtily, feeling the other's unfriendly mood and responding to it. “It cannot,” said Galeotto, “since you have the courage to assume that title, for the lordship of Mondolfo is an unlucky one to bear, Ser Cosimo. Giovanni d'Anguissola was unhappy in all things, and his was a truly miserable end. His father before him was poisoned by his best friend, and as for the last who legitimately bore that title--why, none can say that the poor lad was fortunate.” “The last who legitimately bore that title?” cried Cosimo, very ruffled. “I think, sir, it is your aim to affront me.” “And what is more,” continued the condottiero, as if Cosimo had not spoken, “not only are the lords of Mondolfo unlucky in themselves, but they are a source of ill luck to those they serve. Giovanni's father had but taken service with Cesare Borgia when the latter's ruin came at the hands of Pope Julius II. What Giovanni's own friendship cost his friends none knows better than your highness. So that, when all is said, I think you had better look about you for another condottiero, magnificent.” The magnificent stood gnawing his beard and brooding darkly, for he was a grossly superstitious fellow who studied omens and dabbled in horoscopes, divinations, and the like. And he was struck by the thing that Galeotto said. He looked at Cosimo darkly. But Cosimo laughed. “Who believes such old wives' tales? Not I, for one.” “The more fool you!” snapped the Duke.