For an instant I almost thought that he would take me at my word, as most fervently I hoped. But he restrained himself. “Read!” he bade me again, with a fierce gesture. And accounting him well warned by now, I read with confidence. It was a papal brief ordering me under pain of excommunication and death to make surrender to Cosimo d'Anguissola of the Castle of Pagliano which I traitorously held, and of the person of his wife, Madonna Bianca. “This document is not exact,” said I. “I do not hold this castle traitorously. It is an Imperial fief, and I hold it in the Emperor's name.” He smiled. “Persist if you are weary of life,” he said. “Surrender now, and you are free to depart and go wheresoever you list. Continue in your offence, and the consequences shall daunt you ere all is done. This Imperial fief belongs to me, and it is for me, who am Lord of Pagliano by virtue of my marriage and the late lord's death, to hold it for the Emperor. “And you are not to doubt that when this brief is laid before the Emperor's Lieutenant at Milan, he will move instantly against you to cast you out and to invest me in those rights which are mine by God's law and man's alike.” My answer may, at first, have seemed hardly to the point. I held out the brief to him. “To seek the Emperor's Lieutenant you need not go as far as Milan. You will find him in Piacenza.” He looked at me, as if he did not understand. “How?” he asked. I explained. “While you have been cooling your heels in the ante-chambers of the Vatican to obtain this endorsement of your infamy, the world hereabouts has moved a little. Yesterday Ferrante Gonzaga took possession of Piacenza in the Emperor's name. To-day the Council will be swearing fealty to Caesar upon his Lieutenant's hands.” He stared at me for a long moment, speechless in his utter amazement. Then he swallowed hard. “And the Duke?” he asked. “The Duke has been in Hell these four-and-twenty hours.” “Dead?” he questioned, his voice hushed. “Dead,” said I. He leaned against the rail of the bridge, his arms fallen limply to his sides, one hand crushing the Pontifical parchment. Then he braced himself again. He had reviewed the situation, and did not see that it hurt his position, when all was said. “Even so,” he urged, “what can you hope for? The Emperor himself must bow before this, and do me justice.” And he smacked the document. “I demand my wife, and my demand is backed by Pontifical authority. You are mad if you think that Charles V can fail to support it.” “It is possible that Charles V may take a different view of the memorial setting forth the circumstances of your marriage, from that which the Holy Father appears to have taken. I counsel you to seek the Imperial Lieutenant at Piacenza without delay. Here you waste time.” His lips closed with a snap. Then, at last, his eyes wandered to Bianca, who stood just beside and slightly behind me. “Let me appeal to you, Monna Bianca...” he began.