"Those you refused two years ago," he said. "When we warred with Pavia."
Visconti remembered. Two years ago, when he had been by half not so great as he stood now, he had refused them in scorn—they meant half his dominions—they would place Carrara on a level with himself.
"Well?" he said, "and if I refuse?"
"A prisoner does not refuse—his liberty," smiled Giacomo. He could afford to smile.
Visconti controlled himself.
"And if I accept—you take my word, all I have to give—a prisoner's word?"
"A Visconti's word," corrected Carrara. "Nay, lord, I think I shall need more than that."
"What more can I give?" he asked. "You waste the time, Carrara."
Giacomo was playing with the keys in his hand.