There was a flash of surprise from the eyes that conned him.
'You are Facino's son! You come from Milan, then?'
'No, my lord. From the Augustinian Convent at Cigliano, where my adoptive father left me some years ago whilst he was still in the service of Montferrat. It was hoped that I might take the habit. But a restlessness of spirit has urged me to prefer the world.' Thus he married pure truth to the single falsehood he had used, the extent of which was to clothe the obscure soldier who had befriended him with the identity of the famous soldier he had named.
'But why the world of Montferrat?'
'Chance determined that. I bore letters from my abbot to help me on my way. It was thus I made the acquaintance of the Lord Barbaresco, and his lordship becoming interested in me, and no doubt requiring me for certain services, desired me to remain. He urged that here was a path already open to my ambition, which if steadily pursued might lead to eminence.'
There was no falsehood in the statement. It was merely truth untruly told, truth unassailable under test, yet calculated to convey a false impression.
A thin smile parted the Prince's shaven lips. 'And when you had learnt sufficient, you found that a surer path to advancement might lie in the betrayal of these poor conspirators?'
'That, highness, is to set the unworthiest interpretation upon my motives.' Bellarion made a certain show in his tone and manner of offended dignity, such as might become the venal rascal he desired to be considered.
'You will not dispute that the course you have taken argues more intelligence than honesty or loyalty.'
'Your highness reproaches me with lack of loyalty to traitors?'