In the shock of enlightenment Ercole forgot to cuff the jester for his insolence, and allowed himself once more to be hurried along, across the outer court and up the steps that led to the battlements.
“You think——” he began.
“I think you had best tread more softly,” snapped the fool, under his breath, “and control that thunderous wheeze, if you would surprise Ser Romeo.”
Ercole accepted the hint, meek as a lamb, and leaving the fool behind him on the steps, he went softly up, and approached the armoury tower. Peering cautiously through the arrow-slit, and favoured by the fact that Gonzaga's back was towards him, he saw that he was no more than in time.
The courtier was bending down, and by the creaking sound that reached him Ercole guessed his occupation to be the winding of the arbalest string. On the table at his side lay a quarrel swathed in a sheet of paper.
Swiftly and silently Ercole moved round the tower, and the next instant he had pushed open the unfastened door and entered.
A scream of terror greeted him, and a very startled face was turned upon him by Gonzaga, who instantly sprang upright. Then, seeing who it was, the courtier's face reassumed some of its normal composure, but his glance was uneasy and his cheek pale.
“Sant Iddio!” he gasped. “You startled me, Ercole. I did not hear you coming.”
And now something in the bully's face heightened the alarm in Gonzaga. He still made an effort at self-control, as planting himself between Ercole and the table, so as to screen the tell-tale shaft, he asked him what he sought there.
“That letter you have written Gian Maria,” was the gruff, uncompromising answer, for Ercole reeked nothing of diplomatic issues.