“Not only do I give you leave, but I'll render you all the assistance in my power, if you can devise a means for luring her from Roccaleone.”
“I hesitate no longer. Your niece, Lord Duke, is a rebel, and as a rebel is she to be treated. She has garrisoned a castle, and hurled defiance at the ruler of the land. It is a declaration of war, Highness, and war we shall have.”
“You would resort to force?” asked Guidobaldo, disapproval lurking in his voice.
“To the force of arms, your Highness,” answered Gian Maria, with prompt fierceness. “I will lay siege to this castle of hers, and I shall tear it stone from stone. Oh, I would have wooed her nicely had she let me, with gentle words and mincing ways that maidens love. But since she defies us, I'll woo her with arquebuse and cannon, and seek by starvation to make her surrender to my suit. My love shall put on armour to subject her, and I vow to God that I shall not shave my beard until I am inside her castle.”
Guidobaldo looked grave.
“I should counsel gentler measures,” said he. “Besiege her if you will, but do not resort to too much violence. Cut off their resources and let hunger be your advocate. Even so, I fear me, you will be laughed at by all Italy,” he added bluntly.
“A fig for that! Let the fools laugh if they be minded to. What forces has she at Roccaleone?”
At the question Guidobaldo's brow grew dark. It was as if he had recalled some circumstance that had lain forgotten.
“Some twenty knaves led by a notorious ruffian of the name of Fortemani. The company was enrolled, they tell me, by a gentleman of my court, a kinsman of my Duchess, Messer Romeo Gonzaga.”
“Is he with her now?” gasped Gian Maria.