Above leaned Cavalcanti, his face grey and haggard, without the heart to relish the wicked humour of Galeotto that could make jests for his own entertainment. True there was also Falcone to overhear, appreciate, and grin under cover of his great brown hand.
“Does this mean that you are come to your senses on the score of a stipend, Ser Galeotto?” quoth the Duke.
“I am not a trader out of the Giudecca to haggle over my wares,” replied the burly condottiero. “But I nothing doubt that your magnificence and I will come to an understanding at the last.”
“Five thousand ducats yearly is my offer,” said Farnese, “provided that you bring three hundred lances.”
“Ah, well!” said Galeotto softly, “you may come to regret one of these days, highness, that you did not think well to pay me the price I ask.”
“Regret?” quoth the Duke, with a frown of displeasure at so much frankness.
“When you see me engaged in the service of some other,” Galeotto explained. “You need a condottiero, my lord; and you may come to need one even more than you do now.”
“I have the Lord of Mondolfo,” said the Duke.
Galeotto stared at him with round eyes. “The Lord of Mondolfo?” quoth he, intentionally uncomprehending.
“You have not heard? Why, here he stands.” And he waved a jewelled hand towards Cosimo, a handsome figure in green and blue, standing nearest to Farnese.