“Within an hour you shall have in your hands the necessary papers to set Agostino at liberty; and you shall carry them yourself to Rome. It is the amend I owe you. It shall be made.”
“But how is it possible?”
“It is possible, and it shall be done. And when it is done you may count upon me to the last breath to help you to pull down this pestilential Duke in ruin.”
He strode to the door, his step firm once more and his face set, though it was very grey. “I will leave you now. But you may count upon the fulfilment of my promise.”
He went out, leaving Galeotto and Falcone alone, and the condottiero flung himself into a chair and sat there moodily, deep in thought, still in his dusty garments and with no thought for changing them. Falcone stood by the window, looking out upon the gardens and not daring to intrude upon his master's mood.
Thus Cavalcanti found them a hour later when he returned. He brought a parchment, to which was appended a great seal bearing the Pontifical arms. He thrust it into Galeotto's hand.
“There,” he said, “is the discharge of the debt which through my weakness and folly I have incurred.”
Galeotto looked at the parchment, then at Cavalcanti, and then at the parchment once more. It was a papal bull of plenary pardon and indemnity to me.
“How came you by this?” he asked, astonished.
“Is not Farnese the Pope's son?” quoth Cavalcanti scornfully.