He held out the parchment, his eyes watching me intently, so that they never once strayed to Bianca.
“Read, St. Mountebank,” he bade me.
I took the paper, but before I lowered my eyes to it, I gave him warning.
“If on your part you attempt the slightest treachery,” I said, “you shall be repaid in kind. My men are at the winches, and they have my orders that at the first treacherous movement on your part they are to take up the bridge. You will see that you could not reach the end of it in time to save yourself.”
It was his turn to change colour under the shadow of his beaver. “Have you trapped me?” he asked between his teeth.
“If you had anything of the Anguissola besides the name,” I answered, “you would know me incapable of such a thing. It is because I know that of the Anguissola you have nothing but the name, that you are a craven, a dastard and a dog, that I have taken my precautions.”
“Is it your conception of valour to insult a man whom you hold as if bound hand and foot against striking you as you deserve?”
I smiled sweetly into that white, scowling face.
“Throw down your gauntlet upon this bridge, Cosimo, if you deem yourself affronted, if you think that I have lied; and most joyfully will I take it up and give you the trial by battle of your seeking.”
For an instant I almost thought that he would take me at my word, as most fervently I hoped. But he restrained himself.