Yet there was one last question in my quiver—a question which I thought must crumple up his confidence.
“Can you tell his excellency where you were upon your marriage night?” I cried hoarsely, my temples throbbing.
Superbly Cosimo looked round at the Court; he shrugged, and shook his head as if in utter pity.
“I leave it to your excellency to say where a man should be upon his marriage night,” he said, with an astounding impudence, and there were some who tittered in the crowd behind me. “Let me again beg your excellency and your worthinesses to pass to judgment, and so conclude this foolish comedy.”
Gonzaga nodded gravely, as if entirely approving, whilst with a fat jewelled hand he stroked his ample chin.
“I, too, think that it is time,” he said, whereupon Cosimo, with a sigh of relief, would have resumed his seat but that I stayed him with the last thing I had to say.
“My lord,” I cried, appealing to Gonzaga, “the true events of that night are set forth in a memorial of which two copies were drawn up, one for the Pope and the other for your excellency, as the Emperor's vicegerent. Shall I recite its contents—that Messer Cosimo may be examined upon them.
“It is not necessary,” came Gonzaga's icy voice. “The memorial is here before me.” And he tapped a document upon the table. Then he fixed his prominent eyes upon Cosimo. “You are aware of its contents?” he asked.
Cosimo bowed, and Galeotto moved at last, for the first time since the trial's inception.
Until now he had sat like a carved image, save when he had thrust out a hand to restrain Falcone, and his attitude had filled me with an unspeakable dread. But at this moment he leaned forward turning an ear towards Cosimo, as if anxious not to miss a single word that the man might utter. And Cosimo, intent as he was, did not observe the movement.