Cosimo at least had ceased to smile. His handsome white face had lost some of its supercilious confidence. Here was something unexpected, something upon which he had not reckoned, against which he had not provided.
“What has Ser Galeotto to do with this?” he demanded harshly.
“That, sir, no doubt he will tell us, if you will have patience,” Gonzaga answered, so sweetly and deferentially that of a certainty some of Cosimo's uneasiness must have been dissipated.
I leaned forward now, scarce daring to draw breath lest I should lose a word of what was to follow. The blood that had earlier surged to my face had now all receded again, and my pulses throbbed like hammers.
Then Galeotto spoke, his voice very calm and level.
“Will your excellency first permit me to see the papal brief upon which you acted in summoning hither the accused?”
Silently Gonzaga delivered a parchment into Galeotto's hands. The condottiero studied it, frowning. Then he smote it sharply with his right hand.
“This document is not in order,” he announced.
“How?” quoth Cosimo, and he smiled again, reassured completely by now, convinced that here was no more than a minor quibble of the law.
“You are here described as Cosimo d'Anguissola, Lord of Mondolfo and Carmina. These titles are not yours.”