Nevertheless, Galeotto studied it awhile; and then, still holding it, he looked at Cosimo, and the scarred face that hitherto had been so sombre now wore a smile.
“It is as irregular as the other,” he said. “It is entirely worthless.”
“Worthless?” quoth Cosimo, in an amazement that was almost scornful. “But have I not already explained...”
“It sets forth here,” cut in Galeotto with assurance, “that the fief of Mondolfo and Carmina are confiscated from Agostino d'Anguissola. Now I submit to your excellency, and to your worthinesses,” he added, turning aside, “that this confiscation is grotesque and impossible, since Mondolfo and Carmina never were the property of Agostino d'Anguissola, and could no more be taken from him than can a coat be taken from the back of a naked man—unless,” he added, sneering, “a papal bull is capable of miracles.”
Cosimo stared at him with round eyes, and I stared too, no glimmer of the enormous truth breaking yet upon my bewildered mind. In the court the silence was deathly until Gonzaga spoke.
“Do you say that Mondolfo and Carmina did not belong—that they never were the fiefs of Agostino d'Anguissola?” he asked.
“That is what I say,” returned Galeotto, towering there, immense and formidable in his gleaming armour.
“To whom, then, did they belong?”
“They did and do belong to Giovanni d'Anguissola—Agostino's father.”
Cosimo shrugged at this, and some of the dismay passed from his countenance.