Shrieks filled the air where lately threats had been loudly tossed. But
some there were in that crowd that would be no passive witnesses of this
butchery. Half the stones of the borgo went after that cavalcade, and
fell in a persistent shower upon them, rattling like giant hail upon
their armour, dinting many a steel-cap to its wearer's sore discomfort.
The Duke himself was struck twice, and on Santi's unprotected scalp an
ugly wound was opened from which the blood flowed in profusion to dye his
snowy locks.
In this undignified manner they reached, at last, the Palazzo Ducale,
leaving a trail of dead and maimed to mark the way by which they had
come.
In a white heat of passion Gian Maria sought his apartments, and came not
forth again until, some two hours later, the presence was announced him
of the emissary from Caesar Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, who sought an
audience.
Still beside himself, and boiling with wrath at the indignities he had
received, Gian Maria--in no mood for an interview that would have
demanded coolness and presence of mind from a keener brain than his--
received the envoy, a gloomy, priestly-faced Spaniard, in the throne-room
of the Palace. The Duke was attended by Alvari, Santi, and Fabrizio da
Lodi, whilst his mother, Caterina Colonna, occupied a chair of crimson
velvet on which the Sforza lion was wrought in gold.
The interview was brief, and marked by a rudeness at its close that
contrasted sharply with the ceremoniousness of its inception.
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