Under the walls of Roccaleone he drew rein, laughing to himself at this
monstrous change of sides. As he halted--helmet on head, but beaver
open--a body came hurtling over the battlements and splashed into the
foaming waters below. It was the corpse of Aventano, which Gian Maria
had peremptorily bidden them to remove from his sight.
"I desire to speak with Monna Valentina della Rovere," cried the furious
Duke.
"You may speak with me, Gian Maria," answered Francesco's voice, clear
and metallic. "I am her representative, her sometime Provost of
Roccaleone."
"Who are you?" quoth the Duke, struck by a familiar note in that mocking
voice.
"Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila."
"By God! You!"
"An age of marvels, is it not?" laughed Francesco.
"Which will you lose, my cousin--a wife or a duchy?"
Rage struck Gian Maria speechless for a moment. Then he turned to
Guidobaldo and whispered something; but Guidobaldo, who seemed vastly
interested now in this knight below, merely shrugged his shoulders.
"I will lose neither, Messer Francesco," roared the Duke. "Neither, by
God!" he screamed. "Neither, do you hear me?"
"I should be deaf else," was the easy answer, "But you are gravely at
fault. One or the other you must relinquish, and it is yours to make a
choice between them. The game has gone against you, Gian Maria, and you
must pay."
"But have I no voice in the bartering of my niece?" asked Guidobaldo,
with cold dignity.
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