Secular Wizard

Chapter 2

The lords and ladies of King Boncorro’s court laughed, clinked glasses, drank, and laughed some more. Here and there a man slipped a hand beneath the long table to stroke a lady’s thigh there and here the lady returned the gesture. Some were bolder and more open, kissing and caressing above the board, where all could see; in fact, there was as much fondling as conversation. The only rule seemed to be that the interplay had to be with someone else’s spouse, but even this was not always followed to the letter. The married couples who kissed, though, did shock their neighbors. A Puritan would have said that the surroundings encouraged such behavior, for King Boncorro’s great hall was hung with tapestries depicting scenes from the newly rediscovered classics ferreted out of moldering libraries by lapsed clerics. Here Venus cuddled within the circle of Adonis’ arm; there she reached out to Mars while Vulcan stood by, fuming. Danae stood in her shower of gold; Europa rode off on the back of the white bull; Cupid gazed down at Psyche, asleep in the posture of a wanton. All of them, true to the spirit of the Classical statues that had been unearthed, were completely nude. King Boncorro, though, seemed to be quite pleased with the overall effect. He leaned back in his chair at the high table, gazing at his court over the rim of his goblet with a feeling of satisfaction as he watched the high spirits below him. “It is good to watch my courtiers enjoy themselves, Rebozo.”

“Yes, your Majesty-especially since their dallying here means they are not plotting rebellion on their estates in the provinces.” The chancellor looked up at his king with a cracked smile “Your tapestries are very well-chosen toward the encouragement of such. ”I know,“ Boncorro sighed. ”I had meant them to be an inducement to education and culture. It seems I still overestimate human nature.“

“Perhaps, though, they would be a bit more effective if your Roman gods and goddesses were being a bit more forthright in their play,” the chancellor suggested, “or if your tapestries showed them in all the various stages of the game.”

“No, I wish them to inspire my courtiers with the urge to cultivate their aesthetic senses,” the king replied. “I will have the tapestries show nothing obscene-my lords and ladies do well enough at that as it is.”

“Wherefore?” Rebozo spread his hands. “I had thought your Majesty’s aim was to have them occupy their time with pleasure, to keep them from objecting to your plans for government.”

King Boncorro looked up at the chancellor with pleased surprise. “You delight me with your insight-or am I so transparent as that?”

“Only to me, and I am used to the ways of intrigue,” Rebozo assured him. “But why seek to stimulate their appreciation of the arts, Majesty? Why not merely encourage them to wallow in the pleasures of the flesh, as your grandfather did?”

“Because those pleasures pall, Rebozo,” the king told him. “The proof of it is the increasing decadence of my grandfather’s amusements, as he strove harder and harder to pique his interest in the flesh. His courtiers, too, found that sexual pleasure required greater and greater excesses to stimulate them, when it was pleasure of the flesh alone.”

The words sent a thrill of alarm through Rebozo-new ways, always new ways!-so he tried to make light of it. “Greater excesses, and greater expenditures to buy living bodies for them to degrade and torture.”

“ ‘Living bodies,’ yes-not ‘people,’ “ Boncorro said with irony. ”Well, there is some truth to your claim, Rebozo-my courtiers are far less expensive than grandfather’s depraved coterie. My lords and ladies provide one another’s amusement and pleasure. Still, the cost of these nightly revels is substantial.“

“What cost? The tapestries, which you bought once, and once only, whereas your grandfather had need to procure new toys every week, sometimes every night? The acrobats and jesters, the musicians who fill this room with lush strains and a sensuous rhythm? They are serfs, and glad indeed to have such light work, with better lodging and food than ever they might have had in their villages! The nightly banquets and the barrels of wine, all provided by your own farms and vineyards? The occasional troupe of strolling players, who are glad of a few ducats for a week’s work? These cost only a fraction of your grandfather’s expenditures on performers of decadent amusements and providers of perverse pleasures.”

The king smiled. “Come, Rebozo! The cost is still considerable.”

“Aye, but it yields a handsome profit, though it will never show on the ledgers you so assiduously scrutinize‘”

King Boncorro laughed aloud, and the nearer aristocrats looked up alert for a joke they should share. He only smiled indulgently and waved his cup at them. They raised their own in salute, then went back to their badinage. “That must be half the reason I keep you by me, good Chancellor,” Boncorro said, “to have one about who can appreciate my scheming.”

“Your genius, you mean.” Rebozo’s smile fairly glowed with pride. “I rejoice that my risk in preserving your Majesty’s life was so richly merited. But tell me-” A shadow of concern crossed his face.-why do you not join in your courtiers’ games? Why do you hold yourself aloof, and not disport yourself among them? You, too, must have your lighter moments, Majesty!“

“I must, and you know that as you suggested, I maintain a dozen beautiful serving maids who have no work but to wait upon me in my private chambers,” Boncorro answered. “As to the behavior of my aristocrats, I do not think it politic to impose my own morality on them-or my lack of morality; I have no objection to fornication, though I do not share their delight in adultery ”

“Do you not?” The old chancellor cackled “I think you long for it as much as any man, your Majesty! I have seen the way you look at Lord Amerhe’s daughter!”

“Yes, and so has the rest of the court.” Boncorro glanced at the lady in question and felt the fire of lust blaze as he let his glance linger on her flawless cheek, her full ruby lips, her swelling bosom more displayed than covered by the cut of her neckline. For a few minutes he devoured her with his eyes, enjoying the surge of desire she wakened in him-then he forced his eyes to took elsewhere. “The new Contessa of Corvo, you mean? Ah Rebozo! You know I must not gratify my senses with such as her, no matter how I long to!”

Even as he spoke, Sir Pestilline, seated next to the countess reached past her for a tidbit from a platter on her other side; as he was bringing it back, it “happened” to drop into her cleavage. The lady squealed, clapping a hand to her décolletage, while the gentleman laughed, leaning forward, reaching-and the lady shrank away, giggling, her hand slipping lower… A hand clamped down on the man’s shoulder and wrenched him about. He stared up in surprise-at the Conte of Corvo. With a single motion, the count loosed his hold and slapped the offender’s cheek. Sir Pestilline’s head rocked; then he was on his feet catching his dagger from the table. Corvo sneered and stepped back, drawing his sword. The ladies screamed, the men shouted, benches turned over as all sprang up and away. In seconds a circle had opened around the two men, even as the count lunged at Sir Pestilhne. The knight jumped aside, dagger flicking out to parry the count’s lunge as he drew his own sword-but too slowly, for Corvo riposted, then shouted in anger as he lunged again. And again Pestilline dodged, but too slowly; Corvo’s blade slit his doublet and came away with its edge reddened. Pestilline howled in anger and leaped in, thrusting and parrying in earnest now. Corvo gave back as good as he got, and there wasn’t even the slightest sign of mercy in either of their faces. “Enough!” Boncorro cried, but the two hotheads could not hear him over the clash and clang of their swords. The king’s mouth tightened in disgust, and he waved to his guards, who plowed through the throng, halberds at the ready. But they were taking too long; one man might be dead before they came. Boncorro rolled his hands about one another, then pantomimed throwing as he rapped out an arresting verse in an archaic language. A loud report shook the great hall, and smoke billowed up between the two fighters. Ladies screamed and clung to their men; the two fighters leaped back, covering their mouths and noses, already coughing. Then the guardsmen were there; the king flung his hands up and out, and the smoke disappeared, leaving not a trace or a teary eye behind. Corvo and Sir Pestilline looked up, startled, to find crossed halberds separating them. “Not within my great hall, lord and knight!” King Boncorro called. “My lords of L’Augustine and Benicci! Act for these two while they cool their heels outside my door! Conte Corvo! Sir Pestilline! Leave this hall at once! Do not return until you have settled your differences and can sit at the same table without seeking to murder one another!”

The two men turned to face him, drawing themselves up and sheathing their weapons. They bowed, then turned and marched out. The guardsmen opened the door before them and shut it after. L’Augustine and Benicci stepped forward to confer with one another as the courtiers turned to take their seats again with a buzz of avid conversation, everyone comparing notes on the incident. Even the young countess, the cause of the fracas, sat down and joined in the talk with a merry glint in her eye.1 “They shall duel at sunrise tomorrow, I doubt not,” the chancellor said, just as hungrily as any of the others. “I do not doubt it,” the king said, “and the outcome is forgone, unless Pestilline has some noteworthy surprise in store, for Corvo is the best swordsman among the young bloods, and has slain two in duels already.”

“And wounded four more. But he has not contended against your Majesty, and I believe you are more skilled with the blade than any of them.”

“That may be true,” Boncorro said frankly, “but I shall have no chance to put it to the test-for kings do not duel with swords.”

“Noblemen do not challenge kings,” Rebozo returned. “Is this not reason enough for you to do as you please?”1 “No, Rebozo, for though noblemen may not challenge kings, they may rise up against them,” Boncorro said.| “Surely no lord would dare!”

“No one lord, perhaps,” the king agreed, “but they might very well band together in twos or threes or tens, if all felt they had grievances against me that could not be answered in open court-grievances such as the seduction of a wife or daughter, or even of a sister or true love. Then would I have a civil war on my hands and watch my plans come to naught as battles ravaged the countryside and destroyed the prosperity that I labor so hard to achieve. That is why I must not seek the favors of this luscious young countess, or of any other woman of station.”

“Surely a knight’s leman would be fair game for you, Majesty, for no knight could stand against the might of a king!”

“No, but his lord might… What?”

A servant had come up behind his chair and murmured in his ear. The king nodded, satisfied, and the man bowed and went away. “When and where?” asked the chancellor. “Tomorrow at dawn,” said Boncorro, “in the Summer Park, by the Royal Pavilion.”

“More entertainment for your court,” Rebozo mused. “How considerate of these two young men!”

“Yes, and if I have learned of their duel, it will not be long before word has spread to every man in this room, and not much longer before it has been heard by every woman. There are trees and hedges in plenty about the pavilion, and I doubt not each one will be hiding its dozen of secret witnesses tomorrow morning.”

“Every man of your court,” the chancellor agreed. “Well, two out of three, at least-the third will be still dead I drunk, or too lazy to rise. There will be quite a few of the ladies, too, I doubt not-the Contessa of Corvo first among them, though she will pretend she is incognito in her cloak and mask. Entertainment indeed, Rebozo-and those who do not watch in person will listen avidly to the reports. It will keep my court busy for another tedious day, and preserve them from mischief for three more as they review the details of the duel and the merits of the argument.”

“Sound policy, your Majesty,” Rebozo agreed. “It is,” the king mused, “so long as I do not become embroiled in such disputes myself. No, Rebozo-I must forbear the tour, and content myself with the view.”

“Yes, I see.” Rebozo shook his head sadly. “If a dalliance with a highborn lady did not lead to a battle with her father, it would be sure to bring a confrontation with her husband-or even with an alliance of noblemen who considered their honor impugned. Yes, Majesty, you are wise, though it must cost you dearly.”

Boncorro nodded. “No matter the number of aristocratic beauties who parade their charms before me, wearing their décolletages aslo was convention and natural philosophy permit-I must not touch them.”

“Poor lad,” Rebozo sighed. “Still, though you may not touch, you may look.”

Boncorro did, his eye gleaming as his gaze caressed the beauties of his court. “There is no harm in that, and no cause for offense, if I do not let my enjoyment show too keenly.”

“But the desire it raises, Majesty,” Rebozo murmured, “surely that must be released.”

“That is the task of my luscious serving girls, Rebozo. If my foster brothers taught me nothing else, they taught me that.” They had taught him quite a bit more, Rebozo knew-but as far as he was concerned, not enough, or not deeply enough. He felt a moment’s burning anger at the country lord and his boys. Because of them, Boncorro would waste his youth on good governance! Boncorro did not notice, but went on explaining. “Later, my doxies will satisfy the lust my ladies raise now. For the moment, though, the illusion that one of the young ladies might inflame me to the point of granting favors to her husband, if she has one, or even of proposing marriage, if she has not-such hope will keep my courtiers dancing attendance upon me, vying for my favor and thereby falling even further under my sway.”

It is one of the reasons why he was resolved never to marry, though he would not let even Rebozo know that. The chancellor shook his head sadly. “A misspent youth, your Majesty! A lad your age should be riding to the hounds and rolling in the hay, not sealing himself away with parchment and ink until the blood in his veins has run dry!”

“Oh, I find exercise enough, I assure you,” Boncorro said, eyeing a young countess fresh from the country and thinking of the newest of his personal maids. “Beyond that, I find delight enough in witnessing the pleasures of my courtiers.”

He nodded to himself as he glanced about the great hall. It was no mere extravagance to maintain a lavish court, but a political necessity. “Yet I must find some other game to occupy their attention when their delight in the pleasures of the body slackens, so that they may vie with one another for some goal other than the bed of the most beautiful, or the attentions of the most dashing, so that they will not turn to intrigue out of sheer boredom.”

“Your grandfather’s courtiers were scarcely bored, Majesty,” Rebozo grunted, but without much conviction, for he knew it was a lie-and worse, knew that the young king knew it, too. Boncorro held his cup out, and a servant refilled it. He traced the sign of skull and bones over it as he murmured a verse, then lifted the cup to his lips…The dark wine turned bright red-the red of blood. King Boncorro dashed the wine to the floor with a curse. The courtiers fell silent, staring at him, wide-eyed. “Majesty!” Trusty old Rebozo was by his side, hovering over him, anxious, solicitous. “Majesty, what was that foul brew?”

“Poisoned wine, of course!” Boncorro snapped, seething more with contempt than with anger. “Have you not found the assassin who set that gargoyle to fall on me, Rebozo?”

“Yes, Majesty, and he confessed. He died in agony!”

“He confessed under torture, you dolt!… No, I wrong you.” The king throttled back his exasperation at the attentive old man, and his desire to throttle him, too. “But I have told you a hundred times that a confession under torture proves nothing! Now it is clear that the man was guiltless or, at the worst, only one of many-for the true assassin has struck again!”

“My apologies, Majesty!” Rebozo had turned ashen. “My most . abject apologies! I would never have thought-”

“You should have,” Boncorro snapped, “since this is the twelfth attempt in five years!” He reined in his temper again and forced his voice to be more gentle. “Though perhaps I wrong you-this one was far more clumsy than its predecessors. Poison in the wine, indeed! The work of a rank amateur, if ever I saw it! Any churl could slip poison in the wine-and I want the bottler and his servers all questioned, to discover who did it! Questioned, mind you, with no more torture than suffices for each to give you a name, not a confession!”

“Majesty,” Rebozo protested, “that entails scarcely more than a beating-and how can you be sure of an answer gained with so little pain?”

“By comparing it to the other answers, of course! Those given by the other servants! I tell you again, Rebozo, that an answer given to stop pain proves only that the subject will say anything he thinks you wish him to! And as often as not, that will be a lie! Though I do not think this would-be murderer will prove to be the same one who has striven to slay me these five years past.”

Rebozo stared. “How… how does your Majesty see that?”

“Because the other attempts required evil magic of a very difficult kind. To make a block of stone fall, when none were near it, and that at the exact moment I was passing beneath it? ‘Twas only my own warding spell that made me hesitate in midstep, to see that block of granite smash the paving in front of me! And the gargoyle who came alive, the cat with teeth like scimitars, the sword that leaped from the scabbard even as I buckled it on-these all required a lifetime’s knowledge of magic, or a pact with the Devil such as only a man of great importance could achieve!”

His gaze strayed; his voice sank. “A man such as my grandfather, King Maledicto, reaching out from beyond the grave…”

“Come, Majesty!” the chancellor scoffed. “If the Devil was so displeased with your grandfather as to withdraw protection, why would he now give him power to reach out from Hell?”

“Why, because his disappointment with the grandson has become even greater than the lapses of the grandsire!” Boncorro snapped at him, then looked away again. “But I shall not yield! I shall not become what that wicked old man was-a murderer, a child slayer-”

“What a notion!” Rebozo cried. “You who have no children, to worry about slaying them! Come, Majesty, bolster your spirits! We shall find and defeat this sorcerer yet!”

King Boncorro lifted a brooding gaze to him. “See that you do, Lord Chancellor, see that you do! Begin with the servants, all of them-but not with torture, mind you! Take each into a separate chamber and question him or her closely, then compare their answers and see if there is any agreement! If there is, bring word of it to me before you take any action-simple consensus is no proof of truth! It could just as easily be a sign that one person is disliked by all, and since so many of them are left from my grandfather’s court, dislike of one could mean that only he can be relied upon!”

“Majesty, it shall be done as you say.” The chancellor bowed. “May I congratulate you on your courage in having the determination to persevere in your reforms in the face of such concerted effort by the power of Evil to destroy you.”

Boncorro waved the compliment away. “There is little danger in it, Chancellor. The powers of Evil have little cause to be displeased with me, for whatever my purpose, it is certainly not the doing of good for its own sake. I attempt to gain power and riches, that is all.”

“Aye-by making the whole country more rich.”

“My wealth comes from the people, one way or another, Lord Chancellor. I saw that as I watched serfs plow and reap. If I would have greater riches, I must first inspire the people to produce greater wealth from which I may draw.”

“Yes, you have explained that many times.” Rebozo sighed. “That, however, does not explain your determination to see justice done, and to protect the innocent from punishment or abuse.”

“Does it not? People will work harder when they feel they are safe, Chancellor, and can bend their minds to their tasks without the constant worry that the sword will fall on their necks, or their goods be plundered at a lord’s whim. When they know they will keep a fair share of that which they grow, the farmers will work harder to grow more-and when serfs can be sure which efforts will not bring punishment, they will put more sweat into those that will be rewarded.”

“Yes, you have explained that time and again,” Rebozo said, “and that greater assurance of safety and greater wealth should lead people to use their newfound gains to buy pleasure.”

“Why, so they do.” Boncorro waved at his court. “Even here you can see it-they are better dressed than ever before, and come flocking to my castle to seek pleasure, the young most of all! For each of those you see here, Rebozo, there are a thousand serfs who are drinking more ale and buying the favors of wantons. Vice flourishes, so the Devil should be not only appeased, but even pleased.”

“Then why should the same Devil give a sorcerer power against you?”

Boncorro shrugged. “The greater the worry and fear, the happier the Devil. Look for an extremist in sorcery, Rebozo-one who believes that any human happiness is wrong if it is not wrung from the pain and suffering of others. There shall we find my would-be killer.”

“Majesty,” said the chancellor, “I will.”

“Then do.” The king waved him away. “Be about your task, Rebozo-but remember, no torture! Well, not much,” he amended. “Only a little, Majesty,” the chancellor agreed, “never fear-which, unfortunately, is what the servants and bottler and cooks shall say, no doubt. Still, I shall strive.” He bowed and turned away. Boncorro watched the old man leave the great hall, and frowned, still brooding, till he was out of sight. Then, with an effort of will, he threw off the mood, tested a whole pitcher of wine, then filled his own goblet and drank deeply. A duke’s daughter came by below the table, fluttering her eyelashes at him. Boncorro laughed and sprang down off the dais, crying, “Fiddlers! A dance tune! We shall caper before we taste the next course!”

The fiddlers struck up a gay, lively tune, and Boncorro began to dance with the beautiful young lady, devouring her charms with his eyes. She blushed demurely, lowering her gaze, but glancing up at him through long lashes. All about them courtiers left their meat and came to dance, quick to ape their king, quick to join in the attempt to cheer him, ever quick to curry favor. Rebozo slammed into his private exchequer, muttering darkly under his breath. LoClercchi, his secretary, looked up in surprise. “Good evening, Lord Chancellor.”

“Not when some amateurish idiot seeks to poison our king,” Rebozo snapped, “who commands me to find the culprit without delay.”

“Ah.” The secretary nodded in sympathy. “Not a good evening, indeed. I fear I must make it worse.”

“Worse?” Rebozo swung about, glaring. “How is this?”

“A message.” The secretary held up a scrap of parchment. “A carrier pigeon landed in the dovecote, just as the sun set.”

“News from a spy?” Rebozo snatched the message and sat down to puzzle out the tiny letters. At last he threw it down on the desk. “Oh, a pox upon it! Your eyes are far younger than mine, LoClercchi-what does it say?”

The secretary took the tiny parchment, but did not look at it, so Rebozo knew that he had already read it. “It is from your peasant spy on the estates of the Duke of Riterra, my lord. He writes from a market in Merovence-though not very far into Merovence. ”Far enough!“ Rebozo’s eyes kindled. ”What does he find that is worthy of report?“

“He writes that a wizard is nosing about the market,” the secretary said, “eavesdropping on conversations, and particularly interested in those who tout the virtues of Latruria. Our spy tested the man and thinks he may be the Lord Wizard himself.”

Rebozo rubbed his hands, nodding vigorously. “I had thought he must take notice of the remaking our young king is doing!”

“Especially since our folk have been boasting and bragging of it whenever they cross the border,” LoClercchi said with irony. “It is marvelous to have agents who work for free, my lord, and without even realizing they do our work. I do not know how you managed it.”

“Bosh! You know well enough that I sent one man about the border farms,gloating on the bragging hewould do in Merovence, on the next fair day! Does our peasant informer say what manner of test he gave the wizard?”

“No, my lord, there was no room on so small a parchment-and, frankly, I do not think he could write quickly enough. His letters are horribly clumsy, and his spelling atrocious.”

“Still, it was worth the cost of a teacher, to gain this report! Well, we shall have to wait till the man comes home, for his reeve to question him more closely. If it is her Majesty’s wizard, though, we shall not have long to wait till he seeks to cross the border and stop the unrest at its source!”

The secretary looked up in alarm. “He could set all of King Boncorro’s plan awry, my lord, and your own as well!”

The chancellor waved a hand to dismiss the notion. “The king’s plans are my plans, LoClercchi, no matter how I may caution him and plead the course of prudence.”

“And your plans are his?” the secretary asked, amused. But Rebozo shook his head. “I cannot claim that, for I would not of myself depart so quickly from the old king’s ways. Indeed, I tremble for my young master, and hope that the Devil will not too quickly become so angry as to destroy him.”

“And us with him.” LoClercchi’s voice trembled. “Let us hope our young king keeps his balance on the tightrope he has stretched for himself.”

“Fences have their purposes,” Rebozo agreed, “but serving as pathways was never one of them. Still, we have no choice but to resign or to follow him-and I am too old to seek new work, and too deeply steeped in sin to wish to reform.” He looked up at his secretary. “You, however, are still young, LoClercchi. If you wish to go, you may.”

LoClercchi stared at his employer, silently weighing the relative merits of a virtuous life of uncertain income and modest means, with the certainty of wealth and privilege that came from serving the chancellor. His decision was almost instantaneous, for he had fought the long battle against this temptation years before, and periodically since. Like many young men, he decided there would be time enough to work on salvation later-after he had made his fortune. “I am loyal to you, my lord.”

Rebozo nodded, satisfied. “Good, good. Let us deal, then, with the problem of this Lord Wizard.”

“Perhaps he shall not become a problem,” LoClercchi said hopefully. “Perhaps he shall stay on his own side of the border.”

“Perhaps, LoClercchi, but also perhaps not. Certainly he is nothing to worry about-yet. But I prefer to do my worrying in advance; it makes no sense to take undue chances-and it is my duty to King Boncorro not to wait until the man becomes a threat. Write for me.”

The secretary seized parchment and ink. Rebozo began to pace as he dictated, “My dear young Camano-you are, I believe, currently in the castle of your father, the Count d’Arrete, hard by the Alps in Merovence. I suspect that a nobleman or knight may soon call at your gate for hospitality, claiming to be only a knight errant, or a messenger about the queen’s business, or some such. Be not deceived-this man is a wizard, and may well be the Lord Wizard of Merovence.”

He went on to detail exactly how the young lord should test the man, and how he should deal with him-in no uncertain terms. When the secretary had finished writing, Rebozo took the quill and signed the document. Then he took it to a separate table, sprinkled it with a powder that stank abominably, muttered a verse in an arcane language, and touched a candle’s flame to a corner of the document. It went up in a flash that lit the whole chamber and was gone in less than a second. The chancellor nodded, satisfied. “He will find that on his table when he comes to his chamber this night, a hundred miles to the north.” He gathered his robe about him, shivering. “Glad I am that I do not have to suffer the rigors of that climate, so hard by the mountains! Well, we shall see what young Lord Camano may make of this wizard. In any case, we shall discover his purpose.”

He turned back to his secretary. “Now-issue orders that as soon as the cooks and scullery maids are done with their work, they be taken to my audience chamber. As the servers are released from their duties, let each be taken to join them. Then I shall question each one alone, and closely.”

LoClercchi looked up with a frown. “What good is that? Whoever poisoned the wine, he shall already be fled!”

“He shall,” the chancellor sighed, “if he was here at all, and not some sorcerer enchanting the wine from miles away-or a wizard; let us not forget that our young king has enemies in both camps now.”1 “What sorcerer has n-” But Rebozo’s glare froze the words on his secretary’s tongue, and he did not finish the sentence. “Of course, there are his courtiers, too, any one of whom might have dropped poison in the wine when the server was ogling one of our oh-so-casual beauties,” the chancellor went on, as if there had been no interruption, “but our good Boncorro would certainly never approve their questioning on so mere a suspicion. No, we shall go through the forms, LoClercchi, but we shall learn nothing. I would that we could torture a few of them as we did in the old days, so that we might at least gain a satisfying answer!”

“Even if it were not true,” LoClercchi murmured. ‘True!“ cried the chancellor, exasperated. ”What matters truth? Satisfying our master-that is everything!“