A week passed, and Facino now completely restored was only restrained from pushing on by the arguments of his physician. Meanwhile, however, if he did not go to Milan, many from Milan were coming to him.
Amongst the first to arrive was the firebrand Pusterla of Venegono, who out of his passionate vindictiveness came to urge Facino to hang Gian Maria and make himself Duke of Milan, assuring him of the support of all the Ghibelline faction. Facino heard him without emotion, and would commit himself to nothing.
Amongst the last to arrive was the Duke himself, in a rash trustfulness which revealed the desperate view he must take of his own case and of the helplessness to which his folly and faithlessness had reduced him. He came accompanied by his evil genius Antonio della Torre, the fop Lonate, the captain of his guard Bertino Mantegazza, and a paltry escort of a hundred lances.
With those three attending him he was received by Facino in the house of the Ducal Prefect of Vigevano.
“Your highness honours me by this proof of your trust in my integrity,” said Facino, bending to kiss the jewelled ducal hand.
“Integrity!” The Duke’s grotesque face was white, his red eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. “Is it integrity that brings you in arms against me, Facino?”
“Not against you, Lord Duke. Never yet have I stood in arms against your highness. It is upon your enemies that I make war. I have no aim but the restoration of peace to your dominions.”
“Fine words on the lips of a mutinous traitor!” sneered the Duke. He flung himself petulantly into a chair.
“If your highness believed that, you would not dare to come here.”
“Not dare? God’s bones, man! Are these words for me? I am Duke of Milan.”
“I study to remember it, highness,” said Facino, and the rumblings of anger in his voice drove della Torre to pluck at his master’s sleeve.
Thus warned, Gian Maria changed the subject but not the tone. “You know why I am here?”
“To permit me, I hope, to place myself at your potency’s commands.”
“Ah! Bah! You make me sick with your fair words.” He grew sullen. “Come, man. What is your price?”
“My price, highness? What does your highness conceive I have to sell?”
“A little patience with his magnificence, my lord,” della Torre begged.
“I thought I was displaying it,” said Facino. “Otherwise it might be very bad for everybody.” He was really growing angry.
And now the idiot Duke must needs go prodding him into fury.
“What’s that? Do you threaten me? Why, here’s an insolent dog!”
Facino turned livid with passion. A tall fellow among his captains, very noble-looking in cloth of silver under a blue houppelande, laughed aloud. The pale, bulging eyes of Gian Maria sought him out venomously.
“You laugh, knave?” he snarled, and came to his feet, outraged by the indignity. “What is here for laughter?”
Bellarion laughed again as he answered: “Yourself, Lord Duke, who in yourself are nothing. You are Duke of Milan at present by the grace of God and the favour of Facino Cane. Yet you do not hesitate to offend against both.”
“Quiet, Bellarion,” Facino growled. “I need no advocate.”
“Bellarion!” the Duke echoed, glaring malevolently. “I remember you, and remember you I shall. You shall be taught …”
“By God, it is your highness shall be taught!” Facino crashed into the threatening speech roaring like a thundergod. “Get you hence, back to your Milan until I come to give you the lesson that you need, and thank God that you are your father’s son and I have grace enough to remember it, for otherwise you’d never go hence alive! Away with you, and get yourself schooled in manners before we meet again or as God’s my life I’ll birch you with these hands.”
Terrified, cowering before that raging storm, the line of which had never yet broken about his ducal head, Gian Maria shrank back until his three companions were between himself and Facino. Della Torre, almost trembling, sought to pacify the angry condottiero.
“My lord! My lord! This is not worthy!”
“Not worthy! Is it worthy that I shall be called ‘dog’ by a cross-grained brat to whom I’ve played the foster-father? Out of my sight, sir! Out of my sight, all of you! The door, Bellarion! The Duke of Milan to the door!”
They went without another word, fearing, indeed, that another word might be their last. But they did not yet return to Milan. They remained in Vigevano, and that evening della Torre came seeking audience again of Facino to make the Duke’s peace with him, and Facino, having swallowed his rage by then, consented to receive his highness once more.
The young man came, this time well schooled in prudence, to announce that he was prepared to give Facino peaceful entrance into Milan and to restore him to his office of ducal governor. In short, that he was prepared to accord all that which he had no power to refuse.
Facino’s answer was brief and clear. He would accept the office again, provided that it was bestowed upon him for a term of three years, and the bestowal guaranteed by an oath of fealty to be sworn upon his hands by the Syndics of the Grand Council. Further, the Castle of Porta Giovia was to be delivered into his keeping absolutely, and not only the Guelphic Sanseverino, who now held the office of Podestà, but all other Guelphs holding offices of State must be dismissed. Lastly, Antonio della Torre, whom Facino accused of being at the root of most of the trouble which had distracted Milan, must go into banishment together with Lonate.
This last was the condition that Gian Maria would not swallow. He swore it was a vile attempt to deprive him of all his friends.
Thus the conference ended inconclusively, and it was not until three weeks later that the Duke finally yielded, and accepted Facino’s
