—DANTE Leonello You look ferocious.” Cesare Borgia surveyed me briefly. “What ails you?” I gave an even blacker scowl. “Nothing.” In truth, I frowned because otherwise I would be grinning like a loon. A grinning dwarf is such a comic sight. Even more comic is a dwarf who capers, dances, and carols love songs, and I felt like doing all three this morning, but I did none of them. I forced myself to scowl, planted my boots firmly, and locked my hands behind my back. “A private word, Your Eminence?” “I am very busy this morning, as you well know.” Cesare frowned into a glass held up by one of his manservants, giving a twitch to his sword belt about his hips. The wedding festivities for the new Duke and Duchess of Bisceglie had run past dawn, and it was not yet anywhere near noon, but the Pope’s eldest son looked as bright-eyed as if he had slept the night through. His private chambers adjacent to the Holy Father’s were all a-bustle: pages running to fetch wine and sweetmeats, servants holding up doublets and pairs of hose for the young Cardinal’s inspection, squires hovering with basins and towels for shaving, and of course Michelotto blearily cleaning under his nails with a dagger.
