“Count yourself fortunate,” I said. “Great love makes for terrible poetry. Remember Lord Sforza’s unspeakable little sonnets about Lucrezia? ‘Hail to thee, O springtime goddess fair—’”

Giulia let out a laugh, and I thought a genuine one. It did my heart good to hear it. “Don’t think I’m complaining too much about this life of mine, Leonello. Passion is more than most women get, after all. And His Holiness is burning hot enough for me right now to challenge all France, and that’s more than Orsino would ever do.”

I had no answer to that.

My mistress arranged the blankets closer around me and rose. “Until His Holiness sends an offer of ransom, however, I’d better go dine with General d’Allegre and do my best to keep us all safe and sound.” A sigh as she gave a pat to her hair and her gleaming skirts, and arranged her huge pearl more prominently between her breasts. “Holy Virgin, but it’s bound to be unpleasant.”

I felt cold despite the blankets and the brazier. “Surely the general wouldn’t lay a finger on a prisoner.” Leaving me to die of my wounds was one thing; a dwarf guard was nothing. But the Pope’s darling—

“I’ll encourage him to lay a finger on me, Leonello,” Giulia said quietly. “The whole hand, if he wants. If it will keep my daughter safe and my maids unraped, and get a surgeon in here to keep you from bleeding to death, I’ll let that French general lift my skirts and ride me like a mare.”

She glided from the vestry like an actress making her way onto the stage.

I heard Pantisilea’s voice from the corner, cautious. “She told me to look after you, Leonello. I could get you some food—”

I shut my eyes. “Get out.”

The vestry door thudded again, leaving me in the silence. I took a ragged bubbling breath and spat blood again. My hand throbbed like it was being crushed in a vise, and the wound in my hip had broken open under the bandages and soaked the bedclothes beneath me. At least I hoped it was blood. From the smell, I was very much afraid I had pissed myself. Piss and blood and rage; the room stank of it—and for what? I’d been hired to keep the Pope’s mistress safe from danger, and I’d given my pathetic stunted body over to do it, and I’d still failed. She’d go play whore to the French and I’d lie here and die, and none of it mattered at all.

Failed. Failed.

Since I was alone, I let out one gasping sob between clenched teeth, cradling my maimed hand against my chest. Dio, but it hurt. I’d never known anything could hurt so much.

“Leonello, let me help—”