“As it should be. But Florence is being threatened. It would be folly for me to enter into a new treaty without the Roman’s counsel.”
Cato lifted his head. “Florence entering into its own treaty with the Curia? That would be unwise.”
The Prince replaced the chalice on the table. “Which is why I need the Roman’s counsel.”
“Rest assured, I will convey your concerns to the Roman personally. Now if you’ll excuse me.” The lieutenant continued drinking from his chalice.
The Prince stood. “The matter with the Curia is of some urgency. I must speak with the Roman today.”
“And as I said,” the lieutenant dropped his voice, “I will convey your concerns. That is all.”
The Prince’s arms moved to his sides, and his hands curled into fists.
He was more powerful than the lieutenant and could kill him easily, but only at great peril to his mission and to the women who rested obliviously in the guest chambers.
The Prince closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring like a dragon’s.
He opened his eyes. “You are wasting precious time.”
“I believe I should be the one making that claim, since I have offered my assistance repeatedly, only to be rebuffed.”
“Given my most recent correspondence with the king, I believe he would welcome my presence.”
“Correspondence?” The lieutenant laughed. “The Roman has engaged in no recent correspondence.”
Now the Prince smiled. He did so slowly and with a dangerous, knowing glint in his eye. A glint the lieutenant could not overlook.
“Perhaps you did not see the king’s addendum to the message I received from you recently. Do you remember that message, Lieutenant Cato?”
The Prince waited for an acknowledgement, toying with his enemy before lowering the noose.
“What of it?” The lieutenant eyed him grumpily.
“The message was hand delivered by Lorenzo, my lieutenant, after conflict ensued between Florence and Venice.” The Prince retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
He held it out, the way a child dangles a bone in front of a dog.
Cato placed the chalice on the table. “The king doesn’t engage in correspondence. That letter is a forgery.”
“Ah, but it isn’t a letter from the king. The letter is from you, in your own hand. You can scarcely deny it.” The Prince prodded. “It’s the addendum at the bottom you should be concerned about.”
Cato lifted from his throne and snatched the paper from the Prince’s hand. He unfolded it quickly. As his gaze alighted on the short message at the bottom of the page, his eyes widened.
He returned the letter to the Prince with a scowl. “I was not aware the Roman had seen that letter.”
The Prince folded the paper carefully and placed it back in his pocket.
Cato began drumming his fingers against the armrest of his throne. “I did not know you were his son.”
“I am the Roman’s son, and as you have read, I am beloved of my father. I want to see him.”
The lieutenant’s hands went to his knees. His knuckles whitened. “I cannot promise an audience. The decision rests with the king.”
“Just send word to the king that his son is here. I shall return to the rooms you’ve generously provided and await his response.”
Cato scowled, adjusting his purple toga once again. “It’s possible the king will refuse your request.”
“No, he won’t,” the Prince’s voice rumbled. “And Cato, if he is truly wise, will see that I have my audience.”
“And if for some reason the king refuses?”
The Prince angled his head, his eyes threatening. “The king won’t refuse me. I know this. You, Lieutenant Cato, are a different matter. But you must know now that it would be folly to oppose me.
“Someone intercepted your missive and delivered it to the Roman before handing it to my lieutenant. You were unaware of this fact until you read his words. Perhaps the Roman doesn’t have as much confidence in you as you believe.”
Cato sputtered something in protest.
The Prince interrupted him. “I have no quarrel with you, at least not yet. My concern is for Florence. Once my audience is concluded, I shall return to my city, and you shall have to deal with a palace full of the Roman’s spies. But if I don’t have my audience today, you and I will be having a very different conversation.”
The Prince gave the lieutenant a hard look before withdrawing, leaving Cato seated uneasily on his purloined throne.
Chapter Twenty-Two
PERHAPS IT WAS CATO. Perhaps it was the Roman. The Prince was kept waiting by someone until after sunset. Only then did Gaius appear, announcing that the king, in his infinite beneficence, had granted the Prince a private audience.
The Prince followed the captain to the throne room occupied by the lieutenant, who had changed out of his imperial robes into a white toga. Cato joined Gaius and the Prince as they ventured through a series of passages until they came to an immense metal door, which was flanked by two sets of Praetorian guards, wielding spears.
“The Prince of Florence to see his excellency.” Cato nodded in William’s direction.
One of the guards opened the door while another escorted Cato, Gaius, and the Prince inside.
The Roman’s throne room was smaller than the room occupied by Cato, but far more elaborate. The floor was covered with mosaic tile, and the walls and ceiling decorated with elaborate frescoes. The frescoes appeared to depict ancient Rome, populated as they were by men in togas and classical architecture. But on closer inspection, each scene included the same handsome, dark-haired figure, dressed in imperial purple.