Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

sai | RAFAEL SABATINI fitting violet silk, sword and dagger hanging from his jewelled girdle; he plucked away the mask, and disclosed the handsome, weak face of Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro and Cotignola, the discarded hus- band of Madonna Lucrezia, Pope Alexander’s daughter. The Cardinal considered his nephew gravely, without surprise, He had expected at first no more than a messenger from the owner of that ring. But at sight of his figure and long, fair hair he had recognized Giovanni before the latter had removed his mask. “TJ have always accounted you something mad,” said the Cardinal softly. “But never mad enough for this. What brings you to Rome?” “Necessity, my lord,” replied the young tyrant. “The need to de- fend my honour, which is about to be destroyed.” “And your life?” wondered his uncle. “Has that ceased to be of value?” “Without honour it is nothing.” “A noble sentiment taught in every school. But for practical pur- poses—” The Cardinal shrugged. Giovanni, however, paid no heed. “Did you think, my lord, that I should tamely submit to be a de- rided, outcast husband, that I should take no vengeance upon that villainous Pope for having made me a thing of scorn, a byword throughout Italy?” Livid hate writhed in his fair young face. “Did you think I should, indeed, remain in Pesaro, whither I fled before their threats to my life, and present no reckoning?” “What is the reckoning you have in mind?” inquired his uncle, faintly ironical. “You'll not be intending to kill the Holy Father?” “Kill him?’ Giovanni laughed shortly, scornfully. “Do the dead ‘ suffer?” “In hell, sometimes,” said the Cardinal. “Perhaps. But I want to be sure. I want sufferings that I can wit- ness, sufferings that I can employ as balsam for my own wounded honour. I shall strike, even as he has stricken me—at his soul, not at his body. I shall wound him where he is most sensitive.” Ascanio Sforza, towering tall and slender in his scarlet robes, shook -his head slowly. “All this is madness—madness! You were best away, best in Pesaro. Indeed, you cannot safely show your face in Rome.” (E©) Gomichbooks