'Oh, yes, dear. He is a really romantic figure.'

`But' what an odd name.'

'He, is the Count of Ozoro. Pippo is short for Filippo. Span is the Hungarian for captain of a district. He has thee most lustrous dark eyes – and such a sweet, shy smile.'

`When will I meet him?'

`As soon as he gets here, dear. Did you know, in the war with Bosnia, when Sigismund became panic-stricken and fled, Pippo snatched his crown, put it on his own head, rallied the troops, and won a victory.: For that, Sigismund promoted him to a general of 20,000 horse. And what is also interesting, he is very rich and quite noble – he belongs to an old family of Buondelmonte – although his parents were rather poor.'

`I am so tired of old men, mama. It seems as though I have spent my entire life with old men. How old is, he?'

'Oh, young. Quite young. And I am sure he will adore you.'

A soft flush settled like light rouge under her olive cheeks. Her loveliness moved her mother because neither of them would be this young ever again.

`Spina threw himself into a towering rage when I left,' Rosa said.

`What did you tell him?'

`I said that you wanted to tell me; so I could tell him before the pope could tell him, about a very special satisfaction you had secured for him.'

`Well, then. I must think of something. I must speak to Cossa about some benefices which have become available in Sicily.'

`I don't know why he carries on like that about me. He is not only old, he is obsessed by a woman named Bernaba Minerbetti anyway. He wakes up in the middle of the night screaming her name.

`Really?'

`And he hasn't seen her in almost twenty years. He has such hatred for her that I am sure he loves her.'

`Enough of Spina. Pippo Span is not yet forty. He was born in Tizzano, a sweet little town, about seven miles east of Florence – where he is right now. When he was ten, his father entrusted him to the training of Luca Pecchia, a trader who eventually took him to Buda, where the boy attracted the attention of Sigismund's treasurer, a brother of the Bishop of Strigonia. He is so bold and dashing! He was at the bishop's palace when he met Sigismund – who is only four years older than he is – and after dinner a discussion arose about raising 12,000 cavalry to guard the Danube against the Turks who had just taken Serbia, but no one present, except Pippo, was able to calculate the expense. Oh, he is a remarkable young man… abstemious habits, a great orator, and he speaks languages like Hungarian and Polish and Bohemian as easily as he does Italian and Latin. And he is the closest man to this new King of the Romans.'

Just what is it that you want me to get Pippo Span to get Sigismund to do for you mama?' Rosa asked warily

The marchesa kissed her daughter softly on the cheek. `The pope is going to need Sigismund,' she said, `and we need the pope. I will calm Spina so that you may be, acquired by Pippo Span and keep him dazzled. against the moment when we need him.'

`Suppose he dazzles me instead?'

`He will see a beautiful, loving young woman who understands him deeply. He won't know that it is your profession to understand him, so he will fall in love with you in the way people fall in love with their mirrors.'

`But what if I love him?'

`Rosa we know that can happen. Why not? Just as he, a soldier, knows that he can be felled by an axe when he enters his next battle.'

Rosa saw Pippo Span for the first time from a window of the building which faced the papal palace. He looked so gallant in his long green mantle, which trailed to the ground as he leaped from his horse; lappets fell onto his shoulders from a military hat. She thought he looked directly up at her. She grew faint with pleasure, then withdrew to her, wardrobe.

His Holiness Pope John, myself Francisco, Cardinal Ellera – the Marchesa di Artegiana and her daughter Rosa Dubramonte greeted Pippo Span as he came into the large, gilt-streaked private audience room in the Anziani palace. As the count looked at Rosa, the marchesa could see his heart leap into his eyes. His Holiness introduced the Marchesa di Artegiana as a `distinguished visitor from Pisa' and her daughter, Rosa as `my godchild'.

We spoke of general things – about the weather, the wars and King Sigismund – until I mentioned that the count had been telling me that the King of the Romans had been treated harshly by former pontiffs.

`We may be thankful that is over,' His Holiness said.

`The king will be very happy to know that, Holiness,' the count said fervently.

There was a small dinner party. I was a weightily impressive figure to Pippo Span (as I was to anyone), a mountain of scarlet fulminations who told him about my embassy to the First Elector to plead for His Holiness that King Sigismund would be awarded the throne of the Romans for the sake of Christendom. I was superb. I was getting, into the part of cardinal with enormous aft. Everyone spoke German as a mark of respect for the absent king, who had been born in Luxembourg. Immediately after the dinner, the older members of the party excused themselves – His Holiness to work, for it was well known that he worked all night; myself to prayer before retiring, very short prayers in which L would perhaps eventually be joined by Bernaba; who was attending to business on the other side of town, rapturous at my new status; and the marchesa to sleep off her travel tiredness. Rosa, and Pippo were alone.

I watched them through one of the peepholes which the marchesa had had installed throughout the palace. They gazed upon each other with wonderment. Rosa was overcome by feelings more intense, than she had ever experienced before. His voice was deep and rich and she longed to hear him sing to her. The clarity of his eves, which were utterly without innocence; his daring expression, the sensation of his hand touching her wrist, filled her, with the dread of being parted from him when he returned to his king while she lay alone among, the misshapen bodies of old men.

An immense resolve to keep Rosa with him filled Pippo Span. He would tell her about his wife in Buda, whom in any case he had not seen in fourteen months, and about his five children. He instantaneously changed his mind. He would not tell her about the children, because that could turn her away from him… Perhaps, for a little while, he had better not tell her about his wife. He ached for her.

`This is a dream,' he whispered to her. `If I kiss you, you will vanish;'

`Kiss me.'

They kissed and clung to each other until they could hardly breathe from desire.

She drew him out into the night garden. She led him to a blanket of sweet grass under a tree.

On the night which followed; three hours after midnight, while the marchesa supped with Cossa and me at the Anziani, we were talking about what progress had been made towards consolidating the support of Sigismund. ` Pippo Span was at my door before noon yesterday,' the marchesa said. `I showed surprise. Rosa and I had been over the matter in the morning. He had important things to speak to me about, he said. I took him into the garden and we sat beneath a tree. He said he loved Rosa, so powerfully that when he thought of living without her he wished to die. "My dear Count," I said, "my daughter is affianced to a Sicilian prince. Her future is entirely settled." He wept, Cossa. I did not soothe him but waited for him to compose himself. "I know what I know," he said. "Rosa loves me." "But you are a married man, Count Ozoro. What kind of a life are you offering Rosa? She would have no place and. she would live in fear of the vengeance of the Sicilian." "Rosa will be more than my wife. She will travel with me, wherever I go. When Sigismund is crowned, she will take her place equally at my side in the court of the King of the Romans. She will share with me any honour paid to me, any wealth conferred upon me, as well as the king's friendship now and when he becomes the Holy Roman Emperor. I brought tears to the brims of my eyes to show that he had moved me. I said to him, "That may be so while you live, but what is to become of this young woman, who will be alone, without even the protection of her honour, when some foreign mercenary crashes his axe upon your head in battle?" He pledged that Rosa would be protected. I reminded him that the dead have no voices to command comfort for the living, feeling that sooner or later he would find the wit to say that everything could be put down in writing, but his mind has been greatly slowed by his lust. He implored me to find a way. I said we must have time to think, that he must go away while we weighed; what must be done.'