Death of a Duchess by Elizabeth Eyre Read Free Book Online

failed to reach her and, to the accompaniment of her amused cry, dropped into the Duke’s goblet, spattering his hand with wine. Later this would be regarded as full of omen, but now the Duke wiped the red drops away with the napkin his page at once offered, and he laughed and clapped with the rest, making some joke to Cupid that none could hear.
    The procession of Venus withdrew, while the doves flapped in the roof or landed among the food and were impounded by servers. The next course came in, to a burst of music: heron; a cockatrice compounded of the rear of a pig and the front half of an immense capon, sewn meticulously together and nestled in vegetables; large fish so ornamented with rosettes of sauce that their disguise was absolute; hens that were mere chicken skins moulded over the boned meat and stuffing; and game pies and hares in wine.
    The next entertainment arrived to a roll of drums and a continued clash of tambourines. The Florentine hired by the Duchess was still concerned with classical or nuptial allusions, but had also used what came to hand. The curtains, hoisted high this time, admitted a ship, the height of a man and the length of two, with curved monstrous prow, turrets either end and a sail of white silk. The clash and roll and the martial trumpets covered the trundling of its wheels as a team of Tritons, green-wigged and in tunics sewn with shells, nets and weed, propelled it forward. The welcome this received was doubled when a second ship appeared, and when it was happily perceived that both were manned by dwarves and there was to be a battle by sea.
    The Florentine had suffered no lack of material. Duke Ludovico’s father had collected avidly in two categories: Greek manuscripts, and dwarves. He had collected them until the city very likely contained more than any in Italy save perhaps Ferrara. The old Duke had enviously eyed the tiny apartments custom-built for the Ferrarese dwarves at the top of the palace, and had put in hand a copy of this at Rocca, with improvements, just before his death. His son, although proud of his dwarf collection, was more interested in building a new library to house his books.
    This interlude proved a succès fou . The Lady Cecilia’s husband had to be rescued from choking on his wine when a dwarf, hurling a gilt spear at the opposing ship, fell out of the turret and damaged himself on a Triton. There were explosions from minute guns, which set the alarmed doves clattering about in the roof. The diners participated warmly, not only urging on the warriors but throwing chicken legs and bread, or scoring with a well-aimed jelly. It was thought high time to trundle the ships out again, the bespattered dwarves still shrieking, bellowing and posing martially upon the decks, some working off a grudge or two by getting down to some serious fighting, others bowing thanks for the food, eating it off their or others’ persons, and searching the planks for the coins that had also been thrown.
    The smell of gunpowder was dispersed by a short visit from the nymphs scattering scent. The doves in the roof slowly settled again, peering from the painted beams and once more risking descent to the tables.
    The next course contained more sweetmeats than before — white gingerbread of marzipan ginger-flavoured and gilded, red gingerbread spiced with cinnamon and coloured with wine and sandalwood. The roar of talk by now almost obliterated the musicians’ efforts, and only a reedy sound came down. Cups were filled and refilled. There were dishes of spiced cream, of ground almonds jellied and variously tinted, with whole nuts and a sauce of wine, and candied fruits. There were jelly ponds with orange fish and angelica reeds; eggs in hens’ nests of shredded lemon peel, lambs of whipped cream upon little hills of jelly.
    A dove made the error of descending in front of Sigismondo, and was impounded so instantly that his neighbours jumped and cried out. He offered it to a server hurrying