Free Duchess of Milan by Michael Ennis Page B

spread his broad, thick hands. “She is slender. The birth may be difficult. If Madame were to be incapacitated, I think the more bellicose factions in Paris would seize the opportunity. All the more reason for caution on our part.”
    “You are a diplomat, Count Belgioioso, and a very good one, so I needn’t instruct you in your craft. But you must remember that the first duty of the astute statesman is to persuade his adversaries that he intends to do one thing, and then do another.” Il Moro extended the sealed packet to his ambassador. “Forgive me for sending you off in this weather. But trust me that we are due for a change. By the time you get to Asti, I believe we will have a thaw.”
    Belgioioso stood up, accepted the packet, bowed, and exited. Galeazz rose with the ambassador, but Il Moro asked him to stay. Galeazz took his chair again and leaned forward, his fingertips pressed together.
    The secretaries’ pens scratched, and the silent snow rushed past the windows. “Count Belgioioso is a very prudent man,” Il Moro said, apparently prompting Galeazz to offer a rebuttal.
    “Just as Madame de Beaujeu is a very prudent woman.” Galeazz spoke with a florid, self-important diction; his pronunciation of the French name was flawless. “But I think we could benefit if certain factions were to gain ascendance in Paris. That the French intend to cross the Alps does not mean that their objective is to conquer us.” Galeazz did not need to elaborate. The French army’s alternative conquest had been clearly implied: Naples. The French had ruled Naples until a half century previously, when they had been ousted by the Spanish prince and military adventurer Alfonso of Aragon. The loss had not merely punished French pride; the annual revenues of Naples and its tributaries exceeded those of the entire Kingdom of France. The reconquest of Naples was a standing item on the agenda of any French monarch, but now a group of Italian noblemen, exiled by the current King of Naples, Ferrante of Aragon, had settled in Paris and begun a well-organized and well-funded campaign to stir up the hotheads at the French court. The leader of these Italian agitators was the exiled Prince of Salerno, Antonello di Sanseverino, who happened to be Galeazz’s uncle.
    “Boldness. That is what I admire most about you, Galeazz.” Il Moro suddenly allowed himself a tight but genial smile. “When passion inspires you, you do not hesitate. Italy needs more men like you. But permit a more cautious head to consider what you have suggested. First of all, I am now tied more closely than ever to the house of Aragon.” Alfonso of Aragon’s blood still coursed through the ruling families of much of Italy: his son Ferrante was the King of Naples; his grandchildren included Eleonora d’Este, the Duchess of Ferrara, and Alfonso of Aragon, Duke of Calabria and heir to throne of Naples; his great-granddaughters included the Marquesa of Mantua, the Duchess of Milan, and Il Moro’s new bride. “Secondly, you must remember that our illustrious Duchess Mother is the French King’s aunt. And apparently King Charles is quite fond of Duchess Bona.” Il Moro paused. “However, for the sake of argument, let us assume that I did wish to betray my family, and King Charles his. What would I profit by establishing the French in Naples?”
    The question was deliberately disingenuous. While Il Moro enjoyed a respectful if wary cordiality with the aging King Ferrante, Galeazz knew that Il Moro despised Ferrante’s heir, Alfonso, the Duke of Calabria. Galeazz decided not to belabor this point but to advance to a more adventuresome theme; clearly he had been given an invitation. “Your Highness, you know that our illustrious Duke of Milan has no more faithful servant, yourself excepted, than the Captain General of his armies. But I am not blind or deaf. One need only accompany you through the streets to observe that the people of Milan regard you as their duke.”