The Assassin of Verona

by The Assassin of Verona (retail) (epub)

  William came to sit by Hemminges. The two players said nothing to each other as they watched the drunken band leap and hop about them. Hemminges’ thoughts were all on the lute. His concentration was absolute and in it he found release from his concerns, until beside him William spoke.

  ‘Such display, such wanton spirits and we two the only dour figures among them. Why look you, all are set to revels by your playing. And how generous of young Sebastian, who answering to the need of it there being none present, has joined with Valentine in the measure and taken the woman’s part.’

  Hemminges looked sharply up, and sure enough, there was Sebastian, in perfect place and time, producing the lady’s steps in answer to Valentine’s lead.

  And to the skirts of this wild wood he came

  There’d been no need of another night in the woods to convince Oldcastle he was not made for the soldier’s life. He’d been given one anyway and woke feeling much the worse for it. In his youth he’d seen some service in the commotions that accompanied the young King Edward’s minority and though his role in the baggage train then had brought him no closer to shot or spear than third-hand report he thanked his youth now for the supply of terms that now gilded over his false standing.

  They’d ridden till the sun began to dip towards the tree tops and then he’d commanded his corporal of horse to choose and set the camp, as a test of your as yet untried merit’. His Ancient, who bore the Duke’s standard, he’d then set to muster of the watch with the same excuse and last, his loyal Dionisio he’d sent to make his own camp. While this activity went on he’d walked about, arms clasped behind his back, nodding at the men as they walked and rubbed down their horses and, on occasion, raising an eyebrow at a cuirass besmirched with mud, a ragged plume or a rust-spotted lance in order to signal his concern at the troops’ quality. At last the camp was made and his corporal of horse reported to him that all was in order.

  ‘Very well, then set the watch. I shall retire. Our patrol at dawn continues.’

  ‘Sir Nicholas,’ said the corporal, ‘will you now unfold your plan to me?’

  Oldcastle had waited fearfully for this moment and spent the major part of their ride in contemplation of his answer.

  ‘Plan, man, why the plan is simple: I have considered the matter with great care. I see at once, as you no doubt have done, the closeness betwixt our position now and that as faced Great Pompey when he came to scour the pirate fleets from Roman waters.’

  The corporal of horse wrinkled his nose and his whiskers rippled like a pair of nesting mongoose beneath. ‘We’re far from the sea. I do not take your meaning, Sir Nicholas.’

  Oldcastle made a snort of disappointment. ‘When Pompey was set to cleanse the sea of pirates he struck at once at all their places of rest, leaving them no refuge or retreat. So shall we also.’

  ‘Pompey had four legions to command, we are a dozen men.’

  ‘They too are few, by the Duke’s prisoner’s report, divide our force and still outmatch them. Strike as one, we leave them no retreat,’ said Oldcastle. It sounded poor even to him but his object was not to impress or show himself a second Hannibal but to give himself a chance to escape by steadily reducing his escort.

  ‘Sir Nicholas, would we not be better served—’ the corporal began but Oldcastle cut him off. He could brook no debate to let in doubt about his orders.

  ‘We are best served by obedience to my command,’ he said and turned on his heel to stamp his way to where Dionisio had set up a small tent and camp-bed. The thin canvas closing behind him, his trembling nerves at last overcame him and he sat swiftly in his cot. He straightened as Dionisio thrust his head into the tent.

  ‘Sir Nicholas, shall I prepare your supper?’

  ‘Yes, yes, kind Dionisio, I am mortal tired and in need of sustenance.’

  ‘At once, Sir Nicholas,’ his servant answered but when he returned he found that Sir Nicholas was so overwrought by the tensions of the day and the exertions of his unaccustomed exercise that he had passed out on his cot and did not stir again till the trumpet’s sound announced the dawn.

  Oldcastle emerged from his tent to find the camp already full of activity. Seeing him, the Ancient ran to his side.

  ‘The scout reports he has seen a man gathering firewood close by.’

  Oldcastle yawned. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Why, sir,’ the Ancient answered, ‘there’s no habitation hereabout. This is the part of these woods that the prisoner’s report gave us to understand held their camp. He could not give us clear directions nor guide us to it himself, not after his questioning, but if there are any out gathering firewood then it is for that hidden place. If we take the man and put him to the question the base rascals are discovered and may be caught sleeping.’

  Oldcastle did his best to smile at this news. His guts churned at it; this action came on too swiftly. There was a real danger that he would find himself involved in a broil and it had ever been a sound and solemn precept of Oldcastle’s life, one to which he attributed his advanced age, that he not put himself in the course of harm.

  ‘We must make haste, Sir Nicholas,’ the Ancient urged.

  ‘Quite so. Well, sound the tucket sonance and the note to mount,’ said Oldcastle. How will I resolve this? He walked swiftly to the lines where the corporal was already in his saddle. Once more with much assistance from Dionisio he made it to his saddle and, leaving the Ancient and four more to guard the camp, the rest set off after the scout’s report.

  The corporal of horse was in great good humour, as shown by the near lascivious stroking of his moustaches, for with this intelligence gained they might make swift work of the destruction of the outlaws and be on to the tedious but easy business of escorting the Count Claudio’s baggage to the palace. The corporal was already spending the Duke’s bounty for a job well and quickly done.

  Oldcastle’s thoughts also travelled forward to what he should do when their quarry was found. If the man did not disclose his comrades’ camp at once then Oldcastle feared the demands for hard questioning that would follow. It had been too soon that he’d suffered such a questioning of his own and he still shuddered at its memory and of the more recent sight of that outlaw’s broken body in the Duke’s dungeons. His own desire to avoid a fight was joined with a will not to see another suffer as he had done and dread at the thought of having to find reason to defy the corporal if he sought it.

  The scout rode back towards their party, his hand held low in signal they should halt. He drew level with the corporal and Oldcastle.

  ‘The man’s ahead and heavily laden. Now might we do it,’ said the scout, his hand gesturing to their front where rose a small bank. ‘We must be soft though, sirs. He stands on this bank of the river but if he crosses it, as he might, there’s no ford for the horses for half a mile.’

  Hope sprang in Oldcastle’s breast. He nodded to the corporal and the men began a slow advance, spreading out their horses till there were ten yards between each man, with Oldcastle and the corporal in the centre. They crested the rise. It took Oldcastle a moment to spot their man; he was ahead a quarter-mile, bent-backed beneath a fardel of wood. The river, barely deserving of the title, had been swollen by the recent rains and ran in full spate. It was both a danger and an opportunity to the Duke’s men. Its noise disguised their approach but, the far bank gained, the man was safe from all pursuit unless they abandoned their horses, and armed and armoured as they were against a man familiar with the woods, without their horses their pursuit was sure to fail.

  Oldcastle saw and understood this all but took a different lesson to the corporal who was signalling to his men to walk their horses slowly and quietly forward. Oldcastle clenched his legs about his horse, offered up his prayers to heaven and spurred his horse to action.

  ‘St George, St George!’ he cried as he cantered for the man. The corporal, stunned by the sudden noise and movement, looked about to see what had set his commander to the charge and then cried out to his men t
o follow. As one they spurred their horses on.

  Oldcastle to his horror saw that the man had still not noted their approach.

  ‘Hold!’ he cried in a voice that had once commanded five hundred groundlings to silence. He struggled to draw his sword out of his scabbard as he cantered forward and cursed as he nearly cut his horse’s ear off in the process. Liberated of its scabbard he began to swirl the blade above his head as he rode on. Come on you blundering ninny, he thought, a dead man would have noted me by now.

  At last the outlaw looked up and saw Oldcastle bearing down upon him with half a dozen lances following on behind. He scampered like a hare towards the river’s edge. Oldcastle wheeled his horse toward the man, pulling at the bit to slow the horse’s stride. His sudden change of course sent him cutting in front of one of his own men as he did so, which caused the man to cry and swerve away so as not to ram his commander in the side. The first man swerving turned the next and the next and thus a ripple of confusion grew.

  Ahead, the man, finding a fallen trunk that spanned the river in its spate, scrambled across it and ran on, darting between trees and bushes until lost from sight. Oldcastle reined in his horse at the river’s edge and made a show of curses and foul spite at the man’s escape. His men gathered slowly behind him as order returned to their ranks. The corporal’s face was hot red beneath his whiskers.

  ‘Sir Nicholas, why did you charge? We had him, Sir Nicholas, we had him.’

  ‘You have a willing mind to think it so; did you not see him raise his head at our approach?’

  ‘I did not,’ declared the corporal, moustaches lifting and fluttering like pennants caught in the fury of his speech.

  Oldcastle smiled sadly in answer. ‘No? Well then, my good man, I now understand your hesitation. You were rightly intent on your command for quiet. There’s no shame in your distraction and no apology needed.’

  The corporal’s moustaches fluttered like a bird ready to take wing in protestation that he’d no plan for apologies but Oldcastle waved his lips to close. ‘The plan was sound. That we came as close as we did is thanks to my swift charge. Yet plans and swift action are no guarantee of victory.’

  Another of the men spoke up: ‘They must be close by. No man travels far to gather wood and it was a fair burden he’d got upon his back.’

  In answer the corporal spat, ‘What good to us is that? He will have given them warning of our approach. We’ve only half the men here, no surprise to multiply our force’s strength and there’s a fair chance that riding forth now we will find ourselves the ones are ambushed.’

  ‘Courage, my man,’ said Oldcastle in a restful voice and again, as the corporal set to protest that it was not want of courage that made him speak so, Oldcastle waved him down. ‘We must return and gather our strength. Send out the scouts again to find where the rats now hide. You forget that we have among their number an ally, my man John Russell. He too will have been alerted to our presence. Have your men be ready for his approach. He will lead us to them now he knows we’re here. Do not disguise our passing men, let the path be clear.’

  Then Oldcastle for the second time that day set spurs to flank and shot forward, bouncing in his seat, to add to the churning in his guts.

  Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard like a bum-bailey

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Half a league, no more, by the river.’ Tommasso straightened, heaving for breath from his flight. ‘A dozen lances, at least.’

  ‘Cursed spite.’ Orlando ran his hand through his hair. ‘Go, boy, fetch me Master Russell, Luca, Zago. Make haste.’

  The boy hastened away to round up the outlaws. Orlando kicked at some brushwood nearby in frustration. Tommasso would have left a trail a blind man could follow. Their camp would be discovered soon enough. How hard did the soldiers follow on from Tommasso? How long did they have?

  ‘What is all the commotion?’ demanded Zago as he approached with Luca and Ludovico by his side; Hemminges was not far behind and trailing him Aemilia and William.

  ‘Tommasso was chased by a troop of soldiers not half an hour ago, a mile or so away, by the river,’ said Orlando. ‘We must pack up the camp and make haste away to a new and secret spot. Luca, Zago, tell the rest; Master Russell, I need your help with the movement of our bounty of yesterday.’

  ‘You need help with more than that,’ said Hemminges. His tone made Luca and Zago hold back. Orlando made a gesture that spoke to his irritation that, at this time of needful haste, his orders were being questioned.

  ‘What is the matter?’ demanded Orlando. ‘Have you no ears, Englishman?’

  ‘To hear sense, yes.’

  ‘Sense is to fly before armed and mounted men,’ said Luca from Hemminges’ side.

  ‘And be cut down?’ asked Hemminges, rounding on him. He turned back to Orlando. ‘You think they followed Tommasso?’

  ‘The boy is brave but he will have set a trail in his haste to report to us,’ said Orlando with a shrug. ‘It’s sense to suspect as much, surely?’

  ‘You conclude too quickly. If you think them near then our hasting away will mean they catch us in our flight, laden with baggage and spoils. You cannot hide the passage of so many men. Mounted men against men fleeing on foot, heavy burdened?’

  All of Hemminges’ audience shuddered at the picture that he painted. Hemminges did not stop there.

  ‘We might instead scatter but that’s to be taken one by one. How, too, to know where we regroup if we make escape?’

  Orlando urged him on: ‘Your argument is well made, what then?’

  ‘Stand to, here. Against mounted men close together is best. That small hill yonder’ – he pointed – ‘the holly and bracken upon it will slow their horses. Let us dart out and be at them as they close.’

  As one, Luca, Ludovico, Zago and Orlando looked to where Hemminges was pointing and he watched them shudder again at the thought of the fighting in close quarters to come, the mounted men using their height to cut down at the outlaws, the desperate rush to move past their horses and pull them from their seats, the butchery that there would be on both sides. Better that though than to be ridden down from behind, a lance through the back, a sword across the nape of the neck, the hiss and cold touch of the steel the last sensations in this life.

  ‘Luca,’ said Orlando, ‘tell the others to gather their weapons and such baggage as they can swiftly take and move to the hill as Master Russell suggests. Go with him, Ludovico. Hurry, man, hurry.’ Ludovico studied Hemminges a moment longer before turning and following Luca.

  Orlando turned back to Hemminges. ‘I pray you are right.’

  ‘I am. A wise man knows to take and use the experience of others,’ said Hemminges. He may not have a feel for the plots and stratagems that one needed to move through the waters of Venice, or London for that matter, but he’d an eye for the straight fight. He turned to Zago and, not waiting for Orlando’s commission, ordered him to take two men and Tommasso and to scout out the direction from which the soldiers were said to come. Zago grumbled away to his task.

  ‘You supplant me,’ said Orlando.

  ‘I’ve no wish to lead,’ said Hemminges in answer. ‘It’s not by my will that I am here at all. I have a liking for living, though, and, by your leave, I’ll freely advise you how I might maintain that state.’

  Orlando smiled in answer of his own and held his hands up in surrender. ‘I take no offence at it. You were right and I was wrong. Let us all live longer for your honesty and for my lack of false pride. What if Zago reports that the soldiers are not in pursuit?’

  ‘Pray it may be so,’ said Hemminges in answer. He’d disposed the men as best he could but mounted men against this rabble of outlaws would be a sorry fight and one he was not sure he’d see the end to. ‘Then we have time to make an ordered retreat, disband and make our way to better lives than this.’

  Orlando laughed until he saw that Hemminges meant all that he said. ‘Man, we’ll not shatter at the first blow and
split into a thousand useless pieces.’

  ‘Yes, surely,’ interrupted Aemilia with a passion. ‘Master Russell, we cannot take the first sign of opposition as a signal to surrender? We must make an ambush of these soldiers.’

  Now it was Hemminges’ turn to laugh. He’d thought Aemilia would have taken fright at the prospect of the battle to come but he’d not credited her untempered metal. She’d not seen, as he had, men dying beneath horses’ hooves. Want of imagination or a greater courage than he’d yet allowed her now made her speak of attack when her thoughts should be of flight.

  ‘You mock me?’ demanded Aemilia.

  ‘No, no, good Sebastian,’ said Hemminges in hasty answer to the sudden flare of anger, ‘no insult. But we are thirty men, not one a soldier, and these are men in plate and shield, with horse and lance. It is not courage but a slaughter you propose.’

  ‘Tush,’ said Orlando. ‘Sebastian has the right of it. If they do not attack us then we must attack them. An ambush set, we might strike them down with arrows and finish them with knives as your English did at Agincourt.’

  Hemminges ground his teeth. What had been an amusement to him when Aemilia spoke was now another danger to be faced as Orlando battened to her talk. He opened his mouth to speak sense to Orlando but was cut off by Aemilia.