by Hilary Green
'Perhaps we shall meet again?'
Alessandro smiled. 'I think it very likely. I have men fighting with the Emperor's forces.'
It was on the tip of Ranulph's tongue to question him further. It seemed the stranger had learned a great deal more about him than he had discovered in return. But he thought better of it and swung himself into the saddle.
Looking down he said, 'I'm sorry I stole your deer.'
Alessandro shook his head. 'No need for apologies. The gain has been much greater than the loss.' He slapped Silver on the rump and she walked forward. 'Go safely!'
A little way along the path Ranulph looked back, but the stranger had already disappeared.
Riding back into camp with his quarry, he expected a triumphant welcome, but the whole camp was astir with a much greater excitement.
'What's going on?' he asked as Hildred came to greet him.
'The siege is over! The Romans have agreed to open their gates. We march in tomorrow!' He took in the deer carcass and added casually, 'Oh good. You've brought some venison. That will do very well for a celebratory feast.'
12.
Ranulph swatted a mosquito on the back of his neck and gazed gloomily at the impregnable fortress on the far side of the Tiber. The sense of victory had been short lived. The Romans had lined the streets and cheered them as they marched in, but the Pope had taken refuge in the Castel St Angelo and refused to yield. They had ended one siege only to begin another. He wished they were still encamped outside the walls. Here, in the narrow streets with their towering houses, he felt suffocated. In the summer heat the city stank and the river was an open sewer, flowing brown and turgid and carrying with it all manner of detritus, including dead dogs and the occasional human corpse.
He was on guard duty and longing for his watch to be over. At least then he would be able to disarm. The rings of his hauberk were too hot to touch and the sweat was running down his body and into his eyes from under his helmet. He shifted his position and licked parched lips.
From further along the embankment he heard a stir of movement and the sound of horse's hooves on the cobbles. He straightened up and tried to look alert. It was almost certain to be one of the Emperor's officers, coming to check that a proper watch was being kept. The embankment was crowded with Roman citizens, either going about their business or gazing idly across the river. Beyond them, and beyond the still figures of his fellow guards posted at intervals along the street, he made out a small party of horsemen. As they came closer he saw that it was not a military patrol. In the lead was a nobleman mounted on a splendid palfrey, almost pure white with an iron grey mane that fell almost to its knees. Following him were two squires, also well mounted, and a couple of pages and half a dozen men at arms. It was only after he had taken all this in that Ranulph raised his eyes to the face of the leading man and saw, with a shock of recognition, that it was the man he had fought with for possession of the deer. Alessandro di Monteferrato was no younger son, but an important nobleman! He wondered whether or not he should acknowledge him. Would it be impudent to claim acquaintance?
To his surprise and embarrassment, Monteferato headed straight for him and drew rein at his side. 'So here you are! Your captain told me you were on duty.'
Ranulph contrived an awkward bow. 'You were looking for me, sir... er, my lord?'
'I was.' The young nobleman wrinkled his nose. 'My God, this place stinks! Don't you long for fresh air and the open countryside?'
This was so close to the very thoughts that had been going through his own mind that Ranulph found himself involuntarily smiling. 'Yes … yes, sir, I do.'
The smile was returned. 'Good. I have an invitation for you. Come to visit me at my home.'
Ranulph gulped. 'I cannot leave my post, sir. I am under orders.'
'Don't worry about that. I have already spoken to your captain, as I said. He will give you leave of absence tomorrow. Will you come?'
Ranulph looked up at the splendid figure above him and further at the retinue following. It seemed impossible that this invitation could be for him. 'You want me, me, to visit you?'
'Certainly. Wouldn't you like to get out of the city?'
'Of course.' He pulled himself together. 'Thank you, I should like to come.'
'Good, that's settled. I shall send an escort for you tomorrow. Be ready early. Until then …'
He lifted a hand in farewell, turned his horse and rode away, his retinue clattering after. Ranulph watched him go, his mind a turmoil.
On his return at the end of his watch to the disused warehouse where his company had set up their temporary home Leofric greeted him with narrowed eyes.
'We move in elevated circles, apparently. How do you come to know Count Alessandro di Monteforato?'
'Count!' Ranulph drew a quick breath and recovered himself. 'I met him, the day the city surrendered. It was his deer we ate.'
'His deer? He gave you one of his deer?'
'Well, he had to fight me for it first.'
'You fought a count for one of his own beasts? And now he comes looking for you and asks you to his home. Do you truly imagine his motives are simple hospitality? Once you are away from here he will drag you before the magistrates – or more likely he intends to punish you himself.'
'No! It wasn't like that. After the fight we shared a drink and talked. He helped me gut the beast. It was a gift.'
Leofric looked at him and slowly shook his head. 'You never cease to amaze me. Well, it's your skin. Go, if you want to. I shan't stop you.'
Rosa's reaction, when he told her of the invitation, was straightforward. 'I come with you.'
He shook his head. 'No, sweetheart. Not this time. The invitation was for me alone.'
She pouted. 'So you think this rich man does not have enough food for one more? Not enough cups or platters?'
'It's not that. It just would not be polite.' He was not sure why he was so determined not to take her. If it had simply been a matter of strict protocol he would not have hesitated. The count had already remarked that impudence was his stock in trade. It was a deeper, gut feeling that this invitation represented a new turn in the path his life was taking and he did not want in any way to jeopardize it.
'You think Rosa not good enough!' she said. 'Not fine lady enough for you.'
'No, no. It's not that.' But he knew in his heart that it was exactly that. He kissed her lightly and said, 'It's only for one day, my sweet. I shall be back by evening.'
He was up early next morning, but when he asked Rosa for his clean shirt and braies she pretended that she could not find them. He discovered them for himself hidden at the bottom of his travelling pack. He put them on and added the cleaner of his two tunics and hose that had only a few holes in them. He was combing his hair when he heard the clatter of hooves outside and a voice called, 'I'm looking for a man who calls himself Ironhand.'
Going out, he found a young man whom he recognised as one of the squires who had accompanied Monteforato the previous day. As before, he was mounted on a splendid chestnut gelding and clad in what Ranulph now recognised as the Count's livery, a dark blue surcoat emblazoned with a silver leopard. He was followed by two men at arms, in similar colours.
Ranulph determined that he was not going to be overawed. 'I am the one you are looking for,' he said.
'You have a horse, I suppose?'
'Of course. Wait there. I shall not be long.'
He ran to the back of the building where the horses were tethered and threw a saddle onto Silver's back. A few minutes later he was riding through the narrow city streets at his escort's side. Neither of them spoke until they had passed through one of the gates in the city walls and were out in the open. Then Ranulph turned to the young man at his side.
'My name is Ranulph. May I know yours?'
'I am Vincente di Pallio.'
'Are you related to Count Alessandro?'
'No. I have the privilege of being one of his squires. Our father's were friends, so I was
sent to be trained in the Count's household.'
'A privilege indeed,' Ranulph said, with a sudden stab of envy. 'And you are not the only one to have that chance?'
'No, there are five of us.'
'All brothers?'
'No. Two are, but we all come from families connected to the Count's.
'And you are trained how? In swordsmanship, of course. The Count is a superb swordsman.'
The young man slid him a sideways look. 'He tells us you are no mean swordsman yourself. You gave him a hard match.'
'He was toying with me, I fancy,' Ranulph responded. He had given the encounter a good deal of thought and come to that conclusion.
'Nevertheless, he says you fight well.'
'Of necessity. But I do not have his refinement of technique. You are fortunate to have him as your teacher.'
'Oh, he does not teach us himself. Sometimes he will have a bout with one of us, but it is his master at arms who has charge of our training. He is famous as a teacher.'
'I should very much like to meet him.'
'I expect you will.'
They rode through the forest where Ranulph had killed the deer, but not along the narrow path he had followed. Instead, they took a broad track that led to a stout oak gate in a sturdy palisade. At Vincente's shout, the gate was opened and they rode into a paved courtyard surrounded by the usual outbuildings of a great house – the smith's forge; the saddler's workshop; the pottery; the bakery; the kitchen. Facing them was the main hall, with its lofty roof, and at the far end there was a stone built tower. And there, standing on the steps leading up to the great door, was Alessandro di Monteforato, waiting to welcome his guest. Servants ran to take charge of their horses as they dismounted and the Count extended his hands in greeting.
'Welcome. I hope you enjoyed your ride.'
Ranulph bowed. 'I did, my lord. It is good to be out of the city.'
'Come inside. There is much I want to show you.' Then, to his squire, 'Thank you, Vincente. I shall not need you for the next hour or two.'
Vincente bowed and turned aside and Ranulph followed his host into the most splendid residence he had ever entered. At one end of the hall was a great hearth, empty now but large enough to hold a sizeable tree trunk. At the other, the raised dais where the lord and his family would sit to take their meals, furnished with a massive table of polished oak and a single carved chair of state. The walls were hung with tapestries which Ranulph immediately recognised as coming from some of the finest workshops in Bruges, and the floor was strewn with fresh rushes mixed with sweet smelling herbs. Stacked in a corner were pallets, ready to be spread out at night for the lord's retainers to sleep on.
The count led him to a door beside the dais which gave onto a winding staircase in the tower. From it another door gave onto a room at ground level, in which Ranulph glimpsed swords and shields hanging on the walls and shirts of mail heaped on a chest - a guard room, making the tower a place of retreat in case of danger. On the next floor there was a comfortable solar, furnished with chairs with padded seats and backs. There were more tapestries on the walls, and animal furs spread over the floor; but Di Monteforato did not stop there. He led on upwards to the next floor and threw open a door.
'Here! This is what I wanted to show you.'
Ranulph stepped inside and was immediately transported back to his childhood. It was not so much the sight of the shelves that lined the room, each holding beautifully bound books or carefully stacked scrolls. It was the smell of ink and parchment that took him back to the scriptorium in the monastery, where he had watched the monks carefully copying precious manuscripts and illuminating them with vividly coloured embellishments. It had always been the one room where he had felt at home and he remembered clearly the almost physical impact of those colours on a life lived almost entirely in monochrome.
His host was saying, 'My father's library. It was his great pride. He loved books and spent much of his fortune collecting them, in order to preserve them for future generations.'
Ranulph pulled himself together. 'Your father is dead, then?'
'These five years since. Which is why the title and the land has come to me.' He looked around the loaded shelves. 'I, too, have spent many happy hours here. When you told me that you had been educated in a monastery, I thought you might appreciate the treasures stored here.'
'Treasures indeed,' Ranulph murmured. 'There are more books here than there were in the abbey at Chester. May I look?'
'Of course.'
Slowly Ranulph moved along the shelves, taking out volumes at random. Some of the texts he recognised, but most were strange to him. 'It would take a life time to read all these,' he said after a while.
'More than one, I think,' the Count agreed. 'But let me show you this.'
He took down a scroll, handling it almost reverently, and carried it to a lectern by one of the arched windows. He undid the lace that held it closed and draped it over the lectern so that the opening lines were visible.
'You read Latin, I think you said.'
'Yes.'
'Come and look at this.'
He moved aside and Ranulph took his place. The script was unfamiliar and it took a moment for him to decipher it. Then he read aloud, 'Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris, Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit Litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto Vi superum saevae memorum Iunonis ob iram...' He paused, wrestling with the unfamiliar language, and translated, 'I sing of arms and the man who of old came from the coasts of Troy, an exile of fate, to Italy and the shores of Lavinium …' He looked up at Di Monteferato. 'What is this? It's a poem, but not one I have ever read.'
'It is the Aeneid of the poet Virgil, the greatest of all the Roman poets. You have never heard of him?'
'No. In the monastery we were only allowed to read the works of the church fathers.'
'I feared as much. So much of great beauty and value is being neglected. It was part of the reason why my father was such an avid collector. But I will translate the next lines and perhaps you will see why you were never introduced to this.'
He stepped closer and read over Ranulph's shoulder. 'Hard driven on land and on the deep by the violence of heaven, and Juno's unforgetful anger, … Do you know who Juno was?'
'No.'
'She was a Roman goddess, one among many in whom the Romans of those days believed. That is why this poem, and all others written at that time, is distrusted by the Church.'
'It verges on blasphemy.'
'Perhaps. Yet scholars have found much truth and even prophecy in Virgil's work. It is sometimes said that in one of his poems he foretells the coming of Christ. And there are people to this day who use his work to foretell the future.'
'How?'
'You take a book of his poems and open it at random, and whatever words first meet your eye are supposed to give you a clue as to the future course of events. It is called the Sortis Virgilianum.'
'Truthfully?'
'I swear it.' He laughed. 'But how accurate the prophecies are is another matter.'
'Who is the story about?'
'Aeneas. According to legend he was the founder of Rome.'
Ranulph sighed. 'There is so much that I do not know, that I never even imagined existed.'
The Count laid a hand on his shoulder. 'I have opened a door for you, and I will not close it. You may come here as often as you can, and read whatever pleases you.'
Ranulph met his eyes. 'I don't know why you are offering me all this.'
He was answered with the mischievous half smile he was coming to know. 'Let's just say on our first encounter you intrigued me. I think we may have much in common.' He flexed his shoulders. 'But enough for now! I am thirsty, aren't you? And hungry too, I wager. Let's go down.'
The hand on his shoulder propelled him gently to the stairs. Once he would have shaken it off, but he let it remain. At the bottom another door led into a walled garden with neat beds of herbs and pleached fruit trees. In one corn
er a vine grew over an arbour, already heavy with grapes, and under it a table was set with cups and platters. As they seated themselves pages appeared bearing flasks of wine and cool well-water. They were followed by others bringing fresh bread and soft cheeses and potted meats, and honey cakes.
As they ate Ranulph felt emboldened to ask, 'Do you have any other family, my lord?'
His companion lifted an eyebrow. 'When we met, I told you my name is Alessandro. That will suffice, at least in private. There is no need for 'my lord'. To answer your question, yes, I have two sisters, one older, one younger than me. Both are well married, I am glad to say, and already mothers of fine children. But they live several days ride from here, so we do not see each other often.'
'And your mother …?'
'Died giving birth to my younger sister. I scarcely remember her.'
'We have that in common, at least.'
'But I was fortunate enough to have my father's help and guidance until I was old enough to look after myself. Not so you, from what you told me.'
'No.'
'You were brought up in a monastery, so how do you come to be here, fighting as a mercenary?'
Once again, Ranulph found himself relating the story of how he had run away and gone to sea, but as always he glossed over what had happened to him with Osric and concentrated on the years he had spent on board the Waverider.'
'So what made you change the life of a mariner for one of a soldier?'
He looked down into his wine cup. 'There was … a disagreement. The sea captain's son resented my position with his father. It was better to leave.'
The drowsy afternoon silence was suddenly broken by the sound of galloping hooves and a clash of metal. Ranulph started and half rose.
Alessandro laid a hand on his arm. 'Relax. There's nothing to fear.'
He sat back again, but a moment later the noises were repeated. 'What is it? What is going on?'
'It is my squires practising in the tilt yard. Would you like to see?'
All post-prandial somnolence vanished and he sprang to his feet. 'Yes, I should. Please!'
