Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  'The Lady Viviana wishes to speak with you.'

  Ranulph shook his head in bewilderment. 'What can she want with me, at this time of night?'

  Without answering the girl tugged at his sleeve and drew him out into the colonnade. The courtyard was empty and silent, lit only by the moon. He followed her to the far side and then up a staircase to an imposing doorway. The girl tapped on it and then stood aside for him to enter.

  Viviana was standing facing him. She was wearing a loose robe of white silk and her hair, midnight dark, hung in lustrous cascades onto her shoulders and beyond to the level of her waist. Without taking her eyes from his she said, 'Thank you, Aurelia. You may go.'

  The door closed softly and Viviana said, 'Was my invitation so much of a surprise to you? Surely it cannot be the first time you have been summoned to a lady's chamber.'

  Ranulph swallowed, unable to speak. His pulse was racing and his mouth was parched. Behind her, the coverlet on a large bed was turned back in readiness.

  Viviana raised her eyebrows. 'Perhaps my words confuse you. I have noticed that you have a poor command of Greek. So let action speak for me instead.'

  She raised her hands to her throat and pulled open the fastening of her robe. Released, the silk pooled round her feet, leaving her naked. Her body was hairless and milk white, except for her nipples and the lips of her sex, which were painted a delicate pink. Ranulph stared, transfixed between fear and desire. It was many months since he had last lain with Rosa and of late his nights had been tormented with unsatisfied lust. Though his mind was sounding a warning, his body had already decided to act. He stripped off his clothes. Viviana smiled and beckoned. He had expected, somehow, that her body would be cool, but her skin glowed under his touch. He swept her up and threw her down onto the bed. Then he was inside her, thrusting and thrusting, until she cried out, her voice muffled in his hair. It was over too soon, and he rolled away with a groan, fear suddenly rising in his belly. What had he done? What would the consequences be?

  She turned on her side and propped herself on one elbow, looking down into his face. 'Well, my sweet, it has been a long time. No? There is some pleasure to be had in satisfying such an urgent need. You are strong and brave, and very beautiful.' She caressed his cheek with delicate finger tips. 'But when it comes to the arts of love, you are still a child.'

  He opened his mouth to protest but she laid her fingers on his lips. 'The night is still young, and so are you. You will recover quickly. Lie still, and I will begin your education.'

  In the hours that followed, Ranulph learned things he had never imagined, even in the silent, shameful minutes when he had yielded to the need to quell the torment in his loins. He knew, very quickly, that he was in the hands of a skilful teacher, and soon understood that there were pleasures to be had more exquisite than he had ever dreamed.

  The first light of dawn was showing through the diaphanous curtains that covered the window before she said, 'Enough. Now you must go, before the servants are about.'

  He looked into her eyes. 'May I come again, tonight?'

  She took his face between her hands. 'From now on you are mine to command, my toy, my pet, my faithful slave. You will come when I call, stay where I tell you. In return, I will teach you Greek, and the arts of love. Now go.'

  He rose and pulled on his clothes. Outside the door he almost fell over the girl Aurelia, sleeping on a pallet on the floor. She roused herself and smiled at him, then went in to her mistress. As he ran soft-footed down the stairs he blushed to think how much she might have heard through the closed door. Her smile had told him one thing. He was not the first young man to be summoned to her lady's bedchamber.

  Back in his room he splashed water from the ewer over himself, trying to wash away the scent of sex, then fell onto the bed. Physically he was exhausted, but his brain was churning. 'You are mine to command, my toy, my pet, my faithful slave....' He ground his teeth. He was no one's toy, no one's slave. And yet, there was the memory of what he had felt that night, the prospect of another such. Was the price too high to pay? He fell asleep before he could answer the question.

  He slept late and woke to a sensation of languorous ease. It took some effort to get himself out of bed and go in search of his captain. He found him striding up and down the cloister in a foul temper.

  'Where have you been?' he snarled, looking him over. 'What's wrong with you? You look as if someone put poppy in your drink. Are you ill?'

  'No, no I'm quite well,' Ranulph said, adding to deflect further questions, 'Is something wrong?'

  'Wrong?Yes! That damned fight last night has set the strategos against us. He's saying that we can't sail until he's satisfied himself about who started it. He's got half a dozen of my best men shut up in his dungeon and, to crown it all, he's withholding permission for us to buy timber for the repairs. We're stuck here! The only comfort is, he's treating the Venetians the same way.'

  'Will we ever know who started the fight?' Ranulph asked. 'Is he questioning the man I stopped from killing the innkeeper? He said something about being overcharged for wine. That could be the start of it.'

  'More than likely,' Beppo grunted. 'But is the man who struck the first blow going to admit it?'

  Viviana came down the staircase and passed them the direction of the hall. She smiled. 'Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you passed a pleasant night.'

  Ranulph struggled to stop his body from betraying him but in spite of himself he felt the tell-tale blush rising to his cheeks. Beppo stopped in the middle of an ill-tempered response and gazed at him. Then he grinned broadly.

  'Oh, so that's it! Really? Well, I suppose it's not surprising. And you're in favour with the strategos, too. At least one of us is doing the right thing.'

  'Am I?' Ranulph muttered. 'I wish I was sure.'

  He had more reason to doubt later in the day. With nothing to do but wait for the strategos to reach a conclusion, they had gathered with the Venetians on the terrace and a game of basset was suggested. The cards had just been dealt when Viviana passed by, followed by her two ladies. She paused and laid her fingers lightly on Ranulph's shoulder.

  'Sweet boy, I am in dire need of cool water to soothe my aching brow, and I cannot find any of Lord Leo's servants. Will you go to the well and draw some for me?'

  He rose with as much grace as he could muster and responded gallantly, 'I will do whatever I may to bring you ease, madam.'

  She thanked him and moved on, but as he left he heard the Venetian giggles. 'Sweet Boy! She's got him on the lead, like her pet dog!'

  He took the water up to her room and found her seated by the window, looking out over the harbour.

  'So,' she said, 'now you are here, we will begin your lessons in the other subject I promised to teach you.'

  'Perhaps we could pursue my education on both fronts at once,' he suggested boldly.

  She gave him an icy look. 'We will do this as it pleases me. It is not for you to choose. Sit down.'

  He sat, feeling rebellious, but telling himself that a knowledge of Greek was, in the final analysis, going to be far more useful to him than skill as a lover. Once again, he discovered he had a good teacher. Viviana spoke excellent Latin and moved between the two languages with ease, and as she taught him a new vocabulary she also taught him the proper forms of address and slipped in hints about behaviour and manners, which he was humble enough to recognise were needful, if he was to find acceptance in Byzantine society. But alongside that, she also taught him the simpler language of the people, which was now the language of trade.

  When he returned at length to the terrace where the card game was still in progress he sensed a subtle change in the Venetians' attitudes. A couple of snide remarks told him that they assumed he had been indulging in the other form of education Viviana offered and he did not disillusion them. With some satisfaction, he understood that they were jealous – or at least one of them was. Jacopo glowered at him over the cards and he made a point of smiling back.
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  In the days that followed, his emotions were so confused that he could hardly think straight. When they were alone together Viviana treated him kindly. He had always had a facility for languages and she was pleased with how quickly he progressed with his Greek lessons. She was impressed to discover that he had some acquaintance with the works of the ancient poets and philosophers and in response she broadened the field of her instructions. One day she brought with her to the lesson a manuscript from the strategos's library. For the first time, Ranulph made the acquaintance of Aristotle.

  At night, too, he learned quickly and from being teacher and pupil they became almost equal partners in pleasure. But her moods were so unpredictable that he never felt quite at ease. In bed she could be tender, but when they were in the presence of other people she seemed to delight in teasing him and humiliating him. Sometimes he was filled with a sick fury and longed to refuse to perform the little errands she devised for him. He even contemplated staying away when she sent for him at night. But his whole being seemed to be focused on the delights that awaited him and he passed the days in a state of almost permanent arousal. He did not have the strength to deny himself.

  Beppo and the Venetians, meanwhile, were growing more and more impatient. Laskaris seemed to be no nearer discovering who had started the fight and Beppo voiced the suspicion that he was using that as a delaying tactic.

  'I guess he's waiting to see who comes up with the biggest bribe,' he said. 'Either that, or he's just amusing himself, enjoying keeping us all hanging on his whim. There's one comfort. Even if the Venetians leave first we can still beat them. They will have to stop off at Cyprus to deliver the princess.'

  Ranulph did not know whether he wanted the situation to be resolved or not. Part of him felt that he was being held in thrall and longed to break free; but the prospect of an end to his nightly ecstasy was unbearable.

  Eventually it seemed the strategos had grown tired of his investigations. He summoned all his unwilling guests to a meeting.

  'It seems we are never going to find out who is responsible for the unfortunate events on the first night of your stay; and I know that you are all eager to depart. In fact, so eager that both captains have, separately of course, sought me out to offer some very tempting inducements to persuade me to allow their vessel to leave, while detaining the other for a few days longer. I wish to make it clear that I am not susceptible to bribery. Therefore, I have decided that the matter shall be resolved by means of a challenge. We have a sport which I think is not enjoyed beyond the bounds of the Empire. We call it tzykanion. It requires a high degree of horsemanship, plus considerable strength and courage. It is played in teams, and we have two teams here who are scheduled to compete five days from now. I have arranged that one man from each of your crews should join either team. Whichever wins, that vessel will be given priority to acquire all the necessary supplies and allowed to leave ahead of the other. Is it agreed?'

  Ranulph looked at the faces around him. The Venetians were looking triumphant, Beppo was furious.

  'Agreed!' said di Vilardino. 'I have no doubt we can match anyone for skill at horsemanship, and as for strength and courage …' he glanced at his fellows and raised his hands as if to say that such qualities were beyond question.

  'No!' Beppo exploded. 'Where is the justice in that? My men are sailors. Most of them have never been on a horse in their lives.'

  'Forgive me, master,' Ranulph put in. Suddenly there was a new excitement, something to counteract the spell under which he laboured. 'I can ride. I count myself a good horseman and I am happy to take on the challenge.'

  'Then it is agreed!' Laskaris said. 'Who is to be your champion, gentlemen?'

  The Venetians exchanged glances and there was clear agreement. 'Jacopo will ride for us,' Di Vilardino said.

  'Excellent! I will introduce you to the teams later today and you can begin your training. But you will both need mounts. I will arrange for my master of horse to show you some horses to choose from.'

  As they left the hall Beppo grabbed Ranulph's arm. 'Have you any idea what you are letting yourself in for? I've heard of this game of theirs, and from what I can make out it is closer to all out warfare than sport.'

  Ranulph lifted his eyebrows. 'Then I shall be quite at home, shan't I? I wonder if Signor Jacopo has even fought in a battle.'

  Shortly afterwards he was conducted to a paddock where a number of horses were corralled. Jacopo was already there, looking disparagingly at the mounts on offer.

  'They are very small,' he remarked.

  'They are bred that way,' the master of horse responded. 'It is easier to strike a ball from a small horse, and they are extremely nimble and quick to turn.'

  Jacopo shrugged. 'If that is the best you have, I shall have to make do.'

  He moved away, and Ranulph exchanged looks with the master of horse. It was clear what he thought of Jacopo's attitude. He studied the horses. They were small, admittedly, with delicate legs, but they had strong hocks and pretty, intelligent heads. Kept apart from the rest by a fence was a stallion with a coat like firecoals and a flowing, cream mane and tail. He was trotting backwards and forwards along the fence, occasionally digging in his forefeet and springing away, throwing up his head and snorting.

  'That one!' Jacopo called. 'What is his name?'

  'We call him Phoenix.'

  'I'll take him.'

  The horse master frowned. 'He's a difficult ride. You'll have your hands full.'

  'Don't worry. I'll soon show him who's master.'

  The horse master called to some of his men to catch the stallion and saddle him. Once again, he and Ranulph exchanged glances. Ranulph climbed the fence and walked in among the horses. There was a grey mare who took his fancy, because she reminded him of Silver; but she was nosing the soil, looking for a few blades of grass, and ignored him as he moved towards her. Beyond her, he saw a raised head and inquisitive ears. They belonged to a black gelding with a white blaze down his nose. He advanced, one hand outstretched, and the gelding stretched his neck in return and nuzzled it. Ranulph ran it up his cheek and scratched him between the ears. The horse blew down his nostrils and Ranulph lowered his head and blew back. Intelligent dark eyes looked into his own.

  'He'd be a good choice.' The horse master spoke from close behind him. 'He's clever and quick to learn.'

  Jacopo had strolled over while he waited for the stallion, who was proving hard to catch.

  'Picked a nice little one? Very wise. Not so far to fall.'

  Ranulph ignored him. 'What's his name?'

  'Storm – but it doesn't suit him. He's very good tempered. A child could ride him.'

  'Oh, well,' Jacopo sniggered. 'Just what you need, sailor boy.'

  'We'll see,' Ranulph said equably. 'I'll take this one, please.'

  When Storm was saddled he did not mount at once but waited to watch Jacopo, who was now up on Phoenix. The stallion was giving him a hard time, bucking and twisting first one way, then another, determined to unseat him. Jacopo could ride, he had to give him that, if all you meant was the ability to stay on. It was clear what he had meant by showing the horse who was master. He was thrashing the stallion's rump with his whip and driving his spurs into his sides, but the horse's response was to redouble his efforts to throw him.

  'Is he always like this?' Ranulph asked the horse master.

  The man shrugged. 'He's not easy, as I told the other gentleman. There are ways to manage him – but that is not one of them.'

  'Should you stop them?' Ranulph asked. His heart ached for the horse's suffering.

  'Not my place,' the other man responded.

  Sickened by the spectacle, Ranulph mounted Storm and rode away to find a quiet spot where they could get to know each other.

  When the heat of the day was over, Laskaris took Ranulph and Jacopo down to the field where the match was to be played. It was a large, flat meadow in a valley behind the city and at each end there were two stone pillars a couple o
f yards apart. A number of mounted men were already there, carrying some sort of club with a long handle, which they were using to hit inflated pig's bladders.

  'The object, as you will already have understood I'm sure,' Laskaris said, 'is to knock the ball between the goal posts of the rival team, while preventing them from doing the same.'

  'How many in a team?' Jacopo asked. He was leading Phoenix, who had already tried twice to bite him.

  'It varies,' Laskaris answered casually. 'Each team can usually muster twenty men.'

  'Twenty!' Ranulph scanned the field. With forty riders competing for possession of the ball it was a recipe for chaos. 'How do you tell which team is which?'

  'By the colour of their tunics – blue for one, green for the other. It is a nod towards a less admirable part of our history. The colours came to stand for two different factions in the state. Once, centuries ago, a riot between the blues and the greens nearly brought down the great emperor Justinian. But in those days the sport was chariot racing, not tzykanion.'

  'But the rivalry is still keen?' Jacopo enquired.

  'Oh yes. Very keen.'

  'Who are the men who compete? Are they drawn from local families?' Ranulph asked.

  'Most of them are in the cavalry. It is seen as good training for cavalry manoeuvres. Of course, it originated on the battlefield. I'm told that, where the game began, centuries ago somewhere to the east, instead of a ball they used the head of a vanquished enemy.'

  'What are the rules?' Jacopo asked.

  'Rules? There are none. Officially, you are not supposed to strike at your opponent, or at his horse. But in the heat of the moment ….' Laskaris shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

  'I was told that this was closer to all out warfare than to sport,' Ranulph commented. 'Now I see what was meant.'

  'Closer?' Laskaris gave him an ironic smile. 'Oh no. You will find much less mercy on the tzykanion field than you would on the battle field. After all, there is no question of ransom here. Come, I will introduce you to your respective captains.'

  Ranulph was received civilly, if with some reserve, by his team mates. The captain was a compact, muscular man a few years older than him, with the straight nose and large dark eyes he had come to recognise as typical of the Byzantine Greeks. His name was Nicophorus, but he added with a disarming grin that Ranuph found appealing, 'It's a bit of a mouthful, so I'm always called Nikko.'