Ariosto

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Their embrace was greeted by cheers from all those gathered at the feast. Even the servants raised their voices in approval, and two of the dogs scavenging under the long tables barked loudly enough to be heard over the commotion.

  At last Lodovico turned to the assembly, his hands raised for silence. “Good friends! Citizens of Nuova Genova!” he shouted and waited for them to become quiet once again. “It is a fine thing to have such dedication, but it is better still if we remember that it is God Who will give us the victory, if we are worthy. Let us kneel and commend ourselves to His care for this venture.” Then, with profound humility, Lodovico rose from the table and went to the seat of the old bishop who served in the Cathedral of Santissimo Redentore There he knelt with enviable grace, and lowered head to be blessed.

  The entire company followed his example, kneeling beside their chairs. Even the Cérocchi who attended the banquet listened in awe as the venerable Ambrosian priest pronounced his benediction in a surprisingly resonant voice. “You who will go among the servants of Satan,” he thundered in Latin, “and you will take with you the shining sword of the Archangel Michael, for as Michael triumphed over the Devil and bound him forever in Hell with the Might of God, even so you, with the power of virtue within you, will triumph over this vile spawn of sin.” He made the sign of the Cross over Lodovico, and then over the rest of the company.

  The Cerocchi looked solemn, and the Italians went silent as they considered the dangers that waited them. One of the Frenchmen was seen to turn pale.

  Lodovico sensed this mood, and he looked at those gathered for this impressive feast; he was a fine sight—tall, magnificently attired, his collar with the Order San Basillo hanging on a wide gold chain glinting in torchlight, his face alight with zeal. His bright gaze rested a moment on the face of each of the men who were congregated in this hall. “Comrades! Do not let yourselves fall prey to fear now. It is certain that you know far better than I what we must face in the vast and unknown lands where the forces of the Fortezza Serpente live. Yet, the falcon”—here he nodded toward the Cérocchi Prince—”has always been the enemy of serpents and he will strike valiantly at his enemy, with all the might of his blood and his honor. And are we not promised by God that those who fight in His Name will have victory over their foes? Take heart then, my comrades, and be sure our cause is just and our triumph assured.”

  Andrea Bend could not speak for the tears that rose in his eyes. He took Lodovico’s nearer hand and wrung it fervently.

  “Oh, no,” said Ariosto, “old friend, no weeping. This is a joyous time.” He looked from the Podestà to the guests at the banquet. “For to how many of us is it given the privilege to face the enemies of God? Even those who will fall in battle, as must happen to some of us, surely, will have earned themselves a place at the Right Hand of God among the Saints and Martyrs. I tell you now, I would rather die transfixed by a Serpente lance than live to old age in decadent luxury and die forsaken by the world and without the comfort of the promised Glory of God. What true warrior could wish for any death but that gained in honorable combat? What true Christian could desire anything more than to give his life in a cause that is the same as the cause of God Himself?” He turned toward Falcone. “The Cérocchi follow their own gods, but we know them to be men of valor and worthy of this great task. Surely God will not despise them if they war on His behalf in this cause, for it is the way of fighting men to show their valor through worthy deeds and the opportunity to gain in strength. Then let each of you Italians make a brother of every Cerocchi warrior, so that like the great fighters of old, like Achilles and Hector and that staunch Roman Horatius, like the great knights Roland and Oliver, like the Spanish Cid who drove the heathen from his land, we, too, may stand for all time as the measure of bravery mixed with courage, of fidelity and devotion.”

  Falcone had come forward, the jewels of his clothes shimmering where the light caught them. Without a word, he took the dagger from his ornamented sheath and held it out to Lodovico.

  “Ah!” Lodovico clapped him on the shoulder, took the dagger and kissed the blade before offering his poignard to the Cerocchi Prince. Falcone accepted the poignard and put it into his ornamented sheath, though it fit badly.

  Now the hall was once again filled with cheers. The old bishop rose and pronounced the Benediction as Lodovico heard his own battle cry “Omaggio” shouted back at him like the thunder of waves.

  It was well into the night when the festivities ended and the men of Nuova Genova went to seek their beds. Lodovico stood in the empty hail, watching a few of the palazzo dogs fight over the remains of a haunch venison. He had found he could not sleep, so full was his heart. His hand rested on the hilt of Falcone’s dagger and he felt the same stirring of gratitude and humility that had nearly overcome him at the banquet.

  “Troubled?” asked a voice behind him.

  Lodovico turned quickly and saw Falcone standing in the doorway, a cape of tooled leather around his shoulders covering the finery he had worn earlier.

  “No, not troubled,” Lodovico answered after a thoughtful moment. “I am often made to remember how fine our men can be.” He put his thumbs into the soft belt at his waist. “As I watched the men give their vows tonight, I was deeply moved…recalling it moves me now.”

  “Do you think it will go well?” Falcone asked, coming into the hall with silent tread.

  “I hope it will.” He stared down at the floor, doubts welling within him as he considered the magnitude of the venture to which they were now committed. He had seen dedicated men cut down by the fearsome horsemen of the Great Mandarin casually as a peasant scythed down grain. Though he would never say so aloud, he knew inwardly that the selfsame fate could be waiting for all of them at the hands of the men of the Fortezza Serpente.

  “Hope?” Falcone said gently.

  “It’s all I can do, my Prince. Flying here, I could see how enormous this land is. The wilderness is endless, and what might befall us there?” His handsome face was thoughtful now, and though there was no fear in him, he admitted to an inner caution. “You know this country far better than any of us, and certainly better than I, who have just arrived. I have heard tales of mountains and rivers so long and so formidable that most will not dare to cross them. From the air such things should be easier, enabling us to discover what lies ahead without having to confront it at once, but I would be a fool to say that there is no challenge to us.”

  “Your mount…” the Cerocchi prince began, then faltered. “We have only just seehorses in this land, and your mount is more than that.”

  “He is part gryphon,” Lodovico explained. “There has long been a legend of this animal. It was said that Roland himself rode such a steed, but there was no proof. And then, when I was with the expedition in the Orient, I learned more and eventually found the animals in a remote valley high in the mountains. It took every bit of gold I possessed to get two young ones, but I was convinced it would be worth it.”

  Falcone’s eyes glowed. “I have learned to ride a horse,” he said with a grin. “I am sure that I could ride your animal as well.”

  The confidence of this statement made Lodovico laugh. “I hope that you can. We will need men who are capable of all military arts if we are to succeed in our plan.”

  “The troop ships…” Falcone was serious once again. “Are they coming, truly?”

  “Yes. It takes time to cross the ocean, even when the weather is favorable. Il Primàrio gave his word, and that is the surest bond this side of the Word of God.” He saw the skeptical expression in the Cérocchi’s painted face. “That’s true, Falcone. Il Primàrio is a good and just leader who does not treat his people badly. He has said that the might of Italia Federata will stand behind all those in Nuovo Genova and he will not forsake us.”

  “But Italia Federata is far away, and we have heard that there are other demands on il Primàrio. If other matters intervene, we might be set aside…”

  Precisely that possibili
ty had worried Lodovico since he had left Firenze, but he refused to voice it now. “He is not the sort of man who abjures his promise.”

  Falcone’s smile tightened and his lips grew thin. “I don’t know what to respond then. I do not wish to insult you, Ariosto, but you must allow me my reservations.”

  Lodovico nodded. “I understand them, my friend, far better than you might think. When I was far away and fighting in the distant kingdoms of the East, I often despaired. Yet dispatches reached us, and we were not abandoned to our fates by our homeland. It’s because of that expedition that I can give you my word that the troop ships will come, and if more aid is needed, I will have it provided for us all.” As he spoke, he hoped inwardly that would be true. In the case of his Oriental expedition there had been the promise of treasure and the glory of rediscovering the splendor of the East. But this unknown and uncharted land might prove to be matter if the campaign should prove to be long and unprofitable. If that occurred, the Console of Italia Federata might move to withdraw the troops, leaving the Cerocchi and their allies to face the men of the Fortezza Serpente alone. No! He made a sudden gesture that startled Falcone. He would not allow that to happen. If necessary, he himself would plead the case of the Cerocchi and the men of Nuova Genova before the Console. He realized that Falcone was staring at him, and he managed to smile.

  “Your face…” the Cérocchi prince said tentatively.

  “Not very pretty to look at, was it?” Lodovico asked ruefully and stood straighter. “You must forgive me. My thoughts are…are scattered tonight. Tomorrow, when my mind is clearer we will talk again and you have the chance to look over Bellimbusto’s points for yourself.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the Cerocchi Prince. “It is an honor to be allowed to fight with you, Falcone. Whatever the outcome of our battles I will always be proud to know that you were willing to regard me as your comrade-at-arms.”

  Falcone nodded, saying nothing but touching poignard that hung in his dagger’s sheath.

  Andrea Benci was nodding in his chair before the fire when Lodovico finally knocked at the door to his chamber. “Oh, Ariosto. I had thought you might come earlier.”

  “I was with Falcone,” Lodovico explained, an appreciative twinkle in his large, expressive eyes. “I must apologize for keeping you up so long, but I felt it was important to talk with the prince.”

  “Of course, of course,” Andrea Benci agreed hastily. “You’re quite right to do that. These Cérocchi are proud as Austrians. And I don’t mind waiting.”

  Lodovico let that polite mendacity pass. “We must discuss what is to be done first. Certainly I must go and tender formal homage to Falcone’s father. We must also think what is to be done with the troops when they arrive. They must be given quarters of their own and informed what rules obtain to them in the city.”

  Andrea Benci was wagging his head up and down, but it was clear that the old man had not considered the half of these problems. He gave a little cry of dismay and put his hands to his temples. “So much to do. So little time!”

  The fire had burned low and the two lanterns were almost exhausted, so the room was very dim, but Lodovico thought he saw moisture gather in the old man’s eyes. “There will be enough time,” he said at his most reassuring.

  “I do hope so,” Andrea Benci muttered to the air. “I am afraid, Ariosto.”

  This simple confession filled Lodovico with pity for the old man. “We all know fear, Andrea,” he said quiet1y. “I have never been in battle when I was not afraid. You have a very real danger facing you and the outcome is unsure. In addition to that, there are many people here who depend on you for your wisdom and advice. Of course such responsibilities weigh heavily upon you—you are a good man and will not turn away from them.” He sank into the chair opposite Andrea Benci, sighing as he did.

  “But you,” Benci protested, unbelieving. “You are a great hero. Surely you’ve mastered your fear?”

  “I pray that I will, before every battle,” he said softly, looking at his clasped hands. “I know that I must not allow my fear to conquer me, for then I would be at the mercy of the enemy. Only they must be allowed triumph over me, not my fear.” His smile was sad. “I have too often seen what happens to men who surrender to their fears.”

  “If you are afraid, then how can the rest of us gain courage?” the old man asked, bewildered.

  “As I do—as any warrior does. You must learn not to be stopped by it, but to go on in spite of it.” He studied the Podestà with compassion. “You’ve never had to face this before, have you?”

  “Never,” the old man said miserably. “I was not in Firenze when there was trouble with anyone. I’ve spent most of my life dealing with import and export matter not wars.” His arthritic fingers locked and unlocked as if performing a private ritual of their own.

  “War is not really so different. Most of the time it a dull thing. An army on the march is not much different from a group of merchants who are carrying wares, except that most soldiers are rougher men than merchants. We worry as much about food and bedding as you do, Andrea Benci. The rain wets us as much and is as annoying. The cold freezes us and the heat scorches. You must not think of soldiers as men unlike any others.” He chuckled once.

  Andrea Benci’s brow furrowed. “As you say,” he murmured. “I have little experience with soldiers. In Firenze the Lanzi were not often involved with merchants.” It was almost an apology and the old man at last dared to meet Lodovico’s eyes. “I will talk with the Signoria tomorrow.”

  It was good to see the Podestà put his mind to this task at last. Lodovico allowed himself the pleasure being relieved. He felt now that Andrea Benci won be on the side of the fighters. To be sure of this, he added, “We cannot afford to lose this battle, not if Italia Federata is to have the lead in exploring this magnificent new land. The Spanish and the French would like it if we failed. Therefore, we must succeed.”

  “Yes,” Benci said, somewhat numbly. “There have been Spanish vessels here from time to time. We have been anxious to let them land, but there was little could do without open conflict since the Spanish want to gain ground in the New World” He tried to shrug this off, squaring his stooped shoulders for Lodovico’s benefit. “With you here, it will be different,” he declared. “Our people will rally to your leadership.”

  “I hope they may. That is why I was sent—to mobilize our forces and our allies against the foes of the Cerocchi.” Lodovico got to his feet and favored Andrea Benci with a courteous bow. “We must talk again, Podestà Benci, but tonight, I fear I am tired.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at the old man who was all but snoring. “A long flight like that and I am exhausted.”

  “Um. Of course.” The old man made a feeble gesture of dismissal. “Don’t stay on my account.” His voice had almost trailed away on the last words, and as Lodovico reached the door, he could see Andrea Benci’s jaw drop onto his chest as he was at last unable to resist the sleep that had been hovering around him like a swarm of moths.

  Lodovico found his chamber. He could not bring himself to wake the bodyservant who had been assigned to him, but tugged himself out of his clothes and stored them in the trunk at the foot of the enormous bed he had been provided. He could tell that the mattress was filled with goose feathers and would be soft as merengue to sleep upon, and that promise tempted him. When he had donned his nightshift, he knelt and bowed his head for his nightly devotions.

  “In the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen,” he said, as he had every night since he was old enough to speak. “It has pleased You to send me to aid these afflicted people in this strange and distant land, away from my family and my country. Whatever burden You give me, I will carry it with a glad and humble heart and will, with Your help, so conduct myself as to be worthy of the honor. Should it be Your intention to see me fall in battle, I ask that You will forgive my sins, which must surely blacken my soul and make it ugly to You; to that end, You will purge me of evil that I will at
last be sufficiently acceptable to You that I may stand in the splendor and radiance that is glorious forever. If my sins offend You too greatly, then I beseech You that You will let my right arm falter so that I will die at enemies’ hands and be cast into the outer darkness for all eternity.” He stopped a moment, the terrible desolation of his petition weighing on him. The contemplation of that ultimate isolation appalled him the way no armed enemy could. “Lord God, if You deem me worthy, spare me that perpetual condemnation.” He had spoken more loudly than he knew, and it was startling to him. How must it feel, he thought, to be one of the warriors of the Fortezza Serpente and have nothing to meet at death but that awful, endless darkness? The flames of Hell, he knew, would be preferable to such total abandonment.. “I submit myself to Your Will,” he whispered.

  When he had finished his prayers, he rose and pulled back the coverings of the bed. The petals of sweet-scented flowers had been scattered on the silken sheets; as Lodovico sank back into the lovely softness, he sensed he would have the same, wonderful dream again. There was a smile on his mouth as he let the perfume of the petals and the embracing luxury of the feather bed lift and carry him into the delicious visions of private paradise.

  La Realtà

  Alessandra had not repaired his sleeve, Lodovico noticed as he began to secure the fastening of his belted giornea. He saw that the brocaded panels of his bodice were more frayed than they had been a few months ago, and he sighed. There was a run in his silken calzebrache and the heels were sadly discolored. He consoled himself with the thought that his shoes, though scuffed, would cover the worst of that. He knew there was no way to repair the leggings in time for the reception, and the knowledge annoyed him. It was bad enough that he lacked inches and that his face was as rough-hewn as a bust by a novice sculptor, to have to dress shabbily was an affront to his dignity and position. He flipped the threads where the knot of pearls should have been and sighed more deeply this time.