‘Will you guard the money for me, Freize?’ Brother Peter asked.
‘I’ll carry the orders too if you like,’ Freize grinned at him.
‘No. I don’t think that giving them to you would be to put them in safekeeping. I’ll keep the orders myself, and open them when I am commanded and not before. But I’d be glad to know that you were guarding the purse.’
Freize nodded, secretly pleased at being trusted. As Brother Peter handed over the heavy purse of gold, the lord turned to Luca. ‘I’ll talk with you privately before I leave,’ he said, and led the way into the dining room.
The stable lad was laying the fire. As the two men came in, he ducked his head in a bow and scuttled out. Luca closed the door behind him as the lord seated himself before the table, his back to the light, and gestured to the opposite chair. ‘You can sit,’ the lord said.
Luca obeyed and waited.
‘You have seen a lot,’ the man said to him. ‘You have completed four inquiries and seen some of the horror and the strangeness of the world in these dangerous times. And you have looked without flinching.’
‘I flinched when I saw the wave,’ Luca confessed. ‘I was very afraid.’
‘Fear is not a problem. Fear before something that is truly fearful is what will keep you alive. I was afraid when I found Radu Bey’s badge on my heart pinned by an Assassin. There are fearful things in this world, objects of terror. What I cannot tolerate among the men of my Order is fear of things before they happen, fear of things because they might happen, fear of things that probably won’t happen. You don’t suffer from fears like that?’
‘I’m not afraid of shadows on the wall,’ Luca said.
The dark eyes looked at him acutely. ‘What do you know of shadows on the wall?’
‘Radu Bey, the infidel lord said . . .’
‘Oh, he is well read indeed,’ the lord said crushingly. ‘I am sure we could all learn from him. He has had great teachers. He has given up his own soul, his immortal life so that he should know of this world. Look at his allies! He works with the Order of Assassins: what does that make him if not an Assassin himself?’
Luca was immediately silent, as the lord recovered his temper.
‘No matter. He is not important to us now. I am watching you, Luca Vero, and I am encouraged by what I see.’
Luca bowed his head, feeling absurdly pleased at the praise.
‘You are in obedience with my commands? You acknowledge the rule of the Order?’
‘I do.’
‘You understand the work that we are sworn to do, and you continue to do it?’
Luca nodded.
The lord drew his rosewood box towards him. ‘If you bare your arm, I will mark you with the first sign of the Order. As you progress I will complete the marks until the seal is completed, and then you will be a full member and may know me, know me by name, you will see my face, and you will know and work alongside other knights of the Order.’
Luca hesitated; he had a strange reluctance to take the mark on his arm.
‘You don’t want to? You hesitate before this honour?’
‘Is this like priestly vows? For I am not sure that I am prepared.’
The lord smiled. ‘No. Not really. Is that why you delay?’ He laughed to himself. ‘You are a young man indeed! No, in our Order you are not sworn to poverty – I am sending you to Venice as wealthy as a lord. You are not sworn to chastity – your private life is your own concern, between you and your confessor. I don’t concern myself with any sin or vice unless it affects your work for the Order.’
Luca blinked.
‘Remember that you did not complete your novitiate. You are not bound by the vows of a priest; you can choose to take your vows later.’
‘I was not sure . . .’
‘My Order only requires obedience. You must be obedient to me and to my commands and to our mission, which is to guard the frontier of Christendom from the Devil, the pagan and the heretic. You will be an Inquirer and a servant of the Order. How you obey the commandments is between you and your confessor and God. Do you submit to the Order?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Luca bowed his head.
There was a small gleam of a smile, and then the hooded figure moved to the newly-lit fire and took a taper from the flame. One by one he lit all the candles in the room and carried each one of them to the table, so that they were shining on Luca as he sat in broad daylight. In the rosewood box the lord had a set of bronze instruments like a set of embroidery needles, and a small pot of what looked like black ink.
‘Bare your arm,’ he said quietly.
Luca rolled back the sleeve of his robe, and stretched out his arm.
The lord took up a needle, sharp as a stiletto blade. ‘Whether you find your father or not, you have a family in this Order,’ he said quietly. ‘Whether you speak with the Muslim lord or not, you have no lord but me. Whether you travel with the woman or not, your heart is given to your work and to the mapping of fears and the tracing of the end of days. Whatever else you see on your journey, my command is that you look into the very jaws of hell itself and tell me their measurements. Will you do this?’
He pressed the point of the needle to Luca’s skin, inside the forearm, halfway between the crook of the elbow and the wrist, and Luca recoiled as he saw the blood well up and felt the sharp scratch.
‘I will,’ he gasped. He clenched his fist against the pain and watched as again and again the little blade cut and then scratched, opening up the skin, marking him lightly with a tickling sharp pain, making a shape, an unmistakable shape on the pale skin.
The pain deepened, as the cuts took a form. It was the tail of the dragon, exquisitely drawn by a knife on soft flesh. That was all: the first marks of the Order, the scaly tail outlined in the scarlet of Luca’s blood.
Luca looked at the drawing in blood, the detail in crimson, then the lord dropped his hooded head to Luca’s wound. Luca gasped as the lord’s soft mouth came down on his flesh. He felt the prickle of the stubble on his lord’s chin and upper lip, erotic as a kiss against his sensitive flesh. He felt the man’s teeth nibble the inside of his arm, felt the touch of his warm tongue on his raw skin. Luca felt the blood well into the lord’s mouth, as he sucked the flowing blood from the little wounds, then he felt the cool wetness of the man’s saliva as the lord raised his head and pulled his hood forwards over his face so that Luca only glimpsed for a moment his mouth, stained red, and the gleam of his black eyes.
Without comment, the lord lifted his head and took a tiny brush, dipped it in the pot of ink, and painted, with meticulous accuracy, over the lines he had cut, the wounds he had sucked. Then, he took a linen napkin from inside the box and pressed it against the red marks, now darkened with black ink. He raised his head and looked into Luca’s face. The younger man was pale and his brown eyes were darkened, his breath quick and shallow. The two of them stood in silence, as if something very strange and powerful had taken place.
‘There,’ said the lord, quietly. ‘I have marked you with my symbol. I have tasted your blood. You begin to belong to the Order. You begin to be mine.’
Read on for the next exciting adventure . . .
FOOLS’ GOLD
RAVENNA, SPRING 1461
The four horse riders halted before the mighty closed gates of the city of Ravenna, the snow swirling around their hunched shoulders, while the manservant Freize rode up to the wooden doors and, using his cudgel, hammered loudly and shouted: ‘Open up!’
‘You won’t forget what to say,’ Luca reminded him quickly.
Inside, they could hear the bolts being slowly slid open.
‘I should hope I can – though naturally truthful – tell a lie or two when required,’ Freize said with quiet pride, while Brother Peter shook his head that he should be so reduced as to depend on Freize’s ready dishonesty.
The gateway pierced the great wall that encircled the ancient city. The defences were newly rebuilt; the city’s conquerors, the
Venetians, were spreading their unique form of government – a republic – through all the neighbouring cities, fuelled by gold, driven by trade. Slowly the little sally-port door opened and a guard in the bright livery of the victors presented arms and waited for the travellers to request admission.
Freize launched himself into a mouthful of lies with ill-concealed relish. ‘My lord,’ he said, gesturing to Luca, ‘a young and wealthy nobleman from the west of Italy. His brother: a priest.’ He pointed to Brother Peter who was indeed a priest, but was serving as Luca’s clerk and had never met him before they were partnered on this mission. ‘His sister is the fair young lady.’ Freize gestured to the beautiful girl who was Lady Isolde of Lucretili, no relation at all to the handsome young man but travelling with him for safety. ‘And her companion the dark young lady is riding with her.’ Freize was nearest to the truth with this, for Ishraq had been Isolde’s friend and companion from childhood – now they were exiled together from their home, looking for a way to return. ‘While I am . . .’
‘Servant?’ the guard interrupted.
‘Factotum,’ Freize said, rolling the word around his mouth with quiet pride. ‘I am their general factotum.’
‘Going where?’ the guard demanded, putting out his hand for a letter which would describe them. Unblushingly, Freize produced the document sealed by Milord, the commander of their secret papal Order, which confirmed the lie that they were a wealthy young family going to Venice.
‘To Venice,’ Freize said. ‘And home again. God willing,’ he added piously.
‘Purpose of visit?’
‘Trade. My young master is interested in shipping and gold.’
The guard raised his eyebrows and shouted a command to the men inside the town. The great gate swung open as he stood deferentially to one side, bowing low as the party rode grandly inwards.
‘Why do we tell lies here?’ Ishraq asked Freize very quietly, bringing up the rear as servants should. ‘Why not wait till we get to Venice?’
‘Too late there,’ he said. ‘If Luca is going to pass for a wealthy young merchant in Venice someone might ask after his journey. Someone may see us here at the inn. We can say we came from Ravenna. If they bother to enquire, they can confirm here that we are a wealthy family and hope that they won’t trouble to look beyond, all the way back to Pescara.’
‘But if they do trace us back, beyond Pescara, to the village of Piccolo then they’ll learn that Luca is an Inquirer, working for the Pope himself, and you are his friend, and Brother Peter his clerk, and Isolde and I are no relation at all but just young women travelling with you for safety on our way to Isolde’s kinsman.’
Freize scowled. ‘If we had known that Luca’s master would have wanted him to travel disguised we could have started this whole journey with new clothes, spending money like lords. But since he only condescended to inform us at Piccolo, we have to take the risk. I will buy us some rich elegant capes and hats here in Ravenna and we’ll have to get the rest of our clothes in Venice.’
The guard pointed the way they should go, towards the best inn of the town, and they found it easily, a big building against the wall of the great castle, on the little hill above the market square. Freize jumped down from his horse and left it standing, as he opened the door and bellowed for service for his master, then he came back out and held the horses while Luca, Lady Isolde and Brother Peter swept into the inn and ordered two private bedrooms and a private dining room, as befitted their great rank. Freize helped Ishraq down from her horse and she went quickly after her mistress as Freize led all the horses and the pack donkey round to the stable yard.
As they settled into their rooms they could hear the bells of the churches chiming for Vespers all over the city, the air loud with their clamour, birds whirling into the sky from the many towers. Isolde went to the window, rubbed the frost away from the panes, and watched Brother Peter and Luca leave the inn and head towards the church through the occasional swirls of light snow.
‘Aren’t you going to church?’ Ishraq asked, surprised, as Isolde was usually very devout.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Isolde said. ‘I couldn’t concentrate tonight.’
Ishraq did not need to ask her friend why she was so distracted; she only watched her gaze follow the young man as he strode down the cobbled street.
When the men came back from Mass they all dined together in the private room, Freize bringing up food from the kitchen. When he had spread all the plates, the pie, the pitadine – a sort of pancake with rich savoury toppings – the venison haunch, the roast ham, the braised chicken and the sweetbreads, on the table, he stood by the door, the very picture of a deferential servant.
‘Freize: eat with us,’ Luca commanded.
‘I’m supposed to be your general factotum,’ Freize repeated the grand word. ‘Or servant.’
‘No one can see,’ Isolde pointed out. ‘And it feels odd when you don’t sit down. I like you to eat with us, Freize.’
There was no need for her to repeat the invitation. Freize pulled up a chair, took a plate and started to serve himself generously.
‘Besides, this way you’ll get two dinners,’ Ishraq pointed out to him with a little smile. ‘One now, and one in the kitchen later.’
‘A working man needs to keep up his strength,’ Freize said cheerfully, buttering a thick slice of bread and sinking his white teeth into it. ‘What’s Ravenna like?’
‘Old,’ Luca remarked. ‘The little that I have seen of it so far. A great city, wonderful churches, as beautiful as Rome in some parts. But before we leave tomorrow I want to go to the tomb of Galla Placidia.’
‘Who’s that?’ Isolde asked him.
‘She was a very great lady in ancient times, and she prepared herself a great tomb that the priest at church told me to go and see. He says it is very beautiful inside, with mosaics from floor to ceiling.’
‘I should like to see that!’ Ishraq remarked and then flushed, anxious that Isolde would think that she was trying to get into Luca’s company.
As soon as Isolde saw her friend’s embarrassment she blushed too and said quickly: ‘Oh but you must go! Go with Luca while I pack our bags for the journey. Why don’t the two of you go in the morning?’
Brother Peter looked from one red-cheeked girl to another as if they were troubling beings from another world altogether. ‘What on earth is the matter with you now?’ he asked wearily.
‘If you are to pass as my sister and Ishraq as your servant then you had both better come and see the tomb,’ Luca said, quite blind to the girls’ embarassment. ‘And surely Ishraq should always accompany you, Isolde, when you are walking around a strange city. You should always have a lady-in-waiting.’
‘And in any case, we can’t go halfway across Christendom with you two carrying on like this,’ Freize said gently.
‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Luca looked from one to another, noticing their confusion for the first time. ‘What’s going on?’
There was an awkward silence. ‘We had a disagreement,’ Isolde said awkwardly. ‘Before we left Piccolo. Actually, I was in the wrong.’
‘You two quarrel?’ Luca exclaimed. ‘But I’ve never known you quarrel. What’s it all about?’
Freize, who knew that they had quarrelled over Luca, stepped into the silence. ‘Lasses,’ he said generally to the table. ‘Often upset about one thing or another. Highly strung. Like the little donkey. Think they know their own mind even when it’s not quite right.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous!’ Ishraq said crossly. She turned to Isolde. ‘I should want everything to be as it was between us, and anything else will work itself out.’
Isolde, her eyes on the table, nodded her fair head. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, her voice low. ‘I was utterly wrong.’
‘That’s all right then,’ Freize said with the air of a man having brought about a diplomatic compromise in a difficult situation. ‘Glad I settled it. No need to thank me.’
‘You had bette
r pray for patience,’ Brother Peter said crossly to the two girls. ‘God knows, I have to.’ He rose from the table and went solemnly out of the room. As the door closed behind him the four young people exchanged rueful smiles.
‘But what was the matter?’ Luca persisted.
Freize shook his head at him, indicating he should be silent. ‘Best left alone,’ he advised. ‘Like the little donkey when it has finally settled itself down.’
‘Anyway, it’s over,’ Isolde ruled, ‘and we should go to bed as well.’
As soon as she rose to her feet Luca held open the door for her and followed her out into the hall. ‘You’re not upset with me, about anything?’ he asked her quietly.
She shook her head. ‘I was quite at fault with Ishraq. She told me that she had held you in her arms for comfort, when you were grieving, and I was angry with her.’
‘Why would you be angry?’ he asked, though his heart was hammering in his chest, hoping that he had guessed her answer.
She raised her face and looked at him honestly, her dark blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. ‘Alas, I was jealous,’ she said simply. He saw her little, rueful, smile. ‘Jealous like a fool,’ she confessed.
‘You were jealous that she held me in her arms?’ he said very low.
‘Yes.’
‘Because you and I have never held each other close?’
‘Well, we cannot,’ she reasoned. ‘You are promised to the priesthood and I was born a lady. I can’t go around kissing people. Not like Ishraq. She’s free to behave as she wants.’
‘But you do want me to hold you?’ He stepped closer and whispered the question against her blonde hair, so that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
She could not say the word, she merely leaned her head towards him.
Very gently, very softly, as if he was afraid of startling her, Luca put one arm around her slim waist and the other round her shoulders and drew her close. Isolde rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes to savour the intense pleasure that rushed through her as she felt the length of his lithe body against her, and the strength in his arms as they tightened around her.
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