by Ken Hood
"Sir Tobias! By what right do you give my daughter orders? You know who she is."
"I do know who she is. I swore to defend her against all foes, and that includes stupidity. Do you want everyone to know who she is?"
Probably no one had addressed Queen Blanche like that since she was a child at her father's court. A hint of true color appeared under the face powder. "You are being offensive!"
"You leave me no choice. We suggested a story to your daughter, a plausible explanation of who she is and who you are and why she is under Hamish Campbell's protection. If I must drop to my knees every time I speak to you, or if you behave as though this camp is your personal estate, then people will gossip. It is almost impossible to keep a secret in this country, my lady. You and your daughter are newsworthy. If you will not be guided by me, then I may as well take you into Florence right away and deliver you to the Marradi Palace. You will be a welcome guest there until the Fiend's agents are ready to kidnap you again."
She had a glare to match the don's, but the effect was spoiled by a tremble in her lower lip. "I am a lady. I cannot behave like the wife of a fish merchant."
"I do not suggest you try. Gentry in exile can retain their self-respect without drawing attention to themselves. We have a marchioness and two baronesses here in the camp. A Bohemian princess and the former Queen of Burgundy reside in Florence. I would present them to you and ask them to give you lessons, but I don't trust the men they are living with. There are many exiled ladies of rank in Italy. Their menfolk did not fare as well, but we have some of those around also. One knight in the Company is the pretender to the throne of France."
"I need no lessons from them or anyone." Her voice was shriller than before. "I have been a fugitive since you were a child, Constable. I have always lived as a lady and expected to be treated as one. Furthermore, I have a duty to rear my daughter in a style appropriate to her rank so she will be competent to take up her inheritance when the Fiend is overthrown. You realize that I have been bereft of my entire wardrobe, all my jewels, my money? What steps are you taking to recover those for me?"
"None, ma'am. Your enemy in Siena was a notable hexer. Any attempt to recover them would lead him to you, and what you recovered would probably be poisoned by gramarye. For your own safety and Lady Lisa's I must ask you to resign yourself to your losses and just be thankful that you both survived your terrible experiences unharmed."
She chewed her lip for a moment. He despised himself as a bully, but he could see no kindness in lying to her. Her only hope of survival was to face the brutal realities of her situation. By coming to Italy, she had left herself without a back door to use when her husband came in the front.
"I require at least two maids, separate sleeping chambers for Lisa and myself—with some decent furniture—a wardrobe of suitable garments, and a personal steward. The use of a carriage, postilion, and footmen two or three times a week. This is an absolute minimum. Anything less is a flagrant insult to my rank and person."
To laugh would be unkind. To ask her how Nevil would treat her if he caught her would be sadistic. She was a tired and very frightened woman.
"I shall see what can be arranged, ma'am. I had no warning of your arrival. Sister Bona—"
"Has children! Cohabits with a friar!"
"Can keep her mouth shut."
They traded glares.
Queen Blanche looked away first. "Very well. Sister Bona?"
"Will assist you, ma'am. I shall have our treasurer allocate funds for your maintenance. I do believe you are as safe here as you can be anywhere in Italy. Chancellor Campbell is currently—"
"Is it true," she inquired in a markedly different tone, "that he is a younger son of the Earl of Argyll?"
Toby wanted to shy like Smeòrach meeting a thrush, but he managed to keep his feet on the ground. Whose invention was this? He hoped it was Lisa's. Doubtless Hamish plied many wiles and stratagems on the battlefield of love, but no man should stoop as low as that.
"Ma'am, please! I told you that secrets are never safe in this country—every leaf whispers to the wind. If the Fiend were to hear that a son of the earl were fighting against him, then his entire family would suffer for it, and perhaps the entire Clan Campbell also."
"Ah, of course!" The countess nodded, apparently convinced. "He is a remarkable young man, isn't he?"
"He is indeed," Toby said with confidence. Was she unusually gullible, or was he gaining some skill at lying? He had not actually lied, of course, merely stated an irrelevant truth.
Evidently it was to be peace for now. She managed a shaky smile. "I admit I am impressed by some of your associates, Sir Tobias. Lisa tells me Baron Oreste is one of them, my old friend."
"He played a major role in your rescue, ma'am, but he has not yet returned from—"
"There he is!" roared the don, striding in through the gate with a dozen men at his heels.
Toby summed them up in a glance. Three of them were the don's personal squires, who would do anything he told them. Four were senior knights, squadrieri in the cavalry—Baldassare Barrafranca and D'Anjou and a couple of other troublemakers—and they, too, had brought minions to handle dirty work. Conspicuous among the supporting cast was the toothless leer of Ippolito Varano, the Company hangman, a cold-blooded horror who had not yet had the pleasure of hanging any of its members but had flogged a few. He and some others were carrying ropes. They spread out as if to come at Toby from both sides, but by that time, Constable Longdirk had his back to a brick wall, a stool in his left hand, and his sword in his right. Everyone stopped to evaluate the situation.
"Good morning, Your Excellencies," he said. "I do not recall summoning you."
The don's eyes had been crazy enough even before that remark. "You do not summon me, peasant!"
"That is true, signore. Your companions I can summon, though, and I can also dismiss. Leave us, gentlemen."
That was not strictly true, but although Toby had no real rank, he had considerable standing, and the rest of the Company would create a substantial fracas if the don and his toadies dragged him out to the gallows or whipping post. They would rather do whatever they intended here in the courtyard. He did not intend to be hanged this morning.
The countess rose from her grand chair and walked away, sensible lady. She was doubtless reconsidering her favorable opinion of Signor Longdirk's associates. No one spared her a glance.
"Bind him!" the don roared. "A hundred lashes!" That he was crazy had always been obvious, but until now he had tempered his delusions enough to let reality work around them.
"The first and second men to touch me die," Toby said, and was relieved when no one moved. His sword was two-edged, long as any rapier, and wrought of good Toledo steel, but he was no greased-lightning foils man like Hamish, who might be able to restrict his defense to inflicting minor wounds. He was a slugger and would kill with it. They knew that. "I remind you that we are all bound by the terms of engagement, and any man who breaks them must answer to the whole Company. Only a properly convened court can order me or anyone else flogged. Now, Signor Ramon, will you kindly reveal what has provoked your anger?"
"You deceived me!"
"Never, signore."
"Where is the hexer? Where is Oreste?"
Try to look surprised, dummy...
"I do not recall discussing the maestro with you in the last week, so how can I have lied about him? Last night he went to Siena. So far as I know he is still there." Not quite a lie.
"He died there!"
Now try to look disbelieving. He hoped Hamish had not strayed from the agreed story, or he might be about to save his own neck at the cost of putting Hamish's in the noose. "Sad news, if true! Who says so, senor?"
"All Florence knows!"
Not Hamish's doing, then. Toby threw down the stool and sheathed his sword. He felt the wind change as he did so—men shuffled feet and exchanged glances. "Florence is a stew pot of rumors, senor, always. If Maestro Fischart died in
Siena last night, how could the news possibly have reached here already? I shall be happy to discuss the matter further with you in private. Kindly dismiss your escort."
Don Ramon turned on his heel. The crowd opened to let him through, then slunk after him. The confrontation was over, but not the trouble. His wretched Castilian pride had suffered, and he was quite clever enough to guess that he was being kept in the dark. It was fortunate that nobility could not duel with the lowborn, else he would certainly call Longdirk out and fill him full of holes. For the first time in Toby's experience, the don had lost his temper and made a fool of himself. There was nothing to be done about it now.
Word of the quarrel would be all over Florence within the hour.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was all over the camp in much less time than that, of course. Toby sent for Colin McPhail, who was taciturn and surly and had more brains in his elbow than most men had in their heads, and ordered him to ride like the wind into Florence to find Hamish and warn him of the problem. Then he summoned Diaz and Arnaud for that delayed discussion of the ledgers.
The three of them were still chewing their nails over the account books when the don came striding back into the courtyard. They sprang to their feet, as was expected of them.
"Constable!" The crazy blue eyes sparkled too brightly, but there was no frenzy in them now and no armed mob at his back. Evidently he had adjusted reality to fit his needs. "Rumors are going around Florence that the baron was slain in some sort of spiritual duel in Siena last night."
Diaz and Arnaud must have heard of the morning's argument, for they went very still, looking nowhere.
Toby frowned. "That is bad news. Hamish was worried about him."
The don bared his teeth but held on to his temper. "He did not mention anything to me."
"I ordered him to be discreet. He may have construed my instructions too rigidly. You understand that he returned here yesterday? With his customary efficiency, he had located the abode of the sordid Gonzaga in Siena. When Maestro Fischart heard of this, he decided to go and neutralize the hexer before he achieved his nefarious ends, whatever they might be. Hamish agreed to return to Siena, show the learned adept the house, then come back here. In the instant before he left Siena, he saw a brilliant flash and heard a dreadful sound. He was not sure what this portended. Hence my command that he make no comment until we had confirmation of events."
Who said he couldn't tell lies? The problem was whether his lies would be believed, and the don's scowl was discouraging on that score.
"The rumors speak of a demonic battle, monsters in the streets, dead men and horses, extensive material damage, and also of a dramatic sword fight. The baron was no swordsman."
Toby frowned, which was not difficult, and shrugged, which was, and sweated, which he did not intend to. "Campbell may have withheld some of the details. At times he displays a foolish tendency to excessive modesty."
The don glared, snarled something unintelligible in Castilian, and stalked out of the courtyard.
The remaining three resumed their seats in delicate silence, nobody meeting anyone else's eye. Diaz stabbed a finger at the open ledger.
"Next item," he said. "One hundred shovels, four ducats."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the fifth day of her stay in the villa, Lisa came prancing out... was prancing a suitable gait for the rightwise born Queen of all England? Perhaps something equally eager but more dignified—sweeping, say?
On the fifth day of her stay in the villa, Lady Lisa swept out to the stable yard in the new riding costume of forest green linen she had ordered on her first shopping trip into Florence with Hamish—one of three such outfits, all of which had been delivered last night, together with the fur-trimmed hats and cloaks she had bought on the second day... all charged to condottiere Longdirk's credit by Hamish.
There he was, waiting for her with Eachan and Dapple already saddled. She was a little late. Ladies were expected to be late. Sometimes even this late. Hamish tended to be early, which was appropriate behavior for a gentleman, but today he might have been earlier than usual, for he was leaning one arm wearily on Eachan's neck and staring morosely at the mire as if he had taken root. Then he sensed her approach and glanced up, and the flood of joy that then transformed his face was extremely flattering. She would forgive him for being early.
"My lady!" He gazed at her with an awe so overpowering that she would have dismissed it as faked in any other man, but she knew Hamish was always genuine. "You are... You are unbelievably beautiful in that outfit. Artemis herself." He took her fingers and kissed them. Yesterday, when they had dismounted to rest the horses, she had kissed his lips. He had told her sternly never to do that again. Naturally she had done so again, at once—and was planning to do much the same again today as soon as she got the chance.
Realizing that she had not spoken yet—had, in fact, been smiling at him all this time as witlessly as a stuffed owl—she belatedly said, "Thank you, sir."
"How fares your mother this morning, my lady?" He led the horses over to the mounting block.
"Sleeping. Sister Bona still isn't worried." Lisa would have been quite frantic had this happened in the villa in Savoy, or even in Siena, but here she had advisors, and Sister Bona was a very comforting, competent-seeming sort of person. If the countess wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep, she said, then it would do her no harm. And that was exactly what Mother was doing, all day, all night. It was worrying, but it did allow her daughter time to engage in healthy exercise, such as long rides with Master Campbell. Two a day. Three yesterday.
"She probably has a lot of sleep to catch up on," Hamish said with one of those irresistible smiles that quirked the corners of his mouth into almost-dimples. "Fourteen years."
"That's absurd!" Lisa settled on the saddle and took the reins.
"Not completely. I read once—" He pulled himself up short, grinned at her before she could tease, then swung up nimbly on to Eachan's back. "She probably feels safer here than she has felt in years, so she's catching up on her sleep. Let's make the most of it. Would you like to see the Roman theater?"
"What's on the playbill?"
Hamish's laugh never really started. A large speckled horse came trotting into the yard with the huge and ominous figure of Longdirk on its back, heading for them.
Lisa glanced at her companion, and her heart sank like a rock. "You look like a schoolboy caught playing truant."
"That's exactly what I am."
"Fair morning, my lady," Longdirk said. As always, his face was infuriatingly unreadable.
She nodded without bothering to hide her displeasure.
Hamish just sighed, and said, "Where, when, what, who?"
"I hate to drag you away from important pleasure," the big man told him solemnly, "but it has to be you, and milady can't tag along."
Lisa was shocked at how the day darkened. Being separated from Hamish for very long was unbearable. Did this overgrown barbarian realize the suffering he was causing her?
"Lucas Abonio," he said. "You know his residence? Take every conspicuous precaution to make sure no one sees you entering or leaving."
Hamish opened his mouth, then shut it with a click. "And what furtive message do I whisper to His Excellency?"
Longdirk shrugged. "Tell him about Babylonian chariot racing or that procession of equine oxen that interests you. You'll think of something."
"Italy has not been good for you. You used to be a nice straightforward boy." Hamish turned to Lisa, then glanced down at Longdirk's horse as if noticing it for the first time.
"Yes," the big man said. "It is a plot to get you out of the way. Writhe in jealous rage all you want, but go and see Abonio."
"Heartless swine," Hamish said sadly. "You'll be safe with him, dearest, but he doesn't know a Roman theater from a hole in the ground." Then he made a brave attempt at a grin and urged Eachan into a canter.
"The Roman theater is just a hole in the ground," Long
dirk said. "Not worth wasting time on. I know more interesting places to visit."
"I believe I will wait until Master Campbell returns."
"No you won't. I have something to show you. Come along."
—|—
Thus it was that Lisa found herself being escorted across the meadows by the condottiere himself that nippy spring morning, her wishes in the matter having been totally disregarded. She would have objected more strongly had she had anything better to do, or if the Highland gorilla were less intimidating. He scared her, but she was never going to admit that, even to herself. And she hated the way he ordered Hamish around, sending him off to Florence like a flunky just to... to what, exactly?
The two of them rode in silence for a while. Then Longdirk suddenly pointed at the plain below. "The large dome is the sanctuary, of course. And the tower beside it is the campanile." He went on to point out the main landmarks in the city and then those outside—villages, hills, roads, naming every one and adding pertinent information. As the trail entered an olive grove he glanced around at her. "You smile, ma'am?"
"Oh, pray forgive me! I was just remembering how you chide Master Campbell for lecturing."
He blinked. "His lectures come out of books. I learned all this on horseback."
"Then you must write a book." That stopped him! "Who is Lucas Abonio?" she inquired, brazenly pressing her advantage.
Peering down from his much greater height, he studied her in silence for a moment, as if she were an errant piece of ordnance. "This must be in confidence."
"Oh, I have no wish to pry, Constable! I should not have presumed to—"
"He is the Milanese ambassador to Florence."
She considered that answer for about four olive trees. "This is a secret?"
