by Ken Hood
Now he commandeered a minor dining room and demanded fast service. While waiting for results, he explained: "The Fiend has fallen into a brilliantly planned trap. Yesterday he brought his two armies together at Florence. This morning he was taken by surprise when comandante Longdirk attacked. The battle still rages, but I am confident that Nevil is doomed to a major defeat."
"Praise to the spirits!" Blanche cried, dramatically clasping hands under her chin.
"So the big man really is a military genius?" Lisa inquired uneasily. "Did he burn any forests this time?"
Sartaq glanced at her inscrutably. "No, Cousin, but he conceived one of the greatest deceptions in the history of warfare, and then managed to pull it off. With a certain amount of assistance, I add in all modesty. Let us sit here, Aunt. We have still found no trace of Lucrezia the wicked. Perchance we never shall. No one knows who will succeed to leadership of the family and city. I expect the cardinal will make the final decision. This need no longer concern us, for Florence has served its purpose."
As soon as food had been laid out, he shooed the servants away. "I shall myself wait upon you, ladies," he declared, "for I have secrets to impart unheard. Red wine or white?"
When he had poured wine for everyone, he settled on the other side of the table. "A toast! I am confident that the threat to Italy is over. Nevil has met his match at last." He raised his goblet in salute. "To his fall and destruction!"
"To the fall and destruction of Rhym." Blanche had recovered much of her color, although she was not yet about to smile at anything.
"Ah, true! Forgive me. If your unfortunate husband can be restored, then we shall all applaud that outcome. However..." Seemingly quite unabashed by his slip, he looked thoughtfully at Lisa.
She dropped her eyes and noticed the basket of rolls in front of her. One day she had told Pietro how much she had enjoyed the French-style rolls she had met in Savoy, and they had appeared on every table since, fresh baked. She would not pretend she had ever loved him, but he had been a considerate host and a generous fiance. She had grown accustomed to the prospect of being married to him, comfortable with it. He had not deserved that shameful death. She knew she might yet do a great deal worse in the husband market than Pietro Marradi.
The prince was still appraising her like a dealer at a horse fair.
"Am I now a widow, Cousin?"
Sartaq chuckled. "You mean can you claim a share of the Marradi fortune? I doubt it very much. Even if there is a way for a woman to own property in this city, which I doubt, and if you can hire a skilled advocate to take your case, which I doubt even more, to expect any Florentine court to rule in your favor would be optimism verging on fatuity. Whatever gifts the Magnificent gave you will still be yours, I expect, and you can probably extract a generous settlement if you just promise to go away and stay away, so you are a wealthy woman by most standards. Without even counting your claim to England, I mean."
"But it is my claim to England that is chained around my ankle, isn't it?"
"Lisa!"
"It's true, Mother. There are men dying out there, so let us not play games in here. You are already wondering who to marry me off to, aren't you, Cousin?"
The prince acknowledged her argument with an amused nod and reached into the fruit bowl. "Not exactly."
"You've already decided?" Her heart sank. No, it dived under the table and tried to creep out of the room unnoticed.
"The choice is very limited." He popped a date in his mouth. "Fair lady, I would most eagerly marry you myself. That solution creates new problems, though, because I gave my father and certain significant brothers my most solemn oath that I would neither name myself suzerain nor otherwise attempt to seize power. This condition they insisted on before they would approve my meddling in the affairs of Europe. It is written into my accreditation, and I am fairly sure they also hexed me so that I will drop dead or my head will fall off if I break my word. Trust"—he turned his face to spit out the pit—"is not a prominent trait in my family.
"The situation let me explain, Cousin. My mother was my honored father's third wife, one of those chosen for political reasons, and of his sons I am seventh born. I am not sure how many of us there were at last count, but enough for any reputable purpose. In recent centuries it has become customary for the succession to pass to the Khan's eldest son by his principal wife. Eldest surviving, that is, for mortality has always been fairly high among the leading candidates to rule the Golden Horde. Nevertheless a run of six misfortunes—accidents, sudden fevers, or suicides—is not reasonably to be expected. I seemed foredoomed to limit my interests to falconry and camel racing."
Lisa had not heard him discuss himself or the royal family before. She was not at all sure she wanted to. "You are being cynical."
His slit eyes narrowed in what might have been a smile. "I enjoy the chance to speak freely, Cousin. In Sarois these remarks would be suicidal, even within the family. Especially within the family. Where was I? Oh, yes. We have known for many generations that the Horde is not what it was. The descendants of fanatic steppe warriors have become fat cattle, indolent and timorous, who will one day be conquered and enslaved just as our ancestors enslaved the known world. Nor were we at all surprised to see Europe rise up against our rule. Our claim to overlordship has been largely a fiction for at least a century, although we did provide a useful service by maintaining the balance of power. If any ruler grew too powerful, the Khanate would assign the suzerainship to whomever seemed most likely to bleed him back to health, but such dominion must ultimately rest on the power to enforce it, and Nevil exposed our bluff for all the world to see. We regretfully concluded that our hegemony had ended.
"A confession: In my youth, being somewhat ambitious—within the limits of my loyalty to my dear Brother Kublai, of course—I always harbored a secret dream of striking some dramatic blow to bring the rebel lands back into the fold, and even had hope that such a demonstration of martial prowess might win me advancement."
Lisa raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"That and a couple of murders," Sartaq agreed, helping himself to a pastry.
"Including Prince Kublai's?"
"Especially Kublai's, definitely. When news came that Nevil had finally lost a battle, I ventured to write and congratulate the young unknown who had achieved this feat. In my father's name I wrote. He replied, a most interesting message. Over the previous dozen years, appeals have poured into Sarois by the hundred, all of them saying, in effect, 'Send help! Come and fight for us! Send men, guns, horses.' This one was different. It said, 'I can defeat Nevil, but it would be advantageous if Your Majesty would send an envoy.' He did not say very clearly why or how, and he admitted that the man in question should be expendable." He chuckled. "My brothers were all in favor of sending me. Especially Kublai. So here I am."
The general direction of this conversation was highly unsatisfying! Not Longdirk? Surely not marry Longdirk! Lisa's fingers were systematically crumbling a roll to dust. "I did not realize you came to Italy to assist Sir Tobias."
He noted her tone and paused. "I have just explained that my intention was to use him. Why are you surprised?"
"Well..." she said. Not Longdirk! He must not marry her to Longdirk! "Do please understand that he never discussed such matters in my presence, but the general chitchat around the camp was that he found your actions to be somewhat at cross-purposes with his own."
Sartaq did not take offense. Indeed, he chuckled and refilled his goblet. "If that was the worst you heard, then I failed utterly. My first encounter with that human bull came a few nights after my arrival in Naples. He turned up at Castel Capuano in the middle of the night and won admittance to my bedchamber—which was a hair-raising achievement in itself. Having dragged me from my bed, as it were, he explained to me just how he intended to set a trap for King Nevil. You understand, I had come on this wild escapade in the hope of winning renown? Longdirk wanted me for bait. He was setting a trap, right here in Florence, and ne
eded every minnow he could find on his hooks, with the Khan's son as an especially juicy morsel. He also—"
"And a Queen of England as another?"
Sartaq sighed and reached for more dates. He was watching her reaction, though. "I am afraid so, Cousin. He told me that the Fiend's wife and daughter had fallen into his hands two days earlier, quite unexpectedly, and when the time was ripe, he would... dangle you before the bull, I think was how he put it. He used some curious Spanish imagery."
"How can this be?" Blanche demanded, her fingers fidgeting nervously on the cloth. "I admit I was not at my best then, but I am sure Constable Longdirk was never absent from the villa long enough to make a journey to Naples."
"He did not travel by lawful means, Aunt."
"It is true, then, that he is possessed by a demon?" Lisa asked. Perhaps she would get a straight answer at last.
Sartaq heaved his big shoulders in a shrug. "He is possessed by something, certainly. It does not seem to be a demon, not a true demon, or perhaps not yet a demon, but he wields powers honest men do not."
"Oh, no!" Blanche said. "We were in the clutches of an incarnate?" She eyed Lisa in alarm, as if wondering what damage she might have overlooked. "You say it was he who revealed our identities?"
It must be. Sartaq had arranged this entire conversation just so he could make that indictment.
"Absolutely," he said regretfully. "He told the Magnificent and me about you early on. Toby planned everything, including your betrothal to Marradi. He persuaded me to name Marradi suzerain, he told Marradi to let slip your existence by deliberate accident during the conclave, when we could be certain Nevil had spies in place. And so on. He brewed his plans with gramarye in secret and in public faked a monstrous disorder."
"But..." Blanche protested. "When the Magnificent named him comandante last night at the wedding, I was watching his face, and I am certain he was taken by surprise."
"No, dear Aunt," Sartaq said with exaggerated patience. "He had ordered the Magnificent to do that. He had ordered me to approve it. He is an incredible actor. At Cafaggiolo I had to play court fool by naming the incompetent D'Anjou to the post—absolute idiocy! It was all Longdirk's idea, and he had given me detailed instructions on the matter the previous night, yet when I made the announcement he turned scarlet with anger, as if he had been taken completely by surprise.
"You see now why I so disliked his proposal when he explained it at Castel Capuano? I had come west hoping to be a hero. I could just accept the notion of being bait, for there is a certain cachet in offering one's breast to the sword. But he also required me to play the fool, to act as an incompetent. The more we could make it seem that my intervention had tangled the traces, the more likely Nevil was to swallow the lure. Very few people knew what was happening."
Hamish had not been one of them! That was something to hold on to in all this terrible litany of deception and betrayal. Hamish had been honest. He would not have tolerated Longdirk's treachery.
"This churl..." The prince's bantering tone was wearing thin. "The first thing the nursery eunuchs taught me was to recite my ancestry back fourteen generations to Genghis, yet this baseborn serf cast himself in the role of Savior and me as Lord High Bungler! I could hear my brothers' laughter already. When it comes, it will be audible all the way from Sarois."
"But you did cooperate?" Blanche said. "You went along with his deception?"
Sartaq spat out another date pit. "I had no choice, Aunt. There was no other plan in sight, and I was certainly not capable of organizing one. When I asked people—King Fredrico, the cardinals, condottieri, anyone—who would make the best comandante, the only name I ever heard was Longdirk. He had ensnared me with that single letter, months before. I had to cooperate or slink home with my ears down. I confess that the opportunities he gave me to slight him in public have been the most enjoyable parts of my visit."
He chewed for a moment, then said with a reluctant smile, "There is something almost noble in the way he endured it. By day, we spat in his beard. By night, when we met, he would thank us! Small wonder that Nevil discounted him."
"And you will force me to marry this snake, Cousin? This churl, this betrayer, this demon incarnate?"
Sartaq turned to Lisa, looking startled.
"Forgive me. I express myself poorly in this language. I am aware that your heart draws you to this man, but—"
"With respect, Cousin, it does nothing of the sort! Far from it! Disregard any such rumor."
"Oh?" He laughed. "Then this is easier. What I am trying to tell you is that the last man in Europe I will let you marry is Toby Longdirk. He has worked wonders. He may even destroy Nevil completely before this day is out. But is he an improvement? Where does his loyalty lie? I do not know. Nor do I know if he planned this, but because we excluded him from all the ceremonies, he has never performed the ritual of obeisance! Not even when he was appointed comandante yesterday."
Lisa gasped, and a moment later her mother gulped.
"Are you telling us, Cousin, that Longdirk deliberately murdered my husband to avoid having to swear allegiance to the Khan?"
Sartaq shrugged and drew his knife to cut a slice of meat from the cold lamb. "I don't think so." He seemed reluctant to make that admission. "We had not planned to include the obeisance in the middle of the wedding. My advisors believe that the murder was aimed at Longdirk, and his spiritual defenses deflected it. But it is worrisome. If this battle goes Longdirk's way, as I expect it will, then there will be no stopping him. Don't be surprised if his men turn up at the door to take you into, um... 'protective custody' is the usual expression, I believe."
CHAPTER EIGHT
He could see nothing. He could hear. He could smell sweat, taste blood, and he most certainly could feel.
The drum beat its slow refrain—tap—pause—tap—and after each tap the cat-o'-nine-tails crashed against his back, and the whole world exploded in fire. He was back on Mulliez's whipping post, hanging by his wrists, being beaten to bloody shreds.
tap—pause—"Neuf!"
But this was wrong. He could not think because of—
crash!—
—the pain, but this could not be happening. This was gramarye and—
tap—pause—"Dix!"
he ought to be able to deal with it, if he could just find—
crash!—
—oh, demons!—the answer. This was not real. This was gramarye. Hex.
tap—pause—"Onze!"
—the cardinal! Hob! Help! Sorghie!—
crash!—
—oh, spirits! Help me, Sorghie! I've never called for help in my—
tap—pause—"Douze!"
—life before, but I need you, need you, need you...
In a dark sky on a dark field a white owl swoops low and, snatching up its quarry, is gone on wings of silence...
—|—
He had his clothes on. There was no blood in his mouth or on his back. He was lying on rough ground with his head in Sorghaghtani's lap, and she was sobbing hysterically, weeping without tears. Sunlight through branches dappled the sky.
"Sorghie! Sorghie?"
She gasped, barely able to breathe. "Little One?"
"It's all right, Sorghie. Thank you, oh, thank you!" He found her hand and squeezed it. Trees, early-morning sky, a few birds singing... No sign of Chabi. "How did you get here?"
"Did you not need me?"
"I needed someone, yes!" He would probably have managed without her, eventually, but the sooner the better in that sort of trap. Marradi! That nasty, small-minded—
She choked a few times. Her absurd shaman hat lay discarded on the grass, and sunlight glinted highlights in her thick black hair. Her eyes were still bandaged. "What happened, Little One?"
"A very spiteful man, that's all." Ricciardo Cardinal Accursed Marradi.
"He was going to kill you?"
Toby heaved himself up to a sitting position. His head swam a bit, but he was basically unharmed. One d
ay, when he had time, he would try to work out what had happened. "Maybe. I don't think so. I think he laid a death hex on me so he could tell his friends he had, but he knew I had some gramarye and could break it." No way to be sure, though. He wasn't even sure he could have broken it without Sorghie's help. It had been a close call.
"You broke your oath now?"
"Let's go and see." The sun was still very low through the trees, but that distant rumble was the mudded-up sound of guns and thousands of hooves, war cries and dying screams, drums and bugles—the noise of battle that could inspire a man to wild killer frenzy and simultaneously make him want to crawl under a bush and hide. It could not have been going on very long yet. He rearranged himself to rise, and somehow the movement put his face closer to hers, and then it was quite natural to take her in his arms and kiss her.
She was as tiny as a doll. She returned the kiss eagerly, moaning with delight, seeming willing to let it go on forever, child trying to become instant woman. He wanted to crush her and certainly could if he tried, while her embrace was barely perceptible through his armored jerkin.
Breaking loose was surprisingly difficult. "Oh, Sorghie! That cannot be."
She buried her face in his neck, snuffling like a puppy. "We helped, didn't we?"
"You didn't just help. Without you and Chabi it would have been impossible. I would not have remembered to give the signal, and the armies would not have attacked."
"Our walk was not for nothing then?"
"No." He kissed her again. He did not fear the hob with Sorghie. She was so tiny in his arms that his body was not taking her seriously. Given time, though... He eased his lips away from hers. She smiled and also sighed.
"All over?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Come along."
Smeòrach had tangled his reins in a bush not far off and was resolutely trying to eat with the bit still in his mouth, which would just plain ruin his digestion. Toby climbed aboard and pulled the blind shaman up beside him. Then he rode off into the Unplace.
