by Den Patrick
‘Esposito means “to place outside”,’ said Massimo. ‘I’m an orphan, Dino. Not Orfano like you, but … I have no one. Contadino is my family now.’
‘I had no idea, Mass. I’m so sorry, I just assumed …’
‘My upkeep, my schooling, my lessons with the blade: everything I am I owe to Margravio Contadino.’
They stood less than an arm’s length apart. Dino could smell the swordsman’s earthy scent. ‘We’re more alike than I ever imagined,’ mumbled the Orfano. He took a step forward, daring himself closer. Massimo remained, saying nothing. Dino began to tremble, unable to take his eyes from the swordsman’s lips.
‘My lord?’ This from the far side of the room. The two men staggered apart. Nardo stood in the doorway with a sour look about him.
‘The Ravenscourt is waiting on you. The Domina sent you a summons yesterday.’
Dino recalled the note on his mantel delivered by Speranza, still unopened.
‘Figlio di puttana.’
‘Huh. I suggest you make haste. Change is coming.’
30
Reverie
– Marzo 319
The Year of the Diaspora 319 ushered in a great many things. Snow initially, which coated the land in a hush of perfect white. The building work outside Demesne halted. Dino was glad of a reprieve from the sounds of industry. Hammers, saws and shifting timber provided a chaotic percussion, punctuated by the curses of labourers. Life inside the castle would never be the same once the work was complete; the town of Santa Maria was fast flourishing beyond the walls of Demesne. There would be no deep silences around the vast edifices of the great houses. The King’s Keep – now called the Central Keep and the Ravenscourt under Anea’s tenure – would preside over a bustling town. Only the yearly snows might dampen the people’s spirits, but the days of brooding silence were at an end.
The melt arrived the month after, but few if any could say they felt the warm breath of spring, only the plaintive calls of ill news. Grey clouds dominated the skies, threatening rain. An entire train of wagons had gone missing in the Foresta Vecchia, and all who rode with it had yet to be found. None expected the teamsters to return. The last vestiges of winter would account for any not lost to what awaited among the pines.
The long road to the south-east ran through the heart of the ancient forest and was the only link to San Marino. It was commonly believed that those who travelled through the mass of trees took their lives in their hands. People entered and emerged, or were lost; there was no other outcome. Travelling with companions offered no protection. All would arrive, whole and safe, feeling they had enjoyed Fortune’s favour, or none at all. The Foresta Vecchia did not care for stragglers or survivors. And so the people of the Diaspora remained unaware of what waited beneath the great pines. Small wonder the king had forbidden entrance to those solemn trees since time immemorial.
The loss of the wagon train precipitated war, although what they would fight was yet to be determined. Duke Fontein had roused the Ravenscourt with an admirable display of sabre-rattling previously unknown in Landfall. People had gladly voted to send their sons and fathers to vanquish the unseen. Virmyre summarised the mood perfectly: they were chasing shadows. It was only fitting that House Fontein should begin the campaign in the month of marzo. March. Mars. The bringer of war.
The Verde Guerra they called it, the Green War, on account of fighting beneath the evergreen trees of the Foresta Vecchia. In truth it would be remembered not for the foliage, but for how untested they’d been, ill equipped and poorly led. This much became apparent, even to a sixteen-year-old Orfano.
Dino had begged Anea to let him join the campaign. She’d flatly refused, unwilling to lose her little brother in Duke Fontein’s war. Then a change of mind. A supply train was heading to the front under the stewardship of Margravio Contadino. Two regiments of soldiers had departed a week earlier and required a resupply of provisions. Margravio Contadino appeared in person requesting the Orfano’s services as an aiutante. This simple act breached etiquette in ways Dino was only dimly aware of and would never care about. No Orfano had ever acted as squire to the nobility. All that mattered was that he was going to war, although none really believed a regiment of bandits or pirates awaited them in the Foresta. The idea was ludicrous. Dino suspected Virmyre’s influence in Anea’s sudden change of heart but refrained from comment, struggling to contain his delight.
Margravio Contadino’s retinue included Nardo, Massimo, two grizzled teamsters and an anxious, withdrawn dottore in his early twenties. The retinue was accompanied by a large and odious wolfhound. Retinue. The word filled Dino with a deep and ecstatic excitement. He’d not been part of anything before, save belonging to the order Orfano, which enjoyed little respect or prestige. This, as Massimo later pointed out, was not strictly true. Dino did, after all, also belong to House Erudito, which was much loved by many in Landfall. Dino conceded the point as he always did when challenged by Margravio Contadino’s swordsman. Massimo was four years his senior, sporting the broad shoulders and stubble of a fully grown man, things Dino envied him for. Envy would later transmute to fascination, loath as he was to admit it. The swordsman dutifully took the Orfano under his wing. Dino happily settled into the role of protégé, despite having kills to his name. Massimo, as far he as knew, had never drawn a blade in anger.
The day of the departure arrived. The two teamsters and Nardo took the reins of three great wagons piled high with good things. The remainder had mounts, acting as outriders. No sooner had this proud party set out than the sky unleashed a heavy rainfall and all feared they would never be dry again. Dino quickly revised his opinions on retinues, squires, wars, campaigns and supply trains. He found himself dreaming of roaring fires, nesting drakes, plates of gnocchi and a well appointed training chamber. A dry training chamber with a much repaired roof.
The sun, such as there had been that day, slunk toward the horizon as the rain dwindled and finally relented, clouds spent. A farmstead emerged from the downpour. The party found itself in a rough piazza boasting a barn, well and stable. A suitably anxious-looking sheepdog slunk away from the wolfhound, tail tucked firmly between its legs, ears flat to its head. Two men emerged from the farmhouse, wary and unbowed. Both held pitchforks in a way that said nothing of straw and less about farming.
Nardo introduced the party, making mention of substantial remuneration for a night’s dry lodging and feed for the horses. Dino clutched at his collar and shook out his hat, hoping Nardo’s entreaty was sufficient. The farmers agreed with furtive looks that revealed the coin mentioned was indeed substantial. They set to receiving their guests with cheerful fervour. Margravio Contadino dismounted and shook hands with the men of his estate before snatching a look at the sky, which threatened more unpleasantness before dawn.
It was a fine enough evening despite the rudeness of the dwelling. The change of clothes lifted Dino’s spirits considerably, as did a rabbit stew that benefited from a great number of carrots, parsnips and the judicious use of herbs. A good dark bread was sawn into thick slices and served with butter and wine of dubious quality. That it was watered down offended no one. The kitchen was crowded with men who shared drink and good humour in equal measure, simply glad to be free of the impending rain. Even the dottore abandoned his disapproving pout, entering into a spirited discussion with the farmers. Dino found his eye drawn time and again to Massimo, who sat opposite.
Massimo, ever ready with a quip to lighten Nardo’s dour observations, complimented the farmers on their fine stew. It was Massimo who noted the spare bowl, enquiring who had earned the spare portion. The farmers, brothers as it turned out, revealed their grandfather was asleep in a back room and would soon wake famished and cantankerous. The farmers fell quiet at the mention of their patriarch and it was Massimo again who filled the silence with more banter. Nardo joined Margravio Contadino for a smoke on the porch while the teamsters washed the plates. Massimo and the dottore checked on the horses. Dino, for want of an
ything better to do, fetched water from the well.
The farmstead was ankle deep in mud and worse. Dino hoped the first casualty of war would not be his dignity. He had no wish to fall face down in the foulness underfoot. The second bucket was full, progressing up the well shaft by means of a worn and age-smoothed handle when Massimo appeared. The swordsman hefted the bucket to one side, flashing a perfect grin at Dino, who could only stare back, lost for words.
‘I’m glad we don’t have to sleep outside tonight,’ said the swordsman as the wind caught the trees, bringing the first spots of new rain.
‘Two farmers and a single grandfather. A household of men. Not much of a family,’ Dino commented, surprised at the bitterness in his own voice.
‘Better than no family at all,’ replied Massimo. His usual gentle humour was much diminished, but his curiosity was awakened. What was it like growing up Orfano? Did Dino wonder after his parents? How had he found his way in a world tense with intrigue and rife with subterfuge?
Dino had no revelations for him.
‘It’s the only life I’ve ever known, much as the farmers have only known life on the farmstead, I expect.’ The Orfano flashed a sullen look at the rain clouds. ‘As for my parents – my mother, I mean – I try not to think of her.’ Dino stumbled with the telling of it, neither of them believing the claim. ‘Discovering I’m related to Lucien and Anea made things easier. I was less thrilled about being related to Golia, but one never chooses family, only friends.’
Massimo smiled and Dino took a shaky breath. He rarely spoke of such things.
‘Perhaps when all this is done, this Verde Guerra, we’ll call each other brothers,’ said Massimo. ‘Brothers in arms.’
Dino would live with these words in his heart for all the years to come.
31
A New Republic
– 14 Agosto 325
Dino entered the Ravenscourt, Massimo following at his shoulder. They were both unkempt, shirts unbuttoned, jackets slung on moments before entering. The sweat of their travails glistened on skin, Dino’s brow beaded with perspiration, Massimo’s hair damp. The crowd drew back, all eyes on the Orfano and swordsman. The pair approached the dais feigning a show of bravura, reluctance following at their heels. Duchess Prospero grinned behind a fluttering fan, silken gown revealing every curve of her voluptuous frame.
‘So good of you to join us,’ she cooed.
‘We were sparring.’
‘A pretty name for it.’ The duchess flicked her gaze to Lady Allattamento, who covered a smile with a fan of her own.
‘The only name for it,’ replied Dino.
‘I see you’re suitably attired for the Ravenscourt,’ said the duchess. The capo sniggered and folded his arms.
‘And you for the bedroom, Duchess.’ Dino curled a lip. ‘I hear that’s where you do most of your business.’
A half-dozen sharp intakes of breath. The duchess’s eyes narrowed and she forced a tight smile. ‘I do so enjoying gaming with you, my lord.’
Dino turned his back on her.
‘Do I look to be in a gaming mood?’
‘Just promise me you won’t kill anyone,’ replied Massimo.
‘I can’t promise anything, least of all that.’
Dino crossed to where the Contadinos stood with Nardo.
‘This is very irregular, Lord Erudito,’ said Medea quietly without meeting his eye. Dino said nothing, jaw clenched, fists the same.
‘Apologies, my lord.’ Massimo sketched a bow to his master. ‘Lord Erudito and I were training, in light of the recent—’
‘Very good, Massimo.’ The words confirming anything but. ‘Don’t let it happen again.’
A susurration of commentary issued from the gallery above, joined by pointed comments from the floor of the Ravenscourt. Dino nodded to Nardo, hoping for an ally in the crowd. The messenger looked away, face blank. Chagrined, Dino smoothed down his shirt and began to button his jacket, a sneer on his lip. His eyes alighted on Stephania, a vision in purple and black despite the heat. She curtsied to him with a smile touching her lips. Behind her were the familiar faces of her retinue, her black-haired messenger and her maid Mea. Added to these was a figure Dino barely recognised, such was her transformation.
She was dressed in a modest yet immaculate long-sleeved gown of purest white. A cord of pale blue encircled her waist, matching her headscarf and slippers. Her face was veiled with white, just as it had been the day he’d met her in the cemetery. No trace of the gutter prophet remained, only the mismatched eyes, piercing him with their strangeness. That a disciple of Santa Maria had gained entrance to the Ravenscourt was unprecedented. That she escorted Stephania, not Medea, was stranger still.
Duchess Fontein stood to the right of the dais, a column of black. Grief suited her poorly, making an already sallow and pinched woman ghoul-like. Her maid Isabella stood behind, hands clasped neatly. She blinked and looked down at her feet as Dino met her gaze. Maestro di Spada D’arzenta escorted the duchess in lieu of the duke. Speranza stood behind the maestro di spada, not sparing Dino so much as a glance, eyes fixed on the dais.
Even the ancient and infirm House Datini had attended: the viscount and his wife stood apart from each other. It was no secret they lived separately. The viscount was in his middle seventies, his wife nine years younger and profoundly deaf.
And on the far side of the hall, clinging to the few shadows of the Ravenscourt, was Lady Allattamento. Her attire, unlike her holdings, was not diminished. She retained an abundance of gold and precious stones. Dino studied her ears, wondering at the pearl he’d found in the cemetery. Her daughters stood behind her, Stella and Viola, joined by a third woman Dino failed to recognise.
Virmyre appeared at Dino’s side, resting on his black-enamelled stick. He stroked his beard, eyes narrowed. His frock coat was black silk, embossed with tiny ravens in dark silver. A turquoise sash cinched his waist, declaring him for Anea and House Diaspora, as if any might doubt it.
‘I’m not familiar with this new fashion you’ve adopted,’ he said, appraising Dino’s attire.
‘You wouldn’t understand.’ Dino raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re quite old.’
‘Well, there is that. What are they calling this? Arrufato?’
‘I don’t know the old tongue like you do.’
‘Because you’re so young.’
‘What does arrufato mean?’
‘Dishevelled.’ Virmyre’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
‘Ah, I deserved that.’
‘It is ever the duty of the aged to comment on the younger, who know not their actions.’
‘I think I preferred it when you were in the lab.’
‘On that at least we can agree. I’d be spared this frock coat and be able to work in shirtsleeves.’
All present chafed with impatience, exchanging sour quips and wishing for relief. The door at the back of the chamber was pushed inward with a grunt of wood on stone, disgorging the scarlet form of the Domina. Her eyes lingered on Dino for a second as she took her place at the front of the dais. The silver staff slammed down, once, twice, three times.
The room dropped to one knee, heads bowed.
Anea, more gaunt than Dino remembered, entered, dark circles under her eyes harrowing in the bright light. She wore white and turquoise, a poor choice for someone so pale and clearly unwell. Anea took her seat and the nobles stood.
‘As you are no doubt aware from the invitations I sent you –’ the Domina let her gaze fall on Dino, who folded his arms ‘– Lady Aranea Oscuro Diaspora wishes it that the hereditary titles of Demesne and the roles they serve be divided.’
‘You chose a hell of day to be late,’ muttered Nardo. Dino struggled not to swear.
‘As such there will be a new council,’ continued Russo. ‘This will be known as the Grand Council and be made up of ministers from across Landfall. Initially these will comprise the commander of the guard, the ministers of agriculture, commerce, academia and apothec
aries, and the head of the church.’
Dino’s eyes darted to Stephania and her pet prophet. He wondered if she’d anticipated this outcome. Or perhaps Anea was making a play of her own. He couldn’t say the idea of giving political power to the nascent church appealed much.
‘In addition –’ the Domina struggled to make herself heard over the buzz of discontent ‘– the Grand Council will have seats for the position of Majordomo or Domina, and the mayors of both Santa Maria and San Marino.’
Another buzz of excitement from the gallery. Duchess Prospero exchanged a sour look with Duchess Fontein.
‘All of these positions will be elected by the people.’ The Domina smiled.
The chamber was filled with the clamour of outrage. Faces pinched with indignation complained, while meeker souls struggled to comprehend what was unfolding. Dino pressed a palm to his mouth to hide his smile. The duke’s death had prompted Anea to hasten her timetable for a republic. Some good at least might be derived from the killing.
‘Order!’
This took some time.
The room settled, a surly acquiescence tangible in the airless chamber.
‘The existing nobili will retain their lands and properties. Ministers will be entitled to apartments within Demesne. These positions will be voted for in the autumn. All are welcome to run for ministerial positions provided they have a proposer and a second.’
Duchess Prospero moved apart from her clique. The Domina nodded to her and the gallery fell silent.
‘Lady Diaspora, you are ever the visionary, but I fear you have failed to account for ignorance in this instance.’
Anea raised her face, green eyes piercing the duchess from above the white veil.
‘Surely the good people of Santa Maria, and of San Marino, are unable to read. Literacy is the domain of the learned, therefore it should be the nobili who vote on such important matters.’
