Spira Mirabilis

by Aidan Harte

  ‘Lo,’ Yūsuf announced with great solemnity, ‘this is a great day in our struggle with the interlopers. When even the queen’s own people turn against her, can our victory be delayed much longer? This poor woman has not the wit to demand sanctuary, nor as a franj has she any right to expect it, but yet I bestow it. Never let it be said that I do not reward the bearers of good news.’

  He had addressed his men, but Sofia nodded her acknowledgment. She would not have to fight tonight. It was enough.

  CHAPTER 11

  It was the dregs of the campaigning season, and in any other year, the legionaries’ boots would be keeping the dust from settling on the Europan Front as they patrolled Concord’s northern borders. The dying days of summer would resound with the cheering clash of arms and the evenings would echo to the groan of anguished barbarians. Instead, the only quarrels were the musical contests of those larks that had not found mates.

  Though Europa was silent, there was no question of leaving the Rhine Lands unoccupied, lest the Frankish tribes forget their squabbles and regain territory dearly bought with Concordian blood. The mines had never been more important; since the Rasenneisi had demonstrated the military use of annunciators, a new model, designed expressly for aerial bombardment, had been rolling off Concord’s assembly lines by the hundreds. Without a steady flow of metal to the capital, that torrent would slow to a trickle.

  There was another reason – beside iron – to protect their flanks: a second front would doom all hope of success in the coming campaign in Etruria. The prospect of a large Byzantine push worried Leto much more than Frankish raids, though his concerns had lessened after his spies discovered why the armies on the eastern side of the Dalmatian March had been so abnormally courteous of late. Apparently, Prince Andronikos had done Concord the enormous favour of getting himself killed in some sordid adventure in the border territories. The purple throne remained empty, though there were several contenders circling. Until a new prince was established, Leto could safely turn his back to finish his great project, the conquest of Etruria. Even so, he persuaded the First Apprentice to leave three legions behind. The other six were combined into one great host.

  The columns marched by Concord without stopping for honours or respite – other than the Praetorian Guard, only a small unit of reserves was permitted into the capital – and halted at Rasenna.

  Many of the legionaries had lost friends in the last siege of the City of Towers, and they were looking forward to seeing the red flags lining its battlements dragged though the muck; that would be sweet indeed. They waited for the order to begin the investment, confident in their strength. It was true, these battlements were the same ones that had rebuffed the Twelfth – but that was two years ago, and the Grand Legion was not commanded by a fool.

  Anticipation pervaded the ranks but the order never came. Instead, Leto rode up to the north wall holding the green banner of Concord. He stopped within arrow-range and waited. Presently, a small hidden door beside the main gate creaked open and a man in a gaudy uniform emerged carrying a Rasenneisi banner. He marched up to the general and saluted.

  ‘I received your invitation,’ said Leto. ‘You always land on your feet, don’t you?’

  Geta bowed in acknowledgment. ‘That’s what soldiers do.’

  ‘And traitors.’

  Geta threw his head back and laughed. ‘You were sharpening a pike for me. I’d no choice but to leave Concord. You’ll be glad that I sought exile here. I’ve become terribly popular with the natives.’

  ‘Is that down to your charm or the silver you stole before you left?’

  ‘Equal, I’d say – anyway, it was money well spent. You don’t want to be stuck here, fighting a beaten city, do you? Not with summer marching on, not when there’s a real challenge, like Veii, waiting for you. I can grant you safe passage south and all I ask is to be confirmed in my position.’

  ‘Town drunk?’

  Geta merrily shook his banner. ‘Gonfaloniere, silly.’

  ‘So, you’ll grant me safe passage bought with my silver? Madonna, but you have gall. Here’s my counter: surrender Rasenna as you promised in your letter, and I’ll consider letting you keep your head, never mind your job.’

  ‘Don’t test me, Spinther. You know what I’m liable to do when pushed into a corner.’

  ‘You’re already in a corner. You’re not universally popular with the natives, are you? Certainly not with the sons of Fabbro Bombelli. They’ve declared your election fraudulent.’

  ‘It was fairly bought. My erstwhile brothers-in-law are exiled, so their opinions are irrelevant. They are contesting our late gonfaloniere’s estate with my wife too, but that’s a tedious family matter. I took office with the Signoria’s consent. Doing so without civil war was no easy matter.’

  ‘I’m sure, but perception matters. You bought this hovel’s poor excuse for a government, but the Bombelli’s endless credit moulds opinion everywhere south of the Irenicon. Rightfully or not, you and your gentle wife are seen as usurpers. You’ve no choice but to work for me.’

  Geta lowered his banner with amiable resignation. ‘True enough.’

  Leto watched as the battlement banners lowered in emulation and were replaced with Concordian blue. When he looked back he saw something even more satisfying: Geta kneeling, his head bowed, his hands held up in supplication. ‘The City of Towers is yours. Treat her gently.’

  He would have relished running the scoundrel through, but instead he dismounted and held out his hand. ‘On behalf of the First Apprentice of Concord, I accept your surrender.’ Geta rose grinning from his knees and stood looking down on Leto. ‘Glad you’ve decided to be the bigger man.’

  ‘Thank Torbidda, not me. I wished to make an example of Rasenna – and you. He would not hear of unnecessary delay.’

  ‘I’m happy wisdom prevailed,’ Geta said equably as he signalled to the walls, ‘but heartbroken to stand so low in your eyes. I shall endeavour to rise.’

  Leto watched impatiently as the heavy gate slowly lifted. ‘Just give me a bed and I’ll be on my way.’

  Geta turned back and said awkwardly, ‘Our gate is open, but I advise not entering till tomorrow.’

  Leto’s scowl deepened. ‘Why?’

  ‘No trickery,’ Geta protested. ‘It’s just that things are never simple in the City of Towers. Before I routed my opposition, they managed to destroy that splendid bridge we had built. Stay calm – it’s a problem your engineers can swiftly solve. Look at it as practise for the coming campaign. They’ll have a pontoon ready by morning; you’ll march over and on your way.’

  Leto slowly exhaled. ‘Fine, but we’ll bivouac within the walls tonight.’

  ‘That might be unwise—’

  ‘How’s that?’ snapped Leto, thoroughly frustrated.

  ‘The north side of Rasenna wasn’t for sale, so I was forced to pursue a scorched-earth strategy.’

  ‘So it lacks amenities. Do these men look like they’re used to soft sheets?’

  Geta could feign only so much humility. ‘Yes, I know what a tough lot your legionaries are. I’m more worried about our pest infestation.’

  Leto sighed. He’d been expecting something like this. ‘The opposition’s gone underground?’

  ‘Literally. If the legionaries were to find themselves under attack in the night, I fear that that they’d—’

  ‘—leave the other half ruined too. I daresay you’re right. If I send my pontonniers to ford the Irenicon, can you at least guarantee their safety? Or is that asking too much?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Fine then,’ said Leto remounting. ‘Next time you capture a city, Geta—’

  ‘Yes, General?’

  ‘Capture it, will you?’

  *

  The ladder creaked as Pedro climbed and he marvelled at the thought that he’d raced up these rungs as a small boy. Lifting the trapdoor, he found himself looking at a lead-lined hammer about to drop.

  ‘Jacques, it’
s me!’

  The maimed giant lowered his arm and glanced around. Uggeri was standing at the window, looking down towards the river. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘A guess. There’s no better view of Piazza Luna than Tower Vanzetti.’

  Flocks of shining annunciators flew back and forth over the Irenicon trailing strong silver filaments that sparkled like dewdoused silk. The deep foundations of Rasenna’s bridge hadn’t been fully destroyed in the explosion and the engineers were making use of them to bolster their pontoon.

  ‘What’re you up to?’

  ‘Just thinking about the old days. This is where you made the Golden Lion banner for the Doc, remember?’

  Pedro refused to be distracted. ‘The old days. I remember the first time you came here. You broke my nose and thrashed the place.’

  ‘You didn’t beg. I admired you for that. It’s hard to be brave, but breaking things? That’s easy. I miss it, if I’m honest. Jacques here used to create wondrous things with his hands. Then they were cut off. The tools you gave him aren’t fit for making things, but that’s not what times like these call for. You put us in this position, Vanzetti. If you lost the nerve to fight, I’m sorry but—’

  ‘I sent your men home.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Uggeri picked up a small mirror and flashed a signal. It was not returned, neither from the topside positions nor from the alleyways surrounding the piazza. He smashed the mirror on the floor and shouted, ‘What gives you the right—?’

  ‘—to stop you destroying Rasenna? I’m gonfaloniere, in the absence of a legitimate Signoria, anyway’ – he took a breath – ‘and you’re my podesta. That means you can’t just break things when you feel like it. You need to think.’

  ‘I have done. The more of Geta’s cronies we kill, the less power he has. All we have to do is keep up the pressure.’

  Pedro sighed. ‘Geta doesn’t need Rasenneisi support any more. He has Concord’s. The Grand Legion is here. We’re done.’

  ‘You want us to run off to Veii like whipped dogs.’ said Uggeri. ‘Our fathers weren’t alike, you know. Yours was a decent skin, mine was a cur. But they both died fighting for Rasenna’s freedom. What would they say if they could hear you?’

  ‘We have to let go of Rasenna if we want to save it.’

  Jacques took a step towards Uggeri, but Pedro held up a hand to stop him. ‘Do you recall what Doc said when he gave you that banner?’

  ‘He said we stand together or fall together.’ Uggeri stared at the mirror fragments, breathing hard. ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.’

  ‘Then grow up. Geta made the legions camp outside expressly to avoid an incident.’

  ‘Exactly why we should do something to embarrass him.’

  ‘In this case, he’s right. The legionaries would be delighted to settle the score. They’d leave this side of town worse than the north.’

  ‘We can hide.’

  ‘Yes – while they massacre our mothers and grandmothers and brothers and sisters.’

  Uggeri turned back to the window.

  ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘No. I want to know what it’s like to let an army march over you.’

  Pedro was about to ask Jacques the same question, but he had already turned his back. It was plain the Hammer belonged to Uggeri now.

  *

  The Grand Legion entered Rasenna cheering, but the acclamation soon faded away. The charred and broken northside towers made the legionaries brood on old sins – and each of them had many. When they crossed the swaying pontoon, they found the south side of Rasenna less desolate but no more welcoming. They knew they were trampling a fresh grave, and so they ignored the rictus grins of the pale patricians and hastened to escape the empty piazza.

  Geta escorted Leto to the south gate. Before he left, Geta begged for a few battalions from him. ‘Flushing out the Tartaruchi – stupid name! – will cost lives,’ he explained.

  ‘Doubtless it will,’ Leto said with equanimity. ‘Why should they be my legionaries’ lives? You have mercenaries at your disposal.’ The Hawk’s Company, what was left of it, might be led by a Concordian, but Leto for one had not forgotten Tagliacozzo; even though Concordian arms had triumphed over John Acuto’s coalition that day, it had been a close-run thing. ‘Those dogs sold their lives a hundred times over. It’s about time someone took them up on it.’

  CHAPTER 12

  It was too early for snow. The pale flakes carried on the chill wind at their backs were ash. Though Leto rode in the middle of the vanguard, the horses in front of him had already turned the path into mud, and the black mire reflected the column of smoke that was all that remained of the nameless town behind them.

  The Grand Legion was an iron river of well-drilled men and broken beasts. Taming truly wild things, Leto reflected, was well-nigh impossible; no matter how servile they might act, their hearts remained defiant. Once, Concord could approach any town and be sure of allies inside; sure that ambition was a stronger instinct than patriotism; sure that if the headman did not open the gates, the next man would; sure that there was no treachery to which a man would not stoop if he could call himself king or dux or doge or gonfaloniere …

  Then one slip undid years of patient work: Rasenna showed that resistance was possible, and even though it was now once more degraded, the memory of the City of Towers’ defiance endured. Even the weakest towns now believed they could preserve their independence if only they could muster a convincing defence. Leto had left a string of hamlets broken and burning as a forthright answer to this misapprehension. It had been necessary. Each day the green leaves faded a little more; each day the cold wind crept south faster than they could. Like Rasenna, Veii was a frontier, and it had to be taken if the advance were to continue. If it did not quickly surrender, he must break off the campaign till spring, and Torbidda would never countenance such a delay.

  The road to Veii was in ill repair and interrupted by brooks, streams, and finally rivers. To maintain their pace, Leto ordered the big wagons carrying the large cannon and material for siege-engines left behind; they could be sent for a week later, perhaps two. It was a gamble – the sort that came naturally to Geta, the sort at which Leto’s cautious sensibility rebelled – but he recognised the necessity. His scouts reported that Veii was making preparations – if they got there before that work was sufficiently advanced, it was unlikely that the Duke of Veii would risk a trial of arms. Leto took consolation in the fact that the Veians had always previously chosen discretion over valour: Duke Grimani had stood apart from John Acuto’s coalition, though the field of Tagliacozzo bordered his dominions.

  Leto had more to worry about besides the shortening days. Ordinarily, a campaigning general could rely on the unsleeping intelligences of the three Apprentices attending to the flow of men and equipment and foreseeing the many sundry complications that inevitably plagued marching men. That as much as their remarkable war-engines was why Concordian armies most often won. But Torbidda’s attentions were divided between building this damn tower and recapturing Rasenna’s elusive Contessa Scaligeri – neither of which Leto deemed as pressing – which left his man Scaevola to worry about details Concordian quartermasters had never before had to concern themselves with.

  A horn blew somewhere ahead and Leto rode to the front of the vanguard to see a Veian herald. When Leto saw the man was bearing the peacock flag of the Grimani Family rather than the wolf of Veii, his mood brightened. He had forgotten what an advantage it was to have such craven foes.

  *

  The salt plains of Volsinii were hardly scenic, but the small coastal town was within Veii’s sphere of influence and the perfect place for Duke Grimani to discreetly meet the Concordian general. The duke believed in diversification: there was no doubt Maestro Vanzetti’s improvements made it possible for Veii to withstand a long siege – but surely it would be better if they could avoid that trial altogether? He hoped to sound out General Spinther’s intentions, perhaps even mak
e a deal. But just in case Spinther was planning to take a shortcut, he brought a large bodyguard and four elders to demonstrate the eternal loyalty of Veii’s population to the Family Grimani.

  Leto brought only Quartermaster Scaevola and a centurion. Now that the Duke beheld his adversary face to face, he realised any theatrics were unnecessary; he was a little annoyed that he had chosen such a remote venue. Etruria was quailing before a mere boy – still, at least he had an audience to appreciate the spell he was about to weave upon the inexperienced youth.

  ‘General Spinther,’ he began, ‘I am so glad to finally meet you, so I can ask in person the question that has been tormenting me: What lies have our mutual enemies told you that would prompt Concord to march against Veii, a city that has always been a friend?’

  ‘Veii took part in the summit at Ariminum,’ Leto pointed out. ‘That’s hardly an act of friendship.’

  ‘Hardly an act of war either. It’s true that I was foolish enough to send my son to the summit – but only to urge the other powers to be patient. And for my peacemaking, he was assassinated by parties unknown. The Ariminumese insist it was an accident, but that’s—’

  ‘—not what we are here to discuss.’

  The duke was taken aback. ‘Now listen, son, that’s a poor attitude to begin a negotiation—’

  ‘We’re not negotiating,’ Leto said. ‘You know you cannot stand against us.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort. Indeed, I seem to recall Rasenna sent your legions packing not too long ago.’

  Leto sighed. Explaining what an outlier was wouldn’t help. In his previous dealings with barbarians, Leto had noticed that brute logic made brutes intransigent. ‘That city is now fallen,’ he said. ‘The First Apprentice aspires to a Renovatio Imperii from which all Etruria would profit. Concord’s demands are reasonable: the right to tax fish and salt, the right to collect tolls and customs, the right to appoint certain officials to oversee—’