by Aidan Harte
As Pedro hurried back to Tartarus he saw that there was no looting in the old Bardini territories, and that the Sisters had kept the peace around the baptistery and orphanage.
Sister Carmella was helping the novices hold their nerve. Isabella had a pale, unearthly look.
Pedro noticed the purple bruise on her arm. ‘Who gave you that?’
‘A sinner. Listen to me, Pedro, even if civil war doesn’t break out today, it will soon.’
‘Maybe. Wherever Sofia is can’t be this bad.’
‘I pray you’re right. However this madness ends, the Concordians will shortly arrive at the gate in greater numbers than before, and they will find Rasenneisi at each other’s throats.’
‘Maybe I can—?’
‘No, you need to stop thinking like an engineer and start thinking like a fugitive.’ She looked around to her flock. ‘We all do.’
Piers Becket did not smile. Glee would have been inappropriate in front of the Gonfaloniere’s mourning daughter. ‘You’re Podesta, Lord Geta. You must restore order.’
The Concordian held Maddalena in his arms as she wept. ‘Don’t you ever get tired of being a fool, Becket? If we venture south, Uggeri will take it as a challenge and riot will turn to war.’
‘Is last thing we need with legions on march,’ said Yuri. The giant was subdued after Fabbro’s death, but he was impressed that Geta was keeping a level head.
‘I don’t know what we can do,’ said Geta, ‘but we can’t sit here and let the mayhem spread across the river.’
‘We go talk,’ said Yuri. He held out his hand to Geta. ‘I stand with you.’
‘Sure, talk,’ Becket scoffed, ‘Ask them if they’ll put Bombelli’s gold back. I’m sure they’ll oblige.’
Yuri picked up Becket and flattened him against the wall, a giant forearm across his chest. ‘You so hungry for blood, I give you taste.’
‘Yuri, put him down,’ Geta said, strapping on his belt. ‘He’s just frightened – we all are. Becket, get the company ready to come north in strength. Madonna willing, it won’t be necessary, but who knows what control that boy has over the situation?’ He kissed Maddalena. ‘If I don’t come back, leave Rasenna – go south. Salerno’s strong. It’ll probably be the last to fall.’
‘You’ll come back,’ she said. She shot a warning look at Yuri. ‘Make sure.’
Yuri saluted. ‘Yes, Signorina!’
The unlikely pair mounted up and rode out of the fortezza’s gate together. Instead of swords, each carried the red banner of Rasenna. They rode slowly onto the bridge and stopped halfway across. The bandieratori of the northern towers were assembled in Piazza Stella, each company separate from the next. The heads of the bandieratori towers stepped out and Uggeri, acting head of the guild, led them onto the bridge, flags up. Yuri dismounted and Geta followed suit. Towers either side of the river watched the bandieratori approach and come to a halt in front of the condottieri.
Uggeri glanced at Yuri with silent reproach, then barked at Geta, ‘Who gave you the right to carry that banner?’
‘The Gonfaloniere of Rasenna, when he made me Podesta.’
‘Bombelli’s dead,’ said Uggeri.
‘Wash your hands afterwards?’
Uggeri’s flag spun; the tip hovered an inch from Geta’s chin. The Concordian didn’t budge. ‘If I came to fight, you’d know all about it by now.’
‘Tranquillo.’ Yuri slowly pushed Uggeri’s flag away. ‘Whoever’s responsible, Bombelli is dead, but law is not. Uggeri, what’s happening – this! – is wrong. I know you know. Sofia, she would not allowed it.’
‘And you know she wouldn’t have allowed this thief into Rasenna, not in a million years.’
Geta glared at the boy. ‘I don’t need to steal anything.’
‘Is done!’ Yuri roared. ‘Sofia put trust in you – in your sense. Levi did same to me. Geta was elected Podesta fair and also square.’
‘How could that Signoria do anything fair? He stole that too.’
Geta said through gritted teeth, ‘What are you, boy? Reformer or revolutionary? You don’t change people’s minds by assassination.’
‘You dirty—’ Uggeri stopped, remembering what Pedro had said. Sofia wouldn’t have put her pride above Rasenna’s security. ‘Look: if I get my people indoors, we’re not going back to the old Signoria. The Signoria has to be like the red banner, for all Rasenneisi.’
‘I’ll keep my men north,’ said Geta.
Yuri smiled. ‘Good then. Let’s get everyone tucked up in beds, and tomorrow—’
‘Tomorrow you had better have some ideas on how to give the Small People what they want, or I’ll lead the bandieratori across the Irenicon and take it. I’ve seen the condottieri fight on a battlefield, but the street’s our natural terrain.’
Geta was about to retort, but Yuri pulled him back. ‘Let us gets through one night in peace. Tomorrow we talk with flags down and cooler heads.’
Rasenna lay in exhausted silence that night. The natural reaction to the riot would have been brutal reprisal, but instead, there was a plea for peace, and the mob assented, storing their loot in safe nooks before going back to their towers. It was always surprising how quickly crowded piazzi could empty. Uggeri studied those Rasenneisi left on the streets. The bonds uniting bandieratori were frayed; spurning the Signoria would mean returning to the old way, tower against tower. He was a simple fighter, but he knew his heart’s dark byways as well as he knew Rasenna’s alleyways and rooftops. There was a throbbing within him that wanted that, that yearned to test itself in the bloody mayhem Sofia and the Doc had grown up in. And since Maddalena chose Geta it had grown so much stronger.
The virile roll and snap of tower banners as the swallows returned home for the evening was the only sound competing with the roar of the Irenicon. Uggeri listened to the night, thinking how easy it would be to give in, easy as making a fist. The moon hid behind dark clouds and a light mist wreathed the balustrades of the bridge so that the river’s roar was without origin. Uggeri unclenched his fist and rubbed his eyes. Sofia and the Doc had risen above that base temptation. He could do no less.
Across the river, Geta and Becket were waiting by the fortezza’s entrance. Yuri trotted across the piazza, returning from a patrol of the southside streets.
Geta walked to him and patted his horse’s flank. ‘Well?’
‘All quiet. Northside too, by the looks. Let’s hope it keeps.’
‘Let’s hope,’ said Geta. He unhooked the girth of the saddle, put one hand under Yuri’s boot and with the other shoved. The loose saddle slid sideways to the ground, carrying Yuri’s massive bulk with it. His head struck the cobblestones with an audible crack!
Becket rushed forward, drawing his sword, and thrust it at the fallen giant. Yuri grabbed the blade in his fist and held it there as he got to his feet. His other hand shot forward and tightened round Becket’s neck. The smaller man punched pointlessly and Yuri squeezed tighter – then released him as a bloody rapier-point poked cleanly through his chest. The giant dropped wordlessly to his knees. Geta pulled his head back and cut left to right, working deep, like a butcher. The hapless Becket was doused by the spurting arterial spray.
‘Madonna wept. All that juice.’ Geta shook his head. ‘Drag this deficiente inside and get them ready. Five minutes.’ He glanced at the sky. The moon was still demurely shrouded, and from a window above, Maddalena was watching. ‘Amore! Did you see—?’
‘I miss nothing,’ she said, and shot him with an imaginary crossbow. Geta mimed pulling the quarrel from his chest. ‘I know it,’ he said, returning fire with blown kisses.
They wore long black cloaks and spread out in prearranged formation after they crossed the bridge. The southside bandieratori had been given the choice to join the condottieri; to the south’s eternal shame, only a few chose death. The traitors were charged with creating a topside perimeter around the bandieratori towers. Geta had fuel catchments – dry straw, wool, oil and black powder –
already prepared and stashed northside and now his condottieri used the venerable cap-a-pie technique: as the tower base was set burning, brands were simultaneously thrown through upper windows and onto the rooftops.
The preponderance of black cloaks climbed the ‘healthy hills’. Geta expected most resistance in the old Bardini highlands, and Workshop Scaligeri was besieged as it burned. The students who rolled out, coughing and gasping for breath, were quickly dispatched, regardless of age. Bandieratori skill meant nothing in the inferno within: the flames consumed flags and flesh indiscriminately.
Uggeri and the fastest of his old decina escaped by the adjoining corridor to Tower Scaligeri before it collapsed. The lower storeys were already burning, so they climbed, blinded and choked by smoke, knowing every misstep would be fatal. The survivors burst out onto the rooftop, gasping for air. Tower Scaligeri was the highest vantage point in Rasenna. Uggeri batted out the flames licking at the edge of his flag and looked around at Geta’s revenge.
The burning towers overpowered the night. Across the river, the few towers that had refused to collaborate had already collapsed into smouldering heaps. Here on the northside, the air was thick with whirling ash. Bandieratori leapt hopelessly from towers, or were thrown, or fell to their deaths. There were few options besides burning; but Uggeri’s men did not panic. They looked to their capo to decide their fate.
‘Tartarus,’ Uggeri said simply. ‘Get to Tartarus. Pedro’ll know what to do.’
The nearest tower to Tower Scaligeri was Tower Cammertoni. Its roof was thronged with waiting condottieri.
‘Get ready, men,’ Becket shouted as he saw the bandieratori preparing to jump.
‘Go together,’ Uggeri ordered, ‘and some will break through.’ Not waiting for objections, he jumped, and whether it was loyalty or desperation, all followed. Uggeri landed fighting, his flagstick immediately pushing the nearest swordsman into others behind. Uggeri saw one of his decina land straight onto a waiting sword; the bandieratoro fell over the side, but he dragged his murderer with him. As the rest landed, Becket’s men fell back.
‘Go! I’ll hold them.’ Uggeri pushed into the centre while hiding his body behind his flag, drawing in swords, then crashing his stick down to disarm them.
His bandieratori leapt from Tower Cammertoni and spread out, each taking a separate path across the rooftops. Soon Becket’s men were down to four, but Uggeri’s flag had been sliced into rags. He kept them at bay with his stick, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold so many swordsmen for long. He circled until their backs were to the burning Tower Scaligeri, listening to the small explosions as the fire consumed each floor.
‘You’ll never have Rasenna as long as one of us lives,’ he shouted.
‘Look around. The bandieratori are finished,’ said Becket gaily.
Something seemed to break within Uggeri and he threw his tattered stick away. ‘All right, damn you! I’ll come quietly.’ Then, ‘What’s so funny?’
‘We’re not taking prisoners.’
A rumbling shudder filled the air. ‘I guess I knew that,’ Uggeri said, and with a silent prayer, he stepped back into nothingness.
He dropped vertically down the side of the tower, and caught the Cammertoni flag. Up above, he heard Tower Scaligeri moving with a great grinding noise, slowly tilting towards Tower Cammertoni, gathering speed … until Becket and his men were crushed as the towers annihilated each other.
Hot stone rained down on Uggeri and he felt the shadow of death’s wing fall on him. All at once fear was absent. He did something he’d never before attempted.
He let go.
And fell.
For ever. The stars above meshed with the sparks and the beams of fire that were once towers. Two burning flags sailed by him, entwined and writhing like dying dragons. This was what Sofia had tried to show him, the peace at the heart of the fight – the wonder of it. He only regretted discovering it too late.
He crashed into a roof, and the tiles gave way beneath him. A moment of darkness was followed by an unexpectedly soft landing, and surprise—
—he was alive! He’d landed in an abandoned weaver’s attic and was practically entombed in yellow dust. The wool he rested on was damp, sticky and rotten, but it had saved his life. No time to thank the Madonna. Through the hole in the roof he could see Tower Scaligeri had caused a domino collapse, and to judge from the thunder, it was happening all over the northside.
Sparks and embers fell through the hole and the attic began to fill with a thick, noxious smoke. He attempted to sit up but the wool clung to him until it felt like drowning. He held his breath and fell to the ground as he pulled himself free. He crawled along the floorboards, searching, but there was nothing there, just roiling, creamy smoke that cut his lungs like broken glass. He collapsed coughing, and his flailing hand came to rest on the stick of an old combat flag. He closed his fist around it and opened his eyes. Through the tears and smoke he could see the banner was black. Imagine Doc Bardini allowing himself to die choking like a dog and unavenged – never! Uggeri picked himself up and searched until he found the trapdoor. With strength failing, he dragged it open and all but fell down the ladder.
He was dizzy and bruised and bleeding, but he was alive! A surge of ecstasy lifted him to his feet. He opened the workshop’s front door a crack: Piazza Stella was full of condottieri. At the back of the workshop was another door. He kicked it open, flag ready.
The alleyway was empty.
The glowing orange sky proclaimed that the topside was a dead zone for bandieratori. Sparks drifted amongst the stars as darkness once more descended on the streets, this time as a cloud of smoke and dust. The screaming continued over a steady percussive rumbling, interrupted by periodic explosive impacts. The bellows of falling towers pushed a river of scalding air through the alleys. He ignored the hair-singeing heat and ran to Tartarus.
CHAPTER 79
The Land across the Water
APOTHEOSIS
Just as plague erupts every seventh year, so every seventh century Tartarus, that sea of grass at the world’s roof, expurgates its unruly children. In the middle of the last century, the hordes of Gog abandoned the steppe and invaded … everywhere. The thundercloud rolled swiftly over Russ-Land, surveyed Europa’s poverty and turned south to the Holy Land. The horsemen did not distinguish between Ebionite and Marian; all life was their enemy. The Oltremarines and the Ebionites had to choose whether to fight together or die separately.
Their combined armies, led by the Old Man of the Mountain, turned back the storm at Ain Jalut.43 Afterwards the Old Man vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, and with him, the alliance. One question remained: who would strike first? King Tancred, in whom the Guiscard bloodline had reached an apotheosis of sorts, did not hesitate. Following his recapture of Jerusalem,44 he scattered the Radinate into the desert from whence it had sprung.45 The tribes returned to scavenging,46 and Akka47 began to look covetously on the Middle Sea. Crusade is riddled with ironies, but the greatest48 must be that it created a rival to Etrurian interests much worse than the Radinate.
CHAPTER 80
The queen stood on the south wall facing the empty immensity. ‘The patriarch says the Sands must consume Akka one day. I don’t believe it. God would not allow it. We’re meant to be here.’ Behind her, Sofia looked silently on that unlimited desolation, hearing again the threat: Wherever you run, he’ll find you. There was no sanctuary then, even here.
Catrina assumed Sofia was brooding on other things and praised her mothering abilities. ‘I’ve never seen such a natural.’
Sofia demurred, ‘I’ve never been very feminine.’
‘Feminine. Bah! A word describing the ideal slave. Obedient is what they mean. Weeping, fainting, mooning over idiotic men, laughing at idiotic jokes, marvelling at idiotic deeds. We are queens, Contessa. We have frail bodies, but we must have manly hearts to win men’s hearts, and to do what must be done.’
Sofia cupped the back of the baby’s
head, feeling its downy warmth and the small chest moving against hers.
‘There!’ the queen cried triumphantly.
Sofia saw only a dust cloud on the horizon. ‘Could be a Jinni.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s getting larger, and staying in one place. That’s riders coming towards us – two, I’d wager. Must have him bound. Oh, Papa’s coming back home, isn’t he?’ She clapped her hands, then reached over to pinch the baby’s cheek. In her enthusiasm, she made her howl.
Down in the courtyard, Fulk and his men helped Levi and Arik tie up their camels. As they began to climb the stairway, Catrina said, ‘Contessa, give me the child. I want to show my uncle how well I treat his child despite the way he treated me.’ She eagerly shouted down, ‘Well, where is he? You did find him?’
Arik exchanged a look with Levi. ‘His body.’
The queen’s face reddened with fury. ‘I told you I wanted him alive!’
The baby started crying and Sofia offered to take her again, but the queen ignored her, demanding explanation.
‘He was dead when we found him, Majesty. He must have panicked. He’d entered Sicarii territory.’
‘Nonsense! Andronikos grew up in this land – he knew where he was going. The scoundrel made a deal with them.’
Arik was sceptical. ‘To what end?’
‘To my throne, of course. Lord knows what concessions he promised them – as long as those bandits exist, my throne is not safe. Your father was a real idiot, wasn’t he, little one?’
‘He was desperate. He thought he’d be executed,’ Sofia said.
‘He wasn’t wrong.’ Catrina laughed. ‘I just wish he’d lived to see this.’
She cast the baby over the wall before Sofia knew what was happening. The child screamed all the way down. Levi, stunned though he was, managed to restrain Sofia before she assaulted the queen. Fulk and his men surrounded Catrina and stood facing them.
‘How – how could you?’
