by Robert Shea
XLII
"Count Simon!" Simon recognized the crackling voice of the contessa.
She was wearing a floor-length gown of deep purple velvet. She held up adisk-shaped bronze medallion on a silver chain.
"Please take this, my young paladino. Wear it into battle for me."
Simon went to her, his steel-shod feet echoing in the hallway. All hismovements felt slow and clumsy in the mail shirt that hung to his thighsand the mail breeches that protected him from waist to ankle.
Embossed on the medallion was a mounted knight driving his lance into acoiling bat-winged dragon baring huge fangs in rage. Where the lancepierced the scales was set a tiny, teardrop-shaped ruby.
"Thank you, Donna Elvira," he breathed, full of admiration for theworkmanship. "It is most beautiful."
She reached up and put it around his neck. He could feel its weightthrough his mail shirt.
"San Giorgio. It was my husband's, and I have kept it locked away in myjewel casket since the day the puzzolenti Filippeschi murdered him. Itis yours now. San Giorgio will give you victory." She raised her thinbody on tiptoe and he felt her dry lips press against his cheek.
"I will never forget this moment, Madonna." He touched her yellow cheekswith his fingertips to brush away her tears.
He did not want her to know that this was his first--his veryfirst--battle.
* * * * *
Climbing the spiral stairs to the tower, his legs ached as he pushed hismailed weight upward, and his neck felt strained under his mail hood andsteel helmet. It had been weeks since he had worn his mail, days sincehe had practiced his sword drill. He swore at himself.
He emerged through a trapdoor onto a square platform paved withflagstone. Three helmeted heads turned to him: De Puys, his head coveredwith tight-laced mail leaving only a circle for his eyes, nose, andmustached mouth; Teodoro, capitano of Simon's Venetian crossbowmen,wearing a bowl-shaped helmet; and de Verceuil, whose tall helmet waspainted bright red and shaped like a cardinal's mitre covering hisentire face with the stem of a gold cross running up the center and thearms of the cross spread over the eyeholes.
Dressed for war, de Verceuil looked more like a cardinal than he usuallydid, Simon thought ironically.
Of the four men on the tower platform, de Verceuil wore the mostelaborate armor with steel plates over his mail at his shoulders, knees,and shins. Hanging from a broad belt at his side was a mace, an ironball on the end of a steel handle a foot long. This was, Simon knew, theproper weapon for a clergyman, who was not supposed to shed blood.
Over his mail shirt de Verceuil wore a long crimson surcoat sewn withcloth-of-gold Maltese crosses. De Puys, like Simon, wore a purplesurcoat on which the three gold crowns of Gobignon were embroidered overand over again. Teodoro's simple breastplate of hardened leather wasreinforced with steel plates.
Leaning into a crenel between two square merlons, Simon took a deepbreath of the mild spring air. It would be a pleasant evening, did henot know that many men were going to die.
He watched the last wagons bringing in casks of water and wine, loads ofhay and sacks of grain and beans--supplies in case the fighting draggedon--over the drawbridge through the rear gate. Water, especially, was inshort supply in the city on the rock. The palace had its own spring, butit did not produce enough water to supply the whole establishment. Simonremembered Sophia drinking from his hands in the garden.
He stopped short at the thought of her to whisper a little prayer forher safety. But she was in no danger. No one was threatening CardinalUgolini.
Simon had ordered that every cask of water available in Orvieto bebought and every vessel filled. The attackers would surely use fire as aweapon. He had also sent for a supply of rocks from a quarry outsidethe city, extra ammunition for the stone casters mounted on the roof.
He recalled that Sordello had said the Filippeschi intended a surpriseattack. They were certain to learn of these preparations and realizethat the Monaldeschi had discovered their plan. What if they did notcome at all?
If the fact that the Monaldeschi were ready was enough to prevent theattack, that would be the best possible outcome. But Simon realized witha pang that if the Filippeschi did not come, he would be terriblydisappointed.
He shook his head at his own madness.
Sunset reddened the tile roofs surrounding the Monaldeschi palace. Fromup there Simon could see the tall campaniles of Orvieto's five churchesand the towers of the other palaces--all battlements square, becausethis was a Guelfo city. A green flag, too small from this distance tomake out the device on it, flew over a tower on the southwest side ofthe city, the palace of the Filippeschi.
He went to the other side of the tower to look at the city wall. Orangeand green Monaldeschi banners flew there. He had assigned twentyMonaldeschi archers, all he dared subtract from the defenders of thepalace, to secure the nearest section of the wall. He had wanted tostation men in the houses near the palace as well, but de Puys persuadedhim that such outposts would surely be overrun and the men speedilylost. Better to concentrate his forces in the palace itself.
He could not make out Cardinal Ugolini's house, somewhere to thesoutheast of him. It had no tower to distinguish it. But he thoughtagain of Sophia. How lovely it would be to be with her sitting andchatting instead of up in this tower awaiting a deadly onslaught. Howwonderful if his only worry were whether or not she would accept hismarriage proposal.
He stared out over the city and thought, somewhere out there was anotherenemy. Even if, as Sordello reported, Cardinal Ugolini were not behindthis attack, there might be someone behind both the Filippeschi andCardinal Ugolini. Ever since he had come to Orvieto, Simon had sensedthe presence in this city of a hidden enemy. An enemy who knew him andwatched him, but whom he did not know. The one--Simon was sure ofit--who had killed Alain.
_I am waiting for you_, he said, gripping the red bricks of thebattlements.
* * * * *
Every old soldier Simon had ever talked to had said that war consistedmore of waiting than of fighting. Simon found the combination of boredomand fear well nigh unbearable.
De Puys sat with his back against the battlements and dozed like a largecat. De Verceuil also sat, his helmet on the tower floor beside him,reading from a small leather-bound book, whispering the Latin words.Simon supposed it must be his office, the prayers every priest wasrequired to say every day. The cardinal would have to get today's officeread quickly; the light was fading fast.
Capitano Teodoro preferred to be busy. He kept shuttling back and forthbetween the tower and rooftop two stories below, where his men weredeployed. Teodoro would make a circuit of the tower battlements,frowning down at his company of archers. Then he would go down and ordersix or so men to change position. He would inspect everyone's weapons.He inspected the bows of even the eight Armenians, in their bright redsurcoats, who would fight beside the Venetians. The friction between theArmenians and the Venetians, Simon had noticed, had lessenedconsiderably after he promoted Teodoro. He was a good leader. At thecontessa's request Teodoro inspected the Monaldeschi men-at-arms, whowere mostly stationed at the two gates and in the hallways and apartmentwindows.
After each inspection tour, Teodoro would come back up, study thesituation, then go down and rearrange the men, likely as not returningthem to their earlier positions.
But staying busy made sense. It kept everyone alert.
Simon left the tower once to visit his four knights on the rooftop, eachone stationed, with six men-at-arms, by a stone caster at a corner ofthe roof. So that their missiles would clear the screening he had builtover the battlements, the long-armed machines were set well back fromthe edge of the roof. The knights did not like supervising the stonecasters. They wanted, they told him, a chance to charge the enemy duringthe attack. Simon tried to be good-humored about insisting that theyremain within the palace, but it was hard giving orders to men who wereolder than himself and combat veterans. He miss
ed Alain, realizing onlynow how much he had relied on his young friend as a go-between forhimself and the other knights.
Returning to the tower roof, Simon kept pacing from one corner to theother. He fingered the jeweled hilt of his scimitar. He tried to diverthimself by thinking of Sophia, by imagining how he would phrase hismarriage proposal to her. He dreaded the fighting, but wished it wouldstart.
Like a rising tide the shadows spread and deepened, swallowing up thehills beyond the city, then the city walls, then the towers. The fourmen stood in darkness, no torchlight up here to make them an easytarget. The only light on the roof below was the shimmer of charcoalsburning in four braziers for fire arrows.
An orange glow appeared over the hills to the east, the moon starting torise.
Simon heard distant shouting. Battle cries.
"Filippeschi!" It was Teodoro's voice.
Simon saw flickering red light dancing on house walls coming towardthem, converging from front, sides, and rear. The streets were toonarrow to permit sight of the advancing bravos and their torches.
_So, even though they know we are ready for them, they have come._
From the street directly opposite the main entrance to the palace along, dark shape emerged, like a gigantic tortoise. Similar shapesissued from other streets opening on the piazza. The tortoises were bigenough to shelter at least a dozen men. There were six of them, crawlingacross the open space.
"Use the fire arrows!" Simon shouted. Teodoro repeated the order to hismen. On the roof below, men raced from the battlements to the braziersand back again, and streaks of light arced from the rooftop at thetortoise shapes.
Simon could hear the burning arrows sizzle on the wet wooden frameworksand wet hides. The hides did not burn, but the light from the arrowsmade it easier for the crossbowmen shooting from the battlements to seetheir targets. Teodoro was down on the roof directing their fire. Thearchers volleyed at the closest tortoise. The steel bolts tore rightthrough the skins, piercing the men beneath. Simon heard the thump ofthirty bolts striking a tortoise at once, then screams. The frameworkstopped moving, and Simon saw men crawling from under it. Some ranfrantically back to the shelter of the side streets; others crept a fewpaces and collapsed.
Something whizzed past Simon's head and struck the brick merlon besidehim. A shower of chips clattered on his mail. One stung his cheek.
"Shooting back," said Teodoro. "From the sides."
Torchlight flickered from behind wooden mantlets at the mouths of thestreets approaching the palace from the north and south. The rectanglesof wood filled the street from side to side. From this height Simoncould see the crowds of men behind each mantlet.
Fire arrows from mantlets and tortoises hissed overhead and fell,trailing sparks, into the atrium of the palace. Simon heard splashes asservants threw water on the trees.
"Put more of your men on the sides," he said to Teodoro, who hurrieddown the stairs inside the tower.
The moon was now a red oval low in the eastern sky. The light would helpthe Filippeschi target the defenders on the rooftop, but it would notexpose them in the streets.
A loud crash startled Simon, and he felt the tower floor shake. Anothercrash and another. Stone casters. The stones were coming from alldirections, and Simon could hear screams.
He turned to de Puys. "Fire our stone casters."
With de Puys gone, only Simon and the cardinal were left in the tower.They had nothing to say to each other. The cardinal had donned hismiter-shaped helmet at the first sign of the Filippeschi, and Simoncould not see his face. Simon longed for Teodoro to come back.
It was Simon's equerry, Thierry, who pushed open the trapdoor. "CapitanoTeodoro is hit."
"Blood of God!" Simon pushed past de Puys to hurry down the tower'sinner staircase.
Teodoro lay near the entrance to the tower, surrounded by a crowd ofmen-at-arms. His breathing came in hoarse gasps, alternating with gruntsof pain. It was too dark for Simon to see him well. He knelt besideTeodoro, and a vile smell of excrement choked him. Someone beside Simonwas sobbing. Teodoro had been much liked among the Venetians.
Carefully Simon felt down the capitano's body. The hard leather cuirasshe wore was cracked down the center. Just below his chest Simon's handmet the huge rock. It was wet, probably with Teodoro's blood.
"It caught him right in the middle," said an archer standing over Simon."Broke him in two. Crushed his belly and his spine. Only the part of himabove the stone is alive."
A gurgling sound rose in Teodoro's throat. He was vomiting, and warmliquid gushed over Simon's hand. His own stomach writhed, and bileburned his throat. He stood up suddenly, and instantly regretted it,because he had wanted to comfort Teodoro in his dying. But the gaspinghad stopped.
Teodoro had probably never known he was there.
Simon's hands and knees were trembling.
_So this is what it is like to be killed in battle._
He wiped his hand on his surcoat. Careful to make his voice firm, heordered the archers back to their positions. The weight of his mailalmost unbearable, he stumbled back to the doorway to the tower.
He felt his arm gripped and heard Friar Mathieu's voice. "Simon, I heardyou lost your capitano of archers."
"This is much worse than I ever thought it would be, Father," hewhispered, almost as if confessing.
The hand on his arm squeezed through his mail. "Trust yourself, Simon.You will do what you must do."
By the light of a fire arrow burning itself out in the overhead screen,Simon saw the contessa, her purple gown tied up to her knees so shecould move more quickly. She called Friar Mathieu to see to a woundedman, then greeted Simon.
_She thinks I am a hero. If only she knew the horror I feel._
Who was Teodoro's second-in-command? Yes, Peppino. Peppino was the onewho had fought with the Armenians at Alain's funeral, but a new capitanomust be appointed immediately. There was no time to balanceconsiderations.
He managed to find Peppino and appointed him to lead the Venetians. Thenon shaking legs he pushed himself back up to the roof of the tower.
"They are bombarding the rear gatehouse with mangonels," de Puys said.Simon heard rocks thudding against the drawbridge at the rear of thepalace, the entrance for horses and wagons. By moonlight he was able tomake out, across the street from the rear of the palace, four mangonels,stone guns shaped like giant crossbows.
"Where did the Filippeschi get so many men and machines?" Simon wonderedaloud.
"One would suppose you could answer that," said de Verceuil, his voicemuffled by his helmet. "Are you not our military expert?"
Simon was still too gripped by horror to be angry. But a part of hismind somehow kept trying to think about what the Filippeschi intended.
He became lost in thought as he gnawed at the problem, and all butforgot the battle raging around him. Numerous as they seemed, theFilippeschi had just a chance, no more than that, of overwhelming theMonaldeschi palace, especially having lost the advantage of surprise.Was their hatred of the Monaldeschi so deep that such an uncertainchance was reason enough for them to make this effort?
_If I could but capture Marco di Filippeschi and force him to tell mewhy he is doing this ..._
What if this attack were a diversion, a cover for the real blow, to bestruck by stealth?
Simon's body went cold.
"I must see to the Tartar ambassadors," he said. He turned toward thetrapdoor in the tower roof.
"Monseigneur--look--the Filippeschi are attacking again," de Puysprotested. Simon turned back, looked over the edge, and saw the tortoiseshapes moving forward again over the piazza while stones from mangonelsslammed into the second-story gatehouse.
_No_, he thought. _Even if they break down the door, they could neverget up the stairs. This attack is a feint._
"I believe the ambassadors are in danger," he said.
"By God's robe!" de Verceuil boomed from under his helmet. "You arequitting the battle?"
"The battle is where the
ambassadors are," Simon said. "The wholepurpose of this attack is to get at them."
"The whole purpose of your saying that is to get out of danger," deVerceuil retorted.
Simon quivered with rage. De Verceuil's eyes glittered coldly at him inthe moonlight through holes cut in the blood-red helmet. Simon wished hecould draw his sword and swing it at the damned cardinal's head. But hefelt as if he were suddenly wrapped in chains. With de Verceuil accusinghim of cowardice, how could he leave the tower?
De Puys put a steadying hand on his arm. "Monseigneur, no one can get atthe ambassadors. Not as long as we hold fast here."
In the florid face with its drooping mustaches Simon saw pity, but alsoa trace of contempt. The old warrior, too, thought his young seigneurwanted to run away. If Simon left the tower now, he would have to bearhis vassal's scorn. Nor was it likely that de Puys would keep silentabout this. The tale would spread throughout the Gobignon domain.
_But I know I am not a coward._
Searching his heart, he knew that though he was afraid of the flyingcrossbow bolts and stones, he could direct the battle from the tower allnight if need be. Even after Teodoro's death, and the blood still stickyon the mailed glove that hung from his right wrist, he felt strongenough to go on fighting.
If he went to the ambassadors and no one struck at them, he would havebeen mistaken, but his leaving here would not affect the outcome of thebattle. What was happening out here was a simple matter of force againstforce. If he remained here and the Tartars were attacked and murdered,all would be lost.
_If I do not do what I believe I should because I am afraid of whatthese men think, then truly I am a coward._
He tried to make the other two understand. "The safety of theambassadors is my first obligation. Enemies could be in the palace now."
De Verceuil brought his steel-masked face close to Simon's. "It is knownthat there is tainted blood in your family."
Simon's face went as hot as if a torch had suddenly been thrust at him.It was a moment before he could speak.
"If you were not a man of the Church, I would kill you for saying that."His voice trembled.
"Really? I doubt you would dare." De Verceuil turned away.
"Monseigneur!" de Puys cried, his face redder than ever. "Do not make meashamed to wear the purple and gold."
That hurt even more than what de Verceuil had said. It hurt so muchSimon wanted to weep with anger and frustration.
Instead, he bent forward and lifted the trapdoor and hurried down thesteps. He heard de Verceuil say something to de Puys, but he could nothear what it was. Fortunately.
He stopped on the roof to look for Friar Mathieu. Groups of crossbowmenwere running from one side to the other. Friar Mathieu was making thesign of the cross over a fallen man.
"I think the Tartars may be in danger, Friar Mathieu," Simon said. "Iwant you to come with me so that I can talk to them."
To Simon's relief the old Franciscan did not object. "Let us take two ofthe Armenians with us," he said. "If there is danger, you should not goalone."
Now that he was away from de Verceuil and de Puys, Simon could reflectthat he might, indeed, be mistaken. But he had to act, even though hedoubted himself.
Simon, Friar Mathieu, and two Armenian warriors named Stefan and Grigorhurried down the tower's inner staircase to the ground floor. Singlecandles, burning low, lit the corridor at long intervals. Here werestorerooms and cubbyholes where servants worked and lived. Therelentless pounding of rocks reverberated in the stone walls, punctuatedby occasional screams penetrating through the arrow slits.
Monaldeschi men-at-arms standing at the embrasures with crossbows kepttheir backs turned to Simon as he hurried past. An odor of damp stonepervaded the still air. Simon noted that as he had ordered, buckets ofwater had been placed along the corridor to douse fires.
The kitchen was on the north side of the building. It was dark as acave. The cooking fire in the great fireplace, big enough for a man towalk into it, had been put out. They passed empty cauldrons, piles offull sacks, rows of barrels, all barely visible in the light of ahalf-consumed taper in a candlestick on a table. A large water casksurrounded by buckets and pots stood in the center of the kitchen.
Attackers could be hiding here. But Simon knew he did not have enoughmen to search. He must get to the Tartars and stay with them.
The pantry where the contessa kept her costly stock of spices importedfrom the East was below ground. Stefan lifted a heavy trapdoor, and oneby one they climbed down a narrow flight of wooden steps without abanister. Grigor, bringing up the rear, held a candle to light theirway.
A door of rough oaken planks bound together with iron straps stoodbefore him. He felt his stomach knot as he walked up to it. What if hewere too late?
Simon had ordered that the square black iron lock set in the door beleft unlocked in the case the Tartars should have to escape. He pulledon the handle. The door was bolted from the inside, of course, with abolt he had only that afternoon ordered the Monaldeschi carpenter toinstall. From the other side a voice asked a half-audible question.
"It is Count Simon," he said. "Let us in." Friar Mathieu added a fewwords in the Tartar tongue.
The bolt slid back and the door opened inward. Simon stepped forward tosee how his charges had fared.
The storeroom was dimly lit by a small oil lantern. The two Armenianswithin had risen from chairs. They had their bows in their hands,arrows nocked. They stood in front of the Tartars. John, thewhite-haired Tartar, and Philip, the black-haired one, sat on cushionson the floor, leaning back against the shelves of spice jars thatcovered three walls of the room. Their bows were on the table and theircurving swords, in scabbards, lay in their laps.
Simon was pleased to see that they looked alert. It must be maddening tosit down here in semidarkness and do nothing while a battle raged above.
He reminded himself that if no one attacked the Tartars while theFilippeschi besieged the palace, his reputation would be ruined. He felta momentary pang of anguish, and found himself actually hoping that theenemy would come here. Quickly he stifled the feeling.
_Do not call on the devil. He may hear you and come._
