Ariosto (32 page)

“You say that we should take precautions, and I agree most emphatically. But I don’t think standing guards are sufficient.” He recalled the fight he had waged in the air with the birds. “We will need every man in the field on the day of battle. We can’t put all of them on watch and then arm them to fight. That would be utmost folly. We must find reliable guards, guards that may not be killed or suborned by any of the enemy. For that reason, I would set a small foot patrol to catching ducks.”

The others stared at him, some aghast, some annoyed, one or two amused.

“When the birds came against me, the ducks did not. It has been suggested by your own wizards and priests that the great power of Anatrecacciatore cannot extend to ducks because those birds are the heart of his power, or perhaps the only opposition he can have because of his name. I have seen much stranger things in travels. Therefore it is possible that his warriors cannot harm ducks either. I have found that ducks are easily alarmed, and when they are they make a frightful din. No enemy could approach our camp without causing these birds to squawk and quack and therefore give us good warning of danger.” As he spoke, he felt his confidence in the plan grow. His chestnut eyes were alight with enthusiasm and his voice became more vibrant. “Consider, good captains, the advantages. We would be protected by the very thing that Anatrecacciatore is unable to influence. Short of the Sword of San Michele, I can think of nothing more effective to guard us.”

Lungobraccio scowled. “Ducks may be slain. They are not large beasts. It would be a simple matter for the warriors of flint and frost to set upon them and kill them.”

“Not before they had begun making noise,” Lodovico asserted. “Think of that. Should they be killed—although I doubt that will happen—they will still make an alarm we may be awakened to do battle. If every man sleeps with his weapons at his side, there will be no need to take extra time to prepare for the fray.” He almost laughed. “Some of your men must have baskets in which they carry their supplies. Surely they will sacrifice them to the ducks in exchange for the protection the birds afford.”

Falcone been listening to this in silence and now he met Lodovico’s eyes with increased respect that bordered on awe. “I am beginning to believe the stories I’ve heard about you. At first, I thought that it was the pride of your countrymen talking, not truth, but I see that all that has been said is true. You are the most clever man I have known.
We
should have thought of this. You are a stranger, new to our land and new to the threat of Anatrecacciatore, yet while we sit here wishing to find ways to thwart him, you go to the heart of the matter and give us the solution that we have been seeking.”

A flush of pride stole over Lodovico’s handsome face and he shrugged eloquently. “If I have been fortunate in this guess, it is because I have been fortunate on other occasions and have brought all that I have learned—at some cost—to bear on our struggles. I am no wiser than you, no more acute, but I have not had to grapple with this evil for as long as you have. I see it differently, and therefore I have had the opportunity to observe your valiant efforts from another view.” He smiled at Falcone and thought, with a pang, that were it not for his unrevealed passion for Aureoraggio, this would be the finest comrade at arms he had ever known. There should be no secrets between comrades, but this secret, he knew, he must keep. It would be the most terrible betrayal he could commit, and with battle so near, he must not burden Falcone with this other conflict.

“It is your modesty speaking,” Falcone said, misreading Lodovico’s sudden reserve. “But I will not bore you with reminding you of your many victories. I will only tell you that no one of my blood has done so much to aid us, and if there is a victory here, it will be more truly yours than any of ours.”

The others agreed, though some were distressed to hear such words come from this superb prince.

Lungobraccio rose first. “I will set my men to trapping ducks. They are positioned on the flanks in any case, and it will be a simple matter for them to hunt the water birds.” It was obvious that he was not as enthusiastic about Lodovico’s plan as Falcone was.

“Excellent,” the Cérocchi prince declared and looked meaningfully at the other captains.

It was Fumovisione who spoke next, though the wizards and priests had not been consulted in matter. “I believe that Ariosto is on to something. I will go into the marshes myself and bring back as many ducks as I can lay hands on. Which may be quite a few, as I have some tricks in my bag that the rest of you know nothing of.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke and as he glanced at Lodovico, he winked.

What little resistance there was crumbled under Fumovisione’s comments. The captains rose and gave their unusual salutes before leaving the tent of Falcone.

Massamo Fabroni was among the last to go, pausing to say to Lodovico, “I don’t know what good this plan of yours will do. It sounds as if ducks are a lot of nonsense, but if that’s what you want…” He opened hands to show his acceptance of Lodovico’s orders. “If nothing else, we can make a meal of them when the battle is over.”

Lodovico did not have an answer for the rugged Lanzi. He considered his comment carefully, knowing that Massamo had a touchy and highly prized sense of honor. “I am not familiar with the strength and weakness of these people,” he said at last, more slowly than he generally spoke. “But I know that we must take advantage of every strength we possess, search out new strength, and, if necessary, invent it. I have no illusions about the power and malice of Anatrecacciatore.”

It was not remarkable that Falcone overheard this. He came to Lodovico’s side. “You are too severe, Ariosto. And I think that you do not quite believe that, not after the birds attacked you.”

Caught between Massamo Fabroni and his utter materialism and Falcone’s mystic sense of the forces around him, Lodovico struggled to think of a way to satisfy both of them without causing insult to either. “When I was in the air and there were birds around me in so dense a cloud that I could hardly see the light of the sun, and it was as if night had descended most unnaturally, I knew that Falcone had been right in assessing the danger of Anatrecacciatore’s power. But I am also aware that it is the pragmatic soldier who is most likely to survive. Pragmatic does not mean realistic, of course. But what realistic man would battle a foeman of flint and frost? Yet it must be done because the alternative is complete capitulation, and that is loathsome to any man who respects himself and God.”

Both Massamo and Falcone were pleased with this answer. Falcone smiled slightly. “I must not forget how astute you are, Ariosto. It is part of your genius.” He offered his arm to Massamo Fabroni. “We are allies in this fight, good Italian, and I am grateful for your good sense and your willingness to take up our cause as your own. In battle I will take heart, knowing that you will set an example of courage.”

Massamo grasped Falcone’s arm and for the first time there was a genuine acceptance in his eyes. “I am your man to death, Cérocchi.”

A great load was lifted from Lodovico’s spirits. “Come he said to the two men. “First we catch ducks. Then we fight.”

La Realtà

Ercole Barbabianca glared across the rose hedge at Ezio Foscari, oldest son of the Doge of Venezia. “You are cooperating with the Turks against us!” he insisted, his cherub’s face contorted. “You deny it, of course you deny it, but I have the word of my commanders in this.”

“There was some mistake, then,” Ezio Foscari responded as he picked out a rose and held it to his face. “We don’t send our ships against friends.”

“The friendship between Genova and Venezia is recent. The rivalry is ancient. Is there not the slightest chance that one of your commanders, in a forgetful moment, thought himself in the past?” Barbabianca was not yelling now, but his expression was no less deadly.

“Is it not also possible that such a lapse affected your commanders?” Ezio Foscari inquired sweetly. He was in his early twenties, effete in manner and dress but hardy as a weed, a rangy, fair-haired man with Foscari features.

“It is a shame that you cannot follow your father in office,” Ercole Barbabianca sneered.

“There is no assurance that I won’t. I may be elected. You, however, having no sons, must hate the passing days, knowing that no election in the world can pass your title on to your children.” He was using the rose to gesture with, and his bantering tone made mockery of Barbabianca’s nastiness.

“Both of you, give it a rest,” Damiano put in, stopping the exchange. “When I asked you to walk with me in the garden it was not so that you could duel with words.” He turned to the man beside him. “Suggest another topic Lodovico.”

Stunned, Lodovico mentioned the first thing that came into his mind. “Has the ship come back from the land of the Cérocchi? It’s been more than a year…”

Damiano’s face darkened and he looked at his two feuding guests. “It got back across the Atlantic safely enough, but ran afoul of the Spanish. The crew was taken prisoner at Barcelona. It was traveling without escort, unfortunately.” It was apparent to all three men that Damiano held both Genova and Venezia accountable for this oversight. “There will be other ships, naturally, and in time we may learn what those despicable Spaniards did to our men. Since they gave a royal edict that there could be no exploration of such heathen lands, they have been at pains to interfere as much as possible with our trade. I would have thought,” he added in another voice, “considering it was Genova who established the trade, that Genovese ships would protect the place, but it would seem that this is not the case.”

Foscari and Barbabianca exchanged uncomfortable looks, and at last the stout Genovese Doge said, “We have many concerns, as you know, Primàrio. It is unfortunate that our Signoria is not always quick to see the advantage in such outposts as Nuova Genova. When we brought back the two Cérocchi guests in fifteen thirteen, I was new to my office and perhaps I did not handle the enterprise as well as I might have. It was your grandfather who made the situation clear to me. I recall that he gave me some excellent advice at the time, as he so often did. You probably don’t remember. You were very young at the time.”

“I remember very well,” Damiano corrected him. “I was fifteen years old by then, and already my grandfather was schooling me. I had paid official visits to Paris and Cologne before then, and a year later, I visited Cyprus with the old Venezian Doge. The Cérrochi made quite an impression on His Holiness.” He chuckled. “Uncle Giovanni loved the picturesque and strange, and those Cérocchi were better than anything he had seen except the Russian dwarves. He kept them in Roma for the better part of a year. Finally my grandfather had to go and get them and arrange for them to be taken home. There was an agreement with the King of their people and he was determined to honor it.”

Ezio Foscari could afford to laugh, and he did. Ercole Barbabianca cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, you’ve got to be aware, de’ Medici, that it was not always possible to have a fully supplied ship ready to undertake such a hazardous journey at short notice.”

returned in one of our ships.” Though Firenze was an inland city, she maintained a small fleet of her own at Pisa. “We must have been strangely fortunate to be able to set out so quickly. Strange. I had assumed that Genova would be more capable than Firenze in such things.”

Though the embarrassment had occurred almost twenty years before, it still carried a sting.

“It is sad that you did not think to contact Venezia.” Ezio Foscari remarked to the air. “We’re usually able to put to sea within two days of an order.” He favored Barbabianca with a particularly malicious smile.

muttered, but refused to be drawn into altercation. “We do well with the Cérocchi and their allies,” he said in a determinedly hearty manner. “They provide us with a variety of furs and hides, for the most part, and some lumber. There are also artifacts that a few people enjoy, and we purchase some regularly. I think it has been an advantageous arrangement both ways.”

“What about a fuller exploration of the country itself? How is that going?” Damiano seemed genuinely interested, for there was a brightness in his brown eyes and he walked more briskly.

“Well you know that it is not an easy thing to cross the ocean and then set off exploring. The Cérocchi have taken some of the outpost guards through most of their territories, but they are only one of many nations, and not all of them are at peace. We are attempting to make arrangements, of course, but”—his face turned a plummy shade—”we lack the sort of courageous leader who would be able to head such a prolonged venture. We have searched, and I am fully committed to the task, but it’s difficult, Damiano. It’s very difficult.”

Lodovico wished he could bring himself to speak, to ask for the honor of leading such an expedition. He had been listening avidly, thinking of that time, twenty years before, when as a young man he had heard the Cérrochi talk about their homeland. He had been entranced then, and now, in his writing, all he had been told came back with vivid reality. To have the opportunity of going there…He did not continue the thought, for he knew that it would not be possible, with Alessandra and Virginio. If he were a man without a family or obligations, it would be different; he could roam the entire world. He also admitted to himself that Damiano would not be willing to let a man, untried and unknown, take on the responsibilities of the venture. And perhaps, he told himself, salving his pride, his skills would be of more use here than in that strange land where he would be, in all practical senses of the word, mute. A poet feeds on words, he knew. If he could not speak, he would be a poor leader.

“How do you see it, Lodovico?” Damiano asked suddenly and Lodovico realized that he had not been listening.

“About Nuova Genova?” he wondered aloud, not certain if the subject had changed or not.

Damiano came as close to laughing as he ever did these days. “I wish I had your gift, Lodovico. I would spend my days in the clouds. Your mind has wings.”