The Fallen Blade: Act One of the Assassini (4 page)

However, his generosity failed to impress Lady Giulietta, who
resented having to leave her warm quarters for the chill wind of a winter afternoon, and made little attempt to hide it. She had no idea that Monday 3 January would change her life. As far as she was concerned, it was the day sleet frizzed her hair as she turned out to watch the end of another stupid race.

“They say Crucifers prefer men.”

Sir Richard’s simple breastplate was half hidden by the cloak of his order. His only jewellery was a ring marrying him to his priory. By contrast, the captain of Giulietta’s escort wore red hose, scarlet shoes and a brocade doublet short enough to show his codpiece. Both men were watching a merchant’s wife.

“My lady. Are you sure about that?”

“Eleanor…” Giulietta started to reprimand her lady-in-waiting and then shrugged. “Perhaps Sir Richard’s the exception.”

“Perhaps the rumour is wrong.”

“You like him!”

“
My lady.
”

“You do!”

Eleanor was thirteen and Giulietta’s cousin. She had the dark eyes, black hair and olive skin of those who mix northern blood with blood from the south. She was loyal but quite capable of answering back. “He’s a White Crucifer.”

“So?” Giulietta demanded.

“Crucifers are celibate.”

“Supposedly.”

“What do you think they’re discussing?” Eleanor asked, trying to change the subject. Although all that happened was that Giulietta’s scowl deepened.

“My engagement. All anybody talks about.”

“She’s interesting.”

Captain Roderigo regarded the merchant’s wife with surprise. She was certainly blonde, and pink-skinned, big-breasted and big-boned. With thighs made to cushion a man’s head. But interesting?

“I meant your Lady Giulietta.”

Both men glanced towards the Millioni princess.

Her family had worn the
biretum
, that oddly shaped cap adopted by the doges of old, for five generations. Earlier dukes were elected, however corrupt that election. Marco Polo’s descendants claimed it by birth. Their palace was grander than the Medici’s. Their mainland estates wider than the Pope’s own. They were aggressive, avaricious and scheming. Essential qualities for a princely family. To these they added a fourth,
murderous
. Their arm was long. The blade it held sharp.

“The Millioni have kept us free.”

“From whom?” Sir Richard asked, sounding surprised.

“Everyone. Venice balances on a rope, with predators waiting in the pit below. They see us dance elegantly, pirouette daintily; dressed in our gaudy clothes. And never ask the reason we stay high on our rope.”

“And who are the predators?”

Roderigo regarded him sharply. “We have the German emperor to the north. The emperor of Byzantium to the south. The Pope has declared the Millioni
false princes
. Making them fair game for any penitent with a sharp dagger and a guilty conscience. The Mamluks covet our trade routes. The King of Hungary wants his Schiavoni colonies in Dalmatia back. Everyone offers to protect us from everyone else. Who do you think the predators are?”

“So you marry Giulietta to Janus because it will help protect those trade routes? Poor child…”

Finding them watching her, Giulietta turned away.

“She makes no pretence to be pleased,” said Sir Richard, then shrugged. “Why would she? Janus is years older. I imagine she dreams of the Florentine.”

“Cosimo?”

“He’s… what? A few years older than her? Educated, loves music, dresses well. He’s even said to be handsome.”

“She fancies no one,” Roderigo said. “Not even,” he said, trying
to sweeten the truth, “a ruggedly handsome, war-hardened veteran like me.”

Sir Richard snorted.

“Anyway, she can’t marry the Medici. Florence is our enemy.”

“So were we until your ambassador proposed this match at the funeral of our late queen. Janus was surprised by your timing.”

Roderigo wasn’t.

Venice’s ambassador to Cyprus had the patience of a baited bear and the subtlety of a rampaging bull. He’d been given the post because Duchess Alexa couldn’t stand his presence in her city any longer.

“Look,” said Roderigo. “You should tell Giulietta that Cyprus is beautiful. That Janus is struck dumb by the beauty of her portrait.”

“I’m a Crucifer.” Sir Richard said ruefully. “We don’t lie.”

“You have to entice her.”

“You’ve visited Janus’s island? Then you know the truth. The summers burn, the winters are bleak. The only thing he has in abundance are rocks and goats. I won’t embellish the truth to impress her.”

Roderigo sighed.

“On to other matters,” Sir Richard said. “Who takes the tenth chair?”

Glancing round, as if to indicate that simply asking was unwise, Roderigo muttered, “Impossible to say. No doubt the decision will be a wise one.”

“No doubt.”

The city’s inner council had one seat vacant. Obviously enough, that seat was in the gift of Marco IV, reigning Duke of Venice and Prince of Serenissima. Unfortunately, Marco had little interest in politics.

“Surely you have some idea?”

“It depends…”

“On what?”

After another quick glance, Roderigo said, “Whether the Regent or the duchess get to choose.” They walked on in uneasy silence after that. Until Sir Richard stopped at a proclamation nailed to a church door.

Wanted.

Axel, a master glass blower.

Fifty gold ducats to anyone who captures him. Death to anyone who aids his escape. This is the judgement of the Ten.

The glass-blower was described as thickset, heavy of gut and white at the temples, with a lurid scar along his left thumb. If he had any sense, he’d crop his hair. Moreover, skulking in fear for his life should shrink his gut. The scar would be harder to hide, however.

“Will you find him?”

“We usually do.”

“What happens to his family?”

Roderigo checked that his charges were walking arm-in-arm ahead; one sullen, the other watchful. Being Giulietta’s lady-in-waiting was an honour, but not an easy one. “They’ll be questioned obviously.”

“They haven’t been already?”

“Of course they’ve…” Roderigo’s voice was loud enough to make Lady Eleanor look back. “Yes,” he hissed. “They’ve been questioned. One son-in-law and a grandchild are dead. The Council examines the others tomorrow.”

“And then…?”

“Death between the lion and the dragon.”

Two columns marked the lagoon edge of the
piazzetta
, a small square attached to San Marco’s much larger one. One topped by a winged lion, the other by Saint Todaro slaying a dragon. It was here that traitors died.

“Why kill them if they know nothing?”

“What do you know about Murano?”

“Little enough. You don’t encourage strangers.”

“The glassmakers’ island has its own courts and cathedral, its own coinage, its own bishop. It even has its own Golden Book. A good portion of Venice’s wealth comes from its secrets.”

Captain Roderigo paused to let that sink in.

“It’s the only place in the world where artisans are patrician and skill with your hands earns you the right to wear a sword in public.”

“This comes at a price?”

Honesty kept Roderigo from lying. Glass-blowers couldn’t leave Murano without permission and the penalty for a Muranesq caught trying to abandon Venice was death. “Didn’t you need your Prior’s permission to leave Cyprus?” he added, refusing to concede the point entirely.

“I’m a Crucifer.” Sir Richard’s voice was amused. “I wake, sleep, piss and fight on the orders of my Prior. And we should stop talking. Ignoring Lady Giulietta makes it hard for her to ignore us.”

Roderigo laughed. “She’s young,” he said. “And Janus has…” He hesitated. “A strange reputation.”

“For liking boys?”

“Also pain.”

“The last is a lie.”

“Yet he married his late wife for love?”

“Bedded her once. And was stricken when she died. Your Lady Giulietta will not have an easy time of it.”

First out of the Grand Canal and already speeding towards the
piazzetta
, a curly-haired boy and his Nubian companion were far enough ahead to have a length between them and the first of those behind.

Maybe the lightness of their boat made up for the slightness of its crew.

Two boys rowing, where others had three, five or even seven working an oar. All stood, using a single oar each. There were ten thousand
gondolini
in Venice and each was taxed yearly. That was how their number was known.

A hundred and fifty craft had set out, hoping to race round the city’s edge, before returning along the reversed S of the Canalasso, as the Venetians called their largest canal. Although most were
gondolini
, the boat in front was not.

“What is it?” Sir Richard asked Roderigo. Then, remembering his manners, added. “Perhaps her ladyship knows?”

“Eleanor?”

Her lady-in-waiting didn’t know either.

“A
vipera
,” Roderigo said. “Mostly used for smuggling.”

“It’s a
vipera
,” Giulietta said flatly. “Mostly used for smuggling.”

“Equally pointed at both ends?”

Roderigo nodded. “Instead of turning his boat, the oarsman turns himself, while my men are still turning their
gondolini
. It’s rare to see one used openly.”

“And the name is from
viper
?”

“Because they strike fast.”

“Smugglers who strike fast. Or maybe such boats have other uses?”

Roderigo smiled at the dryness in Sir Richard’s voice. Venice was known as the city of gilt, glass and assassinations. The whole of Italy knew why the boats racing towards the finish were black.

Eleven years earlier, in the year of Our Lord 1396, a gondola had drawn alongside the ornately painted craft carrying Giulietta’s mother, Zoë dei San Felice. The crossbow bolt that killed her passed through her oarsman first. When the oarsman crawled to her side, the late duke’s only sister was dead.

A sumptuary law passed that evening instructed that all
gondolini
be painted black. This was not death’s colour in Venice, that was red. But in honour of Zoë’s elegance, all vessels would be
her favourite colour. The truth was that Marco III had wanted the safety
gondolini
looking alike would bring his family.

The boys in the
vipera
were extending their lead when the boat closest behind rocked suddenly and tipped, losing its crew with a splash. Glancing back, the curly-haired boy shouted something and his Nubian companion started to laugh.

“That was Dolphino taking a ducking,” Roderigo said, as if this explained everything. “He can’t bear losing.”

“You mean…?”

Lady Giulietta curled her lip. “That was no accident.”

“By tonight,” added Roderigo, “Dolphino will have been closing the gap and about to win. And the boys who just stopped will have sacrificed their second place to help a friend.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Giulietta said.

Gathering her gown, she stepped from a wooden walkway on to slippery brick and headed for the finish line. Sir Richard followed, wondering how King Janus would deal with his strong-willed bride.

“Your names?” Roderigo asked.

“Iacopo, my lord.” Cheaply dressed but freshly razored, the curly-haired boy bowed with lazy grace, as if born to court rather than the poverty his jacket suggested. “And this is… a slave.” The slave bowed low in the Eastern style, silver thimbles dancing at the ends of a dozen tight braids.

“Well done,” Sir Richard said.

The curly-haired boy smiled.

A wide face and brown eyes. Strong arms and… His virility made obvious by the tightness of his hose and the salt spray that soaked them.

“Eleanor,” Lady Giulietta said. “You’re staring.”

The girl flushed with embarrassment.

“The distance?” Sir Richard asked quickly.

“Nine
mille passum
, my lord. Seven thousand paces around
the edge, and two thousand back through the canal. The waves were tough to the north, but she’s good…” He nodded to the
vipera
in pride.

“Yours?”

“My master’s.”

Realising the silence following was a question in itself, the boy added. “Lord Atilo il Mauros. He’s…”

Sir Richard knew. “Your winnings,” he said, offering a purse.

The young man bowed again, and couldn’t resist weighing the purse in his hand. His grin showed white, and crinkled the edges of his eyes.

“Eleanor…”

“I’m not the one gawping.”

Giulietta glanced sharply at her lady-in-waiting.