Tom Swan and the Head of St. George Part Six: Chios (9 page)

Swan thought for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Yes.’

Fra Tommaso met his eyes squarely. ‘You were expendable. If you succeeded too well …’ He shrugged. ‘At the very least, you saved the lives of hundreds of men who would, in this very hour, be locked in mortal combat – Christians and infidels.’ The old man shrugged. ‘But don’t play the injured innocent. It’s a dirty business. That is war.’

In the end, Swan took the rings, and a blessing.

Ancona, in late summer, bore no shadow of the conflict raging at the other end of the Mediterranean. The fishing fleet dotted the sea, and the great round ships and fast galleys of the merchants studded the wharves, and so great was the peace then reigning that Ancona had both Genoese and Venetian shipping in the harbour when Swan’s ship dropped anchor.

He ordered his armour and kit unloaded and left Peter to watch it while he ran up the streets of the town to his rented house. The smile on his face was so wide that other men and women smiled to see him, and men recognised him and called out, so he had to stop three times and be welcomed.

And then he was in his own street, and he went to the door and knocked.

After a few minutes, a cold hand seemed to grip his heart.

And when the bell rang the hour, his landlady came to her door. She looked frightened.

‘Where is my wife?’ he asked.

She put a hand to her mouth and slammed her door.

Before Swan could leave his landing, her servant brought him a sealed letter. He knew Violetta’s hand immediately.

He opened it in eager relief – in one minute, he’d feared plague, robbery, kidnapping, and Messire Drappierro’s assassins.

My dear Tommaso
, it began.

He read a sentence or two, and then his eyes lost their ability to see and for a moment, the world went white.

He went to an inn and ordered wine.

When his head was better, he read:

My dear Tommaso
,

I have left you, and taken all your money. I am truly sorry, but it is dull here, and my soul tells me you are dead. And if you are not – well, I enjoyed playing your wife, but I do not think either one of us meant it for ever, did we?

I will go to Milan with an old friend, and cause you no scandal. I will remember our Christmas with pleasure.

I found studying medicine dull. Only men could take the saving of lives and turn it into something dead. I spit on them.

If you come to Milan – well, do not expect to be my husband, or my pimp, and we will be friends.

Violetta

Swan read it six or seven times, and finally he raised his face at a startled servant girl and grinned.

‘Well, well,’ he said.

Later, he told the entire tale to Peter, who knew everything anyway, and to Antoine, who had spent four months cooking for strangers and was obviously happy to have escaped the Turks.

Peter shrugged with Dutch sangfroid.

Antoine smiled into his wine. ‘I liked her,’ he said. ‘But she was not anyone’s wife.’

Swan bowed to the truth of the statement and raised his cup. ‘To Violetta,’ he said.

The candlelight winked on Alexander’s ring.

And ten days later, Swan stood before Cardinal Bessarion, with Peter and Antoine at his shoulders. He’d been careful crossing Rome – but not too careful. He rather fancied a fight with the Orsini.

Bessarion embraced him and offered his ring for a kiss.

Swan handed the cardinal a thick packet of papers. ‘From your steward on Lesvos,’ he said.

Bessarion laughed. ‘I gather you return a Christian hero,’ he said.

‘Perhaps,’ Swan allowed. He raised a hand. ‘First – how is Di Brachio? And Giannis? And the rest – Cesare?’

The cardinal nodded. ‘Di Brachio is still recovering. He had more than a month with the fever. Messire Cesare is at the Curia even now. Giannis and his wife no longer live here, but remain in my employ.’ The cardinal reached across his desk and squeezed Swan’s hand. ‘By God, sir, it is good to have you back. I have a letter from the master of the order praising your work – and your courage.’ Bessarion raised an eyebrow. ‘I have a meeting in five minutes – tell me quickly and then take some weeks and write a full report. Did you catch the spy?’

Swan thought of Drappierro. And he thought of Prince Dorino, and his three traitors.

‘No,’ he said.

Bessarion shrugged. ‘It was a long shot at best.’ He rang the bell on his desk and rose. ‘You have a star from heaven on your finger.’

Swan drew it off and handed it to the cardinal. ‘I’m told it was the signet ring of the great Alexander.’

Bessarion slipped it on his finger. ‘We’ll dicker later. As usual, you have exceeded my expectations. Go and sin with your friends, and I’ll see you when I can make time for a cup of wine. Go – go – I don’t want the Pope’s French secretary to even know you exist.’

Swan slipped out the private door into the servants' corridor, and was enfolded in a deep embrace.

He looked into Di Brachio’s eyes. They were slightly too bright, as if fever had marked him – but he had weight on, and some muscles, and looked a little more alive than the last time Swan had seen him.

Alessandro grinned. ‘You English – everything loud, eh? Could you not have saved Chios quietly?’ He embraced the Englishman again.

Swan grinned back. ‘I missed you – and Giannis and Cesare – every day. I was … way over my head.’

‘Ah!’ Di Brachio said. ‘Welcome to the profession.’

And that night, they sat in a small, quiet inn north of the forum – all seven of them. Giovanni Acudi was brilliant in scarlet robes, and De Brescia looked more prosperous then Swan had ever seen him. Giannis and his new wife Irene sat hand in hand, almost uninterested in the others, and Peter sat with Di Brachio. The cardinal’s other Greeks were on a mission. It was not discussed.

He heard that De Brescia had been all the way to the Germanies and back, and that Acudi was trying a case against the Orsini and had to be protected by Giannis and thirty men. They drank, and drank, and went to vespers and returned and drank more.

‘What were you doing in Germany?’ Swan asked De Brescia, who laughed.

‘What indeed?’ the man answered. ‘I went to great conference – almost a parliament. Every ruler in Europe sent their representatives. They met to discuss a crusade, and I believe that I have never seen so many nobly born fools posture so ineptly. The Emperor sponsored the conference – although he does not want a crusade – and the English and French helped pay for it – although they hate each other worse than twenty Turks.’ He shrugged. ‘I was bribed every day.’ He snorted.

Giannis leaned forward. ‘Despite which, the Hungarians and the Germans may put something together.’ He put a finger to the side of his nose. ‘Do you know who this man is, called Hunyadi?’

Di Brachio smiled. ‘Fancy a visit to Romania?’ he asked, and everyone laughed except Peter and Swan, neither of whom understood.

Acudi drew on the table in wine. ‘Mehmet is going to try to take all the rest of the Empire,’ he said. ‘He has four armies preparing.’

‘And the Crusaders and their legate will rally to the Hungarians at Belgrade,’ Di Brachio said.

Swan shook his head. ‘I have a report to write,’ he said. But he laughed. And before the evening ended, they all drank to it.

‘To Belgrade!’ they all shouted.

Also By Christian Cameron

 

Tom Swan and the Head of St George

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Volume Two: Venice

Volume Three: Constantinople

Volume Four: Rome

Volume Five: Rhodes

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Copyright

 

An Orion eBook

First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Orion Books

This eBook first published in 2013 by Orion Books

Copyright © Christian Cameron 2013

The moral right of Christian Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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ISBN: 978 1 4091 4562 2

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