The Guns of Ivrea Read online

  His boots crushed the pea shingle as he approached; already the great door was swinging inwards to receive him. All the way up to the palazzo, his mind had gone in circles about just how to say what he knew in his heart needed to be said. Trouble had come and could no longer be ignored or wished away.

  Inside, the ground floor hall looked straight into a lush courtyard, surrounded by the beautiful stone arches of an arcade. A fountain whispered. Silks and cushions covered three large wood couches and there, reclining in the midst, was Captain Nicolo Danamis, a woman on either side.

  “Master Gregorvero! You are most welcome.” Danamis shifted himself and gestured with an arm towards a couch. A retainer stepped forward to pour a goblet of wine for the ship’s master. Gregor couldn’t suppress a smile as his eyes settled upon the two courtesans in their flowing gossamer gowns, breasts peeping out of the folds. Nico never wasted any time once back from a voyage, and he had only been back for a few hours.

  Gregorvero grasped his goblet and sat uneasily in the centre of the couch facing Danamis. The young admiral of Valdur raised his cup while the jet-haired girl on his right stroked his thigh.

  “Here’s to another voyage ended! The coffers refilled!” He swigged back his cup. “It might just be our last for a while...”

  Gregorvero could see his commander had been at it for some time already. He wasn’t obviously drunk, just mildly cupshot—and loquacious. The ship’s master nodded and raised his own cup to the toast. The wine felt good going down and, the saints knew, he needed it.

  He leaned forward, trying to keep his eyes off the breasts of Nico’s companions. “Ship is secure, everything stowed. I’ve paid off the men and left twenty aboard to keep watch.”

  Danamis nodded and extended his goblet to be refilled by the young man liveried in red and white. “You did well on this one, Gregor. Especially when all hell broke loose like it did.”

  Gregorvero acknowledged the praise with a modest nod, took a long drink and gripped the silver goblet with both hands, arms resting on his thighs. “We have to talk, Nico. About the trade. About… well, a lot of things.”

  Danamis frowned and pushed himself upright on the sofa. He lifted the arm of one lady and pushed the other’s backside away from him. They took the hint and stood, giving a little curtsey and exiting the inner courtyard, bare feet slapping on the paving slabs.

  Gregorvero managed to drag his couch a little closer to Danamis. Off on the far side of the loggia, he could see the castellan, Escalus, watching and fingering his gold collar of office. Gregorvero paused, made eye contact, and the castellan gave a brief nod and left them, understanding the need for privacy. As castellan of House Danamis, Escalus was a crusty and formal coxcomb of few words but Gregorvero had always known him to be honourable. He had remained with Nico long after it became clear that his master, Valerian Danamis, would never return from the sea. Gregorvero turned back to Danamis and leaned in, his voice quiet.

  “Nico, I must speak my mind to you. I wanted to last night but, well, I thought it better to wait until we were at home. There is something not right. Now wait… I’ve sailed with you for many years. And I’m telling you the mood is as bad as I’ve seen in all that time. Belly-aching below decks. Grumbling. I’m used to that. But what I’m not used to is silence. And that’s what I heard on the voyage home. Nothing.”

  Danamis took another drink and did not reply.

  “Nico, I’m telling you this does not bode well. Something is simmering, I can feel it. And the cock-up with the merfolk is just the start.”

  “Go on,” growled Danamis.

  “You know most of the men have never liked the trade with the fishmen. And now, what with the priests at the Temple openly calling the seamen sinners for taking part in your little business, that’s wound them up all the tighter.”

  “They looked happy enough on the quayside today.”

  Gregorvero shook his head slowly. “Don’t be deceived by that. That was relief they were home, nothing more. And it doesn’t signify that they’re any happier.”

  Danamis raised his chin. “You think I should not have killed those two fools as I did?”

  “I am not saying that. I probably would have done the same thing. There was no other punishment. What I’m saying is what happened that day has changed things… for the long term. It’s been building for the last year or more. And the dam is ready to burst.”

  “So what is your counsel, good Gregor? Go ahead, tell me.” Danamis drank again, his lips stained red.

  “I’m saying that perhaps, just perhaps, what happened with the merfolk is no bad thing. It was a good run while it lasted but it’s come to an end. It’s time we went back to what we used to do.”

  Danamis laughed and leaned back into his cushions. “Yes! Go back to hunting dirt-poor Southlander merchants for a few more bolts of silk and a few jars of spice. How much cloth and spice do you think we’ll need to steal to make as much as just one myrra trade? It would take fucking years!”

  Gregorvero swallowed. He knew he was pushing his friendship probably more than he should. “You may not have a choice.”

  Danamis’s annoyance flared and he flung his now empty goblet into the fountain. “We’re hemmed in tighter than a nun’s twat and it was the myrra trade alone that has kept us from going under. I get nothing from the king and only a pittance from Maresto. With no war in years we can’t even pinch the damnable Torinians!”

  “It was your father who accepted the title of admiral and the gift of this city from the king. It was a good decision then and a good one now.”

  Danamis looked upwards to the darkening sky, aggravated. “Well, he’s not here anymore to sort things out, is he?”

  “Nico, make an effort with the town. Announce the trade is done with and that we’re going back to pirating the foreigners and defending the coast. In the meantime I will make sure my men and the dock scroungers keep their ears open for trouble.”

  “Boy! Fetch me my goblet back and fill it. Fill his as well!” Danamis smoothed back his hair and swore under his breath. “I’ll think about it, Gregor. I’ll think about it.” He stood up and tugged at his short-sleeved brocade coat, now adorned with wine. The youth, ever patient, placed a full goblet in Danamis’s hand. “Oh, and get those women back in here.” The youth bowed and scuttled off.

  Gregorvero opened his mouth, about to say more, but a commotion in the hall told them both that there were new arrivals to the palazzo. A stuttering armed retainer hurried into the loggia to announce the guests but it proved too late.

  “By Elded’s bollocks! Just the two of you! Where are all the women?”

  Giacomo Tetch strode in, three whores in tow, the latter all giggles and smiles. Danamis shook his head in quiet surprise.

  “A good evening to you, uncle.”

  Gregorvero was on his feet as soon as he had heard the ruckus and now he took half a step back and gave a curt nod. “Captain Tetch.”

  Tetch grabbed one of the girls around the waist and pulled her in. “Just as well I brought enough for everyone!” he roared. “The Grace has been at anchor for hours and you haven’t dipped your wicks yet?”

  Gregorvero’s mouth twitched into a half smile. He didn’t like Tetch’s bravura—or him. He may have been a good captain, and he was most assuredly a good pirate, but Gregorvero always thought him as slippery as a hagfish and just as ugly. He found it difficult to stop from staring at that white glass orb in his head: the closed eyelid of a sleeping snake. He was dying to ask him more about the two bowmen who had shot at the merfolk and precipitated chaos. They had, after all, come from his crew. But that was a demand for Danamis to make and not him.

  Tetch fell onto one of the couches, pulling a whore down onto his lap. “Where is the wine, then? I’ve brought the dessert.”

  Danamis motioned the servers and more drink was duly brought in. Gregorvero took his seat again and reached for his wine. Might be better if I stay awhile, he thought, as he watched the sweatin
g pirate guffawing and pawing at the prostitute. But to his eyes, Tetch did not seem like he had been pouring it down his throat overly, at least not as much as Danamis.

  Tetch snatched a goblet and took a long drink before wiping his doublet sleeve across his mouth. “Now, I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure but… it does fall on me to pass you a message. I came across a member of the Council of Decurions on the way up here. They are hoping for an audience with you on the morrow. I told them I was confident you could oblige.”

  Danamis’s eyes narrowed. “The Decurions? And what do they wish to hear?”

  Tetch shrugged. “It seemed an ordinary request. I think they wanted to hear how the voyage went. And… well, Elonis—you remember him I think—Elonis had heard that the trade did not go quite as planned this time. He said they just wanted to hear from you and not the rumours of sailors.”

  Danamis wasn’t overly concerned. The Decurions of Palestro generally did what he asked of them to keep the city administered. And he compensated them handsomely for their allegiance. But giving the request via Tetch annoyed him.

  “I’ll speak with them, uncle. As soon as I get a proper request for an audience. Do they think me some town watchman they can call in for reports? No, I’ll wait for a proper delegation to come up the hill.”

  Tetch nodded gravely. “Too right, too right, Nico. They must see who rules Palestro. Say, what’s this then?”

  Danamis’s courtesans had reappeared and were now giving a curtsey. One of Tetch’s whores made a sour face.

  “Make yourself at home, uncle,” said Danamis sounding bored but not a little irritated. “I’m for my own chamber. Gregor, stay as you please. Escalus will look after you.” He gestured to Tetch’s ladies. “Or you can assist Captain Tetch here who clearly has far too much to handle.”

  Tetch laughed and nodded vigorously. “Aye! Share and share alike. That’s the way of sailors, is it not?”

  Gregorvero smiled and made a graceful bow from the hips, his belly spilling from underneath his belted doublet. “You are most generous, my lord. But I must get down to the harbour again or there will be hell to pay with my own woman.”

  As he walked from the palace, the sounds of high-pitched squeals followed him, Tetch and the women both. He pulled his cloak about him, glad he was out of there and glad that he was walking down the hill this time. He knew how to pilot ship, bark, or caravel in calm water and in the roughest sea. And his old father had always told him he had a nose for what was coming over the horizon. Now, his nose was itching again.

  Seven

  LUCIUS KODORIS PULLED his cloak away from his arm and raised it across his nose and mouth, his left hand holding onto the reins of his mount. A swirling cloud of hot yellow dust flew into his face from the brick-hard road. Next to him his riding companion, Captain Flauros of the Temple guard, merely wiped a gloved hand across his narrowed eyes. He was sitting a head higher than Kodoris himself since the charger he rode was some three hands taller than the Magister’s palfrey. Kodoris didn’t like that much in a world where presence and perception were everything.

  They were only five miles outside the walls of Livorna, heading east past the outlying farms and orchards of the city. And not far ahead, as the dust cloud whipped past them, he could just spy the large walled estate that was their destination.

  Flauros cleared his throat and spat. “I’ve not heard of this priory before—Saint Dionei’s. Not even heard of the saint. You have had dealings here before, Magister?”

  Kodoris let his cloak fall back to his shoulder and turned to his companion. “I would have thought that knowing one’s catechism was a prerequisite for becoming an officer in the Temple guard.”

  “That was a long time ago in my case, Magister.”

  Kodoris looked back to the road and the great house ahead. “Saint Dionei was a companion of Elded the Lawgiver. Surely you remember that saint.”

  Flauros bore the barb, his expression stoic.

  “Dionei,” continued Kodoris, “was the one who was instrumental in revealing the existence of the Great Deceiver who was amongst the followers like a wolf amidst the flock. She paid for that with her life. And yes, I have been a visitor here once before… when I needed the services of a Seeker.”

  “God willing they will do you good service again then, Magister.”

  It was Flauros who reached out to ring the priory bell at the gates. “These Seekers are canonesses you say? They take no vows?”

  “They come and go as is their will. But their piety is not to be questioned. Nor their ability. They are high born—their father was the Lord of Rovera.”

  A servant girl came to greet them at the gate, dressed in grey and with a face as blank as an unwritten page. She led them inside to the courtyard where their horses were taken. They were ushered into the cool of the stone priory and into the main hall where a great oak table stood at its centre. Two dozen small windows, set high up the walls, illuminated the drab chamber. In a few moments the girl returned bearing an earthen wine jug and cups. She had no sooner left when an older woman, a cleric, and nearly as wide as the doorway, waddled in to greet them. Her round face looked like a full moon against the blackness of the wimple that surrounded her head and shoulders.

  Kodoris bowed deeply, followed immediately by Captain Flauros, who had hastily removed his polished sallet helm. “Prioress, we are honoured that you receive us,” said the monk.

  She curtsied. “We are glad to offer the Temple Majoris any assistance when called upon. Our two ladies have been told of your letter and are eager to meet with you. In the meantime, please take refreshment. They shan’t be long.”

  Flauros looked hopefully at the Magister.

  “We thank you for your hospitality,” the monk intoned before giving the nod to his eager captain. With barely contained restraint, Flauros poured out two cups and passed one to the Magister before raising his own to his lips without even a pause.

  When two identical women entered the room a moment later, Flauros paused with his vessel halfway to his mouth. The Magister had not bothered to tell him that the Seekers were twins nor that they were young (no more than five and twenty summers, he reckoned). Dressed separately to be sure, but so strikingly similar in aspect that had they been attired the same he would have been unable to tell them apart. And they were beautiful. Hair golden, the colour of sun-bleached straw, eyes of blue, pretty noses, and perfectly formed thin lips framed by a strong feminine chin. They dwarfed the prioress as they stood next to her. Flauros set his cup upon the table without taking his eyes off the pair and gave a deep court bow.

  They were dressed in satin, one blue, the other amber, the delicate cambric of their chemises showing at the slashed sleeves and the high, square-cut neckline, and enough golden lace to shame a prince. Their long hair was tied back and a transparent veil of tissue-like silk gauze covered the tops of their heads, ending in a peak and dangling pearl at the forehead. They belonged at a duke’s court and not a priory.

  Kodoris gave a deep bow. “My good sisters, it fills my heart with gladness to see you both again and in the bloom of good health.” He half-turned and waved his hand. “And this is Captain Flauros of the Temple Guard. My escort.”

  The sisters smiled and gave a simultaneous, if shallow, curtsey and Flauros inclined his head in return. The one on the left spoke. “I am Lucinda. My sister is called Lavinia.”

  “Well then,” puffed the prioress, clapping her hands together. “I have duties to attend to so I will leave you here to discuss your business. Please be seated.” Flauros thought it strange she would not stay but she was gone in seconds, toddling out through the ornately carved archway.

  The sisters walked across to the far side of the table and Flauros was about to seat himself on the bench at his side when Kodoris put a hand on his arm. “Captain, I would ask you to place yourself outside the door that no others may enter. I will call you in after I speak with the sisters.” His look was steel; a look that Flau
ros had learned not to question. He gave a smart bow to Kodoris and the ladies and exited the chamber, now more eager than even before to uncover the purpose of this secretive enterprise.

  Kodoris pulled in the skirt of his robes and sat facing the sisters. He laced his hands together and placed them on the table. “My letter to you was necessarily vague. That I am in need of a skilful Seeker you both already know. It remains for me to tell you the why.” He reached into a deep pocket of his garment and withdrew a grey cloth—a monk’s hood. “This belongs to a greyrobe who has fled the Ara. Someone who must be found and returned. For the good of the Faith.”

  Lucinda’s eyes bored into him. “And what did this greyrobe do that he had to flee, Magister?”

  “He killed a brother monk in his bid to escape the monastery. He was pursued by Captain Flauros and his men but he cleverly fell in with a band of mercenaries who have apparently given him shelter. He is probably on the road south as we speak.”

  Lucinda nodded, expressionless. “May I hold the garment?”

  Kodoris pushed it across the scored planks of the old refectory table and Lucinda leaned forward to retrieve it. She shared it with Lavinia, the two of them kneading it gently in their long-fingered hands. They exchanged a knowing look and Lucinda’s eyebrows arched briefly. She turned back to face Kodoris.

  “He saw something. Something that frightened him. That is why he fled.”