The Boy Who Wept Blood (16 page)

28

Convalescence Ends
–
13 Agosto
325

Dino woke to the familiar weight of Achilles padding across the bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, a blood-red kaleidoscope on his half-opened eyes. Motes of dust floated in the shafts of light, pinpricks of bronze and gold. Achilles shifted again and hissed.

‘Hungry are we?’ Dino pushed himself up onto his elbows, feeling stitches pull tight across his shoulder blade, a now familiar ache. Six days since the attack outside the castle. Six nights since the raid on the granaries. Almost a week of brooding on the fate of a farmer barely known.

‘I suppose I should venture out; I can’t stay here with only you for conversation.’

Another hiss and the drake slithered over the side of the bed, a blur of sepia-brown scales and whip-like tail. Dino followed the reptile with his eyes. Duke Fontein’s stiletto lay on the floor. He’d placed it under his pillow after the attack, and yet there it was, waiting to be found. A proclamation of his guilt exquisitely manufactured in every way. He reached down to retrieve the engraved blade, turning the three tapering sides.

Tempo. Velocita. Misura.

His attention wandered to the glass of water on the dresser, yet another reminder of the duke. Perhaps he too would succumb to poison, yet he suspected his own death would be distinctly more violent.

‘I need to speak to some people before I go entirely insane.’

Achilles yawned, turning a flinty gaze on the Orfano.

‘I think we both need to.’

Dino scratched at stubble. He was rank with sourness, both of body and spirit. One he could sluice off with water, the other would remain with him long after he wished it otherwise.

He had just finished dressing when a knock sounded at the door. The Orfano eased a dagger from his boot, concealing it in the small of his back. Achilles bolted across the room, scurried up one leg, then clawed his way to perch on Dino’s shoulder.

‘Careful, you ugly brute,’ muttered the Orfano as he opened the door.

‘Not quite the greeting I was expecting.’ Speranza smiled at him from the corridor.

‘I was talking to my friend here.’ Dino jerked a thumb toward the drake. ‘He seems to have forgotten I was stitched up barely a week ago.’

‘How is it?’

‘Uninfected. It seem small mercies do still exist.’ Dino ushered her in with a flick of his head. The messenger watched him secrete the blade in the side of his boot.

‘Not taking any chances?’

‘None at all.’ Achilles jumped from Dino’s shoulder to the armchair and coiled a tail about himself, closing his eyes.

‘I’ve barely seen you this week.’ The messenger smiled. ‘I was worried you’d run away to join a troupe of players.’

‘If only that were true. Imagine roaming the countryside, performing to the minor houses and estates. No politics, no intrigue, no struggle for a republic.’

‘No hot water, no beds, no charming messengers.’

‘I don’t pay you to dismantle my pipe dreams,’ replied Dino.

‘You don’t pay me at all,’ said Speranza.

He nodded, too tired to smile at the banter. At least she’d dropped the formality.

‘The Domina sent this.’ She produced a length of rolled parchment from a battered leather tube secured to her
bandoliera
. Dino took it, noting the fine quality, the purple sealing wax.

A moment’s hesitation. He had no wish to be the Domina’s lapdog again, nor her hound. He placed the missive on the mantelpiece, on the same spot Duke Fontein’s stiletto had occupied just six days previously.

‘I believe it’s of some import, my lord.’

Dino said nothing and considered staying in his apartment after all. Achilles slithered off the armchair, padding across the room to curl about his boots, before hissing at the messenger.

‘Be quiet.’

‘I thought you should know,’ said Speranza in a respectful hush. ‘I took word of Signore Bruno’s death to his family at House Di Toro.’

Dino nodded but failed to find any appropriate words. He suspected they would sound trite even if they found his mouth.

‘He is survived by a wife, a daughter—’

‘And a son,’ said Dino, tone leached of intonation.

‘Yes, Drago. I delivered the wagon and the horse to him. I explained what happened. I mentioned your name, of course. He was grateful for everything you’d done for his father.’

Dino nodded and lifted the cataphract drake from the floor with a tender hand.

‘You know Signore Bruno’s death wasn’t your fault, Dino. He chose to defend you.’

‘Thank you. That’s all, Speranza.’

‘No one could have foreseen the attack.’

‘You are dismissed.’ The Orfano didn’t take his eyes from the drake. The messenger retired from the room, reluctance at every step. Dino stared at the Domina’s missive, dearly wishing he could burn it.

It was well known throughout Demesne, and all of Landfall, that House Erudito had the finest kitchen staff of the great houses. The tastes of the
professori
were refined, in some cases gluttonous, requiring a special level of culinary art. Despite this, Dino rarely took breakfast in House Erudito, preferring instead the kitchen of Camelia in House Contadino. He emerged through the stone arch to find its staff taking a mid-morning break. A
caraffa
of diluted wine had been prepared for the many cooks and porters. Camelia sat at the centre of the chatting assembly, a golden-haired queen. A chopping board laden with unsalted bread and olive oil were being picked at with enthusiasm.

‘Dino?’ She broke into a smile. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. Shame you had to bring that awful reptile into my kitchen. Is he clean?’

Achilles turned his back on the cook until he was riding Dino’s shoulder back to front.

‘Now you’ve offended him,’ said Dino, a ghost of a smile on his face.

‘What brings you here?’

‘This is one of my favourite places in the whole castle, you know?’ He slumped down on a stool. ‘I’d spend all day here if I could.’

The staff eyed each other warily. They had not forgotten the Orfano’s chiding following the funeral.

‘I doubt you’d fit in, Dino.’ The cook grinned at him. ‘We work for a living down here.’ Camelia crossed the room and grabbed him by the collar, planting a kiss on each cheek. Her staff scurried away or found chores in need of completion. ‘Would it have killed you to send word?’ She gripped his shoulders with both hands, checking him over.

‘Things trying to kill me is why I’ve not been around much.’

‘I’m sorry, poor turn of phrase.’

‘I’m fine. I’ve been in my room all week.’

‘You had me worried sick.’

‘And you I. There was a terrible moment when Speranza visited my apartment. I thought that … Are you sure you won’t come to live in the castle?’

‘Dino.’ She held up a warning finger.

‘I mean it. You could have Lucien’s old apartment. There’d be more than enough room. It’s warmer—’

‘Dino! I said no once, and my answer hasn’t changed.’

‘But it’s such a long walk and you’d be safer in here, with us.’

‘Safer? Do you really think so? “In here” is where all the trouble is. I’m much safer outside, thank you. Now is there anything that you’re wanting?’

‘Is it lunch time yet?’

‘That’s more like it. Just promise me you’ll avoid getting killed today.’

‘That’s easy.’ He tapped the pommel of his sword. ‘I make that promise to myself every morning.’

Revisiting the courtyard opened up a selection of memories he’d preferred to forget, like splitting a thick scab, the wound below just as tender. Achilles abandoned him, keen to be free of the shade so he might sun himself. He perched atop the kitchen porch like a miniature gargoyle.

‘So much for companionship,’ muttered Dino.

The Orfano sat on the same barrel in the same corner of the courtyard. He ate his food from the same wagon-wheel table, trying to decide where Bruno had spent his final moments. The cobbles were stained dark red in a handful of locations, each a possible marker of where the farmer had fallen.

‘Hell of a thing.’

‘Morning, Nardo.’

‘Wish I’d been here.’ The messenger tucked his thumbs behind the thick leather of his sword belt. ‘You healed?’

‘Still sore, but I can’t stay in my apartment for ever.’

‘Huh.’ Nardo leaned against the porch, eying the four guards at the gates, which were half closed. A team of carpenters were busy repairing a granary door on the far side of the courtyard. ‘Word has it you aren’t in the best of humours today.’ Nardo tamped moondrake leaf into his pipe, mouth a downturned arch.

‘It seems people spend a lot of time wondering what mood I’m in.’ Dino dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter. ‘Maybe if they knew what I know they’d spend less time speculating.’

The messenger said nothing. Dark circles and stubble revealed the man had been worked hard of late. He lit the pipe and blew out a plume of blue-grey smoke, eyes still set on the carpenters.

Dino took a sip of beer and set the mug down. ‘Something on your mind, Nardo?’

‘Huh. I was about to ask the same.’ Another toke from the pipe.

‘There’s always something on my mind lately.’

The messenger blew out another plume of smoke, eyes still set on the far side of the courtyard. ‘And Speranza? Is she on your mind?’

‘Speranza?’

‘One day you’re thick as thieves, the next you’ve can barely got ten words for her.’

‘I …’ Dino opened his mouth to speak, but Nardo had turned to him, a stern cast to his tired features. ‘
Misura.
Measure. Can also mean consistency, no?’

Dino’s mind raced to the stiletto, the word etched along the blade. His stomach tightened. ‘Consistency?’

‘Think on it.’ The messenger departed, leaving the Orfano to sweat in the shade of the bloodstained courtyard.

‘And you’re giving this to me only now?’ Stephania eyed the earring Dino had found at the cemetery. ‘A little late, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry, so much has been going on …’

The sun made the pearl blaze amid the gold. They were standing on Stephania’s balcony again, where it was difficult to be overheard.

‘I heard about the attack.’

‘They’ve doubled the guard. The
capo
is drilling them every afternoon.’

Achilles dismounted from Dino’s shoulder and scampered to the parapet.

‘Do you recognise it?’ He gestured at the jewellery.

‘Few could afford such work.’ Stephania hesitated. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘In the cemetery. Two riders were handing over a letter to some grey raiders in the woods.’

Stephania’s eye’s widened in shock. ‘That would explain how Erebus is getting his letters in and out of Demesne. Did you see who they were?’

‘No. They wore cloaks and I couldn’t get close enough.’

Something like relief crossed Stephania’s face.

‘So who could afford jewellery like that?’ he asked.

‘Duchess Fontein for one.’

‘It wasn’t her,’ said Dino. ‘Someone younger.’

‘Lady Allattamento is well known for her love of gold.’ Stephania turned the earring over in her hands. ‘It could well be an heirloom. Perhaps Erebus is recruiting from among the minor houses?’

‘Or perhaps it was Erebus I saw in the woods behind the cemetery? Perhaps Erebus is a noblewomen?’

‘It seems unlikely,’ said Stephania, not taking her eyes from the earring.

‘Perhaps I’ve underestimated Lady Allattamento all this time. It would make sense – her son led the attack on Anea.’

Stephania nodded, lips pressed together tightly, eyes revealing only anxiety.

‘Are you unwell?’ asked Dino.

‘Forgive me, I’m not myself today.’ She forced a smile. ‘I need to rest.’

She pressed the earring back into his hands before leaving the balcony. The cataphract drake and the Orfano looked at each other as the pearl gleamed in the sunlight.

29

Ravenscourt Waiting
–
14 Agosto
325

Shouting and the shuffling of feet greeted Dino as he entered the Fontein practice yard. Ruggeri and D’arzenta were drilling soldiers, many of whom hadn’t seen combat since the Verde Guerra. Soldiers who had spent the last seven years avoiding any serious exertion, years growing soft, drinking and chasing skirt, accepting the odd bribe to look the other way. Dino looked out over a sea of scarlet and black tabards. He’d half a mind to march them into the sea just to be free of the smell. Ruggeri crossed the courtyard and saluted.

‘Are you well, my lord?’

‘Still drawing breath. How goes the training?’

‘As ever, slow and painful.’

‘Pain is a great teacher, as Virmyre says. More painful if you’re struck by the enemy, I assure you.’

‘Of that there can be no doubt, my lord.’

‘The
capo
?’

‘Has been standing in as
maestro
during your recovery.’ Ruggeri flashed a look over his shoulder, then took a step closer. ‘He’s not much of a
capo
, I grant you, but he does know how to drill the soldiers.’

Too bad he doesn’t know how to lead them
, Dino wanted to say, but kept the comment to himself. Ruggeri saluted and pressed on with his duties. Dino edged around the men. They took turns to attack each other with wooden daggers and clubs, imitations of the weapons used by the grey raiders. Massimo was teaching a small intake of boys the rudiments of duelling in the far corner of the yard. The eldest of the novices was perhaps eleven.

‘Pay attention, young bravos. This is Lord Dino.’ Massimo smiled broadly. ‘Erudito in name, Diaspora in heart. There are few swordsmen in all of Landfall who are his equal, and fewer still who can claim to be his better.’

‘Witchling.’ The word came from the back of the crowd. Dino struggled to keep his expression neutral.

‘And that concludes today’s lesson, gentlemen.’ Massimo eyed the young nobles, no trace of humour remaining. ‘When you return tomorrow I’ll want the name of the novice who just insulted my friend.’

Guilty looks and mutters of complaint.

‘Think on that tonight as you take your rest. Should you fail in this task I will have you mucking out the Erudito stables every week until I have that name.’ The boys stared back, expressions ranging from sullen to petulant. ‘You are dismissed.’

Massimo left the courtyard, throwing a crimson jacket over his shoulder as he went. Dino regarded the boys with a wintry look before following the swordsman’s lead. They headed up spiralling stone stairs to a compact refectory large enough to accommodate ten men. A rough wooden table was accompanied by equally crude benches. The modest room was dominated by a portrait of Duke Fontein, a rushed affair in a chipped frame. Dino suppressed a shiver as the painting glowered at him.

‘Good to see you.’ Massimo poured a cup of water from a jug, holding it out to the Orfano with a smile. Dino took what was offered and flushed slightly as his fingers brushed against Massimo’s.

‘I see the old prejudices are still breeding true among the
nobili
,’ said the Orfano, gesturing out of the window at the practice yard. A new class of novices had trooped in, picking fights among themselves.

‘You know what they’re like.’ Massimo poured himself a drink. ‘All bright steel and entitlement. I detest teaching, but Margravio Contadino said it would be good for me.’

‘And is it?’

‘Well, I haven’t killed any of them yet.’

‘Difficult with a wooden sword.’

‘You have no idea, but I do keep trying.’ Massimo rolled his shoulders.

‘I was hoping for a fencing lesson of my own.’

‘First day back?

‘Exactly. I need to work out the kinks.’

‘Why me?’ Massimo smiled, holding Dino’s hand steady as he refilled his cup. Dino flushed again. ‘There’s any number of swordsmen who would gladly spar with you.’

Dino couldn’t decide if he was being taunted or not. ‘You’re the only person I can trust to draw steel who doesn’t want me dead, you know?’

‘I can believe it, but don’t you think you exaggerate, just slightly?’

‘I don’t know any more. I trust Ruggeri –’ Dino shrugged ‘– but I can hardly ask Margravio Contadino, can I?’

‘Maybe you should. It might lighten his mood.’

‘I’m hoping it will lighten mine.’ Dino paused, glancing into his cup, remembering the poison he’d used on Duke Fontein. ‘Did the
margravio
sell any of his estates?’

Massimo regarded the Orfano. Dino could sense the swordsman weighing his loyalties.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’ Dino looked away to the window and forced a smile. ‘All this spying for the Domina has addled my brain. I barely know friend from foe these days.’

‘No matter.’ Massimo waved aside the misstep and sighed. ‘I don’t think it’s your shoulder that’s the problem.’

‘How so?’

‘Your trust and your confidence have taken the greater wound. Come on, let’s practise.’

They trained inside, in one of the smaller rooms on the third floor that rarely saw use. It had become a dumping ground, stacked with wooden dummies, broken practice swords, a shield fractured from use. A ripped tabard had begun to grow mouldy.

‘Hardly the respect I’d show my own house colours,’ noted Dino. ‘And to think of all the trouble Lucien went through to earn the scarlet and black.’

‘Real loyalty is hard to find any more.’ Massimo looked down at the detritus. ‘Like I said, it’s all bright steel and entitlement. Personal glory at sword point.’

‘There’s precious little glory lately.’

‘But we do seem to live at sword point.’ Massimo snorted a laugh, lips curving in a smile loaded with resignation. Dino found himself doing the same. Massimo never failed to lift his spirits.

‘I never thanked you for saving my life,’ said Dino.

‘Nor will you. That honour goes to Bruno.’

‘But it was you who prevented the killing stroke, you who dragged me from the courtyard.’ Dino shook his head. ‘We only went out for a drink.’

‘That’s when you need armour the most, my lord.’ Another smile. Dino laughed and felt the tension drain out him.

They started at the very lowest level, working up from positions and guards that Massimo had taught just minutes earlier in the courtyard. Slashes and strikes, thrusts and ripostes. Scabbards were discarded, jackets hung from practice dummies as the moves increased in complexity.

The clash of steel on steel provided a backdrop of bright sound. The sun reached its zenith, shining through grimed windows. Soon they were stripped to the waist and sweating freely. Dino kept his forearms bound lest Massimo see the strangeness of the dark blue tines. The swordsman declined to mention the Orfano’s deformity or even take notice of the bandages.

The practice continued. Dino found his eye drawn to taut muscles moving beneath olive skin; Massimo possessed not an ounce of fat. From firm forearms to lean yet defined biceps, the thick sweep of his deltoids, the firmness of his jaw. He was a study in anatomy, and a perfect one. A flash of memory: standing at Cherubini’s door, seeing other hard bodies entwined, sweat-sheened in candlelight, the soft murmur of ecstatic voices. Dino pushed the thought aside and threw up a parry, stumbling as he did so. He glared and bit off a curse, lip curled back in a snarl.

‘Dino?’ Massimo had retreated with a furrowed brow, eyes beneath full of concern. ‘Is it your shoulder?’

‘My shoulder’s fine; it’s my concentration that’s weak.’ Dino rubbed at his forehead. ‘I’ve been idle too long.’

Massimo turned away and Dino’s eyes were drawn to his narrow waist, wide shoulders featuring pale pink lines – practice scars – across the muscles. His gaze descended the firm ridge of his spine to his britches and the tight roundness of his buttocks. Dino looked away, overwhelmed by arousal and shame.

‘Have some water.’ The swordsman held out the jug. Dino approached, tiredness washing over him. ‘You’re very pale – we should take a rest.’

‘I’m fine,’ mumbled Dino, feeling anything but.

‘This business with Bruno has really got under your skin.’

Dino took a swallow from the jug.

‘Didn’t do such a great job of protecting him, did I? And there he was, one arm fractured, fighting with a pitchfork.’ Dino’s mouth curved in disgust.

‘He fought for you because he believed in you, for what you did for him. Most of the
cittadini
get nothing but scorn from the
nobili
. Speranza told me the
capo
accused him of conspiring with the raiders.’

Dino nodded. ‘It was at that point we had a disagreement.’

‘Exactly, and the
capo
exemplifies the relationship between the
nobili
and those in the fields.’ Dino had never seen Massimo so animated.

‘But you’re
nobile
. You don’t behave that way.’

‘No, I’m Esposito.’

Dino shrugged. ‘That’s just a name though.’

‘The Orfani aren’t the only children found on the steps of the great houses. Orfano is a special distinction for children with your …’ He waved a hand a moment, struggling for the word. Dino glanced at his bound forearms.

‘Lineage?’

‘I was going to say gifts, but it’s the same thing.’ Massimo looked at him. ‘Dino, what do you suppose happens to the children,
cittadini
children, who are left on the steps of the castle?’

Dino shook his head, barely able to believe he’d not considered the possibility before. Weren’t all normal children born to families who wanted them, who loved them? Hadn’t he grown up wanting to be like normal people?

‘
Esposito
means “to place outside”,’ said Massimo. ‘I’m an orphan, Dino. Not Orfano like you, but … I have no one. Contadino is my family now.’

‘I had no idea, Mass. I’m so sorry, I just assumed …’

‘My upkeep, my schooling, my lessons with the blade: everything I am I owe to Margravio Contadino.’

They stood less than an arm’s length apart. Dino could smell the swordsman’s earthy scent. ‘We’re more alike than I ever imagined,’ mumbled the Orfano. He took a step forward, daring himself closer. Massimo remained, saying nothing. Dino began to tremble, unable to take his eyes from the swordsman’s lips.

‘My lord?’ This from the far side of the room. The two men staggered apart. Nardo stood in the doorway with a sour look about him.

‘The Ravenscourt is waiting on you. The Domina sent you a summons yesterday.’

Dino recalled the note on his mantel delivered by Speranza, still unopened.

‘
Figlio di puttana
.’

‘Huh. I suggest you make haste. Change is coming.’