The Boy Who Wept Blood (9 page)

14

Thorny Intentions
–
17 Luglio
325

‘I’m not concerned with what I already suspect, Lord Erudito; I worry about what I’m unaware of.’

The Domina stood in the shade of the Contadino rose garden, pale skin and scarlet robes complementing the blooms behind her. The silver staff occupied her left hand; her right was clenched in a fist. Dino flushed at the rebuke, dipped his chin. The
margravio
and
marchesa
exchanged a look, faces impassive, but Massimo made no attempt to hide his frown.

‘Isn’t the point that I heard them plotting with my own ears?’ replied Dino, the words coming to him slowly. ‘Before, we only guessed their intent, but now we have proof. Me. I’m a witness.’

It was early. The sun had yet to climb the walls of Demesne and flood its light into the garden. No breeze stirred the roses but Dino felt a chill all the same. The statue of the old king stared after them, an eroded gaze from smashed features.

‘Merely knowing intent is not good enough,’ said the Domina. ‘I need details, I need co-conspirators.’ The Domina had recently taken to wearing a circular biretta. Dino supposed the headdress marked a new chapter in her office, but he couldn’t say it suited her. Nor the waspish, impatient delivery of her interactions.

Where is the Professore Russo of my childhood? he wondered. What tight-lipped imperious impostor is this?

‘If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.’ Russo sketched a half-bow to the Contadinos and began to turn.

‘Domina,’ it was the
margravio
, a note of displeasure in the word.

‘My lord?’

‘You failed to bow to Lord Erudito.’ The moment stretched between them. ‘I believe he outranks you.’ The
margravio
stared at her coolly. ‘Perhaps you forgot in your haste.’

The Domina regarded him, struggling to keep her features neutral, a tiny flare of the nostrils, a twitch of her brow. Her alabaster features turned red, almost matching her robes.

‘Forgive me, my lord.’ She turned to Dino. ‘It has been many hours since I slept. I meant no disrespect.’ She nodded curtly and went on her way, crisp footfalls loud in the early-morning quiet.

‘Strange,’ said the
marchesa
after a few moments, ‘That’s not the Russo I used to know.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing, my lady.’ Dino pulled at his lip.

‘She needs to be reminded that we’re allies in this,’ said the
margravio
, an icy command lingering on him.

‘I fear she suspects disloyalty and betrayal in every house,’ replied Dino.

‘But the Contadino have always supported Lady Diaspora’s rule,’ said Massimo. He cast an angry glance toward the doorway the Domina had departed through.

‘As the
marchesa
said,’ replied Dino, ‘the Domina is not herself of late.’

‘Or yourself, Lord Erudito.’ The
margravio
favoured the Orfano with a direct look.

‘My lord?’ Dino suspected he wouldn’t like what would come next.

‘First a
superiore,
then a bodyguard, now a spy. Can we still trust you?’

‘Emilio!’ said Marchesa Contadino, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Erudito. My husband forgets himself.’

Dino pressed a fist to his mouth and took a moment to think. ‘Can we dispense with the titles? I want to speak with you honestly, and this pomp is driving me to distraction.’

‘Dino,’ said the
margravio,
‘I apologise. I have no right to doubt you.’

The Orfano shook his head. ‘I am a spy, and I hate it, but given the gravity of recent times I have no choice. My focus is on House Prospero and Fontein, as you can imagine. House Contadino has nothing to fear from me.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Massimo, earning himself a stern look from the
margravio
.

‘No. The Domina has placed this task before me. I can’t involve you.’

‘We’re very fond of you, Dino. You know that.’ Medea smiled at him and sighed. ‘We were never very good at making Lucien feel welcome, but we’d never betray Anea, or yourself.’

‘I know, but it’s a comfort to hear it.’

‘I have matters that require my attention,’ said the
margravio.
‘Send messages to let us know you’re well, Dino.’

‘My lord,’ Dino almost whispered, ‘there was something else – the reason I asked you here.’ The Orfano looked around the garden. Six men struggled under the weight of a great burden wrapped in canvas on the far side.

‘Please, go on,’ said Marchesa Contadino.

Dino recounted Duke Fontein’s scheme to buy a small estate through an intermediary.

‘And he means to hide his wife in this purchase?’ The
marchesa
had drawn closer, words hushed, fan beating a steady rhythm.

‘Yes. The duchess is frantic to put distance between herself and the events that will unfold here.’

‘She doesn’t believe they’ll succeed,’ said Massimo.

‘No, she doesn’t.’ Dino looked to the
margravio
. ‘Do not sell any of your estates or villas, my lord, no matter how tempting the price or how trustworthy the buyer.’

Massimo caught Dino’s eye. There was a hint of admiration in the swordsman’s gaze, a tiny glimmer of cheer on a gloomy day.

‘You’ve done me a great service with this information, Dino. I owe you a debt of gratitude,’ said the
margravio
.

‘We should investigate this,’ added the
marchesa
, taking her husband’s arm gently. ‘Farewell, Dino.’

Massimo stepped toward him, clapping one arm about his shoulder.

‘Seems you’re just as good at spying as you are at being a bodyguard.’

‘That’s well and good but I’m a
maestro di spada
, you know?’

‘I’d completely forgotten.’ Massimo grinned, then cast his gaze at the men, who had now got the bulky canvas-shrouded object to the centre of the garden. There was some colourful language on display as tempers rose with the heat.

‘What’s going on there?’ said Dino.

‘They’re replacing the statue of the old king with a new one.’

The porters were struggling to remove the king, grunting with the effort.

‘It’s that ridiculous saint, isn’t it?’

‘Santa Maria. And keep your voice down. Marchesa Contadino herself is quite taken with the new religion.’

‘I thought she at least might have some brains.’

‘She does. Take care, Dino. Try not to become too cynical, lest you end up like Russo. All duty and no sense of humour.’

Dino flicked his fingertips from beneath his chin but couldn’t stop the smile overtaking his face.

‘Into the mouth of the wolf.’ Massimo sketched out a mocking salute.

‘And knock his teeth out, every one,’ replied Dino, giving a salute of his own.

He’d meant to have a night to himself. Due in part to tiredness, but also a response to his treatment by the Domina that morning. The ungrateful
carogna
could uncover Demesne’s miserable secrets alone. But the evening meal at House Erudito was always a long and cheerful affair, the many academics remaining afterwards to gossip and argue. Good company was much needed after a day of study or teaching. They crowed and cackled like dark birds, their robes making them raven-winged. Dino joined them, entering into conversations with old acquaintances, drinking rather more than he should. Through it all was the nagging memory of the Domina’s words:
I’m not concerned with what I already suspect, Lord Erudito; I worry about what I am unaware of.

‘And how fares the most famous prodigy of House Erudito?’ asked Cherubini, settling down on the bench beside the Orfano. Dino smiled in return.

‘Some prodigy of House Erudito I am. Shouldn’t I be the scourge of the sciences, rather than a
maestro di spada
?’

‘Well.’ Cherubini shrugged his large shoulders. ‘House Erudito is not short of scholars. It never hurts to diversify, especially with talent.’ He gestured to the hall, where the
professori
discussed various subjects, alchemical to metaphysical. ‘And you are
maestro superiore di spada.
Impressive at any age, more so given your youth.’

‘Yes, for all the lessons I teach.’ Dino rolled his eyes. ‘Ruggeri treats me like a stranger; D’arzenta can barely stand the sight of me. Hard to believe I learned from them. Those days are long gone.’ Dino swirled the wine in his glass.

‘Hard indeed. You’ve grown so much.’ Cherubini grinned with obvious pride. ‘I barely slept a wink when you left for the Verde Guerra. I barely had a full night’s sleep the whole time you were away.’

Cherubini’s gaze flicked to the side of the room, where a single Fontein guard stood by the door, a formality rather than any serious security.

‘Well, I returned.’ Dino sipped from the glass. ‘How are you sleeping these days?’

Cherubini stared at him with a quizzical look, and a blush crept across his broad face, although whether it was from wine or heat Dino couldn’t tell.

‘Aren’t all these frictions with the other houses keeping you up at night? I’m finding it difficult to enjoy any rest.’

‘Ah, I see,’ replied Cherubini looking relieved. Dino was confused by the
maestro
’s discomfort. ‘Well, you know me. I’m not happy unless I’m worrying at some problem or other.’ The large man grinned. ‘That’s why I’m so proud of you – you never give me any headaches. You’ve always looked after yourself.’

‘Except for the Verde Guerra,’ Dino reminded him.

‘That was war, Dino. Any parent would be concerned.’

And then Cherubini really did blush. Dino drank from his glass again, simply to spare the
maestro
his moment of embarrassment.

‘I think of everyone in House Erudito as my children, is what I meant to say.’

‘But that’s not strictly true, is it?’ Dino caught Cherubini’s eye.

‘No. You’re right, I don’t. I’ve often wondered at the joys having would children bring.’ The
maestro
’s eyes were pensive. ‘But I never married, and old age is harder to bear when you can’t lavish attention on the young. Perhaps that’s why I’m so fond of you. All these years watching you grow.’

‘You could still marry; you’re not so very ancient.’ Dino smiled and sipped his wine.

‘I’m not sure I could. Ah, look at me being all maudlin. I think I shall order some coffee to lift my spirits. Keep safe, young prodigy.’

‘Good night, Cherubini,’ said Dino, standing up. ‘Sleep well.’ He patted the
maestro
on the shoulder and took his leave.

Dino emerged from the great hall of House Erudito, jacket unbuttoned, boot buckles loosened, shirt stained with spots of wine. He’d removed his scabbard, carrying it like a walking stick. It put him in mind of the sword cane Lucien had given him, along with the order to protect Anea. He’d been doing just that ever since. The sword cane’s location eluded him, some cupboard of half-remembered things, no doubt.

A shadow fell across him, startling him from introspection. ‘
Porca miseria
. You scared the life out of me.’ He released the hilt of the blade, felt the surge of adrenaline.

‘Apologies, Lord Erudito,’ said Nardo, stiff and formal. A small scroll appeared from a leather case.

‘It’s fine. I’m more on edge than I thought.’ Dino took a breath. A message at this time of night would not contain much cheer. He read the scroll by the light of a guttering candle and gave a sigh. ‘Do you know what this is?’

‘The Domina told me it was for your eyes alone.’

Dino thrust the parchment before the messenger, a reluctant moment passed and Nardo read the contents. ‘Back to being a bodyguard.’

‘Is there really no one else who can do this?’

Nardo shrugged. ‘Seems the Domina has decided for you.’

‘Tell her to go f—’

‘I’m not sure that’s wise.’ Nardo looked around to check they were not overheard. ‘And if you won’t be persuaded you can tell her yourself.’

‘This is horse shit.’

‘It is strange, I grant you. You should do it.’

‘Why?’ Dino sounded like a spoilt teen and loathed himself for it.

‘People will put more pressure on if they realise you’re at odds with the Domina.’

‘You mean I have to make a show of unity.’

‘Yes.’ The messenger’s frown was one of concern.

‘Tell her I’ll do it.’

‘Take care of yourself, Dino.’

The messenger departed into the gloaming of Demesne.

The assignment was neither difficult nor dangerous, yet Dino couldn’t help feeling it was punitive. The Domina’s neat flowing handwriting instructed him to keep watch over one of their own ‘in case of assassination’. He had no wish to skulk along Demesne’s corridors another night, and bodyguard duty suited him better. Or it would have without the added stipulation: ‘Maestro Cherubini must not know he is being guarded. Remain unseen unless attacked.’

Dino headed to his rooms, changed into darker clothes and splashed water on his face in the faint hope it might sober him.

‘It’s going to be a long night,’ he whispered to his reflection.

15

Behind Locked Doors
–
17 Luglio
325

Gaining entrance to the
maestro
’s chambers was a simple matter, although Dino knew first hand that the door would be locked at all times. Only Cherubini possessed a key, even denying his maid the same privilege. Famously private, others sneered he was overly suspicious. Dino thought him prudent given his increased political importance. Less well known was that the
maestro
struggled with his breathing. He’d claimed to be allergic to dust for as long Dino could remember and always left a window open, even in the cruellest depths of winter.

Dino looked out of his window on the sixth floor, casting an eye over his chosen route. Achilles scuttled to the sill and tested the air with a dark tongue.

‘One day I’ll spend some time in the town, rather than just looking down on it.’ Achilles turned away and plodded back to the bed. ‘Well, thanks for wishing me good fortune, you ingrate.’

The Orfano began the climb down, the alcohol and the height conspiring to set his head spinning. The rooftops of Santa Maria awaited him should he fall. Or perhaps he’d land in the street on his face, cobbles mashing his brains to soup.

The windows of House Erudito showed dim lights, but Dino kept his eyes fixed on the wall. He had no wish to see more than he was required to. These were the rooms of people with lives, private lives. Not every aspect of a person’s affairs affected the running of Landfall or the birth of a republic.

Dino pulled himself through the
maestro
’s window, sucking down lungfuls of air, then lost his balance, almost knocking over a low table in the dark. He cursed himself and looked around. He’d had no cause to call here for some time, yet it was much as he remembered. Cherubini had invited him for dinner often as a child, offering private tutoring when Dino had been at odds with his classmates. There was a feeling of luxury here. The couches were deep and soft, the pillows numerous, the curtains and drapes of rich fabric. The walls were crowded with oil paintings and framed sketches. Such furnishings might have been expected in House Prospero; to find them in Erudito was surprising. A smell of old red wine and fresh flowers hung on the air, adding to the feast of the senses.

Dino didn’t have to wait long.

No sooner had he regained his composure than a key scraped in the lock, announcing the
maestro
’s return from the great hall. With no other obvious solution at hand Dino sought concealment behind the purple drapes at the window. Mercifully they were floor length.

Oh, good work, Dino, he chided himself. Even a five-year-old knows to look behind the drapes.

But the
maestro
had more pressing matters on his mind than his sitting-room curtains. His were not the only footsteps that reached Dino’s ears. A soft murmuring of voices. A stifled laugh. An overloud ‘Shhhh’ followed by another laugh. The voices passed through the sitting room without pause, to Dino’s relief. He took a furtive glance around the edge of the rich brocade. The sitting room was empty, the door to the bedroom ajar. Only the steady glow of a candle broke the gloom, a rectangle of tawny light. Dino approached on hesitant feet, hoping the floorboards would not betray his passing. A sigh reached his ears, followed by a low moan.

Dino’s mind raced.

The
maestro
was famously single, a bachelor in every sense. Perhaps he’d lured a young maid back to satisfy himself? He’d been noticeably maudlin on the subject of marriage, after all. Dino froze just a foot away from the door. Sounds of gentle rhythmic movement increased in volume. Another moan, unmistakably male.

Then a hushed voice keen and urgent: ‘Yes, yes.’ Also male.

Suspicion unfolded in Dino’s mind. He willed himself forward, one half-step at a time, drawing closer to the door. He was trembling, daring himself to look past the door’s edge. A terrible reluctance seized him. He’d no wish to see such an intimate act, and yet a terrible curiosity burned within him. He stepped forward.

Dino swallowed, almost flinching back to the safety of the sitting room. They were naked. Young men about his age, bodies hardened by training or labour, olive-skinned with a hint of dirt. He thought he recognised one of them, a low-ranking guard from House Fontein; difficult to tell in the candlelight. The other was kneeling on the floor, his head bobbing in the lap of his companion. The guard on the divan was thrusting his hips to meet the eager mouth. He grasped the man by the hair and became more insistent, forceful. Dino stared at the hair entwined about the strong fingers, watched the man’s thighs tense and strain like ropes pulled taut.

A grunt and a shuddering sigh.

Dino realised he’d been holding his breath. And also that he was painfully aroused, his groin aflame with a deep ache he’d not thought possible. Entranced, he kept watching, unable to take his eyes from the hard bodies bathed in candlelight. The men stood, kissing hungrily for a moment. They laughed together before the guard turned, kneeling on the divan.

Dino turned from the doorway, keen that he remain unseen, the urge to leave a fierce one. He told himself he remained out of duty, but the lie was all too sour even as he persuaded himself. He’d never seen such a thing before, not with man and women nor this unusual pairing. He turned to leave but remembered the Domina’s order. He was to remain in case assassins attempted entry.

It’s not as if he’s unguarded, Dino thought bitterly, eyes drawn back to the men in the bedroom. The men on the divan were now joined. The guard bent over, his firm buttocks shuddering with each impact from the man who stood behind.

Surely I am mistaken, thought Dino. The
maestro
has merely lent his room to these two lovers so they can …

A soft moan issued from elsewhere in the bedroom. Dino pressed himself up against the wall, his eye seeking the narrow gap between door and frame where the hinges joined both. Maestro Cherubini sat in the opposite corner from the two men. Always overweight, he was grotesque in his nakedness, the deep shadows doing little to hide his bulk. One hand fumbled weakly in his lap, stroking himself beneath the expanse of his stomach. His eyes glittered drunkenly in the dim light, a look of pained desperation frozen on his features.

Dino drew back from the gap in the door, shock settling into his bones like a chill. His eyes were drawn back to the two men. Powerful hips beat a constant rhythm, narrow waist stretching up to broad shoulders, strong arms reaching down to hold the hips of the man in front. Dino could only stare in mute fascination, stomach knotting, cheeks flaming scarlet. His length strained and ached beneath his small clothes. The
maestro
called out encouragement from the corner in a husky rasp. Dino pressed his eye to the sliver of space between door and frame once more. The
maestro
lay back, thighs glistening with his spend.

Dino could bear no more of it, moving through the sitting room in a daze, past the litter of academia and objets d’art. He turned the key in the lock, desperate that it not click. The sounds in the bedroom became more intense. Dino opened the door and passed through, closing it behind him in silence. For a few seconds he stood in the corridor, shocked and breathless, then fled for the stairwell, losing himself in the ever-present darkness of Demesne.

Massimo was waiting outside Dino’s apartment, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His look of boredom shifted to one of concern.

‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘If only that were true.’ The Orfano unlocked the door and pushed his way inside, Achilles scuttled across the floor to him. He reached down to gather the reptile in his arms. ‘Miss me, did you?’

Achilles yawned and coiled about his master.

‘I just called by to see if your spirits had improved since this morning.’ Massimo closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. ‘Marchesa Contadino is concerned about you.’

Dino nodded, forcing a smile. He’d known Cherubini his whole life; now he felt as if the man were no more than a stranger. His stomach lurched, eyes prickling with the onset of bloody tears he’d refuse to shed. A terrible weight occupied his chest, making each breath a labour. Achilles looked up, tail curled about Dino’s arm, black liquid eyes reflecting the light. Dino lit more candles, buying time to compose himself. It didn’t help.

‘What’s wrong, Dino?’

‘Only you could call at a time when I’d rather be alone,’ whispered Dino.

‘Alone? Why do you wish to be alone?’

‘I … I saw …’ His throat was swollen with words that he couldn’t bear to speak.

‘Has Russo had you out spying again?’

The Orfano nodded, eyes fixed on Achilles – anything to avoid meeting the swordsman’s eyes.

‘Cherubini,’ was all Dino managed before he choked up.

‘What about Cherubini? Not dead?’ said Massimo, suddenly grave.

Dino shook his head, the image of the naked
maestro
surfacing in his mind, painfully unwelcome. He looked away from his friend, squeezing his eyes shut, willing the memory away.

‘I was supposed to be guarding him. He came back with two men.’

Massimo raised an eyebrow.

‘They … He was watching them, in his room. They were …’

Dino pushed a hand to his mouth to stop the words leaking out. Massimo crossed the room, laying one hand tenderly on his shoulder.

‘Dino, what the
maestro
gets up to behind his own door is his own affair. He’s not hurting anyone.’

‘But it’s not right,’ whispered Dino.

‘What consenting men and women do after dark isn’t your concern.’

‘But it’s not men and women, it’s men and men.’

‘Consenting men?’

‘Well, yes. Two men. Together.’

‘Mention this to no one,’ said Massimo. ‘No good will come of it. He’ll be ruined if word gets out. He’s one of Anea’s most vocal supporters.’

Dino nodded and looked away, plucking at his lip.

‘Dino, you’ve killed men, you’ve trained alongside them.’ Massimo narrowed his eyes, strangely intent. ‘You’re aware of what they’re capable of. It matters not who they lie with or what they do behind locked doors.’

Dino stepped back. He wasn’t used to being lectured like this – by the Domina perhaps, but not by Massimo.

‘Why does this upset you so?’ asked the swordsman, tone suddenly soft.

‘Landfall isn’t the garden of tolerance and forgiveness we think it is. Even here, in Demesne, people sneer and curse
invertiti.
Men are beaten and sometimes killed out on the estates. It’s taboo.’

‘Well maybe it shouldn’t be. It’s long past time Landfall started accepting difference. Take you, for example.’

Dino felt a moment of horror. He clutched Achilles and the reptile hissed, favouring the Contadino swordsman with a pugnacious stare. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re Orfano. That’s different, and yet the
cittadini
can never decide whether to fete you for being a defender of the people or despise you for being a creation of the king.’

‘They despise us for bearing deformities,’ intoned Dino.

‘Orfano,
invertito
– is it really such a problem?’

Dino shook his head, unable to answer, remembering the lingering ache of his own powerful arousal. ‘I wish it were otherwise too,’ he admitted, ‘if only for Cherubini’s sake.’

‘You can’t report this to the Domina. If word reaches House Fontein or Prospero—’

‘I know. Cherubini will be ruined and Anea will lose her most articulate ally in the Ravenscourt.’

The heat of the discussion dwindled, and neither Orfano nor swordsman knew the words to fill the aftermath. Massimo soon left, Dino sighing with relief as the door closed.

He spent the night awake, willing the sun to appear on the horizon. He’d constructed arguments against his preference many times: it wasn’t seemly, it wasn’t what real men did, it didn’t become a soldier, what would Lucien say? His desire was a pain he was used to, like the ache of an old wound on a damp winter day. Finally he lurched from his bed and lit a candle, then another. Anything to escape the darkness of the night and the images of hard bodies etched onto his memory. Anything to escape the suffocating shame of his denial.