Communion Blood (63 page)

“You did not request one,” said Ragoczy as he bowed in good form. “If you would prefer to have one present, I will send my servant Matyas to fetch one. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to bring a priest here.”

Ursellos glared at Ragoczy. “I do not think I will require one.” He laid his hand on the hilt of his sword to make his point.

“It may be just as well that the Church know nothing about this encounter,” Ettore Colonna said flatly. “The Pope does not approve of dueling.”

“He does not approve of whores, either, but Roma is full of them,” said Ursellos. He began to pace out the crossroad. “Large enough for a good fight, but not so large than you can escape me.” He smiled and motioned to Rothofen. “You can watch from the box of my coach, to be sure the fight is proper.”

Rothofen gave an answering smile. “That I will. You may rely on me.” With that, he went back toward the coach, giving no sign of noticing Ettore Colonna; this deliberate slight was noticed by the coachmen as well as by Ragoczy.

“I thought our seconds were required to inspect our weapons,” said Ragoczy as if he knew nothing of the matter and sought only information.

“And I assumed we would mark the beginning of the fighting together,” said Ettore Colonna.

“Surely even a butterfly like you, Colonna, can scrape our rapiers for us: as to your weapons, Ragoczy: are yours inferior, or are they unacceptable?” Ursellos asked with elaborate and insulting condescension.

“They are as stipulated—a rapier and a dagger.” He did not mention that his concession to Ursellos’ preference in weapons was far beyond what most challenged men would accept.

“Rapier and dagger,” said Ursellos, indicating the ones he wore. “Do you want any changes in ground?”

“I have no recommendation to make,” said Ragoczy; he stood aside

as Ursellos walked over the ground. “Will the darkness trouble you?”

“Why should it?” Ursellos’ saunter turned into a swagger. “I know how to fight in the night.”

“Waylaying helpless gamblers and sots on the street at night, no doubt,” said Ettore Colonna. Nudging Ragoczy’s shoulder, he whispered, “He is up to something.”

Ragoczy nodded. “And not for the first time.” Over the centuries he had seen many men readying themselves for battle; only a few had been as overtly confident as Ursellos.

“Watch him.” Ettore Colonna stepped back, going to the shrine and taking up his post there. “I will set you on as soon as you ask.”

Ursellos continued to move about the crossroad. “You do understand this is to the death, don’t you?”

From far down the slope a single, tuneless bell began the six chimes of midnight.

“That did seem to be your intention,” Ragoczy said.

“Nothing less will not vindicate my sister’s honor. Since you are the one who ruined her, you must give up your life, as you have stolen hers.” Ursellos turned abruptly, holding up his gloved hand and ticking off his grievances with his fingers. “You got her with child. You sent your assassins to kill our brother. You have poisoned the Holy Office against her. For that only your death will answer.”

“Her child was your brother’s. I do not know who killed him.” Ragoczy was growing weary of this posturing. “You are the one who insisted on this duello. Do you intend to fight, or do you only wish to revile me.” His tone was courteous enough but the purpose in his dark eyes would have unsettled Ursellos had he bothered to look at them.

Ursellos spat. ‘You are execrable.”

Ragoczy stood very still. “You are the one who demanded this meeting. If you have no heart for it, say so, and we will all return home.”

This was more than Ursellos would tolerate; he drew his rapier and rushed toward Ragoczy only to find that Ettore Colonna had stepped between him and the target of his odium. “Move!”

“When you have saluted each other, I will, when my part in this

is complete. Until then, I must insist you abide by the code of honor you invoked when you issued your challenge.” He held his ground while Ursellos cursed and took a step backwards. “Sta bene. Signore Calaveria y Vacamonte, if you will stand here?” He pointed with his rapier to his right. “And you, Signor’ Conte, if you will stand here?” This time he indicated a place to his left, about two arm’s-lengths from Ursellos. “You must begin properly, or there will be those who would say we conspired in murder.”

“This is foolishness,” muttered Ursellos. He shot a quick look toward Rothofen, who was taking his place beside his coachman.

“Perhaps, but it is the foolishness you chose, and you will accept the strictures of the duello,” Ettore Colonna reminded him. “If you will draw your weapons?” He waited a bit nervously while both men complied. “Gentlemen, salute each other, then place your blades en garde.”

“Still time to withdraw, foreigner,” said Ursellos, whipping his rapier so that it sang on the air.

Ragoczy drew his rapier without flash, holding it in his left hand, and drawing his dagger with his right. “When you give us the office, Colonna,” he said.

“You should hold your rapier in your right hand,” Ursellos complained, shifting his stance to block a left-handed attack.

“You chose the weapons,” Ettore Colonna said, watching as the two antagonists saluted each other; he brought his rapier up between their crossed blades, lifting the two apart. “Begin!” he ordered and jumped back as Ursellos rushed at Ragoczy.

Shouting incoherently, Ursellos ran forward, slashing with his rapier and stabbing down with his dagger, determined to overwhelm Ragoczy with the ferocity of his attack. But Ragoczy was not where he had been a moment before; he had stepped aside and swung neatly around to face Ursellos, who had stumbled to a halt. “Craven!” Ursellos bellowed and rushed toward him again, and once again discovered Ragoczy had eluded him. “Fight me, you gudess old man!”

Ragoczy took up his fighting stance. “At your service,” he said coolly; long, long ago he had learned to fight silently, reserving all his concentration for fighting, not for adding insults to the conflict. His

attention was so fixed on Ursellos that he could almost feel him breathing.

This time Ursellos closed with him in a more workman-like way, relying less on a single dramatic burst than on a tactical approach, moving less precipitously than before. His rapier work was rapid but without finesse, and hampered by trying to parry a left-handed opponent. He used his dagger to keep Ragoczy from moving any closer to him, flailing out with it as his rapier flicked along Ragoczy’s blade. His anger gave him strength, and he squandered it in lashing assaults that Ragoczy turned aside with what appeared to be no more effort than swatting a mosquito, which enraged Ursellos all the more. He became increasingly irate, the veins standing out on his temples. “You cold-blooded poltroon!”

In response to this insult, Ragoczy stepped up his swordplay, catching Ursellos off-guard; he faced the Spaniard and in a brief, dazzling series of seemingly effortless feints, drove Ursellos back half the distance of the crossroad. Then he stopped, giving Ursellos room to find new footing. “Colonna?”

Ettore Colonna had been watching as closely as the darkness would permit—the light from the lanterns provided little useful illumination, creating little tunnels of light in the dimness—and now left his place by the shrine. “Momentino,” he called, striding over to the two combatants to once again separate their crossed blades.

“You shall fall!” Ursellos shouted, lunging at Ragoczy, only to find his rapier parried neatly and Ragoczy’s dagger pointed at his belt. With a yelp he jumped back, slamming his rapier through the air as if it were an axe. As he recovered himself, he swiped out at Ragoczy’s legs, following this foul cut with an upward jab of his dagger aimed at Ragoczy’s ribs. His exclamation of triumph was brief.

Ragoczy slipped away, leaving Ursellos to try not to be overbalanced by the force of his strike; taking up his fighting stance, he kept on the flattest ground, avoiding the most uneven places that could trip him up. “I have done nothing to compromise your sister,” he said as Ursellos prepared to charge him.

“Liar!” Ursellos hewed the air with his dagger and then his rapier, infuriated as Ragoczy deflected the attack. He stood panting, peering

into the night for Ragoczy, who was not standing in the light of any of the lanthoms. “You want to hide from me?”

Off to his right, Ragoczy said, “I have no reason to hide from you.” Ursellos shouted and drove his rapier in the direction of the sound. “I’ll kill you!”

Ragoczy did not bother to answer; he moved deliberately into the light and readied himself for another onslaught. When it came, he slipped his rapier inside Ursellos’ thrust and swung his dagger out and in a long curve upward so that Ursellos could not reposit in time to hurt him; he disengaged and stepped back.

“Very prettily done,” Ettore Colonna approved.

Paying no attention to his second’s remark, Ragoczy moved lightly aside as Ursellos rushed at him again; he was glad of the night, when his strength was at its greatest and his endurance was enhanced. He felt Ursellos’ dagger catch on the sleeve of his camisa, ripping the fabric; he managed to tear it away so that no weapon would be entangled in the loose flap of cloth, all the while moving warily so that he could watch Ursellos at all instants: he had no wish to kill the obnoxious man, for that would leave Leocadia with only Ahrent Roth- ofen to protect her.

“God will send you to Hell!” Ursellos yelled, making an ill- considered run at Ragoczy; he plunged beyond the place where Ragoczy had been standing and very nearly tripped on his spurs in his haste to swing around to continue his assault. He struck out and nicked Ragoczy’s cheek with the tip of his rapier; he howled with delight at the sight of blood. “That is just the first.”

Ragoczy did not bother to touch the little cut: he could feel it, cold and hot at once, as well as the thin trail of blood sliding like tears down his face. He did not speak, but his dark eyes grew flintier as he prepared to take the offensive. There was a subtle shift in his attitude as he met Ursellos’ next charge: this time he did not slip away, but caught Ursellos’ rapier on the basket-hilt of his own, at the same time pinking Ursellos’ shoulder with his dagger.

Now it was Ursellos who staggered back, furious astonishment distorting his features. “You
turd-fucker\”
he brayed, slapping at

Ragoczy with his rapier as he retreated almost to the edge of their dueling-ground.

Ragoczy pressed his advantage just enough to shake Ursellos’ angry confidence. Then he stepped back, once again allowing Ursellos to find a better position before summoning Ettore Colonna to recommence their contest.

“I can stop this,” Ettore Colonna said before he released their blades.

“Ask Calaveria y Vacamonte,” Ragoczy recommended. “He issued the challenge.”

“I will not be satisfied until I have his life,” Ursellos growled, his Spanish accent much stronger than usual, revealing his faltering control.

“You won’t be able to get it,” Ettore Colonna said, a bit waspishly, as he scraped his rapier upward between theirs.

“What does that fop know?” Ursellos sneered, slashing horizontally with his rapier and following with an abrupt thrust with his dagger.

But again Ragoczy pivoted away, using Ursellos’ own momentum to throw the Spaniard off-balance while he set himself for the next paroxysm.

“You
offal!"
Ursellos ran at Ragoczy, his face red, his mouth an open square, his weapons pointed forward like lances or spears.

Instead of stepping away from Ursellos’ advance, Ragoczy took the brunt of it, parrying both rapier and dagger so swiftly that none of the observers could say how it happened: one moment Ursellos seemed about to bowl Ragoczy over and mn him through, in the next heartbeat, Ursellos’ rapier was spinning through the air, he was lying on his side and Ragoczy had pinned his dagger-hand to the ground with his heel. “This can end now; I have no wish to kill you.”

“I have a wish to kill
you,”
Ursellos said in Spanish. “Let me up, I order you!”

Ettore Colonna strolled forward. “You are no longer the one making the rules, Calaveria y Vacamonte. You have been bested.” He glanced at Ragoczy. “Do you want to run him through?”

“Not particularly; he is not worth the trouble that would bring.” Ragoczy went down on one knee, his attention wholly on Ursellos,

whose wrist he still kept pinioned. “I am willing for this to be finished between us.”

“You whoreson bastard,” Ursellos grumbled; he was breathing hard, some of it because of exertion, some from the intensity of his emotions.

“That is no answer,” Ragoczy said calmly. “I do not think you quite understand.” He was about to lean forward when he heard the bark of a pistol behind him, and in the next instant a hot furrow dug itself the length of his thigh.

In the next breath, Ettore Colonna had drawn his pistol and shot Ahrent Rothofen, sending him sprawling back on the roof of the Calaveria y Vacamonte coach; as soon as he was sure no more shots would be fired—Amerigo and Matyas had brought muskets and now held them at the ready—he turned to Ragoczy. “Are you all right?”

Through clenched teeth, Ragoczy answered, “It’s damnably painful, but it will heal.” And, he added to himself, would leave no scar.

“Can you get up?” Ettore Colonna ignored Ursellos who was writhing in an attempt to pull his arm free.

“You’re getting blood all over me,” Ursellos burst out, slapping at his clothes with his free hand.

“I thought that was what you wanted,” said Ragoczy, his voice still tense, but his manner formally correct. He looked up at Ettore Colonna. “If you would be good enough to lend me your arm? And ask the physician to see to Rothofen. He is moaning dreadfully.”

"You are the one who is hurt,” Ettore Colonna said as he helped Ragoczy to rise, keeping himself between Ursellos and Ragoczy as he did.

“Not as badly as Rothofen.” He looked past Ettore Colonna to Ursellos, saying, “You have what you want. Leave it at that.”

Ursellos cursed extravagantly, but took an unsteady pace backward. “This is not over yet.” In the confusion of the lamplight, he stumbled, and screeched as his hand was bent back.