Irenicon (5 page)
The condottieri rode through the north gate, knowing that eyes were watching from every window of every tower, though this pair would have been noticed even if Rasenneisi were more accustomed to strangers—each man and his horse, draped in the same gaudy patterns, looked and moved like one great beast.
Condottieri did not pretend to chivalry, and when knights of Europa said mercenaries
were
beasts, condottieri laughed at their deluded hypocrisy; obviously they were all beasts together.
After a while the steeply winding streets so confused the condottieri that they dismounted, allowing the faces behind the dark windows better study. The first was a big fellow, arranged in a dignified, sensible hierarchy: broad chest and shoulders supporting a stout neck and manfully frowning face, capped with a squared-off, proudly plumed helmet. Like his piebald charger he was groomed
fastidiously, and his armor caught bolts of light that fell between towers and sent them shimmering back blindingly.
The other was skinny and ragged like a scarecrow, a poorly gotten-together specimen beside his colleague, yet quicker in most respects, and certainly quicker to smile, which made him the mob’s first target. All condottieri were tanned by life in the saddle, but the darkness of this man’s skin must have originated in the peninsula’s southern extreme, perhaps even farther. His armor was older than his partner’s or perhaps just less well polished, and it was softened by a floral-patterned green kerchief that wound around his long neck like ivy.
“We’re under attack!” he cried as young beggars squeezed out of impossibly narrow crevasses and dropped from unbelievably high windows. He scattered coins, but that only left a gap for the next bombardment, making their progress slow. They were relieved to finally find a particularly tall tower draped with black banners and the crest depicting two flags crossed in front of a charging hog emblazoned with the robust motto:
Who Shall Divide Us?
“Thank the Virgin,” the Scarecrow laughed, “this must be Tower Bardini. I’m almost out of ammunition.”
The Doctor was watching from the workshop entrance while Sofia told him about this morning’s events. In her excitement, their quarrel was quite forgotten. Sofia was not easily impressed, but this young engineer had apparently managed it, and the Doctor was curious to meet him.
“Call off your hounds, Signore!” a voice called out.
“Don’t tell me a condottiere doesn’t know the quickest way to break a siege?” he responded.
The Scarecrow sighed, “I thought as much,” and threw his purse to one of the beggars. “Boy! Yours—if you can keep it!”
The luckless child bolted with his fellows in fast pursuit. As the men tied up their horses, the Doctor whispered to Sofia, “I’d rather a certain Concordian did not see us fraternize with these gentlemen.”
“I’ll get him out of the workshop.”
“Then send for Guercho. I need to confer before the meeting.”
Sofia looked at the strangers. “Why are they dressed like that? We’re not at war, yet.” There was almost a family resemblance between her and the Doctor as she stood with arms crossed and studied the strangers with a cool distance.
“It’s to advertise their profession.”
“What do they want?” she said with distaste.
“Gainful employment, I fear. I’ll show them the view first.”
The Doctor waved her off and advanced with a smile and a bow. “Gentlemen, welcome. Doctor Bardini at your service.”
The Scarecrow gave a neat bow. “My name’s Colonel Levi; this is Colonel Scarpelli.”
Scarpelli removed his plumed helmet to reveal a neat but old-fashioned bowl cut like some militant monk of a century earlier. He did not bow, and if the Doctor was offended, he hid it well.
“Would you prefer to talk privately or have you time to take a tour of the workshop?”
“How about it, Levi? I know I’ve always wanted to see how tough Rasenneisi really are.”
The Doctor looked up at Scarpelli with a bland smile and recognized a killer. The condottiere towered over him by more than a braccia, and his arms were sculpted muscle. He was balanced—and ready, too.
Levi laughingly interrupted the face-off. “Perhaps later, Doctor. First let’s talk.”
As the Doctor led the way up the endless stairway, Levi systematically complimented Rasenna’s history, architecture, food, women, and fighters until Scarpelli interrupted, “It’s true, then? You train Concordians?”
The Doctor turned on the step. “I do.”
In the moment’s silence, Levi became aware how high they’d climbed and how far they could fall and laughed. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”
The Doctor ignored him. “Whatever your opinion of engineers, Colonel Scarpelli, you will agree they are sensible. Forgive
my crudity, but the Guild uses their nobility like a stud farm. Blue blood means nothing to them, but it’s respected by the scum who make up the infantry. Officer selection is competitive, so Families who can afford it send their boys here.”
“I don’t doubt Concord’s policy is sensible. I merely ask how you stomach training the enemy.”
The Doctor nearly smiled. “Rasenna’s not important enough to have enemies anymore. If one must be a servant, is it not better to be a useful one?”
Scarpelli looked stony-faced at the Doctor.
“A sensible attitude,” said Levi.
The Doctor grunted, as indifferent to flattery as to antagonism, and continued up.
Levi hung back and whispered, “
Madonna
, Scarpelli! If you can’t be polite, behave.”
The other spit, “Why are we here? It’s pointless begging from beggars.”
Cat was waiting on the roof for the strangers. As Levi admired the view, it rubbed against his legs with a friendly whine, hoping for a bribe. For a rude soldier he was indecorously handsome, though hardly any part of him matched together; no painter ever painted a knight with such an unserious smile.
“Enough shadowboxing,” said the Doctor.
“John Acuto sends his regards,” said Levi.
“Please return mine. I’ve long followed the exploits of the Hawk’s Company. All Etruria has.”
“You know of his quarrel with Concord these last few years?”
“Men rarely admire their employer for long. I’m only surprised they haven’t reconciled.”
“It’s no tiff,” Levi replied seriously.
The Doctor shrugged. “I spend much time up here. When you can’t see details, you concentrate on important things. A condottiere who wants a raise picks a fight with the city employing him. If that doesn’t work, he starts working for its enemies.”
Levi chuckled. “War is salary negotiation by other means? Doctor, you make us sound cynical.”
Scarpelli interrupted, “It’s a mark of condottieri professionalism to remain neutral.”
“This is different?” said the Doctor.
“This is personal.”
“If you say so. But come, it hardly matters what I think. You didn’t come to hear secondhand gossip.”
Levi agreed, considering how to put it politely.
The Doctor didn’t flinch when Scarpelli drew his sword.
“This sword’s for hire, Bardini.”
“I have soldiers.”
“You need an army.”
“A freelance army,” said Levi hastily. “Respectfully, we offer our services.”
The Doctor smiled. “A Contract? Then this is a question for our government, not a citizen.”
Levi said, “We have been frank with you, Doctor. Do likewise, I beg you. It’s John Acuto’s business to know who to talk to.”
The Doctor looked at them seriously. “I’ll carry your offer to the Signoria if you prefer, but Rasenna has never dealt with condottieri and,” he said, jabbing a thumb to his chest, “as long as it listens to my advice, it never will.”
Scarpelli grunted disgustedly and resheathed his sword. Levi tilted his head at a certain angle the Doctor recognized.
“Perhaps,” he began, “if we make a donation to your workshop, you could represent our case in a summer light.”
“I appreciate the offer, but again I must refuse. Condottieri are not in Rasenna’s interests, and so not in mine. What need have we of an army? We lost our war twenty years ago. I wish you success in yours, but we cannot be part of it.”
Scarpelli didn’t bother concealing his irritation. “I thought Rasenneisi were supposed to be passionate, but you’re as sensible as an engineer. We’re wasting time, Levi.”
“Doctor, you said you train Concordians,” Levi said. “How many?”
“This year just one. There’s another in a workshop across the river.”
“Formerly there were more?”
“Many more,” the Doctor said cautiously. “Concord seems to have changed its policy.”
“And now they are building a bridge here,”
“You’re well informed, Colonel Levi,” said the Doctor. “Why don’t you make your point?”
“What if the bridge is the first step in a permanent garrison?”
“And now you reveal the limits of your information. The temperament of Rasenna is such that it cannot be garrisoned. Concord sent a podesta to govern us once; he soon left. They’ve learned since that we don’t need a garrison or podesta to keep us obedient. Our own quarrels keep us divided.”
“Which suits you,” said Scarpelli.
“I will unite Rasenna one day, Virgin willing. Until then, half is better than none. If we took up your offer, Concord would destroy us along with you.”
“When Rasenna’s value stops being its workshops and starts being its location, neutrality may be both impossible and imprudent,” said Levi. “To go south, any army has to go through Rasenna, but why bother building a permanent bridge unless to lay permanent claim to the south?”
The Doctor shrugged hopelessly as if such things were beyond him.
Scarpelli said, “Let’s go, Levi. I told John Acuto that Rasenna was out of salt.”
Cat leaped away from Levi, agitated by the rising tension. As it ran between Scarpelli’s legs, he kicked it away, all the while holding the Doctor’s eye.
The Doctor smiled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you after you’ve come so far. Perhaps that workshop tour will make up for it.”
The boys stood in four lines, each boy paired off. At the end stood Sofia.
“Avanti!”
The swooping banners and clashing sticks were deafening rain.
“Contrario!”
Sofia roared.
The same exchange repeated with roles reversed, attackers now defending in the same well-drilled rhythm. She walked between rows, adjusting students’ posture, feet, and grip, correcting flaws with quick demonstrations.
“You teach girls as well as Concordians?” With no prospect of a Contract, Scarpelli was being more blatantly rude.
“She’s the one teaching,” Levi observed.
“Must gall to sell yourself so cheap, Doctor.”
The Doctor smiled at Scarpelli. “Actually, we’re rather expensive. But what, pray tell, is the difference between us? John Acuto may not be Etrurian, but
you
are.”
Scarpelli reddened, and the Doctor knew he had made a hit—so, a condottiere who wanted to be a knight.
Scarpelli covered embarrassment with anger. “Yes, my loyalty’s for sale. I’m sensible, like you.”
The Doctor just smiled as he called Sofia.
“You’re being rude,” Levi whispered.
Scarpelli spit on the floor chippings. “So what? This baby tyrant isn’t buying what we’re selling.”
“Colonel! You wanted to see how tough Rasenneisi are?” Not waiting for an answer, he threw Scarpelli a combat banner. Sofia stepped forward.
Scarpelli looked at the flag contemptuously and dropped it. “In the real world, soldiers fight with steel.”
The students began to take an interest. A civilian might not know what throwing down another’s banner meant, but even Scarpelli could sense the sudden change in the air.
“Use your sword, then,” the Doctor said coldly.
“This is absurd. I won’t attack a girl with her arm in a sling!”
The Doctor stood close to Levi.
“Doctor . . .”
“Relax. I’m sure a condottiere can defend himself.”
Scarpelli put his hand on his sword but got no further. Sofia jabbed him just below the diaphragm, partially winding him. A boy laughed as Scarpelli stumbled. The condottiere blushed violently and pulled out his sword.
The Doc wanted a show. Sofia let the sword strokes pass close by her body, keeping her flag low, luring him on.
Scarpelli was red-faced and already getting tired. She glanced at the Doctor. He nodded, and her flag went up. Scarpelli stabbed desperately and struck nothing; then a pole crunched into his nose, followed by a bruising rap on his knuckles. He dropped his sword. Flag strokes above him, in front of his face—where was she?
“Boo!” Sofia whispered, and kicked his feet out from behind. Quickly propping the end of her banner on the floor, she jammed her knee into Scarpelli’s back. He struggled to stop his own weight from strangling him.
Levi’s hand went for his sword and found the Doctor’s hand resting lightly on his. “You’ll just embarrass yourself. That’s all Signorina Scaligeri is doing to your colleague.”
“Scaligeri?” said Levi. “Of the—?”
“My ward,” said the Doctor.
He walked over to Scarpelli. “See? It’s easy to disarm the weak. For years, Concord has kept our leash loose, and we have been sensible. But struggle”—Sofia jerked the pole—“and we die! Get it?”
Scarpelli gargled affirmatively. The Doctor nodded, and Sofia released him. The condottiere rolled on the floor, gasping, and the circle broke up.
The Doctor turned to Levi. “Should I swap a leash for a noose?”
“I apologize for my colleague’s poor manners,” Levi said, slipping into dialect, “but John Acuto’s war on Concord is real. By Herod’s Sword, I swear. Acuto’s son died in the belly of the Beast.”
“Should I risk my town for that? You seem less of a fool than your friend. You think your Company can win a pitched battle
against a Concordian legion? Believe me, you can’t. I trained Concord’s generals.”
Like Scarpelli, Levi had known this mission was a long shot. Now he wondered if the forthcoming campaign was too. “Thank you for your hospitality, Doctor. You’ve made your position clear. I understand you cannot risk Contessa Scaligeri’s inheritance.”
“This isn’t Rasenna’s war.”
