The Saracen: Land of the Infidel by Robert Shea (read novel full txt) 📕

not let her go out tonight."

"Stay close to her." Sordello grinned. "That will not be hard, Your Signory."

Simon seized the front of Sordello's tunic. "Never speak that way of her."

Sordello jerked away from Simon and brushed his tunic. "I am a man, Your Signory. Do not treat me like a slave." The coarse face was pale with outraged pride.

He forgets his place so easily. But there is no one else to guard Sophia for me.

"I want you to be thinking about her safety, and that alone," he said in a calmer voice.

Sordello bowed. "I understand, Your Signory." But resentment still burned in his narrowed eyes.

In the midst of his fear, like a single candle glowing in a pitch-black cathedral, Simon felt a tingle of anticipation. There was something in him, deeply buried but powerful, that keenly looked forward to taking command in battle.

"If you learn any more, try to get word to me," he told Sordello.

He turned and hurried through the nave of the cathedral to the front doors, still holding in check the urge to run.

"For them to attack is pazzia," said the contessa. "We have twice the men-at-arms they do. Yet I pray God this rumor is true.[437] By tomorrow morning Marco di Filippeschi will be hanging from our battlements." The cords in her neck stood out, her nose was thrust forward like a falcon's beak, and her eyes glittered.

Simon said, "With respect, Contessa, they must have more men than you do. I was told they might have five hundred. And siege machines."

They were seated in the small council room of the Monaldeschi palace—Simon, the contessa, de Verceuil, Sire Henri de Puys, and Friar Mathieu—around a circular table of warm brown wood.

"But surely we have better men," said Henri de Puys in French. "What sort of fighters could these Philippe-whatever-they-are muster? Routiers, highwaymen?"

Friar Mathieu turned to de Verceuil. "Might I suggest that Your Eminence use your influence with Pope Urban. Perhaps his holiness can stop this battle."

"Yes," said de Verceuil. "I will try to speak to him. But he is sick, and pays little attention to anything."

Probably de Verceuil is annoyed because he did not think first of going to the pope.

"I should think it would endanger his health even more if a war broke out in Orvieto," said Friar Mathieu.

"I will see him," said de Verceuil. "But I will also arm myself and my men to help defend this place."

Simon expected de Verceuil to next propose himself as commander of the defense, but, to his delight, the cardinal had nothing more to say. Then the suspicion crossed his mind that de Verceuil did not want to have to take the blame in case of defeat.

"Grazie, Your Eminence," said the contessa.

Simon said, "I must go to Signore d'Ucello. Surely the podesta will not let civil war break out in the city he governs."

The contessa laughed, a knowing cackle. "Go to him if you like, but you waste your time. He cannot—will not—stop the Filippeschi. He has Filippeschi relatives, you know. But he could not stop me, either, if I chose to attack them."

Friar Mathieu said, "Perhaps we should take the ambassadors to the papal palace. That would get them out of harm's way until this is over."

Simon's body went rigid. The Tartars were his responsibility. He would never give them up to the pope's men-at-arms.

"No!" he said. "The duty of guarding them is mine, and I will surrender it to no one."[438]

De Puys struck the table with his open palm. "Bravely spoken, Monseigneur."

Friar Mathieu sighed.

De Verceuil pointed a finger at Simon. "Count, you have no right to risk the ambassadors' lives just for your own glory."

Simon looked around the table. He was the youngest person here, and they were treating him like a child. He remembered the Doge Zeno's threat to have him thrown into the water of Venice's San Marco Canal. He remembered the many times de Verceuil had been overbearing with him. To think that man would accuse anyone else of being too concerned with his own glory.

He was about to shout defiance when he thought of royal councils he had attended as a page to King Louis. Those close to the king often disagreed with him, but they usually ended up doing what he wanted. Louis was perhaps the strongest man, in his gentle way, Simon had ever met, but he had never heard him raise his voice.

Instead of defying de Verceuil and the others, he tried to speak with dignity, even humility, as King Louis himself might.

"His Majesty's brother, Count Charles, entrusted this task to me. Shall I give it up at the first threat? Shall I turn over the ambassadors' protection to men unknown to me, some of whom may be moved by the same hatred of us French that moves the Filippeschi? I have a duty not to let the ambassadors go beyond the walls I guard."

When he finished there was silence.

Friar Mathieu said, "Count Simon makes an excellent point. John and Philip may well be safer guarded by our men, even under attack."

Now that they had agreed, Simon's heart sank. If the Tartars were killed in the coming battle because he had insisted on keeping them in the palace, he would bear the guilt. Instead of restoring his name, he would end by plunging it deeper into the mire.

De Puys looked from Simon to the cardinal and said, "Perhaps our knights and crossbowmen could go with the Tartars to the Pope's palace."

"No!" cried the contessa. "Now, when I am attacked because I opened my home to the Tartars and the French, will you all abandon me? All the men of my family are dead but the boy Vittorio." She turned to Simon and seized his wrist with her clawlike hand. "You must stay and defend me. You must be my cavaliere."[439]

Simon pressed her hand in both of his and saw tears running down her withered cheeks.

"I would not think of leaving you, Contessa."

"But, Contessa," said Friar Mathieu, "if the Tartars were to leave your palace, the Filippeschi might not attack you."

"No, no." The contessa shook her head. "If they think they are strong enough to attack me, they will. They have long sought to kill me and Vittorio. Canaglia! May God send that little bastard Marco and all the Filippeschi straight to hell!"

Friar Mathieu winced and made the sign of the cross.

Inwardly Simon winced, too, as he always did at the word bastard. But, bastard or not, he was about to command a palace under siege. He felt his chest swelling at the thought.

The candlelit audience chamber of the podesta was hung with somber maroon drapes drawn against the night air. On the wall behind d'Ucello, a tapestry depicted Jesus and Barabbas being offered to the crowd in Jerusalem while Pilate washed his hands. Simon had never seen such a large scene with such finely embroidered figures, and he admired it aloud.

"I keep it here as a reminder that a judge who heeds the popular clamor may make a grave error," said the small man behind the large table. "How may I serve you, Count?"

As Simon told the podesta what he knew of the planned Filippeschi assault on the contessa's palace, d'Ucello leaned back in a tall chair that seemed too big for him, his eyes distant, the corners of his mouth turned down under his thin mustache.

When Simon finished, d'Ucello asked, "Are Cardinal Ugolini or any of his guests involved in this?"

The very question I asked Sordello. Interesting that the podesta shares my suspicions.

"The person who warned me said they were not."

D'Ucello peered at him. "And who warned you?"

"I would rather not say. I have an informant in Cardinal Ugolini's household."

"Really? Good for you." The podesta gave him a look of amused respect that kindled a warm glow of pride in him. "Well, Your Signory, if there is a battle between the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi, I can do nothing about it."

Simon was swept by strange mixed feelings. He was ready to do almost anything to prevent the coming battle. But in the midst of[440] his despair at d'Ucello's refusal to help, he kept seeing himself in armor rallying his men on the Monaldeschi battlements.

But he had to try to persuade d'Ucello to help. He could not leave without having done his best.

"Is it not your duty to keep the peace in Orvieto?"

"All my watchmen together are not a tenth of the number of armed men the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi can put into the streets. I assure you that if the watch did try to stop the fight, the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi would join forces and annihilate my men before they went on to tear each other to pieces. Look, Your Signory, mine is a lifetime appointment, which means that how long I live depends on how well I please those who appointed me. The families wish me to prevent or punish fraud, theft, rape, and murder. But when the families have quarrels that can be settled only by bloodshed, they want no interference. Did the contessa send you here to appeal for my help?"

"No, she told me you could not stop the Filippeschi," said Simon, appalled at this glimpse of the chaos that lay under the pretty surface of this town.

D'Ucello nodded with a look of satisfaction. "Of course. No doubt she sees this as her chance to kill off Marco di Filippeschi, something she has longed to do for years. I cannot do what you ask. I know the limits of my power."

Power, thought Simon. Brute strength. That was what would decide this clash, and all he could do was make sure his side was stronger. He felt a resolve, at once grim and gleeful, growing inside him.

He stood up and inclined his head. The stout little man rose and bowed back.

"Then I cannot rely on you?" Simon said.

D'Ucello shrugged. "I am still trying to discover the murderer of your companion. I have learned that neither David of Trebizond nor his servant, Giancarlo, were in Cardinal Ugolini's palace when your friend was killed. I think tonight while the Monaldeschi and the Filippeschi are at each other's throats, the best place for me would be at Ugolini's, asking those two worthies where they were that night. If I cannot find out, perhaps your informant in that household could help. Why not ask her?"

He thinks I was talking about Sophia.

Simon wished he could go to Sophia. What if he were killed[441] tonight and never saw her again? He wished there was at least time to send her a poem.

D'Ucello had probably guessed that Simon was visiting Sophia when Alain was murdered. Simon felt his face grow hot with chagrin. He had failed to keep his secret—his and Sophia's.

He remembered Sordello telling him that David and Giancarlo had gone to Perugia. Simon could save d'Ucello from a waste of time by telling him that.

But why bother? He's been no help to me.

Angry with the podesta and with himself, and unwilling to yield any more information to the little man, Simon took his leave.

With two of his knights, the Sires de Borione and de Vilbiz, flanking him, Simon hurried back from the podesta's palace to the Palazzo Monaldeschi. They looked over their shoulders so often as they strode through the darkening street that Simon began to feel they were looking backward as much as forward. But no bravos sprang at them from ambush, no arrows flew from housetops. Indeed, the streets were unusually quiet and empty for late Saturday afternoon, with the clink of the knights' spurs and the tramp of their heels on the cobbles the loudest sounds of all.

Windows were shuttered, doors closed tight. The whole neighborhood, thought Simon, must be aware of what was about to happen.

They turned a corner into the square before the Monaldeschi palace and heard the sound of hammers. Simon had ordered de Puys to supervise the building of slanting wooden screens above the battlements to be covered with wet blankets to protect the roof from fire arrows. The job was almost done, and Simon reminded himself to compliment de Puys when he saw him.

His first task here at the palace was to insure the safety of the Tartars. He had already decided that the safest place in the palace was the spice pantry in the cellar.

And what if the palace were overwhelmed and the Tartars were trapped and killed in the spice pantry? Simon made up his mind that he himself would not surrender. The Filippeschi would have to kill him to get to the Tartars.

Friar Mathieu answered Simon's knock. Simon had never seen the Tartars' chambers before, and he was shocked. Mattresses covered with blankets lay along the walls. Rugs and cushions were scattered about, but there was no bed, table,