Maze of Moonlight by Gael Baudino (read with me TXT) 📕

that Natil was watching him carefully and wondered whether the harper's grasp of the patterns allowed her to read his mind. It was an unsettling thought.

“I don't think so,” he said. “Yvonnet is too concerned with immediate gain. Besides, the free companies are involved now. Regardless of what Yvonnet intends, it'll soon be a matter of what the companies themselves want.” His stomach turned tight at his own words: having struck at Ypris, the massed free companies were only about a three days' march from Saint Blaise.

“Might I suggest diplomacy?” said Natil softly.

Ruprecht glared at her. He was unused to the presence of women at his councils. “We're dealing with an apostate villain here, woman,” he said. “Yvonnet serves Rome. That alone indicates what kind of fellow he is.” He glanced at Christopher as though considering once again the matter of Etienne of Languedoc.

Natil was unflinchingly polite. “That may be true, honored lord, but at present he is our only non-belligerent link with the mercenary captains. With appropriate inducements, the baron of Hypprux might convince them to leave Adria peacefully.”

Ruprecht's beard twitched. So did his dark eyebrows. “But then they'll have learned too much of Adria and its wealth. They'll be back.”

“I respectfully submit,” said Natil, “that they were already aware of Adria's wealth. Yvonnet only hastened the inevitable. If they can be persuaded to leave, though, we are merely back at the point at which we began: any incursions will doubtless be made by single, independent companies, and can be dealt with as such. The very task for which the alliance was proposed.”

Ruprecht chewed over her advice. “Wise words, madam,” he finally admitted. “I can see that my . . . ah . . . friend Christopher is a very fortunate man to have you among his councilors.”

Natil rose and curtsied. “Thank you, messire.”

“A letter, then?”

“No,” said Christopher. “Letters have a habit of . . . not being answered.”

Ruprecht met his gaze. Christopher maintained an expression of studied innocence. He had obviously been referring to . . . somebody else.

Ruprecht suddenly laughed. “Well said. What do you have in mind?”

“We don't have much time,” said Christopher. “We have to move while the companies are still assembled in one place. If they break up and start raiding independently, we're lost. So I'll be paying Yvonnet another visit. More formal, less stupid.” He considered, weighing wishful thinking against practicality. “I suppose I'll have to do it outside the city walls.”

Natil blinked. “Bernabò Visconti?”

Christopher winced. She could indeed read his mind. This was not good. The harper was an attractive woman, and . . . how many times had he idly fantasized about bedding her? He winced again. Well, at least she was still loyal. Natil was obviously a tolerant one.

“Bernabò's fate would be appropriate, wouldn't it?” he said. “But no, I'm not going to do anything that extreme.” He sighed. He was not sure that he liked his own plan. “I'll settle for blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” said Ruprecht.

Worse and worse. The alliance was teetering precariously and now Christopher was about to try to shore it up with rotten wood. “Blackmail,” he said. “How the hell else does anything ever get done?”

***

Ypris had been taken. Its walls lay shattered and burnt, breached in a hundred places. The gates had been ripped from their hinges. Within, the last few houses and shops were still burning, but everything of value had already been carried off to be sorted, distributed, and sold. What people were left were sold, too: slavery was not a particularly nice fate, nor was it an honorable business, but money was money.

The Fellowship of Acquisition received another visit from Eustache de Cormeign and his kataphraktoi, and even the experienced dealer from Bardi and Peruzzi was astonished at the piles of cloth and clothing, jewelry and gold, tools, equipment, arms and armor, crossbows, candlesticks, leather bottles, wine casks, and a multitude of other things with which he was presented.

“My word . . . my word,” he said over and over as he examined the take, dictating furiously between exclamations while his secretary, padding behind him with stylus and wax tablet, exhibited a marvelous command of tachygraphy.

“Much better than wool, eh?” said Berard. He was feeling jolly today. His men were happy, the brigand's life was looking good, the wool wain was far in the past, and there were larger prizes in the future.

“Much better,” said Eustache. “Much.” He nearly stumbled over a girl who was picking through a pile of jewels heaped on a sheet of canvas. She was dressed scantily, like one of the bonnes amies of the amorous robbers of Languedoc. She did not rise, but she turned large, dark eyes up at the broker as she tried to eke a few extra shreds of modesty out of the revealing frock she had been given.

“That's Joanna,” said Berard with a wink. “She's not for sale.” Joanna looked away, scrabbled through the jewels. “Well, did you find it yet, my little sweet?”

Silently, Joanna shook her head. If she wept, she wept silently.

“Well, keep looking,” said Berard. “It's there.” He shrugged. “Unless it's not.” Eustache was puzzled. “It's a necklace her mother gave her,” explained Berard. “Her favorite. I promised her she could have it back if she didn't scream last night.” He smiled at the girl again. “She didn't.”

“Very commendable,” said Eustache, but he tugged at his mustaches and frowned.

“Indeed.” Berard regarded Joanna amiably. Young and lithe, she had moved under him like a frisking horse. He rather believed that she had enjoyed the experience in spite of herself. Not that he cared.

He wondered what the women of Shrinerock were like.

“But tell me, Messire Eustache . . .” He linked arms with the broker and took him for a stroll past the piles of armor and swords that lay carefully stacked by themselves, glinting in the sun. With satisfaction, he noticed that the broker's eyes widened. “. . . what can Bardi and Peruzzi do for my little band?”

Eustache could not answer immediately,