CHAPTER 77
The servant who opened the door of Palazzo Bombelli made Pedro wait in the atrium to be announced. This pretentiousness would have amused him once, but Pedro was fresh from attending to Jacques in the stables. Still he did not let himself show his anger, not when he’d come to try to bridge the gap between the engineers and priors that had opened since Geta appeared.
‘Is that Pedro?’ Maddalena called from the stairway. She pattered down the steps, her smile luminous. ‘I’m glad it’s you. You should be the first to know.’
‘Know what?’
‘I’m engaged!’
Pedro had only just come from Piazza Stella, where he’d seen Uggeri’s crew loitering as menacingly as they had in the old days. Uggeri had so far kept the peace Sofia had charged him with, but he hardly looked festive. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, hiding his confusion. ‘I wish your brothers were here to celebrate.’
‘I’ve always considered you a brother, you know that, and I pray you’ll agree to be my husband’s best man. Lord Geta thinks highly of you too.’
‘Geta!’
Maddalena’s smile twitched. ‘But you must have heard! I know how fast gossip leaps between towers. What’s the matter? It’s wonderful news. I’ll be a lady!’
Pedro struggled to be polite, ‘It— I— It’s only a little unexpected, and a little hasty – I mean, in so short a time, how well can you know this – this foreigner?’
Maddalena’s brow clouded. ‘I see. It’s inappropriate because he’s Concordian. But, of course, the Contessa Scaligeri can slut about with Captain Giovanni and then Levi, a condottiere from God knows where, and nobody says a word.’
‘That’s not true – Sofia didn’t— Oh, never mind that. I couldn’t give a damn about Geta’s nationality. He’s noble, Maddalena. You’re not naïve. We’ve only just thrown off the Families. Your father’s one of the most important people in town. If your mother—’
‘How dare you! You’re the naïve one, little brother, repeating the communard rubbish that got your father killed. Perhaps you’d see a little wider if you weren’t burrowing holes all day. Perhaps you’d realise that Concord’s nobility are our natural allies against Concord’s engineers. I don’t know if Geta’s a good man – I gave up that search a long time ago – but I know he’s strong.’
‘And what about Uggeri?’ Pedro said quietly.
Maddalena stiffened. ‘What is that boy to me?’ She turned and stomped up the stairs.
Before she could reach the first landing Pedro called after her, ‘You know very well!’
That she could discard Uggeri so easily galled him. Uggeri was no saint, but Pedro knew his worth. He had heard the rumours about Geta, but he had dismissed them, assuming Maddalena would know better than to get mixed up with such a person. But apparently not.
When the servant haughtily summoned Pedro, he was irked enough to ask, ‘Do I approach on my knees, Gonfaloniere? What’s the etiquette these days?’
‘Don’t tease, Pedro!’ Fabbro laughed. ‘I’m still training them. Visiting dignitaries expect certain formalities. Obviously they aren’t necessary for Rasenneisi; I’ll have a word.’ He was happily rearranging the items on his desk, obviously unable to contain his excitement at the engagement. The apology was a formality too, and Pedro felt a perverse need to puncture Fabbro’s complacence. ‘Doc Bardini didn’t care for formalities.’
‘Because he was a hypocrite,’ Fabbro retorted with sudden aggression. ‘Surely you’re old enough to see that now? Or do you still believe everything that comes from Signorina Scaligeri’s lips? The Doc died for Rasenna, but let’s not forget how he lived either. He needed to pretend he didn’t rule, but I don’t have to dissemble. I’m the elected Gonfaloniere. When someone else is elected, I’ll support them.’ He regained his composure and sat down. ‘Please, let’s forget the past, I want to concentrate on the—’
Pedro tilted his head back to the door. ‘I heard.’
Fabbro clapped his hands together. ‘Isn’t it wonderful! It was my wife’s dying wish to see Maddalena married, but I’d given up hope. My sons are quite useless; they haven’t found anyone remotely suitable down south and – well, it just happened in the wave of a flag. I only wish Vettori had lived to see it.’
He knew he should play along and broach his concerns later, but Fabbro’s mention of his father so soon after Maddalena had disparaged him made Pedro suddenly furious. ‘He’d be appalled! Your daughter should marry one of the Small People, not a noble! The gonfaloniere bears the flag. All Rasenna looks to your example, from the lowest bandieratoro to the mightiest magnate. Etruria’s watching too, to see how long our republican principles last. You’re becoming awfully autocratic with your formalities and servants.’
‘Oh, Madonna’s sake—’
‘For all we know, the man’s a villain. He’s clearly an exile. He’s emptied his purse paying off the tabs of the Hawk’s Company.’
‘If he’s right for my girl, I don’t care if he’s a pauper.’ ‘No, all you covet is his name. How will it look, after so many Small People died to overthrow the Families, when our Gonfaloniere sells his only daughter for a title?’
Fabbro flinched as if from a blow. The question hung unanswered for long enough for the silence to grow ugly. Fabbro stood up slowly. ‘I never knew you were so politically aware. How sad that you don’t share your insights in the Signoria any more.’
‘I’ve been busy. You know that.’ That was all he was going to say, but a reckless spirit goaded him on. ‘The Signoria is the people – that place across the river represents only the magnates.’
‘Pedro, you’re very brilliant, but very immature, with a boy’s shallow understanding in many ways. The Small People weren’t the only ones who sacrificed to overcome the Families – far from it.’
‘Don’t give me that line. Maybe you’ve forgotten what the truth sounds like. I warn you – others won’t be so understanding.’
If there had been any chance that Fabbro might unbend at that moment it disappeared. ‘I’ve been threatened by bandieratori before. They don’t frighten me. Flags can be easily bought.’
‘Towers can easily burn.’
His face hardened. ‘Best leave, boy, before you go from insubordination to treason.’
Wine, as unusual, was served at the meeting of the Mercanzia, but such were the times that Fabbro was forced to open a second crate.
Polo Sorrento was no orator, but anger made him eloquent. ‘War. War. War. I’ve heard of nothing else, ever since the siege, but I’ve yet to see a single drop of blood spilled. You don’t hear them gossiping in the street about the blockade, but it’s costing everyone here. We can’t get wool from Europa, not by land, and now that the Concordians have Ariminumese ships patrolling the Gulf of Avignon on their behalf, not by sea either. Ariminum was our doorway to the east and now it’s shut. Costs are rising. We must lower wages or raise taxes but we know how the Small People will react. We’re in it together, as long as times are good, as long as they get everything at yesterday’s price, as long as we deficiente make up the difference.’ He held his hands out like a beggar. ‘I’m just a simple farmer so someone explain it to me: we’re being impoverished by a war that hasn’t started, that we can’t win, that we don’t want. War brings ruin, they say. Well, this peace is ruining me, and the entire wool guild besides. We need a real peace or a real war. This counterfeit is worse than either.’
When the rumble of agreement subsided, Fabbro turned to his prospective son-in-law. ‘What do you say, Lord Geta?’
‘I know you are suffering, but bad as it is you’ll remember this peace fondly when war does come,’ Geta said. ‘I hate to say it but your Chief Engineer and Podesta are right about one thing – you can’t avoid war, and like it or not, it’s a war you cannot possibly win. The arithmetic doesn’t require a Guild Hall education: you’ve too few men. You defeated a legion, by the Madonna’s grace. Concord never expected Rasenna to have competent engineers, but a surprise only works once. Can you defeat two legions? Three? Five? If you seek honourable deaths, stay the course, my friends.’ Geta paused and the sound of wine being gulped was like a chorus of frogs.
‘But, if you would not be martyrs, there is an alternative.’
‘Please, Lord Geta,’ the farmer said irritably, ‘we wish to live, obviously. I have a new grandson to care for, and my colleagues have similar dependants. What must we do?’
‘Understand your enemy. Engineers are not passionate men. Revenge means nothing to them. If they can retake Rasenna without a fight, they will. Think back. Was Concord’s yoke so onerous? Times were bad, but was that because of the Tribute or the Families? I know the engineers; they know me. I can negotiate a just, lasting peace. I can ensure that there is no garrison, which would only become a flashpoint anyway. But I cannot do it without your support.’
The brewer stood and declared formally, ‘I move to elect Lord Geta Podesta.’
‘Sit down, idiota,’ Fabbro said testily. ‘This isn’t the Signoria.’
Pedro and Uggeri – who had Sofia’s seat – sat in isolation with Yuri on the other side of the chamber. ‘Maybe they will awards me medal?’ the Russ said dryly.
Pedro locked eyes with his godfather across the empty Speaker’s Circle. Fabbro broke away first. The purse was handed round the chamber. Each man had a black and a white pebble. When it came back to Fabbro he added his white pebble and tipped out the contents into a silver tray. Two black pebbles in a mound of white.
‘Captain Yuri, the Signoria thanks you for your services,’ Fabbro said. ‘You are dismissed. I hereby appoint Lord Geta Podesta of Rasenna, with all attendant privileges and powers. May the Madonna’s cloak shield him.’
The door opened, and Geta strode in, going straight towards Yuri. The Russ had seen his fate coming, but still he was slightly dazed. He stood to attention, handed Geta the baton and marched out with dignity, followed by Uggeri.
Pedro watched Geta as he hefted the baton in his fist. ‘Signori, I’m honoured. I consider this a homecoming. In Rasenna I learned the art of war. My first lesson wasn’t demonstrated by my workshop maestro but rather by the birds of the air.’ He smiled, looking around the bewildered faces of the magnates, and finally settled on Pedro. ‘I mean, of course, those audacious cuckoos who nest in the towers. They grow big as their siblings languish. They betray the fools that nurtured them. The Madonna has always watched over the City of Towers. I believe she brought me here to give you a timely warning. The Signoria has a duty to protect the people from monopolistic practice. You, who have so lately thrown off the tyranny of the Families, be mindful not to nurture another. The engineers have far too much power to be allowed the independence afforded other guilds. Engineers are weapons. To let a weapon decide how it’s used is not merely bad policy, it’s suicidal. If there’s a lesson to the Concordian Re-formation, that’s it. Therefore I move the Engineers’ Guild be broken up and that engineers be hereafter considered part of the Guild of Fire, with similar status to, oh, blacksmiths for example; no longer should they have a seat in this house.’
Pedro didn’t even wait for the pebbles to be counted.