The Exiled Blade (The Assassini)

2

Venice

“So I withdraw from city life for a life better suited to an old solider. I will tend my vines and plough my fields. Repair the walls on my estate in Corfu and have wells dug to water the olives . . .”

Of course you will, Tycho thought.

The Regent’s honeyed words had to be borrowed from someone else. An old Roman statesman maybe. They certainly didn’t sound like anything Prince Alonzo would have thought up for himself. “I will be taking my wife with me.”

Even the sleepiest member of Venice’s Council of Ten looked up at that. They all knew the Regent was unmarried and had no children, legitimate or bastard. His sister-in-law’s threats to poison any brats at birth saw to that.

“Your wife?” his sister-in-law asked.

“Lady Maria Dolphini . . .” Prince Alonzo smiled at Duchess Alexa, nodded politely to the councillors on their gilded chairs, let his gaze slide over Duke Marco, otherwise known as the Simple, and ignored Tycho entirely. He was only there because Marco insisted on bringing his bodyguard.

“I marry Maria tonight,” the Regent said. “With your permission, that is. The archbishop has already given his agreement. I know that I need the Council’s seal on this but I imagine no one would deny an old soldier company in his remaining years?”

Alexa snorted but her heart wasn’t in it. Tycho could see she was as shocked by this news as the rest of them. And worried, if she had any sense. Alexa liked to keep her enemies close. In banishing her brother-in-law she had, like it or not, given him freedom to move.

“No one objects . . .?”

The Regent was a barrel-chested, broad-shouldered bear of a man, as fond of wine, women and warfare as he was publicly contemptuous of politics. In private, of course, he was as political as the next Venetian and that was very political indeed. Smiling deprecatingly, he took a sip of red wine and pushed his glass firmly away. Look, the gesture said. I’m barely drinking these days.

Around the small room on the first floor used for meetings of the Ten, old men were shaking their heads. A single chair stood empty, the one used until recently by Lord Atilo, now dead and buried. The Regent was careful not to glance at it just as he was careful not to glance at the boy sprawled on the throne, or the boy’s mother beside him. Duke Marco was watching a wasp repeatedly take off and crash-land, its flights short, abrupt and increasingly desperate. “It’s d-d-dying . . .”

Alonzo’s scowl said he wished Marco would join it.

“Everyone’s d-dying these days.”

When the duchess looked at her son strangely, he simply nodded to a soft-jowled courtier in a purple doublet twenty years out of date. “I think Lord B-Bribanzo wants to s-speak.” The two things, Bribanzo’s opening and shutting mouth and Marco’s morbid comments, were probably not linked. With Marco it was hard to know. “You w-wish to o-object?”

Lord Bribanzo shook his head fiercely.

“W-what then?”

Bribanzo looked to Alonzo for guidance, caught himself and pretended he’d been looking at a tapestry of a unicorn on the wall beyond. Marco’s brief moments of clarity always caused problems for those used to taking their cues from Alexa or Alonzo; depending which faction they favoured. There was more to Lord Bribanzo’s nervousness than this, though. Something in his manner said the hesitation was staged. Alonzo had just accepted defeat. He was withdrawing from public life to his estates in Corfu, one of Venice’s many island colonies. This was close to open surrender.

Of course, Alexa had left him little choice. Exile or death had been her offer. Since Tycho had provided the proof that Alonzo was behind a plot to have Alexa murdered, along with Marco and Marco’s cousin Lady Giulietta, he was on the list of people Alonzo would like dead. “Get on it it,” Alexa said.

“I disapprove of the Regent’s decision.”

Everyone looked up, openly shocked. Bribanzo was Alonzo’s man, his banker. The idea that Lord Bribanzo would publicly disapprove of anything Alonzo wanted was absurd. Lapdogs had more will.

“Y-you d-do?”

“Yes,” Bribanzo said fiercely. “It’s a waste. Our greatest general retiring to dig his own fields.” He sounded as if he really thought Alonzo would dig ditches, tend vines and build drystone walls. He must know Alonzo’s bucolic vision was for public consumption – like most of the things Alonzo said.

“Politics bores me, Bribanzo.” The Regent’s voice was warm and convincingly honest. The qualities that made him loved by his troops and so dangerous to Alexa. Drunk, Alonzo was dangerous. Sober, he was more dangerous still. It had always been thus – to use one of his own expressions.

“My lord, reconsider. For Venice’s sake.”

“My mind is made up.”

“If you’re bored with the city . . .”

“Bribanzo. I was born here, the canals are my home. I spoke Venetian before I could speak Latin or mainland Italian. Listen to the crowd . . .” The Regent paused, a little too theatrically, to let the Council hear the rumble of carts, the singing of gondoliers and the shouts of stallholders on the Riva degli Schiavoni. “That is the sound of my heart beating. This city is my heart. The canals my blood. How could I ever be bored of Venice? The thought is absurd.”

Staged, Tycho thought. Both men had rehearsed their lines before the meeting began. If not, then they’d certainly discussed how this should be played.

“Then why . . .?” Bribanzo began.

Alonzo risked a glance at Alexa. A quick, slight glance that suggested complications and things he couldn’t say. Questions that only she could answer, not that he expected she ever would.

“I-is this g-going anywhere?” Marco demanded.

“Highness. We have Barbary pirates in the Adriatic. The governor of Paxos has declared himself king. Then there are the Red Crucifers . . .”

Marco looked at his mother, who bent to whisper. “Ahh,” he said. “The renegades. I thought I’d lost t-track of a c-colour . . .” He smiled as the Council laughed dutifully. The recognised Priories were the White, who protected pilgrims, and the Black, who extracted sin with torture and oversaw executions. When the local Prior of the White in Montenegro proclaimed himself High Prior of the Red, and announced he and his followers would drive heretics from Montenegro, most regarded that as heresy itself. The man might be dead but his knights remained, holding to their new name, their supposed religious mission and the land they should be protecting from Serbian bandits. The Duchy of Montenegro was one of Venice’s newer colonies. Not large, but its position across the Adriatic from Sicily made it key to protecting Venetian trade.

“My friend . . . What are you suggesting?” Alonzo asked.

Bribanzo glanced at the other councillors. One of them nodded slightly, and from the sudden stiffening of Alexa’s shoulders Tycho knew she’d caught the glance. Alonzo’s plot spread wider than both of them thought. She’s worried. Alexa worried is me worried. Tycho loosened his dagger and Alexa shook her head.

“If you won’t stay here, my lord, serve Venice in another capacity. Don’t simply retire to your estates. The city can’t afford to lose its greatest general.”

The Regent shrugged.

“I mean it, my lord.” Bribanzo’s voice was stronger.

Here it comes.

“So,” said Alonzo. “Sail against the Barbary pirates . . . Retake Paxos . . . Defeat the Red Crucifers . . . Which do you want from me?”

“Any of them, my lord.” Bribanzo looked to the Council for agreement and received half a dozen nods. Alexa would note who agreed and who kept their counsel. She glanced at her son but Marco seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice a split was appearing.

“Alonzo,” she said.

“Yes, my lady?” The Regent sounded innocent.

“I thought you were determined to retire to your estates?”

“That is my dearest wish. But if the Council of Ten still want me to serve my city . . .” There was enough ambiguity in his tone to leave it unclear whether he meant he served the city, or he regarded the city as his. He’d made it clear to everyone over the years that he didn’t consider it hers. “If the Council want me to serve, how can I refuse? No matter what my enemies say about me . . .” He looked at Tycho this time. “My devotion to Venice is unchanging. My friends already know my friendship is for life. My enemies would be fools to underestimate me . . .”

“Alonzo.”

“A man may say goodbye to his friends. Especially when he goes to risk his life for his city. Any Venetian knows this.”

“And I’m not Venetian?” Alexa’s voice was tight.

Alonzo smiled. “As you say . . .”

“S-s-snow.” Marco said suddenly. The room stilled as he unfolded spidery legs, abandoned his throne and wandered to the window. He opened an inner shutter, peered through a small circle of bottle glass and sucked his teeth at the darkness beyond. “It’s going to s-snow. Look . . .”

Stars that had been high and bright when the meeting began were now shrouded by cloud, and the moon a sullen glow on the far side of a slab of grey. It was cold enough in the chamber to need a brazier in the fireplace, but snow? Snow was rare in Venice. At least flakes that lasted beyond a few days.

“Isn’t it, T-Tycho? Y-you’ve seen snow. D-doesn’t it feel like snow to you?”

What’s behind that smile?

“M-my uncle will need a big b-blanket, and an army for when he g-goes to M-Montenegro. Well, g-gold to buy an army but in such a good cause. And a n-nice thick coat for M-Maria for when he’s not k-keeping her warm in b-bed.”

“Montenegro?” Alexa asked.

“He can fight the Red C-Crucifers. He’ll l-like that.” With this, Marco abandoned his window, wandered to the door, which he opened for himself, and ambled away whistling “Touch Her Teats First”, a song usually heard at peasant weddings on the mainland. The meeting broke up immediately. Marco was duke; without him there was no meeting to be had.

“My lord . . .” Bribanzo bowed to Alonzo. “May I offer you my congratulations on your forthcoming marriage? This is unexpected, but welcome.”

“Not so much forthcoming, Bribanzo, as immediate. I go to the basilica now. Come with me and be my witness.”

Lord Bribanzo looked flattered.

The Regent owed him several thousand gold ducats, and undoubtedly hoped to put off repaying the loan for some while yet. Tycho watched Prince Alonzo and Bribanzo leave together and saw three Council members follow after. Turning, he found Alexa beside him.

“Find my niece,” she said, “escort her to the basilica.” Seeing Tycho’s expression, she added, “Alonzo is a prince of Serenissima, the late duke’s brother and the new duke’s uncle. She will be there to see him marry, so will Marco, whether they want to or not. We will all be there.”

We will all be there . . . Tycho took the words out of the chamber and along a servants’ corridor he used to pass discreetly through Ca’ Ducale, the Millioni’s palace overlooking Piazza San Marco. He’d been born an orphan, and the discovery of that had been a relief, since he hated the bitch he’d believed his mother. Now he had a girl who loved him, who had a baby who loved her. While Alexa, who had every reason to hate him, since he had arrived in Venice with the sole purpose of killing her, included him when she spoke of we.

He was still smiling when he reached Lady Giulietta’s door. If they were a few minutes late in arriving and Giulietta seemed a little breathless . . . Well, they were young and what could anyone expect?