“And you told him?’ I asked.
‘To flatter their intelligence,’ he said. ‘Women want to be told how smart they are.’
‘Fie, Ser Nerio,’ my wife said, at his elbow. ‘All the romances say women want to hear of their beauty.’
Nerio shrugged, smiling at her. ‘Most women are perfectly aware of their beauty,’ he said. ‘They are less sure of their brilliance.’
‘And this is the key to your success with women, Ser Nerio?’ my wife asked.
‘Yes,’ Nerio said.
‘And you tell foolish, empty-headed girls how intelligent they are?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Nerio said. ‘Especially them.’
Emile told me later that it took all her matronly wisdom not to strike his masculine self-assurance.
‘I was one of those girls,’ she said to my chest. ‘It is their age, not their lack of wit. And he preys on them.’
Yes. And so had I. Perhaps this is the age-old war between men and women. Which is mostly, I suspect, about youth, and innocence, and age, and experience.
Bah. I sound so old.
The next day I slept late, and so did my people. I woke late, left my lady abed to sleep even later, and went down to the courtyard, where, with the help of a borrowed wooden sword, I inflicted a little damage on a pell. It felt good, and I was growing old enough that the day after fighting I needed to loosen up my muscles.
Then Marc-Antonio and I sat in the yard with a fascinated Edouard, and also with Fiore and Achille and all of Emile’s people, and we worked on our harness. It was the perfect day – not too hot, but with a good full sun above us to dry our arming coats. We started on my arm harnesses, which had rust on them, and worked our way through, patching a cut in the fabric covering of my brigantine, stitching the gloves of my gauntlets back together where they had opened along the stitch lines, as they always do; oiling, polishing, mending.
Will you think less of me if I say that I love to do this? Perhaps it is because I grew up so poor, and never imagined I would own such a fine harness; or perhaps I just like to fondle fine things. And it is a pleasure, too, to help another man – to have the right needle, the right wax, the right thread, or a rivet to make a repair.
The young prince appeared early, with his friends, all dressed in silk doublets. I could tell he’d been awake all night, and I could also tell that he wanted me to be aware of that.
I wasn’t born yesterday, or even the day before. I ignored him unless he spoke to me, and kept sewing on Jean-François’s arming coat, which was in a shocking state.
Miles appeared, looking far too bright. Possibly even brittle. He almost seemed to float along the ground.
Not like our Miles at all.
‘Ah,’ said one of the young courtiers. ‘Brave Sir Miles. Which of the prince’s mares did you ride last night? Was it a good ride, Signor?’
The three courtiers laughed, and young Francesco smiled.
I got up, dumping Jean-François’s doublet in the sand.
Miles was aware enough that they meant mischief. But he was gently born and not used to rough wordplay. And I admit that we’d been with the knights of the Order a long time, and on pilgrimage. I hadn’t heard a broad joke about dalliance in three months unless I went to Ewan’s fire.
Miles looked at the three of them. ‘I don’t think that I understand,’ he said. ‘Perhaps my poor Italian.’
‘He means that the ladies would be whores if they had the brains to charge,’ said another of the courtiers. ‘But as they lack the brains, they provide what is in their nests for free.’
He laughed.
They all laughed.
I noted that Miles had a small square of green silk pinned with a long and rather elegant silver pin to his shoulder. It was on the back of his shoulder; I hadn’t seen it, but I knew what it was.
A favour.
I wore one myself.
And Miles took everything seriously.
He had turned bright red. So bright, it was almost painful to watch.
I was moving.
So was Nerio, who, of course, was not doing any work.
My thought was to prevent violence.
Nerio had a different thought. He got between the most recent speaker, who had a hat entirely of peacock plumes and I still think of as ‘Peacock’, and Miles, who had relaxed into a fighting stance and had his right hand on his rondel dagger.
Nerio put a hand on Peacock’s shoulder. ‘He’ll kill you,’ he said. ‘You soft children probably say such things about women, and laugh. But in an army camp … You do not call even a whore, a whore. Understand me, child?’
The boy spluttered. He cursed. He blasphemed. But he moved further from Nerio.
I smiled a nice, insulting, condescending smile at him. While pinning Miles’s arm against his side.
‘I would be happy to meet you,’ Miles said through clenched teeth, in terrible Italian. ‘On horseback or foot, with any weapon you choose, if only you will allow me to kill you.’
Peacock stepped back again.
Nerio shrugged. ‘If you run away,’ he said, ‘I’ll be sure to tell everyone I meet that you are a coward.’ Nerio had this terrible power – his insults were more telling than anyone I had ever met. His sneer was so much more effective.
Peacock was so afraid that he was afraid even to run away. He stopped.
‘Best just apologise,’ I said.
Prince Francesco came over. In a way, I approved of his standing up for his friend, even if the man was an arse.
‘Papay,’ he said gently; some local nickname. ‘You know what my pater says of speaking ill of a woman.’
Peacock was trembling. ‘I … misspoke. I … Do I have to do this?’ he asked, looking at the young Francesco.
The young man looked at me, and for a moment, we were peers. It was odd. We were almost adversaries, but he was asking me how to play this.
So I changed roles, drew myself up, and walked over to stand with the prince.
‘Sometimes men make broad jests about things,’ I said. ‘Farting, pissing, fucking.’ I shrugged. ‘Sometimes these japes are ill-timed. We are rougher men than your father’s men, My Lord. If Miles loves a lady par amours, he is in his rights as a man-at-arms to defend her honour. That is our way.’ I turned and looked at Peacock. ‘And as a matter of course, young sir, it is sometimes funny to make a joke about mares and stallions, but it is always in bad taste to put a name to any. Killing bad taste.’
He was shaking.
I think he took me seriously.
‘I beg your pardon, Sir Miles,’ he said.
Fiore kicked Miles in the shin.
Miles coughed. ‘Yes,’ he said tightly. ‘I’m sure you misspoke,’ he said.
Young men and young women.
Very complicated.
Like Anatolia.
I found that my hands were shaking when I went back to sewing; I suppose I’d been ready to fight. Miles was sitting alone, and when Nerio tried to talk to him, he shook Nerio off.
I was just getting back to work, hoping that the sun would clear away the air, when Sir Richard appeared.
I rose to my feet, worried about the consequences of our confrontation of the morning, and his face was clouded – anger, fury, confusion.
He looked around and then at me.
‘Can you come with me?’ he asked tightly.
By then I was on Achille’s gauntlets, that had once been Davide’s gauntlets. I set them down and followed him.
‘The prince would like to see you,’ he said.
‘I’m wearing a linen peasant’s cote besmottered with rust,’ I said.
He glanced at me. ‘Prince Francesco will not care,’ he said.
‘Nothing happened,’ I offered. ‘We prevented—’
H
e shook his head. ‘No idea what you are talking about,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
I had not, until then, been in the prince’s apartments. We went through the great hall where dinner had been, and where a dozen men in livery were building a dais. We went up broad stairs and into an antechamber panelled in dark wood. There were two ancient statues against one wall – both naked. Not my taste.
Up another flight of stairs. These were very narrow, and guarded by a fully armed man. If they arrested me, I was helpless.
Up and up, the stairs turning. We were in the wall of a tower, a round tower.
We emerged high above the sea, to find the older prince sitting in a big, heavy chair on the top deck of the tower. Asia all but glowed green across the narrow sea in the ferocious sunlight.
‘Sir William Gold,’ Sir Richard said.
Prince Francesco turned his head. ‘Ah,’ he said.
‘My apologies, My Lord,’ I began.
He shook his head. ‘The affairs of my son are not my business,’ he said. ‘Or rather, not worth my breath. One of my son’s useless boys was chastised? It might do him a world of good.’
He sighed.
‘I thought your son behaved well,’ I said.
That got his attention. ‘Why?’ he asked.
I remember that I looked out to sea for a little while before I answered. ‘He stood up for his people, but he was almost looking for … a way out.’
His father nodded. ‘Interesting. People do not generally stand up for my bastard son.’ He made a hand motion dismissing the entire matter. ‘I have other news.’
A servant brought a stool.
I sat. Wine was put in my hand.
‘The emperor has been taken,’ he said.
‘Taken?’ I repeated, or something equally foolish.
‘Somewhere in Hungary or Bulgaria,’ Prince Francesco said. ‘You know that my wife is his sister?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ I said.
He turned his entire attention on me. ‘Your wife is a Savoyard, and you yourself are en route to visit the Green Count, is this not true?’ he asked.
There was no need to prevaricate. He was exceptionally well informed. He still is.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Count Amadeus is the emperor’s cousin,’ he said, steepling his hands. ‘Will you take him a letter from me?’
I took a breath.
Sometimes, it would be easy to be a plain, fighting knight.
I knew what the Order wanted; they wanted Nerio in Greece, and the Green Count on his way to Rhodes. Not on his way to Constantinople, which would not help the Kingdom of Cyprus or the Order.
On the other hand …
‘You think that the King of Hungary has taken the emperor?’ I asked.
Prince Francesco shook his head. ‘I cannot fathom it,’ he admitted. ‘Unless Hungary has determined to try and seize the Empire for himself, and I would say he lacks either the reach or the ambition. Eh, perhaps not the ambition. More likely that the Bulgarians seized the emperor. They were at war just last year.’
‘Could the Bulgarians be working with the Turks?’ I asked.
He looked at me … I remember thinking, Ho, Your Grace, I’m not made of wood. Until then, I think he’d thought me a sword-swinger.
‘Murad,’ he said softly. ‘Very clever.’ He sipped wine and then looked out to sea. After a few moments, he looked back at me. ‘If one of the Bulgarian princes has invited the Turks in to the north …’
I had no idea what he was talking about. I bowed. ‘Bulgarian princes?’ I asked.
‘There are three. Their father, Alexander, died last year, and divided their kingdom in three. The eldest, John Sisman, has the bulk of the country. The other two – I cannot remember their names …’ He looked at his councillors.
A swarthy man in a long robe bowed. ‘Your Grace may mean the second son, Stracimir, and the third son, and weakest, Dobrotich.’
The prince nodded. ‘As you say, Isaac.’
I realised when he spoke that the man in the long robe was a Jew. He was the most elegantly dressed Jew I’d ever seen, and wore a fine, ivory-hilted baselard. He saw my attention and inclined his head, and I returned the courtesy.
Then he turned his attention to the prince. ‘May I suggest that we need more information?’ he asked. ‘I cannot help but notice that the emperor has been taken, and leaves his son Andronicus …’
‘Christ Risen,’ cursed the old pirate, sounding considerably less princely. ‘Damn me to Hell.’
He looked at me. ‘Well?’ he asked.
This has happened to me a few times – but this was the first. It was the first time that I was the point of the spear. The first time I had to make a decision that would affect many men, and the policy of the Order. Not a battlefield decision, but a life decision.
I suspect I tugged my beard. I don’t remember, but I usually do in such moments.
It was a fine balance. I had been listening when Fra Robert spoke. But I couldn’t imagine that the loss of the emperor and all Northern Greece would be a fair trade for some raids on the coast of Anatolia. Nor, really, was I fit to make such a decision.
‘Your Grace, could you send word of these developments to Rhodes?’ I vouchsafed.
‘Done,’ he said. ‘Sir Richard, see to it.’
My new English friend nodded.
‘I’ll take your letter, Your Grace,’ I said.
‘I’ll be in your debt, Sir William,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you the contents. No. Come back in two hours. You have given me food for thought. Amadeus is at the very least at Corfu. You can reach him in three days by galley.’
I bowed. ‘Your Grace, I must confess to you that I may not be the perfect ambassador. The Green Count may mislike me.’
‘Your marriage?’ Francesco Gatelussi raised an eyebrow. ‘I made one too,’ he said. He smiled. ‘Amadeus of Savoy is a man of the world.’
‘The Count of Turenne has sworn to take my wife’s lands,’ I said.
‘Never heard of him,’ Francesco said. It sounded like a death sentence. ‘With fair winds, you could be up with the count in three days. Perhaps four. He has to land at Naxos. He might land … Bah. I’ll send you in one of my galleys. Will you sell me your condotta?’
‘My condotta?’ I asked.
‘Will you serve me against the Turks and Bulgarians, Sir William? I am going to rescue the emperor.’ He leaned forward.
May I say that, despite his age, the Prince of Lesvos was a man I could follow very easily. I loved the speed with which he decided. I liked his Jew. I liked the way men spoke to him – neither servile, nor pretend peers, but men who spoke their minds. I liked Sir Richard. And he stirred me. I wanted to follow him to rescue the emperor.
I bowed. ‘I may owe knight service to the Green Count,’ I said. ‘Barring that, I am at your service.’
Prince Francesco rose; a signal honour. ‘Good. Because I will put you with my son, and you will help him be a man.’ He nodded to me. ‘In return, I will pay you well and help make Amadeus accept your marriage. Is that agreeable?’
I bowed. I was, in fact, in over my head. I was still trying to imagine that the emperor was taken. I couldn’t even imagine what that meant, as I hadn’t ever heard of a Byzantine emperor being taken before.
I walked down, out of the tower, to find my wife and tell her. Sir Richard walked with me. He was behind me on the twisting stairs, and he took my shoulder at a landing.
‘You are nae after me job?’ he asked. ‘Ye ken I’m his captain?’
I remember pausing and looking up at him, and Isaac, the Jew, was right behind him. He raised an eyebrow.
‘I have another contract, with my friend Nerio, when this is over,’ I said carefully. ‘And I can follow your lead, Sir Richard.’
He he
ld out his hand and we clasped. ‘Good, then. Imagine a pair o’ sons of Saint George saving the heathen Romanians fra’ the Turks.’ He laughed.
I went to find Emile. When I told her all, she made a face.
‘He is a good lord,’ she said practically. ‘And I rather like it here. Get him to give you a fief.’
Very practical woman, Emile.
Then I went to find my friends. They were still in the courtyard.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said, and they all looked up. Nerio was sitting on a stool, rolling dice in a bowl; Fiore was polishing a sword; Miles was cleaning his poleaxe. L’Angars was lying on his back with a broad hat over his eyes; Hafiz-i Abun, who, by then, spent all his time with us, was watching Nerio roll the dice, and making notes on a tablet.
‘The Bulgarians have taken the Emperor of the East,’ I said. ‘Prince Francesco has asked us to join him in the rescue.’
Nerio glanced at me. A slow smile started in the middle of his mouth, and spread.
‘Of course,’ Nerio said.
Fiore raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course,’ he said.
And Miles shot to his feet. ‘Of course!’ he said.
Hafiz-i Abun smiled. ‘May I come?’ he asked. ‘I have always wanted to see Constantinople, although I admit your emperor is nothing to me. But I can go home that way – to Tanais.’
L’Angars raised his head. ‘What’s the pay?’ he asked.
The next hours were a whirlwind; I couldn’t remember the order of my actions if my life depended on it. In the end, Emile and her retinue stayed on Lesvos; she was a great lady, and the emperor’s daughter and the prince were delighted to have her. She kept her knights by her.
Our little company could not all fit on a tiny Genoese galliot – it was almost a racing shell. In fact, they couldn’t take a single horse.
So I left Miles in command. Fiore was a fine man, the best sword I ever knew, but his gifts did not run to people and their management. His tendency to say exactly what he observed could be a gift from God in training, but it was deeply painful when dealing with archers and their little ways. Miles, despite his pious ways, or perhaps because of them, liked people, and mostly, people liked him back.
The Green Count Page 29