by Frank Payton
“Do you know this place, Ludovico?” I asked him.
“Not well, but I have been here once or twice. The main door leads directly into the Great Hall. There are other doors leading out of the kitchens and storerooms.”
“We’ve men at all the doors,” said Giles. “Jack wants to break in now.”
We all dismounted, and Huw took Boy’s reins. I drew my sword, closed my visor and settled my shield on my left arm. The others followed suit.
“Giles,” I said. “Go around to Jack and tell him to raise a clamour at the main door, as if breaking in. We’ll unbar the door ourselves once inside. Now let’s get to it.”
He rode off, and we started for the rear doors. As I had half expected, some servants were already at their duties and the doors were open. I strode into the kitchen. An empty iron cooking pot clanged on to the stone floor as one of the cooks turned and saw me. He stood as if turned to stone, eyes starting from his head. I placed the point of my sword at his throat. His eyes bulged with fear. Another servant entered.
“Silenzio!” hissed Marco’s voice behind me. The two men froze.
“Stay and keep these two quiet,” I ordered Wat, one of the men-at-arms.
I left the kitchen, followed by the rest, through a buttery and into the Great Hall. It was lofty, with windows giving on to a paved area which faced the sunrise. To one side was a stair which I surmised led to sleeping quarters. At the far end a railed gallery extended from side to side. Also in that wall was another door.
“Marco, go forward and unbar the main door. Dickon, Roger, you go with him. Tell Jack and three more to enter. We’ll see who we have caught in this fine net. Follow me, and keep your shields up.” I sprang for the stairway. The others surged after me.
Halfway up I heard the rattle of a door latch. A man emerged from a chamber at the end of the gallery. He was clad only in braies and a shirt, but carried a drawn sword. Behind him came another with a crossbow, spanned and loaded. He sighted briefly and pulled the lever. The bolt glanced off my raised shield, and I rushed forward. The bowman retreated into the chamber to reload. The swordsman came to meet me, his weapon raised. I beat it down with my shield, and smashed him on side of his head with the flat of my sword. He staggered and fell to the floor. “Basta! Stop!” I yelled through the open door. The bowman still struggled to reload, but on seeing me in the room, dropped his weapon and backed away. Ludovico came behind me and kicked the bow out the door.
I went to the door and called to the others. “See if the other rooms are occupied. Mind, they may be armed.”
A groan returned my attention to the swordsman. He was trying to pick himself up off the floor, and reaching for his sword. The effort was too much, and he slumped against the wall, hands to his head.
“Rafaello!” said Ludovico, stooping over him. He looked up at me. “This is Orlando’s younger brother. I know him well."
“Ask him where Orlando is, and Proserpina,” I said.
Father Pietro came along the gallery. “There is only one elderly lady and her maid in the end room. The others are empty.”
Ludovico stood up. “He knows nothing. He arrived with his cousin Lorenzo two days ago. Orlando had gone from here before then. I have told him who you are and why you are here. He is horrified at what Orlando has done.”
I slammed my sword back into the sheath and raised my visor. “We must find one who knows,” I said. “Who is the old lady, Father?”
“Her maid tells me that she is the Signora Margherita, Orlando’s grandmother. She says also that her mistress is very old and frail, but that her mind is clear.”
“If so, she can tell us where Orlando is. Tell her I wish to see her.”
By this time Jack was running up the stairway. He took in the scene at one glance. Rafaello had regained his feet and leaned unsteadily against the wall. Lorenzo stood in the doorway of the bedchamber, looking dejected.
“It looks as though we’re too late,” said Jack. He turned to Dickon. “Go down to Master Ashurst and tell him to stand the men down. They are to keep alert, mind. So, Sir John, what now?”
Father Pietro returned. “The Signora will see you shortly, and will send her maid when she is ready. In the meantime, I suggest we all repair to the Hall.”
I was not ready for that, and said so. “No. We will search about up here, to see what may be found, if anything, which can help us. Then we will speak to the servants. The promise of gold might loosen their tongues."
This further setback served only to increase the feeling of anger and helplessness which boiled and seethed in my breast. Was there to be no end to this purgatory? I longed only to find, and beat this goddamned Orlando into a bloody pulp. Then I could take Proserpina into my arms once more. We would be married as soon as possible thereafter.
The search of the upper floor revealed nothing, and we descended the stairway to the Hall. I threw my shield on the long table, took off my helmet and dropped it on top.
“Fetch the servants from the kitchen, Marco. Go with him, Huw, and you two as well,” I indicated the men-at-arms. “Find out if there are others, and bring them all here.”
They soon returned, pushing the servants before them: two cooks, a scullion, and a young boy who was clearly terrified.
“These are only the kitchen servants, Sir John,” said Marco. “There must be others. We’ll search about for them. Come on, Niccolo.”
Eventually we gathered over a dozen more: ostlers, gardeners, labourers and the like—but none who ranked any higher; no steward, secretary nor similar person. Rafaello and Lorenzo were also brought down into the Hall, where we could keep a watchful eye on them.
“It looks as though Scacci moved away in the nick if time,” said Jack, frowning. “Perhaps he had word of your intentions.”
“It’s very likely,” I agreed, “but how? We did not meet the Innkeeper again until yesterday. If Scacci left two days ago that would be when my Lady was removed from here. The Innkeeper would not have known so soon that we would come here today. No, that cannot be the answer. But now we need to know where Scacci has gone—”
I broke off as a woman began to descend the stair from the upper floor. She stopped and called out when halfway down. “The Lady Margherita will see the Count Savignone, and the Inglesi Signore. None other.”
“Come, Ludovico, let us go up,” I said. “Jack, whilst we are gone, you and Marco take these servants severally into another place and find out what they know of their master’s movements. See if they can give us any idea of the direction in which he went. Most importantly, I want to know how the Lady Proserpina fared here. Don’t let the servants speak to the others after you have spoken to them. Keep them separate.”
We ascended the stair. Her Ladyship’s maid waited at the top, a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman in plain dark blue. Her dark hair was partly covered by a folded white cloth. “Please follow me, signores,” she said, bobbing a brief courtesy.
The Lady Margherita Scacci received us seated in a carven wooden armchair. Although of great age, she retained a remarkable dignity and bearing. Dressed in black with her face framed in an elaborately folded snow-white wimple, she sat with her fine hands folded in her lap. Above an aquiline nose and high cheekbones, keen black eyes regarded us. I was reminded of Taddea, Proserpina’s elderly companion and childhood nurse, but whilst Taddea was a small black sparrow, this woman was a she-eagle. She ignored me.
“So, Ludovico di Lucanti, you come seeking your sister in the company of an Inglesi ruffian, whose army is notorious for the rapine and plunder of defenceless people. He would presume to take Proserpina to wife, I hear. This upstart would rise above a noble of Roman lineage?”
Ludovico was enraged by this barb, and showed it. “My Lady Margherita! You insult the Signore Haccuud, who is a noble knight of England. He has the approval of his King, and the favour of the Prince of Wales, who is renowned throughout the world as the very flower of chivalry. You do him a discourtesy, and whilst his comma
nd of our tongue is yet imperfect, he will no doubt have understood enough to feel insulted by your words.”
The black eyes turned towards me. “Is this true, Signore?”
“Quite true, Signora,” I replied. “My lineage may not be noble, but my family has been honest far longer than many members of noble families have been rogues.”
“A bold answer, Signore. If your sword is as sharp as your tongue, you will go far.” The shadow of a smile lay upon her pale lips. “If I am honest, I will say that I do not approve of Orlando’s actions of late—but I am only an old woman. No longer can I guide him in the right ways. He heeds me not.”
“I will be bolder, My Lady,” I said. “Will you tell me where your grandson has taken Proserpina? A lady such a she should not be dragged about the countryside like a captive.”
“If you can tell us, please do so,” pleaded Ludovico. “I fear for her safety.”
“I cannot tell you. I do not know,” she said. “Orlando came to me two, or perhaps three, days ago. I cannot remember now. He told me he would not be far away, that I could call him at need, but he would not say where he would be. Arnaldo, the steward, will know. Find him.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” I said. “Proserpina will be grateful.”
I bowed to the old dame and left her chamber, followed by Ludovico. As we began to descend the stair, the maid came out and called to us.
“Signores, my Lady would have you send Rafaello and Lorenzo to her.”
We gained the ground once more, and found the two young men sitting at the end of the long table. They both had glum faces. Since they had been disarmed, and the upper floor searched for any other weapons, I had no reason to keep them from their grandmother, and so sent them off.
Jack had not been idle. All the servants had been taken off one by one and questioned by him, with Marco and Niccolo acting as translators. Not much detail had been forthcoming, beyond the fact that Proserpina been taken away. Orlando had no more than five men, all his friends or their personal henchmen. Proserpina had ridden her own horse, but her hands had been tied to the saddle-bow and the reins held by one of her captors. One of the female servants had volunteered the information that “Lady Proserpina appeared very downcast and sad.”
Telling me this, Marco added, “I have kept this woman away from the others, as she seemed to be sympathetic to your Lady.”
“Good lad. Take me to her. Perhaps she will have more to say.” I called Jack over. “Take some men and search this place. I believe the steward was left here. His name is Arnaldo. Take Niccolo with you. He can call out Arnaldo’s name; the man might give himself away.”
“This woman’s name is Clara, Sir John,” said Marco, as we walked towards a small room set off at the side of the main kitchen.
Clara was a kindly middle-aged woman in a peasant’s plain brown dress. She wore a white barmcloth about her ample waist, and a linen kerchief over her greying hair. On seeing me enter, she backed away to the opposite wall and stood clasping her hands anxiously. Her wooden clogs scraped on the stone floor.
“She’s frightened, Sir John,” said Marco, at my shoulder. “Though I’ve told her no harm will come to her.”
“Tell her, again,” I said, smiling at her. She responded with a slight twist of her lips.
“Does she have any idea where Proserpina has been taken?” I asked.
After a brief exchange in Italian which I could scarce understand, he said, “She is a very simple woman, and does not really know what all this is about. She thinks the Lady Proserpina guilty of a crime, and that she was being taken away to be punished.” He shrugged his shoulders in dismissal and turned up the palms of his hands.
“God’s Blood, Marco!” I shouted. “Is the woman mad? Find out what she heard, for I guess she heard something or we would not be here with her now.”
Another question, answered in a faint voice.
“Clara says that the day before Lady Proserpina was taken away, she was cleaning the floors in the house. Scacci and two of his friends were sitting in the Hall, drinking. She had not realised that her sweeping was taking her closer and closer to them, until she was startled when one of the men shouted angrily for her to leave the Hall immediately. All the drinkers glared at her, and she was so frightened that she dropped her broom and ran away in tears.”
“What then?” I asked, impatient to get to the details.
“When she recovered herself she recalled that her master had said, ‘We will take her to the Mother, and lodge her there. She will not be able to escape, and no one will dare to invade such a place for fear of Holy Church.’ That is what Clara wished to say to no one but yourself.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At last I had what I needed. Father Pietro had been right in his choice of the probable hiding place for Proserpina. I went forward, and laid my left hand on the poor woman’s shoulder, which trembled at the touch. I smiled down at her.
“I thank you Clara. I count you as a good friend to my Lady, and I shall reward you well.”
She did me a clumsy courtesy, and fled from the room in tears—of relief, I supposed.
“So now we know, Sir John,” said Marco quietly.
“So now we know,” I echoed. “I will come down on Orlando Scacci like the Hound of Hell. Come, lad, let’s to it.”
*****
We found Father Pietro in the Hall, with Jack and the others. There was food on the table: bread, cheese, cold meats, fruits and wine. The first meal of the day had begun. As we sat down, Giles joined us and reported that lookouts had been posted, and the men withdrawn to positions around the house. They too were breaking their fast. I sat at the head of the table and set to with a will; I had realised that I was very hungry. At length I spoke to Jack.
“Well, have you found the steward?”
“Aye, dead of a knife thrust, by the look of him,” he remarked in his morose way. “What do we do now?”
“It’s lucky, then, that I have learned of the whereabouts of my Lady from another source. I’ll tell you once we are on our way; I’ve no wish for curious ears to hear what they should not.”
As I spoke, I heard footsteps on the stair and looked up. The two Scacci cousins were making their way down to the Hall. They came over to me.
“May we speak to you, Signore Gianni?” asked Rafaello.
They stood before me, Rafaello, the elder, striving for a proud bearing as would befit his present position as the head of the household in the absence of Orlando, but more than a little unsure of himself. Lorenzo stood by, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
“Well?” I said, and paused, wine cup halfway to my lips.
“I—We are ashamed,” stammered Rafaello.
I ignored his words. “Have you yet broken your fast?” I enquired.
“No, Signore,” they said, looking at each other.
“Then do so; we can talk later.” I waved them to places at the table.
Marco and Niccolo made way for them, and they gratefully attacked the food spread out before them. I continued talking to Jack and Giles, but secretly watched the two Scaccis. Before long their natural youthful spirits took hold, and the food eased their tongues, so that Marco was able to engage them more closely in talk. He looked along the table when reaching for more cheese, and sought my eye, raising an eyebrow in question. I divined his intent, and gave a quick nod in agreement. I knew he would work to allay their fears, and to glean what information he could.
“Somebody knifed the steward,” said Jack through a mouthful of bread and meat. He swallowed hard. “Someone we haven’t found yet, for that was no work of ours.”
“Oh, aye,” Marco agreed. “We bore arrows, swords, and a few maces. No, this was done by someone inside the house.”
“What about the watcher on the tower?” said Giles. “If it was he, then he must have killed the steward before I shot him. But if he didn’t do it, there must be someone who is still in hiding or who escaped unnoticed when we arrived.”
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“Very good,” said Jack, full of mock admiration. “I’d never have thought of that. What do you think, Sir John?”
I had finished my wine, and now took up an apple. “Are all the servants still about the house? If so, take those two lads”—I pointed to the two Scaccis—“and ask them if anybody who should still be here is missing. Show them the dead man who was on the tower. Is the body still up there, Giles?”
“No, Sir John. I had it brought down. I suppose we’ll have to bury him.”
“Good. See to it, will you? Jack, take Marco with you as well.”
He rose from his seat, finished his wine, and sheathed his eating knife. “Come on then, young Marco, and bring those two as well. Let us see what we can find.”
It didn’t take long. Rafaello was soon able to say that one Guido, a groom, was absent.
“He looks after Orlando’s two horses, Signore Giovanni, and helped my brother in other ways. He would have killed Arnaldo if Orlando had asked it of him.”
“So,” I said. “He would have seen our approach, realised what was happening, silenced the only man who knew with certainty what we would want to know, and slipped away unnoticed. Orlando will know now we are here, and will act accordingly.”
I called Ludovico and Father Pietro to me and told them the news. Ludovico groaned,"We will lose them again.”
“Not if we are quick,” I said. “How far now to this convent, Father?”
“Not very far, so Guido will certainly be there by now if he took a fast horse,” said Rafaello. “Signore Gianni, I tried to tell you. Lorenzo and I are ashamed. Orlando has fouled the honour of our family. We wish to restore it. If you can agree, we will help you. Will you trust us?”
I was touched by his earnest appeal, and held out my hand. “Fetch your swords, and any armour you have. We ride now to the Convent of the Holy Mother.” Or to the shrine of some ancient pagan goddess and unnamed horrors, I told myself.
Chapter 10
Rescue