by Frank Payton
“What next, Sir John?” came a voice from further down the table. “Whither away for more booty and riches?” sang out another.
“Have you never enough of fighting and loot?” I laughed. “I’ll wager some city or noble will be looking for our services ere long. For the present, take your ease; the call will come soon enough. We ought now to empty our cups to the memory of the brave lads who fell in the last battle against von Landau, and will ne’er see England again.”
A quiet then fell over us, and we all stood and drank the cups dry in memory of our companions lost in battle. As we sat down again a voice asked, “Has any man here seen Dickon Rhymer, or John Reeve, or Ned Shaw?”
There was silence, then: “Dickon went down to one of von Felsingen’s company,” said Jack Onsloe. He was a good man, one of my best.”
Will Preston spoke up. “I saw Jacky Reeve shot through by those little devils on black horses, God damn their eyes!”
Giles added that he had lost Ned Shaw to a lance-thrust from an Almain knight who had ridden with von Landau. There were others who spoke up, but not all the deaths were witnessed.
“Huw!” I called to the boy, “Bring more wine for all. Now then, my friends, I have some happier news for you. As some few of you already know, I am shortly to marry a young Genoese noblewoman. She is known to those who were in Genoa with me earlier this year. If they wish, they may be amongst my guests at the wedding.”
There was roar of approval at this proclamation, followed by the laughter and ribald jesting common between menfolk on such occasions.
It was John Brise who stood up, with a brimming cup of wine grasped in his enormous right hand, and ordered the whole company to stand, which they did. “We, your comrades in arms, wish you and your Lady all good fortune, Sir John, in your marriage. May you be blessed with many sons and few daughters.”
Having delivered himself of the longest speech I had ever heard him make, John sat down heavily, and buried his face in yet another cup of wine. The rest emptied their cups in the toast to marriage, and resorted to more laughter and jests.
“I thank you all, for myself and my Lady Proserpina,” I said, which few words I thought were quite enough.
*****
As the wine and the sweetmeats disappeared from the table, the talk of lost comrades and the prospects of future employment ebbed away, and with it my companions. At last I sat alone save for Marco, with Huw hovering in the background. I waved him over to the table.
“Sit down, boy,” I said. “Have some wine, and some of whatever else is left. You have both carried yourselves well today.”
“Thank you, Sir John,” he said, “but I will just take a cup of wine and a little to eat, and go to my sleeping place.” With that he left me alone with Marco.
“Shall we have more trouble from Milan, do you think, Sir John?” he asked.
“I doubt it. We have broken Bernabo’s army, which has also lost its leader. He will have to find a new general, gather men, and equip them, before he can take the field again.”
“So, what shall we do now?” he persisted.
“What is in your mind, Marco?” I asked in return. “Would you leave my service?”
He looked startled, shocked almost. “No! Never, Sir John. I swore allegiance to you for life. I would not go back on my oath. But there is something else I wish to ask of you.” He hesitated.
“I can guess your desire,” I said with a smile. “And yes, you may go to visit Genevra da Lucca, wherever she is. In addition I will give you an escort, unless you wish to go secretly.”
Marco sat as if struck dumb. A wide grin spread over his face. “Thank you, Sir John. You make me very happy. Thank you also for the offer of an escort, but perhaps to travel alone would be best for me. Your men would be too obvious in Milan. Besides, I can keep my eyes open for anything of note much better if I am alone.”
“Very well, Sir Spy,” I laughed. “Go when and as you will, only tell me when you go, and return in six days’ time.”
“I shall leave in the morning, after a good night’s sleep for myself and the old nag I shall request from Tom Steyne.” He finished his wine and got up to go. “It would perhaps be better if I saw him now.”
“Do not forget the banquet,” I said. “I shall need you by me then.”
He laughed. “I would not desert you at such a time, Sir John. You will need Huw as well. I shall tell him.”
“Away with you, then,” I said. “Go and see Tom about the horse. I need to rest now before this evening.”
*****
There is little need to tell much of the remainder of the day, or of the banquet in the evening. Whilst there was the will, and the light lasted, the men held running races for purses of gold or silver, or richly fashioned cups of the same metals. Archers and crossbowmen shot with and against each other, for distance and marksmanship. There were wrestling matches, mock fights with wooden staves for weapons, and so on, until all were sated by the effort and excitement. Many a wager was won and lost. Money changed hands like water running from one vessel into another.
The dusk saw in the evening meal, with tables stretching away at some length from the one where Albrecht and I sat in some state surrounded by all our marshals, constables of companies and lieutenants. We had all dressed in our most sumptuous clothes and made a glittering show, but I had feelings of regret that my Lady Proserpina was not present to grace our company as Queen of Honour at our high table.
Seemingly mountainous quantities of food were distributed along the tables. Huge portions of roast mutton and beef, roast fowl of every description, stews, pies, puddings, sweetmeats, fruit, nuts, and gallons of good red wine.
Amongst those at the tables were crowds of women, brought in by more daring, or possibly romantically inclined, souls who craved female company and dalliance. Some were harlots from the nearby town, intent on filling their purses with hard-won gold or silver from the woman-hungry men of the Company. Others were the camp-followers of any marching army, who were tolerated for whatever skills they had in the way of being helps for our healers, washerwomen, cooks and suchlike.
In addition, several singers and musicians appeared from the night into the glow of torches and wax candles. Their loud singing, piping and twanging filled the air, and at times almost silenced the hubbub of voices from the tables.
The feasting and merriment continued into the night, until most men and their female companions either fell asleep over the tables or crept away to engage in the intimate pleasures of the night.
Finally I gave it my best and, wishing the few companions who were left at the top table good night, with faltering feet and spinning senses made my way to my own quarters, falling asleep at last to dream of Proserpina.
*****
True to his word, Marco returned to Romagnano on the sixth day, slipping almost unnoticed past the guards—although, by then, most would have recognised his shadowy comings and goings and his changes of appearance. To any curt challenge he always gave the same short reply, “Marco", and rode straightway towards my pavilion.
That night, he ducked through the door flaps in the late moonlit evening.
I was sitting with John Brise, Jack Onsloe, and Giles Ashurst, talking of tactics and battles long past. I looked up at his entrance.
“Welcome back, boy. Is all well at Milan?”
“Very well indeed, Sir John, and I have much to tell you.” He paused and looked around with an anxious air. “Is there aught to eat and drink? I am sore famished.”
We laughed at this—except Jack, who merely took another gulp of wine and got up to go. As he went, he slapped Marco on the shoulder and muttered, “Good lad,” and disappeared into the fading light.
“Take Jack’s place here,” I told him, and called for Huw to have some food and drink brought in.
Between mouthfuls Marco gave us an account of his journey to and from Milan, and of his warm welcome in the da Lucca household. As he ate he rambled on in such a fas
hion, and at such great length, but saying little of any consequence at all, that John and Giles grew tired and decided they had better things to do.
When they had left the pavilion, I said, “Now, Marco, what do you have to tell me of real interest? I guess you have held back information for my ears alone. Am I right?”
He grinned, and took another gulp of wine. “You are right, Sir John. I do have important news for you. The Florentines are preparing for war against Pisa.”
I sat bolt upright at this intelligence. Here was an opportunity perhaps for further profitable employment. “What is their reason?” I asked.
“It is an old quarrel,” he said. “Florence’s trade has to be conducted across Pisan territory, to and from the port of Livorno. Not unnaturally, the Pisans exact tolls on the passage of goods. That is the bone of contention. Fighting will begin again between them this summer.”
So, I thought, Which city will come to us first for aid, Pisa or Florence?
“Who has told you this?”
“Paolo da Lucca. He had the news from his agent in Florence. We had long talks about affairs of this nature. He appears to hold me in some high regard.”
“And Genevra? How does she hold you?” I asked with a smile.
“We are in love with each other,” said the boy in all seriousness. “She is ever accompanied by her old nurse, somewhat like Taddea and the Lady Proserpina. We were not often left alone together, but once when we were, we declared our love.”
“You think then that da Lucca would accept you as a son?” I asked.
“I am sure of it; he gives every indication.” He took another sip of wine.
“Very well then, I shall see what I can do to help you in this matter. Such an alliance would be good for you, and also valuable for me,” I said, to his evident joy.
“Let us return to this coming war between Florence and Pisa,” I continued. “Have there been any hostilities yet?”
“Nothing beyond sporadic bickering and scuffling on a small scale, between those guarding merchants’ goods in passage and Pisan officials.”
“I think we will keep the news of these matters to ourselves for the present,” I said, “And see what happens. It may come to nothing; in any case, we cannot move until approached by one side or another.”
The alternative, I told myself, would be to secretly approach both sides to see which one would offer the most for our services. I thought the matter warranted further consideration.
“In the meantime you and I have other matters to discuss, touching upon the Lady Proserpina.”
“Of course, your marriage to her. When will it be?” Marco asked, eyes shining.
I told him then that, the day after he had left for Milan, I had sent Matt Sayers with a small detachment to Savignone to give the news of our success at Canturino, and to deliver letters to Proserpina and Ludovico.
“Matt should be back any day now. I have requested that Niccolo come with him, for I wish you and he to return to Savignone with my gifts to Proserpina and others. You will also be able to say when I shall travel there myself, and who will accompany me. Stay there until I arrive. Ludovico will need to know all this.”
“You will need to allow at least two weeks for the Count to arrange everything for the wedding day, Sir John,” said Marco, “For all his household must be provided with new clothes. That is the custom amongst the great families.”
“Very well, two weeks,” I said, grudgingly, “but no more. Much as I am eager to marry Proserpina, I must look to the affairs of the Company, like it or not. This pother between Florence and Pisa must be turned to our advantage in some way. But all that can wait until the morn. Now, get to your bed, my lad. I see your eyes closing, even as I speak to you.”
He rose from his seat to obey, then turned, saying, “Thank you, Sir John, for the hope you have given me.”
When I looked up again, he was gone.
I sat on alone to finish off the contents of the wine-jug, and to crack and eat the few nuts remaining from the evening meal. Should I tell Albrecht of Marco’s news? I wondered. Strange thoughts had recently arisen in my mind concerning my old comrade. He had of late begun to place barriers between us. I will not say that he had not done his duty by the Company, but however much he tried to conceal it, his old fire and the friendliness between us was absent.
Was he jealous of my ambition to return to England rich and as some great lord, or was it due to my intention to marry Proserpina, I asked myself. I knew he had never married, and had no children, not even any born out of wedlock. As he had once said, he had been wedded to the sword for too long to change. All members of his family were dead, and whatever lands and riches they had once enjoyed were gone. Like many of his men, he was no more than a landless swordsman, owing fealty to none.
I reached out once more for the jug, but on lifting it realised it was empty. I decided it was time for sleep.
*****
In the afternoon of the following bright Spring day, Niccolo stood before me as I sat in the sun in front of the entrance to my pavilion. He swept off his black velvet cap with its jewelled clasp, and bowed low. I marvelled that on each occasion when I saw him, he appeared to have shed more of his boyish ways and to have grown older. He was clad that day in sober dark red and black velvet, with high leather riding boots. A plain sword hung at his left hip, a slim-bladed dagger at his right. Behind him towered the tall figure of Matt Sayers.
“I bring greetings from the good Count Ludovico da Savignone,” he began very formally. “Also from his sister the Lady Proserpina. I have letters for you, Signore Giovanni.” So saying, he stepped forward and placed the parchment rolls in my had. I passed them to Marco for safe keeping.
“You are very welcome, Messer Della Sera. Will you take some refreshment after your journey?” I said gravely, and indicated a table just inside the doorway, which had been laden with food and drink against their arrival.
“That is most kind. Some refreshment would be very welcome, would it not, Matteo?” He looked back at Matt, then lost his reserve and laughed merrily. Matt had earlier caught my eye, and slowly closed and opened one eye to me with a grin as if to say, “See here our young ambassador.”
“It would that, Master Niccolo,” Matt replied.
Formality disappeared as the new arrivals helped themselves from the table. We all laughed and applauded Niccolo for the way in which he had carried out his duties. I was glad to see that the boy in him had not vanished altogether.
“Well, Niccolo,” I said, when hunger and thirst seemed to have been at least partly satisfied in all present, “Tell me, how is my Lady Proserpina’s health, and that of her brother?”
“They are both in very good health, Signore. The Count is busy with his estate affairs, and also attends the Doge’s court regularly. I am sure that his wound is completely healed.”
“And my Lady?” I asked.
“She is returned to her usual mischievous, happy self again, and blooms as a Spring flower. She rides about the countryside, with an escort of course, just as she used to do."
“I am relieved to hear it, Niccolo,” I told him, and I was. A great weight had been lifted from my mind at his news. I knew I could look forward to the joy of seeing my beloved again.
*****
I recall that time at Savignone as if it were only days ago. Spring that year was near perfect: blue skies, small white and cream-coloured clouds, bright green fields and the darker green of the trees. The estate gardens were alive with flowers, and the small birds went about their business of mating, loudly proclaiming their joy in Life.
Three weeks had passed since Marco and Niccolo had left Romagnano, and I had later joined them at Savignone—the day previous to that upon which the wedding ceremonies were to take place. As I expected, Ludovico had wanted the marriage held at the Palazzo Lucanti in Genoa, but—typically—Proserpina had won her own way, and insisted upon staying in the country. She told me later, “The Palazzo is so dark and glo
omy, and closed in by the other large buildings. I wanted bright skies and sunlight for our wedding day.”
The party which had travelled with me included John Brise, Andrew Belmonte, Giles Ashurst and Huw. Jack Onsloe had refused to come with me, saying that it would evoke too many bad memories for him. However, he sent what proved to be a princely gift to Proserpina on the occasion: a small ivory chest, brimful of the most beautiful and delicate precious gem-encrusted jewellery I had ever seen. Proserpina was moved to tears, as I had told her previously of how Jack had lost his own family, wife, children and all. “To send me this,” she said, “After his own loss.... And I always looked upon him as such a grim, unsmiling and frightening man."
Marco was already at the di Lucanti estate with Niccolo. Later, Ludovico privately acknowledged to me their great help and assistance with the preparations. I also brought with me an escort of ten men-at-arms and five archers, including Alain Malwe.
My own gifts to Proserpina had delighted and enchanted her. Marco had told me that diamonds were especially prized as wedding gifts; I had therefore sought out the finest I could, sending to Florence and Genoa for those who traded in such gems to visit me with their wares.
Also present at the formal ceremony were various members of the di Lucanti family, the old uncles Domenico and Matteo, Ludovico’s brothers Paolo and Muzio and their wives, accompanied by a drove of young male and female cousins whose names I cannot now remember.
To my surprise, Proserpina had insisted upon Rafaello and Lorenzo Scacci attend, saying to me later that, as they had helped to rescue her from the clutches of Orlando, they deserved some reward. “Then perhaps, dear Gianni, our families will again be friends and allies, as they once were in our grandsires’ day.”
Finally, to bestow upon us the blessing of God and Holy Church, there was Father Pietro, brought in by a special request from Ludovico to his bishop, and by virtue of the part he had played in Proserpina’s rescue. We clasped hands in a glad greeting to each other, little knowing that the wedding would also be the occasion of our last meeting.