The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘Thinking of praying to Santa Maria, Dino?’ said Massimo, smiling.

  She’d been created to soothe the anxieties of a population wanting to forget the dark centuries of the king.

  ‘I thought people prayed to her when they wanted a child.’

  ‘I heard she blesses the water in the wells,’ added Virmyre.

  ‘Some say she’s the saint of lost children,’ said Massimo. ‘I doubt anyone really knows.’

  Dino glanced at the statue again, a mystical placebo for all the spiritual ills of those beyond the castle walls.

  ‘Perhaps she can absolve your captive killer,’ said Virmyre in a tone confirming he believed anything but. ‘Make him see the error of his ways?’

  ‘I’d rather not have the little carogna sharpening his blades on a farm somewhere waiting for another chance to kill Anea.’ Dino sipped the wine. It was dreadful and he was glad to be nearly finished. ‘I’d rather see him dead. It’s simpler.’

  ‘Taking a man’s life in combat is one thing, executing him is quite another,’ remonstrated Virmyre. ‘Lucien wouldn’t approve of such a vulgar display of authority.’

  Dino plucked at his lip. ‘I’ll never understand why he needed to found his house on the other side of the island.’

  ‘I think it’s perfectly understandable considering everything that happened,’ said Virmyre, flashing an accusing gaze up at the old stones of Demesne. ‘He never felt a part of the castle the same way you do, Dino.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I feel a part of it; I just wanted to stay and protect Anea. That was my decision. I’d say I’d called it right, wouldn’t you?’

  Virmyre nodded at the truth of it. Massimo looked uneasy, the swordsman always preferring a conflict of blades to a conflict of words.

  ‘Time for me to get back to my lord,’ said Massimo, rising from the bench. Dino eyed him as he stood, wishing their time together had been happier.

  ‘We’ll walk you back to the gate,’ the Orfano said, glad to be free of the vinegary wine. They stood, mouthing hollow platitudes at the innkeeper, who bade them come again.

  ‘You might want to do something about the ants,’ said Massimo with a friendly smile. He gestured beneath the bench, where dozens of shiny brown bodies milled around. The innkeeper looked embarrassed, assuring the swordsman he would take steps to stem the invasion of insects.

  ‘I seem to find those things wherever I go,’ complained Dino.

  ‘Formicidae,’ said Virmyre under his breath.

  They set off through the narrow streets of the town. There were a good few dwellings mixed in among the shops, wooden shutters painted in vibrant blues, earthy reds and rich purples. Women with heavy-lidded eyes looked down from windows. Occasionally a beckoning hand would emerge into the light. Massimo saluted with a wry smile on his lips.

  ‘Not much work for them at this time of day,’ said the swordsman. Dino shrugged and said nothing. He’d never understood the compulsion to spend money on whores, no matter how comely. He set his gaze at his boots and kept walking.

  Paving stones had begun to appear at the edges of the roads. Soon there would be street lamps to turn back the night. The cittadini still told tales of horrors roaming the forests, an inheritance of the Verde Guerra, and stories of revenants and ghouls had returned to fashion. Lonely roads and cemeteries had captured the people’s imaginations. Less fictitious were the accounts of the many abductions that besmirched the castle’s past, although those fears at least were ended.

  ‘Dino.’ Massimo had edged closer, all but whispering in his ear. The Orfano dragged himself back from his bitter musing with a start. ‘We are surrounded.’

  Dino glanced around. There was a uniformed presence in Santa Maria that day. Not military garb but a unified attire all the same. The rags they wore were an ash-grey hue, faces concealed by hoods. Perhaps the tatters had been robes once, but there was little fine about them now. The hands that emerged from ragged sleeves were bound in grimy bandages. None of the loiterers looked whole in body. It was clear the cittadini of Santa Maria made them for beggars, giving them a wide berth.

  Times are hard even here, thought Dino, but not as hard as they are out in the fields.

  ‘Have you ever seen them before?’ asked Massimo in a quiet voice.

  ‘No. And none of our usual contacts have reported them either.’

  Dino continued his surreptitious surveillance. Some of the grey men appeared hunched or twisted, yet all shared a poise he was all too familiar with. They were waiting. And what would come next would not be without blood.

  Dino stepped close to Virmyre and took him by the elbow. ‘Stay close,’ he whispered, but the professore hadn’t heard him. He was staring at the wizened form of Angelicola, who struggled along the street with a large basket of food.

  Dino blinked in astonishment. He’d not seen the bad-tempered dottore since the death of the king. House Erudito had made his expulsion a quiet affair. He’d slipped from memory as easily as he’d passed from the day-to-day running of Demesne. Always an unkempt-looking man, he had been sorely undone by the passage of years, iron-grey hair a ragged nest, cheeks sporting patchy stubble. His suit was beyond repair yet he still carried himself like a duke.

  ‘I had no idea he was still alive,’ whispered Virmyre.

  ‘No time for the dottore now,’ whispered Dino. ‘We’re in trouble.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I fear Anea’s enemies have singled you out. Be wary.’

  The hooded figures made their move, as if cued by Dino’s warning.

  4

  Death in Santa Maria

  – 7 Giugno 325

  Suddenly the street was transformed. A wordless panic rippled through the cittadini; uncertainty caused the hearts of every man, woman and child to skip a beat. Men and women looked aghast, realising they were unarmed. Rusted swords and pitted knives appeared in clenched fists, conjured from fetid sleeves. Someone cried out and the rush began.

  A fleeing woman careened into Dino, not looking where she was heading, nearly knocking him from his feet. The Orfano stifled curses and drew his blade, his grey eyes flashing silver in the sunlight. Massimo drew his sword and stiletto and they closed up around the aged professore.

  ‘Into the teeth of the wolf,’ said Dino.

  ‘And knock them out, every one,’ replied Massimo.

  The screaming began.

  ‘All this for a glass of wine no better than piss and vinegar,’ grunted Virmyre.

  A figure in grey lunged across the street toward Dino but there was something wrong with the motion. More of a lurch than any considered movement, awkward and lacking the fluid assurance of a seasoned fighter. Dino met the charge with a strike of his own, slashing down at the man’s knee with a force lent urgency by adrenaline.

  His opponent blocked it. Almost.

  A wooden club was smashed aside as Dino’s blade bit deep into rags and flesh. The smell was overpowering, the cloying musk of an unwashed body, the acrid stench of urine. The attacker stumbled, momentum carrying him past Dino, who stepped in behind and neatly slashed across the back of his thigh. The man screamed for his severed hamstring, flopping down into the dirt. He proceeded to shriek and writhe as if on fire. Dino skewered him, feeling the tip of his blade catch on ribs before slipping through. The man coughed and trembled. Dino twisted the blade and tore it loose.

  Massimo had also felled one of the grey men. He looked up from running his opponent through and locked eyes with Dino, a frown on his fine features.

  ‘What in nine hells is happening here?’ asked Dino.

  ‘First Anea, now Virmyre,’ replied the swordsman. But Virmyre remained untouched, shaken but unharmed.

  ‘I don’t think they even noticed me,’ intoned the professore.

  Two of the attackers were already departing through the crowd, hands full of plundered meat from the butcher. The last of them was wrestling with Angelicola, who gasped and sank to his knees, clutching his arm. There was a
pitiful cast to his haggard features, part confusion, part fear.

  Dino surged across the street, blade reflecting brightly in the sun, teeth bared, heart kicking loud and strong. Angelicola hinged forward from the waist, face down in the dirt. His attacker need no further encouragement, fleeing with the dottore’s basket hooked over one elbow. Dino followed, body bent low, sword parallel with the ground, eyes fixed on shoulder blades dressed in filthy rags. There was a dull roar in his ears, a bitter tang of adrenaline in the back of his throat that sang for blood like a dirge.

  Suddenly the figure lifted off the ground as if plucked by an unseen hand, bounding up to an overhanging balcony. Dino snarled in frustration, turned the corner, taking the building’s wooden stairs two at a time. Cittadini stared after pursuer and pursued, eyes glazed with shock, unsure of what they’d seen. Elsewhere in the town were occasional screams and shouts, becoming more distant with each passing second.

  Angelicola’s attacker had reached the end of an adjoining balcony when Dino caught up with him. A woman hanging out her washing had been knocked aside amid a scattering of garments. She looked up at Dino with unfocused eyes, nose a red ruin.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Dino snarled, closing the gap with his prey. He fastened a hand on the basket, wrenching it back. The thief turned and lashed out with a knife, ripping through Dino’s sleeve and the bandages beneath. Metal skittered from something hard, then snagged in the shorn material. There was a moment’s confusion and then the basket fell apart, tumbling olives, vegetables and bread down into the street below. A clay pitcher of milk fell for long seconds only to shatter, a shock of white across the grey cobblestones. Angelicola’s attacker slammed into the balcony rail and bounced back. Dino mashed the pommel of his sword into the grey man’s face on instinct, hearing the wet snap of something beneath the hood. The momentum of the strike lifted the man over the rail, pitching him head first to the street below.

  Dino gasped, watched the descent, heard the muffled thump. Silence.

  The Orfano hopped over the rail and landed nimbly, rolling as the fall stung the balls of his feet. The chase was at an end. Dino looked down at the broken man, knife in one hand, remains of the destroyed basket in the other. The head, still obscured beneath a hood for the most part, rested at a cruel angle. A few urchins were already prowling close to the fallen food. Dino shivered as sweat cooled beneath his doublet. He forced his breathing to a slow crawl, calming himself. Something about the way the man had come to rest reminded Dino of a body he’d found many years ago. A body discovered at the base of a spiral staircase when he’d been just eleven years old. Demesne had not been kind to him during his eleventh year.

  ‘Dino?’

  He jerked back as if stung. Massimo stood by his side.

  ‘Are you hurt? Your sleeve is—’

  ‘No, I’m …’

  ‘You were just standing there, staring into space.’

  ‘I was …’ The food had been neatly stolen, the urchins long gone. A crowd composed of respectful silence and hand-wringing anxiety had gathered without his noticing.

  ‘He fell from the balcony …’ Dino gestured with one hand as if this might conjure further explanation. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

  ‘You’ve no need to justify yourself to me.’ Massimo frowned. ‘A death from a balcony is just as good as one from the blade. They were dangerous and they were armed.’

  Dino composed himself. ‘Is Virmyre …?’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Massimo grinned. ‘It will take more than a few ragged paupers to give Virmyre pause.’ The swordsman looked back up the street. ‘The old dottore didn’t make it. Seems his heart couldn’t take the strain.’

  Dino’s gaze had returned to the crumpled man. Massimo sheathed his sword and took a step closer, dropping his voice.

  ‘What’s troubling you, Dino?’

  ‘This wasn’t assassination. This was starvation. They were after food.’

  ‘I can believe that. None of them look much like assassins.’

  Dino continued to gaze at his quarry, a broken tangle of limbs beneath the crude collection of rags. The bright sunlight spared no detail. Naked filthy feet, a hunch in his back, dull black nails on fingers that clutched a short rusted blade.

  ‘Dull black fingernails. Just like—’

  ‘Come on,’ said Massimo gently. ‘Let’s get you and Virmyre back to Demesne. We can let the guards clean this up.’

  ‘Clean him up, Mass. It’s a person. A man like you or me.’

  ‘Just not so well dressed.’

  Dino curled his lip. ‘He’s a person, Mass.’

  The Contadino swordsman studied him a moment, concern clouding his dark eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dino. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  The Orfano’s anger subdued, then withered altogether. Dino had always found it impossible to stay angry at the swordsman for long. He sheathed his sword, unable to meet Massimo’s eye.

  ‘Bad wine and starving peasants,’ said Virmyre, leaning heavily on his stick. ‘This is one hell of a town we’re running.’ He’d pushed his way through the crowd, dabbing at his brow with a kerchief.

  ‘I’m sorry about the dottore,’ said Massimo.

  ‘Don’t be,’ replied Virmyre. ‘He was dead the moment he left Demesne. He was probably glad to have an end to it all. If the people knew what I know, he wouldn’t have lasted ten days, let alone ten years.’

  ‘I didn’t realise he was still alive,’ said Massimo quietly.

  ‘Well, he’s no loss to us then, is he?’ said Dino.

  Virmyre nodded and stalked off.

  ‘Your sleeve, it looks bad,’ said Massimo with obvious concern. Virmyre stopped, turned and flashed a glance at the fabric. Beneath the rip were the telltale cream bandages. Dino held his forearm up to his chest, covering it with his free hand.

  ‘It’s fine. My … my deformity protected me from the blade. There might be a little damage but nothing that won’t grow back.’ Virmyre nodded to him, stern face more serious than usual. ‘They always grow back.’

  The walk through the town took too long, Virmyre’s pace an idling stroll compared to Dino’s urgent stride. The swordsman and the Orfano flashed looks over their shoulders, wariness in every step. Virmyre rattled off an articulate series of complaints about the town, the wine, the cittadini, the economy and the weather.

  ‘You’ve never really told me what’s wrong with your arms,’ said Massimo as they approached the Contadino gatehouse. ‘Even after all this time,’ he pressed when Dino made no effort to provide an explanation.

  ‘Surely you’ve heard the rumours,’ said Dino, eyes fixed on the cobbles at his feet.

  ‘Something about spikes or stings?’

  Massimo missed the warning glance Virmyre spared him.

  ‘Tines, we call them tines.’ Dino was stifling hot, and it had very little to do with the midday sun.

  ‘We don’t have to speak of them if you—’

  ‘It’s fine. I just … Golia had them too.’

  They lapsed into silence. Dino could almost sense Massimo searching for something to say, anything to provide a change of subject.

  ‘It seems my simple need for wine and sunshine has drawn attention.’ The swordsman jutted his chin toward the gatehouse, where Lady Stephania Prospero waited with her retainers. Dino had seen the way men at court regarded her. Olive-skinned, she possessed an hourglass figure that set pulses racing. Never without a fan, her dark hair often piled atop her head, spilling ringlets framed her eyes. Her choice of attire was always in good taste, never gaudy or flamboyant.

  ‘I cannot understand why a woman like that is going to waste,’ said Massimo.

  ‘Perhaps you should propose to her,’ said Dino.

  Massimo missed the dangerous edge to his tone. ‘A lowly swordsman does not propose to the daughter of a major house.’

  ‘And there is your answer, young masters.’ Virmyre paused and wiped his brow for a moment. ‘There are few who
possess the correct standing to make such a proposal. And so Demesne’s most exotic flower withers in the sun.’

  ‘I know how she feels,’ replied Dino. ‘Can we get into cover before you die of old age?’

  ‘Impatience is ever the folly of youth,’ replied Virmyre. ‘But yes. Onward.’

  They walked the final stretch of road in silence, presenting themselves to the noblewoman with the requisite bows.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re safe,’ she said with a smile. ‘I came as soon as I heard. The messengers are spreading the word even as we speak. We all feared the worst.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ replied the Orfano, ‘I had Massimo to look after me,’ making a lazy salute at his friend.

  ‘I live to serve.’ Massimo grinned. ‘But we both know you could have protected the professore alone.’

  They passed under the arch of the gatehouse and into the House Contadino courtyard, crowded with wagons. Chickens clucked and strutted, the sweet smell of straw and manure obscuring all others.

  ‘It seems people have been trying to finish you your whole life,’ said Massimo, ‘and yet here you are. Dino the Untouchable.’

  ‘Not quite,’ replied Dino, gesturing to the ripped sleeve.

  Stephania’s eyes widened. ‘Should I send for a dottore?’

  Dino shook his head. ‘I’ll attend to to it myself, thank you.’

  Stephania nodded, then turned and headed into the cool corridors of the house.

  Massimo clapped a hand on Dino’s shoulder as the Orfano gazed after her. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘There have been other days like this,’ replied Dino, ‘other ambushes.’ Other times he’d felt ashamed of his difference.

  5