The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  The duke cursed under his breath.

  ‘It’s nice.’ Dino held the weapon up to the sunlight. ‘I may keep it. Was it a gift from your father?’

  The duke said nothing, all but shaking with fury.

  ‘Maybe I’ll give it to the maid. It won’t help her wrist any, but I’m sure she could make a coin or two if she sold it to the right person. I might buy it from her myself.’

  ‘So is this level we’re stooping to now?’ muttered the duke. ‘Killing old men while they are abed? Hardly the stirring victory a real swordsman yearns for.’

  Dino shrugged, then allowed himself a smile at the duke’s goading.

  ‘Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?’

  ‘If I stoop it is only because you brought the roof down, my duke. Sending three bravos to my sister’s chamber. To kill her.’ He regarded the point of the stiletto. ‘Hardly the stirring victory a real swordsman yearns for.’

  ‘You have no proof.’

  ‘I have my own ears. I heard you and you wife plotting against the throne. Against my sister. Against me. I know you bought the villa on the Contadino estate to hide your wife there. Just until the castle was safer. You’d be surprised how much I know.’ He’d been enjoying this until now, but suddenly his mouth was filled with sourness. The memory of the three bravos entering Anea’s chamber swept away any vestiges of compassion. There would be no last-minute change of mind, his conscience silenced in the shadow of his anger. Only vengeance remained.

  ‘You have no right,’ muttered the duke, ‘no right to come here and judge me. You don’t know what we’ve endured. You don’t know the sacrifices I’ve made! Forty years I’ve served Demesne, forty years I’ve been its watchman. A proud defender.’ He actually beat his chest with one fist at this last remark.

  Dino clapped his hands slowly, lip curled. The mock applause died out.

  ‘Forty years? You must have seen much during that time, must have been party to a lot of secrets. Secrets like all those abductions. Every three years or so, by Lucien’s reckoning. I make that at least ten girls under your watch. Ten daughters abducted.’

  The duke’s eyes strayed to the picture of the nude.

  ‘Not so much the proud defender on those dark nights, my duke.’

  ‘We had no choice,’ he whispered.

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ replied Dino from between gritted teeth.

  ‘The king … the Majordomo had spies everywhere. There was nowhere we could go without his knowing. We objected, of course. So many times we tried to break the agreement.’

  ‘What agreement?’

  ‘The hecatomb agreement.’

  ‘Who else knew?’ pressed Dino. The stiletto felt heavy in his hand, and he had a terrible keenness to use it.

  ‘Fontein, naturally. Usually a maestro di spada, but sometimes the capo.’

  ‘You mean Guido?

  ‘Porca miseria, no. I wouldn’t trust Guido to find his arse with both hands. We appointed him as a favour to Duchess Prospero. He’s the worst capo I’ve ever seen. Simpering ponce.’

  ‘That’s one thing we can both agree on at least. Who else?’

  ‘A dozen guards. Ones we knew we could trust, often sergenti.’

  ‘And the other houses?’

  ‘No.’ The duke shook his head. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused. ‘Can you imagine if Erudito had known? Cherubini and his limp-wristed intellectuals would never have had the stomach for what needed doing. And Contadino? They’d never have stood for it. That Medea has some fire in her. I would have liked to have burned my fingers on that flame.’

  ‘I’d say you’ve played with more than enough fire.’

  The duke nodded. ‘If you had a wife as cold as mine you’d welcome the chance to burn.’

  The sun continued its ascent. The day would be beautiful, cloudless and long. The roosters set to their din, and Santa Maria woke with grumbling voices and stomachs.

  ‘So how do we do this?’ said the old man finally. ‘You could slash my wrists and call it suicide.’ He grinned, but there was no humour to it, just a sick resignation.

  ‘That’s the trouble with a good stiletto.’ Dino fingered the point of the weapon. ‘They’re only good for stabbing.’

  The duke nodded again. He’d known as soon as he saw the weapon. ‘Stabbing, eh? I always wondered how it would feel to die like that. Drowning in your own blood as it fills your lungs. Do you know, I’ve always secretly wanted to die in my sleep. Isn’t that strange?’ He looked away from Dino, staring into the distance. ‘All the weapons I can use, all the men I’ve trained, all the death I’ve seen. The wounds. The blood.’ The duke turned his eyes back to Dino. ‘What a load of shit. And for what? For nothing. I’m glad it’s over, to be honest. Ten years ago, well, that would have been a different story.’

  ‘I’m not going to stab you,’ said Dino. His anger had fled him, burned off by the rising sun perhaps, like mist.

  The duke frowned at him.

  ‘You were dead the moment you finished the water. I had something made, something that would loosen your tongue as you died. I was worried you’d take all your secrets to the grave.’

  ‘I see,’ said the old man. He took the glass and turned it over in his hands. ‘So it was all down to this?’

  ‘That glass. A spilled bottle of red wine. Plus a score of abducted women.’ Dino sighed, ‘And three assassins sent to kill my sister.’ He concealed the stiletto in the sleeve of his jacket. ‘But in the end it was just a glass filled with water.’

  ‘And poison,’ added the duke. And then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped against the headboard. The glass rolled from his fingers, becoming lost among the cream folds of the bedding.

  24

  Drinking Alone

  – 28 Luglio 325

  The Domina’s chamber was in the same state of cluttered disarray. Fiorenza opened the door, flashing him a smile.

  ‘You look exhausted, my lord. Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  Dino shook his head. He wanted nothing save to return to his room and fall deeply asleep. Maybe he could forget this awful business if he slept long enough. Perhaps a dottore could slip him a preparation, ensuring a dreamless slumber. He’d much need of it.

  ‘Lord Erudito for you, my lady.’

  The Domina remained at her desk, hat discarded to one corner, hair matted and tousled about her shoulders. She scratched at parchment with a quill, not looking up. He stood there for a handful of seconds, feeling the weight of the stiletto where it lay along the inside of his forearm beneath his jacket sleeve. Another source of shame stored alongside his cuffs and the bindings of his tines. Taking the blade had been a mistake; he should have slipped it beneath Duke Fontein’s pillow.

  ‘It’s done,’ he said, looking out of the window and watching the cittadini go about their work. Somewhere below, children laughed, but the sound was foreign to Dino, like another language. The Domina continued her correspondence, seeming to ignore him.

  ‘I said it’s done.’

  ‘Fiorenza, leave us.’ The maid flashed a look of concern at Dino as she left, pulling the door closed behind her with care. The Domina looked up from her work. There was a gleam to her eye he didn’t care for, and a vitality that had been absent for some time.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Poison.’

  The Domina laughed, but it was loaded with bitterness, as hateful a thing as Dino had ever heard. She reached up with both hands and massaged her temples, a contented sigh as her eyes slid closed and reopened.

  ‘The most formidable swordsman in Demesne and you employ poison?’ Her voice was a sleepy drone. Another laugh. ‘Did you lose your stomach for killing? Were you afraid the old bastard might best you?’

  ‘More elegant that way. Less mess. Fewer questions.’

  ‘Until the dottore examines him.’

  ‘I took the precaution of leaving half a caraffa of wine and two glasses on the dresser. His maid will find
a whore’s small clothes when she strips the bed. Rumours will spread. They’ll say he died with his cock inside a courtesan. Too much excitement for an old heart.’

  The Domina stared at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Impressive.’ She nodded with a begrudging respect.

  Dino shrugged. It had not been easy – many things to set up, feints and distractions. He didn’t enjoy lying for a living but he’d managed it.

  ‘It seems I underestimated you, Dino.’

  ‘You address me as Lord Erudito. And yes, you did.’

  He swept from the room, leaving the door ajar, struggling to keep the sneer from his face. The duke’s stiletto weighed heavy in his sleeve. And on his heart.

  ‘Come in,’ he shouted, too loud. He was amused to find himself slurring. Nardo stepped into his sitting room, hat in one hand, the other gripping the hilt of his blade. Always a serious man, Nardo looked on the verge of anger. Massimo entered close behind, the look of concern on his handsome face turning to one of curiosity. Dino was slouched in an armchair, feet up on a low table. A caraffa of red wine stood close at hand, accompanied by a glass empty but for dregs. A spare glass on the table reflected the dying sunlight as it dwindled. His boots were unbuckled, shirt undone, jacket hanging from one corner of the bookcase. The couch was occupied by his sword belt and scabbard.

  ‘Huh. Unlike you to leave the door unlocked. Expecting company?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Dino, eying Massimo with a broad grin. ‘But you’ll do. You’ll do just fine. Join me for a drink?’

  ‘I think you’ve had enough,’ said Massimo with an embarrassed smile. Nardo eyed Dino warily as the Orfano turned a long stiletto over in his hands.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ replied Dino.

  ‘Margravio Contadino said I should bring you the news.’

  ‘News?’ said Dino, distracted by Achilles. The reptile had scuttled up onto the couch and was staring at Nardo from beneath a scaled brow.

  ‘Duke Fontein is dead,’ said the messenger in a quiet voice.

  Dino nodded twice as if he were hearing an appeal in the Ravenscourt. He passed the stiletto to his other hand, then proceeded to pour another glass of wine.

  ‘Did he fall down a staircase?’

  Achilles yawned and continued to look at Nardo with a baleful eye from the couch.

  ‘Huh. Speranza said he died in his sleep.’

  ‘I imagine the duchess is overcome with grief,’ said Dino, taking another sip.

  ‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ said Nardo, his gaze lingering on the stiletto.

  ‘There’s a rumour he wasn’t alone when he died,’ said Massimo from beside the door, which he closed and locked. Dino shrugged and took another sip of wine as Nardo took the chair opposite, removing his gloves. Massimo remained standing, hand on the hilt of his sword as if expecting trouble.

  ‘Sit down, Mass,’ said Dino. ‘You’re making the place look untidy. Untidier. Is that even a word?’

  ‘They’re saying he was with a woman when he died,’ said the swordsman.

  Achilles chose this moment to hurry over to the armchair and take up a position on Dino’s shoulder, tail curving around the nape of his neck.

  Nardo tossed his gloves onto the table and rubbed at his temples with one hand.

  ‘Hell of a thing.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ muttered Dino. ‘Imagine having to ride that sour bag of bones, just for the fucker to die inside you.’

  ‘Huh. This girl, this whore. They say she took something from the duke – a knife or something.’ Nardo’s gaze lingered on the stiletto even as Dino slid it inside his sleeve to lie flat along the inside of his forearm. ‘It has gold engraving on it. Quite a piece apparently. Very recognizable.’

  ‘Well, I reckon she earned it,’ said Dino, a drunken scowl on his features. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Not for me to say,’ replied Nardo.

  Dino set his glass on the table and stood, swaying. He steadied himself on the mantelpiece and took a deep breath. ‘Virmyre always said drinking alone was … something. Something bad.’

  Massimo stood and crossed to the mantelpiece, regarding the swords in their scabbards suspended by black iron hooks from the chimney breast: a rapier with a swept hilt, a saber from the Verde Guerra, a court sword with the pommel fashioned after a raven’s head.

  ‘Quite a collection.’

  ‘Most of them are blunt,’ said Dino. A terrible dread closed its fingers around his heart. ‘Just dangerous bits of old metal really.’ He took out the stiletto and placed it on the mantelpiece. What did he care if they knew? He’d done them both a service. If it were not for him Massimo would find himself asked to kill for the Domina. Nardo’s life would surely become easier now that House Contadino had one less opponent.

  The red light of evening shone from the golden letters on the blade. Misura. Massimo looked away, oblivious to the proof of Dino’s guilt, turning to regard a painting that had belonged to Cherubini. The scene was a nocturne, great pine trees reaching up to the stars, a slash of purple lightning descending from the heavens. Dino had always thought it gaudy and fanciful.

  ‘What are you celebrating?’ asked Nardo in a disapproving tone.

  ‘I’m drinking to Cherubini’s departure.’ Dino scowled again. ‘He always knew a good vintage.’

  ‘You can have too much of a good thing,’ said Massimo.

  ‘Virmyre always said drinking alone was …’ Dino eyed the collection of weapons, then stretched out one arm along the mantel to obscure the stiletto.

  ‘We have to get back to the margravio,’ said Massimo. ‘He’s worried for Medea and the children.’

  ‘So soon? But you’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘We have other people to see, I’m afraid,’ said Massimo, who smiled and shook his head. ‘Marchesa Contadino wanted us to warn you there is an assassin abroad in Demesne.’

  ‘There’s no assassin,’ Dino replied, but the word evaded him, came out horribly slurred. ‘The handsome swordsman and the loyal messenger, what a pair.’

  ‘How are you so drunk?’ asked Massimo.

  ‘With the liberal application of this,’ replied Dino, waggling the wine glass, his head drooping forward.

  Nardo stood and crossed to the door, opened it, taking a moment to check the corridor was empty.

  ‘You go on,’ he told Massimo. The swordsman left with a quick salute.

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing, Dino?’ said Nardo. The Orfano turned to him with a gaze as pointed as any weapon, the grey of his eyes transformed to silver for a second, a trick of the light.

  ‘Do any of us?’

  ‘It’s one thing to go looking for trouble,’ said Nardo; ‘it’s another to welcome it into your home. Have a care, my lord.’

  The Orfano nodded, eyelids heavy with the wine. When he opened them he was alone save for Achilles. He locked the door and stumbled to bed. The room spun unkindly in the darkness, forcing him to light a candle and keep his eyes open. Somehow the stiletto was back in his hand, an unwelcome weight, a cold reminder. He’d given the duke a painless death at least.

  Tempo. Velocita. Misura.

  ‘Virmyre always said drinking alone … Porca miseria, what did he used to say?’

  25

  The Vine-Choked Divide

  – 4 Agosto 325

  The castle bustled with its usual fervour, members of the houses going about their business. Students of blade and book went their separate ways, guards stood to attention and saluted Dino’s passing. He chewed his lip as he paced the flagstones, acknowledging them with curt nods. A week had passed since Duke Fontein’s death, four days since the great and the good had paid their respects, sincerely or otherwise.

  ‘My lord?’ Speranza appeared from a side corridor in House Erudito bearing a bouquet of lilies, an anxious smile troubling her lips.

  ‘What have I told you about addressing me like that?’

  She fell into step, struggling to keep up with his stride. ‘I’ve not seen yo
u recently.’

  ‘I’ve been teaching. The nobili pay a fortune to have their sons trained to be effective killers. Pity they don’t spend the same money to educate them.’ He flashed her a look. ‘I hear your own lessons are progressing admirably.’

  She blushed, hand straying to the blade and scabbard he’d given her. She’d fixed the chape, and the locket gleamed. They scaled the steps up to his apartment in silence. Dino gestured to the couch once they were inside.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ Speranza nodded and removed her hat, laying the flowers on the low table. Dino emerged moments later in a clean shirt to find her standing at the fireplace, admiring the craftsmanship of the engraved stiletto.

  ‘Was there something you wanted, Speranza? Or do I have a secret admirer.’ He gestured at the flowers, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips.

  ‘The flowers are from the Domina.’

  ‘Porca miseria. This is how rumours start. First flowers, then a private dinner.’ Dino raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s somewhat old for me though, you know?’

  Speranza hid a smile behind her hand and shook her head.

  ‘She would have you take them to Duke Fontein’s mausoleum.’

  ‘Maledetta puttana,’ he grunted. Speranza placed the stiletto back on the mantel, favouring it with a look of curiosity before turning to face him.

  ‘You appear in very poor humour of late, my lord. People are saying—’

  ‘Stop calling me that!’ He pressed thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes and let out a sigh. An awkward moment passed before he spoke again, more quietly. ‘What? What are people saying, Speranza?’

  ‘They’re saying things aren’t the same any more.’

  ‘Masters of understatement, all.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘Lady Diaspora is never seen, Maestro Cherubini is sorely missed and Margravio Contadino is all but unapproachable.’

  ‘I can’t fault them so far – accurate and fair,’ he threw himself down on the couch and stretched out a coaxing hand for Achilles. The drake remained perched on the windowsill, sunning himself contentedly. ‘Fine,’ grumbled Dino. He turned back to Speranza, who had taken a seat in the armchair facing the door. ‘What else are they saying?’