The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘That Duke Fontein died in bed with a whore. Although some refute this. They say there’s some other force at work. Her eyes strayed to the mantelpiece, then returned to the lilies on the table. ‘There’s a good deal of anxiety about the next Duke of Fontein. The old duke has no heirs and the duchess is very old. Some say the capo—’

  ‘The capo?’ Dino almost shouted. ‘I’d rather give a drunk swineherd the title of duke than that simpering, perfumed …’ He was out of his seat, pacing the stretch of floor behind the couch. Did people say the same of him behind his back, he wondered.

  ‘There is no one else,’ said the messenger.

  ‘There’s always someone else. There must be someone else.’

  ‘Now you mention it, I suppose …’ She smiled at him.

  ‘Me? Duke Fontein?’ He considered it, plucking at his lip.

  ‘I’d happily swear my sword to you, my l—’ He glowered at her. ‘Dino.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. Although I fear my problems would double overnight if I became duke.’ He looked down at the flowers. ‘Do I really have to go through with this damned charade?’

  ‘The Domina said you’d react this way.’

  Dino said nothing, crossing an arm over his chest, the other hand straying to his lip as he regarded the lilies. Speranza stood and crossed the room. Her fingers grasped his.

  ‘If you ever need anything, Dino. The colours I wear aren’t the colours of my loyalty. Demesne always comes first, Demesne and its sons.’

  Speranza pushed up onto the tips of her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. And then she was gone. Dino blinked and took a breath, a frown of confusion on his brow. The drake regarded him from the windowsill, unmoving.

  ‘I didn’t see that coming, you know?’

  Achilles flicked out his black tongue and scampered off.

  ‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ muttered Dino.

  The walk from the castle was a warm but pleasant one. He didn’t wait for a stable lad to saddle a mount, opting instead to take his time. The evening was well under way when he finally set out, the task at hand less odious once he’d committed himself to it. The cittadini of Santa Maria saluted, curtsied or bowed, complimenting him on the flowers as he passed. They all knew what the lilies were for, but none mentioned the duke directly.

  In truth it was a blessing to be free of the castle, beyond the beck and call of messengers, out of reach of the Domina, away from the stench of the town and the sour reek of politics. Farmers on wagons greeted him cheerfully as they delivered their produce to the granaries of House Contadino, shire horses plodding the dusty earth. A brewer’s daughter occupying a precarious perch behind two dozen barrels waved to him from the back of a wagon. She flashed a coy smile at the young bravo bearing wilting white flowers. Dino guessed her for eighteen summers. She was nut brown from the sun and full of life.

  What agreement?

  The hecatomb agreement. His conversation with the dead duke whispered in his mind. He recalled the night the women had got free of the sanatorio, shorn wraiths who hobbled and haunted the meadow.

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

  The cemetery waited with rusted gates and a profusion of bindweed. Dino entered, boots stained chalk white by the gravel. It didn’t take long to find the Fontein mausoleum. It was a curiously undecorated affair, constructed from a black glossy stone found rarely in Landfall. There was a sombre weight to the building, imposing and imperious. It needed no gargoyles or angels, settling instead for unadorned menace. Dino entered, tracing his way past decaying dukes and their crumbling wives. He located the newly dead and placed the lilies on the top of the sarcophagus.

  ‘At least you had the courtesy to die without a fuss, you old bastard.’ He looked around the spartan chamber. ‘I doubt my own death will be so bloodless.’ He flicked a lazy salute before turning on his heel. The door to the mausoleum stood open, a rectangle of golden light, pink at one corner. He paused a moment to lean against the jamb and savour the evening.

  Two horses were tied to a tree in the far corner of the cemetery. A break of tradition; mounts were always left by the side of the road where a trough had been placed. The horses were of good pedigree, but he recognised neither of them. Dino glanced around the cemetery. No sign of the riders, assassins or otherwise. The trees sighed, mocking him with whispers in the late-evening breeze. He stepped out from the mausoleum, drawing his blade as a precaution, pulse quickening. Grey eyes searched every headstone and silent angel, potential cover for crouching killers. He crossed to the horses, who received him warmly, whickering.

  ‘And what are you fine ladies doing unescorted on a night like this?’ One hand smoothed the powerful neck of the nearest steed. Something delicate shone underfoot. Dino stooped, careful not to startle the horses, retrieving the curio with a deft hand. A pearl earring sat in the palm of his hand, bathed in the last of the sun’s light.

  ‘You aren’t the only ladies taking the air, it would seem.’

  The wind picked up, setting the trees swaying. A compelling susurrus filled his senses. He didn’t deny it, following the cemetery wall to a tumbledown vine-choked section. He mounted the stony debris and crossed into the woodland beyond. The smell of dust, so pervasive in the castle, so cloying on the road, was absent here. Willow trees filtered out all but the smell of lush greenery, the musk of gentle decay. It was a world away from the endless stone corridors of Demesne.

  The appearance of the man in grey took him by surprise, rapt as he was in the verdant maze of willow branches. Dino dropped to a crouch, breath held in protesting lungs. The stranger wore rags and a hood much like the attackers in the market place. That same feeling of tension, of attention, despite the stooped frame. That same impression of not being whole, something festering beneath the coarse cloth. The ragged man stood gazing intently. Dino followed the line of his interest to where more figures had gathered.

  The majority were dressed the same, all bar one, who wore a veil much like Anea. Strange that a man cover his face in the way of the sisters. Keen eyes stared from under a pointed hood and he clutched a short blade in a reverse grip. His left hand was held out. Two people in black riding cloaks stood nearby. One had a sword belted underneath the velvet; the other produced a note. The grey men stirred and Dino feared he’d been seen. There was some conversation, but he was too far away to glean any word of it. Frustrated, there was nothing for him to do but retreat, taking care not to attract attention, putting the trunks and boughs of the willows between himself and the eyes of the conspirators.

  Dino lost track of the number of times he swung a cautious gaze over his shoulder on the walk back to the castle. He cursed to himself when the riders failed to appear. The sun was now heading toward the horizon, bathing the sky in a shocking vermilion. He arrived at the gatehouse to the Contadino courtyard famished and thirsty. The guards on duty favoured him with a curious glance.

  ‘Just went to place some flowers on the duke’s tomb.’ Dino jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the road leading to the cemetery. The guards nodded and cast furtive glances at each other. Word would soon spread, adding to the undertow of rumour and speculation. Dino imagined the currents of confusion eddying about him as he passed beneath the arch. He was halfway across the courtyard when Camelia struggled out from the kitchens with a sack of flour. She sunk a knife into the cloth and ripped at the fabric.

  ‘That sack giving you trouble?’

  ‘Oh! Dino. You scared the life out of me.’

  ‘Is this some tradition I was unaware of?’

  ‘Not exactly. Look.’ She pointed at the flour, which was speckled with grey. Dino dropped to one knee and pushed a hand into the sack, taking out a handful of the powder. Black ants dusted to a dirty grey writhed, legs working a mindless churn.

  ‘More ants,’ she muttered. ‘I think it’s getting worse.’

  ‘Is it ruined?’

  ‘No.’ Camelia shook her
head. ‘But we have to sieve them out. We can’t afford not to.’

  Dino nodded, saying nothing, watching the creatures attempting to escape the landscape of his palm.

  ‘They look peculiar in the flour,’ she said, voice low. ‘Like they’re dressed in rags. And they’re big.’

  Dino flung the contents of his hand to the cobbles.

  ‘You may want to keep that knife with you at all times, Camelia. I think we’ve bigger problems than ants.’

  26

  Length of Service

  – 5 Agosto 325

  ‘And it was here that they attacked you?’ asked Dino. ‘You said about thirty of them?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The farmer rubbed at his shoulder, the arm in a sling. They were just over three miles away from Santa Maria, a copse of cypress offering shade nearby. The sun had yet to reach its apex.

  ‘What were you carrying?’

  ‘Vegetables, some flour, a pair of suckling pigs. They took everything.’ The farmer looked at the cart, now stuck in a ditch at the side of the road. ‘They even took the horse.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ the capo sneered. ‘Horses can be recognised; horses can be found.’

  ‘Difficult to find a horse once it’s been eaten,’ said Dino, chewing his lip.

  ‘No one eats horse,’ countered the capo.

  Dino yawned and rolled his shoulders. ‘Have you ever been hungry, Guido? I doubt it. People will eat anything when forced to, and if they have more mouths to feed then they’ll take whatever they can, even if it’s still walking around.’

  ‘It’s obviously bandits,’ said the capo. He looked at the farmer and sniffed. ‘I dare say this damn fool is in on it, splitting the proceeds.’

  The farmer’s face darkened. He was a heavyset man, stripped to the waist and olive brown. There was a hardness to him. Dino doubted few if any called him liar to his face, among the cittadini at least. The dozen guards that lined the road looked away or inspected their boots, each one sweating beneath a tabard of scarlet and black. Speranza, who had escorted them for no reason Dino could discern, stood to one side holding the reins of the horses.

  ‘Bandits?’ Dino smiled. ‘Split the proceeds? You really are out of touch. When was the last time you had to buy anything, Guido? This man could earn more than half of your so-called proceeds at market.’

  ‘Less than half actually, my lord,’ said the farmer, ‘after taxes and feed for the horses.’

  ‘He doesn’t deny it,’ crowed the capo.

  ‘And I suppose the fractured arm is part of this elaborate ruse?’ The Orfano glowered, causing the guards along the road to stiffen.

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past—’

  ‘Stop flapping your fucking mouth, Guido.’

  The capo stared back, face flushed purple. The farmer busied himself inspecting the ruin of his wagon while Speranza produced a brush from a saddlebag and attended to her steed.

  ‘You would do well to remember who you are talking to,’ said Guido, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper.

  ‘I know exactly who I’m talking to.’ Dino took a step closer. ‘Some popinjay, suckling on the tit of a sinecure. How can you have survived with so feeble a brain?’

  ‘You talk to me of sinecures?’ Guido was was just an arm’s length away, lips peeled back from his teeth. ‘It wasn’t my sister that made me maestro superiore di spada,’ he seethed. ‘That role was meant to be mine!’

  Dino stepped closer, almost nose-to-nose.

  ‘Perhaps it escaped your attention, but Anea doesn’t promote people for length of service; she promotes them for ability. Your conduct during the Verde Guerra put paid to any hopes you had of advancement. You should be grateful you’re still capo.’

  ‘Grateful?’

  ‘The only reason you’ve come this far is because Duke Fontein paved your way as a favour to Duchess Prospero.’

  ‘That’s simply not true!’ Guido di Fontein took a step back, a look of injury in his eyes before he recovered and regained his anger.

  You’re a member of the guard,’ said Dino. ‘I suggest you start acting like one.’

  ‘This man is swindling us.’ The capo raised an accusing finger at the farmer, keen to change the focus of the dispute.

  Dino took a step back, drew in a breath and released a long sigh. ‘You’re dismissed, Guido. Go away.’

  For a second there was only silence. The capo stared, incredulous, staggered at the slight.

  ‘You’ll look back on this day and regret crossing me, Lord Erudito. I won’t be the capo for ever.’

  ‘Fancy your chances as the next Duke of Fontein, do you?’ Dino allowed himself a smile; only Guido would be idiot enough to show his hand so early. The capo swallowed, eyes darting toward the guards standing nearby, aware he’d said too much. Again.

  ‘Think you can claim that title without a struggle, do you?’ Dino smiled with malice. The capo spluttered a moment, shut his mouth, then turned on his heel. He mounted his steed and mumbled something to Speranza before setting off at a gallop. Dino watched him go, not taking his eyes from the man for a moment. ‘Figlio di puttana.’

  The nearest guard failed to keep the smile from his face.

  ‘There goes your new duke,’ said Dino, unable to resist the dig.

  ‘Santa Maria save us,’ replied the guard. Dino shook his head and approached the farmer.

  ‘I suppose these bandits were clad in grey rags, hooded, bearing rusty weapons and wooden clubs?’

  The farmer nodded, brow furrowed.

  ‘They were led by a man wearing a veil, carrying his sword like this?’ Dino drew his sword and held it in a reverse grip so the blade pointed back toward his elbow.

  ‘How did you know, my lord?’

  ‘You don’t have to address me like that. The half-wit has gone. What’s your name?’

  ‘Bruno.’ The farmer stood a little taller, smiled, still clutching at his wounded arm.

  ‘Make a note of how much you lost, tell Speranza when you get back to Demesne. I’ll see to it that you’re reimbursed.’ He took a step closer to the farmer. ‘Tell no one about this, understand? It’s our little secret. If word gets out I’ve become soft-hearted I’m as good as finished, you know?’

  Bruno nodded. ‘Most kind, my lord.’

  Dino smiled. ‘We’ve got a team of horses on the way to pull the wagon out. We can have it repaired – not everyone in House Prospero loathes me.’ Bruno offered his good hand.

  Dino shook it. ‘You have honoured me, my lord.’

  ‘And you’ve forgotten my name again.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Bruno nodded, then winced on account of his arm. Dino flicked out a salute and made his way to his horse.

  Speranza carefully avoided looking at him but struggled to keep the smile from her lips. ‘Will you escort me back to Demesne?’

  ‘Of course.’ They mounted and wheeled their horses toward home. Dino shouted back over his shoulder, ‘Sergente! You and your men are to guard Signore Bruno until the horses arrive. Then escort him back to Demesne. Understood?’

  The sergente nodded, saluted and smiled.

  ‘I’ll see you in the Contadino courtyard later, Bruno.’

  The farmer waved as the Orfano and messenger set their heels to their horses’ flanks, surging along the road to Demesne.

  ‘Much more of this and people will think Lord Erudito has regained his good humour.’ Speranza and Dino were halfway back and it was close to midday. Dino decided he would have a bath on returning. Dust clung to him where it met the sweat of his body. Summer continued to fall like a golden hammer.

  ‘Goading Guido is the only sport I get these days. I might as well enjoy it.’

  ‘That was a good thing you did for Signore Bruno.’

  ‘After all the things Demesne has subjected the people to … Well, it’s the least I can do.’

  ‘The guilt of the king isn’t yours to bear, my lord.’

  ‘Do you know, I’ve changed my
mind,’ Dino said after a pause.

  ‘How so, my lord?’

  ‘I’m not going to ask Anea to make me a duke; I’m going to ask her to strip me of a title altogether. Then you’ll have to call me Dino.’

  ‘You’re an Orfano, you’re entitled by birth. You can’t forget who you are or where you come from.’

  ‘I’m not asking to forget, only that you do once in a while.’

  ‘It’s not easy,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘When you’ve had as many etiquette lessons as I have, certain things become ingrained.’

  ‘There’s plenty of ingrained things in Demesne that I’d change in a heartbeat.’ He grinned at her. ‘Come on, let’s get back in time for lunch.’

  They put their heels to their horses and thundered along the road in a cacophony of hooves.

  The passeggiata was a custom that had emerged since the king’s passing. The youths of the houses, major and minor, would congregate in one of the four courtyards to share wine and wander in an aimless circle, strutting, preening, each step a casual declaration of braggadocio. In time the promenade had spread to the piazzas outside Demesne’s walls. Its popularity was not limited to those in their teens: people could be found walking and chatting until after midnight. Small deals were conducted, kisses stolen, gossip exchanged. Most were keen for the company, others keener still to attract potential suitors. The summer nights were the perfect backdrop for the sultry, often raucous promenade.

  ‘It’s a rare night that the mighty Dino Adolfo Erudito graces us with his presence at the passeggiata,’ said Massimo with a teasing smile. ‘Do the wonders of Demesne bore you, my lord?’

  They were sitting around the improvised table in the corner of the Contadino courtyard, a wheel of a wagon long since gone to firewood. Massimo and Bruno had struck up an unlikely friendship and had been drinking before Dino had arrived. The swordsman had bought a caraffa of wine and made free with it. Dino wasn’t sure what the wine was, didn’t care for it much, truth be told, but he’d no wish to spend the night locked in his rooms with only Achilles for company. And it was hard to resist Massimo’s company, despite the surge of shame he felt when in the man’s company.