The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  Dino pressed a fist to his mouth, forcing down the sobs of his own despair. ‘I’m so sorry. I never knew.’

  ‘Few do. It’s not one of my favourite topics of conversation. And it was a long time ago now. But I do know, Dino. And I also know each day is an improvement on the last. But only if you face it, accept it. Only if you take it into your heart and not let it poison you.’

  ‘They took him from me.’ Dino whispered the words so quietly he doubted Virmyre had heard.

  ‘I know. And Emilio too, and those brave swordsmen, and a dozen cittadini. We’ll get them, Dino. We’ll bury every last one of the them, but only when you pull yourself out of that bottle.’

  Dino nodded, every muscle tense, holding in the desolation.

  ‘Now get back in the tub and let me finish what I’ve started. Massimo would be horrified if he could see that beard.’

  The sitting room had been restored to its former glory by the time Dino had bathed. The glass on the floor was swept up, the bloodied rags of his grief spirited away; everything had been neatened and brushed, dusted and wiped clean. A barber was waiting, setting to work on Dino as Virmyre sat at the dining table reading a book. The professore idly worked his way through the remaining wine while Dino concentrated on not throwing up. The barber had mastered the age-old art of remaining silent, only his scissors disturbed the quiet.

  ‘Do you have to drink that?’

  ‘It would be a shame to waste it.’ Virmyre regarded the wine, breathed in the bouquet. Dino’s stomach turned. ‘And besides, if I drink it I know you can’t. So I’m doing you a service really.’

  ‘How selfless.’

  It was then he noticed Virmyre had come without a walking stick. Age no longer slowed his steps; the grey in his hair and beard was much reduced; the lines of that craggy face were softened. It were as if time had withdrawn from the man, taking its erosion with it.

  ‘You look …’ Dino fumbled for the word ‘… well.’

  ‘It’s true, I am markedly more vital these days.’ Virmyre gave a small shrug and sipped his wine. ‘I’ve been sleeping better. Eating better too.’

  ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘During your hiatus?’ Virmyre eyed the barber, clearly weighing his words. ‘Nothing you couldn’t guess at, I’d wager. Demesne is in uproar, of course. Medea is accusing Salvaza of laying an ambush for her husband and consorting with the raiders. Salvaza is denying everything, but her position is precarious. The capo’s silence is scandalising everyone. Stephania frets and House Erudito makes polite but empty gestures.’

  ‘What does Anea make of all this? Has she convened the court?’

  ‘I’ve not seen Anea since the whole business began.’ The words were like flecks of ice, Virmyre’s eyes wintry.

  ‘What?’ Dino almost started from the chair. The barber paused his labours.

  Virmyre cleared his throat. ‘She fell ill and retired to her apartment here in Demesne. I assumed you knew.’

  Dino shook his head. ‘So the Domina is left in charge, trying to keep everyone from killing each other?’

  ‘Yes, although she’s as rare a sight as you are these days. She’s not returned any of my messages.’ Virmyre stroked his beard and the barber shifted position. The scissors resumed their work, and brown hair fluttered to the floor.

  ‘What of Medea?’

  ‘She’s taken Emilio’s death very badly. She adored him, of course. Maria has moved in with the children and is taking care of them full time.’

  ‘I told him not to go,’ mumbled Dino.

  ‘Some are saying Medea may not come back to herself.’ Virmyre seemed to utter this comment reluctantly, almost an aside. He looked through the window at the thin clouds stretching to nothing against the evening sky.

  ‘What does that mean? “Come back to herself”?’

  ‘They say her mind may have gone.’ Virmyre turned back to him, a frown above his pale blue eyes. ‘The staff are unwilling to leave her in her own company. She’s been worried about you, of course, on the occasions she’s lucid. Everyone has been worried about you. Well, everyone except me. I always knew you were a drunk.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I just didn’t realise you were too stupid to eat while getting drunk. Amateur.’ Virmyre shook his head.

  ‘Can we talk about Nardo? I feel we’ve already covered my failings.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Is he well?’

  ‘He feels terrible about the death of Emilio, naturally, but also the two swordsmen and—’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ interrupted Dino. ‘Nardo would likely have been killed had he ventured into the woods. It’s a miracle that Massimo and I got away.’

  The barber stopped cutting.

  ‘I mean …’ Dino swallowed. ‘I mean …’

  ‘Are you nearly finished?’ Virmyre looked at the barber, who spent a moment on some finishing touches and departed without fuss. The professore closed and locked the door after him. He circled the Orfano and settled into the armchair opposite.

  ‘I mean got away from the woods,’ continued Dino. ‘I didn’t realise how badly wounded he was.’ He wasn’t speaking to Virmyre now, just letting the words pour out. ‘I pulled him up onto my horse. My hand came back bloody, but I’d seen him wounded before. He always recovered. He couldn’t die. Not Massimo.’ Dino crossed his arms, clutching himself, almost forcing the words out of a chest now leaden. ‘And his arms grew weaker and weaker around my waist. We were riding so fast. I knew I had to reach Demesne, reach a dottore. He was barely holding me at all by the time we got back.’

  Dino’s vision had pinked at the edges, his malformed tear ducts feeding blood across his grey eyes. The room was turgid with sadness and regret seen through a filter of red. Dino took a deep breath and pressed his eyelids shut.

  ‘So what do we do next?’ Perhaps duty would free him from the inertia of sadness. He hoped so; anything to stop feeling so desolate.

  ‘I’m going to pay a few calls on the houses,’ said Virmyre, ‘take the temperature of the various parties. See if I can’t prevent things from boiling over.’

  ‘I’ll come with—’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ Virmyre stood in front of him, hands clasped behind his back. ‘You’re going to see Nardo and take him out for a meal at the taverna. It would do the pair of you good to come to turns with what’s happened. You need to get out of this awful apartment – get away from these hateful old stones.’

  Dino nodded and wondered where he’d left his sword. It mattered not. The world outside was daunting in a way no steel could reassure him against.

  40

  Rumours

  – 25 Agosto 325

  ‘I’m just saying you need to be careful. People are asking a lot of questions following what happened in the rose garden.’ Nardo directed his gaze into the wine glass. His face was deeply lined, dark circles accentuated by its paleness. He’d barely laid eyes on Dino for the hour they’d sat together.

  ‘I lost my best friend,’ the Orfano all but snarled.

  ‘I know that.’ Nardo looked up at him a moment but couldn’t sustain it, his eyes returning to the dregs of the red wine. ‘It’s just … you two were very close, and that sets people to talking. Especially with all that business with Cherubini and all.’

  They were sitting at the usual table outside the taverna. A circle had cleared around them. A corona of privacy. Or revulsion. The innkeeper’s hospitality was strained – he appeared only when summoned. Dino didn’t care for the look in the man’s eyes or the abrupt manner of the service.

  ‘The maestro should never have been sent away,’ said Dino.

  ‘Huh. The maestro should have kept his house in order,’ countered the messenger.

  ‘And that’s what I’ve to do is it? Keep my house in order?’

  ‘Hell, Dino. It was a figure of speech.’

  The walk from Dino’s apartment in House Erudito had not been a pleasant one. The staff he encount
ered looked at the Orfano with surprise that quickly darkened to mistrust. His reception at House Contadino was no better. Camelia was absent, denying him even the comfort of a friendly face. The kitchen staff’s whispers were audible the moment he turned his back. This was the punishment Cherubini had endured, the loss of face in a thousand painful increments.

  ‘New sword?’ said the messenger. The Orfano nodded and laid the weapon across the table in front of him. The pommel was a snub-nosed drake cast in silver. The hilt was snug with soft leather dyed turquoise.

  ‘Virmyre commissioned it while I was …’ He gestured toward his apartment.

  ‘Drunk.’

  ‘Recovering.’ There was a note of warning in his voice. ‘I’ve called it Achilles.’

  ‘Give you a good deal, did they?’ Nardo regarded the black-enamelled scabbard.

  ‘You think anyone in House Fontein is going to give me a good anything?’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘So what are people saying?’ Dino could barely bring himself to ask the question, syllables tripping over his lips, a reluctant mumble.

  ‘Everyone saw, Dino. Those that weren’t standing in the doorways were hanging from the windows. They saw him die in your arms. They saw how upset you were. What do you suppose they’re saying?’

  ‘He was my friend.’

  ‘Huh. Not my business who you’re friends with, but people are idle. Most of them are just waiting for some intrigue to gossip about.’ The messenger produced his pipe, turning the stem over and over. He made no move to smoke; only occupy his restless hands.

  ‘It’s no secret there are men in Demesne who remained unmarried,’ said Dino. He looked away to the piazza, sullen. ‘Some are too ugly, some too sour.’ He took a sip of wine to fortify himself for what he would say next. ‘And the rest maintain the fiction they’ve yet to meet the right woman.’

  ‘Huh. In Demesne? Certainly. But out on the estates? Such men are beaten, they’re disowned; some are forced to move on, others never get a job worth their talents.’ The messenger glanced at a passing serving girl. His eyes shifted to Dino, who flashed a look at her.

  ‘She’s very attractive,’ said the Orfano without inflection.

  ‘And you’re a terrible liar.’

  Sounds from the piazza filled the silence between the two men. Catcalls and insults, laughter and feigned outrage, a few stubborn market traders bellowing their wares.

  ‘They’ll find something else to speak of this time next week,’ said Dino, gaze directed at the rough wood of the table dividing them.

  ‘No, they won’t. This is going to stick to you like pitch. And it won’t be over in a week, or even two weeks.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some of the sergenti have called for your resignation as superiore.’ The messenger looked up from the pipe, which rested between his fingers, his face hard, eyes the same. Dino took a slow breath of the warm night air, then sipped his wine.

  ‘They wouldn’t dare,’ he replied, words lacking conviction.

  ‘They’re saying it’s because you never teach, but that’s horse shit. They want you out because of this business with Massimo.’

  ‘There was never any business with Massimo.’

  ‘I believe you. I do. But people love to talk.’

  ‘What happens with House Contadino now?’ asked Dino to sidestep the impasse.

  ‘Huh.’ Nardo shrugged. ‘Medea is expected to rule until Luc is old enough.’ The messenger’s face twisted into a grimace. ‘Hell of a thing for a boy to lose his father like that.’

  ‘We didn’t lose Emilio; he was taken from us, just as Massimo was taken from us.’

  ‘And Marcell and Abramo.’

  ‘Yes, those too.’ Dino remembered Abramo, so confident, so loyal.

  ‘I should have been there, not tending to the horses at the side of the road.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made a difference.’

  A familiar leaden feeling filled his chest, the bitter tang of regret at the back of his throat. The only sound he could hear was the thundering of hooves, the only sensation Massimo’s arms about his waist. And there was the smell of blood; it clung to him like the fading tendrils of a nightmare. Now the hushed crunch of footsteps on gravel, Massimo’s boots dragging. Sounds of sobbing.

  The messenger stood and cleared his throat, ushering Dino back to the present.

  ‘I should get back. Maria will need help getting the children to bed.’ Nardo frowned and looked away. ‘Isabella isn’t sleeping.’

  ‘She’s not the only one.’ Dino blinked, and when his eyes closed he saw only Massimo, laid out among the roses of the Contadino gardens.

  ‘You coming?’

  ‘I think I’ll stay here for a while longer,’ said the Orfano, indicating the unfinished wine. ‘I’m not sure those walls will make me feel any safer tonight.’

  Nardo nodded and turned on his heel, disappearing among the crowds of Santa Maria. The cittadini were determined to have a good time despite the unfolding disasters of recent months. Perhaps in spite of the disasters. The mood was almost hysterical, heightened but hollow. Dino kept drinking, hand never far from the drake-headed sword.

  ‘And that sets people to talking.’ Dino slurred his imitation of Nardo’s words and rapped his knuckles on the door of the Allattamento apartment. His other hand was occupied with a bottle, a now familiar accomplice.

  ‘Virmyre will kill me when he discovers I’m drunk again.’ He shook his head and tried to focus on the door. ‘Still, better him than these other fuckers. At least he’d make it quick.’ Dino’s mumbling filled the corridor, which was empty save for two brave mice and a long-case clock, its rich mahogany almost invisible in the darkness, polished brass reflecting the candlelight. The pendulum moved with a velvet grace. The Orfano knocked again, louder this time.

  ‘How long does a man have to wait to get—’ The door opened, revealing a worried face, one hand clutching a shawl at her throat, nightdress reaching her ankles.

  ‘I was expecting a bit more flesh on display.’ Dino grunted a laugh and stumbled forward. The woman placed one hand against his chest, gentle yet firm, stalling his progress. There was something familiar about those deep brown eyes, an indignation to them.

  ‘What do you want?’ He didn’t know her name. Doesn’t matter; probably better like that, he thought.

  ‘What do you think I’m here for? This is House Allattamento, isn’t it?’

  She ushered him in, gesturing to a couch.

  41

  Nobility, Vendetta and Revenge

  – 25 Agosto 325

  He’d imagined House Allattamento differently, the women attired in silk, feeding grapes and goblets of wine to older, moneyed men. He’d imagined the cries of lovemaking coming from the bedrooms as men took their pleasure. Instead the room was devoid of all decoration save the furniture. The girl was quite alone.

  ‘Why are you here, my lord?’ There was something familiar about the girl, but Dino struggled to place her.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Lady Allattamento has taken her daughters to the countryside. She thinks it safer there and I agree with her. I’m to join them tomorrow.’

  ‘But …’ Dino let this sink in. He suddenly wished he were sober. ‘I thought they sold themselves? How …?’

  The girl gave a derisive snort and shook her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That rumour came about purely because Duke Fontein visited so often. He and Lady Allattamento were lovers. For a time. Her daughters are far from chaste but they’re not whores. Surely you of all people know the power of rumour?’

  Dino blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We brought girls in off the street to cater to the more … insistent callers. Do you really think Lady Allattamento would sell her own daughters to every sergente and nobile with coin to spare?’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘Is that what you’re here for?’ Full lips smili
ng without humour. ‘To lie with a woman?’

  Dino felt his cheeks blaze scarlet. He managed a stiff nod.

  ‘I thought you preferred the company of fighting men. So brave, so masculine.’ Dino felt the sting of her taunt through the haze of his drunkenness. ‘So loyal,’ she continued. ‘And yet here you are.’

  He set down the bottle. Still he said nothing.

  ‘Lord Dino Erudito, finally wanting to sample the pleasures of the fairer sex.’ She brushed the sides of her breasts with her palms, the nightdress stretching over her curves. He didn’t care for her sneering tone nor the cruel curl of her lip. The room spun as he pushed himself to his feet, his focus wavering. She looked up from her seat on the couch, defiant.

  ‘And you think I’m the woman to give you an education?’

  ‘What’s your name?’ he grunted, keen to say something – anything. Wasn’t she supposed to cater to his every need? Instead every word was a challenge.

  ‘Giolla di Leona.’ She stood up and laid one hand against his chest. ‘And I’m not a whore either.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ he breathed. Not an exclamation but a command.

  ‘Sit.’ He obeyed, wine-leaden limbs pulling him down into the softness of the couch, scabbard angling awkwardly, the drake-headed hilt staring back in disgust.

  Giolla stood over him, easing the shawl from her shoulders, not taking her eyes from him. The fabric fell to the floor, gathered about her naked feet. Her smile remained mocking, eyes intent on his own, ready to observe the direction of his gaze. Then the nightdress, fingers working at the buttons, struggling out of it, pushing it past her ripe breasts and down to her waist.

  ‘I’ll bet everything I own that my nakedness does nothing for you, my lord.’ These last two words were caustic and sour. The nightdress joined the shawl on the floor, revealing lithe legs and the tangle of her sex, the soft sweep of her stomach.

  ‘Oh no,’ moaned Dino and pressed one hand to his forehead.

  ‘Let me guess. Too drunk, my lord? Or are you finally going to admit your true nature?’

  Dino shook his head. ‘You’re the girl from the painting.’