‘Cover that damned tattoo, will you?’ Parmenio growled at him from behind. ‘I’d rather not have heavily armed men come knocking later because we were easy to identify.’
Skiouros quickly yanked down the sleeve of his poor workman’s jerkin, purchased from a shop on the far side of Rome that morning, along with all the other ragged, nondescript clothing the six men wore. As suited the impoverished classes of Rome, they had also forsaken their swords, bringing only easily concealable clubs and daggers. Skiouros had fought against the command to leave his macana back at Sant’Agnese, but the others were adamant that the weapon was far too recognisable. The dark business they were about tonight had to be performed without the chance of repercussions if it was to be done at all.
‘Do you think he will come to harm?’
Nicolo rolled his eyes. ‘Give your mouth a rest, Skiouros.’
‘I just need to be sure about what we’re doing.’
‘The cardinal is a man with a shadow on his heart, for certain,’ Cesare said with a stony face, ‘but he is also a bright one. He is hardly likely to damage such an asset, else he negates the value of everything we do tonight. Cling on to that fact.’
‘Come on, then,’ Skiouros grumbled. ‘If we’re going to do this, let’s get it over with.’
‘Wait,’ Cesare held his hand up as Skiouros moved. ‘The door.’
The others followed his pointed finger. At the end of the long façade, at the palazzo’s corner, a tower stood at an angle, a later addition to the building and bearing the hallmarks of decorative modern Roman work. Next to the base of the tower, where the featureless plain wall of the palazzo marched off down a side street, stood a small door and as they watched, a crack of yellow at the door’s edge widened. As the portal opened fully, a figure silhouetted in it stepped out and began to close it.
‘Come on.’
Cesare led the way, with Skiouros, Parmenio and Nicolo close at heel, and Girolamo and Helwyg - the latter enclosed in a voluminous hooded cloak to disguise his foreign features - skirting around the periphery, watching for any interested onlookers. The streets were quiet and dark at this hour, but drunken revellers were not unknown, as well as cutpurses and desperate whores. As they closed on the street down which the figure had departed, Skiouros caught a better view of her. A woman of indeterminate age, she wore rough, cheap woollen garments and carried a heavy wooden bucket in each hand.
Skiouros bit his lip nervously as the six of them hurried along the street behind her, their boots scraping on the cobbles, all of them keeping to the edge of the street and staying back so that she would not be spooked by the noise of pursuit. Half a minute of following her and Cesare stopped at a corner and held up his hand. Skiouros came to a halt next to him and peered around the corner to see the woman standing in the centre of a wide piazza, filling her buckets from a large, white marble fountain with little decoration barring an ancient grinning bearded face whose mouth spouted the continual flow into the basin.
Finally, the woman picked up the full buckets, struggling with the weight, and turned back to the street where the six men lurked.
‘Come on,’ whispered Cesare. ‘Back to the nearest alley.’
Comfortable now that the serving woman was returning to that same door, the party of mercenaries hurried back along their route until they saw the palazzo up ahead. As they neared its corner, Cesare gestured to a dark entrance on the far side of the street. ‘You take Parmenio and Nicolo that way. I’ll wait in this alley with Girolamo and Helwyg. If she’s on this side of the street, we’ll move first and then if there’s trouble, you pen her in. If she’s on your side, you go first and we’ll play shepherd.’
Skiouros, still experiencing the most powerful of misgivings over the whole affair, nodded and scurried across the street and into the shadow with his friends. Parmenio displayed a similar look of uncertainty, but Nicolo, pragmatic as always, simply looked business-like and determined.
Skiouros started to count his heartbeats, keeping his nerves under control, and edged slightly closer to the alley mouth, making sure to keep his face to the shadow. He almost ducked back as he spotted the woman struggling with her buckets on the far side of the street, but realised that he was well concealed and the movement would be more likely to betray his presence than anything. Silently, he threw up thanks to God that the woman was on Cesare’s side and at least he was spared this unpleasantness. For all his self-assuredness and control - born of years of hardship and brutal, unsought, lessons - he was still uncomfortable with the concept of collateral damage and having to take misery to the innocent in order to bring justice to the wicked.
He watched with bated breath as the woman neared the alley mouth, unconcerned, more worried about spilling the precious water than any potential villains lurking in wait in the alleyways leading off.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
A brief muffled gasp was all she managed and suddenly the street was empty, two buckets clattering around on the cobbled ground, their contents gushing through the channels and into the nearest drain. With a deep preparatory breath, Skiouros beckoned to the two sailors in the shadows and the three men ran across and into Cesare’s alley.
The woman was against the wall, her back ramrod straight as Helwyg’s strong arms pinned her, a ball of cloth jammed in her mouth to prevent undue noise. Cesare was busy motioning for her to calm down. To add to Skiouros’ growing moral distress, the woman was of advanced years and clearly terrified.
‘We intend you no harm,’ Cesare said quietly. ‘If you do as we ask, you will be fine. However, I am about to take the gag from your mouth and if you scream, this large fellow next to me will have to silence you. Do you understand?’
The woman gave a panicked nod.
‘Good. Now remember. Quiet if you want no trouble.’ Pausing for only a second, Cesare reached out and plucked the rag from the woman’s mouth, his other hand slapping across her lower face before the muffled scream began. He made a tutting sound. ‘That’s your free scream. Another one and we will have to stop you. Now calm and take a deep breath.’
Once he was happy that the woman was silent, Cesare removed his hand.
‘Good. Now I want four pieces of information from you and that is all.’
As the woman remained silent, Cesare stepped back and nudged Skiouros aside to reveal a view of the palazzo across the street and little further down. ‘Firstly, tell me which window is Romano Orsini’s.’
The woman was still wordless and Cesare sighed. ‘I know it is his palazzo and he is a man of ostentatious tastes. His apartment will be in the high, grand wing, with this majestic façade. Now which window is his?’
The woman cleared her throat and croaked ‘top floor.’
‘I had assumed so. ‘Which window?’
‘The nearest.’
‘Good. Now my second question is: which window is the room of his son?’
The woman’s eyes widened and she shook her head.
‘Don’t make me repeat my earlier threats,’ Cesare sighed. ‘I am not a bad man in truth, and I hate to make threats, but I am also a man of my word and will not back down from one.’
‘Two windows down,’ the woman said wretchedly. ‘The room between is a solar.’
‘You see? Easy, isn’t it? Now we’re almost there. The door you left by… is it locked? And if so do you have the key?’
The servant shook her head. ‘Not locked.’
‘Good. And last of all, how many guards?’
‘Twelve,’ the woman said with almost defiant confidence. ‘You won’t get past them.’
‘I think you might find that an erroneous statement. Not all twelve will be on guard at this hour. How many will be about?’
‘Two or three,’ she replied, some of the wretchedness returning to her voice.
‘Good. Now we are going to leave you in peace. Thank you for your assistance.’ He turned to Girolamo. ‘Bind her.’
The crossbowmen produced th
ree wide strips of cloth. As Cesare pushed the fabric ball back into her mouth, Girolamo tied one around her lower face to secure the gag, then brought her ankles together and bound them tight with the second. At his gesture, Helwyg let go of her and the crossbowman shuffled her along the wall to where a heavy corroded metal downspout jutted, binding her wrists to it.
‘Someone will find her at first light if not before,’ Cesare said quietly, and leaned close to the frightened woman. ‘You have my profound apologies that this was necessary, and I hope that all improves for you in the coming days.’ With a sympathetic smile, he dipped into his belt purse and produced two gold ducats, which he reached down and pushed into her hand, closing the fingers.
‘Romano Orsini is an idiot with a dangerous future, who spreads sedition and rumour about the powerful men of Rome. You would do well to enter the service of another family, especially after tonight. I heartily recommend that when you are freed in the morning you walk away from this place and find a new position. This money will tide you over until you are settled once more.’
Skiouros almost smiled at his friend as they left the alley and Parmenio and Nicolo were looking a little relieved, though Girolamo was all business and Helwyg’s expression suggested that he was less than impressed with Cesare’s show of compassion. Ahead, Cesare crossed the street to the base of the palazzo’s grand façade and looked up at the two indicated windows, marking their position on a mental map of the complex. The crossbowman paused en route to collect the two buckets that would have marked the trouble spot for anyone who happened along the street.
Rounding the corner of the palazzo beneath the angled tower, Cesare came to a halt before the small servants’ door and waited for the other five to join him.
‘Remember: quick, quiet and subtle. We want no undue trouble. I will be extremely put out if there is any killing tonight. In fact, I will be grandly displeased if a single wound is caused. I will consider a bonus payment upon completion if we manage to leave tonight without drawing blood at all.’
Skiouros nodded his wholehearted agreement, and Nicolo and Parmenio smiled their consent. Helwyg and Girolamo were professional soldiers. Their faces betrayed no emotions on the matter, but they would do whatever was asked of them to the best of their ability, especially at the prospect of a bonus.
Pausing only to be sure they were all ready, Cesare reached up to the simple iron latch that was the door’s only feature. Pulling a short wooden club, perhaps eighteen inches long, from his belt, he depressed the latch and swung the door inwards, moving inside with the grace of an acrobat and the speed of a racing hound. Skiouros was second in.
A low, basic hallway lay beyond the door, with arched openings to left and right and another plain door ahead. Skiouros was interested in passing to note ancient stonework and arches incorporated into the walls. This palace was built upon the skeleton of an antique building. Trying not to be distracted, concentrating on the job in hand, he watched Cesare duck through the right-hand arch and - in a calculated move - mirrored him, passing beneath the ancient arc to the left.
He found himself in a storeroom, with shelves lining the walls and freestanding timber racks that held various foodstuffs in between. Lamps guttered in twin positions at opposite ends of the room, and Skiouros heaved a sigh of relief. He was about to turn and leave when a voice from beyond the racks called out ‘Margarita? You took your time. Get that water on the boil, sharp now, woman!’
Skiouros felt a sudden burst of anxiety clawing at the edges of his mind and swallowing, forced it down into the pit of his stomach, where it continued to dance uncomfortably. Another civilian to deal with. Another innocent victim hanging on the crucifix of his vengeance. Realising he had only moments until the man questioned the lack of a reply, he padded lightly down the racks towards the voice, wishing he had his macana club, and drawing the basic, sharp dagger from his belt sheath.
Briefly, through the racks and between the small sacks of herbs and foodstuffs, he saw a bald head with its back to him. As swiftly as he dared, he rounded the wooden structure at the room’s far end and leapt. The man, who had been taking inventory of the shelves, gave a muffled squawk and dropped his chalk and slate to the flagged floor as Skiouros’ hand went around his mouth from behind. Hoping to God he’d judged it right, the Greek brought the pommel of his dagger down on the man’s head with a thump.
The servant went instantly limp, slipping to the floor through Skiouros’ arms, and the young man paused, leaning down to check his condition. The servant was still breathing, but flat out. With a sigh of relief, Skiouros ripped some cloth from bags on the shelves, bound the man’s hands and gagged him, and then quickly ran through the storeroom, checking for any other occupants. As he reached the arch once more, he found Parmenio standing at the corner. The captain raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Old man. He’s dealt with - out cold.’
They turned to see Helwyg and Cesare heading back towards them from a large kitchen area through the other arch. Nicolo was standing by the next door and Girolamo disposing of the two buckets.
‘Anything?’ Skiouros asked breathlessly.
‘Young serving lad. He was in the kitchen cellar. Just locked him in. Seemed easiest.’
Skiouros nodded. He couldn’t hear the lad shouting, so nor would anyone else. ‘What now?’
‘Now,’ said Cesare with purpose, ‘we get what we came for.’ He turned. ‘Girolamo? You’re scouting. I want you one corner ahead of us at all times. Helwyg, you bring up the rear.’
‘Is that wise?’ Skiouros frowned. ‘We can lead.’
‘Girolamo can put a man down quickly and quietly. Can you?’
‘Leaving the question unanswered in response, Skiouros sighed wearily. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get it over with.’
At a nod from Orsini, Nicolo depressed the latch on the second door and swung it open, stepping aside. Girolamo ducked into it glancing this way and that and, signalling for the others to follow, dipped to his left out of sight. Skiouros followed on in the wake of Cesare and Nicolo and found himself emerging into a square courtyard with a paved floor, the high residential wing of the palazzo on his left, the servant’s wing behind him, a low range ahead, and the blank rear walls of other structures forming the fourth side of the yard on their right, vines growing up decorative trellises to disguise the ugliness of the bare wall.
This was not a decorative grand palazzo courtyard in the style of the Visconti. This was more like the practice yard where Skiouros had first seen the other mercenaries in Cesare’s lance. Bare and empty, the yard was quiet. Nicolo and Parmenio were hidden from the faint starlight in the shadow beneath the eaves of the kitchen wing. Girolamo was already across the courtyard and sidling up towards the main entrance. Timber rails flanked a slight ramp on either side, leading up to a heavy, well-polished wooden door in the corner of the tall wing. The windows on this side of the high structure were very similar to the external ones, and Skiouros wondered for a moment whether that wing was only one room thick, but quickly discarded the theory. There had to be corridor space at least.
As he watched, Girolamo gestured to one of the shuttered windows on the ground floor only three along from the door. Skiouros squinted at it and realised that he could see light in the cracks between the shutters. Carefully, he scanned the other windows, but that appeared to be the only room with light. It wasn’t too much of a leap of assumption to mark that room as the guard quarters, given the lateness of the hour. Girolamo appeared to have reached the same conclusion. As he reached up to the door’s handle, which would admit him to the main section of the palazzo, he drew a knife from his belt. His hand pushed the door gently, opening it only a crack. The resulting creak echoed out across the courtyard and everyone froze. Moments later, the crossbowman took a deep breath and thrust the door open wide - not the subtle way he’d planned his entrance, but the best way to minimise the creaking noise. As he paused, silhouetted in the light from the corridor within, everyon
e breathed shallowly. Ten heartbeats passed with no alarm raised, and with a wave of ‘all clear’, Girolamo slipped inside. Cesare, Skiouros, Nicolo and Parmenio hurried along the shadowed edge of the servants’ wing and slipped in through the door in short order, leaving Helwyg to cross the courtyard at the rear, watching for trouble and then following them in and closing the door behind them.
Skiouros pushed through the stubby entrance hall and into the corridor which ran the length of the wing, a grand staircase rising directly ahead which would grant access to all floors. As his gaze flashed this way and that, taking in the situation, Skiouros was surprised to see Girolamo backing towards them along the marble corridor, dragging a body by the shoulders, the man’s boots skidding on the floor with a faint leathery squeak. Cesare hissed at him quietly: ‘Pick him up!’
Parmenio rushed over and grabbed the boots to silence the dragged body, and the two men carried the unconscious guard over to the rest of the group. A trickle of blood ran from the man’s scalp, matting his hair and filling his ear. Girolamo repositioned his hand so that it caught the first drip and prevented it from dropping to the black and white marble floor tiles. He glanced up at Cesare on the way past with a raised brow.
‘No it doesn’t count against a bonus,’ whispered the nobleman with a shake of his head. As they waited, Nicolo watching the door of the suspected guard room, Parmenio and Girolamo carried the unconscious guard to the stairs and lowered him to the ground, pushing him into the shadowed space beneath the staircase.
‘Right,’ Cesare said, rubbing his head. ‘Helwyg, I want you to stay here. Keep your eyes on that guard room. If there’s any trouble, deal with it. If you can do it quietly and subtly, all the better. If the alarm goes up, shout to us so we have a chance to make it back.’ As the big Silesian nodded, Cesare turned to Nicolo and Parmenio. ‘One of you needs to stay, too. Keep the back door ajar and watch the other wings. You are our quick exit. The moment you see us coming back, get that door open, cross the courtyard and prepare the way through the kitchens again. Helwyg, you wait until we’re down and play rear guard again on the way out.’
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