He was being allowed to leave.
Alberti frowned – saw the ring, and froze.
‘You have something for me, Maestro?’ Swan asked. He held out his hand.
Alberti sighed – and then chuckled. ‘Fortuna is a fickle whore,’ he said. ‘Here – a new code.’
Swan nodded. ‘My thanks, Maestro. In return – I found something of yours, and left it in the south tower guardroom.’
‘What would that be?’ Alberti asked.
‘Something I suspect you’d rather remained hidden,’ Swan said. ‘I will look forward to your letters, Maestro. As will Cardinal Bessarion.’ Swan swung his armoured leg up and over his cantle and planted himself in his saddle.
Behind him, seventy-five men and a few women were formed to march. The spring sun glinted on their armour, and Bessarion’s banner floated at their head.
They made a fine company, and at the sight he found himself grinning from ear to ear.
‘Ready to march?’ he called.
Ser Columbino shouted ‘ready’ and was echoed – a high-pitched echo from one of Malatesta’s servants, and a deep echo from Peter. And Di Vecchio, the officer of the Malatesta men-at-arms. Swan barely knew him.
Swan swung his arm. ‘Let’s go to Venice,’ he said. He waved his hand at the arch of the gate, and the column swung into motion.
He felt almost smug with his triumph. He cringed a little as he rode through the gatehouse, but as he led his company out of the streets of the Wolf’s city and along the dry road towards Venice, it was all he could do not to grin from ear to ear.
Peter rode up beside him. ‘I really thought we might die there,’ he said.
‘Me, too,’ said Swan.
‘I think we might now live to be slaughtered by the Turks,’ Peter went on. He laughed.
Swan laughed with him.
They rode in companionable silence, with the sweet martial music of the jingle of horse harness and the creak of wheels behind them.
They rode almost a league.
Then Peter turned in the saddle. ‘I have just one question,’ he said.
Swan smiled, at peace with the world. ‘Ask me anything,’ he said.
Peter nodded. ‘Who is the young woman pretending to be a man? Riding with the Malatesta boy?’
Swan looked back through the rising dust – and saw the governess.
He cursed.
1 A roncey or rouncey was a small riding horse in the Middel Ages, possibly named for a district in France.
Also by Christian Cameron
Tom Swan and the Head of St George
Volume One: Castillon
Volume Two: Venice
Volume Three: Constantinople
Volume Four: Rome
Volume Five: Rhodes
Volume Six: Chios
Volume Seven
The Tyrant Series
Tyrant
Tyrant: Storm of Arrows
Tyrant: Funeral Games
Tyrant: King of the Bosporus
Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities
Tyrant: Force of Kings
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Killer of Men
Marathon
Poseidon’s Spear
Other Novels
Washington and Caesar
God of War
The Ill-Made Knight
Copyright
An Orion eBook
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Orion Books
This eBook first published in 2014 by Orion Books
Copyright © Christian Cameron 2014
Sword image used with permission www.albion-swords.com
The moral right of Christian Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4091 4869 2
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Tom Swan and the Siege of Belgrade: Part Two Page 9