Alandris smiled, annoyed. “Perhaps you are right, Admiral. A poor comparison. But you were damned lucky we spotted you as we came out of Torinia. And we are now bound for Perusia. If you are willing to make a short stop at Telos while we replenish before we enter Blasius Bay, then we would be glad for the company.”
A second small boat had arrived at the side of the Grace, bearing the other galley captain. Danamis watched as the smug Perusian beamed and waved up at them, obviously overjoyed that he had had a hand in rescuing the king’s pirate admiral from certain destruction.
Danamis nodded. “We would welcome that. When your comrade arrives let us repair to my cabin to take some wine. I would hear what news you both have to tell of the city.”
BELOW DECKS, TIMANDRA and Acquel worked in the sputtering light of two candles as they tended to the wounded. For all her skill with herbs, she found the chirurgeon’s chest had none, not even hemlock to numb pain. Talis had scrounged a bottle of acqua vitalis and this she directed Acquel to share among the men that were sensible enough to drink as well as poor Captain Bassinio who lay there too, still in agony of his burns. Two of the crew would live if the arrow wounds did not rot but two others had arrow heads so deep she would not likely be able to dig them out. Their fate was in Saint Elded’s hands and those of God.
“Hold him down by his shoulders,” she told Acquel as they knelt over one of the soldiers who stood a chance of surviving. As she dug into the wound with a small knife she had heated, the man, barely conscious and dripping with sweat, screamed out. Acquel pressed him down onto the reeking mat and watched while Timandra dug her thumb and forefinger into the wound. The soldier’s head rolled to the side as he passed out and Acquel clearly heard the sucking sound as she prised out a small triangle of iron from the thigh along with what was left of the shaft.
Timandra wiped her forehead with her arm and poured a bit of acqua vitalis into the wound. Acquel looked at her. “I am ashamed, Timandra.”
She paused. “Ashamed? No need to feel that for being afraid. I’m surprised we’re even still here.”
He leaned back on his haunches, shoulders hunched. “No. I mean I am ashamed because I was… excited. Excited by everything. I think I would have killed a corsair myself given the chance. That is called bloodlust. A sin.”
Timandra’s mouth opened to reply but words would not come, for his admission had not been what she expected. She looked down and went back to work. “It is over now,” she said quietly. “Think no more of it.”
AS THE BATTERED carrack and two galleys bobbed together in the gentle seas, half a mile away three mermaids kept watch.
Do we venture closer still? asked one, her long webbed fingers gently treading the surface of the water, her mind in wordless conversation with the others.
Citala kept staring at the ships, her thoughts a bitter swirl of confusion, curiosity, and anger. Anger that she held towards herself. Anger for ever agreeing to help her father negotiate with the landsmen. And anger for the fascination she had for these creatures. A fascination where most of her people held fear. She plumbed her soul to try and fathom why such curiosity had rooted itself so firmly but no revelation ever came. And, only half-admitted, there dwelt inside her an abiding interest, maybe even the seed of an obsession, for one landsman in particular. She gave a rapid kick, her naked torso rising up from the placid surface, her chin held high and almond-shaped eyes squinting against the sun.
No, she replied. I know who they are. And who is there among them.
Sixteen
TWO HUNDRED MALE voices soared a hundred feet up to the massive painted ceiling of the Temple Majoris, richly harmonious and perhaps slightly the purer for Brother Acquel’s voice was not amongst them. They sang a song of devotion to Saint Dionei, for today was her day upon the One Faith’s calendar. She who had seen what others had not and who had recognized one among the followers of Elded was not what he appeared to be. Twelve great cylindrical columns rose up on either side of the stone temple, itself a perfect square, the whole of its length. At one end, two giant oak doors, sheathed in hammered copper plate that in the morning sun shone like fire, gave way to the tiled centre aisle. At the opposite end, the altar rose up on a tier of white marble reached by seven steps. And high above this hung the symbol of the One Faith: a golden disc twelve feet wide surrounded by seven long rays, and between each, a smaller tongue of flame. One ray for each of Elded’s commandments.
Magister Kodoris, from his personal nave opposite the choir, surveyed the hundreds in attendance as they watched the High Priest walk up the altar dais in his long purple robes, flat-topped mitre balanced on his head. Behind him two dozen blackrobes arrayed themselves. And as Brachus raised both arms towards the golden sun, all blessed themselves in unison: fingers to forehead and then centre breast. Kodoris did the same and looked down to Lavinia at his side. She was smiling, the joy of devotion emanating from her alabaster face.
Brachus, in his halting reedy croak, began to intone Elded’s Prime, the most holy of prayers. It was barely audible from even where Kodoris stood but all knew the words just the same. Lavinia’s sweet voice drowned out Brachus and Kodoris smiled in spite of all his burdens. As the prayer ended, all the greyrobes and whiterobes burst into a new hymn and the great temple was a swirl of sound as the long trumpets accompanied in a fanfare from the gallery high over their heads.
Lavinia arranged her blue satin veil over her shoulders and then touched the capacious sleeve of Kodoris’s woollen robe. “Is it not wondrous, Magister? It climbs to the heavens on invisible wings.”
Kodoris reached over and covered her hand with his own. “It is indeed, my dear,” he whispered. Despite Brachus, he thought to himself. As the chorus ended and the last peals of the trumpets echoed, final prayers were sung. Another blessing, and then Brachus was assisted down the steps, teetering dramatically as blackrobes steadied him in his excessive curled-toe slippers.
They watched as the High Priest and his contingent of blackrobes processed down the mosaic aisle and out the towering doors. Then followed the nobility of Livorna, the wealthier merchants, and the villa owners. Lastly, the lowly filed out: artisans, shopkeepers, and peasants from outlying farms miles distant. A day ago he had instructed the whiterobes to clear the broken roof tiles that littered the narrow winding streets up to the Ara plateau so that those trudging up the hill or being borne in litters would not be bothered by the recent memory of the tremors that had shaken the city. And now, as they went their way through the great arch in the plaza outside the Temple, back down into the lopsided and precariously perched city, they could look forward to an afternoon of delights as the Feast of Saint Dionei began in earnest.
A roast ox in the marketplace, jugglers, minstrels, harlequins, and so much wine that it would flow from the gutters by nightfall. Games aplenty for young and old, tricks, treats and sleight of hand, and an eagerly anticipated time for the pickpocket gangs of the low town. His memory began to pull him back into his own past. He remembered the feast days of his boyhood and the excitement that spread through Livorna like a town freed from the iron grip of a siege. He remembered how the men would scramble and kick the decorated air-filled cow’s stomach from the Ara down to the city gates, each seeking to be the one to give the final kick that would send the inflated effigy of the Deceiver out of the gates. Always a few heads cracked and broken legs in those days. Far more tame now, he mused. And a wave of regret for times gone by filled his stoic heart, a yearning that somehow took him by surprise. For he could nevermore celebrate as he once did now that every day began with the memory of Saint Elded’s shattered tomb and what lay within. As he watched the tottering High Priest reach the copper-clad doors, he keenly felt the burden of his terrible secret—and the burden of Brachus. He alone had to do what needed to be done.
Kodoris gestured to Lavinia for them to take their leave and he guided her around a column and down a side aisle of the cavernous place. The north side of the Temple Majoris was always
cool to the point of cold, even in high summer, and the tall thin windows did little to illuminate the corridor. They walked for a few moments in silence and then Lavinia said, “Magister, tell me about the old faith, before the coming of Elded and his brethren. Who were the old gods?”
Kodoris clasped his hands behind his back and raised an eyebrow. “That is rather an unusual question to pose to a monk. What has prompted such a thought, my dear?”
Lavinia looked at him, almost mischievously he thought. “Lucinda sometimes talks of such things. Of the ancient days.”
“To frighten you, child?”
“No, Magister,” she said, grinning at his ignorance. “She sometimes tells me stories of the ancients, at night before we sleep.”
“Let me show you something,” said Kodoris, placing an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the beginning of a passage that connected the Temple to the maze of the Ara monastery. They stopped at the portal and Kodoris pointed up to the archway over it. Here the stonemasons had carved marvellous things. Sinuous grapevines and acanthus wound their way up on either side and continued towards the keystone. A round window in the west wall illuminated the entranceway.
“There… do you see the man peeking through the grape leaves? Not quite a man really.”
Lavinia craned her neck and searched out the figure. “Yes! I see it. He looks angry—or frightened? What a strange face and ears he has.”
Kodoris nodded. “He is a forest god. Look at the keystone. There is Saint Elded, spreading the word of the One Faith. The forest god is hiding… and you are right. He is afraid.”
Lavinia’s eyes scanned the arch and suddenly she laughed, like a child playing a game. “I have found another over here! And this one is slinking away.”
“There are actually five in there if you look hard enough.”
She turned to him. “Lucinda says the gods were in the rocks and trees then. That people sacrificed children to them every moon.”
Kodoris was growing curious. “Your sister tells you of such things? “
Lavinia nodded and, again, that strange smile appeared on her lips.
“The old gods were evil and caused men to do terrible things,” Kodoris said.
“Was Berithas a forest god?”
Kodoris felt a chill as the light around them slowly faded as a cloud passed outside. “The Deceiver? We think of him as less than a god but more than a spirit. A demon who took corporeal form.”
Lavinia passed her hand over the rough carved column of the doorway. “Lucinda says that when the old gods were no longer worshipped they diminished and became demons.”
Kodoris cleared his throat. “Your sister tells you interesting things. You should not trouble yourself with such thoughts. We don’t sacrifice people anymore.”
Lavinia looked back at him, her blue eyes piercing. “Don’t we?” And her lips curled slightly again as they shared their little secret of the tomb.
Kodoris met her gaze. “We should return to the palace now,” he said tersely, fighting back the urge to shake her. “I would hear of your sister’s progress if you have word of it.”
“Yes, there is word. I have sent them to Perusia for the one you seek. That is where he is going.”
Kodoris started, thunderstruck that she had not revealed this earlier. “Perusia? Are you certain? But why there?” Instantly his mind was a whirl of motives and fears. Was the boy going to tell the royal court what had happened to him? Reveal the truth he had discovered?
Lavinia grasped her taffeta skirts and walked ahead into the dimly lit corridor. “Come, Magister,” she called back, “and I will tell you what I have seen.”
FIRST, I WILL pull out his teeth…
Captain Flauros let go his reins and flexed his gloved hands as he mused about finding the renegade greyrobe. It was enraging that he had to leave the Ara to go on this mad quest for a murderous monk, but more so because he had let the greyrobe slip through his grasp the first time. The whole situation was dire enough, but then to learn from Kodoris that four of his men had deserted the guard and bolted, well that was simply infuriating. He had known them—hand picked them when the Magister had asked for an escort. Kodoris assumed they must have found gold in the crypt and then decided to spend their good fortune in parts unknown, slipping away from the Ara under the cloak of night. After such a failure of oversight as that, he was beginning to wonder how much longer Kodoris would keep him in command.
Around his small party the din of a thousand chirping crickets in the high grass nearly drowned out the clop of hooves. They were deep in the north of the Duchy of Torinia in the exact centre of Valdur, along the main road that led a circuitous path eastwards towards Perusia. The terrain was relatively easy riding, gentle rolling hills and meadows, villas and smallholdings. As the road passed through the larger villages and towns of this part of the duchy, Flauros set the pace so that they could reach an inn or hostel before each night descended. He picked up the reins again and watched the woman in front of him as she rode, her long dark red cloak spilling around the saddle of her mount. Beautiful creature, but a monstrous bitch.
He wasn’t comfortable without his helm. Or his breastplate for that matter. But she had said they must look the part of her retainers. So the crimson satin sashes and armour went, and now he and his men had brimless felt toques perched on their heads. Elded’s balls, he thought. We damn well are her retainers since Kodoris ordered me to do whatever she asks. At least he still had his steel buckled at his hip. He had chosen his five men carefully. Tobias and Elkan were sharp blades and could think clearly on their own. That was needed if anything happened to him. The other three were chiefly muscle. That was so nothing would happen.
They rode at a measured pace. He might have to urge them into a trot in another hour for he wasn’t quite sure how many miles they were from Cameri and it was already mid-afternoon. Tobias and Elkan were deep in quiet conversation behind him. At the rear rode Timus and Relan. He could hear them sharing jokes, hushed tones punctuated by laughter. Out in front rode Demedrias, as big as a wall and about as bright as one. But he could stop a charging boar with a single punch. For two days he had been making cow-eyes at the canoness, who refused to even acknowledge his presence, never mind his lingering glances. But who could blame the fat-necked fool? She had the kind of cold beauty that would stop men in their tracks—and she had done so these past few days on the road as peasants, peddlers, and noble folk alike swivelled their heads when she passed.
How she could think the monk was in Palestro one moment and then in Perusia over a hundred miles away, he did not know. Nor was he certain he wanted to. At least they hadn’t wasted too much time on the road south before turning east for Torinia. But Perusia was far bigger than Palestro and being the royal enclave their hunt might draw more attention than he wanted.
Flauros gave a gentle kick to his horse and moved up to ride at Lucinda’s side. She turned and smiled as he drew knee to knee.
“And how is our progress this afternoon, Captain?”
Flauros noticed how her face was barely perspiring or even flushed despite the heat. “We may have to increase our pace a little to make Cameri at a reasonable hour. Nothing too demanding though.”
“I find your skill for judging time and distance most extraordinary.” She smiled again, her eyes teasing. “The Magister told me you were a soldier of remarkable abilities. He might have added handsome too.”
Flauros grinned at her flattery. He wanted her, of course. But even if that were possible it would lead to unnecessary complications. “I do not think there is any chance of getting lost in the countryside, my lady, when we have a Seeker with us. I’m sure you always know exactly where we are. As for me, I’m usually just a lucky guesser.”
She pushed off her right shoulder the white linen veil that shielded her head and neck, exposing her long golden locks. “I know the measure of men,” she said, her tone jaded, “and you sell yourself a bit short, Captain.”
“May I ask you a question, my lady? I am curious as to why this one greyrobe is being chased down while the others who escaped with him seem to have been all but forgotten. Does that not seem odd to you?”
Lucinda tilted her head to contemplate a reply but kept her eyes on the road ahead. She knew that Kodoris had lied to Flauros, the poor fool swallowing whole the Magister’s elaborate concoction. “I don’t think it is so strange. Did not the Magister say that Brother Acquel was the leader? Perhaps we may find all of them still together.”
Flauros shook his head. “Not likely, my lady. When we cornered him last week on the road south of Livorna, he was alone. I am in no doubt of that.”
“Ah, then perhaps they did separate shortly after making their escape. Given their circumstances that would have been the wiser course, I suppose.” She turned and looked at him again, her eyes probing.
“I would not hazard a guess at what four young monks might conspire to after they murdered their brethren. I find it… bothersome. Bothersome that we have seen or heard nothing of these other monks in Livorna or the countryside. Just doesn’t sit well in my mind, my lady.” Flauros bowed his head to her. “But I give way to your wisdom and that of the Magister in such matters. My task is but to look after your safety and comfort.”
Lucinda smiled broadly at him. “Captain, in that you are most trusted and I am in your debt.”
Flauros nodded again. He knew she was hiding things. Things that Kodoris had told her and God knows what else that her special arts—damned witchcraft more like—allowed her to see. He looked ahead and recognised where he was: an old red-tiled villa on the right that had fallen into decay, roof collapsed, told him that Cameri was perhaps a further two hours ride. More than enough time to refresh themselves.
The Guns of Ivrea Page 16