The Guns of Ivrea

by Clifford Beal

  Citala nodded and Strykar looked again at Danamis, who he could tell from long acquaintance was hoping that he would approve of his new venture.

  “Lord Danamis and I,” said Citala, “have entered into an arrangement. In return for the treasure he needs to buy his navy, he will undertake to champion my people in Valdur.”

  “A not inconsiderable undertaking,” replied Strykar, still amazed by her presence and by the fact that she could speak Valdurian.

  “But you differ in your outlook?” said the Duke. “Don’t you think these orichalcum guns would benefit the Black Rose in the field if we could successfully acquire them?”

  “My lord, no, it is more surprise than any reservation,” Strykar said. “Nor did I know about Danamis’s new friends.”

  Lord Renaldo broke in, his weak and reedy voice sounding like a man dying of thirst. “We are entering dangerous times, captain, and the duchy is feeling a distinct chill in the air. We must move to secure new alliances before Torinia makes her next move.”

  “And more too,” added the Duke, “I like not at all this talk of the Silk Empire and their newfound interest in the affairs of the kingdom. Is it only trade that they are interested in? Or perhaps spreading their empire westwards? Ursino sits in Torinia stirring the cauldron and I would wager my coronet that his alliance with Tetch is just the first part of his scheme. From what Lord Danamis tells, we can expect little in the way of decisive leadership from the king.”

  Strykar nodded. “I fear that is true, my lord.”

  “Then,” said Alonso, “we cannot allow Palestro to remain in the hands of mutineers who are no more than puppets of Duke Ursino. Lord Danamis is prepared to do what he must to secure new ships and these new guns. For our part, we shall bolster the free companies including yours and I shall tell Count Malvolio exactly that later this day. The eastern towns are at risk.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Strykar. “Do you wish me to again reconsider the Count’s offer to take up promotion in the company?”

  “Your continued lack of interest in seizing advancement is always something of a puzzle to me, Captain, despite the fact that it has been often handed to you on a silver platter. But, no, I think your skills as a soldier would be better put to use in joining Danamis’s expedition to Ivrea. He will need a few good swords at his side going into that lion’s den.”

  Strykar felt himself blush. “I serve at your pleasure, my lord.”

  “For my part,” said Danamis, “I would be grateful to have you watching my back. And you know Ivrea far better than I do.”

  Strykar blinked a few times. “Well then. Ivrea it is.”

  Duke Alonso clapped his hands once. “Excellent. The admiral tells me he will buy a merchant caravel here in Maresto and prepare for the voyage. His ship is the worse for wear and he tells me that it is not suited to his purpose. Something about needing speed.”

  Danamis nodded, looking pleased with himself. Strykar inclined his head in admiration for it seemed that his friend and trading partner had found something of his old fire again.

  “I am sure that you all would like to discuss your plans further,” the Duke said, gesturing them away as if shooing chickens, “and hear more of Lord Danamis and his charming companion. You will find refreshment ready for you in the gallery without the throne room.”

  Strykar bowed and withdrew, along with Acquel and Timandra. Danamis offered his arm to Citala, who at first gave him a quizzical look, then gently took it. He bowed to the Duke and she copied him.

  Alonso smiled at them both, but more at her than Danamis. “My dear lady, I had always hoped to meet one of your kind. Now that wish has been fulfilled. Admiral, we shall talk further as your plans progress.” As they withdrew the Duke called after them, “And remember, stay in the shadows. Maresto is not yet ready for merfolk walking the streets.”

  “If ever,” mumbled Lord Renaldo, at his side.

  MINUTES LATER, IN the grand gallery two chambers beyond, Lieutenant Poule took up his goblet, drank deeply and began studying the puti that frolicked above them on the painted cupola, its vibrant blue sky giving the illusion of open space and sunbeams. He shoved a handful of juicy black grapes into his mouth as he eyed an impish cherub with puckered lips that was spitting down at him. “Very fucking clever,” he mumbled to himself, juice running down his chin.

  Citala sniffed the contents of her goblet, her tiny flat nose flaring a moment before her nostrils sealed shut. She did not drink but held the silver vessel awkwardly in her hand. Strykar lifted his goblet to Danamis.

  “Here’s to your new beginning!”

  “I can almost taste it,” said Danamis, hefting his own cup. “Strykar, I had no wish for my return to be so dramatic. The Duke insisted on this little charade. But you took it well. Poor Gregorvero actually fainted dead away when he saw me. Hit the deck of the ship like a lead weight.”

  Strykar placed a hand on his shoulder. “The Duke has always enjoyed arranging little surprises when the opportunity presents itself. I’ve even been the butt of a few before. But this time, I am glad of the outcome.”

  Citala wandered off, fascinated by the scenes depicted around her; all a distant world compared to the one she had grown up in. Soldiers warred, masons built cities, townsfolk prayed to the saints, and noblemen wooed maidens in their green bowers overgrown with roses. Her lips parted in wonder for she had now entered the land she had long dreamt of.

  Acquel approached her cautiously as if she might evaporate like a phantom if he touched her. She turned as he came. The monk wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her but he felt the urge to say something. It was she, however, who spoke up first.

  “You are the holy man that Danamis has told me of?”

  “I was a greyrobe of the monastery at Livorna,” he replied sheepishly. “Suppose that I still am.”

  She nodded. “And I am told that Saint Elded works through you.”

  His discomfort increased. “Princess, I do not truly understand what the Lawgiver tells me. But I sense his presence and his… voice.”

  Citala took Acquel’s hand; hers felt marble smooth and very cool in his own. “Sometimes the Lawgiver speaks to our people when we dream. I, too, have had such dreams of Telling.” She smiled, her head tilting slightly. “And there is something about you that I sense. Something of a task not yet completed.”

  Acquel watched as her eyes moved downward to the amulet, even though it was concealed inside his shirt and doublet.

  “You are as I imagined in every way,” he said, quietly. “As I was shown… by Elded.”

  Citala smiled again and released his hand. “And I am pleased that we have met and opened our hearts, holy man.”

  Across the room, Poule called out again harshly. “Widow! Are you too grand a lady now to answer me?”

  Timandra, startled, took her gaze from the mermaid and Acquel and turned to face the soldier. “What are you prattling about now, Poule!” she fired back as she recovered her composure.

  “The arse on that one looks like yours!” he laughed, pointing upwards.

  She gave him a look that would have curdled milk and then raised her goblet to her lips. But she was thinking about Acquel, thinking about what was running through his mind now that he had met merfolk in the flesh. Giving his dreams new significance, planting a dangerous seed of a plan that would take him away—probably to his death. In her heart, she knew that he was thinking of running. Running back to Livorna. And she was already dreading the moment when he would ask her help.

  Danamis leaned in to whisper to Strykar. “Tonight, come alone and join me on the Grace. We have much to discuss.”

  Strykar nodded towards Citala. “You mean to discuss her?”

  “Among other things. The Duke has told me if war with Torinia comes, he has no wish to anger the Temple priests unnecessarily and cause them to side with Duke Ursino. I fear that Brother Acquel may become a pawn—or a gesture of goodwill.”

  A low growl rumbled in Stryka
r’s throat, his lips pursing in irritation. “That does not surprise me in the least.” He turned and barked to the others, “Drink up, Poule! The revel is over and we’re going back to camp!”

  THAT NIGHT, AFTER sundown and when the moon had risen, Strykar made his way into Maresto again and wended his way through the crooked streets and down to the harbour. He was struck by the number of merchantmen sitting at anchor, their lanterns burning and the voices of their crew raised in jest or argument. Far too many, he thought. The Royal Grace was tied up where Gregorvero had left it nearly two weeks before. It looked battered and tired, even in the torchlight.

  He pulled his cloak up higher on his shoulders and swung his side sword around so that the belt and scabbard rested on his left buttock. He hollered up to the deck and was met an instant later by the sight of Gregorvero looking down on him. The gangplank was lowered away and Strykar made his way up and over the gunwales, leaping lightly to the deck.

  “Welcome aboard, Captain,” said the master, an uncharacteristic smile on his mouth rather than the usual scowl he reserved for the rondelieri.

  Strykar nodded. “Where is he?”

  They climbed the stairs to the stern cabin and Gregorvero ushered him into the cramped space he now knew so well, its familiar fug hitting his nose like a fist.

  “Captain Strykar,” said Danamis from his seat at the chart table. “Sit down and join me for a drink.”

  Strykar pulled a bench underneath him and angled the hilt of his sword more comfortably as Danamis poured him some wine from the jug. Gregorvero sat down opposite and wrapped his fingers around the goblet that was already waiting there.

  “So, how many know your secret?” asked Strykar.

  Danamis raised his brow slightly. “Couldn’t keep it a secret from the crew—but they’re sworn to secrecy under penalty of losing every last dinari they own or are likely to see again. Far more effective than threatening to slit their throats.”

  Strykar swigged from his goblet and smacked his lips. “Well, barely a fortnight ago everyone hereabouts knew you were dead and gone. Some of the men actually mourned you.”

  Danamis shrugged. “All the better for it. Let’s hope back in Palestro that the word is House Danamis is dead.”

  “I see the place is crowded with ships,” said Strykar. “Far more than I’ve seen before at one time.”

  “Their captains are afraid to venture out without escort and Duke Alonso just does not have enough warships for that,”Gregorvero said.

  “Whether he believes it or not,” added Danamis, “he is already at war with Torinia.”

  Strykar looked around the cabin. “So where is your new companion? Your mermaid rescuer.”

  Danamis looked straight at the mercenary. “She is the key to everything. And we have a bargain.”

  “My eyes nearly fell out when she threw back her cape. How do they breathe air or even survive out of the sea? Shit, you would expect them to… dry out.”

  “They are not fish-men, despite what is said. They breathe as we do. How long they can stay out of the water I do not know. But she is there now.”

  Strykar nodded thoughtfully. “And the treasure? Same sunken coin that you get from them for the myrra, I assume.”

  “It is. And I’m taking no chances until we leave for Ivrea. It now lies on the bottom of the harbour and only she and her men know where it is.”

  Strykar chuckled. “No better hidey-hole than that! You reckon there’s enough to convince the Ivreans?”

  Danamis smiled. “It’s a king’s ransom. More than enough to tempt this Count Leonato, even if he is a High Steward. I have never seen such a haul in my life.”

  Strykar leaned in. “You’ve stayed with them? Seen their treasure trove?”

  “We shall not speak of it. I am sworn to her and her people.”

  “Saints above! How can you deliver on that promise? You know how the priests and most folk feel about the mer. Even your own men distrust them. I don’t even understand how Alonso welcomed her like he did into the palace. That was just as much a surprise as seeing you again.”

  “The Duke sees the potential of an alliance with the merfolk. As do I.”

  Strykar laughed. “He sees the potential of a chest spilling with gold and jewels, I reckon. A hundred years’ worth of shipwrecks out there to plunder adds up to a fair old haul.”

  “But I am the one with the alliance.”

  “For now,” mumbled Strykar.

  Danamis ignored the jibe. “And Gregor here has found the perfect ship for us with an owner happy to sell.”

  “She’s a three-masted caravel,” said Gregorvero. “Saivonan- built, a strong and fast ship. As she’s fore-and-aft rigged, we should be able to manoeuvre ourselves out of most trouble.”

  Danamis nodded. “No guns mounted. We’ll be discreet leaving Maresto. Just another scared merchantman running the blockade.”

  “Just another merchantman running the fucking gauntlet under Tetch, you mean,” said Strykar leaning back and folding his arms across his broad chest.

  “We can do it,” replied Danamis, his voice confident. “And when we come back, we will be a very different ship entirely.”

  “So then, how many of my men do you need?” Strykar’s voice carried a hint of resignation.

  “Bring me fifty. Your best sword and buckler men. Fully armed rondelieri. I’ll pay each of them enough to be a captain of infantry.”

  Strykar closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Sweet God above. How I’m still getting dragged into these things with you I’ll never understand.”

  “You’re an aventuri. What else is there to understand.?Now, what of Brother Acquel?”

  “Aloysius’s balls. He’s like a ghost at a funeral. You know what he is carrying. The poor bastard doesn’t know where he will end up.”

  Danamis looked into his goblet. “I know you told the Duke his story. And he asked me what I knew of the greyrobe. Alonso says that if the High Priest or the High Steward asks for his return—and he did say if—then he will send Acquel to them under escort. He says it’s a matter for the Grand Curia. He doesn’t want trouble with the Temple Majoris, not with war looming.”

  Strykar shook his head slowly. “Fucking hell. The Widow will take this badly. They are as thick as thieves those two. But you yourself have seen the signs… the amulet. I know what I have seen.”

  “Some people don’t want to believe in miracles. Your brother is one of them. It makes them… worry.”

  “Half-brother,” corrected Strykar flatly.

  “Will you warn Acquel?”

  Strykar hung his head and sighed loudly. “If I don’t, Pandarus will never forgive me, that’s for damn sure.”

  He then looked at Danamis, snorted, and shook his head. “You’ve been stabbed, blown overboard and drowned and now come back from the dead. Brother Acquel may have his amulet but I’d say you’re the one who Elded is looking after.”

  Thirty-One

  TIMANDRA FOUND HIM sitting on the trampled grass next to one of the iron-shod wheels of her sutler’s wagon, head down and hands in his lap. Around him, the tents of the Black Rose’s cook and armourer stood, smells and yells emanating from both. The rondelieri were billeted just outside the north town wall, much to the annoyance and disappointment of them all. The cavalry had taken precedent on the inside of Maresto and no further room remained. Rondelieri traded insults and dagger thrusts with a company of spearmen who also remained outcast on the far side of Maresto’s walls.

  Acquel had been despondent for a few days now. Seeing Captain Danamis had momentarily raised his spirits, but the weight of his burden had pressed down upon him again with all its suffocating doubt. Timandra sat down next to him and threw off her battered straw hat. He managed a smile and reached out to touch her hand. She was reluctant to tell him what she knew she must.

  “Acquel, Strykar has confided something to me. Something that concerns you. Directly.”

  “I suppose that th
e Duke has finally decided what to do with me,” he replied, not looking at her.

  “In truth, he has not. But Strykar believes that if the Temple asks for your return—if they learn you are here—then the Duke will not save you.” She put her other hand over his. “But we can hide you if it comes to that.”

  Acquel smiled at her. “Timandra, you know that cannot be. I must leave. I was going to tell you that anyway. My mind is made up.”

  “Where? Where can you go where you will be safe? You don’t know a soul except for us here.”

  “I’m going back to Livorna. As I told you, that is where my fate lies for good or ill. The saint is pulling me there.”

  She squeezed his arm and her eyes grew harsh. “You fool. They will catch you and they will kill you. You won’t even get the chance to explain your innocence. They don’t want to know.”

  “I need your help to get on the road. Food and water for a start. Maybe some denari.”

  “You’re not listening to me! You’ll die there.”

  Acquel took both her hands in his. “No. I won’t,” he said quietly. “Elded is going to show me the way. Show me the truth.” He released her and slowly climbed to his feet. “I would be grateful for your help. But even without it, I am leaving.”

  He wandered off into the thick of the encampment, a solitary figure who was neither soldier nor monk. Timandra watched him disappear as she chewed on her lower lip, her heart and head in battle with each other.

  ACQUEL SPENT THE afternoon only half-aware of his surroundings and feeling more alone than he had in days. A group of unusually pious swordsmen spotted him passing by and asked him to lead them in prayers despite his soldier’s garb. He complied, awkwardly spouting the words he knew by heart and they following his lead—mumbling and sheepish. He rounded things off with a recital of Elded’s Prime, and though this may have brought some comfort to the soldiers it brought little to him. He had already decided he would depart in the early hours, just before sunrise. It was a long walk to Livorna from Maresto—he knew that—but equally very few roads to have to worry about getting lost on, so long as he headed north. He threaded his way through the camp and back to Timandra’s wagon just as the cook was finishing clearing up from the evening stew. Four mangy dogs were skulking about and fighting over the slops that had been thrown at the base of the town walls. He saw that the wagon steps were down. Timandra was inside. He poked his head around the corner and she saw him.