by Tom Pugh
“I accept,” Durant smiled broadly.
CHAPTER 25
While Spina led Durant on a tour of the grounds, Longstaff trained the motley crew of servants until they were ready to drop. He’d have worked them harder still, but worried they would blow each other to bits.
“Stand up straight,” he snapped. “You’re not servants any more. You’re soldiers, brothers, who think as one and act as one.”
He had them assemble a series of targets and drilled them for two hours, taking pleasure in the familiar commands. Spina and Durant disappeared into the house when he issued ammunition, continuing their conversation away from the noise of gunfire and smell of powder.
Longstaff let the men rest for five minutes, approaching the youngest, a stable lad of twelve.
“It won’t bite,” he pointed at the musket. “Don’t leave it in the grass. Pick it up, get used to the weight of it.” The boy obeyed, his face a mask of anxiety.
“Where do you sleep? With the horses?”
The lad shook his head. “We have a room in the house.”
“Imagine the musket is your pillow. Rest your cheek against the stock, keep your hands soft,” he raised his voice. “All of you, back on your feet.”
Durant strolled across the lawn. “The three hours are nearly up, Herr Lammermeier. Time for you and your charges to show us what you can do.”
Four of Onofrio’s men appeared, carrying the remaining muskets between them.
“A salesman’s work is never done,” laughed Durant, opening the crate and arranging the gleaming weapons neatly on their wooden saddles.
Onofrio arrived with more of his guards, all armed to the teeth. Durant engaged him in easy conversation. Longstaff admired the Frenchman’s nerve; he didn’t think he could have spent so many hours in Onofrio’s company without giving himself away. He walked over to inspect his men. Not used to being the centre of attention, they were clearly uncomfortable in their unmatched clothes.
“I’m proud of what you have accomplished in such a short space of time. Ready?”
They nodded with varying degrees of uncertainty. “Yes, sir,” said one.
Longstaff took a step back, winked at them.
“Attention,” he roared.
Each man drew himself up to his full height, musket-stock cupped in the right hand, long barrel against the shoulder.
“Forward march.”
They wouldn’t have passed muster in Il Medeghino’s army, but it was not a complete disaster. They wheeled left and right on command, presenting arms to their audience and arranging themselves into two short rows of three, one behind the other, at a distance of thirty paces from the targets.
Onofrio seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Impressive,” he said as Longstaff approached. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”
Longstaff bowed. “Drilling infantry is nothing new. It keeps men fit and disciplined. In a typical army, however, with officers in direct command of a thousand men, it serves no tactical purpose,” he paused. Dini strode towards them across the lawn. Onofrio waved at Longstaff to continue.
“With officers in command of so many men,” said Longstaff, nodding courteously to the newcomer, “it’s no surprise that soldiers behave like cattle on the battlefield.”
“You would do it differently?”
Longstaff nodded. “Create smaller units, promote men from within the ranks to lead, allowing them to react quickly and efficiently, even in the heat of battle.”
“Very good, Lammermeier,” said Durant. “Thank you.”
Longstaff waved over one of the servant soldiers.
“Every army in Europe issues its men with a variation on the firelock. Not a bad weapon, but poor in comparison to this. Look here. A rotating, geared wheel, powered by a cocked spring. The spark, which ignites the powder in the flash-pan, is generated mechanically. The advantages are threefold; the weapon is more reliable, easier to handle and aim, and has a significantly better rate of fire. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Longstaff took his leave with a short bow, turned on his heel and marched to his men. Half a dozen pale faces. “Stand up straight,” he spoke softly but firmly, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “Just like we practised. Show these bastards what you’re made of.” He raised his voice. “On my command, commence volley fire. Fire!”
The first rank fired and dropped to their knees, where they immediately began to reload. The second rank fired and followed suit. There was a long pause – too long – before the first were on their feet again, firing again. Bits of straw flew off the targets.
The second rank fired again. Better. The first rank dropped to their knees. Longstaff said a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to get someone killed. The second rank fired, then walked through the gaps between their comrades, before dropping to their knees and reloading. Slowly, maintaining the same rate of fire, they began to advance on the straw figures, reducing them to chaff.
Longstaff gave the command to cease fire. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to Onofrio, Durant and Dini.
“That from six poorly trained men,” said Durant. “Imagine six hundred disciplined soldiers.”
Onofrio’s eyes were shining. “Imagine six thousand!”
Dini turned to Longstaff. “Tell me, if these rifles are so much better, why are they so rarely used?”
“Cost,” answered Longstaff briskly. “Wheel-lock muskets are twice as expensive to produce as firelock weapons.” He nodded at the six servants. Onofrio’s men were already disarming them, sending them back to their duties in the kitchens and stables. “Currently, regiments are formed as needed, usually from peasants pressed into service, then dismissed. Promotes a mercenary mindset and limits the time officers have with their men. Without commissioning men from within the ranks and dividing regiments into smaller units, it is difficult to make the advantages of this weapon count.
“But it is the future,” he continued. “Soon, a new Charlemagne will emerge, with the wealth and vision to build a professional army. And he’ll have Europe at his mercy.”
Onofrio looked at the muskets, each one a shining work of art, lying in neat rows on the snug saddles.
“We will talk in the morning, Michaelis. Tonight, you and your associate may dine with me as guests.”
A servant led Longstaff up a wide, antler-lined staircase, showing him into a bedroom on the second floor. The walls were covered with dozens of stuffed birds and Sparrow dropped to his haunches, eyeing them warily. Longstaff shrugged off his jerkin and shirt, looking at the large bowl on the dressing table. He was about to plunge his face in the water when he heard a knock at the door. Durant came in, looking pleased with himself.
“Are you ready to go down for dinner, Herr Lammermeier?”
The Frenchman closed the door behind him and lowered his voice.
“I’ve been at work while you were playing soldiers. Onofrio is just as Aurélie described. A braggart with delusions of grandeur and guards he doesn’t need. I posed as an art lover and he took me on a tour of the grounds. There’s a grotto in the trees, here long before the house was built according to Onofrio. He would have told me more, but we were interrupted. A man appeared; our host fell silent at once. A poet would no doubt say a shadow crossed his face.”
“What man?”
“The very question I asked. A guard, said Onofrio, but he wasn’t dressed like the rest of them – leather boots, jerkin, cavalryman’s coat. Short sword and pistol.”
Longstaff rubbed his face. “What do you make of Dini?”
“Nasty little man. But if Spina’s left him here, there’s a good chance that Giacomo’s still alive.”
Longstaff looked at Durant, remembering the inn on the Old Salt Road and the Frenchman saying he lacked imagination. They didn’t have that luxury now. “We have to kill him, Gaetan. Otherwise he’ll go straight to Gregorio Spina.”
Durant removed a small phial from the inside pocket of his doublet. “Leave D
ini to me.”
Longstaff stared at the greenish liquid. “You really think we can carry this off?”
“Aurélie does. Pains me to say it, but she’s cleverer than I am.”
Dinner was served on the villa’s south-facing terrace, bordered on the far side by a low wall and roofed with vines. The company was still on their feet when Longstaff joined them, Onofrio holding court wearing a scarlet doublet.
“The true hunter moves to a rhythm few can hear, in secret harmony with his prey.”
Longstaff saw a fleeting look of contempt on Dini’s face.
Onofrio turned to him. “Lammermeier, good of you to join us. Dini you know, of course. And this is my wife, Dorothea.”
She was barely sixteen and blushed as Longstaff bowed to her. She had plucked her hairline to frame a pretty face, but the bloom of youth was already fading.
Onofrio gestured at a slim young man with dark hair and startling green eyes.
“My wife’s music teacher – a wedding gift from her husband,” Onofrio clearly regretted his generosity. “Dorothea’s two companions.” A pair of plain young women lowered their eyes. “And my dear friend Maria.” Onofrio pressed the hand of a woman in her late thirties. She was handsome, after a fashion, with a strong jaw and dark eyes.
“We are an odd number for dinner, but it cannot be helped, Signor Dini,” Onofrio laughed, before placing himself at the head of the long table, Maria to his left, Durant in place of honour at his right. He sat his wife at the far end of the table, with Dini and the music teacher for company. Candles cast a soft light.
Servants appeared with a first course of crayfish and fledgling birds. Longstaff had been seated beside Maria, Sparrow curled against his legs.
Onofrio told the servant to pile Durant’s plate with thick slices of venison.
“Farmed meat makes a man weak. You’d know, if you’d ever looked a cow in the eye.”
Maria turned to Longstaff. “I understand you’re the expert on guns, Herr Lammermeier.” Her dark eyes were extravagantly made up.
Longstaff smiled. Onofrio was a bastard for parading his mistress, but he knew the wisest course was to pretend he found her charming.
“I hope you weren’t disturbed by our short demonstration?”
“Not at all. Like Signor Spina, I find military matters fascinating.” Longstaff suspected her smile was as insincere as his own. Durant came to his rescue, leaning across the table.
“Signor Lammermeier fought at Marciano.”
“A hero,” drawled Maria.
Durant looked at Onofrio. “Eight thousand men died in the battle. If Il Medeghino’s men had been properly armed, he might have saved half.”
Longstaff bit his tongue.
“Half the princes in Christendom are still furious with Columbus for putting them to the trouble of changing their maps,” Onofrio snorted with laughter. “Playing their games with horse and lance, judging modern weaponry as dishonourable. There’s nothing honourable in defeat, eh, Michaelis?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Signor,” the music teacher leaned towards Longstaff. “I have discovered a quite extraordinary talent in Dorothea.”
“Good,” Longstaff smiled at the girl. He couldn’t read her expression and wished he had Durant’s way with words.
“Suhl’s a Lutheran city, is it not?” Dini’s voice was high and nasal. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it is, trading with your countrymen. They’re all obsessed with the end of the world. It will happen one day, of course, but if a nation is to prosper, businessmen must plan for its indefinite continuation, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” began Longstaff. Dini’s eyes betrayed a dangerous intelligence. Did he suspect something? This time, when Longstaff raised his glass to his lips, he did not pretend to drink.
“Martin Luther brought much pain to the people who loved him most. Dress simply, he said and put tailors and jewellers out of work. Eat meat during lent, he said and destroyed the fishing industry on your northern coast. Paternosters ruined by his thoughtlessness, candlemakers, traders in incense.”
“I apologise, Lammermeier,” Onofrio’s face was red.
Dini was unruffled. “I’m a practical man, Signor Spina. I cannot understand why you’ve invited these two gentlemen to stay. What can you possibly want with two dozen guns? You don’t even need the guards you have.”
“These muskets would make Signor Spina’s men the best equipped in the country,” interrupted Durant sharply.
“Hear that?” Onofrio leant forward on his knuckles. “The best in the country, Dini. There’s not many can make the same claim.”
“Only one, generally speaking,” replied Dini.
Durant helped himself to more meat. “It is time you put me out of my misery, Signor Spina. You promised me the story of your statue.”
“Really,” interjected Dini. “Again?”
There was hatred in Onofrio’s eyes.
“Ignore him,” Maria rested a manicured hand on his forearm. Onofrio composed himself and turned to Durant.
“I take it you’ve heard of Michelangelo?”
“Who in Europe hasn’t?”
“Just so, an international celebrity, but his approach to sculpture wasn’t always widely admired. He was often overlooked as a young man and decided to discover a classical precedent for his unique style, rather than wait for fashion.”
Durant snapped his fingers. “Laocoön. The sculpture in your garden is a copy of the younger son.”
Onofrio shook his head. “Not a copy, Signor Michaelis. A study.”
Durant burst out laughing. “You’re not suggesting Laocoön was sculpted by Michelangelo? Pliny describes it almost exactly in one of his books.”
“Quite so,” agreed Onofrio. “'A work to be preferred to all the art of painting and sculpture have produced.’ Odd, don’t you think, that we should have found one of the few classical masterpieces for which we have a detailed description, half buried in a field near Rome?” He shook his head, smiling. “My grandfather and Michelangelo were friends. He was there on the night they buried Laocoön on old Felice’s land. As thanks for his help, the artist gave my grandfather a study he’d made for the sculpture.”
Durant’s eyes went wide.
Onofrio laughed. “And it’s not for sale.”
The candles guttered; the shadows grew longer. Longstaff assumed a lopsided smile and excused himself. He walked away from the terrace, crossed the lawn to the trees on the far side, assessing the disposition of Onofrio’s guards as he unlaced his trousers. A single man made regular circuits of the house. Longstaff was more interested in the stables, where their muskets had been stored for the night. As far as he could see, the low wooden building lay unguarded. He stared up at the watchtower. There was no one in sight, no musket barrel poking over the edge, but it was impossible to be sure.
The servants were clearing plates when he stepped into the candlelight to resume his place.
“Come, come, Dorothea,” Maria was saying, “the house talks of how diligently you practise. Your teacher often boasts of your talent.”
The music teacher nodded drunkenly.
Onofrio’s young wife sat in her blue gown, pale cheeks flushed, a rash of embarrassment blooming above her bodice.
Onofrio stood. “Maria is right. You spend so many hours practising, my dear. I’d like to hear you sing.”
She lowered her eyes. “Of course. I’d be happy to sing for you.”
“Now,” continued Onofrio.
She looked at him in confusion. “In front of strangers… ”
“We’re all friends here. One song, Dorothea. I insist.”
The company followed their host, carrying drinks to the music room. Durant stayed at the table a moment longer, straightening his doublet, chair legs scraping on the flagstones as he rose, tripping Dini.
“Signor, I’m so sorry. Let me help you.”
The houseguest pushed him away, brushing spots from his
robe. Durant retrieved his glass from the flagstones. “It’s not broken. Are you sure you’re all right? Here, let me get you another. How fortunate you’re wearing black.”
Longstaff stood in a corner of the music room, beside a low table covered with sheets of printed music. The elegant markings meant nothing to him. Nor did the names: Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, Claude le Jeune, Josquin des Prez.
He caught Durant’s eye. The Frenchman nodded once as the music teacher addressed the room.
“Dorothea and I have been working on a madrigal by the great Orlande de Lassus, whose music speaks to people about their own lives.”
Dorothea took a reluctant step forward, caught between the conflicting demands of convention and her husband’s command. It was a calculated insult, demanding that she perform in front of guests, and still she managed to offer him a shy smile. Longstaff was surprised by how much he wanted her voice to be the equal of the teacher’s boasts. She started badly, striking several false notes, but then the teacher joined his voice to hers and seemed to catch her. She closed her eyes, giving herself to the melody.
Longstaff glanced at Dini, sitting in an armchair and sipping his wine.
Dorothea had a sweet voice. As the final notes faded into silence, the music teacher looked around the room in triumph.
“Very nice, I suppose,” said Maria, “though a little mannered for my taste.”
Longstaff got to his feet, out of patience with this spiteful charade. “It has been a wonderful evening, Signor Spina. Michaelis and I cannot thank you enough for treating us so generously, but it is late and we were up early this morning. Might we be permitted to retire?”