by Dave Duncan
“Spare us the jackdaw chatter,” Sartaq growled. “I require that he do homage for the throne of England, whether it is the throne matrimonial or not. And he will do homage as suzerain also.”
“That requires no change in the marriage contract,” Hamish said. “Sir Toby, you have no objections?”
“Hmm?” Longdirk seemed to focus one eye at a time, like a bird. “Objections? No objections.”
Sartaq muttered something under his breath. “Aunt, it seems that we shall have to concede.”
“I don’t suppose,” Blanche squeaked, going shrill as she always did at moments of stress, “that anyone could think of asking my daughter’s opinion in this matter?”
“Ah, your quaint western customs,” Sartaq said. “Very well. Cousin?”
Lisa looked in despair to Hamish.
Hamish had started back to the table. He glanced around briefly—and nodded to her, very urgently: Say yes! Then he turned his head again quickly, and continued as if that had never happened.
“Your High …” She stammered, unsure of what she had seen, unable to believe he would betray her now.
Again he glanced around and signaled, Yes! Say yes!
Was no one true to her? She heard her own voice respond. “I shall be obedient to Your Highness’s wishes.”
Sartaq shrugged. “Very well. Let us set the date and—”
“We have the marriage contract here,” Hamish said. “The notary has advised us that the betrothal may be waived.”
“Time is short, Your Highness,” boomed the big Abonio man. “Sir Toby will have to lead his troops north in a day or two at the latest. Naturally he is impatient, yes? Seeing the bride, can any of us blame him?” The other men guffawed crudely.
This was obscene! Betrothed and married in ten minutes? Lisa wanted to scream a protest, but Hamish had taken up position behind his little table again and was definitely signaling to her. Beside the single candlestick stood an inkwell with a quill in it.
“If I am to be married at a gallop, then by all means let us get it over with!” Lisa declared, and swept across the floor to Hamish. She hoped he would explain.
His eyes gleamed inhumanly bright, reflecting the dancing flame. On the table, between candle and inkwell lay several pages of vellum covered in minute, cramped, handwriting. “If Your Majesty would just sign here. And here … Don’t say a word,” he added in a whisper, not moving his lips. “Trust me.”
Tears made the vellum swim into a blur. Trust him? What was he going to do—abduct her from her husband’s bed in the nick of time?
“Sign here!” Hamish insisted.
Lisa took up the quill and signed her name. Twice, three times. A tear splashed on the vellum.
“Now, Your Highness,” he said loudly, “as de jure guardian, and the bride’s mother as—Oops!” Clumsy Hamish had knocked over the candlestick. He stamped on it before it could damage the priceless Cathay rag. “Sign, er, here, Your Highness …”
So the contract was signed—Lisa and Longdirk, the prince and her mother, Guilo and Hamish as witnesses.
“The Magnificent Guilo,” Hamish announced loudly, “has most generously provided a wedding breakfast—if Your Honors would come this way.”
Longdirk offered Lisa his arm to walk half the length of the room. The prince and Blanche and the mercenaries trailed after.
“You smiled at your last wedding,” her husband said. He had been riding and fighting all day in the hot Tuscan sun. Horse and man and gunpowder and worse. How very romantic!
“I liked my last bridegroom.”
“He had money, but he was very small.”
“You have none and are far too big.”
“I think we are in for a very interesting married life.”
“I don’t.”
They reached the table the servants had spread, and the grinning guests hastily lined up to congratulate the happy couple. There were no chairs or stools. This was to be a wedding feast on the hoof. Legal rape was what this was, and yet Hamish had told her to submit, to acquiesce. Had she misjudged even Hamish? Had he betrayed her to trick her into marriage with his longtime friend?
Yesterday the banquet and then, whoops! the groom just died, wait a minute, here’s another, carry on where we left off …
Longdirk offered her a goblet of wine. She noticed again that he was almost out on his feet. Whatever else her wedding night might offer, romance was not on the playbill.
54
The wedding feast lasted seven or eight minutes, while the mercenary leaders bowed to her, offered leering congratulations, and thumped her husband on the back. And made crass remarks.
Such as: “Are you sure you’re capable of this tonight, Big One?”
Longdirk responded vaguely: “Capable of what?” or “I’m told it isn’t difficult.”
She was very hungry and managed to snatch a mouthful or two before she found herself on her husband’s arm being escorted out of the hall by all the guests, carrying lanterns. Hamish was leading the way. Hamish, Hamish! Had she misjudged Hamish? What had he meant by those cryptic words and mysterious glances … ?
“Magnificent Guilo,” Longdirk mumbled, “been kind, enough, put a room at our, our, er … Sorry. Not usual sparkling self.”
The wedding ended, she recalled, when the bride and groom withdrew behind closed doors.
“I am curious,” she said. “Did you murder my last bridegroom?”
“Hope not. Couldn’t have pulled off the fraud without him.”
“Another thing I always like to know about my husbands. Are you possessed by a demon?”
They walked up ten or twelve steps before he answered. “Two days ago would have said no.”
“That’s not quite the comfort I was hoping for. Now you say yes?”
“Now not quite so sure.” He stumbled and recovered.
“When did you last sleep?”
“Don’ ’member. Weeks.”
“Well, you can have a nice, long, quiet night tonight.”
At the end of a corridor she had not visited before, Hamish opened a door. There was a very large four-poster bed in it, a table with some refreshments, chairs and chests, another door leading perhaps to a dressing room. There was more crude humor. The door closed. There was silence. She had been left with one candle and one useless husband. She slid the bolt.
Longdirk walked across to the bed and laid a shoulder against the nearest post. He leaned, arms dangling limply, and the whole great bed creaked in alarm.
“Demons!” he muttered. “I … have … never … so tired. In my life.”
Lisa fought for a grip on her temper. This was her second marriage in two days. Her first husband had been murdered in front of her eyes, her second was a physical wreck, and she was chained for the rest of her days to a lowborn bastard serf she despised and detested.
She had done nothing to deserve this!
“I am not going to undress you. You stink. Take your boots off and lie down. And stay away from me until you’re respectable.”
He peered around the post at her, struggling to make his eyes focus. “You compre … comp … un’ershtand … have just witnessed one of the great sleight of hands of all times?”
Carrying the candle, Lisa went across to inspect the other room. There was nothing in it whatsoever, just bare floor. She came back out again and closed the door. Longdirk was still on his feet, but barely so, propped up by the bed.
“’S Hamish,” he mumbled. “Mashermind the whole think.”
“If you’re not going to go to bed, will you please turn your back while I undress? I am not accustomed to an audience.”
“Should hope … hope not. Have to keep secret. ’S part of the deal, understand? Not even your mother.”
No, she did not understand. He did not smell of wine—everything else but not wine—so he must be just stupefied by fatigue. If she blew out the candle, he might fall down and go to sleep on the floor. She was tired. She wanted to sleep, and if
she had to be married, then she would rather deal with the implications tomorrow.
Now he had twisted farther round, wrapped on the post like a gigantic vine, and he was peering blearily at the outer door. “Who lockit?”
“What?”
“’Snot right!” the new suzerain announced. He pointed a finger.
The bolt slid aside.
Lisa choked back a scream. Gramarye!
“’S betterer!” he announced, and yawned ferociously. “Can’t wait,” he mumbled. “Congratulations, Queenie. Wish you ever’ happiness.” He straightened up with a huge effort and staggered over to the other door.
“That doesn’t go anywhere,” she said.
Ignoring her, he went in and closed it behind him.
She waited for him to emerge.
The outer door clicked shut, making her spin around.
“Hamish!”
He slid the bolt again, laid down his lantern, crossed the room, gathered her into his arms, and choked off her protests by putting her mouth to other uses. Her ribs creaked in his embrace, her back would break, his body was hard against hers; it was like being roped to a tree trunk. The world spun madly. Lips and tongues. She pawed at the back of his head as if to make him kiss harder yet.
“Married!” she muttered when he let her speak. “Mustn’t! I’m a married woman. Must not! Oh, Hamish, Hamish!” If he let go, she would fall in a heap. If he didn’t, she would weep in his arms.
He pulled his head back so they were nose-to-nose instead of mouth-to-mouth. “You didn’t look!” he said in delight.
“Look at what?”
He was too close to see properly, but why was he grinning like that? “Look at what you were signing, you muffin! I didn’t knock over the candle until… You didn’t look, did you?”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” she shouted. “Why are you laughing? My husband’s in there, and he’ll be out again in a—”
“No, he won’t. No, he isn’t.”
He kissed her again, even longer. She melted. He squeezed harder. She melted more. Oh, Hamish!
“Oh, Hamish!”
“Toby doesn’t need a bed. He always sleeps on the floor. And he’s not your husband anyway. You didn’t read the contract, you silly duckling. You didn’t watch who signed where!”
She was trying to kiss him again, but he turned his face away until the importance of what he had said sank in.
“Urk?”
“… except in public. You must not tell anyone, ever, promise? It won’t be easy. He needs your public persona, but he can’t marry you, Lisa, because the hob, his demon … Well, he can’t.” Apparently Hamish meant this, for his face was all earnest angles and sharp planes.
“He only wants me so he can claim to be King of England!”
Hamish snorted, still holding her so tight she could barely breathe. “That’s what I meant.”
“Isn’t that using me, politically? What you said he never would do?”
“You want to be my wife or not?”
“Yes, but—”
When he released her mouth the next time, she mumbled, “Will Longdirk make obeisance to the prince tomorrow?”
“I doubt it. If he does, he won’t mean it. He’s going to pack Sartaq off back to Sarois very promptly. He’s been useful, but we don’t need him anymore.”
“So I’m not the only one he uses? And you?” She refused another kiss, struggling to see Hamish’s eyes when he answered.
“Yes, me. He used me, too. But he offers fair payment. You made Toby King of England tonight, darling, but he’s going to make you Queen of Europe before winter. When you have children, make sure they look like you.”
“What?” That was too much too soon. “Queen of Europe? But … But … Who did I marry tonight?”
“I’ll show you who!”
With an unexpected move, Hamish tumbled them onto the bed together.
Reality Check
There has never be anything quite like Renaissance Italy, and nothing I could make up would ever match it. Until now this series has admitted no historical characters later than 1241, but alert readers may have noticed a couple of notable Florentines managed to get themselves mentioned. They would both have been around town at the time, two stars in a galaxy of geniuses.
Longdirk’s world is lagging a little behind ours. Mobile cannon were introduced into Italy by Charles VIII of France in 1494. Improvements in firearms soon made armored knights obsolete. The age of the great condottieri, which had begun with the (largely English) White Company in the mid-fourteenth century, ended with the death of Giovanni of the Black Bands in 1526.
In 1527 Florence drove out the Medici family for the third time. This was a serious error, because Pope Clement VII was a Medici, and he arranged for the Spanish army to bring the rebellious city to heel. The siege began in 1528 and lasted a year before starvation forced Florence to surrender. The man who extended the walls to enclose the hill of San Miniato was an engineer named Michelangelo Buonarroti; he also dabbled in sculpture, painting, architecture, and poetry.
Pietro Marradi is loosely based on Lorenzo de’ Medici (who was not distinguished as Lorenzo the Magnificent until long after his death in 1492). Lucrezia is based not on Lucrezia Borgia, but on her public image. Personally I do not believe she had any part in the numerous poisonings attributed to her brother Cesare and their father Pope Alexander VI, nor that she bore an illegitimate child by either of them. Her daddy, however … They just don’t make popes like him anymore.
Time Line
1241-44:
Ogedai Khan’s Mongols overran Western Europe, incorporating it into the Khanate of the Golden Horde.
1246:
England conquered.
1500:
England’s King Edwin II was at war with France. The Scots rose in revolt under Malcolm V and were brutally defeated at Leethoul. Malcolm died with two of his three sons. So also did Kenneth Campbell, Laird of Fillan. Typical of Edwin’s savage vengeance (known as the Taming) was the abuse of six local women by the garrison imposed on Lochy Castle in Strath Fillan.
1501:
(7 Sept) Meg Campbell died giving birth to Toby Strangerson.
1510:
Edwin died. His successor, Nevil, dabbling in gramarye, became possessed by the demon Rhym, and his own soul was immured in a gemstone. His mistress and fellow hexer, Valda, fled the country. So did Queen Blanche and her baby daughter.
1511:
France attacked England’s Continental possessions. Rhym (still known to the world as Nevil) won the war and was crowned King of France. The Scots rose in revolt and were trounced at the battle of Norford Bridge. King Fergan was captured, exhibited in a cage, and carried off to captivity in London. A puppet governor was installed, Eric MacLachlan. Nevil set out to conquer the rest of Europe.
1519:
Demon Sword. Lady Valda came seeking a body to hold the soul of Nevil, but was destroyed by her own demons. Toby was possessed by the Fillan hob. Narrowly escaping capture by Baron Oreste, one of Nevil’s hexers, he sailed off with his friend Hamish Campbell and adopted the name of Longdirk. They were shipwrecked in Brittany by the hob’s mischief.
1520-21:
Oreste pursued Longdirk and Hamish, narrowly missing them several times. The fugitives gained varied on-the-job experience in numerous occupations, being conscripted on separate occasions into armies on both sides in the continuing war. While members of the smuggler band led by Arnaud Villars, they escaped from Nevil-controlled Aquitaine across the border into Navarre.
1522:
In the village of Mezquiriz in Navarre, Longdirk’s first romance ended in disaster. Nevil—now widely known as the Fiend— invaded Aragon and Navarre. Longdirk and Hamish fled south, but the rebel army followed, laying waste. When it laid siege to Toledo itself King Pedro of Castile agreed to humiliating terms. Nevil himself departed from Spain, leaving Oreste as his viceroy in Aragon. Seeking to escape to the north, Longdirk had doubled back
and fell into Oreste’s clutches at Montserrat, near Barcelona. Demon Rider. In the tall, Longdirk sailed to Genoa and there founded the Don Ramon Company.
1523:
The Company fought for (in turn) Verona and Ravenna in city squabbles.
1524:
The Company fought for Naples and Milan. Thinking Italy would be an easy conquest, Nevil sent an army under Varnius Schweitzer over the Alps. Longdirk was elected commander of the defenders’ forces and won a resounding victory in the Battle of Trent, Nevil’s first defeat.
1525:
Queen Blanche, a fugitive since 1510, fled from Savoy to Italy, landing in Pisa and proceeding to Siena to seek shelter with local royalists. While all Italy braced for the inevitable arrival of the Fiend himself, Longdirk negotiated a condotta putting the Don Ramon Company at the service of the Republic of Florence. Demon Knight.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.