“Warfare? This is not warfare; it is simply sophisticated raiding. They are highly evolved bandits, no more.”
“So it might appear to us, who associate war with serried ranks and massed musketry. But, as chaotic as their ‘small unit tactics’ might seem, they are informed by an even more complicated military science than that which underlies our tercios. There is extraordinary order and planning behind the seemingly frenetic activity of their operations.”
Borja emitted an unconvinced harrumpf. “Skilled or no, I hear you have some trophies to show me.”
Dolor nodded and crooked a finger at the tall doors, which were slightly ajar. The doors opened fully in response to Dolor’s gesture, and Dakis led two of his largest men into the room. The pair of them were burdened with heavy canvas sacks.
Borja’s eyes were bright again. “Show me,” he commanded.
At a nod from Dolor, they lifted the heads out of the bags one at a time. Ferrigno, scribbling down the record of this meeting, made a faint retching noise.
Dolor pointed. “This is the one named Gerd; we do not have a last name for him. He was apparently the member of the Wrecking Crew who emplaced the explosive charge to breach the roof, as well as set a diversionary fire. This next one is the female operative named Juliet Sutherland.”
“She is most disfigured.”
“She was ridden under by our cavalry.”
“She deserved no less. And the very young one?”
“He is a lefferto. One of the many we killed. But his death is particularly significant.”
“And why is that?”
“Because, if the lefferti we captured are correct, this lefferto ’s name is Fabrizio Marcoli.”
Borja waited. “So?”
Quite a mind for details, red hat. “Marcoli is Giovanna Stone’s maiden name; this is her brother.”
Borja’s eyes positively sparkled; his smile was wide, ravenous. “This is the most delicious sign of divine justice, yet. Go on; show me the last one.”
Dolor complied. “This last head is evidently that of an Irish mercenary, working for the up-timers.” Dolor watched Borja closely for his reaction.
There wasn’t much to see. “Irish? Working for the up-timers? Although I suppose anything is possible with such uncivilized sell-swords, it seems odd.”
It is indeed odd, you buffoon, thought Dolor, glad for Borja’s lack of perspicacity. And because you show no greater interest in his head, I will be able to leave the greater mystery attached to this fellow unremarked-for now. Which was not the course that Dakis had wanted to take in the matter of the Irish corpses: not at all.
When they first walked among the bodies marking the site of the see-saw battle for control of the Palazzo Giacomo’s courtyard, Dakis spied the different armor, swords, and unusual pistols found upon three of the enemy dead. Their cuirasses and sabers bore signs of Spanish manufacture, but not in the local style; it was more akin to the fashion employed by the armorers who equipped the tercios in the Low Countries. And although the revolvers were not up-time devices, they were clearly up-time inspired. Were these three fellows-who looked anything but Spanish-mercenaries, or was the relationship something else, Dolor wondered. However, it was when they finally extricated the third fellow, the one who had been trapped beneath the horse, that Pedro Dolor’s perceptions altered-and he saw, with strange certainty, how this corpse would change his life.
This corpse was the key he had been waiting for, the tool of vengeance that fate always provides to those who are only patient enough. This man’s armor was chased with designs, his clothes of unusually good quality, and his sword set with several jewels. He wore a fine tartan sash with a coat of arms, prominently featuring a red hand, raised as if to command the beholder to halt. Dolor frowned; where had he seen this symbol? He tried every memory trick he knew to tease the connection up out of the gray void of uncertainty, but the answer would not come to him as he stood over the bullet-riddled corpse.
“What have we here?” Dakis wondered as he came to stand alongside his commander.
“A great prize, Dakis. Check his right hand.”
“For what?”
“A signet ring.”
Dakis did, looked up surprised. “There is one. Shall I-?”
“No. Leave it just as is. We will need to preserve this body-or at least the head and hands-as best we may.”
Dakis stood. “Why? Does Borja have some particular interest in this-?”
“Borja is not to learn anything about this body, other than that we found it with the other two who were similarly equipped. But he is to be told nothing of how this body’s equipment and accoutrements differed from the others’.”
Dakis blinked. “Is that wise, Pedro?”
“It is essential, Dakis. Now, make quiet inquiries among the wounded lefferti; promise them clemency if they speak true and quickly as to the origin of these men. I need to know if they are Scottish or Irish.”
“Does it really matter, Pedro?”
“It most certainly does, Dakis; it most certainly does.”
Dolor forced himself to forget those first twilit moments when he realized that the bullet-ridden corpse might provide him with the political leverage he had long sought, might put his greatest ambition within his grasp. Standing before Borja now, he had to continue before the cardinal noticed any distraction in his demeanor. “There were two more of these Irishmen, Your Eminence. Do you wish to inspect either of the other bodies? Also, there are many lefferti and no small number of common townsfolk who were-”
“No, I have seen enough.” The cardinal reclined like a cat after a belly-filling meal. “So, your success buys you full discretionary powers, Senor Dolor: what next?”
“Now, we move the prisoners again.”
Borja sat up; he clearly had not expected this response. “We move them again? After Lefferts’ rescue has been successfully repulsed? Surely we can now resort to normal methods of imprisonment.”
“Surely not-not here in Rome, at any rate. As this attack shows, Rome is too comfortably within the operating envelope of the USE and Grantville. And obviously, both the Jews and lefferti helped them considerably.”
“And so, they will be chastised. Strenuously.”
“If you must, you must,” commented Dolor with a shrug, “but it would be better to merely threaten the Jews with chastisement, while offering them a better option.”
“Which is?”
“Collaboration. To work for us as double agents if they are approached by the up-timers again. If you were to take a few select hostages from the major families of the Ghetto-well-treated, of course-that should serve to ensure the loyalty of the rest.”
Borja stroked his vulpine chin. “So do you really think the up-timers might be so foolish as to strike again?”
“If the prisoners remain in Rome long enough, then yes. Which means that next time, they will need to strike at you, too.”
Borja’s response was surprisingly high-pitched for a full grown man. “They would strike at me?”
“Of course, Your Eminence. The up-timers are well aware that they no longer possess the advantage of surprise, and have seen that we are on guard for their tricks. So, failing at finesse, they will resort to brute force.”
“We have many tercios to dissuade them from such action, Senor Dolor.”
“Those tercios are less of a disincentive to up-timers than to our other adversaries, Your Eminence, owing to their style of warfare. The up-timers rely on speed and small, intensely destructive units, not set-piece field engagements. However, to mount a major rescue attempt now would require them to not only destroy or paralyze our units, but to do the same to our command centers-possibly by using immensely powerful, timed bombs. With you and the generals who assist you dead, our units might remain in their barracks, waiting for orders that never come.”