I will go to Milan with an old friend, and cause you no scandal. I will remember our Christmas with pleasure.
I found studying medicine dull. Only men could take the saving of lives and turn it into something dead. I spit on them.
If you come to Milan – well, do not expect to be my husband, or my pimp, and we will be friends.
Violetta
Swan read it six or seven times, and finally he raised his face at a startled servant girl and grinned.
‘Well, well,’ he said.
Later, he told the entire tale to Peter, who knew everything anyway, and to Antoine, who had spent four months cooking for strangers and was obviously happy to have escaped the Turks.
Peter shrugged with Dutch sangfroid.
Antoine smiled into his wine. ‘I liked her,’ he said. ‘But she was not anyone’s wife.’
Swan bowed to the truth of the statement and raised his cup. ‘To Violetta,’ he said.
The candlelight winked on Alexander’s ring.
And ten days later, Swan stood before Cardinal Bessarion, with Peter and Antoine at his shoulders. He’d been careful crossing Rome – but not too careful. He rather fancied a fight with the Orsini.
Bessarion embraced him and offered his ring for a kiss.
Swan handed the cardinal a thick packet of papers. ‘From your steward on Lesvos,’ he said.
Bessarion laughed. ‘I gather you return a Christian hero,’ he said.
‘Perhaps,’ Swan allowed. He raised a hand. ‘First – how is Di Brachio? And Giannis? And the rest – Cesare?’
The cardinal nodded. ‘Di Brachio is still recovering. He had more than a month with the fever. Messire Cesare is at the Curia even now. Giannis and his wife no longer live here, but remain in my employ.’ The cardinal reached across his desk and squeezed Swan’s hand. ‘By God, sir, it is good to have you back. I have a letter from the master of the order praising your work – and your courage.’ Bessarion raised an eyebrow. ‘I have a meeting in five minutes – tell me quickly and then take some weeks and write a full report. Did you catch the spy?’
Swan thought of Drappierro. And he thought of Prince Dorino, and his three traitors.
‘No,’ he said.
Bessarion shrugged. ‘It was a long shot at best.’ He rang the bell on his desk and rose. ‘You have a star from heaven on your finger.’
Swan drew it off and handed it to the cardinal. ‘I’m told it was the signet ring of the great Alexander.’
Bessarion slipped it on his finger. ‘We’ll dicker later. As usual, you have exceeded my expectations. Go and sin with your friends, and I’ll see you when I can make time for a cup of wine. Go – go – I don’t want the Pope’s French secretary to even know you exist.’
Swan slipped out the private door into the servants' corridor, and was enfolded in a deep embrace.
He looked into Di Brachio’s eyes. They were slightly too bright, as if fever had marked him – but he had weight on, and some muscles, and looked a little more alive than the last time Swan had seen him.
Alessandro grinned. ‘You English – everything loud, eh? Could you not have saved Chios quietly?’ He embraced the Englishman again.
Swan grinned back. ‘I missed you – and Giannis and Cesare – every day. I was … way over my head.’
‘Ah!’ Di Brachio said. ‘Welcome to the profession.’
And that night, they sat in a small, quiet inn north of the forum – all seven of them. Giovanni Acudi was brilliant in scarlet robes, and De Brescia looked more prosperous then Swan had ever seen him. Giannis and his new wife Irene sat hand in hand, almost uninterested in the others, and Peter sat with Di Brachio. The cardinal’s other Greeks were on a mission. It was not discussed.
He heard that De Brescia had been all the way to the Germanies and back, and that Acudi was trying a case against the Orsini and had to be protected by Giannis and thirty men. They drank, and drank, and went to vespers and returned and drank more.
‘What were you doing in Germany?’ Swan asked De Brescia, who laughed.
‘What indeed?’ the man answered. ‘I went to great conference – almost a parliament. Every ruler in Europe sent their representatives. They met to discuss a crusade, and I believe that I have never seen so many nobly born fools posture so ineptly. The Emperor sponsored the conference – although he does not want a crusade – and the English and French helped pay for it – although they hate each other worse than twenty Turks.’ He shrugged. ‘I was bribed every day.’ He snorted.
Giannis leaned forward. ‘Despite which, the Hungarians and the Germans may put something together.’ He put a finger to the side of his nose. ‘Do you know who this man is, called Hunyadi?’
Di Brachio smiled. ‘Fancy a visit to Romania?’ he asked, and everyone laughed except Peter and Swan, neither of whom understood.
Acudi drew on the table in wine. ‘Mehmet is going to try to take all the rest of the Empire,’ he said. ‘He has four armies preparing.’
‘And the Crusaders and their legate will rally to the Hungarians at Belgrade,’ Di Brachio said.
Swan shook his head. ‘I have a report to write,’ he said. But he laughed. And before the evening ended, they all drank to it.
‘To Belgrade!’ they all shouted.
Also By Christian Cameron
Tom Swan and the Head of St George
Volume One: Castillon
Volume Two: Venice
Volume Three: Constantinople
Volume Four: Rome
Volume Five: Rhodes
The Tyrant Series
Tyrant
Tyrant: Storm of Arrows
Tyrant: Funeral Games
Tyrant: King of the Bosporus
Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities
The Killer of Men Series
Killer of Men
Marathon
Poseidon’s Spear
Other Novels
Washington and Caesar
God of War
No money. No birthright. No mercy.
Meet William Gold …
Read CHRISTIAN CAMERON’S new novel set in the Hundred Years War
Out in hardback and ebook August 2013
Copyright
An Orion eBook
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Orion Books
This eBook first published in 2013 by Orion Books
Copyright © Christian Cameron 2013
The moral right of Christian Cameron to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978 1 4091 4562 2
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