‘You’ll not take him? He’s told you everything. You have the money…’
‘The money is for the goldsmith. Poggio is free to stay.’
They screeched, Poggio did a brief fantastic dance and his mother tried to seize Sigismondo’s hand to kiss it; but he was too quick for her, turning towards the door with a swirl of the cloak that nearly put the fire out and, filling the room with smoke, made his exit like that of a genie.
Outdoors, it was winter dusk and beginning to snow with more decision. Benno was tired of beating off attempts by children to raid the saddlebags, one of the most successful being a boy who leapt from a roof onto the larger horse, making it rear, however, and causing him to slide off. The saddlebags were too firmly fixed, and Benno’s cudgel effective, so the children had no luck. He was cold, and glad to see his master, whose arrival dispersed the children instantly.
‘Thought you was killing someone in there, all that noise,’ he said cheerfully as they mounted. They rode off through the dusk followed by many disappointed eyes. As Benno followed, a faint hum was borne back to him on the wind, along with a stinging flurry of snow.
Inside Benno’s clothes against his chest, replete with sausage, slumbered the small one-eared dog.
They had not seen the last of Poggio. As their horses picked their way in the twilight, and Benno reflected that riding down a steep hillside, whether in snow or not, was an occupation no man could enjoy, a sudden shrill whistle made both Sigismondo and Benno turn. At the crest of the hillside, silhouetted against the darkening sky, skipping and shrieking, was Poggio. When he saw their faces turn towards him, he pointed ahead, where the path wound among the rocks of an old landslide, and drew a hand across his throat. Benno was wondering what this meant, and had almost called to his master to know, when he saw Sigismondo draw his sword.
Poggio saw it too, and vanished from the skyline. Benno, pulling his cudgel from the strap, took breath, with a mouthful of invasive snow, and tried to feel valiant. Sigismondo had not quickened his pace but rode casually forward.
The attack came with a savage silence. Among the big shapes of the rocks, in the swirls of snow, Benno had to control his scared horse and hit backwards at the man who had landed like an incubus behind him and tried to pluck him out of the saddle. Benno had been made a groom because he had an instinct for horses, and he could ride; he pulled his mount in a tight circle and hit at the clawing attacker behind. From where Sigismondo was, Benno heard a scream, and the big horse backed into his. Sparks flew from the stones. A curtain of snow blew across, it was thick on his eyelids. Benno’s horse slipped, and went down on its haunches, then with a trampling slither recovered itself. His attacker was gone. Benno was soothing his horse, watching all round for danger, trying to see what Sigismondo did, and trying to keep hold of his cudgel that slipped in his cold hand. The little dog trembled against his chest, and wet him warmly. Sigismondo, shadowy giant through the snow, appeared and vanished, the sword descending. Benno’s horse stumbled on something and an aggrieved voice yelled, ‘Watch out then!’ Benno leant and made out the dwarf, cramming himself away, while on the ground sprawled a human shape. There was blood on the snow.
‘Benno!’
He pulled his horse round. Sigismondo was freeing his feet from the stirrups and holding the reins towards Benno, who tucked his cudgel under his arm and automatically took them. He saw Sigismondo stand on the saddle and leap to the summit of a boulder.
‘Take care of that one.’ Benno saw his master point, and made out another figure on the ground. Poggio, in a sheepskin garment that made him resemble a filthy snowball, scuttered towards it as Sigismondo was gone into the veils of snow.
They had not long to wait. Poggio, standing up by the second man whose chest now lay open to the bone, called up, ‘You were lucky with your man — you hit his knife arm first thing.’
Benno was imagining what it must be like to have a knife go into you when Sigismondo appeared down the track, looming between the rocks. He bent to see Benno’s attacker and moved on to the other man. A sound, a wordless prolonged sound of annoyance, came; then, ‘I said take care of him, not cut his throat.’
Poggio said, protesting, ‘It’s the same thing!’ and Sigismondo, coming upright and taking the reins once more, replied, ‘Oh no. A man with his throat cut can’t tell me who sent him.’
‘Weren’t they robbers?’ Benno enquired.
Sigismondo swung to the saddle. ‘Men in good clothes with well-made boots and at least one purse full of money… Had the others money?’
Poggio slapped his chest, warily.
‘So. They had money. They don’t need to rob. And they are not outdoor men; they’re city dwellers.’ He leant down towards Poggio and said, ‘We owe you thanks. What brought you here so fast and so opportunely?’
‘I’m not staying up there,’ Poggio said. ‘I came the short way, down the quarry, and I’ll guide you the rest of the road. In this light you could lose yourselves.’
‘As you will,’ Sigismondo said. ‘I told you that you were free.’
‘Take me up.’ He reached an arm, and Sigismondo bent and seemed to scoop him from the ground.
They rode off down the hillside. Benno called, ‘What about the…’ and pointed to the bodies, already blanketed in snow. No one replied.
Poggio’s voice came on the wind disjointedly: ‘If you could find me… that ring…’ Once he emerged like an unexpected birth from Sigismondo’s cloak and pointed the way.
They came through trees, the snow whispering, and down a steep open slope. Benno, rubbing his legs and putting his hands alternately into his jerkin to be warmed by the dog, rode almost on his master’s crupper to be sure of him in the fading light.
Past the moving mass ahead he saw, further down the hill, lights clustered about a fire. Dogs’ clamour came on the wind as the firelight disappeared behind a fold of snow. Sigismondo pulled up well before reaching the encampment and a trio of men came forward with a firebrand and quarterstaffs and a pike, to investigate. Before long Benno found himself sitting with a basin of indeterminate soup, painfully thawing, while someone rubbed down the horses and Sigismondo talked in a foreign language to the company.
They made much of Poggio. From their talk to him, Benno learnt that they counted the meeting lucky. They were camped here waiting for their acrobat and singer who was missing, probably with some woman in the city. They had not fancied the atmosphere in the city at all, and did not care to stay… A dwarf who could sing, act, dance and, given the right size of instrument, play a lute, interested them very much. At this point Sigismondo remarked that Poggio was on his way to an engagement at a nobleman’s house; he was a popular and sought-after entertainer. If they wanted him to stay, he was worthy of an important place. There was further talk, and drinking, and Benno and the little dog scratched themselves and shared more soup; finally, hands were struck: Poggio was to stay and travel with them, and if his act — a bravura item of which he displayed — proved all that it seemed, he would be invited to join them as a senior member.
Poggio, who had had a full day, was discovered to be asleep, and was helped to one of the carts.
At first light Sigismondo set off for the city. The snow had ceased during the night but they rode over ground of luminous pallor. The city gates had not opened yet; the Duke’s ring shown at the barred lattice got them admitted with impressed speed through the postern.
As they approached the Palace by the long, open ramp, Sigismondo remarked, ‘Those men who set upon us, Benno: someone is going to know very soon that they failed. Be on your guard.’
‘Am I as important as that?’ Benno asked.
Sigismondo hummed. ‘They’re not to know I don’t tell you anything.’