She chewed her lip for a moment. He despised himself as a bully, but he could see no kindness in lying to her. Her only hope of survival was to face the brutal realities of her situation. By coming to Italy, she had left herself without a back door to use when her husband came in the front.
"I require at least two maids, separate sleeping chambers for Lisa and myself — with some decent furniture — a wardrobe of suitable garments, and a personal steward. The use of a carriage, postilion, and footmen two or three times a week. This is an absolute minimum. Anything less is a flagrant insult to my rank and person."
To laugh would be unkind. To ask her how Nevil would treat her if he caught her would be sadistic. She was a tired and very frightened woman.
"I shall see what can be arranged, ma'am. I had no warning of your arrival. Sister Bona—"
"Has children! Cohabits with a friar!"
"Can keep her mouth shut."
They traded glares.
Queen Blanche looked away first. "Very well. Sister Bona?"
"Will assist you, ma'am. I shall have our treasurer allocate funds for your maintenance. I do believe you are as safe here as you can be anywhere in Italy. Chancellor Campbell is currently—"
"Is it true," she inquired in a markedly different tone, "that he is a younger son of the Earl of Argyll?"
Toby wanted to shy like Smeòrach meeting a thrush, but he managed to keep his feet on the ground. Whose invention was this? He hoped it was Lisa's. Doubtless Hamish plied many wiles and stratagems on the battlefield of love, but no man should stoop as low as that.
"Ma'am, please! I told you that secrets are never safe in this country — every leaf whispers to the wind. If the Fiend were to hear that a son of the earl were fighting against him, then his entire family would suffer for it, and perhaps the entire Clan Campbell also."
"Ah, of course!" The countess nodded, apparently convinced. "He is a remarkable young man, isn't he?"
"He is indeed," Toby said with confidence. Was she unusually gullible, or was he gaining some skill at lying? He had not actually lied, of course, merely stated an irrelevant truth.
Evidently it was to be peace for now. She managed a shaky smile. "I admit I am impressed by some of your associates, Sir Tobias. Lisa tells me Baron Oreste is one of them, my old friend."
"He played a major role in your rescue, ma'am, but he has not yet returned from—"
"There he is!" roared the don, striding in through the gate with a dozen men at his heels.
Toby summed them up in a glance. Three of them were the don's personal squires, who would do anything he told them. Four were senior knights, squadrieri in the cavalry — Baldassare Barrafranca and D'Anjou and a couple of other troublemakers — and they, too, had brought minions to handle dirty work. Conspicuous among the supporting cast was the toothless leer of Ippolito Varano, the Company hangman, a cold-blooded horror who had not yet had the pleasure of hanging any of its members but had flogged a few. He and some others were carrying ropes. They spread out as if to come at Toby from both sides, but by that time, Constable Longdirk had his back to a brick wall, a stool in his left hand, and his sword in his right. Everyone stopped to evaluate the situation.
"Good morning, Your Excellencies," he said. "I do not recall summoning you."
The don's eyes had been crazy enough even before that remark. "You do not summon me, peasant!"
"That is true, signore. Your companions I can summon, though, and I can also dismiss. Leave us, gentlemen."
That was not strictly true, but although Toby had no real rank, he had considerable standing, and the rest of the Company would create a substantial fracas if the don and his toadies dragged him out to the gallows or whipping post. They would rather do whatever they intended here in the courtyard. He did not intend to be hanged this morning.
The countess rose from her grand chair and walked away, sensible lady. She was doubtless reconsidering her favorable opinion of Signor Longdirk's associates. No one spared her a glance.
"Bind him!" the don roared. "A hundred lashes!" That he was crazy had always been obvious, but until now he had tempered his delusions enough to let reality work around them.
"The first and second men to touch me die," Toby said, and was relieved when no one moved. His sword was two-edged, long as any rapier, and wrought of good Toledo steel, but he was no greased-lightning foils man like Hamish, who might be able to restrict his defense to inflicting minor wounds. He was a slugger and would kill with it. They knew that. "I remind you that we are all bound by the terms of engagement, and any man who breaks them must answer to the whole Company. Only a properly convened court can order me or anyone else flogged. Now, Signor Ramon, will you kindly reveal what has provoked your anger?"
"You deceived me!"
"Never, signore."
"Where is the hexer? Where is Oreste?"
Try to look surprised, dummy…
"I do not recall discussing the maestro with you in the last week, so how can I have lied about him? Last night he went to Siena. So far as I know he is still there." Not quite a lie.
"He died there!"
Now try to look disbelieving. He hoped Hamish had not strayed from the agreed story, or he might be about to save his own neck at the cost of putting Hamish's in the noose. "Sad news, if true! Who says so, senor?"
"All Florence knows!"
Not Hamish's doing, then. Toby threw down the stool and sheathed his sword. He felt the wind change as he did so — men shuffled feet and exchanged glances. "Florence is a stew pot of rumors, senor, always. If Maestro Fischart died in Siena last night, how could the news possibly have reached here already? I shall be happy to discuss the matter further with you in private. Kindly dismiss your escort."
Don Ramon turned on his heel. The crowd opened to let him through, then slunk after him. The confrontation was over, but not the trouble. His wretched Castilian pride had suffered, and he was quite clever enough to guess that he was being kept in the dark. It was fortunate that nobility could not duel with the lowborn, else he would certainly call Longdirk out and fill him full of holes. For the first time in Toby's experience, the don had lost his temper and made a fool of himself. There was nothing to be done about it now.
Word of the quarrel would be all over Florence within the hour.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was all over the camp in much less time than that, of course. Toby sent for Colin McPhail, who was taciturn and surly and had more brains in his elbow than most men had in their heads, and ordered him to ride like the wind into Florence to find Hamish and warn him of the problem. Then he summoned Diaz and Arnaud for that delayed discussion of the ledgers.
The three of them were still chewing their nails over the account books when the don came striding back into the courtyard. They sprang to their feet, as was expected of them.
"Constable!" The crazy blue eyes sparkled too brightly, but there was no frenzy in them now and no armed mob at his back. Evidently he had adjusted reality to fit his needs. "Rumors are going around Florence that the baron was slain in some sort of spiritual duel in Siena last night."
Diaz and Arnaud must have heard of the morning's argument, for they went very still, looking nowhere.
Toby frowned. "That is bad news. Hamish was worried about him."
The don bared his teeth but held on to his temper. "He did not mention anything to me."
"I ordered him to be discreet. He may have construed my instructions too rigidly. You understand that he returned here yesterday? With his customary efficiency, he had located the abode of the sordid Gonzaga in Siena. When Maestro Fischart heard of this, he decided to go and neutralize the hexer before he achieved his nefarious ends, whatever they might be. Hamish agreed to return to Siena, show the learned adept the house, then come back here. In the instant before he left Siena, he saw a brilliant flash and heard a dreadful sound. He was not sure what this portended. Hence my command that he make no comment until we had confirmation of events."