And neither was her brother! Hamish gaped in dismay as The Magnificent and his sister walked right past, heading for the don's admiring circle. So now all Florence knew that the deputy captain-general was out of favor already. Cooperation would drop from minuscule to negative. The money never would appear. Oh, demons! He looked up at Toby, but Toby's face was as inscrutable as the Alps.
"The darughachi?" his chancellor suggested, grasping for some rational explanation for this aboutface. "If the prince has indicated displeasure, then that might explain why everyone is trying to keep their distance from you."
But if Toby and the don did not carry some sacks of florins back to camp with them, the Company would riot. Milan was no longer an option — Abonio would never again let Longdirk or his chancellor cross his doorstep. Venice, perhaps? There had to be some rational explanation for this setback.
Obviously someone thought they could deflect Longdirk from his purpose, but that was never possible. Hamish had known him since he was a child, the unholy terror of the glen, goading and tormenting the schoolmaster with a cold-blooded calculation few adults would ever match. Even then he had never spoken a careless word or made a hasty move, as if he was frightened of breaking something with his enormous strength, but that had probably never been the case. The truth was just that Longdirk had an incredible ability to absorb punishment. As a bare-knuckle fighter he had been slow but indestructible, grinding his opponents down to exhaustion, and now he treated the world the same way — Hamish had realized that first in Aquitaine, the second time Toby had provoked Sergeant Mulliez into ordering him flogged. In his own eyes he had scored a victory, although at a cost that would have killed a lesser man. Now he needed Florence to aid him in his battle against the Fiend, so he would use Florence whether it liked him or not. Florence would have no choice in the matter.
"Messer Campbell!"
Marradi himself had shouted and was beckoning. Hamish scurried over to the group, registering trouble writ large on every face in it, including the don's. Marradi seemed close to an explosion.
"Your Magnificence?"
"What is this we hear about you organizing a party at Cafaggiolo?"
For a moment every word of Italian Hamish knew deserted him. He stood there with his mouth open while Latin, French, and Castilian buzzed around his head like wasps. Gaelic, Breton, English, Catalan, French again… Italian.
"But, messer… Magnificence… I was given to understand that Your Magnificence had most graciously placed his, er, your villa of Cafaggiolo at the disposal of the captain-general for three days so that—"
Obviously not.
"No?" Hamish whispered faintly, thinking of all the letters he had sent, all the hours of planning with Arnaud and Bartolo.
"I cannot imagine where you received such a notion. My honored sister has already invited some friends there for that week."
Lucrezia, Hamish observed, was staring over his shoulder — obviously at Toby, who must have followed him, for no one else was so tall — and her face bore an expression of satisfaction such as he had never seen on a woman except in the rapture of lovemaking. The sight was so startling that he again found himself at a loss for words.
It was understood that Il Volpe never raised his voice. Except now.
"Well?" he barked.
"Well?" scowled the don, wiggling his baton as if about to lash out with it. He knew invitations had been sent out in his name.
Hamish's instructions had come from Toby, and Toby had made the arrangements with Marradi himself. Or so he had said. Someone had gone crazy. Or was about to—
"There has been a misunderstanding?" he croaked.
"More a lack of communication," rumbled a deep voice behind his left ear. "It would seem that either my secretary failed to notify yours, Your Magnificence, or yours omitted to inform you of what must have seemed both utterly trivial and self-evidently already known to Your Magnificence, and that is that while we used the name of your villa when inviting certain grandees to the conclave, this was merely a blind to deceive the enemy. It was, indeed, suggested to us by your own illustrious chancellor, messer Niccolò."
After the momentary silence produced by this breathtaking falsehood, Toby continued in the same bland vein. "We are all aware that the Fiend has spies everywhere. He has been known to use demon assassins before now. We plan to meet the guests on the road and conduct them to the true rendezvous — which of course I shall not reveal here. I am confident that this will in no way interfere with the duchessa's festivities, and I deeply regret any distress this misapprehension may have caused, either to Her Grace or Your Magnificent self."
Lucrezia bared her teeth at him in an expression of lethal hatred.
Marradi was less revealing. "What guests?" He looked to the don. "The republic has hired you to defend it against its enemies, signore, not to entertain your friends at its expense. And if you are meddling in political matters, you may find yourself facing serious charges."
Hired? The don would never admit that he was a common employee, subject to restraints. While Hamish was still hoping the loggia would just collapse and kill him quickly, the don laughed.
"Magnificence, the last member of my family to meddle in politics was beheaded by the Visigoths. I instructed messer Longdirk to summon the leading military men from other cities — Venice, Naples, and so on — so that I might hear reports on their respective readiness to take part in the coming campaign. When I have had a chance to appraise the forces and ordnance they have available, I shall instruct them on what more we will require of them. Naturally I shall then inform the dieci of the situation and present my recommendations." He twirled up the points on his mustache.
By luck or his eccentric brilliance, he had struck exactly the right gong. The notion of Florence summoning the other great powers of Italy to a council rippled through the bystanders like a wave of rapture. He had bewitched them with his own vainglorious delusions.
It must have been many years since anyone so upstaged the Magnificent. Scowling, he offered his arm again to his sister and headed for the palazzo and the banquet. Hamish stared after them, stunned by the detestation he had seen on Lucrezia's face when her plot against Longdirk failed — for no one could seriously believe that she had conflicting plans for the villa. What on earth could the big man have done to provoke such hatred?
CHAPTER TWO
Lisa had decided to tackle her mother on the subject of Future Plans. She was hard put to believe that she had known Hamish for close to a month now, except when she looked at Mother. Fiesole had done wonders for the old dear. She was gaining health and spirits at an astonishing rate, visibly plumper and glowing with a good cheer Lisa could barely remember seeing in her from the days of her own childhood. She had completely recovered from the weeklong sleeping fit that beset her after she arrived. Unfortunately, in some ways. Then she had been unable to do much about chaperoning her daughter. Now she could, and no young lady wishes to be treated like an imbecilic infant. It was almost three days since Lisa had been properly kissed.
Longdirk and Hamish having ridden into Florence for a meeting, the courtyard was available. It was unquestionably the choicest place to sit and enjoy the glorious spring weather. The countess had ordered her favorite chair carried out to a shady place under the trellis where she could relax in peace while digesting a meal of unladylike heartiness. Her gown was a voluminous cloud of pale green silk, unadorned but very finely made, swathing her completely from the neck down. Her faded golden tresses — even her hair seemed to have recovered some of its former sparkle — had been coiled and pinned up, covered with a simple white bonnet. It was tragic to see a lady of her rank not adorned with pearls and gems, but she had not mourned her lost jewels in Lisa's hearing for at least two weeks.