Hamish was not going to miss the wedding. This would be his last chance ever to speak to Lisa, probably his last chance ever to see her. The Fiend and all his horrors were not going to stop that.
"You'd better catch some sleep," he said. "You look as if you haven't shut your eyes in days. You're out on your feet."
Toby shrugged. "I'll sleep some other year. Food and then duty — but if nothing goes horribly wrong, I'll come to the wedding, I promise."
After they had eaten, they went their separate ways.
Just before noon, the Fiend's army came to Florence with bugles and drumbeats, dust and glitter, men and horses streaming down from the hills. Fiesole was burning, and the city gates had been closed. Another column of dust to the west showed where the army from Lucca was hastening up the Arno to join in the siege. The mood in the streets was one of shock and denial. No one had expected this, or not so soon. Even Hamish, who had been privy to all the intelligence reports, had trouble believing that it was really happening.
When he went back to the inn to change, he found Toby there already, having another shave. If he opened his eyes wide he would bleed to death, but apparently he intended to keep his promise.
What could be more reassuring to the citizens than seeing their betters whooping up a celebration and ignoring the nonsense outside the walls?
Nothing provoked Italians to ostentation like a wedding. Weddings were political and had very little to do with love or procreation. A marriage was a treaty with an exchange of hostages, and the two families involved were honor-bound to squander money to insanity. In this case the bride's family had no money at all, so the groom's must spend enough for both. Thus it was that, while Nevil's armies gathered like hyenas around Florence, inside the walls the inhabitants held carnival, gala, fiesta, and revelry. Bands played in the piazzas, floats displaying classical themes were dragged through the streets, wine flowed from fountains. The crowds outside the Marradi Palace were being regaled with free wine, food, and music — small wonder they cheered themselves hoarse when condottiere Longdirk arrived in his carriage. They would have cheered the Fiend himself.
Within the grim-faced block, Hamish found a less exuberant mood. Oh, the bunting and decorations were breathtaking, the women's gowns astounding, their jewels celestial, and the orchestra Elysian. No conceivable extravagance had been overlooked. Each guest on entering was presented with a medallion displaying the Marradi arms impaled with the lion rampant of England, all set in gems. Other rich gifts would undoubtedly be distributed several times during the course of the celebration, and the meal would include twenty or more courses, each with its own wine. A hundred artists had labored on grotesque conceits around the courtyard, heraldic animals and mythological beasts taller than a man.
All the same, the attendance was small, perhaps forty, and most of the revelers were the innermost of the innermost circle, the Marradi family en masse. They knew that all was not well. They were going to deny it for a few hours, but they must know that the next party they attended might be hosted by the Fiend, who had gruesome ways of entertaining important captives. Their jollity had a brittle ring to it.
Lisa? Hamish peered anxiously around the courtyard, but there was as yet no sign of the bride or her mother.
The Magnificent welcomed each arriving guest with smiles and laughter, and for once he was dressed as a dandy in multicolored splendor. Give him his due, he did not look forty. That did not mean he looked young enough to marry Lisa. He greeted Toby as "comandante," then smiled as if that had been a slip of the tongue. "We are especially overjoyed by your noble presence, for it confirms that you have already taken all the steps necessary to secure the safety of the city."
Toby's Italian still made the natives wince, but it no longer reduced them to tears. "I left everyone enough work to keep them busy for an hour or two, Your Magnificence. You will excuse my rudeness if duty calls me away before the end of the festivities?"
Sartaq was close to upstaging Marradi, garbed like a peacock and chattering in urgent Italian, hands swooping like summer swallows. His mustache had disappeared some weeks ago, so only his eyes and the color of his skin seemed in any way alien. Judging by the pride of lionesses around him, he was still making husbands nervous.
And Lucrezia of course. She triumphed over her years and, in the absence of Lisa, was a clear first in the courtyard for beauty. Toby bowed low to kiss her fingers. She did not wait to acknowledge Hamish at his side before flashing her spite like a rapier.
"Welcome, Sir Tobias. It is kind of you to put aside your personal sorrows and join our celebration."
Toby's puzzled expression made him seem close to half-witted. "Sorrows, madonna? My only sorrow is that it is so long since I have had the pleasure of looking upon your glorious self."
The funny thing was that the great lummox genuinely thought he didn't know how to handle women. Most of them fell on their knees as he went by, and he could knock the rest over with a smile.
Lucrezia was not quite so easy, though. She smiled disbelievingly. "I confess that the lady still speaks of you often, but I'm sure she will grow out of that once she has a husband to comfort her."
Hamish quelled a murderous impulse. Toby just smiled blandly.
"Not even a rightful-born queen could ask for a nobler husband than your magnificent brother, duchessa." His eyes were innocent as owls'.
A puzzled frown disturbed the baby smoothness of Lucrezia's brow. "And you must just learn to live with a broken heart!"
"You shattered it the first day we met, madonna."
Then it happened. A trumpet brayed. Sartaq, having left the courtyard unseen, made a grand return entrance, escorting Lisa and her mother. By cruel chance, the door they used was right where Lucrezia and the two mercenaries were standing and partially blocked by an enormous phoenix of fabric and paper. Lisa came around the beast and face-to-face with Hamish. She halted so suddenly that the prince stumbled and her mother almost ran into her.
He dreamed of her every night and thought of her from dawn till dusk. He knew every eyelash, the two tiny moles by her lips, the little fleck of silver in her right eye, and yet in a month he had forgotten how beautiful she was. In her wedding gown she was unbelievably, epically gorgeous. The famous Marradi rubies burned at her throat like arterial blood.
They stared at each other for an age, a blink, a thousand years, a trice.
"Oh, madonna!" he said. "Will you topple the towers of Troy again?"
"Master Campbell…" Then she was walking on with the prince and her mother, and the moment had ended.
As Hamish returned to reality he realized that the Duchess of Ferrara was staring at him with a look that made his whole body cringe. "You?" she said, and the flames in her regard might be disbelief or incipient murder or both.
Toby was laughing! "Of course him! You didn't think she hankered after me, did you, monna? Great clumsy me?"
No! Hamish thought. No, Toby! Whatever you do, don't ever laugh at Lucrezia Marradi! Better to poke your finger in a lion's eye.
But the damage, whatever it might be, was already done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Toby was seated between young Guilo Marradi and one of the token English guests, Sir John Whitemouth, who had been knighted on the field of Rioz by Lisa's great-grandfather. He was certainly the deafest man north of Sicily, and his conversational skills were further restricted by a total lack of teeth. Hamish was at the far end of the long table, while Sartaq held place of honor in the center. The bridegroom had a chair at the ladies' table, with his back to the men's.