Women! And birds, for that matter. But Sorghaghtani did have a claim on him today.
"The demons the hexers are using were loaned to me by the College. I swore a solemn oath that they would be used only to make the armies invisible while they were assembling. They are not to be used for any other purpose, not even to heal wounded. I agreed to this because I had to, but I did not tell Maestro Fischart of the terms, so he has prepared his minions to take part in the battle."
Smeòrach's hooves rang in the silence for what seemed like a long time before the owl said, "You will break your solemn oath?"
"It has been broken. I have no way to stop the hexers now, and they would not obey me if I tried. You think they would stand by and watch Nevil's demons destroy living men? Or watch men bleed to death when they can be healed? That is a greater evil."
Chabi shifted feet on his shoulder. "Does the College not know this?"
"Yes, but the cardinal who provided the demons probably did so without proper authority. His crime can remain a secret only if I limit their use as he required. But I am not going to, so he will be exposed, and important people will discover that he broke his oath."
"How does that explain the orders you gave? Why should it matter if your oath is seen to be broken now or in a little while from now?"
Before he could think of suitable words to explain about the death hex, Smeòrach trotted out into sunlight. Now they were on the hills south of the city, on the downstream side, not half a league from the Porta San Giorgio, and the cannon fire was an almost continuous rumble. As far as he could see, all the smoke was rising from the gun towers on the walls of Florence, so it was still defensive fire. Nothing showed yet on the crest of San Miniato.
The Roman contingent was small but so well supported by its own hexer auxiliaries that Villari had dared to pitch camp almost on top of the enemy. Whatever his personal faults, the abrasive captain-general was a fighting cock. He had not waited for Toby's signal. His infantry was advancing with band playing, and his cavalry was already down in among the Fiend's baggage train, silencing a ragged rattle of arquebus fire. The cats were out of the bag, and Toby could wish he was back on the dome of the sanctuary hearing the excited screams of the Florentines as their deliverance poured into view from all directions.
Or in the fight, even better.
It would be even nicer to hear what King Nevil was saying at the moment. He had arranged his whole gigantic army facing inward to assault Florence and now had the impossible problem of turning it inside out to face an attack from the rear while it was already under fire. He would not panic, but his mortal minions must be in chaos already.
The Romans had shared their camp with lesser bands from Siena and Perugia, and the lion rampant banner of Florence still fluttered over Don Ramon and his cavalry. He probably would not have restrained himself more than another few minutes, but he did not have to. The ground trembled as he brought the monstrous armored Brutus galloping across the field to meet Toby. Excitement flashed in his blue eyes as bright as dawn on his shining armor.
"Comandante! At last!" He ignored the owl.
"Senor! All is as planned, except that the guns are on wheels. If they manage to turn them on you before you get there, you will be in grave danger."
The don's brief scowl brightened. "But then when we take them, we can turn them on the Fiend!"
"I hope you do. I ordered the sortie to aid you, and it will include cannoneers. Good luck, Captain-General."
"San Miniato is yours, comandante!" Don Ramon wheeled the great warhorse and cantered back to his command.
That left only the big Neapolitan contingent two hills over. Poor Paride Mezzo had stayed home, sending word that he would be less trouble to everyone if he died in his own bed, and the king had appointed Desjardins captain-general. That pugnacious warrior would almost certainly be on his way to join the battle by now, but he should still be given the signal promised. Toby kicked Smeòrach into a canter that took him back into the Unplace.
There was a sixth force in the Allied army, but it was far away…
"Why are you laughing, Little One?"
"Did I laugh? I was remembering the Swiss contingent arriving at the conclave, that's all. I hadn't taken old Beltramo into my confidence at that point. When I told him he was not welcome, the expression on his face was most wonderful to behold!" The crusty old soldier had worked miracles to wring agreement out of the cantons and hammer together the combined delegation, but when he arrived unexpectedly at Cafaggiolo, Toby's first reaction had been less than tactful. Of course the situation had been clarified at that night's secret session — shielded from spies by Maestro Fischart — and the Swiss had enthusiastically agreed to join the deception. They had stormed off in feigned disgust the next morning, and undoubtedly Nevil's agents had informed him that he need not fear Swiss intervention. So today his lines of communication and the garrisons he had left to hold the Alpine passes would be chewed to rags. If he did manage to pull his forces loose from the Florentine trap, he would find the door locked behind him and no way home.
"So you have won?" asked the owl.
"Won? Won? No! Not yet. We've hardly started. We're still badly outnumbered, and Nevil has beaten long odds before now. But if the don can seize the guns on the hill, then Florence is safe. If the Milanese and the Neapolitans can take the Fiend's bridges, we'll have cut his army in half. In an hour or so we'll know the shape of the battle and who needs help. Why do you only speak in the Unplace?"
"Is this not part of the spirit world?"
Somewhere a demon was loosed. The hex struck. Toby screamed and fell off Smeòrach's back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lisa awoke with her mother having hysterics beside her left ear because guns were firing and that meant the Fiend was coming to get them. Possibly so, but a screaming panic seemed an entirely inappropriate reaction, at least when there was no sturdy Hamish around to apply the treatment of choice. Grabbing Blanche by the shoulders, she administered a thorough shaking. Had this treatment not worked, she would probably have worked up to face-slapping, but that proved unnecessary. Silence fell.
There were cannons firing, and that was scary. "Let us get dressed," she said, "and go down and find out what's happening." She scrambled out of bed and rang for help, although she suspected it might not appear. "Come, Mother!"
There was only room in her life for so many emergencies, and she had not finished dealing with yesterday's yet. Was she or was she not married? The contract had been publicly signed and sealed, which ought to mean yes she was. But the, um, private parts of the arrangement had not been completed, and probably that meant no she wasn't. She rummaged through a chest in search of fresh linen.
"I hope we can find out today," she said as she tossed her findings in her mother's direction, "whether I am a guest in this place — and if so who our host is — or if I own it."
"I just hope it doesn't get burned down before sundown," Blanche retorted, struggling to dress herself without the assistance she had enjoyed all her life. The guns were growing louder.
Had any Queen of England ever been tortured to death by her own father?
Presentable, if not quite as well groomed as was their wont, they descended the great staircase hand in hand and were greeted by a low bow from Prince Sartaq, who was wearing riding boots and had just handed his cloak off to an attendant. His two villainous-looking shamans and half a dozen of his Tartar guards skulked in the background.