Demon Knight

He knew many of the men already and was introduced to a hundred more, but the problem was never remembering a man's name, it was judging his importance, because the standard term of office in Florence was a mere two months, and titles tended to be meaningless anyway. Undoubtedly at least a quarter of the persons present were in the pay of other states and would be filing reports the following day, so he was much in demand as a potential source of interesting material.

The Veronese ambassador inquired smoothly why the noble condottiere spurned his old friends who had so well rewarded his magnificent services in their righteous struggle against the Venetian dogs.

'Florence pays better,' Toby replied, just to watch the man wince. It paid in prestige, not money, but it was prestige he needed now if he were to influence events.

Within the hour, representatives of Ravenna and Naples, both former employers, made similar inquiries and received similar answers. They met frankness so seldom they had trouble dealing with it.

Frankness was barely enough when he was trapped in a shadowy corner by Lucas Abonio, who was a cousin of the Duke of Milan and brother of its collaterale, Ercole Abonio. The brothers could hardly have been more dissimilar, for Ercole was completely admirable, a shrewd and competent old campaigner, respected equally by his own men and his enemies. He had taught the young foreigner many things the previous summer while the Don Ramon Company fought for the duke against Florence — a trivial squabble that had been solved with a few thousand ducats and a few score dead mercenaries. Ercole was a true knight, Lucas a lurker in dark corners, a scavenger of scandal, a sniffer-out of secrets. He oozed along on a trail of intrigue like a slug on slime.

'Have you reconsidered our offer, comandante?'

Toby backed away a pace and collided with a wall. 'You honor me beyond words, Your Magnificence. Alas, Don Ramon has already committed to the Florentines.'

The spy bared a few yellow teeth. 'Not according to my sources. The don's appointment was a temporary replacement for the late and unlamented Captain-General Vespucci. I have it on excellent authority that Florence has not yet met your terms for a new condotta.'

'Well, there is never any fighting in the winter.'

'Exactly.' Abonio lowered his voice and wafted closer on wings of garlic. 'We are not interested in that mad don of yours, boy. Let Florence have him. It's you His Grace wants. Forty thousand florins if you bring the Company, twenty thousand if you come alone. For you personally. In addition to whatever we announce in public.'

Toby began to shake. This was wealth beyond all the dreams of his boyhood. It was utterly crazy. He knew Milan did not want his abilities, although he was now willing to admit that he had abilities. His name alone had become a trophy, a token of prestige in the unending rivalry between the Italian states.

'Excellency, what good will money do any of us if Nevil triumphs? Pray inform His Grace that I am more deeply honored than I can say. I have given my word to Florence.'

That was a point of ethics, irrelevant in a discussion of money, and it made Abonio smile with all the cuddlesome appeal of a rat.

'The duke is a man of his word, messer Longdirk. Only a fool would trust these republicans. They choose their officials by drawing names out of a bag!'

'But Il Volpe's hand puts the names into the bag.'

'When they do hold an election, his goons prevent his opponents from voting.'

Toby chuckled unsteadily. 'Exactly.' What was the point of this discussion? No one could possibly run a city the way the laws said Florence was to be run. 'What matter whose banners we hold, Excellency? I hope and trust that Florence and Milan will fight shoulder to shoulder against the same foe.' He bowed, muttered more regrets, and prepared to leave.

'Lecco Castle?' Abonio growled. 'A fiefdom of your own, for after the war, whether you bring your Company or not. The duke's daughter to wife, the fair madonna Isabetta. My brother wishes to retire from fighting soon, and His Grace will appoint you collaterale in his place. I have all these trifles to give you, in writing, with his seal on them.'

Demons! Sweat! This was more serious. The collaterale was minister for war, probably the most senior state employee after the duke himself, and that was a huge step up for a mercenary. A castle had no appeal for Toby — what on earth would he do with a castle? — but if the Milanese started waving castles in front of the don, he would accept at once, and that would scramble Toby's plans completely. It was one more reason why the condotta must be agreed tonight.

'Excellency, my only ambition is to try and stop the Fiend from doing to Italy what he has done to the rest of Europe. I am convinced that Florence needs me far more than Milan does, for His Grace is a superb warrior in his own right and has your noble brother to serve him. Wealth and honors do not interest me.' Stunning Abonio with that heretical haymaker, Toby hurried away from the torment of temptation.

* * *

At the banquet, every course was paraded in on golden trenchers by liveried flunkies — capon, veal, thrushes, pheasant, trout. Toby was seated well below the salt, down among minor merchants and their wives, but that bothered him not at all, for two years ago he would have been lucky to be allowed to beg for scraps at the kitchen door. His companions were thrilled to learn who he was, demanding to hear all about the Battle of Trent. He insisted that it was not a topic to be discussed in the presence of ladies. He was not at all sure that they were true ladies, though — hands caressed him under the table and toes nudged.

'Will the Fiend's armies return?'

'Certainly, and this time he will come in person.'

Some of the women prepared to swoon. 'Can you save us, comandante?'

'Italy can save itself, if it will just unite and support its fighting men.'

Then it was the men who turned pale, because he was talking about taxes.

The dancing began around midnight. He enjoyed dancing. For his size he was agile and could twirl and pirouette and gavotte with the best of them. It was the proposals for encores that upset him. One or two of his partners straight-out suggested they run upstairs together and find a bed as soon as the music stopped, but most just dropped hints like millstones. He lost count at eight, and the three he wasn't sure of were probably being too subtle for him. Were there no faithful wives in Florence? Worse, his abstinence was soon noted, and beautiful young men began being charming to him. His glares made them melt back into the crowd very hurriedly.

Eventually, at long last, something meaningful did happen. He was accosted at the buffet table by a soft hand on his arm and an oily voice in his ear.

'My dear condottiere! Why on earth are you languishing out here among the riffraff? An honored guest like yourself should be with the real people.'

Toby turned to look down at the greasy smile of roly-poly Antonio Origo and was very tempted to ask him who had let him in, because he had understood that Origo was non grata in Florentine society. He was the third or fourth richest man in the city and in theory also the chief magistrate, the podesta, but the wildly independent Florentines shunned him to show how they despised the Khan's nominee. His wife was reputed to have gone mad from grief, and he wielded no power whatsoever. That he had been included among the guests tonight was obviously a very significant development. It tended to confirm the rumors being whispered around of a special emissary from the Khan having landed at Naples.

'You honor me, sovrano. I just came to loot the tableware.'

The podesta guffawed at this brilliant humor, little knowing how close to the truth it was. The hob loved pretty things, and in the days before Toby learned to control it, it would have been running amok in such surroundings, filling his pockets with gold and jewels.

Origo eased him away from the table. 'Follow me,' he whispered, and waddled off into the mob.

Wondering whether he was going to be hexed, poisoned, or stilettoed, Toby duly followed. The elegantly shaped tresses dangling below his guide's biretta included more than the usual number of nits. That must be symbolic of something.

CHAPTER FIVE