come. You look half-starved. I will buy you something to eat. You have never had a fig, I'd wager.'
William had never tasted anything quite so wonderful as a fig. It was so sweet it hurt his mouth, but it also had an exotic, earthy flavour that undercut the sweetness. As he and Longo chewed, they wandered over to watch a fire-eater in one of the streets on the edge of the square. The fire-eater took a flaming sword and slowly inserted the blade — all two feet of it — into his mouth so that only the hilt protruded. When he withdrew the sword, the blade was still burning.
'How does he do that?' William wondered.
Longo reflected, chewing on a fig. 'Maybe he drinks something special to protect him. Or maybe it does burn him, but he has grown used to the pain.'
But William was no longer listening. All his attention was focused beyond the fire-eater, to where an Italian noble was approaching on horseback. He was a thin man, whose otherwise handsome face was marred by a perpetual sneer. William recognized that face; indeed, he would never forget it. It was the face of Carlo Grimaldi, the man who had betrayed William and his crewmates to the Turks.
William surged forward, stepping in front of Carlo's horse. 'It is you, you bastard!' he screamed. 'I am going to kill you!'
The horse reared, almost unseating Carlo. He recovered and stared contemptuously at William. 'You seem to have lost your wits, boy,' he said in accented English. 'I have never seen you before in my life. Now get out of my way.' He slashed his riding whip across William's face, drawing blood.
William drew his dagger and stood his ground. 'You are a murderer,' he spat. 'You stabbed my uncle in the back. You betrayed us to the Turks.'
'I do not take kindly to being insulted, especially by common English scum like you,' Carlo snarled and again sent his riding whip slashing towards William's face. William raised his dagger and sliced the whip neatly in two. 'I will have your head for that!' Carlo roared, drawing his sword.
Longo stepped between Carlo and William. 'I am Longo Giustiniani, and this boy is under my protection. If you have a quarrel with him, then you have a quarrel with me.'
Carlo went white at the mention of Longo's name. 'I did not know the boy was in your service, Signor Giustiniani. But he has insulted me and drawn on me. I demand justice.'
'If you want justice, then you will have to take it from me,' Longo said.
Carlo hesitated. His honour had been challenged, but clearly he did not wish to fight Longo. Finally he nodded. 'So be it. I shall send someone to arrange the details.'
'No,' William insisted. 'I will fight for myself.'
'Quiet, William,' Longo ordered. 'You do not know what you are doing.'
William ignored him. Carlo had killed his friends, and William had sworn to make him pay. He turned to Carlo and said in broken Italian, 'I you fight. I.'
Carlo smirked. 'I would as soon wipe my boots with him as fight this commoner,' he said. 'But the boy seems to need a lesson in manners. I will meet him tomorrow. My man will be at your house presently. Good-day, Signor Giustiniani.' Carlo's second, his portly brother Paolo, arrived at the palazzo no more than an hour later and met with Longo. They quickly agreed to terms: first light, the Piazza di Sarzano, to the death.
Longo found William and Tristo eating at a table in the courtyard, and he stopped to watch them. Tristo was tucking into a heaping plate of vermicelli covered in butter, while William held up a long thin noodle, eyeing it sceptically. 'Looks like a worm,' he noted. 'What do you call it again?'
'La pasta.'
'La pasta,' William repeated and ate the noodle, chewing carefully. 'Not bad.' He reached for a cup and sniffed at the contents.
'Il vino,' Tristo told him.
William took a sip and grimaced. 'Haven't you got any beer?'
Tristo laughed. 'You'll learn to like it, boy. Believe me.' William took another sip and grimaced again.
'Don't go getting him drunk, Tristo. He'll need a clear head tomorrow,' Longo called as he approached. 'William, we have agreed to terms. The duel will be to the death.' Longo studied William's face for any sign of fear, but saw none. 'Have you ever fought with a short sword?' Longo asked him.
'Just daggers, mostly.'
'Take a hold of this, then,' Longo said. He handed William a short sword — a three-foot thin blade with shallow edges, a light sword more for stabbing than for cutting. William took it and slashed the air before him.
'It's so long. Why do they call it a short sword?'
'The sword is named by the length of its handle,' Longo told him.
'Well, so long as it's sharp.' William practised another attack, ducking low and raking his sword through the air, where his foe's knees would be. The boy used the sword like a huge dagger. He had no idea of formal sword fighting.
'I have seen Carlo fight,' Tristo said grimly. 'He's a deadly hand with a sword. I watched him make short work of the youngest Spinola brother some years ago.'
'He has a reputation,' Longo agreed with a nod. What's more, William had to be giving away at least sixty pounds to Carlo. 'If you wish, William, I can put you on a ship tonight. You would be in Chios in a few months' time. There would be no shame in it. Carlo is a nobleman, and he was wrong to accept a commoner's challenge.'
William ran his hand along his cheek, feeling the fresh cut that Grimaldi's whip had left. 'I will fight him. I am not afraid.'
'Very well,' Longo said. 'I suggest you get some sleep. I will see you in the morning.' Sunrise found Longo and William already at the Piazza di Sarzano, their horses tethered out of the chill wind, in the lee of the old city wall. They stood in the centre of the cobbled square, their breath steaming and their cloaks wrapped tightly about them. Behind them rose the Church of San Salvatore, its facade marked by four towering columns, numerous frescos and an odd stained-glass window shaped like an enormous hat.
The two Grimaldi brothers arrived on horseback and tethered their horses in the shelter of the wall. All four men met in the centre of the square. The air was thick with moisture off the nearby sea and the light was still dim. The city was quiet, still sleeping. They spoke softly, as if afraid to upset the calm.
'Choose your sword,' Longo said, handing Paolo the two blades. He hefted them, and finding them equal, handed one of them to Carlo, who took it and slashed at the air several times to judge the sword's balance. Carlo nodded his satisfaction. Longo handed the other sword to William. 'You each know the terms,' Longo said. 'To the death. No quarter will be sought or given.' William and Carlo each nodded. 'You may take your places, then.' Longo turned to William. 'Keep your guard up, and God save you.' Longo and Paolo stepped away to the edge of the square, while William and Carlo squared off some ten feet apart. William looked pitifully thin and young across from the much taller, stronger Carlo.
'Not much of a contest, I'm afraid,' Paolo said. Then, as if aware that his words might cause offence, he added in a conciliatory tone: 'Still, it should be over quickly. The boy won't suffer.' Longo ignored him.
'Are you ready for your lesson, cur?' Carlo spoke sharply in Italian.
'Go to hell, you son of a Turkish whore,' William spat back in English.
'Very well, then.' Carlo bowed and assumed his fighting stance, his body sideways, his right foot forward and pointed at William, and his sword held lightly, following the point of his foot. William dropped to a low crouch, his entire body facing Carlo, his sword held out sideways before him. The two combatants stood still, gauging one another.
Paolo chuckled. 'The boy looks something like a lobster, does he not?' he said. Longo watched on in silence, and Paolo added: 'I mean no offence, of course. I quite like lobsters. Delicious creatures.'
Suddenly, Carlo sprang forward, bounding towards William in a few short steps and lunging at the boy's chest. William anticipated the attack, and he spun out of the way long before Carlo reached him, slashing in vain at Carlo's heels and then skipping to safety. Carlo continued to press the attack, lunging repeatedly with wicked thrusts. Each time, William spun clear, moving in a large circle around the square. Their fighting styles could not have been more different: Carlo always attacking on a line, moving back and forward only, while William moved constantly sideways, spinning and ducking. William was quicker than Carlo, but he was having a difficult time attacking against the Italian's much longer reach.
Beside Longo, Paolo sensed that the fight would not go as easily as anticipated. 'The boy is a slippery devil,' he remarked. 'No doubt learned it picking pockets.'