Another attack by Carlo, and this time William only narrowly avoided the blow, the sword ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Encouraged, Carlo pressed his attack, trying to close with William. William was on his heels now, no longer circling. He backed away, twisting from side to side and barely avoiding a handful of thrusts. His shirt showed several new tears, and now blood was trickling down his side. Still, William danced backwards, and Carlo pressed on, lunging again and again, his sword passing within inches of William's twisting body.
A final lunge, and this time William was a step slow. He twisted into the blow, and the sword skewered his left side, just beneath the ribs. William stumbled, but before Carlo could withdraw his sword for another blow, William rose and drove his sword up through Carlo's throat and out the back of his head. Carlo fell instantly, a pool of blood spreading out around his dead body. William staggered backwards, Carlo's sword still lodged in his side. He looked down at the sword for a moment, then collapsed to his knees.
'William!' Longo rushed to the boy's side. To his surprise, the wound did not look to be a mortal one. It bled little, and the sword seemed to have passed through cleanly, damaging neither the lungs nor the intestines. 'You were lucky, boy,' Longo told him. 'But this sword will have to come out now. Brace yourself.'
'It wasn't luck, My Lord,' William replied, gasping as Longo withdrew the sword. 'I couldn't get close enough unless I took a blow. The pig-faced bastard had damned long arms.'
Longo laid William down, and then poured a flask of brandy into the wound. He tore two lengths of cloth from William's new shirt, wadded the first into a ball, and pressed it against the wound. 'Hold that,' he ordered. Longo pressed the other strip against the wound in William's back. He then took a long strip of linen that he had brought with him and wrapped it tightly around William's mid-section several times, covering the wound.
'That should hold you for now, but we had best get you inside,' Longo said. 'The cold won't do you any good, and neither will the Grimaldi men. The duel was honourably fought, but they'll be in a foul mood when they arrive. Paolo,' he called to the heavy-set young man, who was kneeling in shock over his brother's body. 'I trust this puts a satisfactory end to this disagreement? There will be no acts of vengeance?' Paolo gazed at him dumbly. 'Very well then,' Longo continued, 'I suggest you send for some of your men as soon as you can. The dogs will be at the body soon enough if you wait.'
They left the stupefied Paolo still kneeling beside Carlo. Longo helped William into the saddle, then mounted behind him. They rode back to the Palazzo dei Giustiniani, the bells of San Salvatore ringing out behind them to welcome the new day. The next morning it was clear from the sickening smell of the bandages that William's wound was festering, and later that day the boy contracted a raging fever that left him incoherent, talking to those around him as if he were at home in England with his mother. A doctor was summoned, and he bled William to reduce his bad humours and relieve the fever. Still, the boy continued to burn, and none of the doctor's efforts succeeded in relieving the delirium. Two days passed with no sign of improvement, after which the doctor offered only the direst of forecasts: even if he survived, the doctor assured them, the boy would be an idiot, all his wits burned away by the fever.
Longo could not bear to watch William wasting away. Leaving Tristo with orders to alert him of any change in the boy's condition, he returned to his villa and busied himself with the tending of his vines. The very night of his return there was a frost, and Longo and his serfs spent a busy night lighting pots filled with pitch all along the rows of vines, fighting to keep the killing chill from the young leaves. The next morning, as Longo walked his vineyards to inspect the damage, he was surprised to see Tristo on horseback, galloping down from the villa to meet him.
As Tristo came closer, Longo could see that the huge man was struggling to stay upright in the saddle, and that he favoured his right arm, keeping it pinned to his side. What in God's name had happened to him?
'My Lord,' Tristo said with a wince as he reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. 'I bring news from town.' Tristo's right arm was in a sling, and blood showed through a heavy bandage wrapped around his head.
'What has happened?' Longo asked.
'There was a fight with some of the Grimaldi men. I only happened across it at the last, and I set about trying to separate the men. I had my arm broken by the mace of one of our own men — the cursed idiot — and got a nasty gash on my head for my troubles. Still, the rest had it much worse. Gucio and Piero are killed. Four others are laid up with various injuries. One Grimaldi man is dead, and the rest are pretty badly off.'
The news was not surprising — duels started more feuds than they ended — but it was not welcome either. The Grimaldi were a powerful family, and Longo did not fancy having them as an enemy. Much less did he fancy watching his back each time he rode through the streets of Genoa, or sending his servants to market with armed escort. He would have to act fast. Now that men on both sides had lost friends, the matter needed only a small push — the death of another noble from one of the two families — to evolve into a blood feud.
'Who started the fight?' Longo asked.
'Our men had been to the dock, and most likely to the tavern as well. On returning, they met six Grimaldi men in the street. Probably they were waiting for our men. Insults were exchanged, a Grimaldi man drew, and that was that. From what our men tell me, the Grimaldi men seem bent on revenge for what William did to Carlo. They seem to think the boy is some kind of assassin.'
'And what of William?' Longo asked.
'The same. Only he stopped talking last night. Hasn't said a word since. Loretta, the midwife, says that is a good sign. She says the fever will break now.'
'And what does the doctor say?'
'The doctor says that this is the beginning of the end. The no-good bastard seems to think that William is as good as dead.'
'Then we shall have to hope that the midwife is in the right,' Longo said. 'You will stay here at the villa until you are healed. Have Maria look after you. I will return to Genoa to see to William and take care of this Grimaldi mess.' Shortly after Longo's arrival, William's fever finally broke, and the boy woke from his long delirium with his senses intact. Longo watched him consume enough pasta to feed ten men, and then left for the Grimaldi palazzo to make his peace.
Despite the hostility between the families, Longo was greeted politely and presented immediately to Niccolo Grimaldi — the father of the recently deceased Carlo and the head of the family. The elder Grimaldi was a small man. Despite his sixty years, his lean, tan face was hardly wrinkled, though his hair was a wild mix of grey and black, like the ash from recently burned wood. He was seated on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, drinking a thick black liquid that Longo recognized as coffee, an eastern delicacy. Grimaldi motioned for Longo to sit. Once the formalities were ended, Grimaldi moved right to the point.
'You have come to make peace between our families,' he said. 'I am an old man. I treasure peace, but it is hard-bought after so much blood.'
'Surely more blood is not the answer,' Longo replied. 'I am a warrior, Signor Grimaldi. I have fought more battles than most men have seen years. I do not fear bloodshed, but I have no quarrel with your family, nor with you. Your son was killed fairly, honourably. Let that be an end to it.'
Grimaldi nodded and took a long sip of coffee before he spoke again. 'No doubt you are right. Still, I have lost a son, Signor Giustiniani. Nothing can replace him. Nothing can repay that loss. But perhaps if I were to find a new son, then I could forgive. By joining our families, we might end this bloodshed. You are not married, I recollect?' Longo nodded. 'Very well, shall I introduce my daughter, Julia?'
'I would be delighted,' Longo replied. Julia was ushered in and introduced, a shy girl of twelve. It was clear that she had been preparing for this meeting from the moment Longo entered the courtyard, for she was dressed in her very best — a flowing gown of white silk embroidered with interlacing red roses — and her hair was braided with ribbons and twisted into an intricate knot atop her head. She was thin and still flat-chested, but she had delicate features and looked likely to grow into a beautiful woman. She curtsied, blushed demurely as Longo complimented her fine dress, and was dismissed.
'She is fertile, no doubt, like her mother,' Grimaldi said. 'And a beauty as well, yes?'
'Indeed, signor,' Longo replied.
'Good. Then you do not object to marrying her?'
Longo paused. As his chamberlain Nicolo often reminded him, none of Longo's properties would be secure until he produced an heir. Julia was young, fertile and certainly attractive enough. A female touch would be welcome in his household, not to mention in his bed. Most importantly, the marriage would transform the budding feud into an alliance with a powerful family. Longo's feelings were beside the point. It was his duty to marry Julia Grimaldi. 'You honour me, Signor Grimaldi,' Longo said at last. 'I would be overjoyed to marry your daughter.'
'Very well,' Grimaldi said, rising. 'Let me embrace you as my new son. But I am not one of these Turks, you
