The devout of Florence bustled by him, some seeking out booths to make confession, others going forward to pray before the altar. Perhaps some had come just to enjoy the peace and beauty of the great building. The choir was singing, and were he not so preoccupied, he could have lost himself in those intertwining melodies soaring like swallows to the lofty dome. How strange it must be to spend one's life as a musician! Would he be happier if he had nothing more to worry about than producing a pure note or well-shaped phrase — happier than he was helping Toby fight the Fiend? But that thought set him wondering what this vast building would look like in half a year if people like Toby could not stop the Fiend. There would be no singing then.
Time to go. He turned for the door, aware that he would have to admit to the don that he had lied about—
'You have not achieved what you came for, Hamish.'
The whisper spun him around. He found himself nose-to-nose with a gaunt, pale-faced youth, a shaven- scalped novice several years his junior. A boy that age must always be judged guilty of mischief until proved innocent, and no doubt the vacant smile and toneless voice of an incarnation could be faked quite easily, but he had spoken in Gaelic.
'Holiness?'
'Do not kneel here. Follow us.' The incarnation turned.
'But, Holiness, I have to go and find the don and tell—'
The boy stopped without looking around. 'You have more important things to worry about than the wounded pride of Don Ramon.'
Hamish twisted in agony. 'If I may just go and tell him, Holiness, and then I will come—'
'Follow us.' The incarnation stalked off with the hem of its robe swishing around ankles like twigs. It led the way to an empty booth and sat on the bench, fixing its gaze on the wall to Hamish's left and remaining inhumanly still. In the velvet gloom, there was no mistaking the filmy golden glow of the tutelary around it. Hamish knelt on the cushion and gathered up his thoughts.
He spoke at great length, slowly at first and then faster. Once or twice the tutelary demanded more detail or questioned an interpretation. When he thought he had finished, it suggested some things he had omitted, and he added them to his confession. He told everything, but without mentioning that Lisa was rightful Queen of England. That information was irrelevant.
'And what do you want of us?' the spirit asked when he had finished.
He was nonplussed. He had expected a lecture, forgiveness, penance, never that question. 'First, I mourn Karl Fischart. Will Siena cherish his soul? I admit I did not like him, but I—'
'Do not concern yourself with him.'
Oh! Italian tutelaries seemed to have their own rules. 'Then, Holiness, did I do wrong in Siena — when I went to Lisa's rescue and when I returned with Fischart?'
'Your motives were sound,' the boy's thin voice said, 'but you play a very dangerous game when you consort with demons, Hamish. Had you not relied on gramarye, you would have gone to Siena with a band of strong young men at your back, would you not? Then you might have rescued Lisa without imperiling her soul or yours.'
There were a hundred objections to that, such as, supposing the opposition had loosed its own demons against those strong young men? And how would they have found the countess? The tutelary in Siena might have helped the righteous, but who could guarantee that?
'Yes, Holiness.' One did not argue with spirits.
Without shifting its gaze, the incarnation held out a hand. Reluctantly Hamish gave it the Lupus and Zangliveri rings and watched them vanish into a belt pouch. A well-trained demon was worth a king's ransom.
'Did you tell Elizabeth you love her?'
'Yes, Holiness.'
'How many women have you told that to?'
'How many?'
Hamish dug nails into his palms. 'Four or five. But not always. I mean not always seriously. Maybe eight. But not quite like that. It's not the same when a man's, um, in bed with a…'
'Or trying to get into her bed,' the boy said. 'Is that what you want of her?'
'Me? Lisa? No! No! She's a lady, far above my station.' He was surprised to realize that this denial was the truth. He had never considered trying to seduce Lisa — not seriously considered. He could have done it on the journey, at the inn. He'd thought about it, decided that there would be no sport in a victory so easy. She was too vulnerable. One glass of wine and some sweet words… Even if she was almost past marrying age by Italian standards, she was still only a child emotionally. And she was a queen.
'Do you love her?'
Yes. No. Yes. 'Um, if things were different… Yes. Yes, I do.' Were she not who she was, he might even be giving a thought or two to marriage — if he were not who he was, a penniless adventurer… He tried to imagine himself carrying her over a doorstep. She wore flowers in her hair, and she smiled at him. The prospect was not very terrifying. 'Yes, I do.' He sighed. Things would have to be very different, though — little things like the history of Europe.
'Hamish,' said the tutelary, 'all you have confessed is forgiven. These are hard times, and you stand between great dominions in contention. You must be ever vigilant and prepared to make hard choices. If you have time, come and discuss your problems with us before you decide.'
'Yes, Holiness. I thank you.' Was there to be no penance?
'Your penance is this: You are to guard Lisa with your life.'
Hamish stole a glance at the spiritual aura gleaming around the boy and was reassured that this could not be a hoax. 'I have never heard of such a penance, Holiness! I will gladly…'
Pause. Mm!
'Gladly?' said the tutelary. 'With honor? Without asking or accepting the sort of shameful favors a man might demand of a maid? And with your life?'
'It is a fair penance,' Hamish admitted. His mouth felt awkwardly dry. It was a demon of a penance! 'My resources are limited, Holiness, considering the contending dominions you mention. What foes do I guard against? What foes can I guard against? Nevil?' He laughed uneasily.
'Primarily your accomplice, Longdirk.'
'What? I mean…
'Wouldn't what?' asked the boy's high voice. 'Rape her? No, even if he did not fear the hob, he is a decent man who does not use his strength unfairly. But exploit her politically? Can you defend her against that, Hamish Campbell?'
He glared at the incarnation, wishing it was human so he could knock its teeth out. 'You know who she is, don't you? Did you tell Pietro Marradi that, too? Is this another secret all Italy knows?'
'You are the only man in Florence who knows at the moment. Her safety depends on that secret being kept.'
'You're saying Toby won't? That he'll throw Lisa to the hyenas? Why? For some sort of personal gain? I've known him all my life, and I don't believe that. Not for a moment!'
The boy turned his head, and it seemed as if the tutelary looked out of his eyes at Hamish. The illusion was startling, terrifying, and fortunately transient. The blazing intelligence faded back to a blank stare.
'Don't you? The struggle against Nevil is still to come. The contest now is to decide who will lead that struggle. All the princes and powers of Italy are contestants, and Longdirk is one of the leading players.'
'But—'
'Hamish, Hamish! You are not the same boy who left Scotland six years ago, are you?'
'Well, no, Holiness. Of course not.'
'Longdirk is not the youth who left with you. He has grown and changed. He is not even the young man who came into Italy, for now he knows how good he is. He has won renown. He has discovered ambition, Hamish, and ambition feeds on success. He wants to be
