'No,' Hamish agreed sulkily. 'But you're wrong about him! He's not a schemer, he's an uppercut-to-the-jaw man. He doesn't deceive people. He plays stupid and lets them deceive themselves.'
'Don't argue with us, Campbell,' said the spirit. 'Do as we command.'
CHAPTER TWENTY
Toby was trying to come to terms with the hexer's death and what it meant for the Don Ramon Company. As he often did when he needed to think, he sent for Smeorach and went for a ride. The big spotted gelding was an eager mount and a very good listener. He never argued.
'We'll have to find another,' Toby explained as soon as they were out of camp and it was safe to talk. 'Rome's full of them, even if the College won't admit it and calls them all adepts.'
Smeorach did not even twitch an ear back to listen. He had a meadow ahead of him, and his simple mind was engrossed in seeing if he could run fast enough to leave the ground altogether.
'In fact, a really good hexer should turn up and volunteer his services right away, shouldn't he? That would show how skilled he is at knowing where he's needed.' But no replacement would ever be as good as Karl Fischart, nor as unshakably loyal to the cause.
At that moment a thrush popped out of the hedge. Although it was about one-twenty-thousandth of Smeorach's size, he decided it was highly dangerous and went sideways so abruptly that he almost dropped Toby in the mud. For a while neither of them had time to worry about hexers. It was an hour or so later, as they were returning to the villa, that the lecture began again.
'The Magnificent won't like it, but we have an agreement. We shook hands. All right, I kissed his, but the principle's the same. No one's going to miss the old man for a couple of weeks, and surely Hamish will get the
'Hay!' Smeorach said loudly. 'Water. Oats. A good rubdown. Salt.' He spoke in horse, but his meaning was obvious enough. 'More oats,' he added.
Toby chuckled and patted his neck. 'I can always trust you to know what's important.'
It was a fine morning. He headed for the courtyard, meaning to summon Diaz and Arnaud for a discussion of the Company's fragile finances. As he ducked his way through bustling, bread-scented kitchens, he was accosted by the formidable madonna Anna, whose customary air of Vesuvian menace was even more marked than usual. She brandished a wooden spoon under his nose, which forced him to straighten up with his head among the dangling copper pans and bundles of onions.
'Condottiere! The English milady! Who is this person? By what right does she rule here?'
If he could have chosen the next problem to be added to his burdens, squabbling women would have been low on the list. How could the fugitive queen have alienated the household in less than three hours? That was certainly not the best way to remain incognito.
'By right of hereditary stupidity, monna, I expect. What has she done to upset you?'
Plenty, apparently, including commandeering messer Longdirk's personal work site. So he stalked outside and found her holding court there, seated on a grand chair with a young woman trimming her nails and Lisa reading to her. The servant looked up in alarm — her name was Isotta, and she was the wife of one of the gunners. Lisa's glance was probably one of amusement, but too brief for him to be sure of. She went on reading, in Latin. The countess ignored him, intent on her daughter. Could she truly be so oblivious of her offense? Anna and the others must have told her whose territory this was.
Toby said, 'Leave us, ladies.'
The countess looked up and glared. The maid at once bundled up her implements in the cloth on her lap and made haste for the house. Lisa flashed her mother an I-told-you-so glance.
'Perhaps you should step indoors a moment, dear,' the countess said grimly.
Lisa closed her book and stalked out with her chin high. Toby remained standing and folded his arms.
In her youth Queen Blanche had been blessed with a fabled beauty. The hard years of flight and exile had not stolen all of it. Her hair was golden, her complexion aristocratically pale, and if the lines at her eyes and mouth could not be denied, her features were still firm. She was a buxom, powerful woman, and her gown was not only too small for her but had been intended as practical wear for some merchant's wife, yet somehow she managed to look like a lady in it, a very frightened lady, a lady bent very close to breaking point.
'Sir Tobias! By what right do you give my daughter orders? You know who she is.'
'I do know who she is. I swore to defend her against all foes, and that includes stupidity. Do you want everyone to know who she is?'
Probably no one had addressed Queen Blanche like that since she was a child at her father's court. A hint of true color appeared under the face powder. 'You are being offensive!'
'You leave me no choice. We suggested a story to your daughter, a plausible explanation of who she is and who you are and why she is under Hamish Campbell's protection. If I must drop to my knees every time I speak to you, or if you behave as though this camp is your personal estate, then people will gossip. It is almost impossible to keep a secret in this country, my lady. You and your daughter are newsworthy. If you will not be guided by me, then I may as well take you into Florence right away and deliver you to the Marradi Palace. You will be a welcome guest there until the Fiend's agents are ready to kidnap you again.'
She had a glare to match the don's, but the effect was spoiled by a tremble in her lower lip. 'I am a lady. I cannot behave like the wife of a fish merchant.'
'I do not suggest you try. Gentry in exile can retain their self-respect without drawing attention to themselves. We have a marchioness and two baronesses here in the camp. A Bohemian princess and the former Queen of Burgundy reside in Florence. I would present them to you and ask them to give you lessons, but I don't trust the men they are living with. There are many exiled ladies of rank in Italy. Their menfolk did not fare as well, but we have some of those around also. One knight in the Company is the pretender to the throne of France.'
'I need no lessons from them or anyone.' Her voice was shriller than before. 'I have been a fugitive since you were a child, Constable. I have always lived as a lady and expected to be treated as one. Furthermore, I have a duty to rear my daughter in a style appropriate to her rank so she will be competent to take up her inheritance when the Fiend is overthrown. You realize that I have been bereft of my entire wardrobe, all my jewels, my money? What steps are you taking to recover those for me?'
'None, ma'am. Your enemy in Siena was a notable hexer. Any attempt to recover them would lead him to you, and what you recovered would probably be poisoned by gramarye. For your own safety and Lady Lisa's I must ask you to resign yourself to your losses and just be thankful that you both survived your terrible experiences unharmed.'
She chewed her lip for a moment. He despised himself as a bully, but he could see no kindness in lying to her. Her only hope of survival was to face the brutal realities of her situation. By coming to Italy, she had left herself without a back door to use when her husband came in the front.
'I require at least two maids, separate sleeping chambers for Lisa and myself — with some decent furniture — a wardrobe of suitable garments, and a personal steward. The use of a carriage, postilion, and footmen two or three times a week. This is an absolute minimum. Anything less is a flagrant insult to my rank and person.'
To laugh would be unkind. To ask her how Nevil would treat her if he caught her would be sadistic. She was a tired and very frightened woman.
'I shall see what can be arranged, ma'am. I had no warning of your arrival. Sister Bona—'
'Has children! Cohabits with a friar!'
'Can keep her mouth shut.'
They traded glares.
Queen Blanche looked away first. 'Very well. Sister Bona?'
'Will assist you, ma'am. I shall have our treasurer allocate funds for your maintenance. I do believe you are as safe here as you can be anywhere in Italy. Chancellor Campbell is currently—'
'Is it true,' she inquired in a markedly different tone, 'that he is a younger son of the Earl of Argyll?'
Toby wanted to shy like Smeorach meeting a thrush, but he managed to keep his feet on the ground. Whose
