Demon Knight

politicians, while denouncing the ceremony as barbaric and antiquated and humiliating, had been ready to riot if they were excluded.

The military were to come next, starting with the captain-general. Don Ramon might well be the haughtiest man in Italy, but an abasement that shocked republicans was no problem for him. He understood the rights of rank. He probably believed that he was entitled to much the same sort of veneration himself — after all, he could trace his lineage back six or seven centuries farther than the prince could, for the Khan's line had been undistinguished before it produced the great Genghis. He strode forward cheerfully, a limber, athletic contrast to the stodgy, overfed burghers who had preceded him. He was the first to perform the obeisance with grace.

Then the captain of the city's own troops, the provisionati, but no one put any stock in him. Toby was next. He braced himself…

'His Royal Highness,' bellowed the herald, 'the Duke of Anjou, knight of the Order of the Golden Sword, companion of the Crystal Star, Sieur de la Loire, seigneur of Anjou, of Beaupreau, of Les Herbiers, of—'

Toby had swayed slightly on the balls of his feet, but he regained his balance without giving onlookers the satisfaction of seeing him flail his arms. His immediate companions were hissing in astonishment as the catalogue of seigniories rolled on and on.

And on…

'…of Sable-sur-Sarthe, of Aiffres, Viscount Chateauroux, Baron Bonneval, castellan of La Rochesur- Yon.'

The old scoundrel had never admitted to any of those honors before. Even now, he was obviously laying claim only to the titles he had possessed before the war, before Nevil turned his family into dog food. Since then he had inherited a third of Europe.

The catalogue ended, the rangy old mercenary limped forward to greet the prince. Granted that D'Anjou himself had probably instigated this royal recognition, who had worked him into Toby's spot in the ceremony? It was universally assumed that the main purpose of the darughachi's journey west was to choose the next suzerain. If blood was what mattered, then D'Anjou must be the logical choice, but there was certainly no chance of D'Anjou then appointing Toby Longdirk comandante.

That crashing noise was the sound of plans collapsing.

D'Anjou rose and retreated, bowing. The herald proclaimed Baldassare Barrafranca, certainly one of the most incompetent fighters ever to sign a condotta and pretender to one of the least justifiable hereditary titles. Obviously Toby Longdirk was not going to be called forward at all. He supposed he should be feeling anger, but his inner calm remained unruffled, almost as if he had expected this; the hob slept on.

'They did it again!' said an irate whisper at his elbow. Even Hamish was polished up like a silver wine jug today, but now his face was scarlet with wrath. He was speaking out of the corner of his mouth, of course, as all attention was supposed to be on the ceremony taking place in the road.

'Did what?'

'Insulted you! Deliberate public humiliation!' He managed to spit the words without moving his lips, quite a feat.

'You mean I'm supposed to feel slighted because I'm not allowed to kiss a man's boot?'

Hamish glanced sideways at him. 'Don't snarl at me, messer Longdirk! What Lucrezia does isn't my fault. I got your name as far up the list as was humanly possible.'

'I'm not snarling.'

'Well, you should be! Tell me why Il Volpe lets his sister interfere like this! She's doing everything she can to make your job harder. Nevil will hear of this. His spies will tell him.'

'Lucrezia is a formidable signora.' Toby had not identified her among the massed beauties in the ladies' stands. But she would be there, watching him to enjoy his reaction. 'If she's the puppet master, she's doing a remarkable job, but she isn't really hurting me. I don't care about the prizes she keeps snatching from me. Bowing and scraping folderol! No, I'm sure the Magnificent knows his sister well enough not to let her meddle in policy. Someone else has turned him against me, and it must be a traitor, someone working for the Fiend. That worries me a lot more than a woman's spite.'

* * *

The pattern was repeated when the procession reached the palace. Toby was not at all surprised to discover that he had been struck off the list of dignitaries to make obeisance before the throne. This omission was clearly intended to be another snub, but he could not feel hurt by it. The opportunity to place another man's foot on his head seemed a very questionable honor.

After that he rode back to Fiesole with the rest of the Company, skipping the inevitable banquet without finding out what little treats had been planned for him there.

CHAPTER SEVEN

'The duchessa was very disappointed that you missed the banquet last night,' Don Ramon remarked airily. On that splendid spring morning, he and Toby were leading a group of senior officers into Florence to wait upon General Neguder. He looked astonishingly pert for a man who had partied all night — which he must have done, because he had not returned to Fiesole until well after dawn.

There was no justice. Toby, who had gone to bed at a respectable hour like a dutiful little boy, felt bleary- eyed and bedraggled. The life of a penniless outlaw had been much simpler than that of a condottiere.

'I bet she was.'

'Mustn't disappoint influential ladies.'

'I am sure you did not, signore.'

The don smirked and twirled up his mustache. 'I believe we gave satisfaction.' He was riding the devil-horse Brutus, which kept trying to bite Smeorach. Both Toby and Smeorach were growing very short of patience. Toby had surreptitiously slid his boot out of his stirrup and was waiting for the next provocation.

'What did darling Lucrezia have planned for me — gunpowder in the soup?'

'I believe vipers in the pasta. What's wrong with your mount?'

'I'm not sure.' Smeorach was trudging down the hill like a cart horse, not at all his usual high-spirited self. Possibly he had been infected by his rider's glum mood. Toby gave him an affectionate pat. 'I think I'm neglecting him. The big dolt isn't getting enough exercise.'

'Not enough? If you want my—'

At that moment Brutus aimed another nip at Smeorach. Toby's spur slammed into Brutus's flank, and at once the don had an unexpected fight on his hands. It was several minutes before order was restored and the procession could continue down the trail. The don had probably not witnessed that low blow, but he was already glowering suspiciously at his companion and would find the wound when he dismounted. Some of the sycophants following would have noticed and would tattle to him later. Which reminded Toby of the worst of the nightmares that had troubled his sleep.

'Are you prepared to accept the Chevalier as suzerain, Captain-General?'

The don shot him an astonished glance, then exploded into laughter.

'You don't think D'Anjou will be appointed suzerain?'

'No, I don't, because I know who will be.'

And now he wasn't going to tell — so there!

* * *

The hall to which the noble condottiere and his men were conducted was neither the largest nor the grandest in the Palace of the Signory, but it was large enough and grand enough to dazzle any native of a poor, drab land like Scotland. Its walls and ceiling blazed with gilt moldings and vivid frescoes of glorious battles from the war-smeared history of Florence. Only a greasy layer of smoke stain from innumerable years of candles marred the brilliance.

Here the visitors were required to stand for a considerable time, long enough to make them feel less important than the roaming bluebottles. Eventually a herald hurried in and ordered them to kneel for the entrance of