Demon Knight

Somehow even this ultimate stupidity was not a surprise. 'Florence cannot withstand a siege. Your walls are two hundred years old, and while they may have been adequate when they were built, cannons have made them obsolete. The Fiend will set up his artillery on the hill of San Miniato and blast you to fragments.'

'We have cannons!'

'But they cannot throw a shot high enough to reach the hilltop.'

The dieci exchanged shocked glances.

'Cannot you extend the walls to include the hill?' Carisendi asked weakly.

'I can try,' Toby said. If the citizens were to be held in the city at sword point, they would be happier being kept busy building walls. 'The timing will be very tight, but if Milan manages to hold out for a month or so, the Fiend won't get here before the middle or end of June.'

The old man sighed. 'Take whatever steps you can, messer. Your written instructions will be delivered by noon.' He looked very frail as he returned the two mercenaries' bows.

Side by side they marched across to the door.

* * *

'Absolute insanity!' the don barked, even before he was outside the chamber. 'This is what we get for prostituting our honor to a stinking gang of dyers and weavers!'

For once Toby was inclined to agree with him. He had signed the condotta, so he was bound to obey orders. In the past he had always contracted to perform a specific deed and retained some freedom to choose how he would do it. He had not seen that Florence's terms were different. Too late now, for he could not march away in a snit, leaving the city with no defenders.

No cities had ever successfully resisted the Fiend — they surrendered or they fell. Unlike the great Genghis, Nevil rarely showed mercy to those who submitted to him, because the demon in him enjoyed the cruelty too much. Even if he left one of his two armies in the north, the other could crush the defenses in a matter of days. He had too many demons, too many guns, too many men.

The only hope was another appeal to the Cardinal College. If it would supply the hexers needed, if it would send Villars north, if Naples would then cooperate, if there was enough time… then Toby might be able to organize a line of defense in the Apennines. Milan and perhaps Venice were lost now, and all the lesser cities of the Po Valley, but it was still just possible that the war could be kept away from Florence.

As the two mercenaries crossed the antechamber, Hamish stepped into their path and one glance at his face was enough.

Toby said, 'I bet my bad news is worse than your bad news.'

'I doubt that.' Hamish never smiled now.

'Tell us!' the don snapped.

'The prince has appointed a suzerain. The edict has just been proclaimed.'

'It's a tie,' Toby said. 'We all know what the Fiend does to suzerains. Who is the lucky man?'

Hamish pulled a face as if the words had a foul taste. 'The King of England.'

His listeners exchanged perplexed glances.

'No, Hamish. The king of England is the one we're fighting. You've got your flags mixed up.'

'Pietro Marradi, the Magnificent. As of this morning he is suzerain of the Khan in Europe. He's going to marry Lisa, and then he will be officially recognized as King of England.' It was the wedding, not the appointment, that was sickening Hamish.

Toby's first thought was that Sartaq had made a very shrewd choice — an amazing choice! He had done the unthinkable, appointed a commoner, but Marradi's infinite political skill was just what the Khanate needed if it was ever to outmaneuver the Fiend. Even if he was more than twice Lisa's age, he was still young enough to take a second wife. She was marrying the richest man in Europe…

His second thought came just as the don put it into words: 'I wonder what the Fiend will think of this?'

CHAPTER NINE

It was done. The ink stain on her finger was evidence enough to damn her. She, Blanche, dowager Queen of England, had signed the contract betrothing her royal daughter to an Italian banker. Would future generations scorn her and heap curses on her head, or would they praise the brilliance of her acumen as madonna Lucrezia predicted? Would they laud Prince Sartaq as brilliant strategist or condemn him as merciless tyrant? A bully, certainly. Had she listened to Lisa, the pair of them would even now be locked up in a dungeon in the palace of justice, indicted for defying a direct order from the Khan's darughachi. He had not been bluffing, she was certain.

The verdict of history not yet being available, Blanche was pacing the chamber she shared with Lisa, back and forth, to and fro, hither and yon. It was a spacious and elegant room, but it had not been designed for pacing and was cluttered with chairs, chests, wardrobes, and dressing tables. Lisa had hurled herself bodily into the feather mattress and, as far as it was possible to slam curtains, had slammed the curtains behind her. Periodically muffled signs of sobbing came through the heavy material. Blanche had reasoned, pleaded, and remonstrated, to no avail. All Lisa would say was that she was going to kill herself at the first opportunity.

'Kill me first,' Blanche said miserably, and received no reply. After all these years… For a while, a little while, a brief two precious months while she had been Longdirk's guest at the villa, the nightmares had stopped. After all these years! For some reason she had trusted that large young man as she had trusted no one since the demon ate her husband, and her sleep had been untroubled. And now it was all back — nights of torment, hands shaking, stomach writhing at the sight of food. Now she was known. She was exposed, like the nightmare where all her clothes fell off in the middle of a busy street. She was trapped, like the nightmare of the cage and the rising tide. Now — today — she had, just maybe, found a new way out. She had betrothed her daughter to one of the richest men in the world, who was now one of the most powerful, the Khan's suzerain. He would not let his young wife and his mother-in-law fall into the Fiend's talons, would he?

The record of suzerains' survival was not very encouraging, but their families had done somewhat better. The nightmare of the skinning knife was perhaps the worst of all. What choice had she had? None. Sartaq was overlord, and Lisa was his ward. It was no more than courtesy on his part to ask Blanche's consent.

A scarcely audible tap on the door barely preceded its opening, and in strode the duchess of Ferrara, magnificently attired in scarlet and emeralds. Perhaps no one so petite could be described as striding, but her habitual no-nonsense air was even more marked than usual. She eyed the anonymous bed curtains, then looked inquiringly to Blanche.

'She is still a little upset, Your Grace.'

Lucrezia shrugged her elegant little shoulders. 'You can see why our Florentine laws leave marriage entirely to parental judgment. When I threw tantrums as a child, I was birched. My husbands were all amused by the scars. I should have thought Her Majesty was a little old for that, but I can certainly arrange to have it done now if you wish, monna.'

'Oh, no!' Blanche said hurriedly. 'I am sure that once the shock wears off she will be restored to her usual self.' Was Lisa's usual self adequate for the present situation?

'Well, by all means let us give her another five minutes.' The duchess settled on a chair, arranging her skirts. 'My brother is a patient man, but even he cannot tolerate a wife who throws hysterics. I know he chastised Filomena a few times when they were first married. Now his friends are pouring in and will naturally wish to congratulate the future bride.'

'Just a few minutes.' Blanche wanted to sit down also, but her body refused. She took a few more paces, turned, paced again… Like the nightmare of the snakes…

'I cannot see,' said the duchess, 'how we can possibly have everything ready by the end of the month. Normally it takes two years to arrange a Marradi wedding. Lisa? Are you likely to be bleeding around the thirtieth?'

There was no reply.

Lucrezia looked to Blanche, who felt herself blush.