sticky hands, brought another. After the carp, each guest was presented with an enameled rose; after the capon, a silver inkstand bearing the entwined insignia of the bride and groom.
Then a steward brought in a splendid golden chalice inset with jewels and paraded it along each table in turn. The Magnificent filled it with wine and carried it across to the men's table to present to the prince. Sartaq rose and drank while the company applauded.
A few moments later Marradi performed the same ceremony with another goblet, this time giving it to his bride. After the roast swan, all the guests were presented with fur-trimmed cloaks. And so it went: food, wine, speeches, gifts, and music, followed by more food, wine, speeches, gifts, and music. Toby wondered how large a sack he would have to carry away with him and what he would do with the stuff.
Tomorrow the war.
The marriage was not forgotten. A nervous notary read out the betrothal agreement, and the couple acknowledged that they had confirmed their intentions before the tutelary in the sanctuary. An hour or so later the marriage contract was read and then signed, with the prince standing in for Lisa's father. Toby was glad he could not see Hamish.
Lucrezia was still lobbing calculating glares in his direction. He should not have laughed at her. Had her misapprehension been encouraged by Lisa? A girl who could tell her mother that Hamish was the son of an earl was capable of just about anything.
He would really enjoy eight hours' solid sleep. A tiled floor like this one would do.
More toasts, more costly goblets.
More food, wine, speeches, gifts.
Sir John, who drank better than he could eat, launched into a long, damp dissertation on the evils of guns and how they had ruined warfare. His English was less intelligible than Guilo's Italian.
Then came a brief ceremony in which the groom placed a ring on Lisa's finger. Oh, poor Hamish!
'Is that the end?' Toby asked. 'Are they married now?' He ought to be out on the battlements watching the disaster unfold, except that he had already done everything he possibly could.
'Not quite,' Guilo said. 'We see them to the chamber door. As soon it shuts, they're considered married.'
'Seems a little hasty. He'll need at least fifteen minutes at his age.'
Guilo had been drinking heavily. He found that remark so hilarious that he had a coughing fit, and then had to whisper the joke to his other neighbor. While it was going on down the table, he turned back to Toby to explain how the bride and groom would complete the ceremonies by visiting the sanctuary next morning as husband and wife. In this case, that would be when the prince would recognize Cousin Pietro as King of England, Ireland, and other barbarous places.
Assuming Nevil's ghouls had not broken through the gates by then.
Toby fidgeted, wondering how the war was going. The sun no longer shone into the courtyard. Servants removed the canopies over the tables. He should return to duty, although there was no reasonable chance that Nevil would be in a position to attack before tomorrow at the earliest. Sartaq would undoubtedly speak at some point in the evening. He should wait for that.
Another glittering goblet was paraded along the tables. Who was going to be the lucky one this time? Marradi took the goblet, filled it, and rose to his feet. He was pinker than usual, but so was everyone after all the food and wine. 'Your Highness, my lords…'
Obviously it was to be Toby himself. He gritted his teeth, wondering what he could possibly say in his response. A few words of thanks were customary, but they would want more than that from him. What was there to say — that he was sorry? That they had entrusted their city to the wrong man? That he would have tried to do better next time but there wasn't going to be a next time? Try to lay the blame on Marradi himself and the Khan's son?
Now the Magnificent walked across, but he did not at once give Toby the goblet. Smiling, he looked around to include the ladies, then spoke to the men. 'This is an unusual announcement at a wedding, friends, but in this case a very appropriate one. You all know that the Chevalier D'Anjou was wounded in battle and is now reported to have died, although that has not been confirmed. In his place, with the permission and enthusiastic agreement of His Highness, in my capacity of suzerain for His Majesty Ozberg Khan the Glorious, I name Sir Tobias Longdirk
What a good idea! It came three months too late, though.
Loud applause. One or two of the men were drunk enough to cheer. Toby rose and leaned across the table to accept the gift. It was heavier than he expected, his fingers were still greasy from the lamb ragout… or perhaps he felt a prickle of warning from the hob. Whatever the reason, he dropped the cup. It hit the board between him and Marradi and exploded rich red wine all over the Magnificent. He fell back with a cry of anger.
Somebody screamed very shrilly.
Marradi wiped his eyes with a sleeve, waving his other hand for a towel as servants came running to assist. He dropped his arms and gaped incredulously at Toby… slid limply to his knees… toppled facedown… and lay there, motionless.
Many people screamed then. Guilo and even old Whitemouth leaped to their feet, knocking over their stools in their haste to get as far as possible from the scarlet stains on the white cloth. Prince Sartaq vaulted nimbly over the table and was the first to reach the corpse. He knelt to see, but he did not touch it. Several Tartar guards came roaring into the courtyard, with two shamans at their backs. Screaming, shouting, and hysteria.
Toby said nothing, did nothing. That was more than poison. That wine had been hexed. That was supposed to be him lying there.
'Silence!' Sartaq was on his feet, and his bellow echoed over the tumult. Despite his youth, his voice had a royal resonance that compelled respect. He pointed at the women, who were all on their feet by now. 'Which of you screamed first?
In the icy moment of horror while the accusation gelled, all faces turned to face one face.
'Lucrezia!' Lisa shouted, backing away.
'Lucrezia!' said another.
Lucrezia shrank as if she were arching her back like a cat. She raised a clawed hand to her mouth, gabbled a command, and was gone, vanished as she had vanished when the statue fell on the night of the Carnival Ball. More screams. Women swooned. Men rushed around the ends of the tables to reach them and comfort them. The shamans began thumping their drums, either exorcising the poison or trying to locate the culprit. An ashen-faced Hamish had his arms around the widow, who was clinging to him fiercely and sobbing on his chest. That was not going to reduce the scandal any.
The Magnificent was dead. Florence had no ruler.
The suzerain was dead.
The Fiend was outside the walls.
'Longdirk!' Sartaq roared.
'Your Highness?'
'Did you mean to do that?'
'No, Your Grace. I didn't know. It slipped through my fingers.' Was that true? Had he been incredibly lucky or had the hob saved him?
The prince stared very hard at him, as if trying to read his thoughts. 'Very well. Your appointment stands,
Where had this vibrant royal leader come from? Why hadn't he appeared months ago, when there had still been
Hamish was still consoling Lisa.
Toby bowed and hurried from the courtyard.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
