He straightened his back.
The Italian turned his horse neatly, and waved. ‘The blessing of the day to you, Messire Swan. The cardinal begs the honour of your company.’
Swan bowed in the saddle. ‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure than his company, unless possibly your own,’ he said in Italian.
Cesare slapped him on the back. ‘The courtier’s motto! If you must rub your nose in a man’s arse, do it with elegance.’
Swan flushed, and Cesare laughed.
‘Never mind him,’ said Alessandro.
They rode along the column to the cardinal without another word.
‘Good morning, messire my prisoner,’ said the cardinal.
Swan bowed, and accepted the proffered hand, kissed the ring.
Bessarion smiled. ‘How did you do it?’ he asked.
Swan realised that the Italian man-at-arms was very close to his back.
‘Listen,’ said Bessarion. ‘Alessandro thinks you did it, and I think you did it.’
Alessandro leaned into his back. ‘If you did it without stealing – then you have done us a noble service. And it is an act of . . . let’s say an act of war. A feat of arms. Tell.’
Swan hesitated.
Because he had made a mistake, and once he told . . .
The cardinal reached out and put a hand on his arm. ‘You took goods from the merchant’s wagons, and put them in the count’s empty wagons.’
Swan looked back and forth between the two men.
‘If I were to say that I found the count’s wagons empty—’ he said.
Alessandro laughed. ‘I thought so,’ he said, punching the air.
Cardinal Bessarion frowned. ‘Messire Merechault claims that he is missing six bales of goods. As well as four pieces of carved ivory from a Parisian maker to be delivered in Burgundy.’
Swan shrugged. He’d learned that shrug through hard practice. He could shrug like that even when his uncles were hitting him with a belt. ‘I imagine the count’s men have them,’ he said.
Bessarion leaned over. ‘I would be very disappointed to find that anything else was true.’ He leaned back. ‘But I am in your debt, messire. The count will be tied up in law for a week. Even the merchant, I think, owes you some gratitude.’
‘It is a pity they can’t find the girl,’ Alessandro said.
‘Girl?’ the cardinal asked.
‘That sly rogue, the count – the supposed count – paid a whore to distract the night guard while his men stole from the wagons.’ Alessandro looked at Swan. Who shrugged. Again.
‘Or so says the night guard,’ Swan said. ‘Perhaps he was bribed.’
Bessarion nodded. ‘What I cannot fathom,’ he said quietly, ‘is why the supposed count would be fool enough to put the goods in his own wagons under Merechault’s nose.’
Swan writhed.
Alessandro came to his rescue. ‘
It occurred to Swan at that point that he was going to get away with it, and a feeling of joy flooded him, unmixed with any reserve whatsoever. No school prank, no petty thievery in Cheapside, would ever have the satisfaction of this – pulled off under the very eyes of the enemy.
Bessarion nodded.
Swan found that he liked these strange, foreign men, and he looked back and forth at them. After a few more paces, he said, ‘I must confess a thought I have had.’
The cardinal bowed slightly. ‘I can provide absolution,’ he said.
Swan tried to see a way to tell the truth without owning to his part in it. ‘If – someone – had – hmm. Put the count in this unenviable position,’ he said. ‘Ahem. If the count imagined that he had been slighted—’
‘Get on with it,’ muttered Alessandro.
‘What is to keep the count from revenge?’ he asked. ‘He must suspect – er – us.’
Alessandro raised an eyebrow.
Swan went on – he’d had all morning to think it through. ‘At some point, Merechault will call for the . . . I don’t know what they are called in France, but in London we’d call him the sheriff. And the count will find himself in a difficulty.’ He was speaking too fast.
‘He will, too,’ Alessandro said.
‘So he kills Merechault and sets fire to the inn and rides away to kill us,’ Swan finished. ‘As he has more men-at-arms than we do ourselves.’
‘Why kill us?’ the cardinal asked.
Alessandro looked at the young Englishman. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t believe his own men were fools enough to place the bales of cloth in his wagons.’
‘Perhaps he can’t afford any witnesses,’ Swan said.
‘Perhaps he is so well born that he can weather any legal action,’ Alessandro said slowly.
Bessarion raised a hand, looked Alessandro in the eye and said, ‘See to it.’
Alessandro nodded, put a hand on Swan’s bridle and turned them out of the column. As he rode down the column, he gathered men – half his soldiers; Giannis, another Greek called Stefanos, a third called Giorgos, and two Italians, Ramone and Marcus.
He turned to Swan. ‘You’re coming with me. You made this mess, you can help clean up.’ But despite his acerbic tone, he smiled and put an hand on Swan’s arm. ‘You did well enough.’ He shrugged. ‘I think you are too cautious. I think the so-called count will simply ride away.’
Swan shook his head. ‘That was my mistake,’ he said.
Alessandro made a face. ‘What mistake?’
They were just passing a low bluff on their right, covered in big trees – oaks, and some beech. Alessandro was looking at it.
‘The first night I was with you at dinner, I saw him sitting with the merchant’s men, at a middle table. He was as angry as a mad dog.’ Swan was looking at the horizon.
Alessandro shrugged. ‘So?’ He shaded his eyes with his hand to look at the trees.
‘He was angry he hadn’t been given a place at the high table,’ Swan said. ‘He really is a count.’
Alessandro’s face went still, just for a moment. Then his eyelids came down a little. He turned away from the high woods.
‘Then we must, in fact, clean this up very carefully,’ he said quietly. ‘Is your servant an archer?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you even know?’
‘He’s a very good archer,’ Swan said, hoping it was true.
‘Good. I have a couple of English bows I bought at Castillon from the victors.’ He turned and beckoned to Peter, who rode out of the column.
‘We need to hurry,’ Swan said.
He pointed at a column of smoke rising from the town on the next ridge, just three leagues away. ‘That’s the inn.’
Alessandro nodded. ‘Right here will do,’ he said. He opened his purse and dumped it in the road – twenty silver ecus and some gold, glinting in the summer sun.
The two wagons and twenty retainers rolled on sedately, unthreatened by the rising smoke behind them. At their head rode the cardinal, his red hat prominently displayed. The little convoy raised dust that could be seen from ridge to ridge, for several leagues.
The count’s party moved quickly, raising a column of dust that could be seen from the convoy. The cardinal turned in his saddle from time to time to watch the count’s progress. His force of men-at-arms rode down into the valley, splashed across the ford, and started up the long ridge, now just a league away, closing the distance.
The cardinal gave an order, and the convoy began to move faster. He turned to watch as the count’s
