-6-
We hit a stretch of open road and passed dark vineyards. There was a cottage down in the ravine, with light shining past the door jam. The mules pulled at a steady clop and their heads bobbed up and down. Soon we crested the hill. More appeared in the distance.
“There,” Ofelia said. She pointed at a castle on a crag. It was dark, and even from here, the castle radiated menace. It was too tall and spiky, like an evil castle in a minstrel’s tale.
“Don’t the guards carry lanterns?” I asked.
Ofelia’s laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle.
The road led down and looked to twist in the ravines. I spied lights of movement among trees. Our friends carried lanterns or torches.
“How many men will Filippo have?” I asked.
“We could only wish they were men,” Ofelia muttered.
Hounds howled before I could ask her what she meant. The howling was eerie, discordant, as I’d said earlier. A premonition touched me and I realized the improbability of Ofelia’s tale. I put my hand on her shoulder. She cowered, and I felt her flesh tremble.
“Is this a trap?”
She shook her head.
“By the howls Filippo must have half-a-dozen hounds and likely a dozen riders,” I said. “I can kill two or three of his men-at-arms. The rest will swarm me and capture you. You must realize that. I don’t think you’d willingly ride into capture. That leaves only one other option.”
“All you have to do is kill Filippo,” she said. “Surely you know that.”
“Slay him while his men guard him?” I laughed.
“Knock them out of the way. You’re strong.”
“My dear woman, horses are too big to knock out of the way.”
“I hired you—your sword, I mean. I did it honestly, signor. I want to reach the castle. Why would I jeopardize my wagon and cargo just so Filippo could kill you? You’re nothing to me.”
I scowled.
“How was I supposed to know you’d wake up?” she asked. “The way you lay beside the road earlier, Ox and I thought you were dead. Filippo was out there before that. There would be no means for Filippo and me to plan a trap, if that’s what you fear.”
Her reasoning made sense, and her blatant greed and self-interest were too honest to fake. I released her.
She rubbed her shoulder, glanced at me. “The priestess gave me a powder, signor. It makes a flash that blinds people in the dark, at least for a few moments. You can attack then.”
“Right,” I said. “Move in among horsemen.”
“Are you jesting?” she said. “I’d flee, but you’re quicker than a stoat and would catch me. You can kill them.”
“Run and leave your precious cargo?” I asked.
“You evaded Ox’s club,” she said, “twice. You caught me on the road when I tried to run. You must know your own quickness, signor. Combined with your great strength—and with my powder—Filippo’s as good as dead.”
I recalled the White Company mercenaries. Had I dodged the first crossbow bolt? I’d moved among them as if they’d stood spellbound, and I’d snatched the knife out of the second crossbowman’s hand. I pressed a hand against my chest and poked a finger where the crossbow bolt had torn into chainmail. The flesh underneath was whole and the ribs intact. Yet the bolt had pierced my body and I’d leaked a black fluid.
My scowl deepened. I could see in the dark. I moved as fast as a stoat. I hit like a bull, and now I could heal like a lizard, one that re-grows its tail.
“I have a plan, signor,” Ofelia said as she graced me with a rat-like grin. “My papa taught me to always have a plan.” The wagon creaked along a ravine thick with brush. “Magi Filippo has seen you. I’m sure you frightened him. He might be too cautious to step into our trap if he spies you here.”
“You want me to lay in the wagon with the dead?” I asked.
“No. I think you should drape Ox’s cloak over your armor. Hunch as Ox always did. Keep silent when they ride up, for Ox seldom spoke. When I kick you, close your eyes. I’ll toss the powder. Trust me, signor. You’ll know the flash went off. That is when you draw your sword.”
It was simple, and it played on Filippo’s likely expectations. But could I trust this grave robber? Could I trust my strength and speed to slay Filippo? How did I know the others would scatter at his death? What if they wore plate, wore all the armor a knight should?
A horn blared. It was loud, arrogant and close.
I hurried into the wagon-bed and tore away Ox’s hooded cloak. Soon I sat on the buckboard with my flimsy disguise. I was barely in time.
They came out of a clump of trees, the hounds first. They were vile creatures. I hadn’t expected it. How could I? The hounds were elongated men who ran on their hands and feet. They were naked and their backs were high off the ground. Their eyes bulged and some had fangs instead of teeth. One of them bayed. The others panted and loped toward us.
“What are they?” I whispered in horror.
“Damned creatures,” Ofelia whispered, “who ran afoul of the Lord of Night.”
“Who?” I whispered.
She shot me an incredulous glance.
Horsemen thundered into view. The riders were big, wore flapping cloaks and hoods. Fortunately, none clinked with mail or clanked with plate. Even with my demonic vision, it was hard to see their faces. Several of the riders seemed to have snouts like beasts. I felt then as if I’d ridden into the first canto of Dante’s
Inferno
. I believe I was as terrified and horrified as when Dante first called out to eerie-voiced Virgil.
I barely remembered in time Ofelia’s plan. I hunched on the buckboard, kept my head down. The rusty, Villani-forged sword lay at my feet.
“Halt!” a man shouted. I thought I recognized his voice.
Ofelia drew rein. We creaked to a stop, swayed. Horses neared. Torches hissed and threw flickering light.
I peered out of my hood. Magi Filippo, the supposed eel-fisher’s apprentice, rode in the lead on an elegant Arabian horse. He held a torch and had a feline smile that oddly matched his forked beard. His pendant thumped against a leather jerkin. He must have been proud of the pendant or maybe it was the symbol of his authority. Behind him followed big riders. One of them gazed at me. Torchlight reflected out of his eyes as if he was a wolf. I shuddered, and wondered what had occurred to turn men into creatures and creatures into men.
The altered hounds snarled up at us and gnashed their teeth. In some, I spied a muted light of humanity. Those seemed as mournful as savage, as if they understood their degradation.
“Ofelia,” Filippo said in an oily tone. “This is a wonderful surprise. What? No words for your old friend? Ofelia. I thought we had an agreement. I let you enter the castle. You—”
“You always planned me treachery,” she said nervously. I had the feeling she tried hard not to glance my way. In spite of my horror, I wondered what treachery she had in store for me.
Filippo laughed. “Planning is one thing, doing is another. But if you do it, you must succeed. You failed to succeed when you sent the White Company killers after me.”
“I’ve kept my bargain,” she whined.
Filippo eased the Arabian closer, and his features turned ugly. “That was a nasty bit of business, setting the captain and his men on me. Did you really think—”
Ofelia nudged me with her foot. I barely remembered to close my eyes and turn my head. Her garments rustled as if she threw something. I heard a hiss and a violent explosion that made me cringe. Horses screamed, riders shouted and hounds howled.
My fear boiled into rage. With a bellow, I grabbed the sword and leaped from the moving buckboard—the mules bolted. I had a moment to wonder if Ofelia had calculated that in her plans.
With a jarring thud, I crashed into Filippo. The Arabian reared. We tumbled. I twisted Filippo under me. He struck the ground first and bones crunched. The impact blew me off him. I rolled, found I’d kept hold of the sword and sprang to my feet. Riders shouted wildly and clawed at their eyes. Horses screamed and turned in circles. Filippo tried to get up as he worked his mouth like a landed carp. I hacked once and finished him. It was brutal and sudden, the usual way of war.
At his death, riders lurched in the saddle as if wasps had stung them. The altered hounds howled like damned souls and fled. Maybe Ofelia had spoken truly about just having to kill Filippo. Still, I distrusted her. So I used my advantage, the sighted among the temporarily blinded. I lunged here and there and used the tip of my sword. I stabbed at vital spots. Even so, four riders galloped away.
I tried to grab a horse. I would catch Ofelia. Each time I neared an animal, it bolted in terror. They must have smelled the stink of sorcery upon my person.
I knelt beside one of the fallen riders and forced myself to inspect him. He had a pushed out mouth and nose, like the beginning of a snout. He seemed human otherwise, which is to say that the transformation was all the more hideous. I could only conclude that he had bargained his soul and had begun to melt into a demon. Either that, or instead of me being Dante and entering the land of the dead and the demons of Hell, they had somehow found a means onto the Earth. The thought made me back away. I glanced at others. They were the same. Each had a badge pinned to his chest that showed a cloaked man. Did that make them servants of this Old Father Night? One thing made me glad. Each of those lying on the road was dead.
I dared crouch beside Filippo and examined the gold chain. I let my hand hover over the pendant. Repugnance filled me. I wanted nothing to do with the foul gold. Let it tempt another.
I stood. Ofelia’s wagon was gone. I cleaned my sword, sheathed it and set out for the castle. If I’d been ensorcelled, would my face begin to push outward into a snout? Were Erasmo’s dark deities indeed real? I touched my face. It seemed normal. Even so, I lengthened my stride. I would force these spells from me or I would wreck Perugian vengeance upon the caster.
-7-
To my surprise, I found Ofelia a quarter mile later. The right rear wheel had spun off her wagon. That corner of the wagon touched the road. Ofelia had unhitched the mules and tied their reins to branches. She had one end of a pole under the wagon, with wood under the pole to make it a lever. Her lantern-light cast the pathetic scene in a yellow glow. Ofelia grunted and pulled. It appeared as if she wanted to lift the wagon corner and kick a piece of wood under it. She would have to lever it many times to get all her wood under. Only then could she think about wrestling the wheel back onto the axle.
She sweated, grunted and cursed with crude profanity. And suddenly with a crack of wood, her lever splintered. She sprawled backward onto the road.
“You should have unloaded the corpses first,” I said.
She yelped, jumped up and waved a trembling knife in my direction. From under her hood, she squinted into the darkness as if I was invisible.
I strode into the lantern’s radius. “The wagon’s too heavy,” I said.
Terror twitched across her pockmarked face. The knife shook worse. She looked at it, shrugged, sheathed the knife and tried to smile. It was the most insincere smile I’d ever seen.
“I wager you won the fight,” she said.
“Do you want their corpses?” I asked.
She forced a chuckle and nodded as if she appreciated my humor. “Did you slay them all?”
I shook my head.
Worry pulled at her mouth. “Please tell me you killed Filippo.”
“Was he truly a sorcerer?” I asked.
“Was?” She smiled. “That means he’s dead, right?”
Ofelia was clever. “When I killed him,” I said, “the others reacted oddly.”
“They’re bonded to him. They’re creatures of the Lord of Night.”
I wondered if ‘the Lord of Night’ was a nickname for the Devil. “Was Magi Filippo a creature of this lord?” I asked.
Ofelia clapped her hands in delight. “He’s dead. Oh, he’s finally dead. What wonderful news.”
“Is the Lord of the Night the Devil?”
“You’re not truly asking me that,” she said with a laugh.
“Why not?”
“Because everyone knows about the Lord of Night. Peasants in Ireland know. The lord is as human as the two of us…well, as me. He brought the Great Mortality. He
changed
the world. Why pretend you don’t know?”
“Tell me about this Great Mortality.”
Ofelia laughed. “Where have you been that you can ask me that?”
“Explain,” I said.
She nodded and with one of her grubby hands, she wiped away her smile. “I’m sorry I fled, signor. But how would it have helped if I’d stayed? You said some of them escaped. They might have kidnapped me. This way I’m still free to pay you the thousand florins.”
“Fifteen hundred,” I said.
“You earned every coin of it, signor. That was a knightly leap. I turned back to watch. I should have halted the mules, I know. But by the time I turned to control them, the mules had their heads. They were terrified. It was all I could do to keep the wagon intact. These cursed potholes are everywhere. I would have escaped but for them. When the wheel came off, I pitched off the wagon. But I was a juggler before this and remembered my tumbles.”
“Bravo,” I said.
“I hope you’re not bitter.”
“What? That you’re a treacherous ingrate?”
“I explained that, signor,” she said, sounding wounded.
I nodded. “Good night to you, madam. I wish you luck.” I began to stride past. I’d had enough of her.
She watched, surprised. “Wait, signor.”
I saluted the uneasy mules as I passed. Then I strode along the road, headed for the castle.
“You owe me!” Ofelia shouted.
I paused, looked back. “…Do you have rope?”
“Rope?” she asked.
I looked at the trees. “Ten feet should be enough to hang you.”
“What?”
“I owe you for Ox’s attempted murder of me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Consider, signor, you’ll never get your fifteen hundred florins if I’m not with you.”
“You never offered in good faith.”
“It was my powder that allowed you to attack successfully.”
“Magi Filippo hunted you,” I said. “I was never in danger.”
She shook her head. “He hunted anyone who neared the castle. He would have come for you. You saw his hounds, the luckless men twisted by sorcery. You must have seen the others. They hate us.”
“Us?”
“Those who are still human,” Ofelia said. “Those they capture are hideously treated. You would have been no exception.”
I pondered that. I liked the idea of sorcery twisting them better than the idea they were escapees from Hell. Besides, Dante’s
Inferno
had made it clear that none escaped from the infernal abyss. Priests and bishops taught the same thing.
Ofelia approached with the lantern. Hooded cunning creased her face despite her efforts to hide it. “Where is Filippo’s chain?”
She was observant, this little grave robber. “It’s on his corpse,” I said.
“No. You should have taken it. Please tell me you took it.”
“The gold is cursed,” I said.
She laughed as if I were a cretin. “The gold is fine. It’s the pendant that is cursed, and that’s why you should have taken it. You’re in danger now.”
“Less than before, I’d warrant.”
“You can mock if you like,” she said. “But that shows your ignorance.”
I refused to let her goad me. “I bid you goodbye.” I bowed, began to turn away.
“The medallion showed the Cloaked Man, one of the manifestations of Old Father Night. The riders that escaped will return to the battle site. They’ll take the medallion. They’ll wrap Filippo’s corpse in a shroud and take it to his master.”
“Why should that trouble me?” I asked.
“Filippo’s master is the Lord of Night. By sorcerous means the medallion will show him Filippo’s death. It will show him you. The Lord of Night will want revenge.”
Ah. I saw the depth of her cunning then. It was something that would have been worthy of that viper Bernabo Visconti of Milan or Pope Clement VI in Avignon. She’d obviously wanted
me
to murder Filippo so
she
could escape the coming retribution from his master the Lord of Night.
“When the Lord of Night arrives with his minions,” I said, “I’ll tell him you hired me to murder Filippo. This lord will come and seek you then as the author of Filippo’s death.”
“No,” Ofelia said. “You’re too strange to pass over. The Lord of Night or his avenging minion will take you. You need protection, signor. You need a patron.”
“And how has your patron helped you?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ofelia asked, surprised. “She sent you.”
The silver coin suddenly felt heavy in my belt.
“Four riders are still out there,” Ofelia said, indicating the woods, “four riders and the hounds.”
“Let them come.”
“If you leave,” Ofelia said, “they might capture me.”
I shrugged.
“They’ll question me concerning you. I’ll be forced to talk. I think there are things about you, you want kept secret.”
I lacked the knowledge to know if she was right or not. Prudence dictated I see this little grave robber to the Moon Lady’s castle or I should kill her now to silence her lying tongue.
She gave me another of her insincere smiles.
I was not a Visconti viper or a scheming pope. I had no desire to stamp a rat, or at least not stamp this rat with its scrabbling thirst for life. I would not kill Ofelia.
“Do you not believe me, signor?” she asked.
Ofelia had used her magic powder to help me slay Filippo. The man and his creatures might have attacked me. That was true. She had given me a good sword and she yet owed me florins, a goodly sum of them.
“You may join me,” I said.
“What about my wagon?”
“I’m in a hurry,” I said. “Leave it.”
Ofelia worried her lower lip. “You don’t understand, signor. It was hard work collecting the dead. They’re worth money.”
Her collection of the dead suddenly sickened me. The many webs of witchery around me were enraging. I longed to slash them with a sword or burn them out with fire. I told her, “Your life is worth more than a wagon of corpses.”
“You’re strong,” Ofelia said, “supernaturally so. Why not lift the edge of the wagon so I can put the wheel back on?”
“You dare to mock me?” I shouted.
She cringed before my anger. Then hounds howled in the distance. We both turned toward the sound. The hounds kept silent after that, so we couldn’t tell if they retreated or advanced.
With her sweaty features, Ofelia looked up at me with hope and with her grave-digging avarice. “Try to lift it,” she pleaded. “Try it once. If it works—I’ll double my offer.”
Three thousand florins—the idea was madness. Yet there was something in her voice…she knew more than she said. I didn’t want to believe that I was supernaturally strong. Yet something strange had happened to me. I strode to the wagon. “Get the wheel ready,” I said hoarsely.
Ofelia scrambled to it.
I squatted and wondered why I played along with her madness. Then I grabbed the corner of the wagon and made sure I had a solid grip. I gritted my teeth and strained. Slowly, my thighs straightened. By the stars, the corpses in the wagon were heavy.
Ofelia rolled the wheel near. “Just a little higher!” she shouted.
I actually lifted higher.
She shoved the wheel back onto the axle. I let go of the wagon, and it settled with a ponderous creak. Ofelia produced a hammer, wedges of wood and banged away.
I stood to the side and examined my hands. I’d just stumbled onto a terrifying discovery. It had occurred while I’d let go of the wagon. I should have breathed hard after such a strenuous effort. I should have gasped. Sweat should have poured off me. I did not sweat. I did not breathe hard. In fact, I didn’t breathe at all. I waited, and my chest remained level. I searched for my heartbeat, but there wasn’t one. Before, I’d been too busy or preoccupied to notice my lack of breath.
Was I truly dead?
No! I stood. I talked. I thought and acted. The corpses in the wagon did none of those things. They lay inert. They were dead. What was I then?
Ofelia must have sensed my mood, or perhaps my feat of strength had terrified her. She quietly climbed onto the buckboard. I followed her example. She flicked the reins, and the mules resumed their steady clop. We were off to the castle of the Moon Lady.