Spira Mirabilis (56 page)

Without responding, Leto filled his own glass. He finished by tapping the rim with the decanter. ‘The war’s unwinnable.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Geta began arguing that a change in fortune was imminent.

Leto let him ramble, amused by his volte-face, before interrupting, ‘Let’s be candid, Geta. You care about preserving your neck, not Concord. You know that any peace negotiation must include the Rasenneisi, and that any settlement that the Rasenneisi negotiate will require you to be hanged.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Bocca mumbled behind his counter.

Geta picked up his glass again and laughed.

‘What’s so amusing?’

‘I thought I’d taught you well over the course of this campaign.
I clearly failed – if this is your idea of springing a trap!’ He flung the wine at Leto and the empty glass at a praetorian. He plunged his dagger into the other one and bolted from the piazzetta into the night.

The guards gave pursuit, but Geta knew every bolthole the Tartaruchi had ever used. As he crawled on his belly through the damps of the
sottosuolo
he considered his abruptly reduced options. Leto was serious about taking over, so he must therefore cleave to the First Apprentice – but that malignant imp would hang him just for spite if he returned to Concord bearing only bad news.

The Etruscan Annals

The unburied dancers should have confirmed Pedro’s warning, but it was only when she saw what was left of Rasenna that Sofia realised there was to be no homecoming. Home was gone, lost somewhere in the years gone by, and what was left was as pointless as a eunuch.

‘I don’t suppose Akka will be the same when I return to it,’ said Fulk.

Sofia wiped away her tears and turned to him. ‘You’ve kept your promise, every promise. You need not go further.’

At last he said, ‘Whatever comes, Akka stands with the League. I must see this Crusade through to the end.’

While they gazed upon that towerless skyline, Levi, Pedro and Costanzo watched the chariot approaching from the east.

Anticipating that Rasenna would be strongly defended, both armies had converged in the field where John Acuto had met his end. Costanzo’s paranoid intimations about the Byzantines had not abated, so Sofia decided to simply ask Jorge his intentions. She’d begun to have misgivings of her own. All she had to rely upon was Fulk’s estimation of the prince’s quality.

Jorge was straightforward. ‘We’re not fighting for land,’ he said, ‘we’re fighting for water.’

Costanzo was quick to comprehend. ‘The Adriatic.’

‘It’s our sea. The only foothold on the Etrurian peninsula we seek is Ariminum.’

Sofia was confused. ‘There is no Ariminum.’

‘Its harbour remains,’ said Costanzo.

‘We understand each other, Signore Bombelli. I will rebuild the City of Bridges –
Cam’era, dov’era
as the natives used to say – and run it as a client state.’

‘What of the Rhineland?’

Jorge’s manner became colder. ‘We ought to finish
this
war before worrying about prizes – but let me say that those won by Byzantine arms alone concern Byzantines alone. Just as the peace Etruria devises is none of our concern.’

Sofia noted how Jorge included Fulk in that ‘our’, and that Fulk did not object. Both apparently considered Akka a Byzantine dominion.

‘Whatever arrangement you make, ’ the prince continued, ‘I’m sure that some other state, a year or a few decades hence, will take Concord’s place. You’re fighting for liberty, a splendid cause. Ours is more prosaic but no less vital: security.’

After that frank exchange, the captains waited in a tense
silence as a single rider emerged from the wounded city. Pedro saw he was carrying the red flag that Rasenna had once united behind. Before the rider got close, it became clear he was having difficulty controlling his horse. It danced around in a circle, before bucking him off. The unseated rider had to scramble to avoid its hoofs. The captains exchanged a wry glance and trotted forward together.

‘Hail Liberators!’ cried Bocca as he slapped the dust from his arse.

‘I recognise that beast,’ said Pedro.

‘That truculent nag,’ said Bocca, picking up the flag, ‘belonged to the tyrant who usurped the rightful powers of the Signoria. Where you now sit, he and the boy general begged for succour but a few days ago. We gave them passage but made it clear they were not welcome.’

‘If another lie escapes that tongue of yours,’ said Pedro solemnly, ‘it’ll get the same treatment as Jacques the Hammer’s got. What really happened?’

Bocca wiped his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘The part about it being Geta’s horse is true. He sold it to me just before he and the general had an altercation at my tavern.’

‘Why were they fighting?’ said Levi.

‘The general wishes to make peace. Geta – well, he knew what
that
meant.’ Bocca was not sure that his implication was understood and so illustrated with an elaborate mime of a man being hanged.

‘Go on, man,’ said Levi impatiently.

‘After he fled, the Concordians up and left too. The general told me to inform you that he was surrendering Rasenna as a mark of his good intentions. Which is what I am doing. Here. Now.’

There was a long silence as they looked down on him. He lowered the flag. ‘On behalf of the Signoria, Contessa Scaligeri, I humbly beg amnesty.’

Prince Jorge lacked a dog in this fight, but he waited to hear the Contessa’s response with curiosity.

‘You, who sat silently as Rasenna’s towers were burned,’ she said, ‘ask for lenience?’

‘What could we do, Contessa! We were prisoners of the Concordians, isn’t that so, Maestro Vanzetti?’

Before Pedro could respond, Sofia said, ‘We’re not here to settle scores, Bocca. You’re pardoned.’

‘All but one,’ corrected Costanzo. ‘Maddalena Bombelli must answer for her crimes.’

Bocca was drunk with relief. ‘Do what you like to her. It was only out of respect to your family, Signore Bombelli, that she wasn’t hanged with the rest of the whores.’

‘Watch your mouth,’ said Levi.

‘No, he’s quite right,’ said Costanzo. ‘The Signoria’s enormities were forced upon it by my sister and her Concordian lover.’

‘God’s beard, Costanzo, you forgave the Veians!’ said Pedro.

‘Marsuppini will be paying for his treachery for the rest of his life. He has no credit with Tower Bombelli.’

‘But you’ll still do business with him—’

‘Veii’s our chief source of alum.’

‘And Maddalena is your sister!’

‘That makes it worse!’

Bocca stood before the liberators uncomfortably as they began to shout at each other. Sofia noticed the Byzantine’s embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, Prince Jorge.’

‘Unnecessary, Contessa. This is a family matter,’ he said, taking up his reins.

‘I mean, sorry for not trusting you.’

‘Scepticism’s healthy. There are no lifelong friendships in diplomacy. Today the Byzantines, the Akkans, the Salernitans and the Rasenneisi are pulling the same chariot. Tomorrow we may be pitted against each other.’ He tipped his head to Bocca.
‘This dog may be lying about General Spinther’s change of heart, but until we know for certain, we should press our advantage. I shall return to Ariminum and send my dromons into the Venetian gulf. I’ll take my men by the coast until we’re north of Concord, at which point we’ll double back.’

‘And we’ll be the other claw of that pincer. Until then, Prince, Godspeed.’

He gave Fulk an expectant look before turning.

Fulk touched Sofia’s shoulder, ‘Contessa, my place—’

‘—is at his side, yes. These fools will ever be suspicious of each other, but that is enough to give me assurance. At Concord then.’

‘At Concord.’

*

Carmella leaned over the font. The whispers had stopped, and left behind a question: what would it feel like to
kiss
water? She leaned closer, closer and—

‘Ahem.’

She leaped back and bowed to hide her blushes. ‘Contessa Scaligeri, Maestro Vanzetti. Our prayers are answered. You have delivered Rasenna.’

‘We all played a part,’ Pedro said. It had been the right decision, but guilt at leaving Uggeri behind lingered. ‘We’re here to ask what we can do for you.’

Carmella nervously confessed that she was afraid for the safety of the women who’d taken up with Concordians during the occupation.

Sofia said that Levi had resumed the office of podesta. ‘Justice will be done by him, or not at all,’ she promised. ‘There’ll be no score settling, no purges.’

‘I see.’ Carmella was taken aback. She had pictured the Contessa as an angel of vengeance. ‘In that case, I’d like to introduce you to our newest novice.’

Sofia followed her into the garden and to the chapel.

Carmella cleared her throat nervously, ‘This is—’

‘The Contessa knows me well,’ said Maddalena without looking away from the Madonna in the stained-glass window.

Sofia stared in amazement at the girl sitting in front of the table in the same cramped position she had spent so many hours.

‘I was haughty when she most needed sisterhood. I slandered her while playing the whore.’

‘The Contessa will surely forgive you,’ Carmella said, looking at Sofia with pleading eyes.

Maddalena wept, ‘I do not deserve forgiveness!’

After fighting so long to keep Iscanno alive, Sofia could take no satisfaction in a widow’s grief. She didn’t believe the self-serving account of the occupation that Bocca and his cronies had painted, nor did she imagine there was justice to be extracted from Uggeri’s sordid end –
vendetta
, that old ghost that haunted Rasenna’s towers could never be fully exorcised, but she would not feed it either.

She came out of her reverie to see Pedro had joined them. He was staring at her expectantly.

‘We fought our battles, but what sisters do not quarrel now and then?’

‘Sisters!’ cried Maddalena in ecstasy.

‘Sisters,’ Sofia repeated, and bounced Iscanno in her arms so that he giggled. ‘Would you like to hold him?’

‘Oh no.’ Maddalena drew back in alarm. ‘You don’t understand, Contessa. I’m not
safe
.’

Sofia had to force Iscanno into her trembling arms. She started weeping and laughing at once.

‘Now I require something from each of you. Carmella, will you baptise Iscanno?’

Carmella concealed her anxiety well. ‘I would be honoured, Contessa.’

Sofia thanked her and took a deep breath. ‘Maddalena, if your
mother were alive I would have asked her to be Iscanno’s godmother. Will you to do me the honour in her stead?’

Maddalena scarcely appeared to have heard; she was twirling Iscanno round the chapel, sweetly laughing together. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

Pedro was proud of Sofia – and of Maddalena too, for all her sins. Knowing how deep the two young women’s enmity had run, he could not help being moved. He was caught unawares when Sofia asked, ‘Will you be godfather, Maestro?’

‘Of course he will!’ cried Maddalena with something of her old spirit, rushing over with the baby. ‘We shall outdo each other in showering Iscanno with gifts, won’t we? What saint-name are you giving him, Contessa?’

Sofia didn’t have to think. ‘Giovanni.’

*

After the baptism of Iscanno Giovanni Scaligeri, Maddalena took her godson into the garden. Sofia and Carmella watched them from the baptistery.

‘We should go to the Signoria, Contessa,’ said Pedro.

‘Yes,’ said Sofia, with a sigh. ‘There’s much to discuss.’

Neither said it outright, but they were both resolved to reconcile Costanzo with his sister. If he saw her pitiful condition, surely he would bend? The Bombelli family had been a rock for Rasenna first, then for the League. To heal that schism would complete their victory.

‘We’ll be back in an hour or two’ said Sofia glancing out into the enclosed garden where Maddalena was rolling in the grass with Iscanno in the dying evening’s light. ‘Could you—’

‘Go,’ said Carmella. ‘I’ll watch over them. Don’t worry. Here at least they’re safe.’

*

Costanzo had convened the new Signoria in Palazzo Bombelli, in the same capacious courtyard where Fabbro used to hold court,
but now weeds pressed up between the tiles. The olive trees had overgrown their pots and the fountain in the centre was long-dry. There was no notary and no handing round of the mace; instead, Costanzo sat at his father’s banco behind the scales and fired questions as though they were employees and not parliamentary colleagues: ‘If General Spinther’s offer is genuine, why did he run off at our approach?’

Pedro noticed that Fabbro’s old cronies had come out of the shadows to pay obeisance to the new head of the family.

‘He can’t very well make peace without possession of the capital,’ said Levi. ‘He’s probably afraid we’d hang him.’

‘I just want the First Apprentice hanged,’ said Sofia.

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ said Costanzo airily, ‘but remember, Contessa, he’s just one boy. Someone would take his place in a moment. And we can’t very well let the Byzantines march to Concord’s gates and sit here waiting for an annunciator to tell us how they get on. We need to be part of it. We need to make sure Concord never threatens us again. We need to grind its walls to dust, burn the Guild Halls down and sow the foundations with salt.’

*

Iscanno sat in Maddalena’s lap, exhausted from their play. He was staring up at the window and its kaleidoscope of colours. His godmother was tired too. Her joy had become something else – she didn’t quite know what. All that she knew was that the surface tension of the water was captivating. So thin, that boundary between air and water, and yet what a difference. That’s how it was with boundaries. One step too far and the world dropped from under you. The Contessa’s baby was alive; hers was dead. Such trivial differences.