Kushiel's Scion (105 page)
It was a good bout. Eamonn had learned a measure of patience since that day so long ago when we'd dueled with wooden blades, betting the Bastard against his golden tore. His tall shield covered him from chin to knees, and he used it to full advantage. They sidled around one another, trading blows.
Gallus was cunning and efficient. Every move was economical. He kept his feet planted and his guard high, moving only for an occasional feint. Eamonn watched him warily, circling with slow deliberation. For a moment I thought the bout would turn earnest, but then Gallus Tadius put up his sword and grinned.
"Ah, Prince Barbarus!" He clapped a hand on Eamonn's shoulder. "You'll do. Next!"
When my turn came, I stepped forward and bowed, then drew my sword and settled into a two-handed Cassiline fighting stance, angling the blade across my body.
Gallus eyed me with dour amusement. "What in the hell do you think you're doing, fancy-boy?"
"Preparing to be tested, my lord," I said politely. "Would you care to make a wager?"
"A wager!" He roared with laughter. "Oh, aye, lad, I'll wager aught you care to wager!"
"All right." I hesitated. "I'll wager I can disarm you. If I lose, I'll…" I swallowed. I couldn't bear to wager the Bastard, the only living reminder of home I possessed. I reversed my sword, offering the hilt. I pushed aside the memory of Joscelin and me conferring with the master smith. It was only metal, wrought in a pleasing shape. "I'll give you my sword."
There was a good deal of whispering among the conscripts, and not a little snickering. "I don't want your sword, lad," Gallus said absently, examining it. "I want you to use it in my service. Nice piece, though." He nodded and returned it. "All right. Mine for yours if you lose. And if by some poxy D'Angeline miracle you don't?"
"You sleep, my lord," I said steadily. "A full nights sleep."
His sharp brows, Lucius' satyr's brows, shot toward the rim of his helmet. "Oh, sweet tits of the Vestals! Now you're a damned nursemaid!" He turned toward the conscripts, laughing. "What do you say, lads? Does Gallus Tadius da Lucca need sleep ?"
"No, sir!" they shouted.
Gallus might not, but Lucius did. "Do we have a bargain, my lord?" I asked doggedly.
He shrugged. "Why not?"
It went fast. I'd watched him fight. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the fluid Cassiline style, but if I gave him a chance to adjust, he would. So I didn't. I brought my sword around from right to left in a high, sweeping circle, raising his guard, then continued the circle with a low feint at his legs. I ducked low under his counterthrust and rolled toward the right, coming up outside his guard.
His head was turned the wrong way. I could see a few inches of exposed skin between his helmet and his gorget where his pulse beat.
I didn't strike. Instead, I spun behind him, turning my back to him, keeping my blade high and tight against my body. Circles within circles, as Joscelin had taught me. Gallus was caught inside my circle, his sword-arm overextended. He was turning toward his left. I was on his right, where he didn't expect me. With my two-handed grip, I brought the pommel of my sword down hard on the back of his gauntleted hand.
It opened in an involuntary spasm.
He dropped his sword.
There was a collective gasp from the watching conscripts, with Eamonn's low chuckle resonating beneath it. I sheathed my sword, stepped back, and bowed.
"Well," Gallus Tadius said mildly. He slung his shield aside and shook out his hand, which must have stung somewhat fierce. "Well, well." He picked up his sword and sheathed it. "You're full of surprises, D'Angeline."
"Yes, sir," I said.
He stepped closer to me. I couldn't read his expression; I only knew there was nothing of Lucius in it. But there was no malice, either. "Do you know," he mused, "I had a D'Angeline in the Red Scourge once. Doucet, or something like. Got in some trouble back home, took to the mercenary life. Don't suppose you know of him?"
I shook my head. " 'Tis a large nation, my lord."
"Aye." Gallus nodded. "And he's been dead a while, I imagine. Hailed from Camlach, as I recall. He got a little crazy when he fought, too. Different style. A sodding pretty bastard, though not as pretty as you, not by half. Used to pray to one of your poxy D'Angeline gods before a battle."
"Camael," I said, relaxing. "Most likely."
"Camael. Aye, that was it." He nodded again, then punched me in the face.
It hurt like fury. He'd caught me high on the left cheekbone with his gauntleted fist, knocking me clean off my feet. I felt the ground break my fall and rolled backward, grabbing instinctively for my daggers. There was no room to draw a sword, but room enough for those. I came up hissing, half-blinded, my left eye watering, daggers in both hands.
Gallus Tadius regarded me, hands on his hips. "See, here's the thing, lad. If we're going to beat these pox-ridden Valpetran sons of whores, we're going to have to stand shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. Every man knows his duty. Every man counts on the fellow beside him to know his. That's what keeps you alive on the battlefield. That's what it means to be an army. I don't know who the hell taught you, but this is war, not a gladiator's arena. You go twirling around like a high-priced whore on an acrobat's stage, you're like to get your fellows killed. Understand?"
I didn't want to, but I did.
"Yes," I grated.
"Good." He jerked his chin at the waiting conscripts. "Next!"
One by one, Gallus Tadius tested the remainder of our company. And when he had done, he arranged us into pairs according to our levels of skill and set us to sparring. He appointed Eamonn to lead our squadron.
"Teach 'em the basics, Prince Barbarus," he said. "That's all I ask. You'll drill here, every day, until you receive further orders. You've got an hour till the next batch comes. Make good use of it."
He mounted his horse and made to leave.
"My lord!" I called after him. Gallus looked over his shoulder. "It's bad luck to dishonor a wager."
He stared at me for a long moment. One corner of his mouth curved with the hint of a smile, and he shook his head. Unexpectedly,
I found myself grinning. Without a word, Gallus Tadius rode away, still shaking his head.
My sparring partner was a young man named Orfeo. He seemed familiar, with a narrow face with wide eyes that gave him a curious, bird-like look. I'd watched his bout and seen enough to guess that someone had taught him the rudiments of swordplay, but whatever he'd learned, he'd forgotten for lack of practice.
"My brother, Giancarlo," he confirmed. "He taught me some before he left."
"Left?" I asked.
He nodded. "To seek his fortune with a mercenary company."
I remembered where I'd seen him. "You were a friend of Bartolomeo's."
"Yes." Orfeo's narrow face darkened. "They cut him down like a dog in the street! I hope they do invade," he said savagely. "I mean to get revenge for him." He paused. "Can you teach me to fight like you do?"
I explored the tender knot rising on my left cheekbone. "Not likely."
We spent the hour sparring. It was difficult. Ti-Philippe had taught me to fight in the conventional manner with sword and shield, but I'd spent so many long hours training with Joscelin. Out of practice though I was, the body remembers. And too, I was fighting without a shield. I tried to keep to a straightforward approach, but without intending it, I'd find my feet moving in familiar patterns, circles within circles, marking and blocking the quadrants with my blade. And Orfeo tried to emulate me, spinning awkwardly, leaving himself horribly open. He had a round buckler, but only a leather jerkin like mine, and I was fearful of injuring him by accident.
Eamonn took his charge seriously. After demonstrating the proper usage of our weapons, he strolled around, watching us all, offering corrections and advice. After a few passes, he returned with a second buckler, having come to some arrangement with one of the other conscripts.
"Here." He handed it to me, his face serious. "Gallus Tadius is right, Imri. At least in this matter."
I shoved my left arm through the arm strap and flexed my hand around the smooth grip. "I know, I know." I tested the shield's heft. It felt cumbersome, but I supposed I'd get used to it. "You're good at this."
Eamonn grinned. "I am, aren't I?"
For the remainder of the time, Orfeo and I hacked and battered at one another. I felt awkward and unbalanced, which made us a better match. By the time the next batch of conscripts arrived, my left arm felt like a lead weight, and I was glad to stop.
So began the new pattern of our days in Lucca.
It was a miserable time. I hated a great deal of it. I hated the broken nights of riding patrol and the broken days of drilling. I hated the buckler, and being constrained to a style that made no use of my hard-won skills. Everything I'd been taught was to preserve my life. Everything Gallus Tadius taught us emphasized the need to stand together, to defend one's brother in arms. As much as I understood it—and I did, even Joscelin would be the first to admit that Cassiline Brothers aren't trained to the battlefield—I still chafed at it.
Gallus did honor his wager, though.
I found out that night, when Eamonn and I returned from patrol. Despite the lateness of the hour, the Lady Beatrice met us in the atrium. It gave me a start, reminding me of her daughter. Her dark red hair was loose around her shoulders, her round, pleasant face alight with gladness as she hushed us.
"He's sleeping!" she whispered.
Eamonn glanced at me. "I'll be damned."
I liked to think it helped, at least a little. When I saw him next, Gallus Tadius wore Lucius' face a little easier. It didn't last, though. He was up day and night; tracking the progress of Valpetra's labor, tracking the progress of the Red Scourge, tracking the progress of the masons' efforts to shore up the wall. He rode through the city, scouring every inch for defensible positions and vantage points.
He spent long hours conferring with priests.
Since he didn't seem overly concerned with the Tadeii villa, which wasn't situated in a strategic location, I kept my promise to Claudia Fulvia and concerned myself. With Lady Beatrice's blessing, I confronted Publius Tadius.
I came straight from the training-field and strode into his study uninvited. He had issued a standing order to be left undisturbed, but his wife countermanded it. I found him seated by a window, immersed in reading, for all the world as though Lucca weren't under siege. He looked up when I entered, his gaze vacant. Yes?
I stood in front of him, dripping on his carpet. It was raining. The long dry spell had broken with a vengeance, and it had been a miserable day of drilling. We were staging mock skirmishes now, squadron against squadron, and I'd spent the better part of two hours ankle-deep in cold mire, locking shields, thrusting and grunting.
"My lord," I said. "Do you know who I am?"
His expression changed slowly, a measure of clarity surfacing. It was cold and disapproving. He marked his place in his book and set it down. "If you're speaking of your relationship with my son, I don't particularly care to hear it."
"Your son." My hair was dripping into my eyes. I swiped it out of the way with one vambraced forearm. "My lord, your son is a good man, and I pray to Blessed Elua you have a chance to learn that one day."
His mouth pursed. "You have no right to pass judgment on me."
I gazed at him, through the bitterness and disappointment and self-righteousness, and beheld the shadows on his soul. Fear and longing and deep-seated self-loathing. "You were afraid of him, weren't you? Your grandfather?"
He looked away. "Please leave."
"My lord." I opened my arms. "I fear, too. But I'm here and I'm fighting for Lucca at the behest of your wraith-ridden son and your mad, dead, awful genius of a grandfather. And if a prince of Terre d'Ange can do this much for a foreign city, surely the grandson of Gallus Tadius can bestir himself in the defense of his own household."
Publius' jaw trembled. "You don't understand."
"Yes," I said. "I do. You've not gone mad, my lord, you've only taken refuge there. It's time to return. Lucca needs you. Your family needs you."
He looked at me, his glance flinching away, then steeled himself. "What must I do?"
I led him through the villa, explaining about the dam and the prospect of flooding, and how the city wall might be breached. I showed him what we'd done to shift foodstuffs and certain delicate valuables to the upper story.
"You think it will happen?" he asked.
"I think it might," I said. "And my lord, if it does, I won't be here to protect the villa from looting. I won't be here to defend the Lady Beatrice's honor. I'll be in the streets, fighting. You've got to help."
"I can do that." His eyes were clear and young, younger than they'd been. "Yes."
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