Spira Mirabilis (25 page)

Hissing like a feral cat, Carmella threw herself at Isabella, whose arms remained hanging by her sides as her body weaved out of the shredding path of Carmella’s claws until she retreated out into the garden and danced in a circle around the little orange trees. Enraged, Carmella followed her blindly. Isabella crouched, bracing her legs for the right moment, letting her get close. Carmella made a wild swipe, tipping too far to sustain balance – it was a fault she had never been able to correct – and Isabella sprang over an orange tree and landed behind her. A simple jab to the back of the legs brought Carmella to her knees. Isabella pushed her face into the cold mud and kept her there until she feared the girl might suffocate.

Carmella picked herself up, panting. Her face was black but for her teeth and staring eyes. ‘Uggeri just works for the Contessa. That’s all there is too it.’

‘Oh, you blind fool! I don’t mean
Sofia
. Uggeri loves
Maddalena
– he always has! Why else would a soldier choose to stay in such a hopeless situation? There’s no reason, as you well know. It’s the same reason you wish to stay.’

The blind fury left Carmella’s face, but the hate remained. ‘What does a little girl know about love?’

Isabella saw she was not to be dissuaded. ‘We each have our role to play. Perhaps yours is here. Uggeri’s like you, Carmella: he’s his own worst enemy. Don’t let him destroy himself.’

*

‘All right, everyone ready? Final check.’

The tunnel went deep under the Irenicon; it would come up far south of the city walls. Pedro went round to shake hands with those that were staying. There were many more than he would have liked.

He stopped in front of Uggeri and Jacques. ‘Most likely we won’t ever see each other again. If we’re successful at Veii, we’ll take back the captured territory. I don’t know what our chances are, but I do know it won’t be done quickly. Help us. The longer you
stay alive
and make their lives hell, the better.’

‘Good to feel needed,’ said Uggeri dryly. ‘We’ll try our damnedest, and if we can’t, we’ll take as many as we can with us to hell.’ They embraced awkwardly. ‘Tell Sofia—’

‘I know. I will. Keep your flag up.’

As they set off, Pedro saw that Rosa Sorrento was shepherding the orphans; that Isabella and Carmella were both standing to one side.

‘
Madonna!
You too?’

‘No, just Carmella. I’m leaving, but I’m not going with you.’

It took Pedro a moment to understand her meaning. He was furious. ‘That’s a fool’s errand! You’ll be killed before you reach the Wastes. Even if you get into Concord, what can you do?’

‘The prime mover in all this is—’

‘Isabella! You can’t defeat a First Apprentice!’

‘Sofia did. If any Etrurian can stop him, it’s me. I owe it to Sofia, and to all the Reverend Mothers before me to try.’

‘We don’t even know if Sofia’s still alive!’

‘The buio told you she was and I believe it and so do you, if only you’d bring yourself to admit it.’

‘So you’ll sacrifice yourself to buy time, is that the idea? Sofia wouldn’t hear of it. We
need
you. The road south won’t be friendly territory – plenty of towns between here and Veii will be eager to curry favour with Concord.’

‘You have the bandieratori. I’m sorry, Pedro. I must try.’

While he was waiting in his tent for the dispatch, Leto spent a frustrating morning working on Torbidda’s Bouncing Bridge idea from their Guild Hall days. After his first few attempts he’d begun to suspect the solution would always be beyond him, but still he persisted, until he’d convinced himself it really was impossible. He put it to one side with an oath and brooded. He had been liverish all day. He was annoyed by the dull mosquitoes he must continually swat and because he knew they were nothing to the swarms his troops must soon face. The Albula had too many tributaries to count. Around Veii, the land began to get marshy.

Seeking to avoid those unhealthy conditions, he had made Volsinii his base. It was further north than he would have preferred, but the choice was popular with the officers: the coastal air was salubrious, the fish delicious, the women cheap. Above all, for the first time since leaving Concord, they felt
wanted
. For years Volsinii had paid Veii tribute with salt and slaves. Now the city fathers had not merely surrendered to the Concordians; they had welcomed them, offering shelter, scouts and soldiers.

But while helpful neighbours were all very well, he knew it would take considerably more to overcome Veii’s formidable defences.

The officers dreaded bringing the general dispatches from Veii. The news was always bad. Scaevola drew the short straw – he always did.

‘I promised Torbidda a swift result, Scaevola, yet here we are, fretting over supplies – as though we were the ones under siege.’

There was no need to search for the reason; it was obvious. A city not encircled is not truly besieged. Though his legion had stopped supplies reaching the city from the north, the blockade was ineffective so long as Veii’s harbour remained open. The Veian Navy might be antique, but it controlled the Albulian Estuary very effectively. Captured deserters had confirmed that Rasenna engineers had schooled the Veians in tactics to frustrate the Concordian diggers – but that too had been pretty obvious.

Veii was a city of small hills atop one large hill. Any army attacking it must go uphill – except now, before they even reached that first hill, they would have to cross a new river that had been created by diverting a tributary of the Albula. Veian archers complicated any attempt to ford the new moat. The archers’ attentions were divided by having the pontonniers working under makeshift shelters, and at three locations, and on the fifth day, one team had made it across. A robust charge might have ended it there and then, but the Veians sent only a battalion of slaves to meet the Concordian Stormguard. The slaves fought fiercely, but were overcome when the second pontoon was completed.

Even with the third pontoon in place, securing the captured bank was a bloody task, and one that presented new difficulties when done: the steep hill facing them was interrupted by several plateaus. The first was defended by a rather uneven wall of boulders. The Concordian centurions, unimpressed, decided without consulting the general that it could be taken with sheer numbers, and raising a terrible cry of ‘
Bernoulli!
’, they charged.

The boulders the Veians crouched behind were settled so that a mere nudge would start them rolling. They shattered the Concordians’ line and rolled down to the base camp, where they wrecked men and machines indiscriminately. The push was abandoned entirely when one capricious boulder smashed the central pontoon and sent a battalion of reinforcements to their
deaths. Hours later, another attempt was made, and it failed in like manner. The captured bank became the new front: a sea of mud precariously vulnerable to being entirely overrun.

That night brought fresh terrors. Instead of boulders, wheels of fiery death – great barbed metal wheels stuffed with burning straw – burst into the Concordian lines in successive waves, supplemented by raining oil-pots, that not only kept the fires burning, but successfully banished sleep. The Concordians prayed for morning, and when it came they discovered what horrors the darkness had concealed: men burnt alive in their tents or drowned in the muddy banks, and the stagnant moat laden with the bodies of those soldiers who’d sought refuge from the fire in its water. It would have been much simpler if Leto could commit all his men – but diversionary sallies against the main legion camp on the other side of the moat made that impossible. They were sporadic and half-hearted, but effective in their aim: to prevent him from concentrating his forces.

The start of every siege was a moment of immense importance. If the city folk could be terrified sufficiently by the initial assault they would often capitulate without further resistance. That had failed here; now it would be entirely a question of stamina.

‘Investments are deceptive affairs, Scaevola. For all the variety of the Veians’ defences and our machines, only one weapon counts: hunger. A limited blockade only creates privations for the Small People; we cannot win until famine gnaws higher. It’s galling to be stalemated by an enemy one does not respect, but failing tactics must be abandoned.’

‘Quite right, General.’ Scaevola waited breathlessly to hear the inspired plan his hero had devised to break the impasse.

‘Saddle my horse.’

*

Leto would have preferred to travel alone, but knowing what a prize he’d make, he took a dozen men – eleven swords, one
gunner – enough to scare off opportunistic bandits, not enough to slow progress.

It was late when they arrived in Rasenna; with some fresh horses, food and rest, they could reach Concord before the end of the following day. His men were stationed with the Hawk’s Company and he was escorted to the gonfaloniere’s residence. Geta had made his court in one of Piazza Luna’s larger palazzi after the mansion’s previous owner had been charged – on somewhat doubtful evidence – with collaborating with the Tartaruchi.

Leto found little to admire in the decorations of the banqueting hall except for an oversized chessboard which must have been carved during one of Etruria’s fleeting enthusiasms for the Crusade. The white pieces were Lazar knights of ivory, bravely facing the scimitars and turbans of the swarthy Radinate horde, fashioned in this case from black horn.

The nightly bacchanal was under way and a few cowed patricians sat between their drunken gonfaloniere and his glum wife.

‘General Spinther, I declare! Seems like only yesterday that I waved you off, yet here you are again! Did you return my tear-stained handkerchief? Join us, join us. You must be quite worn out by army rations and rough living. How goes the war?’

‘Slowly.’

‘I should say so!’ Geta turned to Maddalena, ‘He predicted Veii would fall in few weeks.’

‘Don’t gloat,
amore
. It’s common.’ As Maddalena’s womb had grown round, her sense of humour had suffered. ‘I’m sure the little chap’s trying his best.’

Leto bristled at the condescension. ‘And who are you, Signora?’

‘I don’t believe you’ve met my wife yet, General.’

‘So this is the Bombelli girl? I wonder, if I had betrayed my own people, if I would find the setbacks of my only allies so amusing. Do you wonder, dear lady, why the siege is protracted? It’s not courage keeping Veii going; it’s your brothers’ deep pockets.’

Geta had warned Maddalena to be polite. Her smile was fixed. ‘I am but a trifling woman. What would I know of such things?’

‘Nothing, I suppose. Well, let me tell you that those damned speculators are a worse plague than the condottieri. They hear my armies marching sooner than everyone else, and send agents ahead to buy grain.’

‘Isn’t that legal?’ she said coolly.

‘Oh, of course – they are
very
careful. And when they can’t get reliable information, they spread lies, and the price goes up all the same. I wonder that you leap to their defence. They seem to think you stole their birthright.’

The Rasenneisi patricians at the table suddenly looked away and started tucking into the food.

‘You think you know me,’ Maddalena snarled. ‘Well, my husband told me all about you—’

‘Maddalena …’

‘Did he now?’ said Leto, affably.

‘Yes! He told me that Spinther was once a noble name.
You
sold
your
birthright for a number.’

‘Should I have stayed constant like your husband? Why such a model of fidelity is hated by all parties – his former allies most of all – I can’t begin to imagine.’

Maddalena glared at her husband. ‘Are you going to tolerate this boy’s impertinence?’

Geta shrugged. ‘He has a point
amore
. Tell me, Spinther, how
do
you propose to break the impasse?’

‘That’s between me and the First Apprentice.’

‘Hasn’t the little fellow found God? What’s he going to do, pray to Saint Eco?’

‘That act is for the Small People.’

‘Pretty convincing, from what I hear.’ Geta tutted, the disappointed parent. ‘But even so, what’s he going to tell you that you don’t already know? You simply need to convince Veians that the
cost of resisting will be far worse than the cost of capitulation. Your trouble is that they aren’t scared.’

‘And how shall I remedy that?’

‘Why, scare them, of course!’

‘How simple,’ said Leto. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

Geta ignored the sarcasm. ‘You need to show initiative, lad! That’s what your father would have done.’

Leto pretended not to be intrigued. ‘I suppose you’re going to pretend you were friends.’

‘Friends?
Dio
, no – Manius Spinther was my superior, and I never forgave him for it. It was way back in the fifties, on the Frankish front—’

‘Save it, Geta. I’m not interested in tall tales. My father was a Concordian officer who did his duty.’

‘He showed initiative when it was necessary, and
that
is what the men responded to. Didn’t you learn
anything
from me?’

‘Not to employ drunks.’

As Geta toasted his adversary’s riposte, Maddalena said suddenly, ‘Have you found the Contessa?’

Leto couldn’t see any point being mysterious. ‘The Queen of Oltremare ought to have sent her to us, but as yet she has not arrived. What about that rat infestation, Geta? Have you eradicated it?’

‘Not yet,’ Geta conceded. ‘I’ll show you my progress tomorrow, if you can spare an hour before you leave.’

*

With his guard trailing behind them, Leto followed Geta through the emptiness of Piazza Luna to the river. He wondered vaguely why Geta was wearing armour; perhaps he planned to see them off with full honours. Perhaps he thought to return to grace by such gestures. If so he was sorely mistaken.

Then Leto saw it: ‘My pontoon …’

Geta was amused at his childish pout, but he stifled a guffaw with a cough.

‘Destroyed soon after you left,’ he said soberly. ‘A sorry sight indeed.’