Spira Mirabilis (6 page)

‘I know it, Brother.’

The foothills of the ancient city of Veii shimmered in the silver light reflected from the Albula. The Rasenneisi engineers – Pedro Vanzetti and seven of his best – fixed their gaze on the majestically swollen flags snapping at the summit and began the arduous climb. The spectacle was spoiled when they came close enough to see the slain she-wolf depicted upon those yellow flags. It might have been a thousand years ago, but Veii’s pride in conquering Rome remained undiminished. It was, according to most Etrurians, their last pride-worthy achievement.

The Rasenneisi were dressed sombrely in coarse grey cloaks worn over sleeveless multi-pocketed work jackets. Long hoods draped round neck and over chins, emulating their maestro. Pedro’s resemblance to his father was strong now. The runt of yesteryear was completely gone, replaced by a youth with broadening shoulders and a tested strength behind his dark brown eyes.

As the gate was hauled open, Pedro rehearsed under his breath, ‘I’m
so
sorry.’ He tried again: ‘My
deepest
condolences.’ He considered afresh the wisdom of accepting Duke Grimani’s invitation. When last year’s summit broke down in Ariminum, the Veian ambassador – a cur who also happened to be the duke’s son – had attempted to kidnap him – and he’d only escaped with the help of Doctor Ferruccio, the Salernitan ambassador. Yet here he was, putting his head into the noose again. But it was a necessary risk, for war, though long delayed, was upon them at last.

It was not Duke Grimani waiting to welcome him but the last man Pedro had expected to see in Veii.

‘Doctor?’

When a Salernitan attains the age of two score and ten years, he is obliged to become an adult, leaving behind the rootless lifestyle of the butteri to pursue the life of the mind. Ferruccio, Count of Salerno, had been a doctor for decades now, but he had never quite abandoned the habits of his youth. Beneath his star-fretted blue cape he wore a faded mantle, and he carried his mazza still, though these days he used it to help him walk instead of herding buffalo. His hoary white moustache was styled in the buttero manner too, kept thick enough to protect from the dust of the trail, and swooping like the horns of their herds. All that was missing was the wolf-skin cap.

The old warrior pulled him into an embrace. ‘Good to see you again, lad. I worried you had perished with the rest of the bandieratori.’ He looked over Pedro’s team of engineers, none much older than their maestro. ‘Are these all who survived?’

‘No, there are more back in Rasenna – but it was bad. We ought to have been more careful in our choice of podesta. Geta would never have been elected if the Contessa had been around.’

Ferruccio anticipated his next question. ‘You’ll be interested to know that shortly after the
Tancred
got off, it was escorted back to Ariminum by the
San Barabaso
—’ Seeing Pedro’s reaction, Ferruccio rested his hand on his shoulder. ‘
Tranquillo
, lad. Your friends weren’t on it. Whether they made it to Oltremare, I don’t know yet, but I’m making enquiries. I have some friends in Taranto who trade with the Akkans.’

It turned out Ferruccio was here for the same reason as Pedro: to lend his expertise to the defence of Veii.

‘Droll, isn’t it? The Concordians have made for us the alliance we failed to create ourselves a year ago. Let’s go and see the duke, shall we?’ He winked. ‘Don’t forget to give him your condolences.’

*

Castello Grimani topped the hill that overlooked the other five;
it was in every sense the peak of Veii. The duke’s personal crest flew from its turrets and balconies: the Argus eyes of the peacock tail reminded the duke’s subjects that his spies were everywhere. Deep within those walls, hidden away from the sun, was the ducal court. An army of fat candles tried in vain to hold back the gloom, barely illuminating the sullen, hollow-eyed busts in the niches that lined the windowless hall.

At the top of a small set of steps sat the current head of the Grimani family. The duke had once been delicately handsome; now, fat-padded and wrinkle-scarred as he was, he looked like a petulant dowager. He gestured to the long table at the bottom of the steps. ‘You’ve come a long way, Maestro. Would you eat?’

‘Thank you, Duke. I would prefer to survey the walls first.’

‘My dear son was like you, full of vigour. The young are ever in a hurry.’

When Pedro attempted to offer his sympathies, the duke hushed him. ‘Do not speak of my suffering, dear boy. I know Rasenna too has suffered at the hands of this usurper.’

‘We’ll win back control eventually,’ said Pedro, ‘but the loss of our city means the Concordians have no reason to delay. They’ll soon be here.’

Ferruccio helped himself to some rabbit stew and a glass of wine while the duke led Pedro around the throne room, a limp, liver-spotted hand resting upon his shoulder like a dead fish.

‘Don’t worry,’ Grimani said airily, ‘when the time comes, Concordians always negotiate.’

‘If you are so sanguine,’ Ferruccio interrupted, ‘why did you send an ambassador to the summit at Ariminum?’

Pedro felt his face redden and he stared at his feet, hardly believing that Ferruccio was bringing up
that
subject.

The duke’s snarling reaction showed that however calm his outward appearance, he was nonetheless capable of passion. ‘I sent him to ensure there was at least one voice of Reason present!
And my reward for being a good neighbour? To have my innocent son murdered in a sordid bridge brawl, and to win the enmity of the Concordians!’ He looked disdainfully at Ferruccio, who was holding a haunch of meat in his fingers as he tore at it with his teeth. ‘I can understand why Rasenna and Ariminum are intent on dragging the rest of us into this
northern
war – they need allies. But why you Salernitans wish to be involved is beyond me. Barbarians love fighting, I suppose.’ He composed himself and gestured around at the tapestries that lined the room.Weaves with colours fresh as frescoes depicted horse herds running free over Arcadian pastures, stuffed horns of plenty, and coy goddesses, voluptuous and nude. ‘Well, my people love peace. We have our city, our islands and our horses. The God of War is unwelcome here.’

‘Come, Maestro Vanzetti,’ said Ferruccio with barely concealed contempt. ‘My appetite fails me. Let’s see about defending these lambs.’

*

Pedro’s quick survey gave reason to hope that Veii might be adequately fortified, and Doctor Ferruccio agreed; he might not be cognisant of the latest in siege-craft – although he was curious about the latest advances – but anyone who had been a buttero had sound instincts for territory. The Albula snaked around the southern half of the city like a moat, then broadened until she merged easefully into the Tyrrhenian Sea. They followed its course to the coast where fat, quarrelsome seagulls floated on the cool breeze and great waves smashed pointlessly against the cliffs. The doctor said the heavy rains that had swollen the Albula augured a tough winter – butteri knew such things, but the doctor had a solid grounding in Euclidian geometry too. They talked about the Contessa as they walked, and the doctor described the headstrong girl she had been growing up, and how like her grandfather.

‘That’s a handsome bay. I don’t understand why they neglect
it so.’ The memory of Ariminum’s arsenal was fresh in Pedro’s mind.

The doctor spat over the cliff. ‘They wouldn’t know what to do with a navy if they had it. They don’t have the guile to trade or the guts to raid.’ He grinned. ‘I know what you’re thinking, lad: “Of course a Salernitan would say that!” – but I don’t say the Veians started out worthless; they’ve spent a lot of time and effort degrading themselves. Before the Grimani took charge, Veii aspired to be a maritime power like Ariminum and she chased business in every port of the Middle Sea from Byzant to Akka. The monarchy had been slumbering on the throne for centuries and was too indolent to interfere in its citizens’ enterprises – which is the best that can be said for any government.’

Pedro smiled tolerantly. The doctor, like all Salernitans, was jealous of his liberty to a ridiculous degree ‘So what changed?’

‘One of the duke’s ancestors convinced the king to grant him a monopoly on the Cagligarian Isles trade, but he quickly got bored with haggling with the Cagligarians and decided it would be easier to conquer the island, enslave the natives and mine its iron and alum intensively. Nobody objected – Concord’s hunger for iron is boundless, and every town with any sort of textile industry requires alum.’

Pedro wasn’t smiling any more. Rasenna was one of the latter.

‘The Grimani were rich enough by then to overthrow the monarchy and “liberate” Veii. Every few decades the republic elects the latest Grimani as dictator-for-life. Sustained by the sweat of other men’s brows, without reason to risk and without risk to vitiate, Veii’s merchant class have become lazy living off rent.’

‘And the Small People?’

‘Keep them fed and they’ll reserve their passion for games. Life is simple here. Why not turn your back on Etruria and its ceaseless wars.’

‘So why are we here?’ Pedro said despondently.

‘Etruria’s trade routes don’t matter to Veii. While Duke Grimani thought Concord just wanted to control those routes, he wasn’t bothered; that’s why he wanted nothing to do with the League. I think the fate of Ariminum’s Consilium made him realise his fate is bound up with the rest of Etruria, whether he likes it or not. Now he understands that Concord seeks a more lasting empire, one in which every Etrurian is a bondsman.’

‘Just like the Cagligarians.’

‘Aye, like the Cagligarians. Well, life’s no fairy-tale. We can’t choose our allies for their virtues.’

They completed their circuit and made their way back to the summit. The horseshoe-shaped piazza was Veii’s exposed heart. It was dominated by Castello Grimani on one side and an old Etruscan temple on the other. The temple had been converted into a Marian cathedral centuries ago, but the leering gorgon on the pediment suggested that the Veians like to hedge their bets.

Ferruccio looked sideways at his companion. ‘You’re jumpy as a colt, Maestro. What’s picking at you?’

‘A riddle,’ said Pedro. ‘Why couldn’t the southern states come to agreement in Ariminum? It was clearly in the interests of every party.’

Ferruccio chuckled. ‘Seeking Reason in men’s actions is a quick way to drive yourself
pazzo
.’ He pointed to the cathedral’s pediment. ‘Look at the perpetually warring pantheon sculpted in yonder stone. Of course we are all Marian now, but I often think the gods of the pagans suit this fractious land a whole lot better. Domineering Concordians, turbulent Rasenneisi, perfidious Ariminumese – such varied terrain contains all the hues of humanity, lacking nothing but common ground. The League’s hour was not yet ripe, Maestro, simple as that.’

‘But why does it always have to come to crises? If we had presented a strong front in Ariminum – but General Spinther threw an apple of discord amongst us and that was all it took. If
any ambassador had made a deal, it would have given his city a privileged position in the new order, so it became a race to betray each other.’

‘You losing hope?’

‘No, I think Etruria is. We need Veii to prove resistance is possible.’

‘You’re looking for a miracle, in other words.’ The doctor looked at him. ‘You had best go on without me,’ he said, gesturing at the cathedral. ‘Looks like I’ve some candles to light before dinner.’

Pedro could see he wished to minimise time spent with the duke. ‘You don’t trust him, do you?’

‘I trust men to look after their own interests. All I know is that if Veii surrenders to Spinther and is well treated, it’ll be devilish hard to make the case for fighting on.’

‘You’d best light a candle and pray that they don’t, then.’

*

Back in the duke’s cave-like court, Pedro complimented Veii’s natural defences. The duke could not have been prouder if he himself had laid out the city alongside the Tarquins. ‘These walls have not failed yet. Concordians may make rivers dance uphill, but with the sea behind us, there’s no danger of us being out-flanked.’

‘Past performance is no indicator of future earnings,’ interrupted a booming voice.

Duke Grimani’s genial mask slipped momentarily. ‘Ah – I was about to send for you to help me welcome your paesano, but I needn’t have worried. Nothing south of Concord escapes Salvatore Bombelli.’ He turned back to Pedro. ‘His power is something uncanny. We may not have haruspices to interpret sheep entrails in my court but I fear we will always need men who can commune with Mammon.’

It had been some time since Pedro had seen any of Fabbro’s
sons. The three of them here – Salvatore, the heir apparent, Costanzo the youngest and Guido, one of the twins – represented the richest financial institution in Etruria after Ariminum’s Basilica. None of them looked like bankers; Salvatore looked and sounded like a sailor, Costanzo still looked the dandy, and Guido – Guido was a positive monk.

‘Are the rest of you here too, Salvatore?’

‘What, all us Bombelli together in a town about to be surrounded?’ Costanzo wagged his finger. ‘You know our papa taught us better than that. Like Etruria’s rivers, we Bombelli are everywhere.’ The brothers were scattered through Europa, in Byzant, Francia and Aragon, now Guido and his twin Gasparo had left Ariminum. Fabbro’s death had left Salvatore head of the family, with the twins next in line; Costanzo was the youngest and the nearest in age to Pedro. He was the only son who had initially resisted becoming a merchant, and as Fabbro wasn’t the type to stop his children doing what they loved – in inconstant times, diversification made sense – Costanzo was indulged. Alas, his vices were expensive ones, and when poetry failed to pay, the siren call of coin-counting drew him back to the fold. He retained the long hair, fine clothes and louche habits of the
bon vivant
, but his youthful experiences proved a surprisingly prudent investment, for a facility with fine phrases is always useful to a salesman, and his contacts soon led to lucrative contracts with Etruria’s leading families, that upper tier his rough-hewn father never quite managed to breach.