Suicide Kings (22 page)

Diana couldn’t sit by again. True, she might make a fool of herself if she was wrong about Francesca living. Yet, the cost of inaction meant consigning Francesca to death a second time. Diana cared for her reputation no longer. She’d do whatever she could for Francesca, whatever the cost.

A worse concern involved her diagnosis of nightshade poisoning. What if she guessed the wrong poison? Calabar beans would only worsen her condition then. Doubtless other drugs she had not considered might produce similar effects.

She had to pick a path and go with it. She kept the herbology book with her and darted from the room. Downstairs she found Agathi. “I need you to run an errand for me,” she told the slave woman. “I need you to go to the apothecary on the via de’Tosinghi. Wake him if you must. Tell him I need calabar beans, crushed and dissolved in a saltwater solution.” She thought for a moment. “And two pipettes, one just smaller than the next in diameter. The largest should be no more in diameter than the width of a common brass ring. Can you remember that?”

Never one to ask questions, Agathi merely nodded.

“Pay whatever is the cost.” Diana handed the slave woman a handful of florins, which she suspected would be more than enough. “When you have these, meet me with them at the Convent at Saint Cecilia.”

Just the slightest raised eyebrow. Then Agathi left.

Next, Diana found Agon von Landau, commander of her father’s small force of palazzo guards. Diana rarely crossed paths with him. Typically she remained content merely noting that he and his small company of Swiss mercenaries kept their palazzo safe from intrusion. That Pietro had gotten past them even with a key spoke to his skills at stealth and subterfuge. Agon had spent many years as a condottiere in the service of various Italian republics. His Swiss mercenaries had a reputation for ferocity, unlike too many of the Italian companies who ran for the comforts of home at the first sight of conflict. Now past his prime, palazzo guard essentially functioned as a retirement occupation. Nonetheless, in his fourth decade, Agon cut an imposing figure. Well over six feet in height, he rippled with muscles and possessed cold blue eyes that held no fear of violence. With a long scar running down the length of his face, Agon couldn’t lay claim to male beauty. He was loyal to her father though, and Diana didn’t doubt his competence. For perhaps the first time she could remember, Diana had reason to call on him.

“Agon, I need your services,” she told him.

If he was surprised, he hid it well. “Yes, m’lady. What do you need?”

“I must rescue a friend from difficult circumstances and I expect there may be resistance. I’d like to request an escort from yourself and several of your men.”

“I am pleased to be of service. May I ask the destination?”

“The Convent at Sant Cecilia. My friend is the anchoress there, and someone has tried to poison her. I intend to take her out of there, by force if it must be so.”

If Agon found anything distasteful in the notion of roughing up a bevy of old nuns, he didn’t show it. Of course it was possible that Republic gendarmes or even Cardinal Lajolo’s guards might be called in to intervene against her effort to remove the anchoress. She needed protection.

“I’ll fetch Leuenberger and Calmy-Rey and we’ll don blades. We should be prepared in five minutes if that would serve.”

“Excellent, Agon, thank you.” If Diana’s suspicions about Francesca being alive came to nothing, she would look like a fool in front of an increasingly larger pool of individuals. She fetched Siobhan and updated her on the night’s plans.

“Do you really think she might still be alive?” Siobhan asked, jaw and eyes wide open.

“I’m not sure, but it’s possible. It’s like the woman in Xenophon’s
Ephesiaca
who drinks a potion that makes her appear to be dead, though she only sleeps.”

Siobhan’s brows knitted. “Why on earth would she do such a foolish thing?”

“Well, you see, she thought that her lover must be dead and feared being forced to marry another man whom she didn’t love…oh by God, I don’t have time to explain all this now. We must meet Agon and his men and be quickly on our way.”

The two men Agon selected were tall and muscular like himself, though younger by at least a decade each. On their hips they all wore spadone longswords. Under her coat, Diana hid her pistol.

Agon led them outside. Immediately it became evident that something was amiss in the city. A strong odor of ash carried on the crisp air. To the north, in the direction of the Piazza della Signoria, a deep orange glow rose above the buildings. As she watched, flickers of flames rose above the city line. The flames must be at least five stories high! Was the city on fire? She wouldn’t have thought it possible on such a cold night as this.

A cacophony could be heard from the direction of the fire, shouting, cavorting, laughter and screaming, all in an anarchic mix. The noise was not appropriate for people fleeing a fire. In truth, Diana thought it sounded more like a cross between a carnival and a riot.

“Agon, what’s going on?” she asked.

He looked in the direction of the orange glow, but with several blocks of buildings between them and whatever was occurring, no sense could be made of it. “I don’t know, lady. I could send one of the men to investigate, but that would cost us time.”

“No, we must make haste. We’ll take our chances.” Onward they pressed, heading south toward the Arno, away from the conflagration. Despite the late hour and the cold, many others were out on the streets. Most of these were citizens, pointing to the fire and speaking amongst themselves with evident confusion and alarm. Up and down the street, bands of children and youth caroused. At times, these would waylay the citizens, verbally accosting them and in the case of the older youths, openly threatening them. To what end was unclear.

“Your city has gone mad,” Siobhan said, eyes narrowed.

Diana didn’t reply, yet she couldn’t help but to agree. She couldn’t remember any precedent for the chaos on the streets tonight. What terrible timing, whatever was going on. Any other night, she could have easily barricaded herself in the family palazzo. Tonight, she had no choice. Fortunately, with the three heavily armed Swiss leading the way, most of the youth kept their distance. Inevitably though, a large gaggle of young men surrounded them, preventing them from moving on. Catcalls and hoots from the throng of young men got her heart beating faster. Perhaps ten of them hemmed in her little party. Mostly poor, judging by their dress, although they carried clubs and knives.

“Where do you lot think you’re going?” demanded one tall wiry youth, brandishing a butcher’s knife.

Agon drew his sword with a swoosh. “No business of yours, child. Step aside or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

The group of youth tittered nervously. Longswords or not, at ten to three the youth could hardly back down without losing face.

“We wish no confrontation,” Diana spoke up, hoping women’s words might stave off inevitable male conflict. “Can you tell us why you accost us so?”

Another youth, smaller and younger answered her. “It’s Friar Savonarola’s orders. All vanities are to be burned. Books, jewels, nice clothes, anything that distracts us from our prayers as we await the End of Times. All must be consumed in flame. Beyond is our holy furnace.” He pointed to the glow from the north. His manner seemed less aggressive than the first rogue.

So it was a bonfire. And they were destroying anything of beauty. Of course Savonarola would be behind it. She didn’t need to be distracted by these matters, not tonight! “I have an accord with Friar Savonarola. If you so much as touch me, you will regret it.”

The taller youth laughed. “One such as you in league with the Friar? A lady powdered, perfumed, and bejeweled such as yourself. And under your arm a book, no doubt containing all manner of blasphemies. Give us the book and your fine coats and jewels and we will be satisfied as to your righteous intentions.”

“No doubt the wine you buy with those spoils will satisfy you more than the Holy Spirit,” Agon growled. “Now stand aside!”

“Gentlemen, I hope you could trust that our mission is a righteous one, for we are intent on saving the life of a holy sister. No good is served by bloodshed tonight. When did Christ ever compel his disciples to lift a sword for him?” As she spoke, she noted that the three Swiss had moved to form a protective semicircle around her, with a building wall forming the rear boundary. To her surprise, Siobhan joined them as the fourth member of the semicircle, stiletto drawn. The Swiss didn’t seem to think it odd a young girl would be left to guard their flanks. Diana thought her handmaid should be cowering inside the circle with her.

Sadly the youth all had weapons drawn and moved in on their little group. She drew her pistol with sadness in her heart. “Siobhan,” Diana implored, “step back where it is safe. There are too many of them.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Lady,” Siobhan responded, never looking back. “My da showed me a thing or two with the blade, he did. Each of us here is paid to see you home safely and that’s the end of it.”

No time to puzzle that over more. Confident fools, the youth moved in like jackals on an easy kill. Their hoots and laughter would haunt Diana’s dreams for nights to come. Instead of effortless prey, the youths were met by a barrier of steel. Blades swirled in the night, glinting echoes of the distant bonfire catching on the steel. Laughter turned to screams. Blood sprayed in wide arcs and slicked the street. Seconds passed like hours. At the center of it all, Diana could barely keep track of all that happened. For a moment she could not tell if her guards were being overwhelmed, or if they held their line.

At one moment Agon drove his sword into the stomach of the tall, wiry lad who had done most of the speaking for the ruffians. Another scoundrel leapt in, intent on driving a blade into the back of Agon’s neck while he looked away. Diana raised her pistol and, for the third time in only a short while, discharged it with the intent on taking a life. The thunderous noise, the blast of fire and smoke. Over it all, a man yelped and fell. Agon, startled, looked back at her and gave her a smile like she had swatted a mosquito off his arm.

To her right, Siobhan stepped in front of another youth, ducked a club as if doing so were the most natural thing, and drove her stiletto into the man’s pubis. Not even stopping to see the harm she had done, she moved past the squealing villain, rolled back under another club, and drove the stiletto deep into the eye socket of a second rogue.

Only seconds had passed. Three Swiss mercenaries and an Irishwoman stood, all unscathed, over seven dead or dying Italians, while three others made haste in all directions. Diana felt like a stallion trapped in a burning barn. How could these four be so cool in the midst of such violence? How could Siobhan in particular?

Diana stepped to the youth she had shot. A gaping hole in his neck discharged fluid like a fountain. He yet lived, eyes rolling madly, each desperate breath sucking its way past his own leaking essences. He looked up at her, wordlessly pleading for her to somehow fix the damage she’d done. It was the smaller youth. As she watched, his life slipped away and his hopeless struggle finally ended in silence.

“Lady,” Agon said. “I did not know you were armed.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, not trusting her voice to remain steady just yet.

“You did well.” He nodded in appreciation. “I owe you my life. I suggest we continue moving lest the few escapees return with more of their sort. I don’t want to have to fight off waves of these idiots all across Firenze.”

Diana blinked and breathed deeply again. She’d killed a second man. The first had been a hardened criminal. The second, little more than a misguided boy. True, it would have been worse to let Agon die. Her life increasingly became one of such difficult options.

Siobhan slipped her hand in Diana’s. “We are ready to move on.”

“Excellent,” Agon answered and, with his compatriots, moved off to the South. They left behind them the few pitiful pleas of the young men not yet dead.

Siobhan pulled her after the Swiss, orienting her.

Finally getting her wits together, Diana asked, “You fought like one of the Swiss. How did you manage that?”

Siobhan gave her a funny look. “I told you that I learned much from my father. What did you expect? It’s what your father hired me for after all, to keep you safe.”

“What? My father hired you as a handmaid!”

“Well, yes, that. I am your handmaid, and always at your service. But my specialty is a peculiar one. That was the service that I performed for the Orsini, mainly serving as protection for the Signorina Zaira Orsini before she married. Did your father not tell you?”

“No, he managed to forget that detail.” A lot of pieces certainly fit into place regarding the Irish girl. No wonder she’d been so willing to follow her around the city, putting herself in danger right along with Diana. For her, it was second nature. Diana felt humbled. “Forgive me, Siobhan, I’ve underestimated you many times.”

“I don’t know what you mean. From the first you have made me feel as a friend. We can discuss this in detail later. For now we must make haste for the sake of another friend!”

Chapter Thirteen

Nightshade

Across the Arno, Diana returned to the Convent at Saint Cecilia for the second time that night. Before she had come invited in the company of a friend. Now she invaded the convent in the company of soldiers.

Agon rapped the pommel of his sword against the sturdy wooden door. Minutes passed before a fat young novitiate answered. She glared at them with a slack jaw.

“Stand aside for Lady Savrano!” he commanded.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she managed to stammer, sounding more dazed than defiant. “What business do you have with us?”

“Move or I will move you,” he answered and she stepped aside.

They filed past her, the Swiss first, then Diana with Siobhan taking up the vanguard. Diana couldn’t help but stare at the novitiate. Could this seemingly innocent girl have been the one to slip the poison to Francesca? More and more it seemed as if enemies were everywhere in Firenze. No way to tell friend from foe, innocent from guilty. No one could be trusted.