The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy) (59 page)

Pedro and Uggeri – who had Sofia’s seat – sat in isolation with Yuri on the other side of the chamber. ‘Maybe they will awards me medal?’ the Russ said dryly.

Pedro locked eyes with his godfather across the empty Speaker’s Circle. Fabbro broke away first. The purse was handed round the chamber. Each man had a black and a white pebble. When it came back to Fabbro he added his white pebble and tipped out the contents into a silver tray. Two black pebbles in a mound of white.

‘Captain Yuri, the Signoria thanks you for your services,’ Fabbro said. ‘You are dismissed. I hereby appoint Lord Geta Podesta of Rasenna, with all attendant privileges and powers. May the Madonna’s cloak shield him.’

The door opened, and Geta strode in, going straight towards Yuri. The Russ had seen his fate coming, but still he was slightly dazed. He stood to attention, handed Geta the baton and marched out with dignity, followed by Uggeri.

Pedro watched Geta as he hefted the baton in his fist. ‘Signori, I’m honoured. I consider this a homecoming. In Rasenna I learned the art of war. My first lesson wasn’t demonstrated by my workshop maestro but rather by the birds of the air.’ He smiled, looking around the bewildered faces of the magnates,
and finally settled on Pedro. ‘I mean, of course, those audacious cuckoos who nest in the towers. They grow big as their siblings languish. They betray the fools that nurtured them. The Madonna has always watched over the City of Towers. I believe she brought me here to give you a timely warning. The Signoria has a duty to protect the people from monopolistic practice. You, who have so lately thrown off the tyranny of the Families, be mindful not to nurture another. The engineers have far too much power to be allowed the independence afforded other guilds. Engineers are weapons. To let a weapon decide how it’s used is not merely bad policy, it’s suicidal. If there’s a lesson to the Concordian Re-formation, that’s it. Therefore I move the Engineers’ Guild be broken up and that engineers be hereafter considered part of the Guild of Fire, with similar status to, oh, blacksmiths for example; no longer should they have a seat in this house.’

Pedro didn’t even wait for the pebbles to be counted.

PUBLIC ORDINANCE

By Order of the Podesta.
Banners may only be used in workshops;
banners are prohibited in public;

NO EXCEPTIONS.

Geta’s decree was posted on the doors of the Palazzo del Popolo in Piazza Luna and Santa Maria della Vittoria in Piazza Stella and on each of the lions’ plinths. The injunction was aimed directly at Tower Scaligeri as far as Uggeri was concerned. The bandieratori guessed what his reaction would be, and they were not disappointed.

‘Flags up!’

He marched to the river with his men, all bearing flags. Standing at the decapitated lion’s plinth he tore down the decree and cast it into the Irenicon, then he silently raised his flag. On the other side of the bridge the Small People and other guilds looked on with watchful eyes.

‘Doc Bardini taught us to take up this flag. If we hadn’t, the Twelfth Legion would have destroyed Rasenna. Should we throw it down because a corrupt Signoria in thrall to a foreign dog says so?’ He looked around as if he were genuinely uncertain, then he rolled his banner across his knuckle and caught it in a combat grip. ‘Should we look for leadership from those who only care to profit themselves?’

‘No!’ the bandieratori answered as one.

‘Damn right! This Signoria taxes us without our consent. This Signoria made a noble our podesta. As long as every Rasenneisi can defend himself, Rasenna is safe. Give up that right, allow it to be taken, and Rasenna is in peril. If Geta wants my flag, he can take it from my cold, dead hands!’ He caught sight of Geta crossing the bridge. ‘Behold the man. Taking down names, Podesta? Mine’s Uggeri Galati. I’m not hiding.’

The crowd turned with malevolent intent to Geta and those who stood beside him. One of them – the Russ – grabbed Geta’s arm. ‘Podesta, no good comes of this.’

Geta threw him off, but Yuri persisted, ‘They are just throwing tantrum, like children, yes? Let them shout and wave their flags. Who harms it?’

Geta ignored him and marched forward until he was standing face to face with the first ring of bandieratori. ‘Small People, go home! As for you bandieratori, this is an illegal protest. Anyone bearing a flag is liable to be arrested.’

Dozens of flags suddenly popped up amongst the milling crowd and dangled from the windows of the surrounding towers.

‘Hear that?’ Uggeri taunted. ‘Now he says we can’t freely assemble. That’s how tyranny starts.’

Geta turned away in exasperation. Many of the condottieri were eagerly waiting for the order to advance. This fight had been a long time coming.

‘Can’t let them laugh in our faces,’ said Becket.

Geta looked at him. ‘It’s better than the alternative.’

Yuri relaxed a little, and Geta smiled slowly. ‘
Keeping
the peace isn’t something I have much experience with. What do you advise, Russ?’

‘He
wants
a fight, that boy.’ Yuri shrugged. ‘Let him talk. Let them march. They get tire soon.’

When Geta’s men retreated across the bridge, there was loud
cheering, cries of
Forza Rasenna!
and
Small People
. The crowd proceeded to occupy the bridge and, when the condottieri didn’t stop them, they grew bolder and spilled into Piazza Luna to assemble in front of the Signoria.

Watching all this from behind the fortezza’s crenellations, Geta spoke seriously to his fiancée and future father-in-law. ‘Best you two stay southside tonight. Mobs do things individuals would never think of.’

‘Fine thing,’ Fabbro said bullishly, ‘a gonfaloniere afraid of those whose flag he bears! I’m going home. The day I need protection from Rasenneisi, I hope they do kill me.’

‘I’m coming with you, Papa.’

‘Your place is here.’ Fabbro took her hand and placed it in Geta’s. ‘With your betrothed.’

The dark night that followed was tense and full of wind and alarums. In spite of his bluff façade, Fabbro was shaken by the aggressiveness of the bandieratori in Piazza Stella, and he instructed the servants to allow entry to no one but family. The storm damped the enthusiasm of the demonstrators, and as Yuri had predicted, they soon returned to their towers.

In the crisp morning light, Bocca came calling at Palazzo Bombelli, eager to discuss the situation with the gonfaloniere: the brewer wanted to know when he could open his tavern again. He was surprised and somewhat alarmed to find the palazzo’s great door open and unattended. He crept in to the atrium, treading lightly and feeling like an interloper, but he felt a wave of relief as he entered the courtyard and saw Bombelli’s bulk sitting at his banco.

‘Counting money all night’s a capital way to ruin your eyesight.’ He walked cheerfully up and slapped Fabbro’s shoulder. ‘Nothing can buy that back – unh!’

Bombelli’s head lolled back. Pushed into his eyes were two
Concordian pennies and a bandieratori dagger pinned a large promissory cheque to his chest. On it was scrawled a single word:
TRAITOR
.

The brewer backed away, too scared to scream. The sensible thing would be to quietly alert the Podesta, but on his way out Bocca tripped over the butler’s body. It was the last straw. He scrambled to his feet and ran across the bridge screaming, ‘Assassins!’

By the time Geta arrived the palazzo had been thoroughly ransacked and the treasures of the workshop stolen. The looters fled from the condottieri, spreading their madness all over the northern city. Pedro was working on the orphanage when the riot erupted, and when he heard what the spark had been, he threw down his tools – the Sisters could defend themselves better than most bandieratori, and his engineers had nothing to interest a mob – that and a lingering suspicion would kept them safe. As he ran to Palazzo Bombelli he saw the chaos and entered the gutted palazzo in trepidation. It was
impossible
. How could Fabbro Bombelli be still? He of all people? His Godfather had been the one person
alive
when Rasenna was at its deadest. There was no force able to affect so great a change.

But there he was.

Pedro was surprised that the first thought that struck him was that Fabbro had become remarkably fat. In life he had never seemed so ponderous. Carefully, Pedro removed the pennies and closed his staring eyes.

‘You’ve come to rob us too?’

Maddalena’s hair was streaked and wet, her skin glistened with sweat, her glaring eyes were ringed with dark shadows. She stalked around the banco, looking at him like a rabid animal, hatefully, fearfully.

‘Maddalena, I’m so sorry.’

‘What for? You’ve sought this all along.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘That knife is Uggeri’s.’

‘You can’t be su—’

‘And you helped put it there! Out of my house! Get out!
Get out!
’

Uggeri found the mood in Piazza Stella dangerously festive. The gonfaloniere was the city’s flag-bearer, and until someone else took up that flag, there was no law. The north smouldered and the south sank into silence. Geta’s men were discreet, at least, forbidden to venture over the river. Some northern magnates fled across the bridge, valuing their lives more than their towers; the most prescient had already made plans for this day and moved their assets south immediately. Those who hadn’t, and who didn’t fancy donating their life savings to the Small People, barricaded their tower doors and hired flags to protect them. Though the loyalty of these masterless bandieratori was questionable, the magnates gambled it would never be put to the test – and it was a good bet, for the mob was looking for easy loot and soon moved on to undefended towers.

Scaligeri Borgata did not take part in the mayhem, but neither did they quell it.

Pedro discovered Uggeri obstinately looking down on the revels from Doc Bardini’s old perch on Tower Scaligeri. ‘You think Sofia would be happy with this?’ he asked. ‘If you don’t put a stop to it, Geta will. And he’ll be justified.’

‘Let him try. The magnates have been profiting off our sweat for too long. Why shouldn’t the Small People have some fun?’

‘This is not fun. This is chaos.’ Pedro didn’t mention Maddalena, though both men understood this was about her. Uggeri kept his back turned. Pedro began to climb down the ladder, then he stopped and pointed at the mountains to the
north. Somewhere in those snowy crags was the pass of Montaperti. ‘The Concordians will come soon, you realise? All you’re doing is making their job easier.’