XXV
Swords drawn, Daoud and Lorenzo stood back-to-back in the shadowy courtyard. Lorenzo faced the six men who had emerged from the end of the alley and were now fanning out to surround them. Daoud confronted the four who had jumped down into the campiello.
A shutter opened on the overhanging second floor of a house, and Daoud glanced up to see a face. The shutter slammed with a finality that declared the householder wanted nothing to do with what was going on below.
It was too dark to see the faces of the men before him. They wore dark capes, and two of them carried long daggers in one hand and swords in the other. One shadowy figure stepped forward now, and Daoud wondered if they were going to challenge him.
"Messere, let us speak quickly. You are David of Trebizond, are you not?"
The man had asked the question in an urgent but respectful tone.
Feeling a bit more hopeful, Daoud answered, "Yes, I am David."
"Who the devil are you?" called a voice from behind Daoud.
The man addressed his answer to Daoud. "I am Andrea Sordello of Rimini, Messer David. These three men are my comrades. It would honor us if you would accept our service."
"Accept his service," Lorenzo said at once from behind Daoud. "We have nothing to lose."
Daoud made himself decide at once. "If you are willing to help me, I am grateful."
"Be off with you, Messer Sordello," called one of the original pursuers. "This is no quarrel of yours."
"And what is your quarrel with these men?" Sordello replied.
"That is no affair of yours, Messere!" It was the voice of a very young man, intense, passionate.
Daoud turned to face the young voice. At once Sordello moved to take a position at his side.
Daoud realized that he could see better; the first hint of dawn. And not only was there more light, but his head was clearer as well. The heat of his body, aroused to fight, was burning away the intoxicating spirits in his blood.
The men opposite were spread far apart. The one who spoke for them was slender and wore a cap that fell over one ear. A silver badge glittered on the cap.
Sordello spoke again. "Since you will not say, Messere, I will tell you what your affair is. You are of the famiglia Filippeschi. You saw these gentlemen leaving the Palazzo Monaldeschi and decided that any guest of the Monaldeschi must be an enemy of yours. And so you decided to hunt down and kill these good gentlemen, who have done you no harm and are not even citizens of Orvieto, for the offense of having enjoyed the hospitality of your rivals."
Filippeschi. Daoud had been wanting to make contact with them ever since his arrival in Orvieto. Now he had met them, and—accursed luck—they wanted to kill him.
"Lorenzo, they are Filippeschi," he muttered. "Talk to them."
"There is no talking to them, Messer David," said Sordello. "They are out for your blood."
"Be still," said Daoud. The man had offered his services. Let him confine himself to serving, then.
Lorenzo stepped out in front of Daoud, his sword still out before him, but angled toward the ground.
"Messeres, at least you should know who it is that you have set out to kill. I am Giancarlo of Naples, and this is my master, David. He is a merchant from Trebizond, which is very far away. Much too far for him to have any connection with the quarrels of Orvieto."
One of the Filippeschi bravos, a short man standing to the left of the slender leader, said, "You spin a tale to try to fool us. Anyone can see your master is a Frenchman. Too many damned French in Italy. The Monaldeschi are toadies of the French. Death to the Monaldeschi, and death to the French!"
What a bitter fate it would be, Daoud thought, if his Frankish looks, which caused him to be sent here, earned him his death in a stupid street fight.
"There are six of you," said Lorenzo. "But now that these four men have joined us, there are six of us. Bad odds for you, because no matter how much you harm us, you will certainly come out of this quarrel worse off than you went into it." Lowering his sword even more, he stepped closer to the young man with the silver badge on his cap. "Signore. Which of these men are you willing to lose, to pay for the privilege of hurting us?" With his free hand he pointed from man to man in the circle of six. "That man? That one? That one? Yourself?"
"We will start with you!" the short man shouted.
He lunged at Lorenzo, his sword thrusting straight for Lorenzo's chest.
Lorenzo's sword was up in an instant, parrying the short man's attack. At the same moment, out of the corner of his eye Daoud saw Sordello's arm flash up, then down.
The short man gave a cry and stumbled. He staggered a few steps, then collapsed in a heap at the feet of one of the other Filippeschi bravos.
Lorenzo stepped back so that he and Sordello flanked Daoud. Sordello's three men moved up beside them, one to the left, two to the right.
"You may see to the man who is hurt," said Lorenzo. "Unless you want to continue."
"If he is only hurt, I should retire to a monastery." Sordello laughed. Indeed, Daoud saw that the man on the ground was not moving.
I do not like this Sordello, Daoud thought. He comes out of nowhere wanting to work for me. He kills in haste and boasts about it.
The young man with the silver badge on his cap knelt by the fallen bravo and felt under his cape. "Morte," he said harshly, and stood again.
"Well, Messeres," said Lorenzo, "we are now six to five. We did not choose to quarrel. We still do not wish to fight. In fact, we ourselves are at odds with the Monaldeschi."
"How might that be?" said the young man.
"Are we done fighting? I wish to make a proposal to you."
The Filippeschi spokesman glanced at his fellows. "What say you?"
"Alfredo was my cousin," said a tall bravo in a rust-colored cape. "But I cannot avenge him alone."
"Alfredo was impetuous," said the young man. "He acted before I gave an order."
"You are no leader, Marco, if you will not undertake the vendetta for one of your men."
The vendetta. These Italians are like the desert tribesmen. Kill one of them, and you have his family to deal with.
"I will show you what kind of a leader I am if you speak that way to me again," said Marco.
"Enough, enough," said one of the other bravos, and the man in the rust-colored cape shrugged.
It was now almost daylight, and Daoud studied the face of the young man called Marco. He could not be more than seventeen, Daoud thought, looking at his smooth cheeks and downy black mustache.
Marco! He had heard that the head of the Filippeschi family was a young Conte Marco di Filippeschi.
"What do you propose, Messere?" said Marco.
"Meet me in front of the Church of Sant' Agnes," Lorenzo said. "This evening at Compline. Come alone, as I will. There are things we can discuss, I think, to our mutual profit."
Marco bowed to Lorenzo. "I shall expect you, Messere." He gestured, and the man in the reddish cape and one other picked up the body of Alfredo.
"Momento, Messeres," said Sordello, moving to the body in three quick strides. He bent down, reached under the body, and with a jerk of his hand pulled free a long, thin throwing knife, which he wiped on his cape.
"I can ill afford to lose so well-balanced a knife as this."
Alfredo's cousin, holding the body by the shoulders, said, "I know your name, Andrea Sordello, and your face. You will not need that knife much longer."
Sordello made a mock bow. "Be assured, Messere, this knife will not miss you, if we should meet again."
A moment later the Filippeschi and their burden had disappeared into the alley.
Daoud studied the dark irregular stain where the fallen man had bled on the rain-damp paving stones of the campiello. It was dawn, already past Fajr, the time for morning prayer.
God is great. In the name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful. All praise be to God, Lord of the Worlds.
"I advise you not to have any dealings with the Filippeschi, Messeres," Sordello said suddenly. "They'll betray you."
Even though he had given no outward sign that he was praying, Daoud was angered at being interrupted. He eyed Sordello. The man was shorter than he, about fifty years of age, Daoud judged. His hair was a good deal grayer than Lorenzo's, and it hung lankly down to his jawline under a shabby maroon cap. The bones of Sordello's nose and brows were thickened and flattened, as if they had been broken many times. It was the face of an old fighter, the sort of face that usually commanded Daoud's respect, be it borne by Christian or Muslim. But when Daoud looked at him, Sordello stared back fixedly, unnaturally, as if it were an effort to look Daoud in the eye.
"Was your advice asked, Messere?" Lorenzo growled.
He feels about the man as I do, Daoud thought. Now, Daoud thought, Sordello would bluster about saving their lives, and he would ask for employment.
"Forgive me," Sordello said. "I presumed too much." He pulled off his cap and bowed to the surprised Daoud. Either he was a better man than he seemed at first glance, or he was much more devious.
"Forgive us," Daoud said, bowing back, though not as deeply, and drawing a disapproving grunt from Lorenzo. "We owe you our deepest gratitude. How came you leaping down from the housetops when we needed help so badly?"
"I have been looking for a chance to meet Messer Giancarlo. Tonight I waited outside the Monaldeschi palace, hoping that you would emerge from the reception in a good mood. While I and my fellows were hanging about the palace, we chanced to see those brigosi lurking in the shadows nearby. When you came out, it was you they chose to follow, so we followed them. When you went down this alley, we took to the rooftops, the better to surprise your enemies."
"Why were you looking for me?" Lorenzo asked gruffly.
"I heard that you pay well for men who are adept with sword and dagger and who ask no questions about what they might be hired for."
"I also like a man who does not talk much," said Lorenzo. "You talk a great deal."
"Yes, Messer Giancarlo." Sordello lowered his eyes. Again, that disarming humility.
The man was resourceful and quick-thinking. He was arrogant one moment, humble the next.
"How did you come to Orvieto, Sordello?" Daoud asked him.
"I served Sigismundo Malatesta, governor of Rimini, until his death," said Sordello. "Since then I have not found a suitable master. I was traveling south, thinking perhaps of offering my sword to King Manfred, when I heard of you, Messer Giancarlo, while passing through Viterbo."
Daoud felt uneasy, hearing that Lorenzo's recruiting expeditions were being gossiped of in the cities around here. And how easily Sordello had been able to make the connection between Giancarlo and David of Trebizond. Just as Tilia had said, it was impossible to hire men without attracting attention.
He realized Lorenzo was waiting for him to speak.
"You may walk with us to Cardinal Ugolini's mansion," Daoud said.
When they emerged from the alley, there was no sign of the Filippeschi. Two of Sordello's men walked in front of Daoud and Lorenzo, and Sordello and the other man followed behind them. The wine had worn off altogether, but Daoud felt a throbbing pain behind his eyes and a great need to sleep.
"Well?" Lorenzo said, keeping his voice low. "The man wants us to hire him."
"We need more men, and we want clever street fighters," said Daoud. "He is that."
"Yes, but he is the type of man I detest," said Lorenzo. "I did not need him to kill that Filippeschi bravo for me. He acts before he thinks."
"After tonight we may not have to attack the French directly," Daoud said. "On the other hand, we are sure to have further need of bodyguards, and I think Sordello and his three companions would suit. Let us give ourselves time to think. Tell him you will meet him and give him our answer in two days."