Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (2 page)

The sunset image continued to burn in my mind.

“You came as I did to a city renowned for its art,” I teased, “and yet you seem to care not for beauty when God visits it upon you.” Alonso had not come to Florence for its art, though I had.

“I do not possess your artistic soul,” he said quietly. The words were almost lost in the clatter of hooves as we trotted to catch Teresina’s carriage. I heard them, though, and recognized them for what they were, which was as much of an apology as I would receive. “I do not understand you,” he added with vigor and volume.

“No, and I am pleased. If you did, you would cast me off, as you do all things you grow bored with.”

My words apparently gave him pause, as he reined his horse in.

We had closed on the baroccio, and as the vehicle pulled away again I saw the footman reward us with the exasperated look servants always adopt when their masters are behaving oddly. I grinned and waved at him before I turned to rejoin Alonso, who sat staunchly in the middle of the road. He was soon to be run over by the next carriage. I motioned for him to move aside, and we cleared the way. Once we were somewhat safe, I glanced about to see what else might have caught his attention; but there was nothing. His gaze remained steadfast on my person. I gave him a quizzical look.

“You drive me to abstraction,” he muttered.

“I am even more pleased.” I grinned. “As you are often so anchored in the firmament.”

“Uly, please be serious.”

Teresina’s baroccio was pulling into the palace gates well ahead of us; but I waited and regarded Alonso in somewhat patient silence. He was watching the other guests pass us by. When he did not speak, I asked pleasantly, “Alonso, what am I to be serious about?”

“Do you truly feel I would cast you aside so easily?”

“Alonso, do not behave like a bleeding twit if you wish me to be serious about the night’s endeavor.”

His shoulders stiffened, but his face was calm. “I am concerned.”

“Have you been visited by dire portents?”

“No, I was… realizing how much I would miss you if…” He looked away.

I dearly wanted to embrace him. I had not expected such words. Yet I forced myself to merely smile lightly and say, “Let us get this night’s work behind us, then retire to the house with a bottle.”

He nodded and urged his horse between a set of carriages. I quickly followed him. We stayed clear of the baroccios and their alighting passengers at the steps, riding further into the courtyard to dismount and hand our horses to the livery boys. I passed a coin to the lad who took Hercules’ reins, and bade him care well for the animal. The boy smiled and bowed with sincerity; Alonso rewarded me with a frown and an annoyed shake of his head. I grinned as I followed him through the battleground of arriving vehicles. He never understood my generosity with servants; he was a true wolf, and viewed all things created by God as existing for his convenience and little more. It was a sad philosophy, and I often tried to relieve him of its constraints.

In surveying the arrivals, I decided that anyone of any import in Florence was in attendance tonight. I remarked for Alonso alone,

“You know, all who live here have told me that their beloved Florence is well past her prime, that she saw the flower of her glory a good century ago. However, I find it difficult to give credence to such dour pronouncements on nights such as this, when her entire populace seems to have arrived rolled in gold and splendor.”

Alonso shrugged. “I wonder how it seemed when she was in her prime.”

Teresina waited for us on the steps. She, of course, did not appear to be awaiting us. Teresina is a creature of appearances, and waiting upon men is not an image her reputation could bear. So she was deeply engaged in conversation with a wealthy widow, the Baronessa di Pantaglia, who was of sufficient status not to fear being seen conversing with a courtesan. This stratagem worked well for all of the parties involved. It gave the widow the opportunity to eye Alonso and myself appreciatively, Teresina the leisure to wait upon us without appearing to do so, and we tardy boys the chance to escape a scolding from our patroness. Of the utmost importance, though, we gained the additional piece on the board I had been hoping for: an unescorted woman who would be announced upon entry.

Raven-sharp eyes were everywhere, hungry for gossip and any scrap of drama. We had stepped onto the stage the moment we entered the palace courtyard. I maneuvered beside the Baronessa and commented,

“It is indeed a regrettable situation when a woman of your grace, beauty, and stature should arrive at such a fête unescorted.”

She was amused by my overture, and not at all naïve. “I would be delighted to have a fine young gentleman as escort. I have not danced in…” She paused and smiled demurely. “Let us say it has been far longer than I am willing to own.”

“I will be honored to escort you and share the floor with a lady who has practiced more than once or twice,” I said.

She laughed and took my arm. And so I entered the soiree with a woman of sufficient status to be announced as we entered the hall. The moment her name was called out, several hundred eyes were upon us.

I was assured the individuals I had business with tonight were aware of my presence, without my having to seek them out or do more to attract their attention.

Alonso followed with Teresina on his arm. It would have been exceedingly unacceptable for Teresina to be announced, but of course she did not require it. A ripple of eye flicks and whispers spread through the ballroom as she made her entrance.

The Baronessa led us through the crowd, greeting this person and that. She was gracious in her introductions, treating me as if I were what I actually am, a nobleman’s legitimate son and heir, and not what she thought me to be: an English noble’s bastard turned rogue. Though I must admit the rogue appellation would be correct in either opinion of my person. She was a handsome woman who carried her years gracefully, as they had not been harsh to her in the slightest. I found I enjoyed her company, and I was almost loathe to go about my business.

As we parted, I vowed to call on her, and she seemed pleased with my offer and all it might imply.

I had sighted my quarry, Caterina Garibaldi, shortly after my arrival an hour ago. She had maneuvered to stay within sight, and appeared relieved when I broke away from the widow. I went to make casual greeting, and found us under the watchful gaze of her cousins. This was as planned. I enjoy predictable people almost as much as I enjoy unpredictable ones. I made a clumsy go of surreptitiously suggesting that Caterina meet me in the gardens. She nervously agreed, her darting eyes ringing in her intent like the bells of a cathedral heralding mass. I was pleased with her.

Venus had not smiled upon Caterina, merely smirked. The young lady possessed all the features of an attractive woman, but they did not work in concert to provide her with beauty in form, body, or air. If matters were not as they were, I would not have given the girl a second glance. Yet, as matters were as they were, I had paid her great heed at all of our prior encounters. I had even gone so far as to intimate she was the beauty of any given soiree. My lingering glances, dancing, courteousness, and attentiveness had taken their toll. I was sure she would meet me in the gardens in an hour as I wished, even though she was betrothed to Giancarlo Damazza, the nephew of one of Florence’s wealthiest and most influential citizens.

While awaiting the appointed time, I sought out Alonso and the other young men of our acquaintance, where they were smoking on the balcony. I pretended to consume far more alcohol than many would consider prudent. Alonso pulled me aside to discuss the matter, and made a show of removing the bottle from my hand.

“Oh, stop, I am not drunk,” I complained loudly, as if I were indeed intoxicated.

He towed me farther from the others, making a greater show of trying to quiet me. Once we were far enough removed to be able to speak in private, he grinned slyly. “And?”

“She is well hooked,” I said quietly in Castilian. “We will meet at the clock’s strike in the gardens.” I grinned.

The tension left his shoulders, and he took a long pull of wine.

“I think I will pay the Baronessa a call,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Uly, why?”

“She is a most pleasant lady, and I feel she has been too long without a good tumble. It is the least I can do in repayment of her unwitting assistance this night.”

He shook his head and grinned. “You are an incorrigible philanthropist.”

“You say that as if it reflects poorly on my character,” I teased. I moved closer and pulled the bottle away in an unsteady manner, so that I lost my balance and leaned into him. Pretending embarrassment, I stepped back too quickly, and was forced to grab his arm to steady myself. He gave me a warning glare. I smirked and drained the bottle.

“Uly, you are so convincing at playing the fool you often sway me.”

His eyes were filled with admiration, and I laughed at his compliment, even though I bridled a little at the actual meaning. I knew his words to be true; he did often fall for my acts, though not always the ones he was aware of. However, after two and a half years, I felt he should know me well enough not to fall for the masks I showed the world.

I was almost distracted into sobriety by the arrival of Giancarlo Damazza on the balcony. He was with his older cousin, Vincente, who was the son of the wealthiest man in Florence. Even though the ball was not in his honor, Vincente was the reason of all of my night’s activities.

For Alonso and me, he was the focal point of several months’ worth of work.

Vincente noticed my gaze. The guilt he may have seen in my eyes was sincere. I made little attempt to hide it. Then I made a show of nervously glancing at his cousin and slipping away.

Caterina met me in the gardens. We walked among roses, and flirted around the marble pillars of the galleria. I played the gallant swain who was too intoxicated with both wine and love to resist my infatuation.

She played, with all sincerity, the blushing maiden who was too excited by the prospect of dallying with one of Teresina’s boys to recall she was betrothed.

On the pretext of showing me a flower she plucked, she darted in and pecked my check quite sweetly. As we were still surprisingly alone, I decided to amuse myself by teaching the girl to kiss; and I swept her into my arms and claimed her mouth. Her initial modest protest smothered, she surrendered to passion, and the lesson proceeded smoothly enough to garner the heretofore missing interest on the part of my manhood.

This pleasantness was interrupted by a great deal of commotion, as Giancarlo and his companions finally found us. I looked over Caterina’s head and past the apoplectic rage of her betrothed, to find Alonso playing the part of the placating friend and attempting to make excuses on my behalf to Vincente. The stage was set and the cast had arrived.

I feigned drunken shock and surprise at Giancarlo’s presence and rage.

“Good sir,” I sputtered in English, and then switched to Latin.

“Good sir, this is not as it appears,” I avowed loudly, with the appropriate slurring, while still clutching the horrified girl.

“Release her! Release her at once!” Giancarlo bellowed. He was a boy of slight build and a braying voice, and it was rather like being confronted by a belligerent goat. I let Caterina go; she slumped to her knees between us, sobbing and clutching at Giancarlo’s breeches.

Everyone ignored her, except for one of her brothers, who quickly pulled her to her feet and out of the way.

“I fear I…” I began.

“Fear, yes, you have much to fear, sir. I demand satisfaction,”

Giancarlo brayed. Vincente stepped forward and placed a restraining hand on Giancarlo’s sword arm; but the boy would have none of it, and shook him off with vigor.

“I understand, good sir,” I said with as much dignity as a supposedly intoxicated Englishmen should have been able to muster. “Please name a time and place.”

“Now!” the lad yelled.

It was as I had hoped.

“I s-s-s-ee, with what weapon…?” I stammered and checked to ensure I was wearing a sword with a fumbling hand. His hand was already on his hilt. I watched in amazement as he drew.

He was truly enraged beyond reason, and had no intention of following any of the proper etiquette for a duel. This was better than I had hoped. The other men stepped back. Alonso was giving me a worried look, and I gave him the subtlest of shrugs. I was not truly concerned. I had seen the boy practice with the sword, and he had of course never seen me do the same. This was better than pistols; once a bullet was involved, there was at least the remote possibility that the idiot would injure me. With swords, there was little probability of my suffering a wound at all, unless I wished it or the Gods took a sudden disinterest in my person.

I pulled as quickly as I dared without revealing that I was not intoxicated, and blocked his first rush, making sure I stumbled back.

The fight continued on this way, with me swinging as badly as he, and both of us gaining and retreating in a seemingly haphazard manner around the pillars of the galleria, until I marked the position of everyone present and developed a plan. I began to drive him in the desired direction.

When he tripped on a broken tile, I pressed on with a drunken rush that brought us toward Vincente and Alonso. My excellent fortune held out, and Giancarlo tripped again, toward his cousin, who felt obliged to catch him. A sober man in a serious duel would have stopped and allowed his opponent and a non-combatant to recover. I kept charging; and a moment later I ran Vincente through, seemingly by drunken accident in the heat of combat. It was nearly perfect. Unfortunately, Giancarlo was not aware of this, and was still flailing about with his weapon. I was forced to block with my arm, getting myself badly cut in the process.

Then all was silence as everyone, including the now-cognizant Giancarlo, watched Vincente slump to the ground with my sword in his chest. Giancarlo dropped his weapon and stepped away, as another of their cousins checked Vincente’s condition. Alonso rushed to my aid and wrapped a kerchief around my wound. Caterina’s wails were smothered by one of her brothers. The man kneeling next to Vincente raised his eyes to Giancarlo, and shook his head sadly. I gasped in feigned horror, and stumbled forward to check the body myself.