The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 75

"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 a.s.sured, 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.

_G.o.d is great. In the name of G.o.d, the Beneficent, the Merciful. All praise be to G.o.d, 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 bl.u.s.ter 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 grat.i.tude. 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 pa.s.sing 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.