Kushiel's Scion (93 page)
Deccus Fulvius laid his hands on his wife's shoulders. "I will stand the cost."
The embalmer bowed. "My lord senator."
I felt guilty at it, but not so guilty as I did at Gilot's death. If Deccus Fulvius wanted to stand the cost, well and good. When Gilot had jammed the cog-wheel that lowered the drawbridge, he had bought us all a respite. And when he had slipped its chains that it might be raised, he had paid the final price. We all owed him a great debt, Deccus included.
I watched the embalmers carry him away.
"My mother carried my uncle's head home from the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont," Eamonn said thoughtfully. "Preserved in lime. You might consider it, Imri."
I shuddered. "I'll think on it."
Somewhere in that time, Lucius—Gallus Tadius—emerged. There was a good deal of confusion in the villa. Publius Tadius had become a ghost in his own right, vanishing into the depths of his chambers. Beatrice had taken to her bed. What had happened had broken their spirits, at least for the moment. It was Claudia who had held the family together, backed by Deccus' authority and wealth.
A day had passed.
There were no more priests, no more incantations, no more herbs and braziers. In the scorched bell-tower, I understood, the mundus manes remained uncovered. And when Gallus Tadius sauntered through the villa, yawning and scratching himself, wearing Lucius' face, there was no doubt who was in charge.
If anything, there was relief.
He called us into the large dining room, where we perched uneasily on couches made for reclining. "Very good," he said. "I trust you all understand what's at stake here. I daresay the city guard understands, or at least they do now." He laughed. "So! I've called a conclave of whatever passes for authority in this forsaken city, that we might all agree. You need me. If we stand together, we've a good chance of beating this bastard. If we falter"—he shrugged—"you've seen what will happen. In the meantime, I want a thorough inventory of all the Tadeii holdings—arms, food stores, charcoal, firewood, money. All retainers or slaves of an age to bear arms. Anything of value. Claudia Fulvia, you may supervise it. The rest of you, lend her your aid."
"I want to attend the conclave," Claudia said coolly.
Gallus pinned her with a stare. "That won't be necessary."
"So do I," I said.
"And I," Eamonn added. Brigitta nodded.
"Ah, gods!" Gallus threw up his hands in disgust. "What do you fancy you lot are going to accomplish there?"
"We did well enough by you yesterday, my lord," I said.
"Well enough!" He snorted. "Oh, aye, fancy-boy. That was a deft piece of swordplay, but if you'd let Valpatra kill the wench, he'd have lost his claim to Lucca."
I shook my head. "Once he was inside the gates, it wouldn't have mattered. Not if he'd taken possession of the city. Anyway, that's not the point. Lucca may cede authority to you, but Terre d'Ange doesn't; nor Skaldia, nor the Dalriada, nor Tiberium. We deserve a voice."
"Tiberium has a voice." He pointed at Deccus Fulvius.
"I would speak for the Tadeii," Claudia announced.
Gallus laughed. "I speak for the Tadeii!"
"Not the living," she said.
A flicker of confusion crossed his features. Knowledge, slippery as an eel. "Our… your father may speak for the Tadeii."
"Our father is in his chambers, mumbling to himself, Lucius!" Claudia said tartly. "We need you, yes. But you need us, too. You'll get your inventory later. Don't be an ass."
They stared at one another, brother and sister; and yet not. It was a strange sight. In the end, rather to my surprise, it was Gallus who relented. He laughed aloud. "Sweet tits of the Vestals! I can see who inherited the balls in this family. Fine. Come, and welcome to it."
An hour later, the conclave was convened.
It met in the basilica, a stone's throw from the town square where the scorched husk of the bell-tower squatted. Lucius—Gallus—had been busy in the aftermath of yesterday's skirmish. Gaetano Correggio was there along with a cadre of other noblemen I took to be the elite of Lucca, but there were others, too. Lesser genry, representatives of the merchant guilds, several priests, Captain Arturo of the city guard.
The central chamber of the basilica was vast and spacious, with a rostrum on the floor and tiers of benches rising on both sides. Eamonn,
Brigitta, and I took seats on one of the lower tiers, behind Claudia and Deccus Fulvius.
Gallus Tadius stood on the rostrum and waited.
The benches filled slowly as people took their seats. Men; almost all men. Helena Correggio, huddled at her father's side, was one of the only other women present. I shook my head in wonderment. In Terre d'Ange, the numbers would have been equal. Brigitta's upper lip curled in disdain. I remember Phèdre said once that in Skaldia, women have the right to participate in their great councils.
It was cold and drafty in the basilica, a chilly autumn breeze stirring through the chamber. There were a number of charcoal braziers set about, but they were empty and unused. Gallus' orders, no doubt. And wise enough; it would only get colder.
Overhead, the vaulted ceiling was covered with plaster. It was divided into quadrants and painted with frescoes depicting the heavens—dawn, noon, dusk, and night. But the plaster was chipping badly, as though it had been laid in careless haste, and one could see bits and pieces of a tile mosaic that lay beneath it. A battle scene, I thought.
Gallus Tadius tilted his head to regard it and chuckled. "You covered over my triumph," he said to Gaetano Correggio.
The erstwhile Prince of Lucca accorded him a curt nod. "My father did."
Gallus shrugged. "No mind." He waited until all were assembled and settled, and then raised his voice. "My lords—and ladies!" He bowed mockingly. "I am Gallus Tadius da Lucca, and I claim authority over this city. Does anyone here contest me?"
No one did.
I watched their faces as Gallus spoke. Most were filled with a fierce hope. They wanted him to lead them. They hung on his words as he outlined the beginning of plan. He spoke stirringly of sacrifice. He spoke of Lucca's defenses; its high walls, its deep wells. He spoke of hoarding stores and rationing food; of impending winter and the difficulty of feeding a mercenary army.
"All we have to do is outlast them," he said.
He spoke of our enemy, and there were things I learned. Domenico Martelli, the Duke of Valpetra, lived, one-handed and bitter. His hired army was under the command of a condottiere, Silvanus the Younger.
"I don't know him," Gallus allowed. "But condottieri are sensible men. It may be we can turn him for a bribe." At that, Claudia stirred. He raised a hand, forestalling any comment. "We'll need to find a discreet way of communicating with him. There are ways such things are done, and I know them. But first and foremost, we need to be prepared to deal with him from a position of strength."
I had to own, most of what he said made sense. Gallus Tadius had led a fair number of sieges in his day. He knew what was necessary to withstand one. He gave orders that every household was to conduct a thorough inventory and report the findings to him. Food stored in merchants' warehouses would be seized for future distribution. Armorers' stocks would be allocated at his discretion. And from this day forward, every man of fighting age was automatically inducted into the service of Lucca.
"You are the Red Scourge!" he roared, pointing at us.
Most of the men cheered. I felt it, the stir of martial pride. Yesterday, I might have cheered, too. I'd been caught up in our defense of the city. But yesterday, Gilot was alive. Today was different. I gazed at faces flushed with eager fury, and wondered.
The remainder of Gallus' orders were less stirring. He announced that Lucca was under a state of martial law. Any man refusing to serve would be executed as a traitor. Anyone, man or woman, who sought to leave the city by any means would be executed as a traitor. And then there was the harvest. In the fertile plain of Lucca, a good portion of the year's crops had yet to be harvested. The wheat was half gathered, while grapes yet ripened on the vine and entire groves of olive trees were unready to drop their bounty.
"It's a tricky matter," he admitted, scratching his chin. "We'll have to try to find a way to set fire to them."
At that, there were a few protests. I saw Claudia and Deccus exchange a glance.
"Gallus Tadius." Deccus Fulvius cleared his throat and stood. "Are you sure this is wise? Those olive groves have stood for hundreds of years. Surely there is a better way to save the city than by destroying its greatest resources."
Gallus shrugged. "It is a resource that will sustain our enemy. An army travels on its belly, Deccus Fulvius. We have no choice. Once Valpetra is defeated, we will replant and rebuild."
There were other arguments, but in the end, he swayed them. It was a remarkable thing to behold. He did it single-handedly, rousing their ardor and passion. There was a great deal of hatred toward the Duke of Valpetra in the basilica that day, and he used it to good effect. I sat and listened, remembering how well Lucius had always argued in Master Piero's classes, and wondered if some of his influence was present. Or mayhap the old condottiere had been a gifted orator himself, and passed his gift on to his great-grandson.
Or mayhap it was the presence of the dead among us. I could not say.
Indeed, for my part, I said nothing. None of us did. There was little, at this point, to be said. In truth, I'd not intended to speak out at the conclave. I wanted to know what Gallus Tadius was planning, and I suspected Claudia's motive was much the same. Any diplomatic gambit we might attempt would have to take his plans into account.
All knowledge was worth having.
"Right," Gallus said when he had finished. "You've leave to go, all save those I've asked to stay. I'll expect complete inventories and a list of the new militia on the morrow."
Almost everyone filed out of the basilica. We stayed, although Gallus hadn't asked us; but he didn't order us to go, either.
Gaetano Correggio stayed, and Helena with him. A handful of other noblemen stayed and a priest in a conical white hat, accompanied by several acolytes. I thought I had glimpsed them before in the temple of Jupiter.
"That's the flamen dialis." Claudia frowned. "What's Lucius up to?"
"Claudia Fulvia." Gallus beckoned to her. "Since you claim to speak for the Tadeii, you may serve as a witness to my wedding."
"What?" The word escaped my lips involuntarily.
Gallus Tadius grinned at me. "You put the thought in my head, fancy-boy. Why not? The lass was wed against the will of her paterfamilias. On Gaetano's word, the priest can decree a divorce and free her to wed me. It will undermine Valpetra's claim to Lucca and reinforce mine." He shrugged. "Might not have as much effect as we'd hope. He'll argue against it, and he's mad as hell since you lopped off his hand. I doubt he means to give any quarter. But it might help turn his troops against him, once they learn I'm bedding his bride. She's soiled goods, but I don't mind. Every weapon that comes to hand is fair game in war."
I glanced at Helena Correggio, and wished I hadn't.
She was terrified. The moment I looked at her, her gaze locked onto mine, mute and pleading. Begging for a hero to rescue her. All I could do was heave an inward sigh. This business of being a hero was a good deal more difficult than I'd reckoned. I'd saved the maiden from the villain and all it had done was infuriate the villain, complicate my own standing, and thrust the maiden into the arms of another villain—the one on our side. The man with two faces.
Was he a friend?
One of him was.
With a silent prayer to Blessed Elua, I steeled myself to make an enemy of Gallus Tadius. But before I could speak, Claudia intervened.
"My lord priest," she asked in concern. "Is this lawful?"
The flamen dialis looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Under certain circumstances, yes. If the paterfamilias seeks it. I trust the wedding was not confarreatio?"
"What does that mean?" I whispered to Deccus Fulvius.
"It's a binding form of marriage," he said, then hushed me.
Claudia turned to Helena. "Tell us," she said gently.
Betimes, men who know one another's minds have no need for speech. It is different with women. They need not know one another to communicate without words. I saw Claudia's subtle nod, and I saw Helena's eyes widen in understanding. Only slightly, so slightly. If it were not for Phèdre's training, I doubt I would have seen it.
"He took me to a village." Helena clenched her fists at her sides, then pointed. "Southwest. I don't know the name. The priest—his priest—was waiting there. The flamen dialis of Valpetra." She bit her lip. "I didn't want to do it! But he said he would kill me."
The priest frowned. "How was it done, child?"
She told him.
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