The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,3
banker. The idea that Lord Bribanzo would publicly disapprove of anything Alonzo wanted was absurd. Lapdogs had more will.
“Y-you d-do?”
“Yes,” Bribanzo said fiercely. “It’s a waste. Our greatest general retiring to dig his own fields.” He sounded as if he really thought Alonzo would dig ditches, tend vines and build drystone walls. He must know Alonzo’s bucolic vision was for public consumption – like most of the things Alonzo said.
“Politics bores me, Bribanzo.” The Regent’s voice was warm and convincingly honest. The qualities that made him loved by his troops and so dangerous to Alexa. Drunk, Alonzo was dangerous. Sober, he was more dangerous still. It had always been thus – to use one of his own expressions.
“My lord, reconsider. For Venice’s sake.”
“My mind is made up.”
“If you’re bored with the city . . .”
“Bribanzo. I was born here, the canals are my home. I spoke Venetian before I could speak Latin or mainland Italian. Listen to the crowd . . .” The Regent paused, a little too theatrically, to let the Council hear the rumble of carts, the singing of gondoliers and the shouts of stallholders on the Riva degli Schiavoni. “That is the sound of my heart beating. This city is my heart. The canals my blood. How could I ever be bored of Venice? The thought is absurd.”
Staged, Tycho thought. Both men had rehearsed their lines before the meeting began. If not, then they’d certainly discussed how this should be played.
“Then why . . .?” Bribanzo began.
Alonzo risked a glance at Alexa. A quick, slight glance that suggested complications and things he couldn’t say. Questions that only she could answer, not that he expected she ever would.
“I-is this g-going anywhere?” Marco demanded.
“Highness. We have Barbary pirates in the Adriatic. The governor of Paxos has declared himself king. Then there are the Red Crucifers . . .”
Marco looked at his mother, who bent to whisper. “Ahh,” he said. “The renegades. I thought I’d lost t-track of a c-colour . . .” He smiled as the Council laughed dutifully. The recognised Priories were the White, who protected pilgrims, and the Black, who extracted sin with torture and oversaw executions. When the local Prior of the White in Montenegro proclaimed himself High Prior of the Red, and announced he and his followers would drive heretics from Montenegro, most regarded that as heresy itself. The man might be dead but his knights remained, holding to their new name, their supposed religious mission and the land they should be protecting from Serbian bandits. The Duchy of Montenegro was one of Venice’s newer colonies. Not large, but its position across the Adriatic from Sicily made it key to protecting Venetian trade.
“My friend . . . What are you suggesting?” Alonzo asked.
Bribanzo glanced at the other councillors. One of them nodded slightly, and from the sudden stiffening of Alexa’s shoulders Tycho knew she’d caught the glance. Alonzo’s plot spread wider than both of them thought. She’s worried. Alexa worried is me worried. Tycho loosened his dagger and Alexa shook her head.
“If you won’t stay here, my lord, serve Venice in another capacity. Don’t simply retire to your estates. The city can’t afford to lose its greatest general.”
The Regent shrugged.
“I mean it, my lord.” Bribanzo’s voice was stronger.
Here it comes.
“So,” said Alonzo. “Sail against the Barbary pirates . . . Retake Paxos . . . Defeat the Red Crucifers . . . Which do you want from me?”
“Any of them, my lord.” Bribanzo looked to the Council for agreement and received half a dozen nods. Alexa would note who agreed and who kept their counsel. She glanced at her son but Marco seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice a split was appearing.
“Alonzo,” she said.
“Yes, my lady?” The Regent sounded innocent.
“I thought you were determined to retire to your estates?”
“That is my dearest wish. But if the Council of Ten still want me to serve my city . . .” There was enough ambiguity in his tone to leave it unclear whether he meant he served the city, or he regarded the city as his. He’d made it clear to everyone over the years that he didn’t consider it hers. “If the Council want me to serve, how can I refuse? No matter what my enemies say about me . . .” He looked at Tycho this time. “My devotion to Venice is unchanging. My friends already know my friendship is for life. My enemies would be fools to underestimate me . . .”