They were leaving the realm of Portomaggiore, having stayed the night at an inn near Scalea. When they disembarked at the city’s docks late in the afternoon the previous day, Ottaviano had insisted they begin their journey south immediately rather than linger. He said they needed no distractions, and besides, a gentle ride until nightfall would suitably stretch their mounts’ legs and ready the mounts for the longer journey ahead in the morrow. Baccio had not argued, something he later regretted on discovering the somewhat humble lodgings in the inn. Scalea and its surroundings had yet to recover since being ravaged by the Sartosans only months before, while the city itself was untouched.
The road would take them all the way to Luccini, something their purses could not persuade the ship’s captain to do. Accompanied by three mounted guards, one of whom carried a guidon bearing the company’s emblem, the two of them rode at the fore.
“What did the priest say?” asked Baccio.
It seemed to have slipped Ottaviano’s mind that he had yet to speak to his friend concerning what he had learned from the priest he met that morning.
“General Giacometti is indeed coming to Luccini,” Ottaviano said.
“Coming? So, he’s not there yet?”
“No, not yet,” said Ottaviano. “Some of his soldiers have landed, but the general himself had yet to arrive when the priest left.”
“When did the priest leave?”
“About a week ago, so I suppose the general ‘s ship could have docked since then.”
Baccio grunted acknowledgement. “Why do you think he advertised his intentions so broadly? It can’t be wise to let one’s enemies know your movements?”
“Maybe he wants the Sartosans to know,” suggested Ottaviano. “All the better to dissuade them from further despoiling of Luccini? They’re unlikely to raid if they think they might be caught by his army before they can get away. This way, his protection begins before he even arrives!”
“So, you think he’s coming to help his cousin, in the young king’s time of need?” asked Baccio.
Ottaviano snorted. “If that’s what he intended, then he’s left it too late. Luccini has been grievously wounded. The priest said that compared to Luccini, Portomaggiore had got off lightly.”
“He was probably distracted by his own affairs,” said Baccio. “He was paid with land, while the Compagnia was given gold. Ruling a newly conquered realm must keep a fellow busy.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Ottaviano. “But he could have deputized, if he really wanted to help.” He glanced over to his friend. “You know, Baccio, when the war ended, Giacometti got the best prize. I think that’s why General Mazallini accepted the rule of Campogrotta in lieu of pay. He knew just how well Giacometti had done with his lands and title. While our Compagnia’s pile of gold diminished to nought, General Giacometti had income pouring in every season, and no need to fight for it.”
“Huh!” exclaimed Baccio. “He might have been happy in Solsona, but ruling Campogrotta didn’t work out for us.”
“No,” said Ottaviano sombrely. “It didn’t.”
Both fell silent for a while, each aware that the other was most likely suffering a similar cascade of memories concerning the flight from the poisoned realm of Campogrotta.
Seeking a thought to cheer himself up, all Baccio could summon was that he was glad to be off the ship. He had never attained sea legs, which made ship-board life a misery. Riding leisurely, and on such a pleasant morning, was much preferable.
“So, General Giacometti is now a nobleman, an Estalian ‘vizconde’, with more than half of Solsona to rule?” he said.
“Aye, that he is,” said Ottaviano
“Then why doesn’t he just sit tight and revel in his new-found prosperity? Why return to Tilea? Especially now, when vampires and brutes have been replaced by Sartosans and ratmen, so that the wars go on and on?”
“Perhaps he loves his cousin?” suggested Ottaviano. “And thinks to put things right in Luccini? It’s commonly said the young king has returned somewhat damaged from his long captivity. It’s likely he needs all the help he can get.”
“What do you mean, ‘damaged’?” asked Baccio.
“Apparently, he is not all there. The Sartosans tormented him – scared him out of his wits. As for his realm, it’s been robbed and razed …
… then robbed again twice more when the Sartosans returned to pick at the bones. If ever there was a land that needed help, its Luccini. The people are likely just as distressed as their monarch!”
“But Giacometti is a condottiere who will expect full payment, which Luccini surely cannot give him?”
“Ha!” laughed Ottaviano. “If Luccini has nothing to give, then why have we been sent to negotiate with them? It’s still a kingdom, Baccio. Recently plundered, aye, but surely able to pay for a few mercenaries. Poor kings, even mad kings, can find money when they have to, even if their subjects must suffer as a consequence.”
“I doubt his royal majesty has many soldiers of his own left demanding pay,” said Baccio. “But if he is paying Giacometti, there’ll be nothing left for us.”
“Ah, but Baccio, will the vizconde demand payment? He has his Estalian income. Perhaps he’s fond of his cousins, the king and the duke, and feels obliged to help them in their time of need.”
“You keep saying that. But he’s a bastard’s great grandson, who only has estates because the Estalian king gave them to him. Why presume he feels anything for a cousin who inherited what he could not? Besides, I reckon that hunting, hawking, feasting, and sleeping on feather beds in a warm chamber, is the kind of life to satisfy anyone.”
Ottaviano grinned. “Maybe he found a life of ease tedious and yearns to return to a life of adventure?”
“Not likely,” argued Baccio. “If he’s coming back to Tilea, then it’s because he wants something more than mere adventure.”
“Well, he’s no stranger to the Luccinan royal court. He grew up there and was like an older brother for the king. So, I say again that there’s every reason to suspect it is love of his cousin that draws him home.”
“Or,” said Baccio, “he aims to supplant his cousin? Take Luccini’s crown for himself? Being king is better than being a vizconde, surely? As a cousin he has royal blood in his veins. All princes should be wary of blood cousins arriving with armies – they have both the might and potential right. Remember the king and Giacometti’s great grandfathers fought over the throne. Who’s to say who had the better claim? Who’s to say the matter is settled in perpetuity? Such a contest might easily reemerge down the line.”
“I don’t think King Ferronso has much of a choice. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’ Luccini is as wounded as a realm can be, all while its king is caught in a waking nightmare. What’s left of our Compagnia is surely not sufficient to provide all the protection Luccini needs. We don’t know how many of General Giacometti’s Compagnia del Guanto stuck around, but as he has Solsona to raise new recruits from now then he can replace any lost strength, if not further increase his force. Being a vizconde means he now has a lot more pieces to play with.”
Baccio frowned. “If what Macario told me about the Gauntlets is true, then Luccini is in for a nasty shock. His men could teach the pirates a thing or two about the art of plundering.”
“That might be so,” Ottaviano acknowledged, “but General Giacometti is not at all shy about hanging his own men for plundering without orders. Yet Luccini doesn’t have to worry quite yet, because it’s not the gauntlets who have landed, but a bunch of his Solsonans.”
“Hah! Well that could explain everything. If they’re the Solsonan soldiers he fought during the wars, then sending them elsewhere seems like common sense to me. Why would Giacometti keep old enemies around? I bet he sent them to be rid of them.”
“Except he is expected to arrive himself soon – and he’s hardly likely to exile himself.”
Baccio could not really argue with that, but he wanted to know more about the soldiers.
“These Solsonans, are they militia or mercenaries?” he asked.
“Who knows? The priest just said they were hand-gunners, liveried green, white and red …
… with an ensign of the same. Unless the gauntlets have been adding green cloth to their doublets, then all we know is the arrivals are Solsonan.”
Baccio’s brow furrowed, as he realised he was beginning to feel nervous about going to Luccini.
“It makes me wonder,” he said, “if Luccini has Giacometti’s help, both his old company and these new soldiers, then why are we seeking employ in Luccini? Sounds like they’ll soon have a surfeit of soldiers.”
“We’re seeking employment anywhere right now, Baccio. Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, we don’t know how many of Giacometti’s old company stayed in his service. They can’t have been happy when he took lands and titles instead of gold. It’s likely a good number of them went off to seek employ elsewhere. As for his new Solsonan soldiers, if they are mere militia, then their usefulness on the field of battle could be limited.”
What with all he had been through, Baccio was not convinced. “I bet he’s lost none of his gauntlets. All our boys were happy enough with the thought of favoured citizenship in Campogrotta. After the bloody wars in Solsona, why wouldn’t Giacometti’s lads not be just as keen to take their ease?”
“Maybe they were? Right now, there’s no knowing what strength Giacometti has to offer, but if he has insufficient for Luccini’s needs, then there could still be a place for us. We’re not as expensive as we used to be, Baccio, what with the fact there are so few of us now. Besides, the Compagnia fought alongside Giacometti’s men in Estalia, winning victory together. It’ll be like old comrades reunited!”
Baccioi laughed. “Ha! I couldn’t count the number of stories I’ve heard about the strife between the companies in Solsona. On the same side, yes. But friends? Hardly! Besides, Giacometti’s men are nearly all northerners, loud and proud at best, downright dangerous at worst. “
“We’ve our own share of northerners in the Compagnia, Baccio, and none are worse than the worst Tileans. Besides, Giacometti is Tilean, and he’s the one giving the orders.”
“Aye, Giacometti is Tilean, with famous ancestors. I still think he could have ambitions to be king.”
“Not every lord is a usurper, you know,” said Ottaviano.
“Maybe,” admitted Baccio. Then he remembered something. “Giacometti was governor of Capelli years back, wasn’t he? He might have ambitions there.”
“Ambition is the right word for it if he does. He’d have to fight the army of the VMC to retrieve that particular office. Not a soul in Luccini would want to start such a war right now.”
“What they want, even the king, is not necessarily what Giacometti wants,” argued Baccio.
“No,” said Ottaviano. “That makes no sense. The governorship isn’t hereditary, just an office gifted him by the king’s uncle, Duke Ercole. Besides, half of Solsona is four times as large as the whole of Capelli. He has already won a much better prize. I reckon it’s more likely Giacometti is here to exact revenge for his cousin on the Sartosans, and profit from doing so if he can. He’s got right on his side, and none in Tilea would complain.”
Baccio rolled his eyes. “Great. If that’s true, and we are hired by Luccini, then we’ll be back aboard a ship. I’m not sure my stomach can take it.”
BigSmallWorlds 