The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,67

Marco’s cousin than Lady Giulietta’s. It was a politeness between princes. Marco smiled to say he was listening. Frederick could speak. “My father . . .”

“Y-yes,” Marco said. His voice dry. “I c-can imagine.”

Sigismund would never let the Basilius claim Venice. He would move against the Byzantine emperor, and the war Duchess Alexa had spent so long trying to prevent would happen anyway. Of course, if Leo ever inherited the Venetian throne then Sigismund would effectively gain Venice and the Basilius might feel compelled to react. But he was old and had yet to choose an heir, and, if Venice was lucky, his sons and grandsons would fight among themselves.

“Why did you say you’d think about abdicating?”

“To b-buy time, obviously.” He smiled. “So much is n-not what it seems. I’d have thought you both k-knew that by now.”

“You have a plan? Frederick asked.

“I have s-several.”

29

Upstairs on the internal balcony of the Red Cathedral Maria Dolphini screamed for hours, jagged shrieks of pain that regularly silenced those dining below. One of them, her husband, tried to visit more than once and was publicly thrown out by the local midwife. So he sat in front of untouched food and called for wine, although he drank less than usual, and certainly less than he pretended. And Tycho doubted any midwife could have kept Alonzo from his wife’s birthing chamber had he really wanted to enter. The balcony was open-sided and renegade Crucifers watched Lady Dolphini’s maids hurry back and forth with bowls of hot water.

Maria di Millioni, Tycho reminded himself.

She was Princess Maria di Millioni. If Alonzo had his way, she’d become duchess of Venice and sit beside him on the ducal throne. Their son – the boy being born, who was born already and over a year old – would take the throne after Alonzo, and was his son in truth, for all Maria would have to lie. Tycho wondered what Alonzo had offered the local midwife, and his wife’s maids, for going through with this charade. Unless letting them keep their lives was reward enough.

Alonzo would need to keep Leo hidden for a few months, if not longer; even supposedly monastic knights and heathen archers could tell the difference between a newborn and an infant. A particularly long scream had Alonzo emptying his goblet and shouting even louder for wine.

“Gods,” he said. “And I thought war was brutal.”

The next scream ended in the wail of a child, and Tycho immediately wondered how they’d kept Leo quiet these past few weeks. But around him men were rising to their feet to toast Alonzo, and he hurriedly joined them.

“Congratulations, your highness,” Roderigo said.

Alonzo said. “Not so fast. It might have a cunny.”

Someone laughed and he pulled a face. “It’s happened to better men than me. Better go and check its bits, I suppose.” He strode away and took the stairs with surprising ease for someone supposedly so drunk. A moment later he appeared on the balcony and shouted, “Balls and a prick . . .”

As a cheer went up he vanished inside again.

“She wants to rest,” he said, when he returned. “She deserves to rest. I’ll let her be for a few days and see how she does after that.” He might have been talking about a horse or his falcon. His voice proud, but leaving no doubt both woman and child belonged to him as much as his horse did. The man was grinning as he returned to his seat and demanded more wine. And why not? That little charade with the screaming would bring him the throne.

Tycho said. “You must be relieved.”

Alonzo squinted at him suspiciously.

“Birth can be a tricky time for a woman.”

“And for a man,” Alonzo said, emptying his goblet and grabbing a hunk of bread, which he chewed like a man who’d just realised he was hungry. “You wouldn’t believe how bad-tempered she was by the end.”

“With carrying the child?”

“What else?” Alonzo demanded crossly.

“Indeed,” Tycho said. “What else. Highness, the Nubian woman who was with me when I first arrived . . .”

“I sent her south with Tiresias.”

“Why? Highness?”

Alonzo looked surprised. “He wanted her.”

And is probably already dead from greed, Tycho thought, wondering how long Amelia had waited before killing the Byzantine duke. She’d have to slaughter his servants, too, to make her escape, unless she made do with disabling them. Somehow that didn’t sound like Amelia.

The evening passed, as most did in the Red Cathedral, with drinking and laughter and the occasional fight. They were an army