The First Blade Of Ostia Page 10

  CHAPTER 13

  Bryn returned home from training to find a letter pushed under his door. The address was in Amero’s handwriting. He broke the seal on the letter and shut the door behind him, pausing to take in the first few lines. There was a second note contained within. In Amero’s scrawling handwriting, he explained that the other letter was from Thadeo dal Strenna’s second, a banneret by the name of Giaco dal Barraco. Bryn wracked his brains in an effort to remember the name, but he couldn’t. It didn’t matter; it was rare that seconds were ever required to fight each other.

  The second letter contained all the formalities required to start the organisation of a duel. After the introduction it went on to point out that at this early stage of proceedings an apology would still be satisfactory. Bryn had expected that this would be the case and had broached the matter with Amero in anticipation of the offer. Amero’s response had been couched in similar terms to his original statements. Bryn saw nothing to be gained by putting the matter to him a second time now that the offer had been formally made. Blood would be shed and no amount of talk would change that fact.

  He moved farther into his apartment and sat on the stool beside his small writing table before continuing to read the note. The remainder was sketchy on detail and Bryn couldn’t help but get the impression that the injured party was still hopeful that an apology would be forthcoming when cooler heads prevailed. He was sadly mistaken if that was the case. Bryn pulled a sheet of paper from a tray on the desk and flipped open the lid on the bottle of ink sitting in its recess. He tapped the end of his pen on the desk as he thought, then started, disappointing dal Strenna’s hopes of avoiding the acquisition of a new scar.

  Dal Barraco’s note had said that in the event of an apology not being made, the injured party—dal Strenna—chose to fight the duel with sword alone, to the usual rules, meaning the duel would cease after the first wound causing blood. Date and location were all that remained to be decided upon.

  Bryn sighed as he read back over his note, sadly all too familiar with the process of setting out the details of a duel and fulfilling the role of a second.

  * * *

  WITH THE DUEL scheduled for two days hence, Bryn took the time to return to the Academy to collect some things that had been left behind in the confusion of his move down to Amero’s apartment. He had a full day of training scheduled, so had gotten up earlier than usual in the hopes of collecting them and being back at the salon on time. His hopes took their first blow when he arrived at the Blackwater Bridge and was presented with a large number of people gathered at the bridge’s end.

  As he grew closer he spotted a member of the Watch standing and holding the crowd back. Bryn pushed his way through the crowd, the rapier at his waist marking him as a man of status not to be obstructed.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Bryn said.

  ‘A steelwood barge hit the bridge during the night,’ the watchman said. ‘The engineers’ve restricted access until they’ve had a chance to give it a proper look. Foot traffic only, and no more than ten people on it at any time. If you want to cross, you’ll have to join the back of the queue.’

  Bryn thanked the watchman and joined the queue as instructed. It was something of a haphazard queue at best, more of a mob surrounding the end of the bridge. The watchmen blocking access to the end of the bridge had to use the butts of their halberds to clear enough space to allow the people coming over from the other side get through.

  Once the bridge was clear, the watchmen shepherded ten people through their picket and on toward the other side. The undisciplined crowd pressed forward a little farther, and the wait continued. There seemed to be regular movement, and Bryn wasn’t yet in any hurry so he decided to wait.

  The Blackwater Bridge was the main crossing point of the Westway River, although there were others, and it was not long before a substantial crowd had gathered behind Bryn. There was little difference in terms of distance with the other bridges over the river from his apartment, and he was beginning to regret not having chosen to go with one of the others. Not only did the crowd at his end of the bridge have to be allowed across, so did those gathered on the other side, doubling his initial estimate.

  Slowly but surely, the crowd in front of him diminished while that behind him grew. Eventually he found himself at the picket—a couple of barrels and halberds manned by four members of the Watch. They counted off ten people before preventing anyone else from going onto the bridge.

  Bryn came toward the front of the crowd, gently pressing his way forward in an effort to ensure he was in the next ten chosen to cross. The watchmen were nearing the end of their count as he came to the front. A watchman beckoned to him to come forward, which Bryn did eagerly. As he passed through the picket he could hear a woman’s voice remonstrating with the watchman. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see a young woman who had the look of a lady’s maid about her beseeching the watchman to let her through to join her lady who was already on the bridge.

  The difficulty, as was bluntly stated by the watchman, was that there was no more space to pass across in that batch. He was in the process of pushing the lady’s maid back into the throng when Bryn was struck by a sudden notion of chivalry. It was no doubt compounded by the fact that the lady standing on the bridge waiting for her maid was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’m not in any hurry.’ At this point it was something of an untruth. ‘I’d be happy for you to take my place.’

  The maid nodded to him in appreciation and pushed away the watchman’s restraining hand.

  The lady stepped forward. ‘How very gracious of you, sir. Thank you very much.’

  She held his gaze for a moment and Bryn felt as though he had been completely robbed of his wits. It was all that he could do to doff his hat in a gentlemanly fashion; speech was completely beyond him.

  The lady continued on her way, leaving him to wait at the picket a little while longer, but she cast a glance back at him as she went that set his heart racing.

  * * *

  BRYN WAS NEARLY a full hour late by the time he got back to the salon. He had often wondered how Bautisto would deal with a breach of salon discipline. He had some inkling of it from Amero’s initial wilfulness when they started training there, but it had not betrayed the extent of the brutal training Bryn was subjected to when he had eventually turned up. Lateness was a mark of disrespect, something he would not forget in the future.

  He was utterly exhausted by the time he got home. With each step, he felt as though he would be unable to take a single one more. His legs burned and his shoulders were so strained that he couldn’t lift his arms. The effort of breathing almost seemed too much. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of collapsing into his bed after he had finally made it up the flight of stairs to his apartment. The benefits of a ground floor apartment seemed all too evident now, and he regretted his frugality in taking the cheaper option four floors above. Never before, not even in his first days at the Academy, had he found a flight of stairs so daunting.

  When he got to his building’s doorway he found his sister, Gilia, sitting on the step before it. For a moment, his fatigue was forgotten and replaced by concern.

  She stood when she saw him appear and brushed down her skirt with her hands.

  ‘What is it?’ Bryn said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing that can’t wait until we get inside,’ she said.

  ‘Come up then,’ Bryn said, feeling a wave of relief pass over him.

  Bryn struggled to hide his exhaustion from her as he climbed the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the top. He unlocked the door and led her into his sparsely furnished apartment. He looked at her face as she entered and caught the briefest hint of the disapproving look that he had seen so often. Were it not for his concern at her being there at all, it would have made him smile.

  ‘Please, sit,’ he said, gesturing to the
solitary chair beside his writing desk. ‘I’d offer you tea but I’m afraid I haven’t brought up any water.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Gilia said. ‘I’d rather just get to what I’m here to talk to you about.’

  Bryn sat on the foot of his bed, glad of the relief on his legs but concerned by what she had to say.

  ‘The other day when you called, you noticed that the clock was missing.’

  Bryn nodded.

  ‘It isn’t being repaired. It had to be sold, but I think you already worked that out for yourself. The fact is Father didn’t leave us with very much, and things have been difficult.’

  ‘Surely there’s still enough to live on?’

  ‘There would be,’ Gilia said. ‘If it weren’t for the debts.’

  ‘Debts?’

  ‘How do you think all of those fencing lessons were paid for? The years at the Academy before you got your scholarship?’

  Bryn felt his stomach turn. ‘Father said that his manager at Austorgas’ had agreed to put up most of the money in patronage. The bank’s well known for sponsoring students at the Academy.’

  Gilia shook her head. ‘No. He told you that because he knew you’d refuse to go if you thought that he had to find the money himself. Which is exactly what he had to do.’

  Bryn rubbed his brow. The fees at the Academy were enormous. In theory, admission was open to any citizen of Ostenheim. It was the great social leveller and something the people were fiercely proud of, even if in reality it was far beyond the grasp of most of them. Some wealthy individuals and organisations sponsored promising young men of limited means to allow them to attend. This was not at all uncommon, and as one of the wealthiest institutions in the city, Austorgas’ Banking House was a prolific sponsor. When his father had told him that he had managed to convince one of the managers to put his name on their sponsorship list, he hadn’t given it a second thought. Questioning good fortune always seemed like such an ungrateful thing to do. He had been too excited in any event.

  ‘How did he get the money?’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

  ‘How do you think?’

  She could only mean one thing. Moneylenders. Aside from Austorgas’, there were many reputable banks in the city, although none quite as large. Convincing any of them to give a loan to pay for a son to go to the Academy would be a difficult sell; there was no real collateral involved as there would be in the purchase of a house or some land. A swordsman in training was too nebulous a thing for any of them to take a gamble on, even on the signature of a man of respectable position and career such as his father. If the young swordsman were to be injured or were to fail and be thrown out of the Academy, he would be of no value and the loan moneys would have been squandered. It was a bad investment for any responsible banker.

  The moneylenders who kept their shops on the back streets of Bankers were not so discerning. With a home and a good job, Bryn’s father had plenty of value that an avaricious moneylender would have no compunction in taking in payment. Their rates were also higher, reflecting the greater risk they were taking in making the loan and also factoring in their greed.

  There was little need to ask who the moneylender was as there was little to distinguish them; one was just as bad as another. Bryn couldn’t help but wonder how his father must have felt when he had announced that he would be continuing on to the Collegium, making it another two years—perhaps longer—before he would be earning money. He hadn’t complained or made any mention of Bryn going out to find work. He had just beamed proudly at his son’s achievement. Bryn wanted to throw up.

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Bad, but not impossible,’ she said. ‘We’re not in default, but the repayments take such a large amount of the pensions left since Father died that any time there’s anything else that needs paying for, we’re short.’

  ‘So there’s something else that needs paying for?’

  ‘Yes, nothing serious, but it needs to be dealt with. Mother hasn’t been feeling well and needs medicine. It’s only a mild illness but if it isn’t dealt with now I’m afraid it might grow into something larger.’

  ‘And there isn’t the money to pay for both medicine and the loan.’

  Gilia shook her head. ‘Each time anything like this happens, something has to be sold. The difference is there’s nothing left worth selling.’

  It made Bryn guilty to the point of self-loathing to think of the sacrifices that his family had made to give him a life of privilege. His sister was old to be unmarried. He had always thought that it was because she was proud to the point of haughtiness, but clearly there had been no money for a dowry. He’d been so focussed on his own career and the rewards it would bring to all of them that he hadn’t stopped to think of what they would do in the interim.

  He reached for his purse and felt his heart drop when he realised how light it was.

  ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It’s all I have at the moment, but there should be more coming in now that I’m duelling.’

  Gilia said nothing, but took the purse.

  He could see how difficult it was for her to accept it, and knew how hard she must have found it to come and ask for help.

  ‘I’m going to help with this,’ Bryn said. ‘I want to take care of the repayments. How much time is there until the next one is due?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘Give me a day or two. I’ll do what I can.’

  CHAPTER 14

  Bryn made sure to be at Bautisto’s salon early the next day—not only to make up for his previous lateness, but because he needed to talk to Bautisto about getting a duel. He chose to do it early so that they could speak without Amero there. He suspected that if Amero knew of his situation he might offer to help, which was something that he wanted to avoid. He did not want to be in Amero’s debt. Not when he was being so moody.

  ‘I need to get a duel as soon as possible,’ Bryn said.

  ‘I’m doing everything I can,’ Bautisto said. ‘It’s just difficult right now. I’m hoping that there will be something for you soon.’

  ‘I can’t wait for something to come along. There are some debts that I need to pay, for my family.’

  Bautisto regarded him carefully. ‘There are always ways for a swordsman to make money quickly. It all depends on what you are willing to do; how low you are willing to sink, although I could not permit you to fight on the Black Carpet.’

  ‘Nothing untoward,’ Bryn said quickly. He didn’t want to end up on the illegal duelling circuit, the Black Carpet, nor did he want Bautisto to think that he was willing to consider the idea. ‘I just need a legitimate duel, and soon. I don’t care who it’s against or where it is.’

  Bautisto nodded. ‘How soon is soon?’

  ‘Before the end of next week.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll do everything I can.’

  * * *

  BRYN’S FAMILY troubles were weighing on his mind and he found it difficult to concentrate on training that day. He felt that Bautisto was not as hard on him for his mistakes as he usually was, and that irritated him. In addition to all of the other things playing on his mind, he had received a reply from Thadeo dal Strenna’s second. The duel was to be fought the following morning, their next day off from training. The last thing Bryn needed was to have to clear up Amero’s mess.

  Bryn thought it wise to keep the matter from Bautisto. He was unlikely to be supportive of the matter; older, more experienced swordsmen were rarely in favour of duelling outside of the most extreme circumstances despite the fact that there were few who had not fought at least one in their youth.

  Amero seemed completely unperturbed by his impending duel, although he did apply himself with more focus than usual and he was consistently getting the better of Bryn. His ability to push his worries from his mind and continue as though he didn’t have a care in the world was quite impressive—assuming he was worried at all. If anything he seemed more relaxed than he had been in some time.

&nbs
p; Once training had finished for the day, Bryn had to call on the physician that had agreed to attend the duel to pay him and finalise the time; dawn of the next day.

  There was something of a romantic cliché about fighting a duel at dawn, the time they were almost always fought if not immediately after the insult causing the duel was given—but there was good reason for it.

  Duels of honour, despite being very common in a city full of men trained in the use of swords, were technically illegal. By fighting at dawn when there were still few people about, there was a greater chance of being able to complete the matter unnoticed and not be bothered by the City Watch. This was also the reason for the duels being fought outside of the city walls. Although the standard format for the duel was to the first blood, people were occasionally killed. When that occurred, it was always sensible for the surviving duellist to retreat to the countryside for a few weeks until the matter had blown over. As the participants in duels were usually aristocrats, this was no great imposition on them as they would simply remain at their country mansions until a dispensation was granted for them to return to the city.

  Being already outside of the city walls made this easier for the authorities. If the Watch were aware that there had been a fatality in a duel inside the city walls, they would be obliged to arrest all those connected to it—if only to pay lip-service to a law that was not held in any great esteem—and lock them up for a few hours until the appropriate bribes were paid. It was another example of the practical application of the law deviating from its written form in Ostenheim. So long as appearances were satisfied, an aristocrat could get away with a great many things.

  As he passed through Crossways on his way to the surgeon’s, Bryn could hear the city crier’s voice rising above all the noise of the busy marketplace.

  ‘Panceri Mistria defeats Juan Aubero, and retains the honour of being the First Blade of Ostia! Former great dal Errio proclaims Mistria to be the finest blade of our times!