The First Blade Of Ostia Page 17

  All of the old aristocratic friends that had been too busy to see him after his bad behaviour were suddenly available once again, and the resulting contact with their idle and decadent ways appeared to be having an impact on him. It seemed that the very habits he had declared himself to be going to the arena to avoid were those that he was now increasingly drawn to.

  Bryn fetched Bautisto from the back room where he was going through some paperwork.

  ‘I am Maestro Bautisto.’ He wiped ink from his fingers with a rag as he walked toward the new arrival.

  ‘Ah, the Estranzan, good. I want to discuss appearance terms with your protégé. Get him into the Amphitheatre regular.’ Dal Corsi spoke in the clipped sentences favoured by the older generation in Ostenheim, but that style of speech had long since fallen out of fashion and Bryn found it difficult not to see him as a parody of a bygone generation. At his weight and age, it was something of a wonder that he was not bygone himself.

  Bautisto gestured to Bryn, who stood to his right. ‘I appreciate your offer, but I think my protégé here would benefit from a little more time and experience at modest venues before making that step.’

  It took dal Corsi a moment to realise that Bautisto was referring to Bryn. It took him a moment longer to realise that Bautisto had known that it was Amero he was referring to, and that Bautisto was trifling with him.

  ‘Not him, you bloody fool. The giant killer: dal Moreno. I don’t appreciate being toyed with. You’ll get the same rates that I offer all newcomers to the Amphitheatre, and less if you try and lead me a merry dance. Now where is he?’

  There was something innately unpleasant about those accustomed to always getting their own way. This was all the more so when that individual held too much influence to be told where to stick their demands, as Bryn would be sorely tempted to do were he in Bautisto’s position.

  The window rattled as it was opened and Amero stumbled through, bearing the same bedraggled appearance that he had each morning since fighting Mistria. He walked toward them and looked to Bryn with raised eyebrows and bloodshot eyes.

  ‘This is he,’ Bautisto said.

  Dal Corsi stepped forward, clicked his heels and bowed his head, the mark of respect a banneret made when not holding a sword, and the first social grace displayed by him thus far. ‘Pleased to meet you, young man. I am Banneret Ricoveri dal Corsi.’

  It seemed that he felt that this was all the introduction that was necessary. Granted Bryn had recognised the name; Amero on the other hand did not.

  ‘So?’ Amero said, looking to be caught somewhere between puzzled and irritated.

  ‘Banneret dal Corsi is the scheduler for the Amphitheatre,’ Bryn said, quietly.

  Not missing a beat, Amero picked up the cue, his demeanour changing instantly. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Banneret. How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘It is I who will be of assistance, young man.’

  Dal Corsi clearly saw gold coins fluttering through the air each time he looked at Amero. Bryn felt his loathing for the man grow.

  ‘After your magnificent show the other day the duelling committee at the Amphitheatre are in agreement that it would be a frightful waste for you to have to return to backstreet arenas until you’ve worked your way up the ranks of the Ladder. Already there are many top tier swordsmen clamouring for the chance to face you. I think they’re worried people will think them afraid of being shown up by a young upstart.’ He chortled, sounding and looking very like one of the walruses at the city menagerie.

  ‘That’s a very attractive prospect,’ Amero said. ‘The terms?’

  ‘Ha! Straight to business. Excellent. It’s always easier to work with a swordsman who knows business is as important as steel.’

  Dal Corsi beckoned to one of his assistants, who scurried forward and took a page from his satchel. Amero took it and began to scrutinise it with his red, tired eyes. The smell of alcohol, smoke and the crumpled clothing seemed to have had no impact at all on dal Corsi. Amero’s potential to generate money outweighed any other considerations.

  Bryn tried to catch a glimpse of the terms without being too obvious. He caught himself mid breath when he saw the figure being paid for an appearance. He didn’t even have to win to earn it; a winning purse would be greater still. Money like that would solve a great many things for Bryn and he would have taken an offer like that with such enthusiasm that he would have ripped off the proffering hand.

  Amero looked up from the page and smiled. ‘I’ll think on it a while.’

  Bryn clenched his teeth to stop his jaw from dropping, but realised that Amero had never been in this for the money. Dal Corsi was surprised also; it seemed he was not often given this answer, which was understandable enough.

  ‘Don’t think on it too long, lad. There may be hordes of young females outside clamouring to get in today, but tomorrow? Memories are short in this city. Just ask someone who Panceri Mistria was.’ He whirled around, his cloak billowing out about him and headed for the door, followed by his assistants without so much as a by your leave.

  Bryn watched them go before turning to Amero. ‘Do you really need to think about it?’

  ‘Of course not, but I’m not going to jump onto the fat old fart’s lap like a grateful puppy. I’ll sign it and have it sent over in a day or two. Otherwise, I’m going back home, I feel bloody awful.’ Without another word he stuffed the contract into his doublet and made for the window through which he had entered.

  When he was gone, Bautisto turned to Bryn. ‘Be patient. Luck doesn’t favour us all, but hard work and ability earn their rewards eventually.’

  Bryn looked at Bautisto, a man on the other side of middle age, and then at the salon in which he eked out a living with only two students. Those rewards seemed far less certain than he would have liked.

  CHAPTER 25

  Amero didn’t show for training at all the next day, and Bryn was concerned. An increasingly bad temper, heavy drinking and a sword close to hand were not a healthy combination. Bryn worried his behaviour was leading him toward trouble. Emeric was still around, so Bryn was confident that any trouble would not be severe, but his current lifestyle would lead him to ruin of one sort or another if not knocked on the head soon.

  After training, he decided to call at Amero’s apartment and give him a talking to. He didn’t look forward to Amero’s reaction but it had to be done, and Bryn was the only person to do it. They were still best friends after all.

  The door opened the instant he pulled on the bell-rope, and Bryn’s initial reaction was surprise at the speed of the servant’s reactions. The door wasn’t being opened for him, however. A lady was departing; Amero’s most recent conquest no doubt, and probably also the reason for his absence from training.

  When his eye’s fell on Joranna’s face, Bryn was unable to contain his surprise. Her face was flushed—not from the surprise of seeing him—and her hair was not quite as neatly styled as he would expect if she was out making calls on friends.

  ‘Bryn… I. What are you doing here?’

  Bryn said nothing and pushed past her, taking the stairs up to Amero’s apartment two at a time. He burst in through the door, where Amero was lounging on his armchair, wearing nothing but his britches, smoking a twist of tobacco. There were several empty bottles of wine sitting on the table.

  ‘Back for more?’ Amero said, in response to the sound of the door opening. Only then did he look over and see Bryn standing in the doorway. ‘Ah. Bryn. What brings you over?’

  Bryn said nothing, trying to separate rage from his decision-making.

  ‘Oh. You saw her then,’ Amero said.

  ‘I saw her,’ Bryn said, in as measured a tone as he could manage.

  ‘Well, I did warn you about her.’

  ‘You utter bastard. Why did you do that?’

  ‘Did you a favour, if you’re asking. She’s just like all the rest of her type. I warned you, and this is proof that I’m right. The first chance of a step up the so
cial ladder and they drop their skirts. Told you to go after the daughter of a burgess or such like.’

  ‘You utter bastard,’ Bryan said again, unable to think of anything else.

  ‘Now listen here,’ Amero said. ‘You’re a bank clerk’s son. What were you thinking getting mixed up with a nobleman’s daughter anyway? Did you really think that would ever work out?’

  Bryn thought about drawing his sword. It was the way swordsmen settled things like that, but Amero’s words rang true. Bryn was the son of a bank clerk. Whatever the result of a duel between them, or a fight there and then, it would end badly for Bryn. If he killed the son of an elector count he would be in the city dungeon or on the headsman’s block before he even had his sword sheathed again. Reason had to prevail. He had to be responsible and provide for his mother and sister. He couldn’t do that incarcerated or dead. The whore wasn’t worth it. Neither was Amero. He took a deep breath and swallowed his anger.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Bryn said, before turning and leaving.

  * * *

  BRYN WAS AMAZED when Amero turned up for training the next day. He looked healthier than he had in some time; clean clothes, no bags under his eyes, and no stench of booze.

  ‘Surprised you’re showing your face around here,’ Bryn said.

  ‘It’s where I train, isn’t it?’

  ‘Warm up quickly please, gentlemen,’ Bautisto said. ‘We’ll start with some sparring when you’re ready.’

  Bryn started into his warm up routine, glowering at Amero, who ignored him. Whenever he looked at Amero, all he could think of was Joranna and her deceit, and Amero’s arrogance in the way he just took whatever he wanted with no thought for others. Bryn couldn’t think of ever hating anyone more. After years of friendship, that was what it had come to; Amero’s blatant lack of respect for Bryn. The thought made him light-headed with rage, and he struggled to maintain his control.

  ‘That will do, gentlemen. Take your guards please,’ Bautisto said. ‘We’ll start with basic patterns. I don’t plan on anything too strenuous today.’

  They began without another word, and Bautisto regarded them both curiously. As they worked their way through the basic parries, disengages and attacks, Bryn found himself striking with more force than he ordinarily would in those exercises. He could tell by Amero’s expression that he noticed it.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Bautisto said. ‘Normal sparring now.’

  Amero did nothing to disguise the new style he’d used against Mistria. He had proven it now, and obviously no longer cared about Bautisto’s reaction. He came at Bryn much the same way he had with Mistria. The attacks were fast and precise, with flourishes, sweeps and just enough showmanship to make it visually appealing to the untrained eye. Far more so than Bautisto’s workmanlike functionality.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Bautisto shouted.

  Bryn felt incredibly satisfied at Bautisto’s criticism and pressed Amero a little harder to see if he could provoke more of his ostentatious swordplay.

  ‘If you wave your sword about like that, it will be the end of you! A waste of time!’ Bautisto shouted, his voice laced with a rare show of anger.

  Amero responded to Bryn in kind, ignoring Bautisto’s commentary. Bryn pressed harder again, relishing the tongue lashing that Amero was getting and giving in to his own desire to cause his former friend physical harm. He upped the tempo and attacked aggressively. His move could not be mistaken by anyone with even the slightest knowledge of swordplay, and once again Amero responded.

  Were it not for the fact that they were using blunt swords, there was nothing to differentiate their sparring from a serious duel. Try as he might, Bryn couldn’t find a way through Amero’s defence. One good, hard whack was all he wanted. That would be enough to demonstrate his feelings on the matter. Once he had that, he wouldn’t train with Amero again. Ever. He attacked again, but Amero parried and riposted, taking the initiative and pressed Bryn back across the floor behind a blur of clashing steel.

  Bryn hadn’t expected such a quick turn around, and realised that he had allowed his anger to cloud his swordplay.

  ‘Enough!’ Bautisto walked between them as soon as the blades stopped moving. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but I said spar. Not try to kill one another. And you.’ He turned to Amero. ‘What have I said about the flourishes?’

  Amero shrugged obstinately.

  ‘They’ll get you killed. And you’ll look like an idiot in the process,’ Bautisto said.

  ‘Worked well enough against Mistria,’ Amero said.

  ‘Well,’ Bautisto said. ‘Perhaps Mistria wasn’t all he was made out to be.’

  Amero lowered his sword and turned to face Bautisto. His face twisted in anger. It had been some time since he had spoken back in the salon.

  ‘I’m sick of your fucking criticism. Do this, do that. The same old shit every day. The same old hackneyed swordsmanship. Some of the crap you’re peddling should be gathering dust by now. What I’m doing is new. No one’s seen it before. I know it’s far from perfect but you’ve already seen what it can do. Imagine what it will be like when I have it down. I won’t have a greasy little Estranzan prick like you talk down to me any longer. Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? If it were up to you I’d still be nothing more than a circus attraction to be mocked in Lowgarden. Well no more.’

  Amero was still holding his sword, but somewhere in the midst of his tirade he had raised it again. Both Bryn and Bautisto’s eyes were locked on it.

  Amero realised what they were both looking at and his face relaxed a little. ‘Oh really. As if I’d waste the effort on either of you.’ He flung the practice sword across the room where it clattered into a wall and fell to the floor. Gathering up his things, he stormed out.

  CHAPTER 26

  There was a knock at his door, but Bryn was in little mood for company. There were few people who would call on him at home though, and in each instance it could be important. He opened the door to a slight figure in a dark travelling cloak.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said.

  ‘Can I at least come in?’ Joranna said.

  Bryn didn’t want to let her in, but if there was going to be an argument, he preferred that it be conducted in private. He stepped back from the door to allow her past, but other than Amero, he couldn’t think of a person he wanted to see less.

  ‘Say what you’ve come for, and be quick about it.’

  ‘I wanted to apologise,’ she said.

  ‘Fine. Accepted. Leave.’

  ‘Look. I didn’t realise you’d react that way. I just thought it was a bit of fun. You bannerets are always chasing after girls, and I didn’t think this was any different.’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Bryn said, gesturing toward the door once again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘For what it’s worth, I won’t be seeing Amero again. You have to understand, when a future elector count showers you with attention it’s difficult to ignore. My family might have titles, but we don’t have much else. I made a bad choice and I’m sorry for that.’

  As hurt by her behaviour as he was, Bryn found it difficult not to see some reason in what she was saying. In spite of that, he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive her; the hurt was still too fresh.

  ‘I think you should leave.’

  This time she said nothing, but nodded, and did as Bryn said.

  * * *

  BRYN SPARRED with Bautisto in the absence of a proper training partner. Having the full attention of a fencing master was of benefit, but something about the situation felt artificial. There had been a number of inquiries from people hoping to train there since the Mistria duel, but word of Amero’s departure was not long in circulating through the gossip channels of the duelling community, and the majority of those inquiries were not followed up.

  Bryn felt bad for Bautisto, and the role he had played in inflaming Amero, which undoubtedly contributed to his angry departure, but one of them would have left the salon that day
and not returned. If not Amero, then Bryn, and even taking into account the extra business Amero would have brought, Bryn reckoned that Bautisto was far happier having Bryn there than Amero. Bryn was confident that Amero would not have stayed there much longer, one way or the other.

  Amero had already won another victory in the Amphitheatre since leaving Bautisto’s and had another match scheduled, which was receiving a great deal of promotion around the city. His name was mentioned by the city criers in Crossways regularly, and Bryn had heard him being discussed by people on the street.

  Although he had paid little attention to Amero’s movements after storming out of Bautisto’s, Bryn had heard that he had gone to Cavzanigo’s, the plush salon that exemplified everything Bryn loathed about how the profession of being a banneret mingled with high society. He was welcome to the place as far as Bryn was concerned—and they were welcome to him.

  * * *

  A FEW DAYS later Bryn was making his way through the city toward his mother’s house. He had fought another unremarkable duel the previous evening, in an equally unremarkable arena tucked away in Guilds, unfortunately conceding a touch in a moment of foolishness. He was still distracted by everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks and focus was not coming easily. To further darken his mood, that same evening Amero had won another duel in the Amphitheatre without conceding a touch, a fact that was being announced by the criers on Crossways nearly every hour.

  Nonetheless, Bryn had won another few crowns to give to his sister to keep the debt collectors from their door. It continually pained him to only be able to give them so little. That would change soon, he kept telling himself. It had to.

  The route that he took brought him past Maestro Vaprio’s salon and he paused with a sense of regret when he reached it. As much as the crowd relished the morbid spectacle of a man being killed on the arena floor, the notion always pained Bryn. It was a risk that they all shared and each time it happened that fact was made unpleasantly fresh in his mind. Happily it was not often.