The Free Company- Book V: Bloody Retribution

[The_Hawk]

May 31st, evening -- Palazzo Vecchio, Florence

"Frederik, my pet, would you pass me a slice of that suckling pig?"

"Of course, my dear."

Scooping up the slab of meat with her plate, Maria looked past her lover to Sean O'Glaigh. "The Medicis put on quite a meal," she said, her voice low to avoid being overheard.

The Irishman nodded, reaching for a platter of ox tongue. "You can imagine what it's like when they play host to princes," he responded quietly. Not as though anyone could hear them -- the roar from three dozen talking individuals drowned out virtually all sound beyond a few feet.

Maria nodded. "It must be quite..." She abandoned the sentence, looking stunned. "Good heavens, is that gilded goose?"

The banquet had been going on for more than an hour, and the flurry of wildly varied dishes showed little sign of abating. The enormous table was surrounded by an equally varied menagerie of people, from the somewhat rough Maria and Frederik to the cultured elite of Florence. Maria sat along the middle of the table, flanked on one side by Frederik and on the other by Sean and Christina. Further along, at the head of the table, Catherine sat. To her left sat Syban, while Cosimo was on her right. The young gonfaloniere was ignoring his parent and her lover, seemingly deeply engrossed in conversation with a local merchant.

Frederik leaned past Maria as she dug into a filet of sturgeon with lemon sauce. "Tell me, Sean, who's that fellow Cosimo is speaking to? Syban has been glaring at him all evening."

Sean swallowed a boiled partridge egg before answering. "Ah, that's Mario... somebody, I don't recall his last name. Giorgi thinks he's a Venetian agent."

"And is he?"

"Probably. He certainly 'as a great number of contacts in Venice, given 'ow well Florence and Venice have gotten along in recent years."

"Hmmm." Frederik leaned back in his chair. "One to watch," he murmured.

 

[TheF]

May 31st, evening -- Palazzo Vecchio, Florence

“Your eminence, will you not eat? Are you not hungry?”

The bishop looked up from his plate, slightly agitated.

“It is imperative that we are not distracted from our task, and that we do not allow earthly pleasures to distract us.”

The servant bowed and went on to serve another table. Bertilucci surveyed the room, inspecting the order of things.

“The Venetian is sitting at the same table as young Cosimo.”, he whispered to the envoy seated next to him, “disturbing, very disturbing.”

The German merchant sat beside his loved one at the same table as O’Glaigh, whom Bertilucci suspected to be quite an important character. After the banquet, there would be an arduous, nearly Sisyphusic labour waiting for the old bishop.

 

[Valdemar]

May 31, evening, the palace

Frederik noticed the bishop’s glance and discreetly nodded in return, the old Prelate didn’t look too comfortable, but whether it was the company or the news Frederik had given him was hard to tell.

The merchant abstained from indulging too heavily in the feast and instead looked around at the gathered cream of Florentine society. He had quickly picked up that he and Maria, as well as the O’Glaighs had been placed at what could only be perceived to be the lower end of that society. He didn’t care, looks could be deceiving, he could see at least two merchant princes, dressed like peacocks in their finery, lavishly covered in gold and pearls, who were closer to bankruptcy than good was, though they probably managed to hide it to most of the guests here, at least for the time being. I wonder where they’d seat me if they knew my true value in their coin? The varnish is nice here, but I’ve seen better manners in smaller courts.

He smiled to himself, in his line of work, understatement was a prudent thing, though most of the real working merchants at the table probably had heard of him, if they had bothered to catch his name and make the right connection, between a perceived minor noble and merchant and the rumours of their trade.

He looked away from all the glitter to the man seated next to Cosimo, a man, dressed a bit like him self, in understated finery, with less openly displays of wealth and power. The man however had the young rulers full attention and power of a different kind almost oozed from him, though Frederik doubted it was visible to the casual observer. He didn’t carry any visible weapons, nor would any have been permitted that close to Cosimo, apart from a small dagger in his belt, more ornate than useful, but to Frederik’s trained eye, at least one more weapon was concealed on the man’s body. It was not very obvious and certainly not visible, but a slight difference in the tailoring of his clothes and subtle hints in the way he moved, favouring on side to the other and not leaning his arms at the table.

Sean had pronounced him a man with many Venetian contacts; perhaps Alphonso or one of David’s Jewish contacts could cast a light on his actions and acquaintances. Frederik shrugged and shifted slightly to get accustomed to the new weapon he had received, grimacing as he caught him self doing exactly what had exposed the Venetian to him. Well, he didn’t do it for any of his regular weapons, perhaps he could get used to this too.

With that he turned back to Maria and Sean and the discussion of how much gold went into a gilded goose.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

"To make a quality leaf?" The Irishman answered, "Usually a good hal' pound anyway, quite the expensive ornament."

"Have you ever made one?" Maria asked.

"Me? Why I donna e'en cook. Ask the wife if she has." Sean smirked. Sean looked at the assembled "nobility" over his glass as he took a sip of the quite average wine. "No' one of Cosimo's be'er batches." Sean said to himself.

"I noticed." Frederick answered. "So what do you make of our Venetian friend."

"Trouble." Sean answered simply. "I've just placed 'im. He's not jus' a simple courier...he does certain...other work from time to time."

"Are you saying I need an extra guard."

"Well, unless ye have shoot-on-sight guards aroun' ye. It might no' be a bad idea."

"Cosimo?"

Sean shook his head. "Not Foscari's way. And counterproductive. It'd get Florence into the war instead of keepin' us out."

"Yourself."

"Maybe, but I doubt it, besides, he isna good enough. If he managed through my guards...which only two people have in 20 years. Then he'd have to deal wi' me. An' ye wanna giss how many assassins I've done in? No. Someone close...someone no' too heavily guarded, and probably someone Cosimo wouldna mind seein' go away."

'Well, that narrows things down a little."

"A little, not eno'. Whoever the target is be'er hope he takes note of the finery." With that Sean returned to more social conversation.

 

[Lord Durham]

May 31st, evening -- Palazzo Vecchio, Florence


Frederik leaned past Maria as she dug into a filet of sturgeon with lemon sauce. "Tell me, Sean, who's that fellow Cosimo is speaking to? Syban has been glaring at him all evening."

Sean swallowed a boiled partridge egg before answering. "Ah, that's Mario... somebody, I don't recall his last name. Giorgi thinks he's a Venetian agent."

"And is he?"

"Probably. He certainly 'as a great number of contacts in Venice, given 'ow well Florence and Venice have gotten along in recent years."

"Hmmm." Frederik leaned back in his chair. "One to watch," he murmured.


* * *

The man was bent, hobbled at an agonizingly slow pace, the wine decanter resting in infirm, shaking hands. He made his way down the long table, leaning forward to refill empty goblets, eyes downcast and darting.

A woman stopped mid sentence, stifling a gasp. The man moved on and she leaned over to her companion. "Did you see his face? What could have caused such disfigurement?"

The noble glanced, shrugged. "War perhaps, my Lady. War does unkind things to people."

She huffed. "Well, they shouldn't have let him in. He'll scare the guests."

"Easy, my Lady. Most Lords don't know, or can't be bothered to know, half their staff. They have more important things to do. Here, try the sugar coated apple..."

The man had heard the exchange, had cringed inwardly at the cruelty. It was something he had trouble adjusting to, regardless of the fact that the disfigurement aided his disguise. At one time he had been regarded as handsome, in a foppish sort of way. But that had all changed. It had all changed in a distant land. I must not dwell on this. I have a task at hand.

His slow, shuffling gait brought him to Cosimo and the man known as Mario. They were locked in conversation. He leaned forward to fill an already full wine goblet. Mario stopped talking and placed his hand over the exquisitely crafted container. "Fool! Can't you see it's..." He paused when he saw the ruined face. A thin smile graced his lips, and his lifeless eyes flicked further down the table. "You may proceed."

The bent man bowed slightly, turned and exited through a curtain directly behind the head table. In the dark solitude he uncoiled himself, stood straight, and waited.

Cosimo had watched the exchange in silence. "What was that about?"

Mario reached for the wine goblet, sniffed at the contents. "Your wish will soon be granted, My Lord." He took a drink, smacked his lips. "Compliments of my master."


June 1 - Ancona - Late Afternoon

Few people paid attention to the small entourage that entered the city - few save Landen, who greeted his sister with open affection. Of even greater relief was the fact she carried a letter from the Pope to the commander of the Free Company. Travelling to Rome was now a moot point to the scout.

After finding quarters worthy of his sister's station, Landen searched out Captain at One-Thumbs, finding the Englishman and Lochlan at their table discussing old times.

Landen sat down. "Bored, are we?"

Captain shrugged. "Never thought I would be. The men are restless."

"Well, perhaps this missive will bring tidings of one sort or another." He handed over the letter.

Lochlan leaned forward. "Is that the Pope's seal?"

Captain held up the envelope. "It is." He produced a knife and slit through it, sat back and read. After a few moments he said, "Well, it looks like I don't have to listen to Lochlan's exploits any more."

Lochlan tried to look hurt. "Good news?"

"It depends. We have been summoned to Florence to meet with a Papal delegation. It appears we are to be hired in anticipation of war."

Landen whistled. "War? When do we march, then?"

Lochlan reached for the letter, squinted as he studied the finely crafted letters. "I'd say the 3rd. It's too late in the day to prepare for tomorrow. It'll give the men a chance to tidy up their affairs."

Landen stood, chuckled at the double-entendre. "I didn't think humour was your style. Anyway, I'll go put the word out."

Captain nodded. "Good. Make sure you inform Otto, too. He just arrived from Florence with the cannon. He'll be thrilled that he has to return.

The scout rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He left the tavern.

Lochlan said, "Florence? This should prove to be interesting."

Captain nodded. "Indeed, it should."

 

[The_Hawk]

June 1, noon -- Ancona

In the Piazza della Signoria, before the Palazzo Vecchio, Cosimo, Maria and Frederik mounted up and prepared to ride. In their company were a dozen mounted men-at-arms -- a stipulation of the trip insisted on by Catherine and Sean for Cosimo's protection. Frederik, too, was there for protection -- having heard Sean's discussion of the Venetian assassin, Maria and Frederik had mutually agreed that it would be best if they remained together.

Both were lost in dark thoughts; Maria's revolved around Cosimo's involvement with the Venetians, while Frederik wondered about the true target of the Venetian Mario who they had spied the night before. Both were startled out of their reverie by the clatter of hooves on cobbles from the direction of the Via dei Cerchi.

Sean capered into view astride a white charger, Ban Realte at his hip. Cosimo seemed as surprised as anyone to see the Irishman's arrival. "Master O'Glaigh! I did not know you would be joining our little entourage."

"These are dark times, la... sire," he corrected himself, eyeing the men-at-arms. "I can best serve you at your side, should trouble come."

Cosimo watched Sean for a long moment before nodding. "You are welcome, of course." He turned back to the rest of the group, breaking into a smile. "We leave our city happy, and embark on a restful and friendly journey. It is a fine day for such a trip. Come!" With that, he urged his horse towards the Arno. Maria and Frederik glowered briefly before spurring their own steeds after him.

High above, two pairs of eyes watched the departure from the Tower of Arnolfo. Catherine de Medici shook her head despondently. "There he goes. Why can't he be made to see what a threat the Venetians pose?"

Syban reached out to her, pulling her into his frail embrace. "Fear not. As you said before, if he is on the road, he cannot be plotting with that Venetian agent."

"This agent, he is being watched?"

"Of course."

Catherine remained in his embrace for a long moment before pulling back and looking into his eyes. "Giorgi," she pleaded, "I fear for our city, and for the soul of my son."

Syban stroked her hair lovingly. "You fear for nothing. If the messengers are swift and my agents correct, the Free Company should be hearing word from the Pope any moment now. They will come." He turned away, and looked after the receding Cosimo. "As much as he might despise me, Cosimo and Captain are alike. They are both men of honor." He hates me because I am not.

Catherine nodded. "Men of honor... even if Cosimo's is... clouded of late." She stared off to the distant east, her high perch affording her an unparalleled view. "I pray your Captain is swift, Giorgi."

 

[Storey]

Ancona June 1st Late Afternoon

The sound of scrapping filled the large airy room on the top floor of the Duomo, which itself was situated on the top of the highest point in Ancona on the Astagno Hill. From there if you looked East over the city of Ancona you had the panorama of the Adriatic Sea sparkling below you. From this high up the sun seemed to kiss the ripples on the water and send them winking at the shore where they foamed a sudden silent sigh of release. Looking North Geoffrey saw the road to San Marino with its twists and turns running along the shore in a most delightful way. Vineyards and groves of olive trees bordered it on the West providing cultivated rows of the essences that was Italy. Even the most harden of men could not walk this road without feeling a lightness in their step and the joy of being alive. The beauty of the area was only rudely interrupted by the scar of the Free Company camp on the outskirts of town. But then the camp was made for the art of function not beauty. Geoffrey’s thoughts were interrupted by a sneeze followed by several "bless you" from the students in the room. He turned and saw Ciriaco d’Ancona wiping his nose as he approached.

"Geoffrey my boy have you come back to join us?"

The momentary pause in the scratching of the student’s quills picked up again providing what for most would be an irritation to their ears but to Geoffrey was a fond tickle of memory of former happy days of learning.

"No I’ve come to say goodbye for now. The rumors are growing that we will soon be marching and I wanted to pay my respects before I left."

Ciriaco wiped his nose again while he shook his head giving the appearance of a man puzzling over a stubborn child.

"I don’t know what the younger generation is coming to. There is so much to do and so little time and grown men waste it playing at war."

Ciriaco wagged his head back and forth while he gestured to Geoffrey to follow him. He went to his desk and took out several papers.

"I assume you’ll be headed north?"

"Probably. That seems that is where the fighting will be."

"Good then I want you to take these papers with you. With the troubles approaching it’s getting difficult to maintain contact with my colleges in the north. If you can, deliver these or at best when you get close send them by safe means. They may only be of interest to scholars but with the roads becoming more dangerous the best way to get them safely to my colleges is by sending them with an armed escort so to speak."

"Of course I will be happy to help."

Geoffrey scanned the names and whistled.

"It will be a pleasure to deliver these."

"Good now before you go lets have a cup of wine."

As he held up his cup Ciriaco smiled and with a wink proposed a toast.

"To Socrates, The unexamined life is not worth living."

Geoffrey smiled remembering the game that Ciriaco and he use to play. So it was to be a battle of wits for both to make their point.

"To Socrates, Know yourself!"

Ciriaco quickly drank.

"Here’s to Aristotle who said The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet."

Both men finished their wine and Ciriaco pour them some more. Geoffrey rolled the wine in his mouth before swallowing.

"To Aristotle, Man is by nature a political animal."

Ciriaco fired back a little tipsy by now.

"To Aristotle, All men by nature desire knowledge."

Geoffrey drank emptying his cup, which Ciriaco quickly refilled. While both men downed their cups Ciriaco was the first to continue with the contest.

"To Aristotle who said that life must be lived with a view to the cultivation of the soul."

"Actually sir I think that Socrates said that."

"Socrates? No, no I’m sure it was Aristotle.

"Hmm well I think is was in Plato’s The Phaedo."

"Oh I’m sure you’re wrong it was in…"

And the two continued their friendly contest into the evening.

 

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June 1st - Ancona - Early evening

Pedro walked into One-Thumb's, unadorned as usual. Few people paid attention. He had been one of the richest men in Valencia, technically he still was, though looking at him would never reveal it. He sat down at a table near the wall. After a few minutes he had started talking to an Italian sitting nearby. They decided to gamble a bit. The Italian pulled up a chair and began his act. He was clever, no doubt about that, but Pedro had known enough thieves to realize the Italian was slowly robbing him blind, even though he lost a lot more than Pedro. O'Floinn walked in, Pedro made a few short movements of left hand. O'Floinn then knew the Italian was a thief. He got a drink and took a seat at the table in the corner, silently watching the Italian slip a few coins into his sleeve as Pedro turned to see somebody loudly dropping a glass. It was clear the Italian was trying to end the game, but Pedro cleverly kept it going. A few more minutes passed and it was clear he knew what he was about to do. The Italian tried again to get out.

"It is getting late, you must have things to do, I will keep you here no longer."

He talked casually, trying to make it seem he telling the truth. He rose and took a few steps.

"Well, I'd love to go, it's just that you've stolen half my money"

The Italian froze. His face became pale. He breathed in, making sure he looked normal, then turned back to Pedro.

"Ha, if only my luck were half so good as yours, you have all but bankrupted me!"

Pedro leaned in close and spoke quietly.

"Listen, I know you get off as being clever, but if you knew how many people like you are rotting Spanish jails and graves because of me, you'd have never suggested this game. Now I'd advise you to give me everything I walked in here with and avoid me the rest of your life. If I ever see you pulling this again, I'll kill you."

Pedro half drew his longer knife from it's sheath. The Italian turned white again. It probably would have worked if a drunken man hadn't suddenly bumped into Pedro, causing him to sumble forward. The Italian punched Pedro, throwing him back into a table. Knowing he was at great risk with his back to the crowd, the Italian threw himself against a wall, dragging Pedro up with him. He pulled out Pedro's knife and put it to the Spaniard's throat. Several people got up, O'Floinn stayed still. The Italian shook his hand to emphasize that he would kill Pedro if anyone moved.

"Don't push me, I'll do it!"

He began rambling for people to get out of his way or he'd kill the Spaniard and started slowly for the door. The arrow pierced his neck. O'Floinn's hands had moved faster than most men's eyes could follow. A gurgle escaped his lips as the Italian fell. Pedro, recovered now, pried the knife from the Italian's fingers and crouched down look through his clothes. He found a good deal of money, shuffling it all into a pouch. A small throwing knife rested at the Italian's belt, and what appeared to be a crossbow, only extremely small. Great weapons for a thief, compact and concealable, yet very useful. Doesn't one of the rangers have a weapon like that crossbow? He took them both and got up, bidding farewell to O'Floinn before walking walking out. He walked over to the bar. "Sorry about the mess" He said casually, tossing a few coins down and walking back to his table. A few people stared at him. He continued drinking.

 

[Valdemar]

June 1, the palace courtyard,

Frederik leaned back in his saddle while they waited for Cosimo and thought back to the lavish banquet of last night.

Nothing much had happened, but as the night went on small impromptu intermissions had appeared as the guest had to obey the call of nature, and Frederik had managed to get a quick word with the Bishop before he retired for the night.

The revered cleric had both been the bearer of good and bad news. He had been able to confirm what Frederik had told him about the army’s lack of readiness, but as a consequence admitted to the merchant that he had indeed informed the Pope of the severity of the situation some time ago and would now urge his holiness to act more directly.

Frederik hoped for the sake of the Holy Father that he had already done so, but he suspected that the Free Company would be too late stop whatever schemes Venice had hatching here in Florence.

He looked at his beloved, but she merely looked introvert and sullen this morning, she had been like this ever since Frederik had pointed out the Venetian next to Cosimo and he wondered if some illusion of the young man’s affiliation had been shattered.

It was therefore to his delight that he saw Sean ride into the courtyard and announce that he joined them. Not so much for the extra arms, unless Cosimo turned his men at war on them, he felt quite confident in his hidden chain mail and his hidden knifes that he could handle most emergences, but more because Sean’s offer about Florence had piqued his curiosity.

He had actually given it more than a cursory thought the night before and if ever this current crisis resolved it self, he could see the potential. He turned and surprised the older man, with a rather warm welcome and nudged his mount closer to the Irishman,

“So, I hope you at least brought a decent wine?”

 

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1 June, Early Evening: One-Thumb's

As Jean walked past the tavern, he heard a great commotion in there. As he rushed in, he saw a dead Italian with an arrow sticking out the back.

"What happened?"

The Spaniard--Pedro, Jean remembered--spoke up. "He tried to cheat me out of my money."

Jean nodded. "Have the body preserved and put up in our camp with a sign that states his crime. We need somebody to get these people in line. Take all the money he stole off of you, I'll distribute the rest among my men. And someone get me a drink, I'm thirsty."

 

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June 1st - Ancona - Early evening

Jean nodded. "Have the body preserved and put up in our camp with a sign that states his crime. We need somebody to get these people in line. Take all the money he stole off of you, I'll distribute the rest among my men. And someone get me a drink, I'm thirsty."

"Alright" Pedro said simply and, counting out a bit of money, handed the rest over to Jean in a bag. He nodded to O'Floinn and bid farewell to them both, dragging the body along with him.

Jean turned to O'Floinn, who still had his bow out.

"You just can't go anywhere without killing someone can you?" He chuckled.

"Well, that'd be pretty dull wouldn' it? Let's 'ave a drink"

O'Floinn gestured to the chair next to his and went to get drinks.

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Early June 1st- Before Sean joins the party

Sean packed his charger himself. A foible from his mercenary days. Christina watched him silently. On very rare occasions she felt an interloper on Sean's life. Times she was reminded she wasn't even Sean's first wife. And times she wondered if Sean wasn't married to war first of all.

I must be getting old. She mocked to herself, I never was this melancholy before. Finally she walked up to Sean and gave him a hug. He returned it.

"Fifty years old, and still playing with the children," she laughed, "Don't be too rough on them."

"I will. This is l'il more than a ride in the country, darlin'. I'm no' plannin' on rejoinin' the Free Company. Jus' keepin' an eye on our young Medici. Now, do ye have any questions abou' how things are run?"

"No," she said clearly. "I can handle the messages. And I'll let you know if anything important happens."

"Good." He bent over and kissed her gently, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I willna be long. I thin' you were listening too much last night. This isna the first time I've left Florence since we came here." He said smiling.

"OH, get going!" She laughed, "But be careful."

"Always, m'love." He said, sliding Ban Realte into its scabbard. Always."

 

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June 1st-Ancona, Outside One Thumbs

Robert laughed when he heard the news. "Florence!" He laughed to the soldier who passed the rumor to him. "I might as well have just waited at home for them to arrive!"

He strode through the door, his spirits higher than they'd been in a week. And he saw the body still being picked over. At a table he saw O' Floinn picking out what seemed to be hand crossbow. He walked over to the Irishman, "Would you like to learn how to use one of those?" He asked. "It's not as simple as a full-sized one."

"I had heard you had one of those. Are they common?"

"Well, I thought they weren't." Robert laughed. "You'll have to make your own bolts. And the one he has in this is too light, It'd never punch through armor, even at 5 paces."

"I see. And what would you like for teaching me how to use this?"

"How about an ale to start with? Thirsty work, teaching people to shoot these things."

 

[unmerged(10397)]

June 1st - Ancona - Evening

"I see. And what would you like for teaching me how to use this?"

"How about an ale to start with? Thirsty work, teaching people to shoot these things."

"I'd 'ave probably bought you one anyway, a chance to drink should always be taken."

Robert looked at him oddly, probably wondering why O'Floinn wasn't drunk. O'Floinn went to get drinks, he came back a moment later with two full glasses. They made some casual conversation as Robert showed O'Floinn a few things about the crossbow.

 

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May 19, The Vatican

Pope Eugene had begun another day of meeting supplicants. The first, am man from the South, came forward.

"Your Eminence, I come to ask for a blessing for my sick son....."

The Pope laid a hand on the man.

"My son, all will be well. Your son has been touched by the healing hand of Jesus today. Go and pray. If it is His will, your son will be fine when you arrive home. If it is His will, your son will meet our Savior. Go in peace."

As another man shuffled forward, Eugene noticed a courier entering the room. He gave a quick wiggle of the right thumb and his aides stepped up to stop the man shuffling towards the Pope. Eugene motioned and the courier came forward.

"My son, you come from Mantua. What word there from Bishop Alberto and the Prince?"

"Your Holiness, the news is terrible. In this letter are the details, but in short, there is evidence that the Venetians are massing near the border. The Prince begs for aide as he will not stand against the force arrayed against him."

"Go and take some nourishment. Return to me in a quarter of the hour and I will have a reply for you to take."

Eugene retired to his chamber. He paced back and forth. The other side was moving. What word from his other messengers? He needed forces available and he needed them yesterday.

His royal knees bent to the ground as the Pope prayed for guidance. Where could he find forces to stop the Doge?

After twenty minutes of intense prayer, Pope Eugene IV had the answer. He grabbed paper and quill and began to write.

"Dear Catherine...."

 

[Craig Ashley]

May, 31 - Florence

Cosimo remained silent while he walked with his companions, lost in his own thoughts. The young Italian looked over each of them.

Maria. She was a puzzle, a beautiful puzzle. The lady pirate was attached to the Free Company, but she was not truly a part of it. She despised Venice, but she loathed Syban as well. And now mother was prepared to grant her land and title. Very strange.

Two things were clear about Maria. She would always look out for her own interests above anything else. Secondly, she was not comfortable here on land amongst politicians and their schemes.

She could be a useful ally, with her large fleet. Obviously that is what mother saw, but Cosimo saw something else. A potential ally against that ancient corrupter. She would take some handling, some finesse, but Cosimo was certain he could manipulate her, even if for a short time. He had seen her looking over his body, the spark of attraction in her eye. And when he was done with her . . . well despite what mother may think, this woman would always be nothing more than common trash. Though something would have to be done about her companion.

Frederik He too was a ball of contradictions. He kept close counsel with Syban. He was the heir apparent to Guillaume's underground empire. He was from the Free Company, though not of it. Lastly, he was Maria de Medici's lover. All of this meant one thing. Frederik Hiviid needed to be neutralized. Of course, he had a new friend in Florence.

Sean. The old codger still has some life left in him, but how serious of a threat was he? The aged Irishman wasn't the type to make empty threats or to bluff needlessly, but did he really think he could remove the power of the de Medici family? For three decades, his father, his mother, and now Cosimo had been the rulers of Florence, official or not.

What did the old man have in mind? No matter what, he was far to informed, but then he did bring up an angle that the young gonfaloniere hadn't considered. Was Foscari really plotting to bankrupt him? It didn't make sense. They had similar ambitions, namely the destruction of Syban and anything attached to him.

No. Foscari was supporting the anti-pope because Rome was backing Mantua. That had to be it. Though it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the Doge's relationship with the anti-pope. Sean would be perfect. It would keep him busy, and it would keep a close eye on the Doge.

Foscari. He was about to make his move, to remove the cloud that has plagued Florence for three decades, to free mother from his dark spell, to free Florence from his wretched presence. Cosimo smiled inwardly. Great things were about to happen.

 

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June 1 - Ancona - Late Afternoon

The two of them watched the scout thread through the growing crowd as the tavern began get its more lively evening clients. Lochlan could pick out men from among the company, pikes, welsh archers, mongol cavalry, all mixed in One Thumbs. Of course they could just be coming for those fights he has with his brother. Damn that man has an enourmous nose. Reminds of the kind of fights old De Bloomfield and Alberic used to have.

Lochlan said, "Florence? This should prove to be interesting." He gripped the handle of the his mug a little tighter.

Captain nodded. "Indeed, it should." The commander of the Free Company glanced around the tavern, probably seeing much of what Lochlan had. "Quite the bunch we have."

"Aye, they should do alright. Were more of a company than we were before, though there are still a few loners I'm keeping an eye on." Lochlan sipped from his mug, his eyes flicking from face to face. "I don't know how many of the Italians we picked up are ready for the kind of war we make. But I wonder the same thing about the Italians were about to fight too."

Captain nodded, and motioned for his friend to make his point already. "Are you sure about Florence Robert." Lochlan said softly. "I like Syban as much as the next man, and I've been to hell and back with Sean several times. But the Medici's worry me, and I don't like how long Maria's been gone."

"I know you two had a disagreement aboard the Athene. I gather you think there's more to it than that?"

Lochlan sighed, and put his drink down. "I don't know if Maria is quite ready to face the world without her father yet. She's still a little innocent to how the world works."

"Oh?" There was layers in that single word.

"I'm not certain she understands that there are other stakes in this game than her revenge and her reputation."

"We'll see. As far as Florence, maybe we can at least flush some of this into the open. It would be useful to know where the pope is on it all."

"Aye, it would indeed."

 

[Craig Ashley]

June 1, Milan

The Hospitaller sat perfectly still, though his face made it clear he was agitated. He'd been waiting for quiet sometime for Visconti. One would think that with the future of his lands and title at stake, the chubby duke would show some interest when a new ally arrived, especially one from Rome.

Sir Francis looked around the villa for the hundredth time. Such opulence for one man, a mere duke of a minor Italian state. Clearly Visconti had a problem with the sin of pride, and judging by his girth gluttony as well. At least he was loyal to Rome, that made his other sins seem minor in comparison. The scriptures came flooding back to Sir Francis du Pont. The Epistle of James, chapter two, verse ten: For whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all.

Francis scolded himself silently for temporarily forgetting that there was no such thing as a minor sin in the eyes of God. Perhaps later he could lead the duke to pray for his soul. After all, God could not bless an army laden with sin. Only the pure of heart can receive God's blessings.

Finally Visconti entered. Sir Francis stood up to great him.

“Welcome to Milan, Sir Francis. Please take a seat, there is no need to be so formal.”

The former knight nodded and took his seat. “Duke Visconti, I bring word from Rome and His Holiness, Pope Eugene.” Sir Francis reached into his pouch and produced a letter and a ring. “His Holiness asks that these be for your eyes only.”

 

[redwolf]

Somewhere in Italy, one week earlier


Chen Hui easily parried the stroke of the mongol, turning his blade aside and then quickly slicing his opponent across his chest. As the mongol slides off his horse, Chen Hui took a quick glance across the battlefield. The bulk of the Ming army had fallen back to the pass and was even now reforming their lines. Time for us to go, he thought.
Suddenly from his left came a despairing cry" The Prince has fallen!!!" Even as that cry echoed across the battlefield, General Wei, commander of the Imperial Guards was shouting out commands, " Protect the Prince's body!! Do not let it fall into mongol hands!!"
The remaining Imperial Guards, including Chen Hui quickly closed ranks around the body of the dead prince, fighting with desperation as the mongols tried to break past them to get to the dead prince.
Cut off from the rest of the army, their only hope was to hold out till the rest of the army in the pass can get to them. Glancing left, Chen Hui could now see that the Ming soldiers in the pass were indeed pouring forward to reach their cut off comrades. Returning to the task at hand, Chen Hui screams his defiance as he cuts down another mongol......


"Wake up, Chen Hui, wake up!"
Chen Hui opened his eyes, and sees his friend and fellow Imperial Guard, Huang Wei staring at him with a concerned look on his face. " The same nightmare again?" Huang Wei asks gently.
Panting heavily, sweat pouring down his face, Chen Hui replied," Yes. But don't worry about me. I am alright now." Nodding his head, Huang Wei said," Alright. I just wanna let you know it's time for breakfast." "Alright. You go on down first. I will join the rest of you guys once i've washed up."

20 minutes later, " I don't know about you guys but I really miss chinese food. The food that the Italians eat, they really suck. I have no idea how they can eat this stuff." Lim Hui commented to the rest of the Guards. " I would stop complaining if I were you. In another month or so, we won't even have the money to eat this stuff." Zhang Xiang said in a gloomy tone. At this, Chen Hui looked sharply at Zhang Xiang," Is our current financial state that bad?"
"It is. Most of the money that we earned escorting that Venice merchant from China to Italy has already been spent. If we don't find a source of income soon, we will starve."
"Why don't we join one of the warrior groups here? Many of these groups are hiring, apparently for some war that is about to break out soon. By joining one of these groups, we do not have to worry about food or lodgings again." Said Lim Hui.
"That's a good idea, Lim. But where do we start looking?"
"Well, according to the map, the nearest city to our current location is the city of Ancona. We can start making enquiries there."

2 hours later, 50 former Ming Imperial Guards set off for the city of Ancona.

[OOC] This is the first time i am participating in this kind of stuff. I know my writing skills are probably not the standards of the other writers but i will do my best. Please feel free to give me any advice or pointers. Thanks and hope you enjoy reading.

 

[The_Hawk]

The former knight nodded and took his seat. “Duke Visconti, I bring word from Rome and His Holiness, Pope Eugene.” Sir Francis reached into his pouch and produced a letter and a ring. “His Holiness asks that these be for your eyes only.”

Visconti nodded, accepting the ring and slipping it into his pouch. He broke the seal of the letter, but barely glanced at it before tucking it away as well. "His Holiness was wise to send you. Word has it that the Venetians are preparing to attack Mantua even now."

"So I have heard. His Holiness has taken steps to acquire... additional assistance."

Visconti raised an eyebrow.

"The Free Company, my lord."

"Ah. It is sometimes hard to tell, with men of God."

The Hospitaller paused to mull that over for a moment before replying. "So, we will go to the aid of Gonzaga?"

"I am unsure. Even with your forces, we are only as strong as the enemy. If we had the Free Company here, or the Florentines, we could be sure of victory..."

The door to the parlor swung open, admitting Visconti's page leading a portly fellow wearing an apron. Seemingly forgetting his guest, Visconti turned in his chair to address the second man. "You have done it?"

"Yes, my lord Duke," the man replied, a grin of pride on his face. Sir Francis briefly thought again of the cardinal sins.

"And they are still alive?"

"Yes, sire. I packed the..."

"No, no, that's quite alright. Prepare the meal." He motioned to the page. "You, stay." He returned his gaze to Sir Francis. "My chef," he explained.

"Who's still alive, Visconti?"

A slight smile played across the Duke's lips. "Oh, you'll see."

* * *

Francis was seated at the left hand of Visconti, across from Francesco Sforza, at the villa's dining table. The second course of the midday meal had just been taken away, and the Hospitaller could barely contain his fury. Such wasteful excess -- this lot would never survive three months on stale bread and watered wine. He himself ate sparingly, indignant. Sforza did likewise, seemingly competing with the former knight to see which could more ably resist the opulent delicacies that passed under their noses.

Visconti didn't seem to notice.

A servant rang a bell as the main course was produced -- braised duck in an orange sauce. Each recipient tore into their bird as it arrived, but Visconti reached out and stopped his two condotteri companions. "Wait," he said simply, "and watch."

At the far end of the table, Signor Ballafagli of Cremona tore a leg from his duck. It had nearly reached his mouth when he noticed the scorpion clinging to it. He shrieked and leapt to his feet, throwing the limb onto his plate where dozens of the insects now boiled from the torso of the bird. The impact sent scorpions flying, one striking his wife in the neck and sliding down into her bodice.

Visconti hooted with glee and clapped his hands as the table exploded in an uproar.

It took nearly an hour to bring the situation back under control. When Ballafagli and his wife had been escorted away, the guests retook their seats. Sir Francis immediately cast a burning glare on his host.

"You arranged that?" he hissed.

"I did," Visconti nodded, digging into his dessert.

"A member of your court could have been killed!"

"If he had been," -- Visconti looked up, locking eyes with the knight, his gaze dark and his voice low -- "he would have deserved it. He's been passing information on Francesco's troop dispositions to Foscari for months."

"And his wife?"

"She's been sleeping with Andrea Gradenigo for nearly a year." He motioned to one of the other guests with his spoon. "Quite a terrible sin, wouldn't you agree, Sir Francis?"

Visconti took another bite, swallowed, and laid his spoon down. "Now, then, does His Holiness have anything else to say?"