Venice

The Orsini man’s fist lashed out, and Giova

There was a scream from a woman in the crowd, and some excitement. Cesare caught a blow on his shoulder and slammed both fists together into one of Giova

Swan saw the glint of a blade. He wasn’t wearing his sword. Few men did in Rome, at least before dark, and never to mass. But he had his knife.

The red and yellow livery was suddenly everywhere. Cesare caught one of them up and threw him bodily into two more.

The first tough who had hit Giova

The first man saw Swan put a hand on his dagger. He changed direction, came at the Englishman, and his left hand shot out and took Swan by the throat.

Swan wrapped the offending arm with his own and broke the man’s arm in a lock. The snap of the bone was audible across the church. He twisted the broken arm and the man screamed.

Swan let him go. He drew his knife and the second man backed away from Giova

‘I am Adolfo,’ he said. ‘You will be hearing from us. You work for that schismatic Greek, yes?’

Swan smiled. ‘You serve that whore Orsini, yes?’

Adolfo stiffened.

‘Best run away,’ Swan said. He was enjoying this.

Cesare caught his arm. ‘Leave it alone. This is all a misunderstanding.’ He turned to Adolfo. ‘He’s a foreigner.’

Adolfo’s eyes sparkled. He had his dagger out again, and the church was empty. Even the priests and acolytes were gone. ‘Even if he kissed my feet, I would not forgive him.’

Perhaps it was the scarlet clothes. ‘It’s true, I misunderstood,’ Swan said. ‘My Italian is not so good. I did not mean that Cardinal Orsini was a whore. I mean you are a whore, you catamite bastard.’

The Roman leaped.

Swan didn’t move.

His arm shot out, and there followed a series of blows so fast that the bystanders couldn’t follow them.

Swan took a blow in the gut that wrenched him back against the temple wall. But the wall at his back steadied him, and he got a knee up in time to stop the blow to his groin. Then he and the Orsini thug had each other by the dagger wrists. The Roman was smaller than Swan, and Swan tried twice to head-butt the man—both blows were partly avoided, but the second gave him a fleeting advantage in balance.

He threw his adversary over his extended hip—but the other man held onto his shoulders like a leech, and down they both went onto the hard marble floor. Swan lost track of the Orsini’s knife hand and flinched just as the man’s fist crashed into his temple.

They rolled apart—the Roman had lost his knife and Swan, stu

The Orsini wasn’t moving.

There was blood ru

Swan looked at his dagger sticking out of the dying man’s guts. Gia

‘He attacked Giova

‘He drew first,’ Cesare said.

The Orsini retainers were gathering. Cesare got an arm under Giova

‘By St. George,’ Swan answered. He spat some blood. And the four of them ran.

Giova

‘That bastard kicked him in the back, over and over,’ Swan said. He was bouncing with the spirit of the combat.

‘Giova

Gia

‘The Orsinis will be out in every street,’ Cesare said.

Gia

Di

The sun had set, and the night was dark. Mado

Cesare smiled. ‘I’ve heard she allows the better artists a straightforward trade,’ he said.

Gia

The women who adorned the rooms appeared perfectly modest, if perhaps a little open. There was dancing, and men played at cards while women watched. A woman worked a loom in one room. In another two women played the lute while a third danced and a crowd of men watched.

An African appeared at Swan’s elbow with a tray. On the tray were three glasses – fine Venetian glass.

‘What does this cost?’ Swan asked.

‘No one knows. No one knows from whence Mado

‘If the Orsini are so dangerous,’ Swan said. He paused. ‘Why the gallantry with the mistress?’

Cesare smiled. ‘Because I am a large man nearly twice your age, you imagine I ca

Swan had never imagined the Italian as a lover – or as a man of daring. He bowed. ‘I will endeavour to think differently of you, my friend.’

‘You are such a serious child,’ Cesare said. ‘In my youth, I was a poet, and I was going to be a second Dante. In middle age, I’m a notary for an out-of-favour cardinal in the Curia in Rome.’ The lawyer took a long drink of wine. ‘Let me tell you something about age, my young friend. When you are thirty-five, you still have the eighteen-year-old inside you. You are the same man – you just weigh more.’ He laughed. ‘But since Do

Swan smiled. ‘No,’ he said. A stu

‘We call it “The Well of Sanctity”,’ the Brescian said. ‘Because the whole Curia and every priest in Rome drinks here.’

‘Some call them the papal bankers,’ Gia

Cesare laughed so hard he snorted wine. ‘I can remember when you could scarcely speak Italian, you rogue!’

Gia

A tall woman, older than the girls dancing but with the figure of a classical beauty, wearing a dark red gown of Venetian velvet and a fortune in pearls, paused by them. She didn’t bend over their table, but she performed what might have been called a courtesy. Swan rose from his seat, and bowed low. Gia