Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [250]
"Greedy bastard," Gallus muttered. "I should never have told him Valpetra would sack the temples." He thought a moment, absentmindedly clutching the lad's tunic in one fist. "Right. Follow me." "Sorry, sir!" the lieutenant squeaked. "We can't. Prince's orders!" Gallus let him go and promptly knocked him down with a backhanded blow. "Idiots!" he said in a scathing tone. "Look at the lot of you. Green as they come, not a set of armor among the bunch. What do you think you're going to do if Valpetra brings his mercenaries in here?" He stood over the lad and shook his head. "A hundred bowmen could hold this city against an army. But no, Gaetano has to open the gates. Listen, boy. You hear fighting, you bring your men on the double."
The lieutenant rubbed his cheek. "Yes, sir!"
Gallus remounted and we continued. He muttered beneath his breath as we rode; numbers, arms, angles of trajectory—I don't know what. All the facts and figures that a good condottiere takes into account. Eamonn and I followed in his wake, glancing at one another.
"Imri." He touched my arm. "If this goes badly, don't hesitate to surrender and claim asylum."
"As what?" For a wild moment, I remembered how Lucius had reacted when I told him who I was. "My mother's son?"
"A political hostage." Eamonn's grey-green eyes were grave, as grave as I'd ever seen them. "You're a D'Angeline Prince of the Blood."
"What about you?" I asked. "What of the Dalriada?"
He shrugged. "We're a lot smaller and a lot farther away. Just remember, will you?"
"I'll try," I promised for the second time that day. "You do the same."
The square outside the gatehouse was packed. Gaetano Correggio, the Prince of Lucca, was there. Publius Tadius was beside him, and a few other noblemen I didn't recognize. There were no women. The bulk of the city guard flanked them, all on foot. I had to own, Gallus Tadius was right. They weren't an imposing sight. In accordance with the terms of parley, they were armed only with short-swords. None of them wore armor, only padded crimson gambesons.
"Stupid," Gallus seethed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
There were mayhap a hundred members of the city guard all told. Forty of them had been dispatched to guard the temples. I cast my gaze over the ranks before us, and guessed that mayhap fifty were present; an equal number to match Valpetra's escort. That meant there were ten at best in the gatehouse itself. Less, if any were in the trees.
We drew rein behind them.
It was hard not to look. There were only two oak trees atop the walls that afforded sufficient cover to hide our archers and grew within striking range. Their dense foliage rustled, the leaves only just beginning to turn autumn's hues. I wondered how many archers were hidden within it, poised on thick tree limbs, prepared to shoot. I glanced at Eamonn and saw a muscle in his jaw jumping. I knew he was thinking of Brigitta. It was the first time, I think, I'd ever seen him afraid.
Gallus Tadius relaxed in the saddle, his hands loose on the pommel.
There was a small window in the chamber above the gate proper, overlooking the square. A guardsman's head poked out of it.
"Prince Gaetano!" he bawled. "Domenico Martelli da Valpetra and his bride Helena Correggio da Lucca request entrance! They bring an escort of fifty men, and their army has withdrawn!"
Gaetano Correggio nodded curtly. "Admit them."
Within the gatehouse, a winch was turned. Gears groaned as the portcullis rose and the wooden drawbridge lowered. I saw them, then, silhouetted in the opening. Two scouts, scurrying ahead to confirm the terms of the parley, ensuring that no ambush awaited them. Valpetra and Helena, riding. The hollow echo of hooves over water, the steady tramping feet of the men who followed