"For each jewel?"

Gianni nodded. "For each one."

The hall erupted into pandemonium again. The Maestro rolled up his eyes and left the gong alone until the hubbub had started to die of its own, then struck the gong once and waited for silence. "Do you say these false Gypsies were agents of this foreign merchant?"

"That's the only way it makes sense to me, Maestro," Gianni told him. "But it's not just one merchant, it's a whole company-the 'Lurgan Company,' they call themselves."

"A whole company? Why didn't they come to us?" Gianni shrugged, but old Carlo Grepotti cried, "Because they knew we would beat the price even higher! These foolish lords will take whatever they're offered!"

"Aye, and steal every gem they can find to sell!" cried another merchant, and the hubbub was off again. The Maestro aimed a blow at the gong, then thought better of it and sat back to wait. Finally his fellow merchants realized just how contemptuous his gaze was and subsided, muttering. The Maestro turned to Gianni again. "Have you any answers to these questions they raise?"

"Only guesses, Maestro," Gianni said, "But I think I'll let Gar tell you those. He had the idea of having us captured by the Stilettos so that we could break into Castle Raginaldi and look for more information. He should be the one to tell you what we found."

"Break into Castle Raginaldi?" a younger merchant cried. "How did you dare?"

"More to the point, how did you get out?" another man demanded.

"All for Gar to tell-it's really his story, and his boast." Gianni turned to his friend.

"I yield to the free lance."

"Free no longer, but bound to serve you and all of Pirogia." Gar rose to his full height, shoulders square, and looked somberly about the room. Any objection to his speaking died under that glare. Calmly then, and without hurry, he told them about their raid into Castle Raginaldi-and told it with all the dash and spirit of a practiced storyteller. The merchants hung riveted to his account, all eyes on his face, and the hall was silent except for his voice until he had finished with their escape from the castle. Then he paused, looked all about the room, finally turned to the Maestro, and inclined his head. "That is all we saw, Maestro, and all we heard."

The room erupted into noise again-exclamations of wonder, and not a little scoffing. The Maestro let it run its course, then asked Gar, "What was this strange egg-shaped thing?"

"A magic talisman that allowed the prince to talk with the Lurgan traders, even when they were far from his castle," Gar said. "That way, when he had enough orzans to be worth the trip, they could come to get them, and give him his gold."

"I do not believe in magic," the Maestro said. "Rightly, too," Gar replied, "but it's easier to say ,magic talisman' than 'an alchemist's device,' and it's beyond understanding in any case. What matter is what it does."

"Apparently you've some understanding of it, if you could use it to talk to a friend of your own."

"Yes, my lord. I also understand how to use a cannon, but I would be hard put to tell you how its powder worked, or why."

Gianni noticed that he didn't say it was impossible, just difficult-but the Maestro accepted the answer. "And who is your friend Herkimer?"

"Another mercenary," Gar said readily, "who will come to our aid if I ask it, and take the n.o.blemen from the rear. Think of him as an alchemist with cannon- excellent cannon, for he makes better gunpowder."

"And he can watch this Lurgan Company for you?" The Maestro was looking rather skeptical. "Well, eavesdrop on them, at any rate," Gar said, "though what he hears would have to be very dire before he would drop a message for me into your Piazza del Sol, taking the risk of knocking a hole in someone's head."

"Have you no talisman to use for talking with him?"

"No, my lord. It was with the kit that I had when I came to your city, but which the Stilettos stole along with the rest of my gear."

"Will they know it for what it is?" old Carlo asked. "I doubt it," Gar told him. "It was well disguised." He didn't elaborate, and Carlo Grepotti managed to bite back the question.

"What is your advice?" the Maestro asked.

Gar shrugged. "I'm a mercenary soldier, Maestro. Of course I advise you to fight."

"Forget your profession for a moment." The Maestro waved a hand, as though he could clear Gar's mind of all preconceptions with a gesture. "Try to think as a merchant, not as a soldier. Would you not advise us to flee, to evacuate the city?"

"No," Gar said, instantly and clearly. "It would be almost impossible to move so many people so quickly-many would be likely to die in the tryingand no matter where you went, the Stilettos would sniff you out and kill or enslave you."

"We could divide into many bands, and go in many directions," a merchant offered.

"If you did, you'd only make it easier for the Stilettos to kill you," Gar said, "and give sport for many n.o.blemen and their armies as they hunted you down-sport for them, and employment for all the Free Companies, not just the Stilettos. No, masters, your only hope is to stay and fight. Yes, many of you may die-but many more will live!"

"But we have no army!" cried another. "How can we fight the lords?"

"By burning your bridge to the mainland," Gar said. "Gianni tells me it was designed for that, and whoever thought it up built wisely. Yes, it will take time and money to rebuild, when we have beaten off the lords-but it's the smallest of the losses you could have. With it gone, no army can come at you without ships- and your navy is unsurpa.s.sed; I'm sure they will scuttle any army the lords try to bring against you."

"Some boats might reach us," a merchant said darkly.

"Yes, and for that you will need soldiers." Gar nodded. "I can make your young men into an army for you, and free lances will come quickly enough if we spread word that we're hiring. In fact, we've brought back eight men from our travels who are willing to serve with you; I spent yesterday drilling them and taking the first steps toward turning them into an army. Will you come see them? They're waiting outside."

There were a few voices of denial, but the vast majority were more than ready to see a show. They answered with a shout of approval, and the Maestro cried, "Adjourned! We shall meet again outside! Stand around the edge of the piazza, masters!" Then he struck the gong, and the move toward the doors began.

Even as they came out, they saw Gar's eight men drawn up in three rows of four each-three, because a few of the Braccalese drovers had been fired with military zeal when they saw the tabards Mama Braccalese and her friends had made, splendid golden tabards with the eagle of Pirogia painted on them, as some hint of livery. The merchants exclaimed as they came out, seeing the men drawn up in a square with plumed hats and the sun glinting on their halberds (they had fitted new handles to the trophies of their raid on Castle Raginaldi). At Gar's command, they came to attention, and the drummer and trumpeter he had hired began to play. Then, as he barked orders, the twelve marched across the square, turned as one and marched across its breadth, then wheeled and marched across it on the diagonal. Again he called, and they turned to march straight toward the Maestro with old Carlo Grepotti beside him. One more barked command, and they stamped to a halt, front row dropping to a crouch, halberds snapping down to point directly at the spectators.

The merchants burst out cheering, and the few voices of dissent were drowned in an accolade that heralded the founding of Pirogia's army.

CHAPTER 13.

The whole city threw itself into a positive fever of preparation for war. Furnaces roared in the foundries day and night, casting cannon for the navy and the city walls; peasants streamed in through the gates with carts full of food, and stayed to enlist in the army if the city found room for their families-for these peasant farmers had no illusions about what happened to the people in the villages when their fields became battlegrounds.

One of those farmers, however, turned out to be a problem. A messenger came knocking at the Braccalese door just as the family was sitting down to breakfast, and the servant appeared in the doorway seconds later. "Master Paolo, there's a messenger from the Council in your study."

"A messenger from the Council? So early?" Mama exclaimed, and her face was full of foreboding.

"It must be urgent if it comes so untimely." Papa rose and went to the door, saying, "Begin without me, family, Gar. It might not be short."

But it was. He came back only minutes later and sat down at table again, tucking the cloth into his neck and saying, "Eat quickly, Gianni, Gar. I think you had better come along."

"What is it?" Suddenly, Gianni's appet.i.te was gone.

"A spy," Papa told them. "Eat, Gianni. You'll need it."

They ate, then went out the river door, stepping into a sculling boat, and went not to the Council chambers but to the magistrate's hall-and it was Oldo Bolgonolo who greeted them, not as Maestro but as a magistrate. He ushered them into the courtroom, where a mild-mannered, bland-faced man stood before the bench in chains. He wore a simple farmer's smock and leggings, and seemed entirely inoffensive.

"What did he do?" Gianni asked.

Oldo waved him to silence and said, "Master, signori! This peasant was seen watching the soldiers drill, and later seen going to the stall of a pigeon seller in the market. There is no crime in that, but the pigeon he bought, he took down to the quay, tied a sc.r.a.p of parchment to its leg, and sent it winging into the air. The man who followed him shot the pigeon through the wing. It heals, and may be of use to us in sending a message other than this." He held out a sc.r.a.p of parchment. "Read, and advise us as to his judgment."

Papa took the parchment and scanned it, scowling, but Gar asked, "Who bore witness against him?"

"One of the city spies you advised me to commission, and the stealthy one has already proved the worth of your advice. But he also whispered to one or two other folk that the man was doing something suspicious, and they saw and remembered. He kept them from offering violence to this poor deluded soul."

"Deluded!" the man burst out. "You, who would upset the old ways and take from us the a.s.surance of the n.o.blemen-you dare call me deluded?"

"He seems to have had a good lord," Oldo said, with irony, "and doesn't realize how lucky he was, or how rare his master is."

"So he admits his crime?" Gar asked.

"He does," Oldo confirmed. "Four citizens confronted him and bore witness to his deeds."

"But not your spy!" the man said hotly. "Counterspy," Gar corrected. "It is you who are the spy."

"A counter indeed, a counter in your game," the man sneered. "They wouldn't let me see the man himself!"

"Of course not-once a spy's face is known, he can be of little more use," Gar said.

"He was wise enough to see you had other accusers. In fact, I would guess he himself made no accusation, only supplied information."

The spy chopped sideways with his hand in a dismissive gesture. "What will it be now? The gallows? Go ahead-I'm ready to die for my lord!"

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary," Gar said mildly, and to Oldo, "I'd recommend he be a guest of the city, with a room to himself. Not a very luxurious room perhaps, and not a very rich diet-but only a guest with a barred window, until the current unpleasantness is done. It may be his lord will value so loyal a retainer-value him enough to trade us a dozen prisoners of war for him."

"An excellent thought," Oldo said, with a gleam in his eye. The prospect of bargaining appealed to him. "Guards, take the prisoner away and clap him in a cell alone, where he can spread no more of his insidious talk!" As the watchmen hustled the peasant away, Oldo turned to Gar. "I thank you, friend, for the excellence of your advice. I shall appoint more counterspies, and have them watch our new citizens very closely."

"And the old ones, too," Gar reminded him. "Some of them might lack confidence in the navy and our new army, and might try to guarantee their family's safety by selling information to the lords."

Oldo's face darkened. "It goes against the grain to even think of it, but I shall do so. Do you really think it necessary for the counterspies to seek to have other citizens bear witness, though?"

"Very important," said Gar, "for a position like that opens itself to abuse of power very easily and readily. A counterspy could settle an old quarrel or gain long- awaited revenge, just by accusation. No, Maestro, I strongly recommend you require witnesses and proof."

"Well, so we shall, then," grumbled Oldo. "But I thank you, masters."

As they came out of the courtroom, Gianni said, in a shaken voice, "I had never thought there might be spies among us!"

"Oh, there most definitely are," Gar a.s.sured him. "It's a fundamental principle of war."

"But what of the lords' armies? Will we have spies among them?"

"We already do," Gar answered. "Do we not, Signor Braccalese?"

Papa nodded, looking grim, and Gianni suddenly felt very young, and very, very naive. He reflected, though, that he was learning very rapidly.

So was his city. The merchant town that had felt no need of an army was studying war with a vengeance. The shipyard hired every carpenter in town, and half-built houses had to wait while keels were laid and caravels built. Chandlers bought every bale of hemp the farmers could bring, every skein of linen thread, to make cables and sails.

There followed the most frantic two weeks of Gianni's life. Gar taught him how to drill with the others, taught him in a day as much as they learned in two, then left him in charge of training the recruits with the help of the captain of the Pirogia City Guard and a few of the guardsmen. Mama and Papa Braccalese kept track of the young men who enlisted, while Vladimir the beggar took charge of ordering up tabards, plumed hats, and weapons. The workshops of the city threw themselves into turbulent activity; lamps burned all through the night, and the citizens of Pirogia could scarcely sleep for the sounds of the hammers beating at all hours in the forgeries. Old Carlo Grepotti worked side by side with Vladimir, grumbling over every single ducat spent but dutifully doling out the gold to the tradesmen of his city as he did. The Maestro himself took charge of raising money for Carlo to spend, going from merchant to merchant and arguing very reasonably that generous donations would forestall a Council vote on the need for higher taxes.

Gianni was very proud of his fellow citizens-the young men came trooping in, waiting in long, long lines for the scribes to take down their names (and many who were not so young-Gianni was glad he could leave it to his father to explain to old Pietro why a sixty-year-old man with gout and rheumatism should not enlist). He had his hands full overseeing his road companions as they trained the young men in drill, each hopeful soldier with a pole over his shoulder until he could learn how not to hit his mates with it as he turned and wheeled. Vincenzio kept his men in line with all the sternness of a schoolmaster, protesting in an undertone that this was no fit occupation for a man of letters; Estragon the thief reveled in actually giving orders to the law-abiding; and Feste was in his element, posturing and strutting as he led his troops. Gianni was constantly on the run from piazza to piazza, trying to keep up with the drill practice in the mornings and the weapons practice in the afternoons, when his lieutenants became pupils themselves, studying halberd-play and archery and swordsmanship from the Pirogia City Guard.

At the end of the first exhausting day, Gianni threw himself down in his bed, sure he would sleep so deeply that dreams wouldn't dare come near himbut the circle of light appeared and expanded before he could wish it away or dare command it to be gone, expanded to show him the face of the Wizard, hair and beard swirling.

Gianni still felt a little fear, but much more exasperation.What do you want this time?

The wizard stared in surprise; then his brows drew down in anger, and pain stabbed Gianni from temple to temple as the deep voice thundered around him.

You forget yourself, child! Do not think that because I honor you with a glimpse of me, you are ent.i.tled to insolence!

I ... I beg your pardon, Gianni stammered. Better, the voice said, no longer all about him, and the pain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. I have come to tell you that you have done well, Gianni Braccalese, in persuading your citizens to fight. Thank you. But this was one time that Gianni really didn't want the credit.

Gar had more to do with it than I, though. Why don't ... I mean, would it not be more effective to talk to him?

He is not born of Pirogia, nor even of Talipon, and has no access to your Council by himself, the Wizard said. For better or for worse, it must be you through whom I save the world of Petrarch.

Gianni couldn't answer, he was so astounded, so aghast at the Wizard's colossal arrogance. Who was he to speak of saving a whole world? A city, perhaps, but a world?

But an army is not enough, the Wizard told him, nor even the marines that your friend Gar intends to raise.

Marines? Gianni wondered what that was. Something to do with the sea, yes-but nearly everything in Pirogia had to do with the sea. What else can we do?

You can raise all the merchant cities against the aristocracy. The cold eyes seemed to pierce Gianni's brain, transfixing him, depriving him of all powers of resistance. You can bid them cut off the last vestiges of power that their contes and doges may have, even expel those n.o.blemen completely-after all, their guilds and merchants' councils really rule their cities already. Then they too can raise armies and build navies, and the lords will have to split their forces, and will be unable to combine against Pirogia completely.

But the other cities may be defeated! They may fall!

Then Pirogia must come to their rescue when you have driven off the Prince and his minions, the Wizard said sternly. Your city must make alliances, Gianni Braccalese. You must form a league of merchant cities, a true federation, a republic!

A republic of merchant cities? Gianni's brain reeled under the vision of the seacoast of Talipon all united as one nation, leaving the interior split up into a score of ducal cities. They would fight with viciousness and not the slightest trace of mercy, those aristocrats. Many people of the merchant cities would die . . .

But many of them would die if they didn't fight the lords, too-the false Gypsies and the Lurgan Company had seen to that. It may be as you say ... there may be a chance of success ...

It is your only chance of success! The Wizard's voice was harsh with anxiety, with urgency. Tell your father, tell your Council! The die is cast, Gianni Braccalese, the wagers are placed! You must ally or die, and all the other merchant cities with you!

Gianni realized the truth of what the Wizard said. It was do or die, now-and if the lords eliminated Pirogia, they would go on to enslave or crush all other merchants, too. I shall do as you say, he promised. But the Council has already rejected such a notion.

Before the lords marched on them, yes! Now that they know they must fight, you will find them much more wiping! Tell your father! The face began to recede, hair and beard swirling up to hide it. Remember-tell! Persuade! Or fall and die!

Then the face was gone, and Gianni woke, shivering with fear-but also with elation. The prospect of a league of merchant cities awed and enthralled him-a league with Pirogia as its leader! With all the navies of the island at its command, all the new armies of the coastland coordinated in their strategy! The day of the n.o.bleman was done!

If the Council could be persuaded.

The Council was persuaded.

Gianni's father returned home from the meeting, jubilant and br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with his triumph. "There wasn't the slightest hint of disagreement! They heard me out, they voted unanimously, and the couriers are already taking fast boats out past the bar!"

Gianni and Mama stared in amazement. "However did you manage it?" she asked.

"I told it to them as though it were an idea newmade, as though I had never told it to them beforeand they are all intent on war now, for even those who opposed it understand that once it has begun, their only hope of survival is to win! They didn't need persuading-they were ready to embrace the idea, any idea, that would give them a greater chance of winning!"

While Gianni was drilling the army, Gar combed the waterfront for stalwart young men, catching them before they could line up to enlist-young merchant sailors and sons of fishermen. He took two hundred of them under his personal tutelage, promoting the quickest learners to corporal at the end of the first day and to sergeant at the end of the second. He marched them about on the quays from dawn till dusk. They were exhausted and cursing him by the end of the first day, but drilling like professionals by the end of the week, with no signs of weariness even as darkness fell. Then he taught them weapons drill, and at the end of the tenth day b.u.t.tonholed the city's two admirals. The result of their conference was that he marched his fishermen aboard a dozen ships in the morning and sailed out to the horizon, where ship met ship, for all the world looking as though they were fighting one another. They came sailing back at noon with the soldiers dragging their pikes, but the captains and admirals glowing-and the two hundred were dubbed "marines," and marched on board to row out to the bar, waiting.