7 Tom Swan Siege of Belgrade by Christian Cameron

Author:Christian Cameron [Cameron, Christian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409163404
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2015-07-29T23:00:00+00:00

5 August 1456, Rome

Swan rode into the city from the north at midday. The sun was as hot as it had been on the Hungarian plain just fourteen days before. At Swan’s back rode Will Kendal on a fine Arabian, and Clemente on another, and the ‘other’ Dmitri. Behind them were six more horses, the pick of the Turkish horse lines. They had ridden from Belgrade to Rome in fourteen days.

Men and women in the streets of the Eternal City paused to see them go by. The Turkish horses wore alien saddles and leathers, and they had packs strapped to some. Dmitri himself would have looked like a Turk, to the ignorant, at least in Rome.

As they passed through the walls, an Orsini soldier on the gate called out, ‘Where from, capitano?’

Swan reined in. He’d spread the news as he came south from Venice, reasonably sure he could outride his own rumour. ‘Belgrade,’ he called out.

A young gentleman in last night’s clothes paused. ‘Belgrade?’ he called. ‘What news?’

Swan was already putting the spurs to his mount. ‘Victory,’ he called, and they were away, headed for Bessarion’s house.

They were challenged at the gate. The guard was Giannis, and as soon as he recognised Swan, he all but pulled him from his horse. While embracing him, he was speaking Greek over Swan’s shoulder with Dmitri, whose dour demeanor melted when he had someone to address in Greek.

Giannis’ eyes grew wide. ‘Victory?’ he asked. Perhaps for any Greek, it was hard to believe that the Turks had been beaten.

Swan nodded. ‘I must tell the cardinal,’ he said.

Giannis was smiling so broadly it seemed as if his face would split. ‘In his study. Was it bad?’

‘Terrible,’ Dmitri said.

‘Bloody awful,’ Kendal put in.

Clemente said nothing.

Swan shrugged. ‘Even now …’ he began, and then changed his mind. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Grazias is fine.’

Giannis nodded. ‘Go straight in. I’ll get the horses looked after. Loot?’ he asked, with a certain justifiable envy.

Swan left Dmitri explaining that while the crusaders had sacked the Turkish camp, the stradiotes had thought to pillage the horse lines.

He came through the main hall. A dozen secretaries were writing at tall desks, and two boys were running a fan to keep them cool. Rome smelled like a cesspit. A priest in a neat black gown intercepted Swan.

‘The cardinal’s day for public reception,’ he began.

Swan went past him.

‘You cannot go up!’ the man said, quietly but fiercely.

Swan paused with one foot on the well-known steps. ‘You are new here,’ he said kindly. In fact, Belgrade had killed his interest in strife. He was determined to be kind to every man and woman he ever met, as long as he lived.

The priest stood up straight. ‘I am new,’ he admitted stiffly.

‘I am Thomas Swan, the cardinal’s …’ Swan paused. He smiled. ‘The cardinal’s messenger. He will want to see me immediately, I promise you. Come with me if you like.’

The priest bowed stiffly. ‘You are covered in dust, messire. Could you not clean yourself …’

‘No,’ Swan said.

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