I told them a tale, how the goat-men had hunted me, how I’d hidden in ditches and lain among corpses to fool them.
“They’re clever,” Da Canale admitted. “The Lord of Night has unleashed them like a new plague.”
I nodded sagely.
Da Canale rubbed his leathery face, and he glanced at me with calculation. “I’ve never seen a man fight like you, signor. By the Dark One’s beard, you don’t even wear a sword. You charged the demon lord with a knife! He was fast, but you moved with a leopard’s quickness. I saw one once when we raided North Africa. The Moors kept the leopard in a pit, and tossed down dogs to fight it. I sailed with the Genoese in those days.” Da Canale appraised me. “Are you sure you’re human, signor?”
“Don’t you smell the brimstone?” I asked.
His eyes narrowed, but he laughed.
A man placed a jug of wine beside me and a hunk of moldy cheese. I sipped the wine, and wanted to spit it out. I didn’t even try the cheese.
“Why did the goat-men attack you?” I asked.
“That is their task,” Da Canale said.
“They make war on humanity?”
Men muttered at that.
Da Canale drew his sword, set it on his knees and picked up an oily rag. He began to rub the fine steel, and I felt he watched me closely.
“That was an odd question, signor,” he said.
“You’ve spoken about my unusual speed,” I said. “There is a reason for it, but I’m uncertain you will understand.”
“These are strange times.”
“And I’ve been through stranger,” I said. “The Lord of Night has seen to that. He sent me to a strange realm.”
“Sorcery,” Da Canale whispered, and he made a warding sign. His men shifted nervously.
“In this strange place I learned to knife-fight in a new manner,” I said. “Only lately have I returned. Now I find goat-men and other strange abortions loose in the land. Cities I knew lie in ruins. There has been mass dying.”
“It is called the Great Mortality,” Da Canale said. “Where exactly did he send you? How did you return?”
“That is unimportant. What is important is that I owe the Lord of Night a debt and I am determined to repay it.”
“Vengeance can be costly, signor, especially when your foe is such a powerful sorcerer.”
“I’ve honed my fighting skills for a reason,” I said.
“Join us!” the crossbowman cried. “We can use a fighter like you.”
Men-at-arms glanced at him in horror.
“You march to a fight?” I asked Da Canale.
He took his time answering. “I’ll tell you frankly, signor. You frighten me. Even a deadly fighter should not run out of the darkness to battle a demon. I’ve never seen anyone so quick except for creatures summoned by a sorcerer. It causes me to wonder if you’re fully human.”
He had touched upon that once too often. Before I thought of a suitable reply, he dug in his belt pouch and extracted several coins. He studied them, placed one on his knee and put the others back. He picked up the coin, looked at it, at me, and back again at the coin.
He pitched the coin to the crossbowman, who neatly caught it. “Is there a likeness?” Da Canale asked.
The crossbowman frowned and glanced at the coin, then at me. “What does this mean, signor?” the crossbowman asked his captain.
“Give him the coin,” Da Canale said.
I warily accepted it, and was shocked to see my likeness stamped there.
“It’s you,” Da Canale said, “is it not?”
Erasmo, I realized. He had stamped coins in his image-my image. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t accept the features he’d been born with? Surely he had become powerful enough to drop the pretence.
“I knew you looked familiar,” Da Canale said.
He held his sword and he darted a meaningful glance at the crossbowman. The man picked up his loaded weapon. Others stood. Steel scraped out of wooden scabbards.
I handed Da Canale the coin. “The sorcerer changed my features so I’d look like him. Why he did this, I cannot fathom, unless he thought it a joke.”
Da Canale became thoughtful. “We all might have died except for you. I owe you that, and I pay my debts.”
I felt an easing of tension.
“I wonder if you would grant me a favor,” Da Canale said.
I waited.
“You wear mysteries like a cloak, signor, but I would appreciate it if you could tell me why you helped us.”
He did not add, ‘Tell us truthfully.’ Yet I heard the plea in his question. I stared at the flames. These were hard times for men. These here struggled manfully, and they faced devils in the night. It was good to be among brave soldiers. I wondered if I had become one of the things of the night. The answer was so obvious it pained me.
“I believed that if I helped you,” I said, “you would willingly answer certain questions of mine.”
He nodded. “There is reason in that. Please. Ask.”
“Why do you think the goat-men attacked you? So far, I’ve only seen them attack peasants.”
“Men say the Lord of Night is hurt,” Da Canale said. “Rumor speaks of him lying abed in the Tower of the East. From peasant, to knight, to lord, everyone fears him. Yet I’m sure you know this. Now, however, the lords of Milan, Pavia, Bologna and Modena have plucked up their courage. These lords have cast silver into the wind to hire companies, lances and even scattered men-at-arms, anyone who dares face this sorcerer. Signor Hawkwood of the White Company leads the army. The armed camp grows on the shore of an evil swamp, the first rampart to the Tower of the East. The Lord of Night may be hurt, but he sows fear and death through his minions. They butcher villagers, burn hamlets and attack small companies such as ours.”
“How long have these brave lords cast their silver into the wind?” I asked.
“It is several weeks now.”
“Will this host besiege the Tower of the East?”
“I’m not yet privy to their counsels,” he said.
“It is a dangerous undertaking.”
Da Canale’s nostrils flared. “If you’re asking why do I join? The answer is simple. I’m Hawkwood’s man. And I’ve seen too much evil lately. Things like the Great Mortality, evil castles and goat-men are abominations. I will fight to stamp them out-given that I have a fighting chance.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Signor da Canale,” I said, standing.
“You won’t stay?”
I noticed he didn’t ask me to stay. “I wish you luck, all of you.” I bowed and then strode from the fire. Once hidden by darkness, I resumed my lonely trek to the Tower of the East.
— 24-
Signor Fangs for Teeth and his dead-faced men reappeared two nights later.
It was a mistake on their part. Or maybe it was fear. Erasmo wanted to harass me no matter the cost to him in lost minions. How difficult was it altering men, giving them supernatural powers? Maybe what Erasmo needed was time and he was willing to expend underlings to buy it.
I, on the other hand, wanted information. So I broke branches, stomped my booted foot in soft soil and slowed my remorseless trek to the Tower of the East. Finally, in the middle of a forest, I climbed a large cypress tree and waited in the mid-level branches.
Horsemen soon approached. I waited patiently, a human leopard ready to drop upon its prey. Signor Fangs for Teeth did not disappoint. His dead-faced men surrounded the tree. I recognized him by the floppy hat. The crow’s feather looked frazzled. He clopped near and peered up.
I was already dropping and had timed it perfectly. His eyes widened and my boots collided with his shoulders. The horse staggered, almost went down and then ran into a tree. It wobbled like a drunk before it collapsed.
The dead-faced men sat like statues throughout. Their bared swords never wavered.
I concluded they were an extension of Lord Cencio’s will. He lay on the ground, my knee on his chest and the tip of the deathblade at his throat. I wrenched the golden chain from him, twirled it twice and flung the medallion far away. I wished for a private conversation.