He shook his head. 'But I am married. We cannot.'
'We can,' Sofia said. She stepped towards him, and Longo pulled her into his arms, kissing her hard. But something was wrong. A thin layer of smoke had filled the room. Through the window beyond Sofia, he could see that the city was aflame, overrun by the Turks. The room was filling with smoke and fire, and suddenly the scar-faced Turk who had killed his parents was there. He pointed at Sofia and ordered his men to gut her. Longo drew her to him, ready to defend her with his life, but Sofia dissolved into flames, her mouth open in a silent scream as she vanished from his arms. The flames spread over him and the air filled with choking smoke… Longo awoke to the sweet, acrid scent of burning grapevines. He rubbed his face and looked about him. He was in his villa, and the woman lying next to him was not Sofia but Julia, his wife of nearly two years. He had been dreaming, another nightmare. Longo rose and went to the window that looked out over his vineyards. The sun had risen, and his men were already busy, pruning the leafless vines. The cuttings were being burned in small piles. Behind him, Julia stirred in bed.
'Come back to bed,' she pleaded. 'I'm cold.'
'There is work to be done,' he replied.
'Let Tristo and William deal with it. That is what servants are for,' Julia whined. 'Don't leave.' She sat up in bed, her swollen, pregnant belly extending before her. 'Come. Feel this,' she said, placing her hand on her stomach. 'He's kicking.'
Longo sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand gently on his wife's stomach. His eyes widened as he felt a slight movement. He took Julia's hand. 'I must go,' he told her. 'Your brother Paolo has invited me to a reading this evening, and I have much to do first. After the pruning, I have a new horse to break.' In truth, Longo was happy for an excuse to be away from his young wife. She was spoiled, moody and demanding, and had become more so since the start of her pregnancy.
'A reading?' Julia asked, brightening. 'I want to come.'
'You know you cannot travel,' Longo said. Julia pouted. 'And anyway, you could not come. The piece is by a young Neapolitan named Guardarti, and apparently it is not appropriate for ladies.' Longo was not particularly interested either. However, Paolo had remained aloof, even hostile, since Longo's marriage to Julia, and Longo was eager to repair their relationship.
'But I want to come,' Julia insisted, frowning in a manner that portended a tantrum. 'I am so bored here in the country.'
'You will give birth soon enough. You can visit your family in town then.' Julia's frown deepened. She turned her back to him and pulled the covers over herself without speaking. Longo breathed a guilty sigh of relief. He knew that some servant would bear the brunt of her frustration later that day. 'I will return late tonight,' he told her and left. Longo was in a foul mood when he reached the Grimaldi palazzo that evening. Just before he had left his estate, a fire had begun in his vineyards, spreading from one of the piles of cuttings to the rows of vines. Longo had left William and Tristo to handle it while he rode into Genoa accompanied by six of his men. He would have liked to stay and deal with the fire himself, but he did not wish to spurn Paolo's invitation.
He was soon glad that he had come. Paolo greeted him warmly, embracing him and calling him brother, and throughout the evening he treated Longo with unusual courtesy. Longo also found the proceedings more interesting than he had anticipated. A Spanish noble, one Carlos de Sevilla, was present. He was an elegant man, short and spare with close-cropped black hair and darkly tanned skin, and after the reading he discussed the recent Portuguese discoveries in Africa and the possibility of reaching the Indies by sailing west. As the guests began to depart, Paolo took Longo aside to speak with him.
'I wish to be frank,' he told Longo. 'I regret if I have been less than welcoming since you joined my family. There are those in my father's household who blame you for my brother's death. I fear that I listened too closely to their complaints, and I wish to apologize. There should be no grudge between us.'
'I am glad to hear you speak so,' Longo said. 'And there is no need to apologize. Your goodwill is all I ask.'
'Excellent,' Paolo said, smiling broadly. 'Now come. It is nearly midnight, high time that you return to my sister.'
Longo entered the Grimaldi stables to find his men hopelessly drunk. Judging by the number of empty wine bottles lying about, it looked as if Paolo's men had treated them to free wine, and they had drunk more than their fill. Two were slumped unconscious over a table, a forgotten game of cards between them. Three more lay on the floor, snoring loudly. Only one was awake, lying in a pool of his own vomit. He tried to rise, swayed unsteadily and then collapsed. Longo vowed to have words with his men, when they were sober enough to understand him. Paolo offered to let Longo's men sleep off their debauchery at the Grimaldi palazzo, and Longo accepted. He would ride to his palazzo, he decided, instead of his country estate.
Longo kept one hand on his sword as he rode through the narrow, dark streets of Genoa. It was not uncommon to come across thieves or bands of cutthroats late at night. He passed through a shadowy square dominated by a large oak, its leaves silvery in the moonlight, and entered a particularly narrow alleyway that wound its way towards his palazzo. Halfway down the alley his path was blocked by a hunched beggar, noisily rattling his tin cup. 'Help a man to eat?' the beggar asked.
Longo had slowed his horse and reached for his purse when he noticed a glint of steel from under the beggar's cloak. He was carrying a sword. Longo drew his sword and backed his horse away from the beggar, but it was too late to retreat. Six men, swords in hand and wearing black masks, had stepped into the alley behind him. Ahead, the beggar had been joined by four more masked men.
'Help! Assassins!' Longo shouted, although he knew better than to hope that anyone would intervene. He would have to save himself. He spurred forward, running over one attacker with his horse and striking down another with his sword. But the alley was too narrow to avoid the other men. Longo's horse reared suddenly as one of them slashed it across the chest. Longo fell backwards, tumbling out of the saddle. He rose immediately and found himself attacked by three men. He cut one of them down, ducked a swiping blow from the second and rammed his shoulder into the third, knocking him aside. He sprinted past them, but as he did so, one of the men slashed him across the thigh. Longo gritted his teeth and ran on, limping slightly. Behind him, he could hear the footsteps of his attackers gaining on him.
Longo left the alley and crossed another square. He hurried up a short flight of steps, and a dagger flashed by his head just before he took a sharp right into a shadowy side passage. He turned and waited. The first of the masked men came charging around the corner and ran straight on to Longo's sword. The others pulled up short as Longo retreated into the alleyway. The walls were close enough here that his attackers would only be able to come at him two at a time, and none of the remaining seven men seemed eager to test his blade.
'He is only one man!' one of the masked men shouted at the others in accented Italian. 'Kill him or you will answer to me.' Three of the men inched reluctantly into the alleyway. The rest departed, no doubt circling around the block to attack Longo from behind.
The three men approached, not attacking but staying close enough that if Longo turned to run, they could strike. Longo gave ground, exaggerating his limp. When one of the men came too close, he sprang forward. The man hardly had time to raise his sword before he was skewered through the chest. The other two backed away, swords at the ready. Then, Longo heard the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the other men had entered the alley. He was trapped.