Siege

'You question my faith, Signor?' Spinola bristled.

'Not at all,' Adorno soothed. 'I merely wish to point out that even the most righteous among us have made deals with the heathens. Indeed, our livelihoods depend on it.'

'There are other concerns,' Longo pointed out. 'A deal with the sultan will create anger in Constantinople. We cannot risk losing our docks and warehouses there.'

'Exactly,' Spinola agreed. 'That is why we must aid Constantinople.'

'Forgive me for asking,' Grimaldi said. 'But what would this cost? Financing troops at such a distance is no small matter. I do not wish to bankrupt our city to fight a war that has not yet begun.' Several men nodded or thumped the table in agreement. 'And what if we support Constantinople, and the city falls regardless?' Grimaldi continued. 'We will lose everything.'

'A small sacrifice to defend our faith,' Spinola insisted. 'Or have we all forgotten that we are Christians, that we have a duty to our Lord?'

'I am sure none of us has forgotten, Signor, but we also have a duty to our city and our people,' Fregoso said. 'I propose that we make contact with the sultan…'

'But Signor!' Longo interrupted. 'We cannot abandon Constantinople.'

'We will not,' Fregoso assured him. 'We will seek to learn the sultan's mind, but will enter into no official agreement. Meanwhile, the Emperor Constantine will be given assurances of aid, to be delivered when and if an attack occurs.' In short, Fregoso was proposing that they do nothing. 'All in favour?' the Doge asked. A chorus of ayes settled the matter. Only Longo and Spinola had abstained. 'Very well,' Fregoso concluded, 'the matter is settled and this meeting is at an end.'

Longo rose and marched from the palace without a word to the others. The decision had not surprised him, but he was upset nonetheless. He sent Tristo and his men on ahead to the palazzo. Longo followed on foot, striding ahead as if to outpace his disappointment. William stood in a shadowy alleyway and watched as Longo exited the Ducal Palace and headed on foot towards the centre of town. He followed at a distance. A dense crowd filled the narrow street, circulating between the shops that lined both sides of the road. Above, covered balconies projecting from the buildings nearly met overhead, leaving only a narrow gap for the pale January sunshine. William watched as a house servant came to the window of one of the balconies and dumped a chamber-pot into the street below. William jumped back, narrowly avoiding being doused with filth.

He turned to find Longo standing before him. William froze, his face flushing crimson. 'I didn't mean to disobey, sir,' he explained. 'But I wanted to see the city — it was dark when we arrived, and I didn't think it would do any harm…'

'I am not angry with you,' Longo said, cutting William short. 'I could use your company. We will stop by the market on the way to the palazzo. As long as you are out, I might as well buy you something to wear. Those rags barely cover you.'

They walked through the maze of narrow streets and down to the market. It filled the Piazza San Giorgio, only a few blocks from the port, and overflowed into the surrounding streets. The periphery of the square was lined with booths selling a dazzling array of goods — oriental silks, Indian spices, exotic animals, swords, flowers. Milling between the booths was a thick crowd of people, cut occasionally by a noble on horseback. William stopped and gaped, dazzled by the brightly painted buildings that lined the square, the outlandishly dressed street performers and the sheer liveliness of it all. Longo waded into the crowd, and William hurried after him.

They stopped in front of a stall selling bolts of cloth and well-worked leather in long strips. Longo patted the leather appreciatively, then spoke briefly with the merchant, who offered two long lengths of the leather for Longo's closer inspection. Longo nodded his approval and then moved on to examine a bolt of white cotton.

'But I thought we were buying clothes,' William interrupted.

'These are your clothes: leather breeches and a cotton shirt. Tristo will show you how to sew them. Now come. You look half-starved. I will buy you something to eat. You have never had a fig, I'd wager.'

William had never tasted anything quite so wonderful as a fig. It was so sweet it hurt his mouth, but it also had an exotic, earthy flavour that undercut the sweetness. As he and Longo chewed, they wandered over to watch a fire-eater in one of the streets on the edge of the square. The fire-eater took a flaming sword and slowly inserted the blade — all two feet of it — into his mouth so that only the hilt protruded. When he withdrew the sword, the blade was still burning.

'How does he do that?' William wondered.

Longo reflected, chewing on a fig. 'Maybe he drinks something special to protect him. Or maybe it does burn him, but he has grown used to the pain.'

But William was no longer listening. All his attention was focused beyond the fire-eater, to where an Italian noble was approaching on horseback. He was a thin man, whose otherwise handsome face was marred by a perpetual sneer. William recognized that face; indeed, he would never forget it. It was the face of Carlo Grimaldi, the man who had betrayed William and his crewmates to the Turks.

William surged forward, stepping in front of Carlo's horse. 'It is you, you bastard!' he screamed. 'I am going to kill you!'

The horse reared, almost unseating Carlo. He recovered and stared contemptuously at William. 'You seem to have lost your wits, boy,' he said in accented English. 'I have never seen you before in my life. Now get out of my way.' He slashed his riding whip across William's face, drawing blood.

William drew his dagger and stood his ground. 'You are a murderer,' he spat. 'You stabbed my uncle in the back. You betrayed us to the Turks.'

'I do not take kindly to being insulted, especially by common English scum like you,' Carlo snarled and again sent his riding whip slashing towards William's face. William raised his dagger and sliced the whip neatly in two. 'I will have your head for that!' Carlo roared, drawing his sword.

Longo stepped between Carlo and William. 'I am Longo Giustiniani, and this boy is under my protection. If you have a quarrel with him, then you have a quarrel with me.'

Carlo went white at the mention of Longo's name. 'I did not know the boy was in your service, Signor Giustiniani. But he has insulted me and drawn on me. I demand justice.'

'If you want justice, then you will have to take it from me,' Longo said.

Carlo hesitated. His honour had been challenged, but clearly he did not wish to fight Longo. Finally he nodded. 'So be it. I shall send someone to arrange the details.'

'No,' William insisted. 'I will fight for myself.'

'Quiet, William,' Longo ordered. 'You do not know what you are doing.'

William ignored him. Carlo had killed his friends, and William had sworn to make him pay. He turned to Carlo and said in broken Italian, 'I you fight. I.'

Carlo smirked. 'I would as soon wipe my boots with him as fight this commoner,' he said. 'But the boy seems to need a lesson in manners. I will meet him tomorrow. My man will be at your house presently. Good-day, Signor Giustiniani.' Carlo's second, his portly brother Paolo, arrived at the palazzo no more than an hour later and met with Longo. They quickly agreed to terms: first light, the Piazza di Sarzano, to the death.

Longo found William and Tristo eating at a table in the courtyard, and he stopped to watch them. Tristo was tucking into a heaping plate of vermicelli covered in butter, while William held up a long thin noodle, eyeing it sceptically. 'Looks like a worm,' he noted. 'What do you call it again?'

'La pasta.'

'La pasta,' William repeated and ate the noodle, chewing carefully. 'Not bad.' He reached for a cup and sniffed at the contents.