Longo could not bear to watch William wasting away. Leaving Tristo with orders to alert him of any change in the boy's condition, he returned to his villa and busied himself with the tending of his vines. The very night of his return there was a frost, and Longo and his serfs spent a busy night lighting pots filled with pitch all along the rows of vines, fighting to keep the killing chill from the young leaves. The next morning, as Longo walked his vineyards to inspect the damage, he was surprised to see Tristo on horseback, galloping down from the villa to meet him.
As Tristo came closer, Longo could see that the huge man was struggling to stay upright in the saddle, and that he favoured his right arm, keeping it pinned to his side. What in God's name had happened to him?
'My Lord,' Tristo said with a wince as he reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. 'I bring news from town.' Tristo's right arm was in a sling, and blood showed through a heavy bandage wrapped around his head.
'What has happened?' Longo asked.
'There was a fight with some of the Grimaldi men. I only happened across it at the last, and I set about trying to separate the men. I had my arm broken by the mace of one of our own men — the cursed idiot — and got a nasty gash on my head for my troubles. Still, the rest had it much worse. Gucio and Piero are killed. Four others are laid up with various injuries. One Grimaldi man is dead, and the rest are pretty badly off.'
The news was not surprising — duels started more feuds than they ended — but it was not welcome either. The Grimaldi were a powerful family, and Longo did not fancy having them as an enemy. Much less did he fancy watching his back each time he rode through the streets of Genoa, or sending his servants to market with armed escort. He would have to act fast. Now that men on both sides had lost friends, the matter needed only a small push — the death of another noble from one of the two families — to evolve into a blood feud.
'Who started the fight?' Longo asked.
'Our men had been to the dock, and most likely to the tavern as well. On returning, they met six Grimaldi men in the street. Probably they were waiting for our men. Insults were exchanged, a Grimaldi man drew, and that was that. From what our men tell me, the Grimaldi men seem bent on revenge for what William did to Carlo. They seem to think the boy is some kind of assassin.'
'And what of William?' Longo asked.
'The same. Only he stopped talking last night. Hasn't said a word since. Loretta, the midwife, says that is a good sign. She says the fever will break now.'
'And what does the doctor say?'
'The doctor says that this is the beginning of the end. The no-good bastard seems to think that William is as good as dead.'
'Then we shall have to hope that the midwife is in the right,' Longo said. 'You will stay here at the villa until you are healed. Have Maria look after you. I will return to Genoa to see to William and take care of this Grimaldi mess.' Shortly after Longo's arrival, William's fever finally broke, and the boy woke from his long delirium with his senses intact. Longo watched him consume enough pasta to feed ten men, and then left for the Grimaldi palazzo to make his peace.
Despite the hostility between the families, Longo was greeted politely and presented immediately to Niccolo Grimaldi — the father of the recently deceased Carlo and the head of the family. The elder Grimaldi was a small man. Despite his sixty years, his lean, tan face was hardly wrinkled, though his hair was a wild mix of grey and black, like the ash from recently burned wood. He was seated on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, drinking a thick black liquid that Longo recognized as coffee, an eastern delicacy. Grimaldi motioned for Longo to sit. Once the formalities were ended, Grimaldi moved right to the point.
'You have come to make peace between our families,' he said. 'I am an old man. I treasure peace, but it is hard-bought after so much blood.'
'Surely more blood is not the answer,' Longo replied. 'I am a warrior, Signor Grimaldi. I have fought more battles than most men have seen years. I do not fear bloodshed, but I have no quarrel with your family, nor with you. Your son was killed fairly, honourably. Let that be an end to it.'
Grimaldi nodded and took a long sip of coffee before he spoke again. 'No doubt you are right. Still, I have lost a son, Signor Giustiniani. Nothing can replace him. Nothing can repay that loss. But perhaps if I were to find a new son, then I could forgive. By joining our families, we might end this bloodshed. You are not married, I recollect?' Longo nodded. 'Very well, shall I introduce my daughter, Julia?'
'I would be delighted,' Longo replied. Julia was ushered in and introduced, a shy girl of twelve. It was clear that she had been preparing for this meeting from the moment Longo entered the courtyard, for she was dressed in her very best — a flowing gown of white silk embroidered with interlacing red roses — and her hair was braided with ribbons and twisted into an intricate knot atop her head. She was thin and still flat-chested, but she had delicate features and looked likely to grow into a beautiful woman. She curtsied, blushed demurely as Longo complimented her fine dress, and was dismissed.
'She is fertile, no doubt, like her mother,' Grimaldi said. 'And a beauty as well, yes?'
'Indeed, signor,' Longo replied.
'Good. Then you do not object to marrying her?'
Longo paused. As his chamberlain Nicolo often reminded him, none of Longo's properties would be secure until he produced an heir. Julia was young, fertile and certainly attractive enough. A female touch would be welcome in his household, not to mention in his bed. Most importantly, the marriage would transform the budding feud into an alliance with a powerful family. Longo's feelings were beside the point. It was his duty to marry Julia Grimaldi. 'You honour me, Signor Grimaldi,' Longo said at last. 'I would be overjoyed to marry your daughter.'
'Very well,' Grimaldi said, rising. 'Let me embrace you as my new son. But I am not one of these Turks, you understand, to send my daughter away so young. I trust you will not object to a delay in the marriage until she is more of a woman?'
'I am very much of your mind on the matter, signor. I would be happy to wait.'
'Then it is settled,' Grimaldi said, returning to his coffee. 'We shall work out the details in time. I thank you for your visit, Signor Giustiniani.'
'And I for you kindness, Signor Grimaldi,' Longo replied. He bowed and left.
So I am to be married, he reflected as a servant led him back to his horse. Nicolo, at the very least, would be overjoyed.
Chapter 5
MARCH TO JUNE 1449: CONSTANTINOPLE
Sofia, dressed in a tight-waisted, rust-red caftan with billowing sleeves, followed Constantine, Helena and the other members of the royal family into the great hall of the Blachernae Palace. Constantine had arrived in Constantinople the previous day, and a great feast had been prepared to celebrate his new reign. Sofia passed between long tables heaped with roasted meats, candied fruits and still-steaming bread. Nobles lined the tables, their gold-and jewel-embroidered caftans lending some splendour to an otherwise rather shabby scene. The imperial family had been desperate for money for decades, and the golden plates, goblets and candelabra that once graced the tables of the palace had long since been melted down for coin. Simple pewter plates and wooden cups now adorned the tables, and while candles burned on the emperor's table, the rest of the hall was lit by torches set in the walls.