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.
He lunged forward, driving his attackers back a step, and then turned and ran. He spotted a door halfway down the alley and headed for it, but one of the masked men coming from the other direction reached it first. Longo parried the man's thrust and punched him hard in the face. He then grabbed the dazed man, spun and hurled him face first into the door, which banged open. The man landed unconscious on the floor, and Longo followed him into a dark room crowded with vats of tallow. He slammed the door shut behind him. The bolt that locked the door had been broken, so Longo held it with his shoulder.
A second later, someone rammed the door from the other side. Longo staggered back but managed to hold it closed. Again someone rammed the door, and this time Longo stepped away and allowed it to swing open. A surprised attacker stumbled into the room. Longo cut him down and then slammed the door closed again. He could hear the remaining four men outside, discussing what to do next. Longo waited a second, then pulled the door open and rushed out.
He dropped two of the men immediately, stabbing one in the gut and then spinning and slashing the other across the face. A third man lunged for his chest, and Longo just managed to twist out of the way. He hacked down at his attacker's arm, and the man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, holding his bloody arm and crying out in pain before fainting.
Longo turned to face the last man, who had backed well away. 'We shall meet again, signor,' the man said.
'Who are you?' Longo demanded. 'Who sent you?'
The man turned and ran. Longo slumped against the wall of the alleyway, his thigh burning with pain now that the fury of battle had left him. Beside him, the man clutched his bleeding arm and began to moan. Longo rolled him on to his back and knelt down, one knee on the man's chest. He pulled the man's mask aside and slapped him. The man's eyes fluttered open. Longo drew his dagger and held it close to the man's face.
'Who sent you?' he growled. The man did not respond. His eyes closed as he began to lose consciousness. 'Tell me!' Longo insisted, pressing the knife against the man's nose.
'Paolo,' the man croaked, and then he lost consciousness. Longo stumbled into the courtyard of the Grimaldi palazzo with the unconscious man slung over his shoulder. 'Paolo!' he roared as he dumped the man unceremoniously on the ground. 'Where are you? Paolo!'
Paolo, his face pale and eyes wide, came down the steps of the palazzo. 'What has happened?' he asked. 'Who is that?'
'You tell me,' Longo snarled. He grabbed Paolo by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. 'He and ten other men attacked me shortly after I left you tonight.'
'H-how did you escape?' Paolo managed.
Longo ignored the question. 'You are my kinsman, else you would be dead now,' he hissed. 'I know you sent them.'
'You sent that English brat to kill my brother,' Paolo spat back. 'You are a murderer.'
Before he could even think, Longo had his knife at Paolo's throat.
'Longo! What is this?' the elder Grimaldi called out as he descended the palazzo steps. He gestured to Longo's blood-stained clothes. 'What has happened?'
Longo released Paolo and turned to Grimaldi. 'Your son hired men to kill me.'
'Paolo, is this true?' Grimaldi demanded. Paolo looked away. 'I'm sorry, signor,' Grimaldi sighed, turning back to Longo. 'I knew that Paolo was upset over his brother's death, but I never thought he would go so far.'
'Something must be done,' Longo said. 'I will duel him, tomorrow.'
'I cannot allow it,' Grimaldi replied. 'Paolo is my only son. If you strike him, then you strike me. I do not wish to be your enemy, signor.'
'Nor I yours,' Longo said. He turned to Paolo and spat at his feet. 'Count yourself lucky,' he said, then turned and strode away.
'This is not over,' Paolo called out after him. 'Carlos is not done with you. That English bastard of yours is as good as dead!'
'William,' Longo whispered and broke into a run. 'William!' Portia giggled. 'Your beard, it tickles!'
He stopped kissing her ear. 'But you think me very handsome with it?' he asked with a grin. Now eighteen, William was inordinately proud of his short, reddish-brown beard.
'I find you… acceptable,' she teased.
'Acceptable?' William asked, kissing her neck. His hand moved slowly up her leg.
'William!' Portia gasped, pushing his hand away from her inner thigh. He moved his hand to her back and pulled her down into the straw of the hayloft, kissing her passionately. She opened her mouth and pressed herself against him. His hand slid down her side to her hip, and then between her legs. 'Stop!' she exclaimed and pulled away. She was breathtaking, her long black hair tousled, her dress half undone and her dark eyes lit by the low flame of the lamp William had brought. 'You do not love me,' she pouted.