Wsim24B Ch 11

"I want

him

. said the French King, pointing at me.

I felt my testicles shrink. For the Pope - Admiral D'Onofrio - this was just a game. I was a pawn. Considering the situation, he was being offered a pretty good deal. All he had to do was sacrifice me.

To his credit, my boss hesitated for a good fifteen seconds.

- "What will you do with him?" he asked.

The French King slowly shook his ugly head. "That's hardly the point, is it? Do you want the agreement? Or not?"

It took another five full seconds before the Pope gave in.

- "Alright. You win."

I suddenly found it hard to breathe. My knees wobbled a little. There was nowhere to run. I was a dead man walking, going to join Nika, wherever she was. I fought to keep my composure, and by a simple but strenuous effort of will succeeded.

There was a story about a man going to his execution that came to mind. He was wondering how to handle himself - how to behave in his last moments. His friend (also due to be executed) was angry.

- "We're going to die. What the hell difference does it make how you fall?"

I never forgot the man's answer: "When the fall is all there is, it matters."

I have no idea why it popped into my head at that moment. My mind was all over the place. Gina was going to be sad. I wasn't going to be able to fall asleep with her in my arms ever again. For that matter, I wasn't going to be able to continue Elena's sexual education.

I turned to Miguel. "Look after Gina. Please."

He nodded.

- "I'm sorry, Pilgrim." said the Pope.

- "Yeah. Thanks."

I managed to walk across to where the French King's entourage stood. I briefly - very briefly - considered lunging at Charles, and trying to snap his neck, but both Faraz and Tasha had good angles to prevent such a move. I went to stand next to Captain Teck.

***

The next day, Charles and Alexander met again in a cordial display, after which the French king moved into the Apostolic Palace. I spent the whole time in a fetid cellar, in a house occupied by French soldiers.

On the 19th, I was dragged out and given a quick brushing, so that I could be present for the public ceremony. King Charles made a public profession of obedience to the Pope. Alexander took him by the hand, and called him his first-born son.

I chuckled a bit at that.

- "What's so funny?" said big Faraz, who was keeping an eye on me.

- "I dunno? If the Pope is calling your King his son, doesn't that make him a bastard?"

Faraz didn't appreciate my sense of humour. Perhaps he didn't have one of his own. Either way, he showed his displeasure by stepping on my foot and trying to crush two of my toes.

Even so, I could appreciate what the Pope - or Admiral D'Onofrio - had gotten away with. He had stood by his Neapolitan and Spanish allies just long enough to have a claim to their gratitude. They certainly couldn't blame him for giving in at this point, alone in Rome against a massive French army. The collapse of the wall of the Castel Sant' Angelo was like a sign from the Almighty.

But now he was on good terms with the invader, and safe from the threat of being deposed. Cardinal della Rovere, I'm told, had a legendary fit of rage. Cardinal Ascanio of Milan left Rome in a hurry the very next day.

Three days later, Faraz dragged me out of the same disgusting cellar, and then took me to the Palace. I kept my eyes open, and my head on a swivel, but I didn't catch sight of Gina.

My bonds were cut. I was dunked in a bath, dressed in ill-fitting clothing, and then my hands were tied again. Faraz conducted me to the Pope's formal audience chambers. There were only three people there: King Charles VIII, Captain Teck, and Tasha. The King's hands twitched. Teck was his usual imperturbable self. Tasha was dressed like a high-priced courtesan.

- "Bring him here." said the King. "I want to see him."

Faraz shoved me forward.

The King was too ugly to look at. I glanced at Teck, but his face was completely impassive. Tasha was an ice Queen, but she was hot, so I chose to leer at her. I who am about to die salute you, I thought.

Charles - or the player behind him - had a good, long look at me.

- "Go ahead, Teck. Ask your questions." he said - in English.

Teck cleared his throat.

- "So, Pilgrim..." he said. "What happened to Anna?"

I could've answered right away. But I thought of Nika, who they had murdered - just as they had planned to do with me. So I made them wait.

"Tell us!"

- "I killed her. Stabbed her twice - once in the side, once in the throat. She bled... all over the place. Spoiled one of the Pope's best carpets." The whole time I spoke, I did my best to look Teck in the eye. "We rolled her up in it, and threw her in the Tiber."

The Captain didn't react. His face didn't change at all.

- "And Will?"

- "I wish that I could take credit for that one. He saw me, walking alone, and decided to take a cheap shot, from behind. One of my friends saw him, and called out a warning. I dodged, and he only got a piece of me." I touched the scar on my head. "Then they finished him off, the stupid fuck."

I fell to the ground, on my knees, because Faraz had hammered a fist to the back of my head. It took a moment for my head to clear.

The King said something. Faraz manhandled me, and then tied my ankles. He tied the knots especially tight, cutting off my circulation.

- "Go away, Teck. Take your team. We'll talk later." said the King.

A few moments passed. I had nothing to gain by standing up, so I just lay on the floor and tried to push my ankles against the bonds that Faraz had tied.

The French King was patient.

- "Pilgrim?"

- "Huh?"

- "I have a few questions of my own, if you don't mind."

I had to laugh. Here I was, lying on the floor at his feet, bound hand and foot - and he was politely asking if he could interrogate me.

- "I'm not going anywhere." I said.

- "True enough. First question: who do you work for?"

- "ISEC."

- "I know that. Who is your handler?"

- "I don't have one."

- "Bullshit." he said. "Every ISEC agent has one."

- "If you know that, then you must know that I can't tell you."

- "Sure you can. They'll never hear it from me. Besides, you would just be saving me time; I can easily find out as soon as the Sim is over."

- "You have an informer within ISEC? That's a very dangerous game to play, Admiral."

- "

What did you just call me

?"

I couldn't see his face, but I heard the ominous tone of his voice.

- "Admiral. As in, Admiral Colenso."

- "What makes you think I'm Admiral Colenso?"

- "Because you're cheating in the Sim. You brought in Teck and his crew. Two of the other players are in a Sim for the first time, while the other two are only on their second game. They wouldn't know

how

to cheat - whereas you've done this before - several times."

- "You don't know what you're talking about."

Still on the floor, I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He didn't say anything for several moments.

- "I get it. You're showing a little bravado in the shadow of the noose. But you've got it wrong, Sergeant Pilgrim. I don't have to hand you over to Teck. In fact, if you were to cooperate, you could be very helpful to me. I would have many uses for a man with your skills."

Hope can be a dangerous thing. I couldn't afford to trust him. If he was prepared to commit treason just so that he could cheat his friends in a game...

- "That sounds great. Except that I'm lying on the floor, all trussed up."

- "You're a dangerous man, Sergeant Pilgrim. You've already killed two of Teck's operatives."

Only after they killed Nika, I thought.

Colenso spoke again. "Maybe we both need a little time to think... to consider whether it would be worth my while to keep you alive."

***

On January 28th, the Pope and the King met again, after which the French Army began to leave the city, headed south.

We went as far as Marino, where three Cardinals joined us: della Rovere, Colonna, and Savelli. None of them wanted to stay in Rome with Pope Alexander, now that he was once more safely ensconced on the Papal throne.

Charles received excellent news from Naples. King Alfonso, tormented by nightmares and his fear of the French, had abdicated the throne in favor of his son Ferrantino, while he himself fled to Sicily.

The march south continued. I travelled on the back of a mule, with my hands tied. But that left my eyes open, so that I could observe the French Army on the move.

In the early 1400s, armies on Earth usually consisted of more cavalry than infantry. By mid-century, though, it became more difficult to obtain enough mounts. Horsemen's armour became more expensive, and Swiss pikemen won several victories over Charles the Bold of Burgundy, so that everyone began imitating them - or hiring them.

Charles of France had pikemen, plus plenty of crossbowmen and archers, but the elite of his army were still the heavy cavalry. On top of that, he had the best artillery in Europe.

Cannons came from China, via the Turks. There was a bewildering array of types of cannons in Europe: bombards, culverins, serpentines and crapaudines, courtauds and mortars, hacquebutes and arquebus, and faucons.

For example, an arquebus was 3 to 4 feet long, and fired a 6 ounce projectile. A cerbottana was 8 to 10 feet long, and shot a 2 or 3 pound stone. The basilisk was over 20 feet long, and its projectile weighed 20 pounds. The courtaud was 12 feet long, while a bombard was 15 to 20 feet in length. The former fired a 60 to 100 pound stone, while the latter could shoot a 300 pound rock.

The French, though, brought several innovations to Italy. Iron cannonballs, for one, which could pulverize the walls of stone castles. Charles had 150 artillery pieces, with thousands of horses to draw them, and dozens of gunners to serve them.

But his best improvement was in transport. Cannon had formerly been carried in four-wheeled wagons, and had to be set up on a trestle or frame before they could be fired. But in mid-century, cannons with trunnions appeared, so that they could rest on a gun carriage with up to six wheels.

The French also left behind the most gigantic guns, preferring more standard sizes that were easier to move, and could be fired more often.

Two days' march brought us to Velletri. The Bishop of Velletri, our host, was in fact Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere. Captain Teck and his team were allocated the top floor of a house, while a group of the Cardinal's retainers and servants occupied the main floor.

Upstairs, there were three rooms. One was for Teck, the second for Tasha, and third for lucky Faraz, who was given the task of watching me - as he had been doing pretty much constantly since the Pope had handed me over.

There was a square wooden post, or column, in his room, perhaps 18 inches wide. It was probably designed to help support the roof. Faraz made me sit down with my back against it, but he had me face the outer wall. That way, he didn't have to look at my face, and I couldn't see him.

But he could see my bound hands, and would have known instantly if I had found some means of tampering with my bonds. Faraz was deviously clever. He must have known most of the same tricks I did from ISEC training, plus he seemed to have spent some time as a prison guard. He had their mentality, anyway.

On one of the few occasions I'd been untied, I had taken advantage of the opportunity to chew off half of my thumbnail. I could have used the sharp edge of my nail to saw away at the rope around my wrist. Faraz was too observant, though - plus he changed the rope he bound me with.

But he was also tired and frustrated. Tired, because Teck had delegated the burden of guarding me to him. Frustrated, because Teck and Tasha were fucking most every night, and they weren't being especially quiet about it. Even I could hear them from across the hall.

I wondered about the group dynamics in Teck's squad. This wasn't their first Sim together. And if a Sim lasted 25 years, then they'd spent a

lot

of time together. I had known Anna; anybody who fucked in a parking garage was unlikely to be monogamous for fifty or a hundred years.

Maybe that was why Faraz hated me, and took every opportunity to slap or punch me. Had he been involved with Anna? Or expecting to be? Of course, it was also possible that he was annoyed because Tasha was humping Teck while he was stuck watching me.

That was when I heard the church bells start to ring. This wasn't a call to vespers or compline (6 and 7 pm., usually). The bell-ringer was heaving on his rope with some urgency; that usually meant some kind of emergency, or extremely important news.

Faraz got to his feet. I heard the floorboard creak as he stepped into the hall. He tapped his knuckle on Teck's door.

- "Captain?"

Medieval or Renaissance Italian homes weren't designed to be soundproof. I heard Teck's reply very clearly.

- "We're getting dressed. Go see what it is, Faraz!"

Let it be a fire, I thought. Maybe it could take a significant portion of the French army with it. Of course, if I was tied to a post in a wooden house, it might not go so well for me.

I heard Faraz pound his way down the stairs. A few moments later, I heard Teck's door open, and then more heavy treading on the stairs.

Less than a minute later, I thought that I heard a floorboard creak again. But then there was nothing - until I had that creepy sensation you get when you sense that you're not alone.

A hand suddenly clapped down on my mouth.

- "Forgive me, Signor Pellegrino." said a voice - a male voice - in Italian. "You must not cry out - even if I hurt you as I cut you free. We don't have much time. Please nod if you understand."

I nodded. I had no idea who this was - but if he was going to free me, I wasn't about to complain.

He had a knife, and he'd been wise to warn me, because he wasn't very good with it. He cut halfway through the rope, and then began sawing on my wrist.

- "Pffft..." I tried to warn him by spitting air between my lips.

- "Sshh...

sorry

." he whispered.

His aim improved, but he still carved another couple of ounces of flesh out of my hand and wrist.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as several strands of the rope parted at once. Moments later, I could feel them loosen entirely.

- "How do we get out of here?" I asked.

- "The window."

He'd brought a smaller, thinner rope with him. He quickly looped it around the post, and tied a knot. Then he tossed it out the window, and immediately climbed onto the ledge. I was busily chafing my wrists, despite the blood, to restore circulation.

The moment his head descended below the window sill, I climbed out. It wasn't that far to the ground - which was a good thing, because his slender rope snapped under my weight. Fortunately, I was only about six feet in the air. I landed on my heels, fell backwards onto my ass, and slammed both hands into the dirt, partially breaking my fall.

- "Are you alright?" he asked.

- "Fine. Let's go. Lead the way."

The church bells were still ringing, and at least more two more churches had joined in. There were people everywhere, all talking at once in Italian and French, and even German. Nobody seemed to care as my anonymous rescuer and I passed between them.

He knew exactly where he was going. We went a hundred yards down the street, and turned into a side lane, which was home to a stable. There were two horses there, saddled and ready for us. My new friend exchanged a few words and a hug with the ostler. Then we mounted up, and rode out.

- "I don't even know what to call you." I said to him, as we rode side by side.

He was short, but relatively handsome, with his blonde hair and ready smile.

- "I am Giulio degli Alberini, Signor Pellegrino. And I am very pleased to meet you."

- "No more than I am. You're a lifesaver - literally. But... why are you here? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, except that... I don't know who you are, or why you would help me."

He grinned. "My patron asked me to."

- "Your patron?"

- "And yours. Pope Alexander."

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Many of my thoughts, these past two weeks, had been about the ingratitude of Princes - even if they were pretend Princes just playing a game. But Admiral D'Onofrio - the Pope - had handed me over to my enemies, and then sent this young man to rescue me.

- "Wait... how did you know that the church bells would ring tonight?"

- "A friend of mine took care of that."

- "What if Faraz hadn't left the room?"

- "Then I would have tried something else." He grinned again. I found myself liking the little fellow, even if he had carved great divots out of my wrist.

We rode past a loud group of Genoese crossbowmen. They barely gave us a second look. Velletri wasn't that big a town; large numbers of French troops were camped on the outskirts. We weren't able to pass by them; they all stopped us to ask us why the church bells were ringing. Giulio did the talking; he was a very fluent, very credible liar.

Once we cleared the French encampment, I wanted to pick up our pace, to get as far away as possible.

"Slow down, Pilgrim." said Alberini. "I'm looking for our friends."

And there they were: Diego and Pedro Ramires, with four more Spaniards, all horsed. They had a sword and a long dagger for me. I embraced them both.

- "I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am to see you two!"

Diego laughed. Pedro began to sniffle; he was close to tears. I could understand how he felt: this was perhaps the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me.

We rode through the night. It was a dangerous thing to do, but Alberini suggested that it was a calculated risk.

- "We need to be as far away as possible by dawn, in case they come looking."

- "Won't they be able to track us?"

- "No." he said. "This is a well-travelled road. There will be dozens of horses and mules using it first thing tomorrow morning - more than enough to obliterate any signs of our passage. Besides, they'll be looking for us in the wrong places."

- "We're not going to Rome, Pilgrim." said Diego Ramires. "For one thing, King Charles left many of his Swiss mercenaries behind. It's not exactly safe for the likes of us. Plus the Holy Father will be able to truthfully deny any knowledge of your whereabouts."

- "Where are we going?"

- "Spoleto."

***

We made the journey in five and a half days. I was stiff and sore by the end of the second day, and hobbling about by the end. I was thankful that I'd put in so much practice on horseback, so that I wasn't in constant danger of falling, or of embarrassing myself. But I'd never spent more than five or six hours in the saddle in a single day, and never two days in a row.

Despite the toll on my body, Alberini and the Ramires brothers were good company. They seemed to think that my escape was some sort of great achievement, a grand coup.

- "A finger in the French King's eye!" said Pedro.

- "The first blow struck against the invaders." said his brother. That was a huge exaggeration; we hadn't struck anyone. The only blood shed had been mine.

Alberini, though, was able to put it into context for me.

- "Many Italians are embarrassed, Pilgrim. The French have simply walked through Italy, meeting no resistance. Now it looks as if Naples won't fight, either. Have you heard the saying? Charles VIII has conquered Italy with a piece of chalk."

I knew what that meant. It was a reference to Charles' quartermasters, who went ahead of his army and used chalk to mark the doors of houses where the French troops would be billeted. But it also implied that the French hadn't had to draw a weapon in their successful invasion.

Spoleto was one of the Pope's strongholds. I thought that we were supposed to lie low, or at least refrain from advertising our presence. But there were a number of important citizens who wanted to meet me, and also to show their adherence to the Pontiff.