own any business—not without the protection of higher-ups.”
“Silvie’s a slut. She doesn’t have any highborn friends.”
“She does now,” Wedo said. “Depend on it. From what you told me, Silvie earned at the most a few coppers a night selling herself to drunks in the back room of taverns. I saw that shop. A counter with wine wells, tables, chairs… And upstairs was nicer. A bed with curtains around it, linen sheets, wool blankets, and three dresses and even more than three aprons, all hanging from nails on the wall. That woman of yours, she’s got friends, all right.
“If Gimp and you hadn’t been such fools and scared her, we might have gotten even more.”
Gimp ducked his head and tried to look invisible.
“No, you go back there, boy,” said Wedo, “and the next thing this Silvie cooks is your goose.
“Now, how about a decent split on what we got from your woman? Then we can all go our separate ways in peace.”
Hugo finished eating, stood up, brushed the grease and crumbs off his hands, then went and urinated in the basin that once held the water for the sacrificial rites.
No, he thought as his stream hit the meander that once marked the path the dead must take to paradise. No, he didn’t want to give any more of Silvie’s money to either the man called Gimp or to Wedo. He needed every copper of it if he was to gain an audience with any of Desiderius’s servants.
Regretfully he admitted to himself that Wedo was right. There was no way a girl like Silvie could have earned enough, even from a generous protector, to have paid for such an establishment. The only person he could think of with enough compassion to help Silvie was Regeane.
Hugo was afraid of Regeane, but the thought of Lucilla or Maeniel made the blood congeal in his veins. Compared to either of them, Regeane was a gentle person. Maeniel would certainly kill him on sight, and Lucilla would do worse: have him tortured until she was sure he had no more to tell her, then put him to death in the most painful way possible. She’d promised him just that. He’d been present when Lucilla was tortured by the Lombard duke’s men.
He finished urinating, then turned back to where his companions were eating. Hesitation. Hesitation had cost him his opportunity to kill Silvie. So he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Wedo by the hair, jerked his head back, and slit his throat.
Gimp raised his head, looking shocked, but a second later Hugo’s boot toe caught him on the point of the chin. He never felt the blow when Hugo’s knife pierced his throat from the front and severed his spine at the back.
The tomb was suddenly quiet. Hugo had killed men before, his first in a tavern brawl not long after Gundabald died. But usually it was more difficult than this had been, and far more complications followed. He sensed, however, that it wouldn’t be prudent to linger, so he cleaned his knife on Wedo’s shirt, then searched both corpses, noting as he did that blood was still flowing from Gimp’s throat in a dark stream.
Predictably, Gimp had nothing. But Wedo yielded two gold coins he must have held back from the money in Silvie’s strongbox.
Hugo congratulated himself on taking the sensible approach to the problem of dealing with his two companions. He had needed to rid himself of them both. They would certainly have proven an embarrassment at the Lombard court. And the two gold coins would go far to helping him put on the show necessary to gain Desiderius’s ear.
Then he rose and left the tomb.
The brightness of late afternoon stung Hugo’s eyes for a second. He glanced around furtively, but he was absolutely alone. The only sound came from insects singing in the tall new grass, and the only moving thing in sight was a dust devil whirling along the stones of the ancient Roman road to Lombardy.
He set out walking, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the corpses he’d left behind.
Inside the tomb, Gimp began
“Silvie’s a slut. She doesn’t have any highborn friends.”
“She does now,” Wedo said. “Depend on it. From what you told me, Silvie earned at the most a few coppers a night selling herself to drunks in the back room of taverns. I saw that shop. A counter with wine wells, tables, chairs… And upstairs was nicer. A bed with curtains around it, linen sheets, wool blankets, and three dresses and even more than three aprons, all hanging from nails on the wall. That woman of yours, she’s got friends, all right.
“If Gimp and you hadn’t been such fools and scared her, we might have gotten even more.”
Gimp ducked his head and tried to look invisible.
“No, you go back there, boy,” said Wedo, “and the next thing this Silvie cooks is your goose.
“Now, how about a decent split on what we got from your woman? Then we can all go our separate ways in peace.”
Hugo finished eating, stood up, brushed the grease and crumbs off his hands, then went and urinated in the basin that once held the water for the sacrificial rites.
No, he thought as his stream hit the meander that once marked the path the dead must take to paradise. No, he didn’t want to give any more of Silvie’s money to either the man called Gimp or to Wedo. He needed every copper of it if he was to gain an audience with any of Desiderius’s servants.
Regretfully he admitted to himself that Wedo was right. There was no way a girl like Silvie could have earned enough, even from a generous protector, to have paid for such an establishment. The only person he could think of with enough compassion to help Silvie was Regeane.
Hugo was afraid of Regeane, but the thought of Lucilla or Maeniel made the blood congeal in his veins. Compared to either of them, Regeane was a gentle person. Maeniel would certainly kill him on sight, and Lucilla would do worse: have him tortured until she was sure he had no more to tell her, then put him to death in the most painful way possible. She’d promised him just that. He’d been present when Lucilla was tortured by the Lombard duke’s men.
He finished urinating, then turned back to where his companions were eating. Hesitation. Hesitation had cost him his opportunity to kill Silvie. So he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Wedo by the hair, jerked his head back, and slit his throat.
Gimp raised his head, looking shocked, but a second later Hugo’s boot toe caught him on the point of the chin. He never felt the blow when Hugo’s knife pierced his throat from the front and severed his spine at the back.
The tomb was suddenly quiet. Hugo had killed men before, his first in a tavern brawl not long after Gundabald died. But usually it was more difficult than this had been, and far more complications followed. He sensed, however, that it wouldn’t be prudent to linger, so he cleaned his knife on Wedo’s shirt, then searched both corpses, noting as he did that blood was still flowing from Gimp’s throat in a dark stream.
Predictably, Gimp had nothing. But Wedo yielded two gold coins he must have held back from the money in Silvie’s strongbox.
Hugo congratulated himself on taking the sensible approach to the problem of dealing with his two companions. He had needed to rid himself of them both. They would certainly have proven an embarrassment at the Lombard court. And the two gold coins would go far to helping him put on the show necessary to gain Desiderius’s ear.
Then he rose and left the tomb.
The brightness of late afternoon stung Hugo’s eyes for a second. He glanced around furtively, but he was absolutely alone. The only sound came from insects singing in the tall new grass, and the only moving thing in sight was a dust devil whirling along the stones of the ancient Roman road to Lombardy.
He set out walking, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the corpses he’d left behind.
Inside the tomb, Gimp began
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