Read Online Tom Swan and the Head of St. George Part Four: Rome by Christian Cameron - Free Book Online Page A

court of Milan. The women – even the Greek women – knew the steps – ripresa , continenze , mezza volta and the rest of the international repertoire of dance steps. Now it was the men who were the students, and the women who taught, and it was obvious from their tone that the men had been pedantic and patronising about swordplay. Swan thought – and not for the first time – how similar dance was to swordsmanship, while Violetta bossed him unmercifully.
    Despite which, in an hour, they were dancing merrily. The main figure was a woman dancing between two men, and the men took turns with the woman – Swan smiled a little bitterly as he shared Violetta with the French soldier and later with the tallest of the Florentines, but the dancing was done with goodwill.
    The Florentine leaned against the wall – women were in short supply, which gave men a rest from time to time. ‘She’s a beauty, your girl,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had this good a time in a year. May I ask who you are?’
    Swan bowed. ‘Thomas Swan, equerry to Cardinal Bessarion.’
    The Florentine bowed. ‘Ah – we share a friend – Di Brachio of the Bembii of Venice. I am Giacomo Accucciulli.’
    Even more remarkably, the Florentine spoke excellent Greek. He admitted to Giannis that he’d been born there. The Greeks greeted him like a long-lost brother. The party grew warmer.
    The French soldier sat with Swan. So much wine had been drunk that Swan could scarcely see, and he was watching Violetta whirl and leap with the Florentine and with Di Brescia – the two best male dancers – without a qualm.
    ‘Come on, friend – you’re a soldier. You have soldier written all over you,’ the Frenchman said, his arm around Swan’s shoulder.
    Swan shrugged. ‘I’m …’ He struggled to define what it was he did. He laughed. ‘Well, I certainly saw some fighting last summer,’ he admitted.
    ‘I knew it!’ said the Frenchman.
    They sat watching Violetta as she turned, back straight, on her toes – even in a frumpy wool overdress and a heavy man’s shirt, the set of her head, the way her eyes touched Swan’s …
    Behind her, the main room’s door opened, and a wave of yellow and red washed into the room.
    As it was, the Orsini were immediately confronted by Violetta, and her beauty turned their heads for a count of three, before their captain pointed at Swan. ‘There he is!’ he shouted.
    By the count of three, Swan was standing erect with his sword in one hand and a heavy dagger in the other, and he was surprisingly sober when he came on guard. He turned his head once – looking for somewhere to run – but the construction of the place left him no options. The kitchen door was far across the room behind the table at which the Florentines had been sitting. The party was all intermingled now –
    Nor did the Orsini seem to have any target beyond Swan. The leaders – three men – ran across the open floor.
    The Frenchman seized the heavy table at which they’d been sitting and stood up – tipping the table up like a fortress wall. His left hand saved the pitcher of wine as the table fell with a crash.
    Swan had nowhere to retreat – the back wall was at his left shoulder.
    The lead Orsini thug tangled with the table. The second man leaped over it with an acrobatic jump, but Swan put his left-hand dagger into the man’s stomach and threw him into the wall behind him with a crash. The wall moved – plaster cracked, leaving the twigs and brush that had been used to set the mortar plain to see. The third man cut with a heavy sword at the Frenchman, who parried with the pitcher of wine – it shattered, and sticky, hot wine flew. Swan stabbed diagonally across the table into the exposed underarm of the red and yellow bruiser who was trying to hack the Frenchman down.
    The room was full of red and yellow.
    The man who’d lost his footing at the table had recovered, and Swan met his sword, mid-blade to mid-blade, over the table. Both men tried