Maze of Moonlight by Gael Baudino Read Free Book Online Page B

or kept—the men with bowed heads, the women weeping with fear at the prospect of being used bloody that night—Berard toyed with names for his little band. The Fellowship of Acquisition. That sounded good. Very good. It said it all. Simple, straightforward.
    He looked up to see his lieutenant, Jehan delMari, approaching on horseback, cantering across the fields with a soldier's casual ease. “Well, Messire Jehan,” Berard said as the young man drew near, “what do you think of today's work?”
    “Not bad at all.” Jehan, blond and boyish, glanced at the prisoners, the stacked sacks of grain, the chests of valuables: Montalenghe had been small but well off. “Though I think I'd rather fight other knights. That would smack a trifle more of the noble than this . . .” He examined the peasants. An hour ago some of them had been up in the church tower heaving down stones. Now the valiant defenders shuffled through the dust, thoroughly dejected. “. . . pigsticking.”
    Berard laughed. “I'm sure that the rewards will flavor this pork to your liking. I imagine that we'll all eventually be quite well off. Possibly as rich as—”
    “I don't want to talk about that,” Jehan said quickly. “Total up your accounts and give me my share, but leave me out of commoners' work. If I'd wanted to soil my hands with money, I could have stayed in Saint Blaise and sold cheese.”
    “Hmm. More gold in Saint Blaise than cheese, unless things have changed a great deal since I left Adria.”
    “The mayor makes cheese.” Jehan wrinkled his nose. “Just make sure I get my share, and I'll be satisfied.”
    Jehan was younger than he looked, Berard had decided long ago. Younger, and still hot with the fire of the blood that turned even commonplaces into matters of life, death, and personal reputation. To be sure, the lad could fight—for all Jehan's disdain, the burghers of Saint Blaise had obviously trained him well enough—and it was because of his temper and his rash decision to risk a skirmish at idiotic odds that only Giovanni had perished as a result of Bologna's liquid allegiances. Still, Jehan had risen about as far as Berard estimated was safe to allow.
    “You did well today,” was all he said.
    Jehan shrugged. “Fighting is my life. It's simple, direct, straightforward. I like it that way.”
    Ah, the surety of the young. Berard smiled and folded his arms. “Tell me: don't you ever have any regrets about leaving Adria? After all, you could be master of Shrinerock if you went back. Baron of Furze and all that.”
    Jehan wrinkled his nose again. “The master of Shrinerock reads in his library, rides occasionally to the hunt, and entertains visitors elegantly.”
    “Visitors? Oh, yes: I've heard stories about the Elves . . .”
    Jehan glared at him, unsettled and angry both. “Be serious, Berard.”
    It was an old tease, but Jehan reacted no better to it for that. Berard spread his hands. “Elves or not, it doesn't sound like a bad life at all,” he said. “I wouldn't mind having Shrinerock for a house. I'd have silks and a golden cup, and I'd make the peasants dance for me every night. At least when I didn't have a pretty girl in my bed.”
    Jehan laughed. “And you'd never get near it.”
    Berard contemplated the provisions and money that now were his and his men's. Italy, though, was not the place to stay. Perhaps, come spring, they could cross into France and see what the other free companies had left of the place. For now, though, his men would be comfortable. “Impregnable, eh?”
    “Oh, yes,” said Jehan. “There are ways in, of course, that aren't normally guarded because almost no one knows about them, but the defenses are otherwise magnificent. David of Saint George designed it back in my great--great-grandfather's day, and it's actually been improved upon since then.”
    Shrinerock . . . and ways in. Berard found himself considering the future. He did not care about what he did not have, but he cared a