In The Lion's Sign. Stefano Vignaroli
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the smell of game cooked in brine was mixed with the smell of sweat emanating from patrons. A plump man, with a robbed face and a beaded forehead of sweat, with a white sinus tied around his waist, came to meet them and accompanied them to a free table.
«What do you gentlemen like?»
«Bring us a good pie of quails and partridges and rock partridge. And a nice mug of Lambrusco for each one of us», Fulvio ordered, being the spokesman for the whole group.
He didn’t have time to finish saying these words, the door was opened wide in a bad way with a kick from the outside by an individual of strong tonnage, followed immediately behind by another man of his own ream. Both men were holding the sword in their hands, rather than lined up. Realizing the presence of the Lansquenets, most of those present got up from the tables, trying to earn their way out, in order to avoid unnecessary skirmishes with men known for their arrogance and arrogance. More than one man, near the threshold, stumbled by chance into the boot of one of them. The man rolling on the ground didn’t even have the courage to face the Lansquenet’s gaze. He got up, shrugged off the dust and walked out of the tavern with his legs up. Andrea, Fulvio and Geraldo remained at their posts, staring at the newcomers almost with an air of challenge. Those, on the moment, pretended not to even pay attention. They took their place at a table left free by the previous patrons, banging their Katzbalger with thunder over it. One of them grabbed a Lambrusco jug, carried it to his mouth, swallowed ample swigs of it, and finally burped loudly.
«Scheisse! This wine is shit. Innkeeper, bring us some beer.»
«You know very well we don’t have beer where we live», he replied almost stammering the man with the stealing face and the sweating that was increasing considerably. «If you don’t like red wine, I can go down to the cellar and get you a good fresh white. I assure you that you will not regret it!»
«You will regret it, that you have not served us beer!»
One of the two Lansquenets jumped up and grabbed the man from behind, holding a mighty arm around his neck. Andrea saw the waiter’s face turn more and more red, lifted off the ground by the considerable height of his torturer, his feet dangling a palm from the floor. If he had not intervened, that man would soon have suffocated to death.
«That’s enough!», Andrea exclaimed, standing up. «If you want to start a fight, do not take it out on an unarmed person. There is no fun. Fight as men, and not as cowards, against those who are as armed as you are.»
The Lansquenet, caught off guard, trained his grip, allowing the innkeeper to catch his breath. But his friend, who had been sitting at his table until that moment, grabbed his sword and headed threateningly towards Andrea. The latter, extracting his sword from its sheath, tried to study at a glance his opponent.
Many muscles, but little brain. I have to play smart. Let’s see. The sword is strong, and held with only one hand. But the guard is peculiar, consisting of an iron rod shaped in the shape of eight, like that of the great battle swords. I can parry its slice down, but I couldn’t let the weapon slip out of his hand. I would be unbalanced, at that point, and the crossed return would leave me no escape. In the blink of an eye, with a single blow, he could pull my head off my neck. And goodbye Andrea!
«Why are you meddling in things that don’t concern you, friend? It’s not good manners to interrupt a discussion in which one has no voice. Especially for a nobleman who has embroidered the design of a rampant lion on his tunic. Come on, show me how much of a lion you have in your blood!»
Only the set wooden table separated Andrea from Lansquenet. Fulvio and Geraldo had got up from their chairs and were heading towards the other, energetic man, in order to prevent him from grasping the sword too. They were quick to grab him under his arm, one on each side, forcing him to abandon his grip on the innkeeper. Then Fulvio pulled out a stylet and put it against his neck, in order to make it harmless. Andrea, for his part, saw his opponent lift the Katzbalger. He put himself with his dagger in a defensive position, waiting for the slash to be parried. He waited for the falling blow but, making a feint at the last moment, allowed the sword of the Lansquenet to continue its trajectory and, by inertia, to drag behind the arm that held it. The Katzbalger’s sharp edge went to stick it on the table, splitting it in two. The Teuton, unbalanced, fell to the ground together with his sword. Lambrusco’s jug, flown in the air, drew an arched trajectory, falling and crashing right on his head. Around the Lansquenet, a red patch of wine and blood was formed. Andrea took advantage of the momentary dizziness of the adversary to come over him and lean the tip of the sword against the nape of the neck.
«What’s your name, friend?», he asked him, lifting him by the arm and returning him to an upright position, but without lowering his guard, continuing to threaten him with the tip of the sword.
«Franz», the other answered.
«Well, Franz. You are lucky for today. I keep your sword and spare your life. But don’t get in my way anymore, because I won’t be as lenient with you a second time», and so he pushed him towards the exit, turned him around and kicked him out with a kick in the ass, sending him eating the dust of the square in front. It did not go as well for his companion, who lay lifeless on the ground in the pool of his own blood. Fulvio had not hesitated to sink the blade of the stylet at the slightest attempt of his opponent to escape from the grasp.
The man with the stolen face was watching the scene stunned. In the meantime another innkeeper had left the kitchen, very similar to the first one, although with less hair on his head, most likely his brother.
«What have you done?», the latter intervened. «You are insane! We’re accustomed to the harassment of these handsome people. We let them vent, they get drunk, they do some damage, they mess something up, but then they leave, and for days and days we live in peace. Now instead...»
«Two days will not pass that nothing will remain of this place but smoking ashes», his brother replied, massaging his painful neck. «And the guardians of the embankments will be found at the bottom of the floodplain, finished who knows how!»
«I imagine that the guardians of the embankments are you two», Andrea said, addressed to the two innkeepers. «Meanwhile, at the bottom of the floodplain let’s throw this cheek!»
«In fact, my Lord, it was not a good idea to let that Franz free. He will surely come back here in force and demand his revenge. And we will no longer be here. It will be the two of them who will pay the price» Fulvio intervened, addressing a nod to Geraldo, who helped him to pull up the corpse, drag it to the window and throw it into the canal that ran behind the inn.
Andrea, Fulvio and Geraldo emerged from the windowsill, observing with satisfied air how the strong current was carrying away the inert body of the Lansquenet.
«I’ll find a way to offer adequate protection to our guests», Andrea said. «I’ll talk about it with the Duke of Ferrara. I am sure he’ll send some of his guards here to protect them. Fulvio, Geraldo! Let’s go. Let’s try to reach the city before nightfall.»
The Guardians of the embankments paused at the entrance of the inn, watching the three knights move away until they disappeared into the afternoon fog. In their hearts they knew that no guard of the Duke of Este would ever arrive in that remote place to offer protection to two innkeepers. All that remained was to bolt the place and move away from Pallantone. Their lives were at stake.
CHAPTER 8
Bernardino went out in front of his store with a copy of his last work in his hand. He wanted to see it in daylight, to see how the colour illustrations had come. With that illustrated edition of the Divine Comedy he had surpassed not only his predecessor Federico Conti, but also himself. Bernardino had taken up the Florentine edition of the poem of the great poet Dante Alighieri. He knew that in the year of the Lord 1481, Lorenzo Pierfrancesco De’ Medici had commissioned Sandro Botticelli to create one hundred plates illustrating scenes from the poem. Of these one hundred, Botticelli had made only nineteen, which had been engraved on plates, in order to be printed, by the engraver Baccio Baldini. Since the work was not completed by Sandro