The Reckoning - 3 by Sharon Kay Penman

expected that the people would be so friendly, so quick to offer assistance to wayfarers, so tolerant of the peculiarities of foreigners. He liked the zestful, genial citizens of these
Tuscan highlands, and he was impressed by the prosperity of their cities, by their paved streets, formidable walls, spacious piazzas, lavish palazzos, and elaborate public fountains, centers of privilege and vitality and beguiling worldliness.
Within a noisy circle, men were casting dice, and Hugh squirmed closer, trying to see. Treading upon someone's toes, he quickly murmured, "Scusatemi," for he was determined to learn as much of this Tuscan language as he could. The man smiled; in the flow of words that followed, Hugh understood only "inglese" and acknowledged that "si," he was indeed English. There was a growing undercurrent of resentment directed against the French, for Charles had won his crown by the sword and there were many who begrudged him his battlefield sovereignty. But the English bore no such taint, and the Sienese grinned, told his neighbors to make room for the young inglese.
Hugh came forward shyly, warmed by the crowd's friendliness. He could hear snatches of conversation, the name "Guido di Monteforte."
o Hugh, it sounded like a brigand's name, conjuring up visions of andit chieftains and Barbary pirates. It was Hugh's secret conviction at.lf suited Guy de Montfort perfectly. It had come as a shock, the rea lzation that he distrusted Guy, for he adored Bran, was in awe of
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the Lady Nell, bedazzled by the Lady Ellen. And Guy, too, was a de Montfort.
So why, then, did he harbor such qualms about Bran's brother?
Shifting, he gazed over at the Vicar of Tuscany. Guy was a magnet for stares, a man to turn heads, tall and dark, with a rakish grin and a soldier's swagger, the only one of Simon's sons to have inherited his battlefield brilliance. But he lacked his father's honor, flourishing in this world of tangled loyalties and tarnished allegiances as Simon himself Jcould never have done. One of Count Hdebrandino's squires had sworn tnat Guy had accepted four thousand florins that past year, money offered by the Florentines so that they could plunder their rival city of Poggibonsi. Hugh had been shaken by the revelation; how could a son of Simon de Montfort accept a bribe? But he did not doubt the accuracy of the squire's account; it rang true.
He had watched Guy ride through the streets of Florence, Luciferproud, blind to beggars, with a tongue sharp as a Fleming's blade and an eye for the main chance. Even Hugh could not help but see how utterly Guy eclipsed his older brother. The more brightly Guy burned, the more shadowy Bran became, and the more he drank. Hugh could only hope that they would soon reach Viterbo, hope that after they answered Charles's summons, Bran would then be free to blaze his own path. He might head south to Avellino, the fief given to him by
Charles that past December. Or he might choose to go north, toward the city of
Padua, where Amaury de Montfort dwelled and studied. Hugh didn't care which road they took . . . just as long as they didn't ride it in tandem with Bran's brother Guy.
Guy had more than three hundred soldiers in his service, most of them mercenaries of the Guelph League. But there were some Englishmen among their numbers, supporters of Simon de Montfort unable or unwilling to come to terms with the English Crown after Evesham. One of these exiles, Walter de
Baskerville, had made his way to Bran's side, was murmuring intently in his ear. Their whispered colloquy caught Guy's attention. Sauntering over, he poked Bran playfully in the ribs. "And what sort of devilry are the two of you plotting?"
"I was telling Bran that Pietro di Tolomei swears Siena has the best whorehouse in all of Tuscany. Just two streets away, La Sirena."
"The Mermaid?" Guy's interest quickened. "I've heard of it. And you were going off without me? What am I of a suddena leper?"
"I think you've forgotten someone,