Leona was right. The food was delicious. Not lamb this time, but some kind of freshly butchered rack of pork. It was slow roasted, with a beautiful crust of garlic and herbs. The beer was quite good as well. The three of them put away more than one pitcher, and a rack of considerable size, as they sat together.
The tavern was as fine as Leona had indicated. It clearly catered to the city’s landed nobility and wealthy merchant class, rather than the regular folk. It was not precisely crowded, but there were a fair number of those wealthy patrons at the tables already. Hubert noticed a group of well dressed men discussing some sort of business over lunch, as well as young lovers in one corner of the room more interested in each other’s lips than their drinks.
The serving staff had given them a few looks when they sat down—Hubert knew that his monk’s robes and Leona’s hoplite’s armament marked them as unusual clientele. Only Agrippa looked remotely like he belonged here, and even that barely. But the truth was that Hubert had plenty of coin socked away, and Agrippa no doubt much more than that. They could afford a nice meal together easily.
It was a good reunion. They spoke over the food and drink, recounting the time they’d spent apart. Leona’s six month campaign in the southeast had been as uneventful as she said before. Mostly a lot of marching and waiting, punctuated by occasional pitched battles that Leona’s side won handily.
Her employer had been much richer than his adversary, and here in Spatalia, the distinction between wealth and power was nonexistent. That was why Leona’s side prevailed ahead of schedule, and the city-state Agliastra had been beneath a new ruling family when Hubert had passed through it a few weeks earlier. Hubert had hoped to find her there, but it soon became clear most of the mercenaries the new Duke of Agliastra had hired were already long gone when Hubert arrived.
“Least he gave us our bonus,” Leona said, shrugging. “It wasn’t bad, just boring. And… lonely.” She smiled at Agrippa and Hubert, and raised her cup for another impromptu toast.
“Yes, boring and lonely, this is it exactly,” Agrippa agreed. His own story had been even shorter than Leona’s.
He’d followed Lady Giovanelli here for an extremely lucrative offer—to be her chief medico, treating her soldiers and her household staff for a princely sum of gold. Most chirurgeons would leap at such an offer, but Agrippa had been reluctant to even take it. That much Hubert recalled from when they parted ways. In the end, he only agreed to a six month contract, and only if she paid him what she’d offered for a full year. No doubt Lady Andrea had hoped to sway him into a longer arrangement.
“Coin, trinkets, clothes, food,” Agrippa said, shrugging. “Women, men. You would have loved it, Hubert.”
Hubert laughed. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ve had plenty of all of those, though. They do wear thin after a while, if there’s not a particular effort made to make each experience new. And anyway, Lady Giovanelli thought such things would sway you?”
“Yes, apparently,” Agrippa said. “I told her not to waste her money, but…”
“She wasted it anyway,” Leona said, snickering into her cup. “Leave it to a rich lady. They’ve got lots to waste.”
Agrippa nodded. “Yes, yes,” he said. “And in six months, guess how many times she actually challenged me!”
Leona snorted. “None, of course,” she said.
“No,” Agrippa said. He clucked his tongue. “None in six months? Gods, that would have been unbearable. There were two. Maybe four, if I am generous. But the best two were a head wound—such mystery!—and a man crushed from the waist down.”
Hubert winced. “Nasty business, both of them.”
“Yes, very!” Agrippa nodded, but his grin belied the words. “For the first man, trepanning the skull saved his life. But he can no longer read or write, or play the harp, and he was skilled at all three before the injury.”
“Fascinating!” Hubert said.
“What kind of soldier reads, writes, and plays the harp?” Leona asked, wrinkling her nose.
“The kind that is also Lady Andrea’s nephew, and a court rake,” Agrippa said. “Or at least he was. Not so much these days.”
“And the second man, he survived as well?”
“Yes,” Agrippa said, grinning. “It was a very near thing, but he did. He even kept one leg! Very tricky work.”
“What about you, Hubey?” Leona asked, clearly interested in changing the topic from Agrippa’s gruesome work. “How did your trip go? Where was it again?”
“Cassala,” Hubert said. “The outskirts of the Empire. Looking for an old acquaintance.”
“Did you find him?”
Hubert paused, his beer halfway to his lips. For a moment, he thought he could smell blood and acrid alchemicals. The feeling passed, and he took a sip of the drink. “Yes,” he said. “I found him.”
“And then you found a pretty young woman,” Agrippa said. “Or—two?”
“All women, young and old, are pretty,” Hubert said. “Men too. One simply must learn how to look.”
“That’s definitely not true, Hubey,” Leona said. “I’ve seen some real goats.”
Leona and Agrippa both chuckled, and Hubert snorted as he tried to stifle his own response.
“This one was pretty, though,” Leona continued. “Was the other one pretty too?”
Hubert sighed. “Yes, dear, she was,” he said.
“Both of them were bound for the nunnery, yes?” Agrippa asked. “Until you got one to change her mind.”
“Half’s not bad,” Leona said. “Other one must’ve been too stupid to listen.”
“Neither of them were stupid. And I wasn’t trying to get either of them to change their minds, necessarily,” Hubert said. “I just encouraged them to consider their options. Thank you again, Agrippa, for what you did for Maria. It was kind. I hope she does well.”
Agrippa shrugged, and raised his cup. “She will be fine. You heard me—Lady Giovanelli did not need me. She needs a simple medico, or better yet a nursemaid: someone to stitch up cuts and balm scrapes and tell her soldiers they will be alright.”
Hubert raised his own cup in response, as did Leona, and they all drank. Leona and Hubert finished their beers, while Agrippa was clearly nursing his. Enjoy all things in moderation, especially drink, Agrippa had told them both countless times. At least he and Hubert could agree on the value of enjoying all things.
“Have you any idea what we’ll do next?” Hubert asked. “Now that you’ve ended your contract with Giovanelli? We’ve had our reunion… we didn’t plan much past this meal, did we?”
Leona snickered. “Not really,” she said. “Stick around until the wedding, maybe? Lotsa parties, we figured you might enjoy them.”
“Yes,” said Agrippa. “Lady Andrea can likely get me a few invites to one of the feasts.”
Hubert grinned. “You know I do love a good feast,” he agreed. “I think I heard that the Duke’s daughter is getting married, yes?”
“Princeppa Isabel,” Agrippa said. “A young woman, very beautiful from what I’ve heard.”
“You haven’t seen her?” Leona asked.
He shrugged. “I’m sure I have, but I have not noticed her. There’s a difference.”
“Who is she marrying? Judging from how many visitors are crowding the streets, I assume it’s a neighboring polity?” Hubert took a sip of his drink.
“I think so,” Agrippa said. “The Princep of Peltiberia, I heard. What was his name? Aistulf? That sounds right.”
“Yeah,” Leona agreed.
“Peltiberia… city-state to the west?” Hubert asked.
“West? Kinda, but more south than anything,” Leona said. “Have to go through Peltiberia to reach Taurianove, from here. Pretty close to home, really. Never been there, though.”
“This is an important union then,” Hubert said. “A strong alliance between two of the great Spatalian city-states.”
“From what I’ve heard, invitations were sent to every city-state for many miles,” said Agrippa. “Lady Andrea was sure at least one of them will try to stop the wedding, though.”
“Hah!” Leona exhaled. “Only one of them? Spatalian politics. If they aren’t sending mercenary armies, they’re sending spies and assassins. Feh.”
Hubert well knew how Leona felt about such deceptions. She was a straightforward woman, and she favored straightforward resolution of disputes.
“No doubt. Even so, the festivities should be good. And a feast would be most welcome. When is the wedding?” Hubert asked.
Agrippa began to answer, but Hubert didn’t hear him. He was too busy staring at Leona as she suddenly frowned. In an instant, her body language shifted to match her expression. It was a subtle thing—she did not rise from her chair, or otherwise make any sudden movements. But she let go of her cup, and one hand drifted to gently touch the shield she had leaning against the table, while her other hand did the same with the sword belted at her side.
Agrippa noticed it too, only a moment later than Hubert, and his voice trailed off mid-sentence. Hubert did not immediately crane his head to look where Leona was looking. That would give away that they had noticed something. “Trouble?” He asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said. “A group of men just entered that don’t belong.”
“Robbers?” Agrippa asked, his voice lowered. His eyes darted towards the door without turning his head.
Hubert stretched back in his seat and glanced towards the door. Leona was right. Seven men had entered the tavern, and they were surveying the crowd. Hubert clocked weapons hidden beneath their coats. They were hidden poorly, just enough to pass a cursory glance.
“They aren’t robbers,” Hubert whispered. “At least, not ones intent on robbing the whole place.”
“Hubey’s right,” Leona said. “They’re looking for something.”
“Someone,” Hubert corrected, even as he saw the men suddenly focus their attention.
They approached the far corner of the tavern, fanning out as they moved. A serving girl approached, then froze in her tracks as the men began drawing forth short blades.
Bravos, Hubert realized. The criminal toughs that infest most Spatalian back alleys. They favor those blades—too long to be called a dagger, but shorter than most swords. Good for killing up close, in confined spaces.
The blades of such men were typically for hire. This was not a robbery.
It’s a killing.
The seven bravos were approaching the kissing lovers that Hubert had noticed when he first entered the room. Fortunately, the two lovers saw something was amiss before their death was upon them. The young man leaped out of his seat and drew a slender blade of his own—not a bravo’s blade, a dueling sword popular among Spatalian nobility. From the young noble’s stance, he had at least some training in its use. He ushered the young woman behind him and fell into a guard stance.
“Stay back!” he shouted. “Stay back, or die!”
The bravos laughed.
Hubert exchanged a look with his two friends. They all nodded together. No words were necessary. They would not stand by and watch a young man and woman be slaughtered by hired swords.
Leona hefted her large shield in hand, and drew her sword. Agrippa rose from his seat and unhooked the warhammer he tended to wield when pressed into a fight. Hubert kept his hands empty and distanced himself from his two companions, trying to look more like a bystander making for the exit than a participant. But he moved to angle around the bravos and come at them from a flank.
Three bravos had already advanced on the noble, probing him with their blades and laughing. The noble had a slight edge in the reach of his weapon, which the bravos were respecting. But Hubert doubted the man would survive against a coordinated rush.
“Hey!” Leona called out as she approached. “You interrupted our lunch.”
A few of the bravos turned to look at her. They scoffed and chuckled to themselves. Hubert knew Leona made for an odd sight. Though she had her shield and sword, she had left her armor and spear back in the quarters she’d been staying at. She was dressed in comfortable, loose clothing—not mail and a soldier’s sturdy harness. One of the bravos nudged the other and pointed at Agrippa, who stood a few paces behind Leona with his hammer ready. Clearly they did not consider him a substantial threat either.
“This is not your concern, girl. Go, while we still let you,” said a bravo.
“I don’t think I will,” Leona said. She grinned.
“Kill her and be done with it!” Snarled one of the bravos still trying to get an angle on the nobleman.
They shrugged. Four of them broke off for Leona and Agrippa, leaving three to deal with the nobleman and his lover. Leona met all four of them, keeping Agrippa behind her.
To the untrained eye, she might have looked badly outmatched fighting almost four-to-one. But her large oblong shield provided substantial cover, while they had no shields at all. Her short blade styled after the Cassaline gladius was no shorter than the bravo’s blades, so they had no advantage there either. She wore no armor, but neither did any of them.
More importantly than any of that, however, was the simple fact that despite her youth, Leona was a seasoned soldier. She was tall, especially for a woman, and her arms were corded with iron muscles. She had fought on battle lines across at least four city-states Hubert knew of.
She counter-charged the closest bravo, interposing her shield to keep two of them at bay as she dueled him blade-to-blade. She quickly got the better of him, opening a long slash across his chest. The fourth man tried to maneuver around to her open side, but Agrippa darted forward and struck him on the knee with his hammer. The crunch of the impact was quickly overshadowed by the bravo’s screams of pain as he staggered back. He dropped his blade and fell against a table, out of the fight.
Hubert did not move to help them. Instead, he continued maneuvering towards the two lovers. The nobleman was bleeding now, from at least two wounds that Hubert could only hope were shallow. Hubert came up behind the three bravos pressing the nobleman. As he approached, he reached inside the sleeve of his robe and carefully drew a long iron needle out of a small wooden scabbard.
The first one, he jabbed in the back with the needle. It pierced the man’s tunic and penetrated an inch or more into his flesh. The man yelped in surprise, but by the time he whipped his head around Hubert had taken a few steps back.
“Please, gentlemen, there’s no need for fighting!” Hubert said.
The bravo spun around, leveling his sword at Hubert. He took a step forward, then paused. He blinked in surprise, opened and closed his mouth, and then toppled to the ground as his muscles began to seize. The needle’s scabbard was lined with a potent paralytic toxin. Judging from how quickly the man lost control of himself, Hubert judged he had successfully struck the bravo near the spine.
The other two were still pressing the nobleman, no doubt assuming their companion could deal with a single fat monk by himself. Hubert stepped in and jabbed another. Again, the man turned, snarling epithets. But he moved too quickly—too much of the toxin had been wiped away in the first stab, most likely. Hubert dodged a few probing thrusts of the bravo’s blade. The man’s movements grew more sluggish, but it wasn’t taking effect fast enough. Hubert drew a dagger from within his robes, and with his other hand he reached to a nearby table. He grabbed the first thing his fingers touched—an earthenware cup—and hurled it at the bravo.
His enemy dodged the throw easily, but he didn’t see the dagger until it was too late. Hubert rammed it into the bravo’s chest, and the man crumpled.
“I’m sorry,” Hubert whispered as he wrenched the blade out. He looked to the two fights, to judge where he might be of most use.
Nowhere, it seems.
Agrippa had secured the man with the broken knee. Three men lay around Leona, dead or dying. Hubert watched as she stepped over them, came up behind the last bravo dueling the nobleman, and rammed her sword through his back. He died gasping on his own blood.
The nobleman stared at Leona with wary eyes.
“You okay?” she asked, lowering her sword.
He gave her a weak nod. Then he sagged, breathless, and lowered his own blade. The young woman he had been kissing stepped up to help him sit.
“Agrippa! He’s hurt!” Leona said.
“Coming,” Agrippa moved past his captive, sliding his warhammer back into a leather loop on his belt and opening his medical bag. He shooed Leona and the girl back a few steps as he began assessing the nobleman’s wounds.
Hubert made his way to the paralyzed man. It wouldn’t do if the poison wore off while everyone was indisposed. Instead, Hubert found that the dose had been especially potent. The man was completely still.
It paralyzed his lungs, Hubert realized with a grimace. He dropped to the man’s side, rummaging in his own bag to see if he could counteract the toxin before the man suffocated on nothing.
It took several tense moments, but the man eventually took a shuddering breath, and then another. He still lay rigid on the ground, but he gasped a bit of air into his lungs every few moments. Enough to stay alive, at least. I think. Hubert wasn’t certain, but he was satisfied that he had made the attempt. It was more chance at life than most of the other bravos would likely get.
By the time he had saved his victim’s life, Agrippa had the nobleman’s shirt off and his bleeding stopped. The young woman with him fretted at his side, but he was clearly putting on a brave face for her.
“Juan, you should not have tried to fight them all,” the young woman scolded.
The nobleman, Juan, shrugged. A proud smile came to his lips. “I had to,” he said. He winced as Agrippa worked.
“You would have died,” the woman said. “If they hadn’t saved us.”
Juan shook his head. But then he hesitated, and gave a grudging nod. “Maybe,” he conceded.
“Maybe?” Leona scoffed under her breath. She had leaned her shield against a chair, and she was wiping the blood from her blade. “Quick with that sword, but not quick enough to go seven against one.”
Juan clearly heard her, though she hadn’t bothered to look at him directly. He gritted his teeth and hissed in pain as Agrippa cleaned one of the wounds.
“Can I help?” Hubert asked as he joined them.
“Almost done,” Agrippa said. “It should be fine. But here, hand me that roll of linen?”
Hubert reached for Agrippa’s bag, then paused as he heard a commotion at the front of the tavern. He glanced towards the door, concerned that maybe the bravos had friends that had been waiting outside.
Men poured into the room. A dozen, then two. They were armed, but they were not bravos. They wore iron helms and gambeson, and carried spears. They were soldiers. Hubert felt relief, and felt that relief transform into fear as the soldiers pointed their spears in the direction of him and his two friends.
“Princeppa!” One soldier rushed forward. He wore a mail coat, and he held a sword instead of a spear. An officer, undoubtedly. “Princeppa Isabel, come away from them! Step aside, dogs, or die!”
The young noblewoman stepped in front of Hubert and Leona. “Lorenzo!” she said. “Stand down! You are threatening my saviors!”
The officer frowned, but he lowered his sword. “Are—are you sure, Princeppa?”
“Of course I’m sure!” the woman—Isabel—said. “It was terrifying! And if it weren’t for these noble souls, I would be dead. The men you should direct your wrath towards are scattered around your feet already.”
Lorenzo sighed with relief. “That is good. I apologize,” he looked towards Hubert and Leona. “I jumped to an—an unfair assumption.”
Agrippa was too busy stitching one of Juan’s wounds to bother acknowledging anything else, but Hubert nodded.
“Understandable,” Hubert said. “You were worried about your charge.” He glanced at the young woman. “Princeppa Isabel?” he said. “The Duke’s daughter?”
She smiled at him, and gave a curtsy. “Isabel Garibaldi, yes. I’m sure my father would like to thank you for your help personally. Wouldn’t he, Lorenzo?”
The officer swallowed. “Um. Yes, certainly, Princeppa. Of course. All four of them?”
“Just these three, I think,” Isabel said. “The young man there was wounded—and besides, they did most of the fighting. They were sitting together, I think.”
Hubert frowned, but he stifled the reaction quickly. Lorenzo turned back to look at Hubert and Leona again, his expression pained and awkward. “As the Princeppa said. Would you come with us? Accept the Duke’s hospitality?”
“Of course,” Hubert said. “Nearly done, Agrippa?”
“Yes, yes, nearly,” Agrippa said, clucking his tongue in annoyance at the interruption.
Hubert and Leona gathered their things as they waited for Agrippa. Hubert tried to get Leona to make eye contact with him, or to get enough distance to whisper, but she was oblivious. It didn’t surprise him. Neither she nor Agrippa were especially politically minded. Maybe they had not noticed. Or maybe they’d noticed the same thing as Hubert, and simply didn’t care.
Princeppa Isabel is marrying Princep Aistulf of Peltiberia before the month is out, Hubert recalled. Agrippa and Leona both had confirmed that bit of news.
So who the fuck is Juan?