| |
Duke Ernesto Boccanera detested the steady rain that pelted the seaside town of Savona. It made the town appear dreary. Open sewage drains on either side of the cobbled lanes gushed with human and animal waste.
Pools of water and sludge swelled and submerged the doorsteps of the stone houses and shops. The townsfolk held their hand to their noses in a feeble attempt to ward off the intolerable stench, as they went about their business. As if he could do anything about it.
At the edge of town, inside this dilapidated castle, dank air slithered in through chinks in the mortar. Dampness moulded the rushes underfoot. Even though three hearths in the great hall blazed, the cold gripped.
Ernesto dined in solemnity with his vassals and a handful of serving women. His captain-at-arms sat with him. He peered down at the crowd from the high table.
“Look at this motley delegation of men-at-arms. They are naught more than a rowdy group of restless inebriants.” Ernesto regretted the state of his depleted coffers. His inability to attract better-trained warriors frustrated him.
“What do you expect when your army is comprised of farmers, potters, merchants, carpenters, and smiths, pressed into service? They are as deficient in talent as they are in experience.” The captain ripped apart a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.
“I doubt they can wield their swords with the same proficiency with which they handle their pissing cocks. If under attack, these men would not fare well. There is much training to do.” Ernesto drifted into his own thoughts.
Much to his men’s frustration, he avoided missions of conquest. They grew bored and anxious to earn their pay. Without money, he could not attract professional men-at-arms. Did the men know he lacked reserves?
Likely not. At first, he kept his gambling debts concealed from everyone, including his father. His losses soon exceeded his earnings.
Those to whom he owed money, menaced him. Lest they made good their threats to slit his throat, he had no choice but to lay his hands on his inheritance. The poisoning of his father happened rather naturally.
He gulped his wine. It scorched his throat and blazed a fiery path to his belly. It imparted a brief reprieve from the burdens that weighed heavily upon him. To mask his guilt in a drunken haze appealed to him. One more sip and he knew he could not refrain from imbibing the entire flagon. With little to lose, he permitted the sharp warmth to ease him into a mellow numbness.
After his father’s death, he became duke and inherited this wreck of a castle. He anticipated much more, but his sire likely squandered it. All attempts to reverse his impoverished state failed. His sullen serfs viewed their future with him as bleak. All they did, from the cheerless way they baked his bread to the lackadaisical way they farmed his lands, demonstrated their abject misery. He could intimidate them to produce more, but it would not be enough to reverse his fortune. For that, he needed their loyalty, and he must earn it.
At first, Ernesto ignored their mumbled predictions of calamity.
Disaster after disaster plagued him. A brutal hailstorm flattened his crops. A freakish storm struck his stables and ten of his finest horses perished in the fire-engulfed edifice. A hunchbacked monk with a crazed temperament preached sermons of violent punishment for the town’s sins. Many fled. To compensate, he had raised taxes. What little his serfs possessed, he took, and still, he required more.
A glimmer of hope remained and he clung to it as if it were his last crust of bread – his betrothal to Morena of Portovenere. A marriage to the rich noblewoman would solve all and draw him closer to the discovery of the ancient Roman treasure hidden somewhere in the depths of Monterossa Castle. It would make him rich beyond words. He must claim his bride soon.
The laugh of a serving woman as she slapped away the unwelcome hands of a lustful warrior drew him from his reverie and back to the present.
“More venison, my lord?” An alluring maidservant stood beside him with a platter of grilled meat. He perused her lush curves and ample breasts. Taut nipples poked through her thin gown. Ernesto shook his head and pinched her buttocks then pushed his trencher aside with a frown. His russet coloured tunic lay open at the neck.
He heaved a sigh, extended his rain-sodden feet nearer to the fire, and wriggled his toes with satisfaction. The young woman flinched from the smart to her bottom. She set aside the venison and proceeded to clear the table.
Ernesto drained the last dregs of what passed for wine from his silver cup, slammed it down, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He watched the woman’s breasts jiggle while she struggled to uncork another bottle of wine. Ernesto’s eyes narrowed with impatience.
“Do you need help with that?”
“No, my lord.” She ducked her head. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the bottle.
“Well, hurry up then. The rain makes me thirsty.”
The seal cracked. The top of the bottle shattered. Brilliant splashes of scarlet liquid spilled everywhere.
Ernesto jumped back to avoid a dousing. Wine splattered his face and dripped down onto the front of his elegant tunic. “You bumbling fool! Look at what you’ve done.”
“I beg your forgiveness.” Blushing, she grabbed a cloth to wipe Ernesto’s face and tunic.
“See that it never happens again.” Ernesto shooed her away. Then an idea came to mind. He liked games, especially those of sexual intimidation. It satisfied his need for power. “Wait. Come back here.”
She halted in her tracks and turned back, her eyes wide.
“Come closer.” He grinned.
She complied. Her body trembled.
Ernesto ran his index finger down her neck to her plump cleavage.
“One of these nights I shall summon you to my room.” He gave her breast a rough squeeze. “I know of a much better way to put those clumsy hands of yours to use.”
The young woman backed away. Her hip knocked over a chair as she fled the room.
Ernesto roared. Already she feared him! He preferred his women to come to him with a taste of fear on their lips. It made for worthy sport.
Anticipation heightened his pleasure, but he decided to wait to bed this particular morsel. A little cat and mouse would make the conquest all the sweeter.
Another servant who wore tattered rags appeared to refill his goblet.
Ernesto reached for his cup and scanned the room for a woman to warm his bed this night. Which woman’s flesh did he want to surround his manhood later? He always drank heavily, but only when alone.
Tonight, however, he would make an exception. Even in his own hall, he felt lonely.
Ernesto tossed back his hair and ran his hands over a week’s growth of beard. With one foot propped in the chair, he scanned the crowd for a woman worthy of his attention.
At the back of the room, a flash of chestnut hair and pearl white skin moved like a ghost beneath the wall torches. A favourite lover of his. The temptress seduced him with her emerald eyes. He had not partaken of her wares for several weeks. As if to entice him, she slid her tongue over her upper lip.
He needed no more.