there's more in this scene, but Hubby wants to read his email. Silly him. We're back in Renaissance Italy.
The hot afternoon sun beat down on the dirty streets of Roma. Vendors loudly offered discounts in an effort to get rid of their day's wares so they could go home to their dinners. The sun cooked the garbage in the street into renewed fragrance, and the constant churning of the foot traffic stirred it all into new combinations.
Horses were generally frowned upon in the crowded streets. some people, naturally, were always considered to be exceptions: noblemen, important churchmen, and, of course, notorious mercenaries who, it was popularly believed, didn't feel a day was well spent until someone had died.
Angelo and Guglielmo were both tired after a long day conducting the snap inspections that so endeared them to the various Papal army units that had been put under their command. Still, there were few things they enjoyed more than making officers of the regular army dance to the mercenary tune.
Guglielmo was still shaking his head over the last incident as they rode through the crowd towards the Crusader's Kiss. "I still think you went too far," he said. "No matter if it is true, you shouldn't brag about bedding an officer's sister, especially when that officer is related to the Sforzas."
They reached the inn and dismounted, letting the groom take their horses. Angelo pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. "Madre, I need a bath." He began unlacing the heavy leather jerkin he wore. "That officer wasn't upset about me bedding his sister, Will. He was upset because I said she wasn't very good."
Guglielmo sighed. "One of these days someone is going to slip a dagger between your ribs, and I won't stop them."
Gianni the landlord greeted them at the door with cold, filled goblets. "Master Guglielmo, there's someone from the Vatican here to see you."
Guglielmo looked at Angelo, then back. "To see me?"
"Si, maestro."
"Someone from the Guards?" Angelo asked suspiciously.
"No, captain. A churchman."
Guglielmo shrugged and led the way in. He grinned when he saw who was being interrogated at the big table by Isabetta. "Brother Nobody, how nice to see you. What brings you down to our world?"
Isabetta tsked. "His name is Alexander, not Nobody."
Alexander looked relieved when Isabetta got up from the table. He got up too and nodded awkwardly. "Good afternoon, Signor . . . um . . . "
Guglielmo took over the seat Isabetta had occupied. "No need to stand on manners, brother. I'm Guglielmo, you're Alexander." He found a goblet and the wine pitcher, filled the first from the second, and held it out to Alexander. "What brings you to this part of town, Alexander?"
He hesitated, then took the goblet and resumed his seat. He glanced towards Angelo nervously, then looked away quickly. Guglielmo checked over his shoulder and saw Isabetta giving Angelo a proper welcome home kiss. Alexander took a quick drink of wine. "I was told to bring you a message." He jumped at a sudden shriek from Isabetta, who had just been tossed over Angelo's shoulder as he headed for the stairs.
Guglielmo chuckled and poured his own wine. "Well, he was wanting a bath." Alexander's dazed expression caught his eye. "When's the last time you talked to a girl? Much less a pretty girl?"
The young man blushed and yanked his gaze back from watching Angelo and the wiggling girl. "Um, a while." He stared at his wine goblet, his lips moving.
Which saint were you supposed to pray to, Guglielmo wondered, in order to resist the natural reactions of a healthy young man? "It's a shame you're stuck up in that monastery with all those shriveled up celebates."
Alexander glared at him. "Celibacy is a sacrifice to God. Women are a distraction from our proper work."
Guglielmo raised his goblet. "Praise be." He drained his goblet, then refilled it and leaned back in his chair to put his feet on the table. "Tell me about this message."