Chapter 55: A Little Talk Before the Killing

From the Chania army, Andronikos Melissenos came first, well ahead of his retainers, with a dozen or so men in mismatched but perfectly usable mail a short way behind.

The senior archon was tall, with grey beginning to show at his temples, and wore robes cut in the old imperial fashion. The cuffs had gone thin from years of wear, while his sword hung at his hip in a scabbard rubbed pale.

It was the perfect image of a noble that never had to ask twice for any request.

Beside him walked a man who looked as though he had been hired for an entirely different kind of business. Vito immediately treated him to be the Genoese representative in the city.

He wore no colors and no crest, only some plain mail that might belong to any company on either side of the sea, and a simple helm hung from his belt instead of sitting on his head. His face had taken on the blank look that made it clear he had done this sort of work in too many towns to count and expected, with no particular enthusiasm, to do it in many more.

Vito watched the two of them before either man spoke, taking in the contrast between the archon’s fine cloth and the soldier’s plain iron. It was curious how one dressed to be remembered, while the other dressed for the useful purpose of being forgotten.

The escorts on both sides stayed back, watching hands more cautiously than faces, leaving the four representatives to cover the last stretch of ground by themselves.

Domenego rushed ahead.

He pulled off his helm with a flourish that belonged more at a ballroom than between two armies, tucked it beneath one arm, and spoke to Melissenos.

His voice had all the solemn weight of a formal declaration. "Before a single word of war passes between us, Ser Archon, I must ask."

And he meant every word of it. "Those boots. Cretan leather, or did you have them brought from the mainland? A man ought to die comfortable, and Domenego of the Compagnia del Leone Nero would sleep badly tonight knowing he had allowed a fellow to go to his own funeral in poor footwear."

For half a breath, Melissenos lost his composure.

His eyes narrowed as though Domenego had spoken some secret language nobody had bothered to teach him.

Beside him, the Genoese soldier’s hand moved an inch toward his belt and stopped, apparently unable to decide whether he had just witnessed an insult or a courtesy.

Vito’s mouth curled, and there was not a trace of apology in it. "Forgive my lieutenant, he takes footwear very seriously. Ask anyone who’s had the bad luck to argue with him over the subject."

Melissenos brought up his dignity again.

"Then let us speak of matters more important than boots."

His Italian came built on precision. "Withdraw your ships, Ser. Withdraw your soldiers, and whatever claim you imagine Venezia holds upon this coast, and no blood need be spilled today."

Vito spread his hands, as relaxed as if they were discussing the price of fish. "Oh, it’s not imagination, my dear archon. Boniface of Montferrat sold this island for silver and gold, and he put enough seals on the paper to satisfy every notary in the Republic. I’ve got the receipt, amico."

Melissenos remained perfectly even. "Ridiculous, Boniface never had Chania, nor this island in his own hand, whatever he may have sold you. Some bandit signature drawn in Constantinople binds nothing on this coast."

Vito’s eyes shifted toward the soldier, showing little interest while keeping plenty of it underneath. "And your friend here? Genoa doesn’t usually send men this far from home for the pleasure of the journey. What’s his reason?"

Melissenos’s eyes stayed completely on Vito. "I have no idea what you seem to imply, Ser. This man and his companions are but guests of my house, nothing more."

"I come for trade. Wine, grain."

The soldier’s voice was flat, each word kept separate from the next.

Vito let his gaze wander past them, toward the escort waiting. "Funny sort of trade, most wine merchants I know don’t travel with crossbowmen. Dangerous neighborhood, is it?"

Domenego shook his head with solemnity. "A treacherous business, wine. I’ve buried more good men over a bad vintage than I ever have over steel and glory."

Melissenos’s eyes brushed past the two of them and stopped on the soldiers waiting a short distance behind Vito. He took his time with them, as if inwardly, he genuinely seemed to consider to break relations here and now and command an assault.

Domenego went on, apparently incapable of taking a hint even when the hint came dressed as silence. "Have your men eaten, Ser Archon? I ask in earnest, hungry soldiers swings their weapons poorly, and I’d hate for history to remember this field as the day La Serenissima won because the other fellows hadn’t had their bloody breakfast."

Melissenos ignored him for a second time.

His attention had already moved on. "We’re done talking, Ser. Whatever you believe to have bought, Chania will decide for itself what it is worth, on this ground."

He turned without waiting for an answer, and his retainers closed around him as he walked away.

The soldier turned after him.

Domenego called after them, cheerful as a host watching guests out after supper. "Sant’Antonio keep you both, and if he’s too busy, I’ll gladly put in a word with whichever saint looks after regret!"

The instant they were out of earshot, Domenego stopped being funny.

"Let them come first."

His voice dropped businesslike, and the last trace of the performer disappeared with it. "Let them pack in tight where the ground won’t let them run away. We break them there, and the militia will come apart by itself."

He was not wrong. The levy only held together only so long as its army was winning the day.

Kill enough of the first waves where the rest could see it, and they would remember very quickly how little any of them actually wanted to die for one archon’s pride.

Vito nodded once, watching the enemy line finish forming itself in the distance.

"Then let’s give them enough reason to charge at us."

The company held its ground and waited, banners still, ready for whatever came across that narrow strip of field toward them.

The plan was now between the two men, but it remained untested, waiting only for the enemy to walk into it.