sword found its mark, disabling one of the three. Finding that the odds were now even and that they were being driven back, the other two rogues broke and ran, whilst the wounded fellow leaned against a wall, clutching his arm, blood oozing through his fingers.
Lorenzo had sheathed his sword when the others ran, but the stranger who had come to his aid still held his, regarding the would-be assassin speculatively.
‘Shall we kill him?’ he asked of Lorenzo. ‘’Tis what the dog deserves—or do you wish to question him?’
‘His purpose was to rob me,’ Lorenzo answered with a careless shrug. ‘Let him go to join his companions—unless he would prefer a quick death?’ His hand moved to his sword hilt suggestively.
The man gave a squeak of fear, suddenly finding the strength to run in the wake of his comrades. A harsh laugh escaped the stranger, who turned to Lorenzo.
‘You are merciful, sir. I think he would have killed you if he could.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ Lorenzo smiled. ‘I thank you for your help, sir. I am—’
‘I know you, Signor Santorini,’ the stranger said before he could continue. ‘I am Pablo Dominicus and you were pointed out to me at the conference we both attended. I followed you because I wish to speak with you.’
‘Then good fortune followed me this night,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Shall we find an inn where we can sit and talk, if you have some business you would discuss?’
‘My business is twofold,’ Pablo Dominicus said. ‘I am on the one hand an emissary from His Holiness the Pope—and on the other I am a man seeking revenge. I believe we have a common enemy.’
‘Indeed?’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. It seemed the stranger was a Spaniard. He had no great love of the Spanish, for the Inquisition was a fearful thing, practised by many in the name of Catholicism, but stronger and more powerful in Spain than most countries. And it was known that Spain resented Venice for its independence, and considered that some of its inhabitants would benefit from the attention of the Inquisition. There were men who served in Lorenzo’s galleys who had known what it was to suffer torture and beatings at the hands of the fanatics who ruled the religious order. Yet there was only polite inquiry in Lorenzo’s voice as he said, ‘Pray tell me more, señor. I would know how I may serve you?’
‘Let us find somewhere we can be private, Signor Santorini. I have a request from His Holiness, for your name is well known to him—and another of my own.’
‘There is an inn I know in the next street,’ Lorenzo said. ‘If your business is secret we can take a private chamber and be sure that we are not overheard.’
Lorenzo drank sparingly of the rich red wine Dominicus had ordered, listening to the request being made of him. In the darkness of the streets he had been unable to see the face of Don Pablo clearly, but now he saw that he was a man in his middle years. Heavily built, he wore a small, dark pointed beard, his hair short and thinning at the temples. And there was a faint unease in his manner that Lorenzo found interesting.
‘His Holiness requests that you pledge your support to our cause,’ Don Pablo said. ‘Your galleys are some of the finest and your men are strong and brave, and, I am told, loyal to you. If you join us in the League, others will surely follow.’
‘It was my intention to make my offer once I had consulted with my captains,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes thoughtful as he studied the other man. Why was it that he did not quite believe him as honest as he appeared? ‘I shall join your cause for it is also mine, but the men who serve me are free to choose. I believe most will follow me, for they have cause to hate the Turks and their allies.’ Some hated the Spanish just as much, but he would not say that. ‘Now, perhaps you would care to tell me the true reason you chose to follow me this evening?’
Don Pablo smiled. ‘They told me you were clever. I shall not insult your intelligence by holding to the claim that I am here on the Pope’s behalf, for that might have been left to others, though I know His Holiness intends to approach you. I followed you because I believe you have good cause to hate Rachid—he they call the Feared One. I have heard it said that you hate him and would see him dead if it were possible.’
Lorenzo was silent for a moment, then, ‘What has Rachid done to you?’
‘Three months ago his galleys attacked and captured one of my merchant ships,’ Don Pablo said and his fist clenched on the table. It was clear that he was suffering some deep emotion. ‘That cost me a great deal of money—and one of the men he killed was my son-in-law.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, sir.’
‘My daughter and grandchildren are living in Cyprus,’ Don Pablo went on and his hand shook as if he were in the grip of some strong emotion. ‘Immacula wants to return to Spain with her children. I would send ships to fetch her myself—but I have suffered other losses of late. Those accursed English privateers, as they call themselves, have been harrying my ships as they return from the New World…’
‘You are asking me to bring your daughter to you?’ Lorenzo’s brows arched as he studied the other’s face.
‘I am willing to pay for your time, of course.’ Don Pablo’s eyes dropped before Lorenzo’s intense gaze.
‘My galleys are meant for war. They are not suitable for a woman and children. I think you must look elsewhere for your escort, Señor Dominicus.’
‘You mistake me, signor. Immacula will naturally travel in our own ship. I but ask for an escort to see her safely to Spain.’
‘You want my galleys to escort your ship?’ Lorenzo nodded, his gaze narrowing as he studied the Spaniard. Something was not right about this. His instincts were telling him to be wary, and they were seldom wrong. ‘My men work for me. They are not for hire to others.’
‘Surely they would do as you bid them?’ Don Pablo’s eyes were dark with suppressed anger and something more—was it fear? Lorenzo could not decide, but sensed that there was more to this than he had been told. ‘I believed you commanded. Do not tell me that those who serve you dictate what you do, for I should not believe it!’
Lorenzo’s mouth curved in a strange, cold smile that sent a shiver down the spine of his companion. ‘Forgive me if I speak plainly, Don Pablo. Some of my men have suffered at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition. They would spit in your face rather than fight for you.’
Don Pablo’s face suffused with anger, his neck a dark red colour. He started to his feet as if he would strike out in anger. ‘You refuse me? I had heard that you were a man of business. Surely my gold is as good as the next man’s?’
‘For myself I would take your money,’ Lorenzo said, his face a stone mask that revealed nothing of his thoughts, ‘but I cannot expect my men to fight for a Spaniard.’ He stood up and inclined his head. ‘I am sorry, but I believe you may find others willing to assist you.’
‘You may name your own price.’ Don Pablo flung the words after him, seeming desperate. ‘I beg you to help me, signor.’
‘My answer remains the same, Don Pablo.’ Lorenzo turned to look at him, his eyes cold and resolute. He was certain now that his instincts had been right; this was not a simple matter of business. ‘When you decide to tell me the truth, I may reconsider, sir—but
