Free Ariosto by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

commended them to the care of the Cérocchi gods. Through it all, Lodovico struggled with himself, forcing his eyes not to look at Falcone’s betrothed, stilling his voice so that he would not declare his love, or betray himself to his valiant comrade.
    Toward the end of the gathering, the great wizard-priest Cifraaculeo rose and came to the hearthside. He was ancient, gnarled as a Grecian olive tree and of the same silvery darkness. Unlike the others who were garbed extravagantly, he wore only a long, simple robe of supple, white deerskin. A cap of long pheasant feathers covered his steel-white hair. As he approached the hearth, the Cérocchi grew silent.
    “I have listened tonight,” Cifraaculeo began in a voice high and quivering with emotion, “to the reminders of our glory and the bravery of our people. This good Italian”—he acknowledged Lodovico with a grave gesture—”has brought us pledges that inspire us all. The water is wide, Cérocchi, and the wiles of the enemy are endless. Though we wish for the promised allies who will be our brothers, still it is not wise to place faith in them until we see them gathered before us. No!” This last was to Lodovico, who had risen to protest. “I do not dispute your honor. I wish only to remind you all of the treachery of Anatrecacciatore. Think of his power, his malice and his goals. Even now, speaking here, we are in danger. Who among us is invulnerable to his great magic? Think! Who can be sure that an evil ghost sent to watch and listen has not entered his body and is at this moment letting Anatrecacciatore overhear every word we speak? Who? I have my spirits to protect me, but so subtle is our oppressor, so versed in loathsome spells, that no one can be inviolate. Take my warning to heart, for I give it with the last of my hope. If we fail here, then we are doomed forever.” He had raised his hands in a gesture not unlike a Papal benediction.
    “Cifraaculeo!” Lodovico cried out in answer to this. “I am a foreigner here. And though it may be as you tell us, yet I think that a sorcerer would not know how to possess me or any of my countrymen. We do not know your ways, and that in itself may protect us.”
    “Bravely spoken!” Falcone said.
    “Bravely and foolishly spoken,” Cifraaculeo corrected him. “Ignorance is no protection. How can you resist an enemy you do not know, cannot see, have not identified?” His questions brought a rustle of uncertainty to the gathering. “Yes, you think of this, do you not? You see now that your promised aid might be worse than no aid at all.” He turned toward Falcone and his father Alberospetrale. “You are to lead us, you stalwart men, and our warriors will follow you loyally. But still we must be warned that they are placing themselves in danger, for it may be that the Prince and the King have been possessed by the hideous imps of Anatrecacciatore, for the purpose of destroying you all.”
    “Wait!” Lodovico commanded, and got to his feet. “It is not fitting that I speak so to you, venerable Cifraaculeo, and did not my honor move me, I would refrain now. But though you give good counsel, and warn us of the hazards around us, still you give us a greater disservice, for if we cannot trust one another, we cannot go into battle. Those who fight side by side are brothers, and as brothers they must trust each other.” He turned, regarding each Cérocchi warrior in turn. “Who among you is willing to stand at my side in battle?”
    Half of the men responded loudly and Falcone leaped to his feet with a great shout.
    Lodovico seized Falcone by the arm. “Yes! And I have called you brother,” he declared, trying fruitlessly to turn the image of Aureoraggio from his mind as he met Falcone’s eyes.
    “And will the rest of you feel so when the man beside you plunges his lance into your vitals?” Cifraaculeo asked, his demeanor changing as rage filled him. “I do not wish to be the last wizard-priest of the