Read Tom Swan and the Head of St George Part Two: Venice for Free Online Page B

girl, whose pockmarked face was not quite that of an avatar of Aphrodite. But she smiled well enough, and poured them wine from a pitcher.
    ‘Here?’ asked Swan. Giannis had taught him to play piquet, but he’d never yet played for money.
    ‘No!’ Cesare said. ‘Tell your story.’
    Swan rocked his head back and forth. There, for good or ill, were his friends. He was tired of trying to be mysterious. ‘My mother owned – owns – a tavern in London.’ He shrugged. ‘Shall I tell you the truth?’ Neither of them looked appalled – indeed, Giannis looked . . . relieved. As if low birth made him more of a man, and not less. ‘I think she was a whore.’
    Giannis looked shocked.
    Cesare laughed. ‘Mine too!’ he said.
    ‘What a terrible thing to say of your mother!’ Giannis said.
    Swan laughed. ‘No, no. Listen. When she was young, my mother had me. My father . . . is someone very important. I think he bought her the inn. I think she surprised everyone by running it well.’
    ‘Any other family?’ Cesare asked. ‘Some thieves? A Pope?’
    ‘My uncles,’ Swan said. ‘Both archers. Mother got them posts in the king’s bodyguard. They retired to the inn and drank and kept order.’ He smiled. ‘Jack and Dick. They taught me . . . everything.’
    ‘Interesting,’ Cesare said. ‘How did you get to be a royal page?’
    Swan drank more wine. ‘Every year or so, my father would remember I existed. He’d buy me something, or send me something – a tutor, an invitation to a school. I . . . got in some trouble, when I was fourteen.’ He shrugged. ‘But I was, at least technically, a clerk, and so I couldn’t be tried.’
    Cesare shook his head. ‘You killed someone.’
    Swan nodded.
    Cesare shook his head. ‘Why do I like you? You are a murderous barbarian.’
    ‘He was trying to rob me. And maybe more. His hands . . . anyway, I took his knife as my Uncle Jack taught me, and used it.’ For a moment he was there, with blood all over him and the other man lying under him gurgling. He shivered. ‘Anyway, my father collected me from my mother and I lived in one of his palaces for a year, and had tutors. It was—’ He couldn’t decide what word to use.
    ‘Not what you were used to?’ Cesare asked.
    ‘Exactly,’ Swan said, and drank more wine. ‘Sometimes they treated me like a servant, and sometimes as if I was a lord. Nothing belonged to me. Except the tutors, and their learning.’ He shrugged again. ‘I’m not telling this well.’ He looked into his empty wine cup. ‘So he sent me to court. It wasn’t bad – it was like the tavern, except everyone was richer. I didn’t have nice clothes. I got tired of being treated like a servant.’ He left a lot out, and skipped to, ‘and then I ran away back to the tavern.’
    Cesare nodded. ‘It’s us against them,’ he said. ‘Even when they treat us decently, we’re never allies.’
    ‘You like Alessandro,’ Swan said.
    Cesare shrugged. ‘He’s a rebel, too,’ he said. ‘He . . . isn’t one of them. Let’s play cards.’
    They took a boat to another tavern, where the tables were larger. Cesare paid a small fee, and was provided with a pitcher of dark red wine, and a table and two decks of the new block-printed cards.
    An hour later, Swan raised his hands. ‘I surrender,’ he said. There were six men playing, and he tossed in his cards at the end of the last piquet.
    ‘You weren’t doubled,’ said Cesare.
    ‘I’m losing a ducat every game and sometimes two,’ Swan said.
    ‘Don’t be a Jew,’ Cesare said.
    ‘Do Jews play cards badly, or do they just want new clothes? Jews aren’t so bad, when you get to know Italians.’ The hit went home, and he grinned. ‘Either way, I’m out.’ Swan counted his tally on the abacus. ‘Thirteen ducats. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.’ He clambered over the bench.
    ‘Jews are cheap,’ Cesare said.
    ‘Not in my experience,’ Swan said. ‘They’re thrifty and exacting and good at maths.