Blood Ties Read Online Free PDF Page A

sniper’s bullet had passed through his side.
    ‘It does. Jesus willing, it will not be much longer.’
    ‘Ask Thor.’ The pagan Norseman was smiling again. ‘He’s more likely to grant such a warrior request.’
    He moved away among his men, cajoling, encouraging. Jean dropped his hand away from the scar under the doublet, from the wound only he knew had fully healed.
    It was not completely true. His daughter, his darling, named for a queen, his Anne, she knew, because she had had the healing of him. And Beck suspected. But his wife, would put her suspicions down to the other anger she felt toward him.
    She crossed to him and they stood side by side, watching the preparations. Glancing at her, he wondered at the years that had gone. Nineteen since he’d first seen her, disguised as a boy, fought her on that hillside outside Toulon. There was no trace of boy now, only a woman of middle years, grey throughout her thinning hair, lines on her face.
    And he knew how he must look to her. No longer a warrior in his prime. No longer a hero. Far from it.
    ‘Do you go with them, Jean?’ Her voice, when it came, was flat, neutral.
    ‘I do not.’
    ‘Then I will see you above.’
    She moved away, collecting her spanish musket before heading up the stairs. She had long since put away her preferred weapon, the slingshot, the power no longer in the arm. But she was as accurate with lead as she ever had been with stone, and had a greater range, her thirst for a target undiminished.
    He wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. Then Haakon was before him, his men assembled, Erik at his right side, adjusting the sheaths of his scimitars. Jean leaned in, his words for the Norseman alone.
    ‘It’s simple, Hawk. Get in among the Florentines, drive them back, place these’ – he gestured at the five kegs of gunpowder, which were being rolled out from the sealed magazine – ‘where the Fugger tells you to. Then get out.’
    ‘But Rombaud, can you not smell?’ Haakon raised his nose into the air, sniffed extravagantly. ‘They are roasting chickens in the trenches over there. We could all do with a late supper.’
    Jean made his voice harsh. ‘No risks, do your job, get out. You’ve heard my command, Norseman. Obey it!’
    Haakon smiled, unoffended. ‘You’ve become old, my friend. I remember a time with you and me and some chickens …’
    ‘Obey me.’ Jean had not meant to be so abrupt, but the memory his friend would share was connected to others. None from that time gave him pleasure now.
    He turned, taking the stairs to follow Beck. Behind him, Haakon was organizing his troop, commands interspersed with encouragement. Jean knew he should have made a speech, sent his men out to die this night for the glory of Siena, for liberty, for honour. Words that would turn to dirt in his mouth.
    He climbed to the top casemate, where men with musket and arquebus crowded the embrasures. He did not pick one up. Being in command he didn’t have to. No one would see him fumble powder to the floor.
    In the corner, Beck did not even look for him, though he could tell by the angle of her head that she knew he was there. Positioning himself where he could barely see, sheltered by the thick buttresses of the bastion, he tried to calm his breathing while he waited for the attack to begin.
    It was Erik who remembered Haakon’s latest carving, just as they were about to descend the stair that would lead them underground and outside the walls of Siena.
    ‘Father? Are you not taking this?’
    The boy handed him a log. It was the length of one of Haakon’s arms, twice as thick, bound in coils of thick rope. It had been reamed out, from one end protruded a ball of hay, while at the other, a piece of cloth poked from a hole.
    ‘Ah!’ Haakon put his axe into its sheath and hefted his new toy with delight. ‘A thing of beauty, do you not think, my son? Even the name delights: tromba di fuoco!’
    ‘A temporary beauty. It only fires