Others noticed that people were going back in, and followed along. The militia were advancing, now, at a steady walk, halberds leveled. The wicked-looking spikes and axe-blades glinted as they passed the beams of light that stole through closed shutters. Some idiots were still shouting insults, probably figuring they could outrun a bunch of militia goons in breastplates.
They were probably right, too, but only if Frank could get the street cleared behind them. More came inside, and a few drifted off in to the night, or at least into alleys and sidestreets away from the main street.
Good, he thought, since we ain't got too many stools left. Where'd they all sit? He grinned a little. If he judged that heavy-footed march right, he'd have most everyone out of the way before they charged. He figured that was what the militia wanted, too. They probably didn't like the idea of chopping people down in the street much either.
And then someone threw a stone. One of the loose cobbles from Rome's badly maintained streets, it looked like. Frank never saw who did it, but then another cobble flew, and that one hit. A militiaman fell backwards with a shout and a curse, and apparently without orders the halberdiers charged.
"Everyone inside NOW!" Frank roared and dived for the doorway himself. The charge had started from maybe thirty yards away, a long, long stone's throw with one of those cobbles, but even militiamen could cover that in seconds. There was a press around the doorway, and people tripping over each other in the street, and then screams. And then a frantic heave to get the door shut when the people wedged in it got themselves shaken through.
Frank winced at the sound of something—someone—being chopped with a leaden finality, and looked at Dino.
Dino stared back. "Oppression," he said, a slight quaver in his voice.
The sounds outside went on for maybe a minute. Everyone inside Frank's Place was deathly silent. Just standing there, looking shocked. A few of them were putting two and two together, as well. No way in hell did those halberds just happen to be in the area. And they'd arrived too quickly to have been called out to the disturbance. Even if they had, they'd never have come until the morning, any other time.
When it got quiet again, he opened the door a crack and looked out. He could see two bodies in the street in just the thin slice he could see. He'd no idea how many they'd killed or maimed, and wasn't about to go out and see. He could hear orders being barked. He shut the door and, with Dino's help, barred it. This time, the bolts went home quickly and easily.
Right, Frank thought. They want agitation? I'll give 'em fucking agitation.
He got up on a table—one of the few still unbroken and on its feet. "People," he said, into an expectant silence. "I think we're safe for now. The militia are just clearing the streets of some people they think don't matter. People like you and me. That's all they think they're doing. I want to tell you what really went down tonight. Why we've got people—people you all know, people from this neighborhood—lying dead out in that street. And I'm going to tell you why it happened. Let me tell you about Cardinal Borja . . ."
He spoke for a good long while, it felt like. And it was a long, long night.
Chapter 23
Rome
It had been an evening for everyone to go out and hear some music. One of the minor Colonnas was hosting an evening of string recitals by someone who, as far as anyone could remember, was destined to be thoroughly forgotten by history.
A hired carriage had been booked and Sharon was busy getting ready. She'd been uncomfortable at first with the idea of having a maid to help, but Gavriella and Maria, whom Adolf Kohl had hired as part of the housekeeping staff for the embassy, had gotten to be friends and insisted on helping her get ready for the various functions she held and got invited to as ambassador. And, truth be told, it was kind of fun to have a bit of a girls' pre-party, especially given the fussiness of some of the dresses that were fashionable hereabouts. A girl needed help. Not that they weren't, sometimes, gorgeous, and Sharon had enjoyed playing dress-up as a kid as much as anyone.
And, of course, now that Rita and Melissa were here, there was every possibility of their being ever-so-slightly late. Not least because Melissa was approaching the whole thing with a determination to have fun that bordered on the grim. "Sharon," she'd said, "I spent all those months shut up in the Tower. You think I'm not going to make the most of every opportunity to go out, think again."
She, too, had been a bit chary of having maids to help. She hadn't said anything, but there was a faint aura of disapproval until she got into the spirit of the thing. It wasn't really part of either girl's job, just a bit of after-hours fun with the boss. Sometimes, Sharon wondered what the shock would be like for them if they went back to working for the usual run of Roman gentlefolk. Since Gavriella was engaged to be married, her prospects for remaining in work were pretty limited anyway. The USE might not follow the usual practice of not keeping any but the more senior servants on if they married, but her husband-to-be would have to be something out of the common run if he was going to tolerate having a working wife. Sharon had wondered how to approach the question of getting the guy—he did something with horses, she wasn't sure what—to take a job at the embassy in the hopes that with the pair of them sharing servants' quarters he'd not feel so publicly humiliated and just take the extra income. Gavriella was really good, and great fun to have around.