'It's Vertot,' said Eilif, who'd been ignoring the noise and was still watching the street. 'Aha! And von Salm right behind. He's punctual - a good sign! Sit tight, lads, this is where we straighten everything out.'

Well, Duffy thought bitterly, perhaps not quite everything.

Epiphany did not reappear during the meeting, in which Duffy found he could take no great interest. Anna served beer and sausage, giving the Irishman occasional glances of angry reproach.

Damn it, he thought during a long statement by the elegantly dressed and bearded von Salm, it wasn't my fault. Was that any way for the old girl to go on, after all this time? It must have been affectation, a pose - surely

Anna can see that! Hell, no romantic reverse ever gave me more than a week's upset...

Oh? spoke up sarcastically another part of his mind. Then I guess it must have been some other Irishman that went off to fight the Turks at Mohacs in 'twenty-six, just because his girl married another man; it took him three years to face her again.

.isn't that right, Brian? Or would you say I've overstated the case?' Eilif was eyeing him expectantly.

Duffy raised his head, letting his frown of worry look, he hoped, like one of grim determination. 'There was no exaggeration in what you said,' he told Eilif.

The Swiss turned again to von Salm. 'Hear? And that from a man who fought with Tomori! You can't deny...' And the discussion swam again out of the Irishman's focus of attention. Despite a vow he'd made at dawn, he was doing more than his share of putting away the beer.

At last the captains were pushing the benches back and standing up.

'As a limited representative of Emperor Charles V, that is all I can offer to add,' von Salm said. 'You can be sure, though, that when the Turks are driven off-assuming you landsknechten maintain your present level of performance - I will vehemently recommend a fuller payment for you all.'

The captains nodded and broke up into conversing groups, having evidently got as much as they'd hoped for.

Eilif turned to the Irishman. 'Heading back, Duff?'

'Uh...no.' Duffy grimaced at the kitchen door. 'No, I've got to settle a thing or two.'

'Well, I'll see you back there.' The grizzled Swiss

- captain grinned at him. 'Don't give it all more worry than it's worth, lad.'

Duffy shrugged. 'I forget what it's worth.'

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

He found her in the flour-dusty storeroom, sitting on a keg of salt and sobbing so convulsively that it looked as if a pack of invisible dogs was mauling her.

'Epiphany?'

She turned a tear-streaked face up toward him, then looked away, crying harder than before. 'Why did you come back?' she asked finally. 'Just to make me lose this job?'

'Hey, Piff,' Duffy said. 'Don't cry. Werner can't fire you; it's Aurelianus who owns the place, and I've still got influence with him. Hell, I'll tell him to give you a raise.

'Don't,' the old woman choked, 'mention the name ...of that little snake.'

'What little snake?' Duffy asked, bewildered. 'Aurelianus?'

'Yes. He's the one that put... some kind of filthy spell on you, to make you indifferent and cold toward me. Ohhh.' She went off into howls of grief again.

Duffy considered it unfair of her to switch the subject around like that. 'It's Werner we're talking about,' he said. 'And I'll see to it that he behaves himself in the future.'

'What do I care about the future?' Epiphany moaned. 'I have no future. I'm counting the hours until the Turks cut down the wails and knock my head off.' Duffy guessed she'd said that last sentence so often lately that she didn't

even bother to get the verbs in the right order anymore. 'I haven't even seen my father in two weeks,' she said brokenly. 'I simply intended to abandon him when you and I left.. .and now, remembering that, I just can't face him anymore!'

'Good Lord,' Duffy said. 'Who's bringing him food, then?'

'What? (sniff) Oh, I've got Shrub doing it.' She looked up at him blearily. 'Brian, if you do talk to that horrible Aurelianus, could you have him speak to Werner about my brandy? I've always been in the habit of having just a sip before I go to bed and when I get up in the morning, to help me work, you know, but now Werner insults me and says I can't have any, so I have to sneak it when no one's looking, which is so degrading. As if Werner ever does any work himself - he's always hidden away talking to that damned poet friend of his. Talk to him about it, Brian. You'll do at least that for me, won't you?'

The Irishman stared at her thoughtfully. Is this a gambit, he wondered, a story to make me feel properly guilty? Oh, Brian, look, you've driven me to drink, you heartless wretch. Is that what I'm supposed to understand?

My God, he thought suddenly, listen to yourself, Duffy. You are a heartless wretch. This old girl was quietly happy here until you showed up and made crazy promises to her that you couldn't keep. You have driven hereto drink.

He reached out a hesitant hand and lightly squeezed her shoulder. 'I'll talk to him,' he said softly, and left the room.

Anna was in the kitchen, and looked up when, simultaneously, Duffy appeared from the storeroom and Mothertongue stepped in from the yard.

'Where is - ' both men began at once.

'After you, sir,' said Mothertongue.

Thank you. Anna, where is Werner?'

'The same place he was before all the racket and weeping brought him out here a few minutes ago: his private wine cellar.' As the Irishman turned in the direction she'd pointed, she added, 'I wouldn't just barge in; that poet Kretchmer's in there with him - they're writing an epic or something, and won't have interruptions.'

'They'll have one,' Duffy predicted, walking on.

Behind him he heard Mothertongue ask, 'Where did Mrs Hallstadt go? She isn't out in the yard.'

'She's in the storeroom,' replied Anna tiredly.

Duffy paused and looked over his shoulder at Mother-tongue, who, facing the storeroom door, had paused to look back at him. The two men stared at each other for a second or two, then thoughtfully resumed moving in their separate directions.

The Irishman had never been in Werner's wine cellar, but he knew it was tucked under the main stairs, a step or two below floor level, and in a moment he stood before the low door, his hand raised to knock. Before he did, Though, it occurred to him that there was no reason to be polite - so he just grabbed the latch and yanked the door open.

The low-ceilinged room beyond was perhaps twelve feet long by eight wide, and bottles, casks and amphorae cluttered the shelves from floor to ceiling, softly lit by a lamp on the small table in the middle of the floor. Two men who had been sitting at the table had now sprung halfway up from their chairs, startled by Duffy's entrance, and he stared at both of them.

Werner was a bit heavier than Duffy remembered him, and his unusually fine clothes only served to set off the powdered pallor of his face and the gray in his oiled hair. Kretchmer was a tougher-looking man, his face tanned behind a startling red beard, but he was the one who seemed most upset.

'Ach! the poet exclaimed in a high, hoarse voice, staring nervously at the Irishman's feet. 'Common ruffians interrupt the sacred labors! A man of bloody hands intrudes into Aphrodite's very grove! I must avaunt!' He edged past Duffy, eyes still downcast, and hurried away down the hail.

Werner resumed his seat and threw up his hands. 'Can art not be wrought without all these mundane distractions?'

Duffy stared at him. 'What?'

Werner took a deep breath, then let it out. 'Never mind, Duffy. What do you want?'

The Irishman looked at the littered table and picked up a little wooden whistle that had only one fingerhole. 'Don't tell me: you're composing a musical High Mass.' He blew through it, but failed to get any audible note. 'I'd recommend a new pitch-pipe.'

Werner got up from the table and, with much suppressed wincing, limped around the table and snatched the whistle from Duffy's hand, then just as awkwardly returned to his chair. 'Was there something you wanted to say, or are you just bored?'

Duffy started to ask about the innkeeper's injuries, then remembered why he'd come.

'I want to tell you that you can't fire Epiphany Vogel. You -'

'I can do as I please in my place.'

The Irishman smiled arid sat down in Kretchmer's chair. 'That's the crux of it, all right. How is it that you keep forgetting this isn't your place? Aurelianus owns it, and he's an old friend of mine. He won't -'You've been gone half a year. I don't think he's a friend of yours anymore. And in any case,' he added with sudden heat, 'I run this place, damn you! I have my finger on the pulse at all times. He listens to me when it comes to operating the inn. Do you think he could do it himself, without me? No sir! The little old -'

Duffy laughed. 'Finger on the pulse? I like that! This place must be able to run itself, for as I recall you're hardly ever on the premises. You're always over at the house of that caricature of a poet. Hell, I remember Easter night, when Zapolya nearly blew this inn to bits - and you hadn't even heard of it the next morning! You were over at his place.. .quoting Petrarch and kissing Kretchmer's boots, I expect...'

Oddly, a sly look had sprung up in the innkeeper's eyes. 'Well.. .it wasn't exactly his boots.'

The Irishman squinted at him. 'What the hell do you mean?'

'Well, if you must know, Kretchmer wasn't home that night - but his wife was.' Werner smirked. 'His marvellously young and attractive wife, I might add.'

Duffy was genuinely puzzled. 'Do you mean to tell me his wife.. .and you...?'

'I say nothing!' exclaimed Werner, still smirking. 'I merely observe that sensitive, pretty young ladies tend to be swayed by the sort of verse I write. Swayed to an astonishing degree.' He actually winked.

Duffy stood up, somewhat surprised and disgusted.

Swayed right over to horizontal, I gather. Where was Kretchmer when all this wonderful stuff was going on?

Over here swigging the new bock, I suppose.'

'Possibly. I only know she gave me to understand he'd not be back until morning, at the soonest.'

if you'll excuse me,' Duffy said, waving at the papers on the table, 'I'll leave you to your epic now, and - vacate poor Aphrodite's grove. But Epiphany still works here, do you understand? And she's permitted to keep a bottle of brandy in her room. I'll have Aurelianus trot down presently and confirm it for you.' He walked to the door and turned around. 'You know, you'd better be careful. Have you taken a good look at the shoulders on that Kretchmer fellow? Damned wide, for a poet. He could rip you to hash.'

The powdered innkeeper chuckled confidently. 'I am not physically unfit. In fact, I have consistently beaten him at arm-wrestling.'

Duffy paused another moment, then shrugged. 'You'd know best,' he said, and left, closing the door behind him.

There's no way, he thought as he headed back to the kitchen, that Werner could honestly beat Kretchmer at arm-wrestling; either Werner lied or Kretchmer voluntarily allowed himself to lose. And why would he do that? And why - weirder still - would the wife of a big, healthy-looking fellow like that be attracted to the likes of Werner? And why do you bother your head about it? he asked himself impatiently.

He found Anna scraping a pile of chopped, dried meat off a board into a pot. 'Genuine beef,' she announced when she looked up and saw him. 'Most of the inns have been serving dog and cat since before the weekend, though not calling it that, of course. We were better stocked - we'll have real pork and beef till about Thursday.' She laughed wearily. 'And even then we'll probably keep our integrity, because there won't be any dogs or cats left.'

I've been in long-besieged towns where even the rats were all eaten,' Duffy said softly, 'and we ate ants, termites and cockroaches. Some ate worse things.'

Anna put on a fair imitation of a bright smile. 'Really? I must say this does open up whole vistas for a revised menu.

He hooked a thumb at the storeroom. 'Piff still in there?'

'Well,' she answered cautiously, 'yes...'

He pushed the door open quietly so as not to startle her, and saw her and Lothario Mothertongue sitting together

on one of the few remaining hundred-pound sacks of flour. They were talking in low mutters and Mothertongue was stroking her hair. The Irishman closed the door as silently as he'd opened it.

He stood beside Anna and watched her chop an onion and then dice it. 'How long has that been going on?'

She scooped up the white bits and flicked them off her hand into the pot. 'A few days. It seems like everybody's behavior has changed during these last two weeks.'

'Do tell. Well, I'll still speak for her to Aurelianus.' 'Now there's generosity!'

He nodded. 'Biting, Anna, very biting. Rest assured I'm cut to the quick. Where will I find him?'

'Hell, I'm sorry. In the old chapel, probably. He spends a lot of time in there, doing all kinds of peculiar things with weights and pendulums and little tops like the ones Jewish children play with. And any time there's a bit of sun he'll be waving a little mirror out one of the windows. Like he was signalling, you know, but it's a windowless, high-walled court out there - the only ones who could see the flashes would be birds overhead.'

'That's the sort of thing these magicians like to do,' Duffy told her. 'See you later.'