The Prince (The Florentine 0.5)(7)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

There was no electricity in the Florentine underworld, including the chamber that was at its center. The space was illuminated by torches that hung from large iron sconces on the walls and tall pillar candles atop heavy wrought iron candelabras that were six feet in height.

In the principality of Florence, there was but one ruler. A few centuries earlier, however, the Prince had established a council of six members that oversaw various affairs of state.

(Not that he trusted them).

The Consilium, which included Lorenzo and Aoibhe, had been summoned a few hours before dawn. They sat in tall wooden chairs that were upholstered in red velvet, waiting for the Prince.

When he entered the room, they stood.

He strode down the central aisle, his black cloak streaming behind him. The council members bowed their respect as he approached.

The Prince of Florence was both respected and feared. He was respected because under his rule citizens enjoyed prosperity, peace, and an excellent lifestyle. He was feared because he was powerful, he was dangerous, and he would do anything to preserve his rule of the city.

He’d ruled the city for centuries and had learned over time not to trust anyone, not even Lorenzo, his lieutenant. The principality of Florence was a prize and almost every citizen nursed a secret desire to rule it.

Now he’d been the target of an assassination attempt by a foreign power. Although the leader of the invaders had named Venice as his principality, the Prince believed there were traitors amongst his citizens who’d colluded with the enemy.

He wore a thunderous expression as he ascended the platform and sat on a gold throne between the two candelabras.

“There has been a serious breach of security. Christopher of Canterbury, security is your responsibility. What have you to say?” The Prince addressed the Consilium in Italian, as was the custom.

An Englishman with brown hair and brown eyes approached the throne, his shoulders and body tense.

He genuflected.

“I apologize, my lord. But when you learn of the circumstances, I think you’ll agree our patrols behaved valiantly.”

The Prince regarded him in stony silence.

Christopher cleared his throat. “A force attacked one of our patrols to the east. Even though they were outnumbered, they fought bravely, eliminating half a dozen attackers. Unfortunately, the patrol was wiped out before they could raise the alarm.

“Another patrol came upon the scene shortly thereafter. We alerted the citizens, assembled a small force, and were in the process of tracking the invaders when they set upon you.”

Christopher bowed again, fighting his amusement. “Forgive me, my lord. It seems you are not the worse for having dealt with the security breach singlehandedly.”

If Christopher thought that his age or record of service to the Prince entitled him to make light of the assassination attempt, he was sorely mistaken.

The Prince growled. “What about the perimeter? The security cameras and alarms?”

Christopher hesitated.

“There’s a narrow corridor on the east side of the perimeter that isn’t covered by sensors. The invaders crossed into our territory at that point.”

“Why wasn’t I made aware of this?” The Prince’s voice dropped to just above a whisper.

Christopher’s bravado disappeared.

“My lord, the corridor is barely the breadth of a man’s shoulders. The invaders would have had to know exactly where it was and entered single file.”

“Explain to me how someone outside this principality knew about it.”

Christopher shifted his weight. “It appears someone must have told them.”

The Prince regarded his head of security for a moment, his face severe.

Christopher lowered his eyes to the floor, as if by doing so, he could escape his ruler’s wrath.

At length, the Prince spoke. “How many men entered the city?”

“Fourteen, my lord. There was no other breach.”

“I was accosted by ten.”

Christopher nodded uncomfortably.

“Must I pull this information from you? Where’s the remaining four?” the Prince demanded.

“They separated from the others when they approached the city center, probably with the intention of flanking you. Our trackers caught up with them and were able to fell three.”

The Prince paused and the silence in the council chamber grew very loud.

“It appears you’ve lost one.”

Christopher began speaking very quickly. “We are using every tool available in order to find him. I promise, my prince, I—”

But the Prince had heard enough. He stood and removed his cloak, folding it neatly over one of the armrests of his throne. Then he faced his head of security.

“Christopher of Canterbury, you have been tasked with ensuring the security of the principality. A gap in the perimeter was revealed to our enemies and exploited. This gap was something you were aware of but made no effort to close.

“You allowed an invading force to enter the city and attack me. Further, you allowed one of those invaders to escape. He could be anywhere, planning an attack or acts of sabotage. He’s probably sending intelligence to our enemies.

“You failed in your duties. Your failure has also exposed a related breach of security, since it appears you or someone under your supervision has sold principality secrets.

“I find you guilty of treason. Kneel.”

Christopher retreated two steps, his lips curling into a snarl. “I’ve served you faithfully for two hundred years.”

The Prince didn’t even blink. He stood, expression carefully controlled, waiting for his command to be obeyed.

Christopher tried to make eye contact with his colleagues, searching desperately for an ally. “Will no one rise to my defense?”

The council members maintained their silence, avoiding his eyes and keeping their gazes fixed on the Prince.

Christopher approached the only female council member. “Aoibhe, will you not come to my aid? We’re almost kinsmen.”

Her dark eyes flashed and her pretty face morphed into a sneer. “I’m Irish, you dog. You’re no kinsman of mine.”

As if to punctuate her hatred (or her loyalty to the Prince), she spat at Christopher’s feet.

He stepped back in surprise.

When he’d recovered, he moved toward the council member seated to her left. “Niccolò?”

The Florentine shook his head. “To quote someone wise, ‘if a man is to be punished, it should be severe enough that his vengeance need not be feared.’ ”