The Falconer's Knot Read Online Free Page A

it really made from the blood of dragons?’ asked Chiara, wide-eyed.
    ‘According to some,’ said Sister Veronica, ‘it is the result of battles between dragons and elephants. But it seems more likely to be a resin that comes from a shrub.’
    Chiara looked disappointed. She liked the explanation about dragons and elephants better.
    ‘But it is a shrub that does not grow in these lands,’ said Sister Veronica. ‘It grows only on hot islands in the East.’
    Well, that was something, Chiara thought. At least it came from somewhere exotic, even if not from real dragons.

    Baron Montacuto was roused from his afternoon rest by his manservant tugging at his sleeve. The Baron had only just drifted into a refreshing dream about boar-hunting and was tetchy at being disturbed.
    ‘A thousand apologies, my lord,’ said the servant nervously. ‘But it is the young master. They say he has killed a man.’
    The Baron was instantly awake, shaking his head like a wild boar himself, one with something caught on his tusks. He motioned towards a pitcher of water and the servant fearfully obeyed his master’s gestures to throw the contents over his head. The Baron ran downstairs, buckling on his sword and shaking the water drops out of his grizzled hair and beard.
    ‘Where is Silvano?’ he demanded of the servant.
    ‘Disappeared, my lord. They say he ran away when people came to help the dying man.’
    ‘And who was this man?’
    ‘Tommaso the sheep farmer. They say – forgive me, my lord – that your son was enamoured of Tommaso’s wife.’
    The Baron stopped in the hall and wiped the remaining moisture from his face. The servant cringed.
    ‘I have heard something of this. But my son is no killer. He is mild as milk. Why do they put the blame on Silvano?’
    ‘It was his dagger, my lord, with the family crest.’
    The Baron looked instinctively up at the coat of arms above his mantel: the jagged summit of a mountain between oak trees. He had given Silvano that dagger himself.
    Just then Silvano himself appeared, white-faced and red-handed. Blood stained his elegant jerkin and his long fingers.
    ‘What the devil does this mean?’ demanded his father, relieved though he was to see the boy alive. He hustled him into a side room where they couldn’t be overheard.
    ‘I . . . I came in through the stables,’ stammered Silvano. ‘There is a mob after me. They think I . . . they say I killed a man.’
    ‘So I’ve heard,’ said the Baron testily. ‘Well? Did you?’
    Silvano looked miserable. ‘No. I found him dying. I tried to help him.’
    ‘Dying from your own weapon, as I hear,’ said the Baron. ‘Do you swear it was not by your hand?’
    ‘I swear it,’ said Silvano passionately. ‘You know I would not kill anyone – unless to save my mother or sisters. I don’t know what happened to my dagger. I knew it was missing only when I saw it in the body.’
    ‘I believe you,’ said the Baron. ‘But you are in severe danger. It looks bad against you. Weren’t you fooling with the man’s wife?’
    Silvano looked anguished. ‘Not exactly,’ he mumbled. ‘But why would I kill her husband in broad daylight, with my own dagger?’
    ‘The Council will not concern themselves with such fine detail,’ said the Baron. ‘You will be arrested and, unless we can find the real assassin and force him to confess, you will be executed.’
    There was a furious knocking at the great wooden door.
    ‘Quick,’ said the Baron. ‘Go and wash all that blood off. Give your stained clothes to the servants to burn. Then take refuge in your mother’s chamber.’
    Cautiously he led Silvano back into the hall and summoned the servant who was waiting.
    ‘I need you to take a message to the Franciscans in the city,’ he ordered, thinking fast.
    The Baron turned to Silvano. ‘No one is going take my son from me without a fight,’ he said grimly. ‘Now, hurry, or it will be too late.’

    The Abbot of Giardinetto was standing at his