This Rough Magic Page 28

  Manfred assumed the impassive oxlike expression that Francesca had learned indicated deep thought. "I think we need to hold a council of war," he said eventually. "I don't know enough of Venice's affairs, their military strength on Corfu, the ability of the Venetians to withstand a serious siege or what our best course of action is. I have to think for the Holy Roman Empire, not Venice or Eneko Lopez. I think I will go and call Eberhard, Eneko, Erik, Benito—if they've finished with his wound—and Falkenberg. It's a pity Von Gherens is on the other vessel."

  "I'd also ask the capitano to join you, if he's gotten over having a divine gale push his ship. He was still gibbering, according to Falkenberg."

  "I'll ungibber him." Manfred cracked his knuckles. "He's been at sea in the service of the Venetian Republic for forty-five years, man and boy, as he has repeatedly informed me. A man of his experience shouldn't let a little of what Father Lopez assures us is ecclesiastically sanctified magic worry him."

  Manfred looked regretfully at Francesca's lush form. "I know it seems a pity but maybe you'd better put some more clothes on." He looked appreciatively at the outfit. "I haven't seen that one before. Why were you wearing it when we were going to be attacked?"

  "Practicality, dear."

  He looked puzzled. "It doesn't look very practical . . . except for one thing, Francesca."

  "My legs are not enveloped in clinging petticoats. And we fight with what we have. I know full well when men's bollocks start thinking, their brains stop. If I put on breeches and took up a sword, even one of these attackers little brother's could kill me. But if the best of warriors is intent on undoing his breeches . . . well, I have two knives. There are certain other features about this outfit that are less obvious than knives, too."

  She did not add that, if the fight was lost, dressed in this fashion she'd almost certainly be booty for the captain. Manfred would possibly not understand that sometimes the things one did to survive were not pleasant. And she had a great deal of practice in that vein.

  Manfred took a deep breath. "You'd probably get raped."

  Ah, my dear, tell me something I don't know. Francesca gave a wry smile. "A nun's habit and a wimple wouldn't stop that, Manfred. Now, you go and get the others and I shall get changed."

  He looked admiringly at the diaphanous outfit, which was intended to hint at, rather than reveal, what was underneath. "I admit the need, because I want your input at the council. But it does seem a waste of time."

  "Dressing is never a waste of time, Manfred dear, because undressing someone again is part of the pleasure. I shall dress and contribute what I can to your councils. Then later you can help me undress and contribute something to me as well," she said, lowering her lashes.

  "And now I'm supposed to concentrate on military matters," grumbled Manfred.

  * * *

  Eneko Lopez looked gray with exhaustion. The capitano looked as if his eyes were still about to start out of their sockets. He chose a position as far away from Eneko as possible. The others looked battered in various degrees, too, noted Eberhard—except for the old duke's grandson, Benito. Benito had a bandaged shoulder, but it didn't seem to have slowed him down much. He looked like one of those fused grenades he'd tossed so effectively. His eyes reminded Eberhard of a sparking and sputtering wick, as if he were alternating between wild excitement and exhaustion.

  Eberhard was an old man and a politician now, but he'd been a soldier once: This one loved danger. You had to watch that kind. They took chances. And they took others with them into their danger.

  Privately, Eberhard was pleased by the way Manfred had handled the battle. Manfred would serve the Holy Roman Empire well, with some more experience; very well indeed. Eberhard noted he was able to take advice. That was rare, especially when combined with an ability to act decisively and effectively, and even rarer when combined with the ability to lead. Advice seekers often wanted others to make decisions, not merely advise, or else they merely wanted their own opinions confirmed, and didn't listen when advice ran counter to it.

  This meeting, too, showed a maturity that he'd not expected. Merely calling them together like this proved that he was thinking past the successful escape.

  Of course, Eberhard wouldn't tell the young prince that. But Manfred had come a long way from the spoiled brat he'd had the displeasure of meeting when he'd been in Mainz some years before.

  "I suppose the crucial issue is how well this Venetian fortress at Kérkira will withstand the siege. Basically it is the only fleet-size anchorage around."

  The capitano made a wry face. "It could withstand nearly any siege . . . if it were well enough supplied, and had enough men, milord. But last time I was there the garrison commander was complaining bitterly about how few men he had."

  "Commanders always complain about that," said Falkenberg. "The Venetians couldn't have taken and certainly couldn't hold the island without enough men."

  But Francesca was already shaking her head. There was another one whose still waters ran deep, thought Eberhard. The old diplomat had a good idea that Manfred had learned as much at the white hands of Francesca as at the calloused ones of Erik Hakkonsen. Probably more, in fact.

  "It wasn't taken," she said. "The Corfiotes invited the protection of the Venetian Empire, more than a hundred years ago, because they were having a lot of trouble with Illyrian raiders. The Venetians sorted that out with superior sea power very quickly and easily. They set up a feudal system of puppet local Greek aristocrats—the Libri d'Oro, as they're called. Things have gone a little less smoothly lately and—correct me if I am wrong, Capitano—the captain-general has little more than a policing force, to make sure taxes are paid and Venice's rules obeyed."

  The capitano nodded. "They're mostly mercenaries. Dregs, signorina. I'd guess at less than a thousand on the whole island. The barracks are almost empty and several of the buildings haven't been used for some time. There are a couple of other castles—Vidos in Corfu bay, for instance. But a lot of the places have just got a local capi and a few men. All right for dealing with petty crime.

  "And the mercenaries!" he spat. "Pah. They're not worth much as soldiers, ones who would take a job like that. There's no fighting, so there is no opportunity for extra profits, bonuses or loot. But you won't get killed either. Lazy and stupid—and maybe cowards."

  "Locally recruited?" asked Erik.

  "Not so as I'd noticed, milord," said the capitano. "If I remember right, I heard tell that the present Byzantine Emperor's father sent agents across to Corfu and stirred things up. Told them that they're Greeks, not Venetians; that Byzantium regards them as its own, and that they would be rewarded with Venetian-held positions and estates if they got rid of Venice. It's true the Corfiotes begged the Venetians to annex Corfu and protect it but . . . as is the way of things, the best jobs went to appointees of the Senate sent out from Venice. The Venetians have taken over a lot of estates. The local Greek nobility has a bit of an attitude about Venetians. As if they didn't want us in the first place! The Corfiotes are quick enough to take our money, though."

  Francesca raised a perfect eyebrow. "And of course the Venetians are as innocent as lambs and do nothing to exacerbate the situation," she said dryly.

  The capitano laughed coarsely. "Except treat the locals like shit. Sorry, signorina, pardon my language. Too much time at sea and not enough talking with ladies."

  "I forgive you, Capitano." She looked at Manfred pointedly. "I'm used to occasional lapses."

  Eneko Lopez yawned. "Forgive me too, but I am very, very weary. This discussion is all very well, but I must get to Corfu. If Chernobog seeks to prevent it . . . then there is a reason. Even if the Citadel stands or falls, I must get to the island."

  He regarded all of them broodingly. "That fleet was sent with one end in mind: to sink us rather than to allow any of us to reach there. That may have been because of me and my brothers, or because of the large number of armed knights on this convoy, or because of—who we carry." He blinked
, slowly. "However, I do know this much. Before we reached Venice a similar attempt was made to stop me and my brothers. I must conclude that this was no coincidence, and that Chernobog wishes to keep us, specifically, from reaching Corfu. I don't know why Chernobog is doing this, but there must be some far-reaching reason he has scryed. He does not play for small stakes. The Holy Roman Empire or even Christianity may be threatened. You can put Diego, Pierre, Francis and me off on a beach on the north end of the island."

  Erik cleared his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something, Señor Lopez?"

  Eneko blinked at him. "Quite possibly, Erik. The magic we worked was draining. I am exhausted and not thinking at my best. What is it?"

  "They tracked you here. Chernobog tracked you previously, too. He can sense your movements, and now you tell me that you wish to land on an island occupied by his allies." Erik was not normally inclined to irony, but Eberhard sensed the tone now. "You are a great mage, señor. But an arrow or sword can kill you as well as it can kill me, especially if you are exhausted, as you are now. And unless you and your brothers have learned something new about turning invisible, I think this is not the wisest of plans."

  "I've seen that on the northern frontier," rumbled Falkenberg. "Mages can fight great magics, but when all is said and done they need ordinary men and ordinary steel to guard them against purely physical threats. I've seen a pagan mage that could blast men to ash chopped down, unresisting, because knights with cold iron and the holy cross attacked while he dueled magically."

  Eneko blinked again. "Still, I must go," he said tiredly. "Danger or no danger. Forgive me. I cannot even think now. But I see my duty clear."

  Eberhard patted him on the shoulder. "Go and rest, Eneko Lopez. You are no use to us or your duty when you're exhausted. Leave it to us ordinary soldiers to get you into the Citadel. You'll be protected there, and on Corfu. Will that do?"

  Eneko stood up. "I believe it will. But we will pray for guidance."

  "When you wake up," said Erik, with rough kindness. "Go and sleep now."

  The cleric nodded and stumbled out, leaning a hand against the wall.

  When he'd gone, Erik shook his head. "You may have just offered to do the impossible, Ritter Eberhard. Or volunteered us to do the impossible. We only have two hundred knights. Even with the ship crews and the squires, we muster perhaps twice that. Breaking the siege is more than we can achieve. Emeric must have at least . . . say ten thousand men there, and his siege cannon will prevent any access by water—even if we fought our way through his fleet."

  "We lost two knights and five damn-fool glory-hungry squires, in that last effort. Some injuries, too. Gunpowder should never have been invented," grumbled Falkenberg.

  Eberhard smiled dryly. "While the prince was being bandaged and you and Erik were seeing to the men, I saw to questioning one of the pirates. It helped that Knights of the Holy Trinity have something of an unholy reputation, and that he'd just seen some very terrifying magic. We didn't even have to resort to torture. The man was a mere sailor, but he had a very good notion of just how many ships were employed in the attack on Corfu. Most of them, most of the troops and most of the cannon, are still behind us: To wit, that fleet of carracks we avoided. So right now there are, at a guess, no more than three or four thousand troops investing the Citadel at Kérkira. Actually, there will be fewer than that, as many are out ravaging Corfu's countryside. If we can reenforce the Citadel, then it can hold until Venice and the Empire will send more forces to break the siege."

  Manfred grunted. "We'd need to send word to get them here. Maybe send one of these vessels running for Bari, and send messengers overland to Venice?"

  Eberhard was dubious. "The sailor seemed to think more vessels were on their way from Constantinople."

  "Even so, it seems a fair idea," said Erik. "Split up. Squeeze all the knights onto one vessel. Land as much force as possible on the western coast of Corfu. Storm the besiegers and hope that someone has the brains to let us into the Citadel before Emeric's troops can regroup."

  "Er," said Benito, tentatively. "Why don't we just sail up to the Citadel?"

  Manfred made a face. "Siege cannon would smash the ships to kindling . . . Wait a bit. There are no siege cannon!"

  "According to our pirate informant, anyway," said Eberhard.

  "We'd hear and see the cannon duel from a good league off if it is happening. It'd be a risky enterprise, nonetheless. We'd have to sail into the strait between Corfu and the mainland at night. There are bound to be patrols."

  "It might succeed for sheer audacity."

  Benito had been looking thoughtful throughout all of this. "It is not as risky, milord, as all that. The moon is down from about three in the morning. We can come in under oars from the south. If we need to, we can turn and run with the wind. And it has to be the last thing they'd expect us to do."

  "Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Erik. "Somehow, something is tracking Eneko Lopez."

  Benito shrugged. "It still has to marshal its ground, or, in this case water, forces. Look at the trap we have just escaped. It's as likely to follow us at sea as to intercept us coming into Corfu."

  Erik still wasn't convinced. "The other problem is that even if there are no siege cannon, the Venetians are as likely to sink us with their own cannon. In the dark they'll be watching for sneak attacks."

  "We could unfurl the pennants," Benito countered. "They're unlikely to fire on the Lion of Saint Mark."

  "Not in the dark," Erik pointed out.

  Manfred brought his hand down. "Gentlemen. Francesca. We've got at least a day's sailing, before we have to decide. I suggest we eat and rest. I will think about the various ideas and reach a decision. But now I need to concentrate on the various contributions possible."

  Eberhard wondered why Francesca smothered a smile.

  Chapter 33

  Manfred had had them bring four of the knight-proctors and the captain over from the Dolphin, Swordfish and San Raphael to the San Nicolò. The captain's cabin was rather crowded; Manfred wondered if he ought to ask them to breathe in shifts.

  "Right. First, the bad news. We are being followed: Galliots under sail have been spotted from the masthead. That was why we changed course in the dark last night. A different sail was spotted this morning. They are spread out and looking for us. Second, more bad news. Corfu, our next port of call, is under siege, by the Byzantines and Emeric of Hungary. I have it from Eneko Lopez that making sure Corfu does not fall into the hands of these foes of Venice is vital to the future of the Church. Eberhard of Brunswick says it is also vital to the future of the Holy Roman Empire. Obviously, it's also vital to the Republic of Venice, a state with which we are on friendly terms if not formally allied."

  Manfred looked at his audience, which wasn't difficult, since half of it was looming over him and the table, and the other half was crushed in against him. "So. We need to reinforce the garrison at Corfu. We also need to get a message back to Venice and to Emperor Charles Fredrik about what is happening here. We have four vessels, two hundred knights, and fair number of sailors. We need to achieve both of these objectives. We need to split into three parties: one ship to run on, one to attempt to dodge back—and two ships to attempt to relieve the Citadel at Corfu, or at least to add men to its garrison. We'll make landfall on one of the Diapondia islands. I will be taking the knights and what sailors and food can be spared to Corfu. Capitanos Selvi, Bortaliscono, and Da Castres—of your vessels, one must come with us. It may be sunk, and I can't promise anything, not even safety. One of you must run for the open water of the Mediterranean and sail on to Rome."

  His expression was grim. "You'll face interception, interference, and you won't be any safer than we are. If you get through, messengers can be dispatched from there to Venice and Mainz. Eneko Lopez will provide letters to the Grand Metropolitan of Rome. I will provide letters under the seal of the Empire for our embassy there. The other ship will attempt to return by sea to Venice. I'll do a no
te for Petro Dorma, but the captain can give the story best in his own words."

  He cleared his throat. "All of these ventures are fraught with risk. There are vessels pursuing us. There are supposed to be Byzantine vessels on a blockade ahead."

  "Prince Manfred, how do you intend to relieve the siege?" asked Captain Da Castres. "Surely the vessels with the knights on them can off-load you at some small fishing harbor or something. Then we can sail as a convoy. That will be a great deal safer."

  Manfred smiled wryly. Captain Da Castres had an exaggerated notion of safety, if he thought four ships were going to be any safer than two. "The key to defending Corfu's citadel is actually getting the knights, and as many sailors as possible, into the Citadel. We—on horseback—could possibly take the besiegers by surprise. Hope that someone inside opens the gates and that the causeway bridge is intact. We and our squires, all mounted, could undertake that. If fortune favored us, if we took the enemy by complete surprise, if the cannon from the Citadel didn't simply fire on us . . . we could get maybe half of the knights into the Citadel. With no extra supplies and none of the crews of the ships. We could add maybe a hundred and fifty men to the defense."

  He shrugged. "Not a great help, but some. However, we know the besiegers have several thousand men—but no cannon." Manfred pointed. "Benito Valdosta there . . . You all know the boy, you all know his bloodline."

  Benito looked furiously at Manfred. Manfred knew why. For Benito, his bloodline—at least that on his father's side—was not something he boasted of. Manfred was using that reputation.

  Manfred gave him a quelling look—Damn right I am. He would use anything he could get his hands on right now—and went right on. "He came up with the plan that got us out of the pirates' grip. Now he's come up with another idea, the only way I can see that will deliver an extra five hundred men to the citadel, as well as whatever supplies can be loaded into the vessels. When he put the idea forward, I thought he was mad. I've pondered on it all night. Talked to Capitano Douro here. We can indeed sail to the Citadel itself, by night. But once they're in, the ships won't be leaving."