Burdens of the Dead Read online

  Venice

  By the time they got back to the waiting fusta at Mestre, Benito had learned a great deal about the tribulations of Venice in his absence. And the worries about its stability with Doge Dorma unwell, and Sforza rather closer than was comfortable. It had rather woken him up, given him a sort of third wind. Funny, that. It had been Marco advising him; now it was him advising Marco.

  “You need to dig out Admiral Lemnossa. Lodovico knows him. Put him in charge of the military side, and you and Katerina deal with the crowds,” said Benito, bluntly. “You can’t do military, brother. But you can do being loved. And now that I have got off that damned horse, I am going to lie down and sleep. You can play with your niece. God’s Love, I don’t know where she gets all that energy.”

  And so he ate and drank and slept in the fusta like a corpse, only waking when they reached the city.

  In Venice however, Benito found that the city was just as pleased to see him and his daughter, riding high on his shoulders, as they were to see Marco—or he was to see Venice. They became something of a parade, and he decided that he had found a second wind somewhere.

  “Change of plans; we leave the little one to be fussed over at Casa Montescue, and I need to get moving as quickly as may be,” he said, over the cheers and greetings. “We go to see Petro, and the Council and then I am off south—if I can find a vessel to carry me at this time of year. I need to get back to Constantinople. Grandfather will be having fits.”

  Guiltily, Marco realised that he’d spent most of the horseback part of the trip back telling Benito about his problems, about Petro, about the poisoning, about Francisco. He’d found his little brother had matured—a lot with his experience on Corfu, and also with this campaign. He actually knew a lot more about the wider world than Marco did, these days. And he had more practical experience of governance. “Yes. I should have thought of that. How is it all going?”

  “About as well as can be expected,” said Benito, as they got into a gondola and the gondolier sent it off without being prompted towards Casa Montescue. “And yes, I have learned a few things. The value of pikemen. Not being outnumbered. The danger of treachery. But I think Petro will be pleased enough. Come and listen, and then I won’t have to tell it twice. I’ll prevail on the Council of Ten to let you sit in.”

  Lodovico was overjoyed to see them all, if dreadfully puzzled by Benito’s presence. Kat accepted it all in stride and carried off ‘Lessi to be fed and washed and fussed over and put to bed with trusted ancestral servants watching her.

  Then it was off to Casa Dorma. Petro was relieved. And amazed to see Benito. But he ordered food and wine to be brought to his bedside for all of them, before starting on the questioning. “I thought I gave you orders to deal with a fleet in the Black Sea?”

  “We’ve got as far as Constantinople. Took the Calliopolis peninsula, and Pera. But shall we say, I came back by magical means, which I have no desire or ability to ever repeat, in one day,” said Benito, between bites and swigs. He looked at the Doge, lying pale and weak in his great bed. “And, Petro Dorma, you have for years told me what to do. Looking at you now, I am going to tell you what to do, if you want to go on living and recover. For the good of Venice, and yourself you had better not resume your duties until my brother says you are fit to do so.”

  Petro demurred. “The city needs me, Benito.”

  But Benito snorted. “All it needs to see is that you’re alive. For his last few years, what else did they see with Doge Foscari? What else can not be dealt with by the Council of Ten?”

  “It does not make for a strong Venice,” said Petro, tiredly. Benito was shocked to see a small tear on his cheek.

  “Bah,” he replied, with a bit of grin. “Neither will prolonging your illness. Marco says you will recover fully. In the meanwhile—I think Venice will stand.”

  “I would once not have valued your opinion,” said Petro, showing just a hint of his old spark. “Except about acrobatic dancers. But I think you know a little more now. Very well. I’ll abrogate control to the Council. For as long as your brother decrees—and as long as he sits in on their meetings. He can tell me the worst, gently.”

  “He will surprise you, I think.” Benito raised an eyebrow, and Marco echoed the gesture.

  “Amaze me, perhaps. Nothing you two do will surprise me anymore. But if you find a way of getting from Constantinople to Venice in one day as a regular thing…it could be very profitable.”

  Benito laughed. “You’re showing signs of recovery. Now, let me tell you just who decided to abduct my baby—and I think you will be even more surprised at who turned out to be my ally.”

  * * *

  The Serenissima, Venice the serene city, was anything but serene. It was a dangerous, angry city. Rumor swirled like winter fog. Rumor had Carlo Sforza massing an army at the borders. Rumor had Doge Petro either slowly dying or dead already.

  What was certain was that Benito and Maria’s daughter had been returned to the city. She’d been seen riding on his shoulders by enough people, coming in to the Rio di San Nicolo.

  And then it had rained. It was winter, after all. So they’d returned to the Casa Montescue huddling under cloaks and oilskins, hard for any watchers to make out details.

  * * *

  Lodovico was in a state. “I lost my Lodo, my grandson, to one traitor in my household. And then we let another in! That child will never go out of my sight again. And what are you doing here, Benito?”

  “She’s a lot more guarded than the Doge, Lodovico. That’s why I am here. I’ll bet her mother is watching her right this moment, for a start.”

  “I’ve never really understood that, my boy,” said Lodovico, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “But I felt I’d let our houses down. And we have failed each other enough.”

  Benito embraced the old man, who looked at first surprised, and then gratified. “Lodovico, I’d not have left her here if I didn’t trust you with something more precious than my life. Now, stop fretting and offer me some wine. I’ll have to cope with Petro Dorma just now.”

  Lodovico gave a crack of laughter. “Good luck. I was summonsed to see him this morning.”

  “How is he?” asked Benito.

  “Hmm. Peevish I think is the best description. He’s mending, but tired. Behaving like an old woman.”

  “So are you,” said Benito cheerfully. “Now where is that wine?”

  * * *

  The next day, which dawned bright and cold instead of raining, things started to come to a head with the people gathering on Piazza San Marco. More and more. Nobody orchestrated it, word just spread.

  And spread.

  “They sound like angry bees out there,” complained Petro.”It’s time I addressed them, Marco.”

  “Can you keep it brief?” asked Marco.

  “Can you keep from fussing over me like a mother hen?” He took in the look in Marco’s eye. “I will. But if they see me it will be better than if they see anyone else.”

  “Very well. But I will arrange a litter to carry you there.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” said the Doge irritably.

  “You will be if you don’t listen to your physician,” growled something from Marco’s throat. Petro felt an odd…chill. Something very old and very powerful looked at him out of Marco’s eyes for a moment. The look was admonishing.

  Petro Dorma decided it was best not to provoke the Lion further.

  So Petro Dorma was carried up to the balcony overlooking the Piazza. He insisted on standing there, holding onto Marco’s shoulder and the rail.

  That got a cheer from the crowd. And more cheers and more cheers. Marco felt the tremors in Petro’s grip. “Enough,” he said. When that produced no result, the Lion came into his voice. ENOUGH!”

  The crowd hushed. Petro spoke, his normally robust voice reedy. “I am better than I was two days ago.” He managed a wave with the hand he had been clutching the balcony with. “Our fleet triumphs in Greece. And now I am goin
g back to bed.”

  Marco led him to the litter. The Doge looked drawn, but he waved Marco away. “Talk to them, Marco.”

  So Marco did. He talked of the need for vigilance and unity. He told them of great success in Byzantium. He talked of the greatness of Venice, and of the greatness of the hearts of her people, and how he and Katerina appreciated their help in looking for Benito’s daughter. In between cheering, the crowd lapped it up. And then he helped Petro up again and the Doge waved to the crowd, and he had him back to bed.

  “That’ll hold them until they get home and start thinking,” said Petro, tiredly.

  Marco blinked. “I thought it was all fixed?”

  “They know Carlo Sforza is just over the border. And they know I was poisoned, Marco. Soon some people will start joining up the points. And then they’ll be demanding that the lists go up in the Piazza San Marco.”

  “My brother said you should get Admiral Lemnossa to see to the defense of the city.”

  “He did, did he?” said Petro. “Lemnossa’s an old Doge Foscari appointee. Good with naval matters and trade but no general. I was asked to retain him here in case of a major naval attack. The Senate has these moments.”

  “Venice is a little like a ship at anchor right now. My brother has moments of being right. He could hardly be worse than General Lorenzo.”

  “That’s true enough. And he’s popular with some of the old school members of the Senate. Very well.”

  Pera

  Duke Enrico Dell’este stared at the letter again and shook his head. “Antimo, just what am I to make of this? Has the boy gone mad? His wife is back in Venice.”

  “I don’t think he has gone mad—unless I have too,” said Antimo Bartelozzi.

  The Old Fox stared at him. “What?”

  “I saw her too, your Grace.” He did not mention Hekate. “There is magic involved. I would guess at Marco Valdosta myself,” he added, diplomatically.

  Dell’este shook his head, his brows creased with worry. “It could have been a trap. Magical traps are one of the specialties of that thing at Vilna. Why didn’t you warn me, Antimo? I could have taken steps to stop him.”

  Antimo Bartelozzi steeled himself. His employer had specifically asked him, repeatedly, to speak the truth and to say what he thought, and not merely say what he thought Enrico wanted to hear. “My Lord Duke, do you honestly think anything can stop that young man when he has decided on a course? All you would have done is lost someone you wanted very badly to find.”

  Enrico glared fiercely at him. Antimo thought that this time he might just have gone too far. But the glare subsided to a smolder. “Find him for me, Antimo. I have come to love him far too much.”

  “I will try, Your Grace. But…I think any trap that tries to take Benito Valdosta had better have very strong jaws. And…” He paused.

  The silence went on long enough for the Old Fox to say, sharply, “And what, Antimo?”

  Antimo grimaced. “M’Lord. I saw her too. It was no false sending, that. She acted in ways that Benito recognized. I do not think it would be easy to fool him with an illusion. They…Venetians, I mean, use magic in ways we do not. In the attack on Venice—she had powerful magical elements defending her. You know that Benito deals with the tritons. You told me so yourself.”

  More silence. Two men who preferred magic to remain the provenance of tale-tellers and Hypatians and not a part of their lives struggled with having its unpredictable power insert itself into the heart of their world.

  “What am I to do Antimo?” said Enrico Dell’este at length; sounding, probably for the first time in his life, like a plaintive old man.

  Antimo had to shrug. He had no answer for a question like that. “What you always do, your Grace.”

  The Old Fox growled. “I need to find a forge, and beat some hot iron.”

  Antimo fully sympathized. He very much wished he had some sort of similar outlet. Dell’este had accustomed himself to carring for nothing but Ferrara and himself. It had been a comfortable, if lonely, sort of life—because it meant his only worries were for Ferrara. Now he had Lorendana’s boys, and one of them in particular had become very dear to him.

  “He’s as tough as old boot-leather, Duke Enrico,” said Antimo. “Steel tempered by fire. Both of those boys. You can be proud of them.”

  “Caring too much is a mistake for a noble house, Antimo. I have Ferrara to think of. But…I have let that boy get to my heart. Just as I let Lorendana get to my heart. And look where it led.” Bitter words…and Antimo decided that he was not going to allow that bitterness to bite in and take hold.

  “It led down a hard path to two fine boys and more wealth and security than Ferrara has enjoyed for centuries,” he said, firmly, and with complete conviction. “I believe that, even as I believe that the best steel must be forged, hammered, and tempered. The forging was painful, but the result is worth the pain. Now. I will begin searching, your Grace.”

  Privately, Antimo was fairly certain Benito was in Venice.

  * * *

  He was wrong, though. Benito was already in the lagoon, on a vessel with the leads-man measuring the depths in the channel past the Lido, about to head south. And thinking about what he might do to speed his way back to his grandfather’s side.

  Chapter 41

  Pera

  So Duke Enrico Dell’este did exactly what he had always done. Coped. At this stage, with winter closing in around them, much of the siege process consisted of practical arrangements to keep the men healthy, fed, warm and reasonably dry—and with supplies of clean water. Having taken Pera helped a great deal with all of that. More than one siege had failed because half the men were down with flux and the other half had malaria. Of course, he also sent out scouts and spies—the last thing they needed was to suddenly become the biter bit. There were, after all, several small Byzantine armies out there.

  The Byzantine Themata system meant those tended to have local command and association, and all of Enrico’s information said the empire was in grave danger of falling apart, because Alexis had been an exceptionally weak emperor. The forces in Greece itself were rather taken up with winter, and the traditional raiding season from the north. And in Asia Minor, the border-fighting kept them busy. That was a long war of attrition on both sides. The Seljuk principalities to the east and the Armenian kingdom of Cilicia to the south both fought Byzantium and as well as each other.

  Only, if reports were to be believed the Cilician-Seljuk border war had slowed. The Opiskon and Thracesion themes were both governed by men with some hunger for independence and personal power. They’d find excuses to avoid sending much support to Alexis.

  But both would snatch at any chance of the throne itself. And between them they could field an army—and a lot more cavalry—of comparable size to the combined force of Aragon, Genoa, and Venice.

  So Enrico snarled, dug into the expedition’s treasury and sent a gift to King Gabriel of Cilicia, and promises of more aid with a letter signed by the Doge of Venice. Enrico could do little to get the Seljuks to restart their campaigns. But if the Armenians at least kept Opiskon and Thracesion busy, then that was one less worry. Then all he had to deal with was ill-discipline and the flux among the besiegers.

  Antioch

  The reason for the Seljuk Principalities of Rūm and Germiyan not harassing Byzantium was simple. They were riven from within. Assassination and mayhem had broken loose. Along with the sultan of Trebizond they had been calling for help from the Mongols, to whom they rendered tribute.

  But the Ilkhanate, it seemed, had troubles of its own.

  This was not the Great Khan’s throne room, but it would do. He was, after all, on Progress. Certain amenities could be overlooked. Especially in light of the fact that his spies were ever so much more efficient with him close at hand.

  The Great Khan sipped tea, and waited to hear the latest intelligence.

  “Great Khan,” Grand Vizier Orason bowed respectfully. “I have, I think, come
to the center of this plague. As we said it is not Alamut. The center of their power is Damascus. It appears that after your great-uncle broke the power of Alamut, the Baitini moved many of their people to Damascus. They have a madrassa near the Al-Faradis gate.”

  “I assume, Orason, that you mean that they used to,” said the Ilkhan. One eyebrow rose, ever so slightly.

  The grand vizier bowed lower. “You are most astute, Ilkhan.”

  The Great Khan put aside his tea, and leaned forward, slightly. “But you wouldn’t be telling me this, if something had not gone wrong. My generals would simply bring me baskets of heads.”

  “Once again, O Ilkhan, you are correct.” Orason looked pained. “They had somehow got word, and many of the masters, as they call themselves, had fled through tunnels under the walls. But we captured some, and also much correspondence.”

  He paused, and then rushed the last hurdle. “Quite a lot with Bashar Ambien of Jerusalem. It appears that he sent one of their assassins as a tarkhan to the Golden Horde, with instructions to kill or thwart the election of Kildai of the Hawk Clan to the khanship—in direct contradiction of the orders you had issued.”

  Hotai the Ineffable sat, absolutely motionless, not even appearing to breathe. Eventually his breath hissed out. “I want the Bashar of Jerusalem brought to me. And we will need a new envoy to the Golden Horde. I assume the purpose of this was to engender war with our northern kin. There will be a suitable reward for the man who kills this tarkhan, especially if they manage to thwart him. Have the documents drawn up at once, stripping him of all authority and setting a price on his head. A generous one.”

  Orason approved. This Progress was doing Hotai the Ineffable a great deal of good. He had become somewhat quicker of thought, and definitely more decisive in action. But… “It will be done immediately, Ilkhan.”

  The eyebrow rose again, higher. “I read in your tone that all of this is not quite as easily done as said.”

  Orason clasped his hands together under his sleeves. Tightly. There was a great deal more bad news to deliver. “There is the issue of getting the envoy and the message through to Golden Horde, Ilkhan. And the issue of the original tarkhan’s escort.”