by Eric Flint
“Yes. I will grant you that. I didn’t know he’d go that far for my sake.”
“A complex man, Cosimo. I think that if he did decide to pursue a war, he would be devious and relentless. And far tougher than most guess. I saw a different side of him that night.” Francisco went on to tell his commander as much as possible. “He’s also had this plague rumor fed him, by the way. The Church is mixing quite heavily in politics as far as you are concerned.”
“Oh, they do, while they pretend not to. I think the Hypatians have decided I’m a bad man, despite spending time and money in their hostels on my way to the Holy Land. And they’re in the ascendant at the moment.” Sforza sighed. “It would be all very well if the Paulines had not also decided that I was a bad man.”
“So: It’s not them being right that is a problem, but them both being right at the same time?” said Francisco, pouring more beer.
“Precisely. Now all we need are problems from Venice. Ferrara I have against me just by breathing. Next thing I know, we’ll have the Holy Roman Emperor sending troops over the Brenner Pass to kick out the usurper. And given that Eleni Faranese will not be my bride, and Violetta de’ Medici is comatose and on death’s door, even if she was willing, it’ll have to be the bastard daughter. She arrived today.”
“Ah. And is she willing?”
“Well, she hasn’t treated me like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your boot, this time around. She was wearing enough scent to make my eyes water. I suppose it was always a case of something I would have to put up with, a marriage in name, but I was hoping for something else. Not that the choices sounded much better.”
Francisco grinned. “If it leaks out, my friend, that you are a starry-eyed romantic, you’ll have even more of the states going to war against you.”
“Romance? No, thank you. I once made a fool of myself with a woman, and once is enough for a lifetime. But I’d hoped for someone who would at least be able to make conversation that did not bore me to tears, and make sensible decisions when I was away campaigning. Condescension has never sat too well with me. I’ve known a few nobles I’d respect: Dell’este, for all that he hates my guts, and some fine soldiers born on the wrong side of the blanket. I’ll not hold it against a man, but Lucia’s ‘I-am-the-duke’s-daughter-and-don’t-you-forget-it’ used to get up my nose and itch. Filippo Maria publically acknowledged that she was his get, but never made any effort to legitimize her, so he didn’t think much of her nobility.”
“Well, Carlo, it’s what choice you have.”
“I know. I’ll start to take steps tomorrow. And speaking of tomorrow, I must ask you to go to Arsizio. The troops there are afflicted with a flux that makes them near useless for combat, and it keeps coming back. I’ll need those men. I’ll need them fighting fit, and soon.”
That, by the way the thunderheads were piling up, was true. But Francisco had great faith in his commander. As long as Sforza headed them, his mercenary soldiers were worth considerably more than the soldiery of most of the states that opposed them, in skill, experience and loyalty, and his artillery even more so. The reputation of the Wolf of the North had been dented by the Venetians and Ferrara in that attack down the Po, but he had rebuilt it with his men, and, to the limit that he had been allowed, with Milan’s enemies.
They might discover that with the Wolf in charge, and not the mercurially moody Filippo Maria Visconti, things were quite different, Francisco thought, with some grim satisfaction, preparing himself to rise early and ride out.
* * *
Three days later, having shot a thieving cook and had a new well dug, Francisco got a visit from Carlo Sforza and his personal bodyguard troop. “I thought I’d check on your progress. And tell you the news in person.”
They met inside the tent that Turner had set up as his headquarters. He’d had the tent erected in the city’s center, in the square that fronted the shrine of Santa Maria di Piazza, as something in the way of a none-too-subtle political statement. Normally, Francisco—like any sensible commander inside a city rather than in the field—would have used a large tavern with good sleeping accommodations for the purpose. But he’d suspected corruption from the beginning and had used the tent to reinforce his image as an untainted outsider.
“I found out that a cook and several of his apprentices were using the old salt meat, and selling the new. I shot him, and hung his apprentices.” He gestured with his hand to the open flap of the tent, beyond which could be seen part of the square and one of the arched windows of the shrine. “If you’d gotten here yesterday, you’d have still seen their corpses out there, displayed for the education of the troops.”
Sforza nodded approvingly. The Wolf of the North wasn’t given to pointless acts of cruelty, but he was no stranger to savage disciplinary methods when he felt they were warranted.
Francisco wrinkled his nose in disgust. “And you should have smelled the well! You couldn’t tell it from a sewer, it had gotten so bad. So I had a new one dug some distance from the privies. I think we’ll see an improvement in the number of melted entrails.”
“Should have forced him to eat his own melted entrails,” growled Sforza. “On another subject—I won’t be able to give Eleni Faranese to the men for a communal slut, after all.”
“Why? Did you find out how much she’d have liked that?”
“Pure rumor, Francisco. No, she’s dead, and I am blamed for poisoning her even though I do not and have never resorted to poison. But Umberto sees it as a reason to go to war, and to urge his camp followers to do the same. Oh, and I have become affianced to Lucia del Maino. She deigned to accept my offer, on the condition that her child will be heir to the ducal throne.”
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” said Francisco.
Sforza snorted. “Yes, it should be a nice little war.”
Chapter 14
Venice
Maria had had enough of Venice. She had loved it, once. It had been all she’d known. She could have imagined no greater, better place. And now she was longing for the sight of Pantocrator, the mountain on the north end of Corfu, almost as much as she longed for Benito. The canals stank and La Serenissima left her feeling anything but serene.
She had gone down to the dock to see if there was any news of the Venetian fleet—sometimes coasters would make better time than a laden fleet, especially if they had stopped for repairs. Well, that was the story she told herself. It did happen. And it gave her an excuse to go down to the docks along the Ponto Lungo. She had dressed appropriately, so that they would know she was not a woman going down to the docks, without her own boat, for the reasons they usually did. She’d gone in one of the Montescue gondolas, rowed by a family retainer.
She’d been the very model of decorum and had not taken the oar out of the incompetent fool’s hands.
There had been no news in from the fleet, but there had been a vessel loading for Corfu. A good, well-found vessel with a Corfiote captain, who knew who she was. He knew her, she knew him, and she knew his wife and their new babe.
A berth to Corfu was easily arranged. She would get back to the island, back to the Mother’s temple, and be there when Benito arrived. She would see him far sooner than waiting for him to come to Venice.
Feeling very pleased for the first time since she had come back from Aidoneus’s shadowy kingdom—well, very pleased since the first time she had hugged her daughter after her return—she had to stop herself singing on the way back to Casa Montescue. Now she just had to tell Marco and Katerina. They’d fuss, of course, but she and ’Lessi would soon be away.
“Well,” she said on her return, finding Marco and Katerina together. “Good news. You will soon be rid of me.”
“The fleet has been sighted?” said Marco, with palpable relief. “But you and Benito will be here with us a while yet, with things as unsettled as they are. The Doge will not send Benito away from Venice until…I have said too much, but you may be here for the summer. And we love having
you and ’Lessi!”
And it was plainly true that Alessia loved having Marco and Kat. She toddled to them as fast as her fat little legs could carry her, and was now using Marco’s elegant slashed breeches to wipe her nose on. “Um, no. I found a captain about to set sail for Corfu. I can meet the fleet there. I…I long to see Benito again.” She did, so badly it hurt. “I am sorry, but I—we—must go. My role on Corfu, as I have explained to you a little…is important, too.”
“I don’t think you can go,” said Marco slowly. “Not that I would try to stop you, Maria. But, well, I suggested it to the Doge. Suggested it would be safer for Alessia. He said no.”
“I don’t see what it has to do with the Doge,” said Kat.
“Or how he’d know.” Maria felt her anger rising. “It has nothing to do with anyone else. I am my own mistress. I do not take orders.”
Marco shook his head. “I would guess the Council of Ten’s agents have already reported it, Maria. And please, dear God, you would not be stupid enough to disobey that sort of order. Not from Petro Dorma.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him there was only one stupid person here, and that was Marco Valdosta. But Marco was not stupid. Blind sometimes to the obvious, but never stupid.
He interrupted her. “A poor choice of words, I am sorry. Not stupid but crazy. And we have enough craziness just with Benito, surely?” he said plaintively. He then hugged Alessia, who snuggled into him, which took the wind right out of her sails.
She shook her head at him. “Marco, you obviously thought it would be good for me to go.”
“Yes, not because we don’t love you and Alessia, but because I thought it would be safer for her, and make you happier. But when I suggested it, the Doge simply vetoed it out of hand.”
“But you won’t tell him I am going, will you?” she asked.
Marco sighed. “You do know how to make things difficult, don’t you? I am not looking forward to explaining this to him.”
“I’ll say my farewells here, and leave most of our things with you. We will just need clothing for a couple of weeks’ voyage, and you can claim that you knew nothing of it.”
“I’m a poor liar,” said Marco ruefully, looking at his wife. “And I wouldn’t try to lie to Petro Dorma. I’ve used up my ration of trying to deceive him. But I will not betray you.”
Maria did feel faintly guilty, but she thought Marco was taking it all too seriously. After all, Venice would barely notice she wasn’t here. She said her farewells and found them tearful, nonetheless. Then she got into a hire boat that she hailed from the water door, refusing Marco’s offer of an escort, or sending her with a boatman from the casa.
“The less you are seen to have to do with it, the better,” she said firmly, playing on his ridiculous fears. The truth was she relished being independent again, even if it cost her money.
“Ponto Lungo, the south end,” she said, while making sure Alessia was securely seated. She didn’t recognize the boatman, which, she thought, just showed how long she’d been away.
He nodded. “Right, Signora Verrier.” Well, he obviously knew who she was. He rowed out skillfully onto the Grand Canal. However, he did not take the San Troverso. Just kept going.
“You’ve missed the Rio di San Troverso. Where do you think you’re going?” asked Maria irritably.
It was broad daylight, there were dozens of other watercraft within fifty cubits and even a bunch of Schioppettieri going the same way in a caorlina about ten yards off. Maria was more irritated than worried. She knew that one did not mess with a boatman on his own vessel by choice, but she’d spent too many years staying on her feet to be any kind of pushover.
“Doge’s palace,” said the boatman. “Orders from the Signori di Notte.”
Maria felt the blood drain from her face. “I get the message. You can just take me back to the Casa Montescue.”
The boatman shook his head. “I have my orders, Signora.”
For a brief, mad moment, Maria considered tipping the testa di cazzo into the canal. Or yelling to the Schioppies that she was being molested, and leaving while this bastard explained who he was and why and what he was doing. But then she realized that the Schioppettieri weren’t just accidentally going the same way. And neither was the boat on the other flank. They weren’t in uniform, but they were just too well fed a set of bullyboys to be anything but enforcers of some kind.
That feeling was confirmed when they escorted her and Alessia, and the boatman, in through a water door into the Doge’s palace. No one said anything, not even Alessia, who plainly realized that something was wrong and clung to her. Alessia had gotten rather upset at leaving Uncle Marco and Aunt Kat and all her other friends in the Casa Montescue—and everyone, it seemed, was her friend. Except, of course, when they wanted her to do what she didn’t, when matters were loudly proclaimed to be otherwise.
Maria was escorted up several flights of stairs, and then into a small empty salon. And there they waited, Maria getting steadily more nervous. It was the silence that made it so alarming.
Of course, Alessia soon got bored and squirmed free and engaged in exploring the high ceilinged room. Maria let her. She traced patterns on the tapestry. And then there was a startled, but very adult curse. Maria stood up hastily, to find her daughter poking a plump little finger through a hole so much part of the pattern that it was very difficult to see. Maria had to smile at the idea that some spy had got a finger in their ear or eye. It served them right.
A few minutes later a footman came in. He bowed perfunctorily and said: “The Doge will see you now.”
Maria had little choice but to pick up Alessia and follow him down the passage, past several more footmen, and into another salon which plainly served as a study. She had met the Doge, and knew most people considered that a great privilege, at the great celebration of Katerina’s and Marco’s wedding. But a private meeting? She knew it had happened to Benito, and Marco—as the Doge’s trusted physician—saw him often. But for an ordinary citizen of the Venetian Republic? It was almost unheard of. And she had been doing something he had explicitly forbidden. Yes, she had lived with an ancient god as his bride, met with and found remarkably human Prince Manfred of Brittany and various grandees who had come to Corfu. But…this was Venice, and she was Venetian. The worst part was, she realized, that it had to hurt Marco, because no one would believe he hadn’t known.
Petro Dorma was sitting, looking out past San Giorgio Maggiore towards the sea. Calenti coughed. “The Signora Maria Verrier, Your Grace.”
The Doge turned slightly to look at her. He did not show any sign of pleasure at seeing her, or utter a word of greeting. Maria curtseyed, bowing her head deeply, wishing she was somewhere else.
The Doge pointed out to sea, at a coaster galley. “That could be your vessel. Her captain claims the ship is going to Istria. She is actually heading for Ancona. Her purpose was to make sure the goods that had been ordered were delivered to the right person.”
“What?”
“The goods in question were you and your daughter,” said Doge Petro, steepling his fingers. “Did it not occur to you that you would make a very valuable hostage? There has been one attempt already to take the little girl. Did you think that meant that there would never be another? That Corfiote captain showed up just by chance, eager and willing to take you…anywhere you could have asked for? But as you have spoken of going back to Corfu, that would obviously be what was offered. Did not even the fact that he asked for no money up front and less than the normal passage fare strike you as odd?”
Maria blushed to the roots of hair. “I…uh, thought it was out of respect. I don’t believe…”
“The Council of Ten’s agents are very thorough, Signora. And since that first incident, our watch has trebled. We have intercepted the messages. And we’re not your only watchers. Agents of Carlo Sforza saw to it that that vessel would not sail today.”
The Doge sighed. “Benito Valdosta is one of our greatest
assets, Signora. He has, repeatedly, shown his loyalty and faith in the republic. He has risked his life and well-being for us and, I believe, for you. He trusts us to do our best for his family. He does not fail us, and I will not fail him. If that means putting you in a nunnery or putting you in one of my cells—and I have some well-appointed ones—until Benito gets here, I will do so.”
Maria wondered in a moment of anger just how he would respond to her calling on the power that was hers, through the Mother Goddess, and the Lord of the Dead…and then she realized that she had given that up, when she’d walked away from being the bride of Aidoneus for those four months. And besides, from what she now knew, Venice was the realm of another ancient power, the Lion of Etruria.
“You are a bad man,” said Alessia in the silence.
The Doge’s mouth twitched, the first sign of any softness Maria on his face. “Yes. I am.”
“Tell Marco on you,” announced Alessia, looking sternly at him.
“I will be sorry,” said the Doge, while Maria tried to hush her. “But this has to be done. Now, I suggest you both go. My officers will see to your safe transportation back to the Casa Montescue. Tell Marco and Katerina Valdosta and Lodovico Montescue that I await the pleasure of seeing them this morning.”
“They knew nothing of this.”
He peered at her from under heavy brows. “Try not to undo the good your daughter has just done you. I understand family loyalty, but stupidity is intolerable. My Lord Calenti, see them out.”
He turned back to the window.
Maria was escorted out of the salon, still seething, afraid, and wishing desperately she had not brought trouble to her brother and sister-in-law, the best friends she had in Venice. It was a long and silent trip back to Casa Montescue. Well, it would have been, except Alessia was now in the mood for playing; the fact that her mother had much to reflect on was her mother’s problem.