The Shadow of the Lion hoa-1

by Eric Flint

"Take us with you," said Lopez. "She is what we seek."

  Manfred looked him over. "We want to leave as soon as we can get a boat to the mainland. Mounts may be a problem." He hesitated. "And it'll be a hard chase. Even for soldiers."

  Lopez snorted. "I was a soldier once, lad?and longer than you've been, I venture to say. You think I got this limp from the stairs in the Vatican? Nor have I led what you'd call a soft life since."

  Dorma interrupted. "I can solve one of your problems. We have remounts on the mainland at the landing at Chioggia. I'll send Capi D'Strozza with you. He's from Chioggia, and will see you through to the forts. And, as he says, Senor Lopez was once a knight. Despite the limp I think you can still ride, no?"

  Lopez smiled. "Better than any Ritter, I suspect. We'll find out." The last sentence came out almost gleefully. Holy the man might be now?but, clearly enough, there was still that Basque truculence lurking somewhere within his soul.

  ***

  Over on Saint Mark's Square a bell began to ring, frantically.

  Petro looked despondent. "The alarm tocsin! Now what?"

  Erik smiled. "Part of this conspiracy that we have partially unraveled, I suspect. Give us your Capi and we'll be moving, and you can get back to Saint Marks." He peered into the darkness, at the hazy, haloed moon. "Looks like you're in for fog. I hope your Capi is a good navigator."

  Petro smiled back. "The best. He was a smuggler before I recruited him. Fog was one of his favorite kinds of weather."

  ***

  Down on the water, on the mainland side of Rialto, Benito could have told Erik the fog was thick enough to cut with a knife already. It smelt… odd. Marshy. Not the usual wet-wool and smoke smell of Venice fog. Benito wasn't going to let it worry him. Giaccomo was enough to worry about.

  The heavy, balding man was not the type to be impressed by Case Vecchie clothes or orders. Money would talk, however. Benito hoped he had enough. They'd picked up Valentina… Claudia was off somewhere. The way Valentina said "somewhere" meant: Strega stuff, don't ask.

  "Your eyes almost seem to be glowing," said Maria, looking at him curiously.

  Benito knew he could get killed doing this. So could Maria… So could other people. It didn't stop him loving it all. He was feeling brave, so he put a hand on her forearm. That was gambling with your hand, with Maria.

  "It's in my blood. My grandfather… And my father."

  She flicked the hand off. But almost gently. "Your grandfather I've heard about. Dell'este is a legend. But the Valdosta… I asked. They're like Marco."

  Benito pulled a wry face. "We're half-brothers really, Maria. I think my father was Carlo Sforza."

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. Sforza. The Wolf of the North. She shook her head. "So. Just what are we going to do to get into the Casa Dandelo? There are probably up to thirty Dandelos and their slave overseers. There are God alone knows how many Montagnards there too. We have thirty men and one thief."

  "There must be three hundred slaves," said Benito. "And the way out is going to be through the Casa."

  Maria nodded. "True. And having been in there myself, killing a few slave-masters might be sweeter than freedom to a lot of them. Well, keep it simple. Clever plans go wrong."

  "I'll do my best."

  ***

  "You want thirty empty casks?" Giaccomo looked at Benito. Then at Maria. "What for?" He went on polishing glasses.

  "And your small barge." Benito ignored the question, and began counting out gold coins onto the counter. He noticed that Giaccomo had stopped polishing glasses.

  "You're with Dorma nowadays," said Giaccomo. "Quite the young Case Vecchie gentleman. With a brother who once tried to sell me fake relics. I want to know why, boy?or no deal. Not for twice as much."

  "I'm not Marco," said Benito calmly. Giaccomo flustered Marco; Benito knew you just had to keep calm around him. "Have I ever done you wrong, Giaccomo? I brought coin for you once."

  "Yeah. But I still want to know. And nobody else has barrels enough."

  Benito shrugged. "Dorma wants me to blow up Casa Dandelo. Destroy the place. We had a dead certain tip-off"?he couldn't resist the pun?"that it's full of Montagnards. They're due to cause trouble when the invaders come." Benito smiled. "And we all know how Maria loves the Dandelos."

  A small corner of a smile touched Giaccomo's face. "She ain't your tip-off?"

  Benito knew that Giaccomo regarded even a whiff of magic as bad news. So he chose his phrasing carefully. "Party called Aleri. Heard of him?"

  Giaccomo's eyes narrowed. He nodded. He didn't look friendly. "You can't trust him."

  "Ah. Let's put it this way. He was answering certain questions for the Signori di Notte in an… involuntary fashion."

  Giaccomo actually smiled. He pulled three of the stacks of coin towards himself. "I'd lend you some manpower…" He paused. "This has nothing to do with Aldanto, has it?"

  Benito shook his head very firmly. Giaccomo pushed one of the stacks of coin back. Benito pushed it over again. "It's Dorma's money. And it's only right to tell you that if things go wrong you won't see your barge again."

  "Aldanto's got money from Ferrara sitting here. Been coming in ever since you and that brother of yours showed up. You see him, you tell him there's two lots here." The expression on Giaccomo's face said: and I don't mind if he doesn't fetch it. "The barge is round the back. Jeppo will help you get the barrels loaded."

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Giaccomo's barge was heading for the Casa Dandelo with a cargo of "wine." Benito hoped that Valentina had the gunpowder in position. When they'd cased the joint, picking up the guards on the roof, she'd said that it would be easy. He hoped she was right, because they'd need the distraction.

  The cargo wouldn't get into the Casa proper, but there was an enclosed loading bay into the stores and slave quarters. He, Maria, and Maria's cousin Luigi poled the barge, little more than a floating flat-bed full of barrels, around to the front of the Casa. Benito went and pounded on the door.

  "Who is it at this time of night?" demanded someone, far too quickly.

  "Wine delivery. From Giaccomo's!" yelled Benito.

  "Go away!" bellowed someone within. "We didn't order any wine."

  Benito yelled back. "Party by the name of Aleri came in and paid for it, special delivery, tonight."

  There was the sound of talk, as if a small argument were going on. But Benito was relaxed, confident. No one behind that door was going to turn down a cargo of wine. And the deliverers were not exactly a threat. A ragged fifteen-year-old boy, a seventeen-year-old girl, and an older bargee. Odds on, the "extra guests" had already worked their way through most of the Dandelos' wine stock?and with the war on, heaven knew when they'd see more.

  The door cracked open. An eye appeared, examining Benito for a brief moment and then, for a much longer moment, the cargo on the barge. "All of that for us?"

  Benito laughed. "You wish! Five casks. The rest are for Barducci's. The boss won't let us do 'one person' deliveries. And Barducci's is running dry. Gotta have it there inside the hour. Party there tonight, with everyone going off to war. You goin' to accept this load or do we take it away again?"

  That dire threat brought the final decision. "Bring it round the side. Some of the men will come down and open up."

  "Send someone to offload, too."

  "Cheeky little sod. Does your master know you're so lazy?"

  "Ah, come on?"

  "On your way! The men will see you there."

  On his way down the side canal, Benito whistled loudly, tunelessly. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen a glimpse of Valentina on the opposite roof, grappling hook ready. She wasn't going to swing across, herself. But the small barrel of black powder was going to pendulum across. Valentina reckoned it'd smash through those shutters like a knife through silk. It didn't matter whether it did or not, just so long as there was fire and trouble in the main residential part of the Casa. Still, Benito wished he could watch. He also hoped like h
ell Valentina didn't stay to watch.

  The Dandelo men had already gotten the rusty portcullis they used to enclose their dock half up by the time they got there. When the barge was in, as Benito expected, the portcullis dropped again. That made good security sense.

  What happened next was not, however, what Benito had expected at all. There were seven Dandelo men there. As soon as the portcullis dropped, the leader smiled at the barge crew and rubbed his hands. "Well! We got thirty barrels and three slaves for the price of five barrels. And it's on Aleri's coin! Ha. Take 'em, boys."

  "Hey!" protested Benito. "You can't do that! Giaccomo knows where we are. And he'll send for the Schiopettieri. And you don't mess with Giaccomo's cargos!"

  The slaver laughed. "By the time he knows you've gone, it'll be too late. Hear that Tocsin? You got in just before the bell, boy. Now we're shut up siege-tight until Sforza gets here. So come quietly or you're going to get hurt."

  Benito was paralyzed for an instant, not knowing what to do. Then?dead on time?an explosion rocked the walls.

  Bits of mortar fell. It was like a slap around the ears. Benito realized he still had a lot to learn about black powder. It certainly stunned the Dandelos, but Maria and her cousin Luigi were tipping barrels as if it hadn't happened. Arsenalotti were scrambling out from under, weapons in hand. Benito hadn't waited, either. He'd gotten between the doorway and the Dandelos. And the first fool didn't even try to avoid the rapier he'd snatched up from between the barrels.

  He hadn't been prepared for the horror on that face. But he didn't have time to think. The blade was stuck right through the slaver, so he pulled his knife out. The next few moments gave him several reasons to write off part of Caesare Aldanto's crimes. Only the training he'd had at Aldanto's hand kept him alive.

  Two minutes later, at the cost of one dead and three wounded men, the dock was theirs. And even from here they could hear the chaos that Valentina's black powder had generated.

  They moved out, to the slave pens. Heavy hammers and cold chisels in the hands of two blacksmiths from the Arsenal began making short work of the locks. Two of the Arsenalotti stood by with a barrel full of cutlasses. In the meanwhile Maria and her ten escorts raced up the stairs, looking for the passage she'd found through to the Casa itself. The barrel of black powder they had with them should see that door blown open. Then it would be a case of shepherding freed, armed slaves up and in.

  "Listen up, all of you!" shouted Benito. "We have to cut our way out of the Casa. Loot what you can, especially clothes. And don't kill anyone wearing these hats." He pointed at his red woolen cap. "They're our people. When you're out into Venice, toss the cutlasses into the canal. Scatter. Act like citizens, otherwise the Schiopettieri will put you away." Not strictly true, but the last thing Petro Dorma wanted on top of his troubles was a rampaging mob of armed ex-slaves. Arsenal-issue cutlasses were cheap compared to that risk.

  There was a ragged chorus of cheers. Most of the slaves were still staring, unbelieving. They started to believe when big Gio smashed open the first lock with his cold chisel. Men and?from the next pen?women streamed out, taking the weapons as if they'd been handed the Holy Grail.

  There was a small explosion from upstairs. A much more controlled-sounding one. At least Maria had an Arsenal gunner to manage her black powder.

  "Up!" shouted Benito. "Up the stairs?and at the Dandelos!"

  The cheer now was a wild deep-throated roar, like a tiger uncaged and seeking furious vengeance on its trapper.

  Benito led them on up. Reflecting all the while on an old proverb he'd once heard about the risks of riding a tiger.

  ***

  Maria had found being back inside this place a nightmare. It made her feel weak and scared. Not the fighting, or the danger. Just the horrible place itself. Still, they had a job to do. And Casa Dandelo would rue the day they had taken her prisoner. She heard the tumult of the slaves coming up the stairs, and saw Benito at the head of them.

  There was a fierceness in his shining eyes. This wasn't the mischievous, laughing boy she knew?and had once made love to, a memory she found strangely haunting. This was the blood of the Wolf of the North. She didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. But when she thought about it, it had always been there, lurking under the surface. For all his charm, there was also something a little frightening about Benito.

  She followed after the rush. Fifteen minutes later she and Benito were out on the Grand Canal in fog. The Casa Dandelo was burning behind them.

  "Well. That's that," said Benito, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

  "I suppose you're proud of yourself?" said Maria quietly.

  "Well," said Benito, swelling his chest a bit. "It was a good fight. We didn't expect them to have Milanese soldiers hidden in there. But those slaves didn't let arquebuses or even the magicians stop them. No finesse but lots of courage."

  "They had lots of courage because they were desperate, Benito, and no way out. And you used them as cannon-fodder. And that 'distraction' of yours exploded in the family living quarters. You probably killed and maimed a whole lot of kids. So I hope you're not too proud of yourself, Benito Valdosta, because I'm not. We just did what we had to do, that's all."

  Benito started to say something. Then he stopped himself. "So what should I have done, seeing as you are so clever?" he asked. But there was doubt as well as hurt in his voice.

  Maria looked back at the burning building. "I don't know," she said quietly. "But that was the way the Wolf would do it. The Old Fox kills for family, not just for fun. He would have figured out a better way."

  "Uh-huh. Well, I'll think about it when I haven't got a war to fight," said Benito. The adult male gruffness in his voice did a poor job of covering the hurt in the boy's. "We'd better get back to the piazza and find out what that tocsin was all about."

  ***

  The bell was Lucrezia Brunelli's way of telling the city that its second most important citizen, Ricardo Brunelli, was dead. Murdered.

  And not five hundred yards away, a building was burning.

  A runner came up, panting. "Arsenalotti! Count Badoero has landed at the Sacca della Misericordia. With many men!"

  Chapter 88

  Nobody challenged sixty fully armored knights riding through the dark. They crossed the Brenta and the Piave bridges without opposition. Now, as the sky was turning gray with the dawn, they only had the last league or so to go.

  "We might be ahead, you know," said Erik. "They landed at Mestre. We saved a fair distance by going around by sea to Chioggia."

  "Hmm," said Manfred. "As long as they didn't meet up with Francesca."

  "No point in worrying about that," said Erik. "More immediate is the problem of how to stop the forts from opening fire on us. Or what to do if we see Ursula and her escort."

  Manfred snorted. "She has twenty-five Knights and a bunch of Servants of the Holy Trinity. We have sixty. We ride the bastards down."

  Erik was tired and irritable. It had been a long night. "She'll have picked up an escort, probably from the Scaligers. Possibly arquebusiers. Think, Manfred. And this casket?how do you think she plans to use it?"

  Lopez, who had been riding beside them as if he'd been born in the saddle?quite unlike his two companions?turned slightly and answered. "She and the Servants will probably abandon their escort, and head for the fort posing as distressed holy pilgrims. The fort will let them in, particularly when they see one is a woman and there are only five of them. Then I imagine they will release the Woden from the casket. They alone will be protected. When everyone is dead?or flees, which most of them will?the troops will come up and turn the cannon in this fort on the other. And then the enemy will sail through to attack Venice."

  Erik nodded. "That's what I'd do, I suppose, if that monster in the casket is so powerful. And what would you do about meeting the Knights and the escort?"

  "It would depend on the terrain and the light," answered Lopez. "Arquebuses are inaccurate at the best of times and p
retty useless at night." He eyed the large prince. "Or was the question aimed at you?"

  Manfred sighed. "Erik's trying to get me to say a double feint or something, Senor Lopez. And then he'll say 'no, keep it simple, stupid. Always flank them.' He's a blasted teacher born."

  There was a flash of teeth in the half-dark from the Basque. "A good one too, then. Simplicity is usually best?in war as in all things."

  Their guide rode up. "There's a party of soldiers ahead. A barricade. Look like mercenary arquebusiers."

  "Can we go around?"

  The guide looked at the heavily armored Knights; shook his head. "Too swampy."

  "They're not Venetians, are they?" asked Erik.

  The guide shook his head again. "Scaliger colors." Erik was not surprised by the answer. The Scaligers were the ruling family of Verona; traditional allies of Milan and supporters of the Montagnard faction in Italian politics. Since they controlled the Adige route from Venice through the Brenner Pass into the Holy Roman Empire, they had been expected to intervene in the war in alliance with Milan.

  "And how far are we from the fort?" asked Manfred.

  The guide shrugged. "Half a league. Maybe less."

  "I think we've got to move fast, Ritters," snapped Manfred. "I'll bet they've left their escort and are advancing on foot."

  Erik shook his head. "Scout it quickly first. It shouldn't take ten minutes, it'll rest the horses, and it may spell the difference between success and failure. Ursula must plan to arrive when the fort's defenders can see them easily. That gives us a few minutes."

  They halted. The guide slipped forward on foot. He returned to report that there were some hundred or so cavalrymen breakfasting on the edge of a field of peas.

  "Right." Manfred took a deep breath. "We don't want to lose the time fighting the troops and let Ursula get into that fort. If we defeat every one of them and she and her henchmen get in… we've failed. Remember that chapel. That is what we're dealing with, not some Italian mercenaries. Erik, you tell them how you want to run this. That way you can't complain if I get it wrong."