This Rough Magic (53 page)

"Tomorrow night. We'll have to go and fetch the old boat, and get her round here. But there's a cove a couple of miles beyond Paleokastritsa we can lie up in. If you don't know the coast, it doesn't look like it's there at all. We should be there sometime before tomorrow, and we'll sail on the windrise after dark. Spiro can get one of the local kids to guide you over there. We've got a fishing boat to get off an island."

"And we've got to get over to the islet," said Kosti, suddenly glum. "Yani's boat is still underwater, I suppose."

The captain grinned evilly and slapped him on the back. "And guess who is going to be swimming out there."

Trudging up the hill carrying Alessia, Maria felt ill at ease about her destination. In the background she could hear Emeric of Hungary's cannon pounding away at the outer wall, reminding her that things weren't normal. But that wasn't what was making her nervous. She was going to the governor's palace in the Castel
a mar
. The Castel
a mar
was not nearly as grandiose as the Doge's palace in Venice, but it was somehow more intimidating. As imposing as it was, the Doge's palace in Venice had been the property of the people of Venice by sheer familiarity.

The guards at the gates also thought she didn't belong here.

They barred her way with their pikes. "You can't go in here, woman. His Excellency only has public audiences on Wednesdays. Come back then." The guard who spoke looked at her without much interest, his tone of voice more bored than anything else.

"I don't want to see his Excellency. I want to speak to Prince Manfred. He will see me."

The guard snorted. "And no doubt you've brought his baby with you! Go on with you, get lost."

"Maybe she's a Teutonic knight in disguise," said the other, chuckling at his own wit.

She reined in her temper, and remained polite. "Can't you send a message to him? Tell him Maria Verrier would like to see him. Please?" She hated her own voice, so subservient—but angering them wouldn't get her anywhere.

"Hark at her!" One of the guards jerked a disdainful thumb at Maria. " 'Please!' Listen, dearie. We don't run a messenger service for Scuolo women to have chats with princes. He'll send for you if he wants you."

Maria flushed with anger, and was just considering whether it would be worth the consequences of pushing her dagger through his ear when the guards suddenly jerked themselves out of the slouch and came to attention. The frail, white-haired podesta's wife was coming down.

For all the attention that Contessa Renate De Belmondo paid the guards they might as well have been statues, except one does not nod to statues. She did, however, greet Maria with every sign of pleasure.

"Maria Verrier, is it not? Have you come for our little chat? I am so sorry! I have to go across to the garrison in the Castel
a terra
right now. Would you mind coming in and waiting for me?"

Maria realized that Marco's efforts on her behalf had borne fruit after all. She did her best to curtsey, which, as she'd never been taught and she had a baby in her arms, was not a success. But Lady Renate was real quality, certainly as far as Maria was concerned, and ignored the awkwardness. Such things were only important to
Case Vecchie curti
, new money that still had to try to establish how important they were. For the Lady Renates of the world, it wasn't important how you looked—money could buy looks—it was what you were.

Lady Renate smiled. "I see you've brought your baby up, too. I wish I could see my own grandchildren. Or Lodovico Montescue trying to be a good great-grandfather, ha! Mind you, hooligans usually turn out to be very strict with their offspring . . . but it is impossible to think that he might be a great-grandfather soon."

She touched Alessia's cheek gently. "So soft! I love them when they're this age." She smiled again. "What I love most, of course, is that you can give them back when they cry!"

"Actually, milady, I came up to see Prince Manfred, about a friend. To be honest, I hadn't come to see you at all."

Lady Renate pulled a severe face, with just trace of a betraying dimple in her lined cheek. "And why not me, Hmm? Young men have, as a rule, no liking for babies. They don't know how to hold them."

Maria blushed. "I was  . . . embarrassed to come and see you, milady. I'm just a
Scuolo
wife."

Lady Renate shook a finger at her. "And a friend of my old flame's granddaughter! Close enough a friend to have stood as her maid of honor at her wedding. That is an honor for anyone, for it means the
Casa
Montescue holds you in very high esteem. As ancient a house as there is in Venice. And if Lodovico thought I was good enough for him, then you must be good enough to keep me company. Come up and see me—and soon. What about Wednesday just after Terce?"

Maria settled for a half-bow rather than trying to curtsey again. "Thank you, milady. I will come."

Lady Renate laughed. "You'd better! I look forward to it. And now I must run. The women from Kérkira have come in a delegation to see the captain-general. I shall go and prevent bloodshed." She waved and walked out.

"No escort," said the one guard disapprovingly. "And not riding."

The other shrugged. "There isn't a person in Corfu who would dare hurt her, and riding makes her sore these days." He nodded to Maria. "I made a mistake. Come on, I'll take you up to the prince's quarters myself. You won't report us, will you?"

Maria tempered the sharpness of her retort with just enough amusement to let them know that she wasn't really joking. "Not this time. But next time I'll pull your bottom lip over your ears. And don't tempt me to show you how it is done. You came that close." She showed a gnat-sized gap with her fingers.

The guard chuckled. "If they had women in the army you'd make a good sergeant major. Sorry, Signora Verrier. I'll pass the word around so you don't end up stretching too many lips around here."

"You tell them to watch cheeking the
Scoulo
people," she warned him. "We've got short tempers and long memories."

The guard led her up through the castle, around enough passages and up and down enough staircases that she was thoroughly lost, before finally knocking on an ornate door.

"Who is it?" asked a woman's voice.

Maria knew that voice well enough to answer before the guard could. "It's me, Francesca. Maria."

The door opened immediately, and the guard ushered Maria and Alessia into a sybaritically appointed chamber, vanishing prudently and closing the door behind them as soon as they were well inside. Manfred was sprawled on a heavy oaken settle, grinning cheerfully.

"We don't know a whole lot," he said, without waiting for the question. "I was going to come and tell you later that Erik signaled that he was ashore and he had found his Svanhild. I imagine Benito is all right."

"He was born to be hanged," said Maria, trying to hide her relief.

Maria must have squeezed Alessia. The baby woke and objected to being treated like a bundle. Maria had the interesting experience of seeing the normally imperturbable Aquitainian woman look decidedly alarmed, as an indignant squall arose from the wrappings. "Is something wrong with her?" Francesca asked uneasily.

Maria rocked and bounced; Alessia made a few more pointed remarks about her cavalier treatment. "She's fine."

"Good." Francesca shook her head. "I'm not really maternal. I don't like babies much, I'm afraid."

Manfred grinned. "They're not infectious, Francesca." He pointed at Maria. "Come on, Maria. Advance on her. Let's see if Francesca will retreat into the bedroom to escape. I've been trying to tempt her back there all morning. I never thought of herding her."

Francesca was recovering her composure, possibly because Alessia hiccupped and decided that she had registered enough complaints for the moment. "Manfred! Babies hold no interest for me, for excellent reasons."

She began counting off on elegant fingers. "You cannot have an intelligent conversation with them. They are utterly and selfishly demanding of all of your time and energy, regardless of war, peace, or any other considerations. You—ah, never mind." She shrugged. "Not all women love babies, legends notwithstanding. I'm one of the ones who doesn't."

Manfred stood up. "I won't hold it against you. I must admit I'm not too keen on them myself. Maybe one day. But certainly not yet."

Francesca chucked him under the chin. "I can't tell you how relieved this makes me."

Maria said nothing. She knew that talking to people who didn't have children about the subject was a waste of their time and her effort. Besides, it was hardly her business to go around urging parenthood on people. She certainly couldn't see Francesca with children. And truth to tell, at one time she'd thought she would not like to have any herself.

Instead, she decided to bring up something else that had been nagging away under the worry about Benito. She'd heard about it from Umberto and now had it refreshed by Lady De Belmondo. The food rations, even though they were barely into the siege, were already causing unrest.

"I met the podesta's wife at the gate. A delegation of women from the town is going to see the captain-general. She said she was going to keep the peace." Maria looked sidelong at Francesca. "From what Kat told me, you collect information. Maybe you already know all about this, but there is a problem about food."

Francesca smiled. "I trade in gossip, yes. I did know about the food. I didn't know about the podesta's wife. There is something of distance between me and 'respectable' women. They don't like to be seen talking to me. But tell me more. I'd like a female handle on what is happening out there."

"Lady De Belmondo is . . . different. She talks to anyone, and everyone talks to her; the guards at the gate said she can go anywhere without fear. And Lodovico Montescue was one of her suitors when she was young."

"The old dog probably made up to half the women in Venice," said Manfred lazily. "If the stories I've heard are anything to judge by, he was worse than I was." He raised an eyebrow at Maria. "Worse even than Benito. Anyway, I'll leave you women to chatter. I'm going across to see Falkenberg. And then I'll go and look at what Emeric is doing in the way of siege preparations. I need to keep an eye on that."

"Not without Von Gherens," said Francesca sternly. "I promised him I wouldn't let you go out without him, and I won't let you break my promises."

Manfred grunted. "All right, I'll collect my baby-sitter. He'll be pacing the hallway anyway." He went out, blowing a kiss to Francesca.

When the door latch had clicked closed behind him, Francesca turned again to Maria. "I'm glad you brought this up. I had wanted to come and talk to you about it anyway."

She paused for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. "I need to set up a network of contacts. Manfred and the Knights worry about what Emeric's army is doing out there. I worry about what is going on in here. In the few days since the siege began, I've established that the Citadel is overripe for internal troubles, which I think are more dangerous than the external army. This food story is just one aspect. I wanted to ask for your help. This place has limits as far as access is concerned."

Maria laughed, a little bitterly. "You have no idea! You might not be considered 'respectable' by the ranking women, but there isn't a man in this place who would dare to stop you from going anywhere you wanted to. Getting in here for me was quite difficult. I scarcely dare think how the ordinary Corfiote would be treated."

"Yes. And the problems in the Citadel, I think, will mostly come from the Corfiote citizens who are excluded." Francesca frowned, then focused intently on Maria. "I need people out there who can tell me what is going on. I need a place for them to meet me, that won't attract attention. I've some gold, and some favors to offer to them."

Maria looked at her thoughtfully. "Can you get out of here without drawing attention? Because if you can, I must introduce you to my friend Stella Mavroukis." Maria smiled. "She can talk the hind legs off two donkeys, but she knows everyone. She's been here for years, and she speaks Greek."

Francesca's eyes brightened with interest. "She sounds ideal. When can you organize this?"

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Alessia stirred in Maria's arms. "But now, I must go. Or you will get an experience of babies you won't enjoy."

Francesca was quick about showing her to the door.

The rocks, in the paling predawn, were just visible by the lacing of foam around them. The wind was blowing spray off the water, leaving the descent greasy. The stony surface compared well to mossy pan-tiles in the rain, but it was steeper than any self-respecting roof would be. Benito decided the young shepherd guiding him had a great future in housebreaking, if he should need it.

Coming closer, Benito could now see that the rocks were twisted, shattered and sharp-edged, even in this poor light. That anyone would bring even a dingy in here, let alone a thirty-five-foot lateen-rigged fishing boat, seemed like insanity. Yet, there she was, snugged up beside a huge boulder. Someone was busy attaching a bush to her mast, the only bit that stuck out above the rock.

Benito whistled. Kosti nearly ended up in the cove. He dropped the bush. "Now, see what you made me do," he said grumpily.

"How do I get across?"

"There's a ledge of rocks over there. Time it right and you won't get too wet."

Benito paid off the guide, rolled his trousers up, and walked into the surge. The water was cold, and the mussels underfoot were sharp. He walked forward cautiously, his city-born imagination putting sharks and giant octopi in the dark water. Encountering seaweed nearly had him into the deeper water with a shriek. However, he reached the fishing smack's mooring without any ncidents. He pulled up onto the rock, and stepped into her. The smell nearly knocked him back ashore.

"Where is the skipper?"

"Where I'll be in a minute," said Kosti, finishing tying the bush to the masthead, just as the first rays of sunlight hit the mountain above them. "Under the sail. Asleep."