This Rough Magic (96 page)

Manfred knew that Francesca herself was puzzled by Sophia's ability to stay hidden, in such a relatively small place as the Citadel of Corfu, and was getting worried about it. Some of the possible implications were . . . disturbing.

Manfred shook off the thought. Erik was speaking.

"It is a possible idea," the Icelander agreed.

Falkenberg chuckled. "We'll send old Eberhard out. If there's anyone in the whole world who can turn 'please pass the salt' into a three month negotiation, it's him."

"We have to be wary whom we send," said Erik grimly. "Emeric's middle name should be 'treachery.' "

"Well, you're not going. He wants your head," said Manfred firmly.

"And you're not going either," said Von Gherens. "Too valuable as a hostage. Send Falkenberg or me. They don't know us, and we can observe the military layout on the ground."

"I think I should go," said the captain-general. "I am high-ranking but expendable."

Manfred blinked. That had been in his mind, but he'd kept his mouth shut about it. "Very well. I'll ask Eberhard. The old man has been feeling underutilized."

When the captain-general had left, Francesca stood up. "I must go and talk to Eberhard too. This has interesting possibilities for espionage."

"A parley?" Emeric smiled savagely. "Such a thing presents some opportunities. Yes. Raise a truce flag. We can use the time to move materials onto the causeway without hindering cannon fire."

"Sire." Dragorvich hesitated. "You don't think they're using this to buy a respite? This would be the first time for many months that the western half of the citadel will not be being fired on."

Emeric shrugged. "I think it worthwhile. Aside from anything else, we can see if their delegation is worth taking hostage."

Dragorvich kept silent, of course. But, not for the first time, he reflected that the king of Hungary was ultimately something of a fool. Emeric always thought rules were for other people, without ever once considering that his own behavior might bite him back. There was a good reason, after all, that civilized nations considered diplomatic envoys untouchable. The Mongols were utterly fanatical on the subject. They had, on three occasions that Dragorvich knew of, destroyed entire kingdoms for breaching that rule of war.

They were met by a delegation of Magyar officers. "His Majesty will not receive you with weapons. Weapons are to be left here."

Falkenberg, in full armor, creaked to Eberhard of Brunswick. "It is to be hoped that he doesn't want us mother-naked, as I hear these Magyar cavalry have to go now."

By the pinched lips and dull red faces, Falkenberg hadn't made any new friends. Eberhard of Brunswick smiled sweetly. "Now,
Ritter
. Accidents will happen when you are foolish enough to give Carlo Sforza's son trouble."

"The story will be a matter of interest to the brotherhood of Knights. I'm sure it will elevate the status of the Magyar no end," said Falkenberg, calmly putting down his sword. The Knight knew he was playing to the gallery watching from the walls. Plainly the Magyar knew it too. But by the looks of the bright eyes . . . it might not make any difference in a minute.

Fortunately, a factotum from Emeric turned up to escort them down the causeway to the king.

"Sire. This was given to one of the guards by the Venetian officer," said the factotum, handing Emeric a slip of parchment.

It read: Contact me. Deal. 

Emeric smiled wolfishly. "Well. Captain-General Tomaselli. Maybe his wife did pass on that little letter to him."

"Additionally, the elderly imperial . . . who I accompanied when he went to relieve himself, asks that Your Majesty consider a private deal. The man said he has magical word from his master. The Emperor wants his nephew intact. For which he is prepared to pay a quarter of a million ducats and also Your Majesty's former territory of Ceská, and to withdraw from the districts of Soporon and Vas."

"What!" Emeric started forward. "What did he say?"

The Factotum repeated himself faithfully.

"Damn him!
Damn him.
He's letting me know what the Emperor is doing. Trying to draw me back to Hungary. Ha! Well, I'll play him at his game. The Citadel is so close to starvation I'll win soon enough anyway. Then I'll take back Soporon and Vas—and take
Ceská in the bargain. "

"My principal fear about your plan, my dear," said Eberhard to Francesca, "is that it may backfire on us. I think we may just have told Emeric what a valuable card he has to play in Manfred."

Francesca shrugged. "Surely he's figured that out for himself by now, Eberhard."

The older statesman shook his head. "Emeric . . . I have serious doubts about his sanity, Francesca. He thinks himself vastly clever, and vastly superior. He has welded the fractious elements of the Hungarian kingdom into a unit. But his decisions are sometimes . . . odd. There is a theory that the Emperor has that someone else in Hungary is pulling his strings. It may well be true. I did very little time in Buda, and I've never been so glad to leave anywhere, not even the weather in Ireland. His capital is a pretty place—with a monster corrupting it."

"I can see I still need to stop thinking like an Aquitaine," said Francesca. "But I was sure we'd get an approach from his spies. Soon."

"We may," said Eberhard. "But first we'll get the attack. Emeric simply agreed to everything. You don't negotiate like that when you're in earnest. Trust me. Negotiations are one thing I've done so often that I know exactly how genuine ones feel. Erik is preparing for Emeric to break the truce."

Falkenberg yawned. "It was long, boring and windy and dusty." He grinned nastily. "The dust was getting to Emeric, too. Now, is there any wine? Eberhard rationed me on Emeric's. I wouldn't buy horses from that man."

"Who? Emeric? Erik never
bought
any of them." Benito had come, full of curiosity, to nose out what he might.

"No. Eberhard of Brunswick. He kept that dickering going all lifelong day, when we had no intention of surrendering—and Emeric has absolutely no intention of abiding by the terms he offered us. Man's a snake. Dresses like a pimp, too."

"Well, how long have we got before fighting resumes?" asked Manfred. "We've probably given the outer wall another two weeks' life with the work we've done to it today."

Falkenberg shrugged. "Eberhard insisted on until sunrise tomorrow to consult his principals. I suspect Emeric will try an all-out assault about an hour before the truce is over."

As events proved he was wrong. The assault came at midnight. It was overcast and as black as the inside of a cat out there, and Emeric obviously found the opportunity too good to miss.

Erik's men had also found the opportunity too good to miss. Since sunset, they had been outside the walls digging pits in the shingle and covering them with sailcloth and more shingle. The oil and pitch pots had been heating since dusk.

Sometimes a bad reputation is a serious impediment to treachery.

Two days later, after the failed attack, the approaches Francesca had expected arrived. They arrived in a way she'd never expected, however—from someone she'd liked and trusted, who had given her a great deal of information: the little Greek secretary to the governor, Meletios Loukaris.

Francesca had put a lot of Manfred's money into watching. And she'd put a lot into the gossip grapevine. It had brought her a fair amount of information, but not the kingpin. Not yet. Now the gossip chain brought in another piece. The captain-general—having withdrawn from social life of any sort since his wife's arrest, and become almost entirely reclusive since her escape—was hosting a gathering. It couldn't really be counted as a party; the guest list was comprised of the worst bores among the
Case Vecchie
and Libri d'Oro. No women were invited. Francesca had a very good idea of the guest list for someone who hadn't seen it. An interesting group to choose for a party . . . and now on her watch-list.

"The awkward question," said Francesca, "is whether De Belmondo is involved, because his secretary is."

"Test him," said Von Gherens. "Tell De Belmondo we're going to arrest the man. And watch the secretary to see if he runs."

Francesca screwed up her face in disgust. "The thing I think I hate most about you military people is your crude attitude toward espionage. I was going to feed De Belmondo some information—confidential, and absolutely not to be repeated—and see if the Hungarians got it."

"And what were you going to tell him?" asked Manfred.

"I've been trying to think of something," said Francesca irritably.

"I think we should arrest this secretary and make him talk," stated Falkenberg.

Francesca shook her head. "The trouble with that, Falkenberg, is that some people will keep their tongues, even under torture. And you would make a feeble torturer, anyway."

Falkenberg tugged his moustache. "And why is that, milady?"

"Because there is a great deal you wouldn't do."

Falkenberg nodded. "True enough. But I've usually found that it's not what I would do, but what the ones being interrogated believe I am going to do."

Manfred sighed. "Look, Francesca, we'll do it your way—until tomorrow sundown. Then we do it Von Gherens' and Falkenberg's way. We'll tell the governor we're going to arrest the man at dawn. And arrive at midnight. If he's packing we know where we stand. If not, we put my one-eyed frightener on him. I just don't believe we can play around with this."

As it happened, they didn't need either step. Good fortune finally favored them.

De Belmondo came to see Manfred a little later, just after Francesca had left for her walk. The timing was too precise to be coincidental.

"Prince Manfred," said the old man, uneasily. "Forgive me intruding on you like this. But this morning one of the Libri d'Oro, a gentleman by the name of Alexander Konstantis, came to see me in secret." The old man looked embarrassed. "He and I share an interest in the collection of naturalistic curiosities. He is an avid collector of birds' eggs. Under this pretext he came to see me, privately, and not in the office. He, ah, has something of a reputation as a malcontent. I think he just likes to argue, but that is easily misconstrued. Alexander was invited to a gathering at the captain-general's rooms last night. Now, Signor Konstantis doesn't like Captain-General Tomaselli, and very nearly didn't go and only decided to do so to give the cloth-head—in his words—a good mocking. He found himself part of a group of very unlikely people. Either very wealthy landowners or people with a reputation—like himself—for being malcontents. His curiosity was pricked and he decided, instead of just enjoying himself, to find out why the captain-general wanted to mix the likes of him with those."

The old governor shook his head sadly. "The purpose of the gathering was treason, I'm afraid. Tomaselli sounded each of them out, and Alexander played along when it came to his turn. He is astute, and in his words Tomaselli is as subtle as a charging bull. He was invited to stay on after many of the others had gone home. Then it came down to open treason. Tomaselli pointed out that Venice had not only failed to protect their estates but also had armed the peasants. He gave details of water and food stocks. He argued that the Citadel must fall, and that all within would lose everything, even their lives. He offered—conditional to the surrender of the Citadel—that his allies would retain lands and privilege, under Emeric."

"I see," said Manfred.

De Belmondo smiled. "My nasty-tongued friend said he'd go along, that he had both the perfect plan and method, but that he wanted some guarantees first. In writing. And Tomaselli was much struck by the goodness of this idea!" De Belmondo snorted and shook his head. "As if Emeric would abide by a piece of paper! Anyway, they're due to meet again an hour after Vespers at the captain-general's rooms in the Castel
a terra
. Alexander thinks that action is imminent and so we need to take steps. Unfortunately, I don't know what parts of the army the captain-general may have suborned. But I was sure it wouldn't be the Knights, as you are outsiders."

"We'll be glad to assist," said Manfred. "I think we'll need some witnesses, Your Excellency. And I think that the only reason that the captain-general has resorted to civilians is that he has very little following in the army any longer. If he ever did."

De Belmondo looked around uneasily. "Very well. Now, Prince Manfred, I have a very awkward request. Do you mind not telling Francesca de Chevreuse about this?"

This sent ideas racing through Manfred's head. But he allowed no sign of his perturbation to show. "Certainly. But why?"

The governor pulled at his earlobes. "Well . . . someone has told me she may possibly be a spy."

"Interesting," said Manfred, keeping his urbane expression. Eberhard would have been proud to see how well he'd learned. So would Francesca. "And who told you this?"

"My secretary, Meletios Loukaris. De Chevreuse has been pumping him for information, and tried to use him to set up other informants."

Manfred couldn't keep a straight face any more. He grinned. "You're quite right, De Belmondo. She
is
a spy. Or at least an agent. She's been working for my uncle—and for me, of course—since we came here."

"Are you sure that is her true allegiance?" asked the old man doubtfully. "I mean, in this revolting world of double-dealing and treachery, it is possible for a person to serve two masters."

Manfred nodded "Indeed, it is. Which is why I want to show you these." Manfred produced the letter from Emeric, offering to Manfred safe conduct—and setting out the terms. "This was delivered this morning in response to a trap set by Francesca and Eberhard of Brunswick. I think you must agree that he is beyond suspicion? He has been one of the Emperor's finest and most trusted statesmen for many years."

De Belmondo sighed. "Treason and treachery all around us. Who brought this to you?"

Manfred looked steadily at the governor. "Your secretary, Loukaris. Who has been an agent of Francesca's and provided her with several other informants. This man didn't serve two masters. He served three."