This Rough Magic

* * *

Manfred knocked on Erik's door. There was no reply. He knocked again, waited, and then was about to turn his heel and leave when Erik said: 'Come in.'

Erik was seated in a chair by the window staring out. He turned to see just who had come to disturb him, with a look that said it would be the worse for them. 'Oh. Manfred. I thought it would be some servant or orderly or something. I've had a chambermaid and a page come looking for you, all in the last hour.'

'I've come to talk to you about this Svanhild.'

Erik sighed. 'Yes. I'm sorry, Manfred. I've let myself be distracted from my task. It's just . . . I wish . . . Well, I can't. I'll try to put it aside. My oath comes first.'

Manfred grinned, hiding emotions far from humor. 'Besides, as a confrere Knight of the Holy Trinity you are supposed to be celibate and not think such things. Listen, I have talked it over with Francesca and young Benito.' Manfred chose his words now with extreme care. 'You are sworn by clan-oath to be my personal hearthman. To guard me and also prepare me for the possibility that I might become heir to the throne of Charles Fredrik. To keep me alive. To take appropriate long-term steps to make sure this happens.'

Erik nodded, dully. It was a matter of note on his mental state that he did not snap that he knew all of this. 'Yes. That is my duty.'

'If my bodyguard—you, that is—arrived with a severe chill or was injured—I'd send him to bed until he was well enough to be effective. I'd use another bodyguard if he insisted.' Manfred waited for a response.

'I would insist, if I was sick.' Erik did not even look indignant.

'Who would you nominate?'

Erik shrugged. 'Von Gherens, I suppose. Or Falkenberg, had he not been injured.'

Manfred nodded. 'I will have both of them. Falkenberg, if he recovers. Because you are sick. I'm sending you off to get cured. Benito, a Corfiote seaman and you are taking a small boat out tonight. You will go and see if this sweetheart of yours is alive. Come back when you're well.'

Erik gaped at him. And then closed his mouth and shook his head. 'I can't do that.'

Manfred had come prepared for that. 'Your responsibilities go beyond those of some simple day-to-day bodyguard, Erik. You're responsible for my long-term safety. How would you best ensure that?'

'Putting you in a padded cell and feeding you through the keyhole,' said Erik, still staring at him.

'Be serious, will you? Besides, Uncle Charles Fredrik said I'm supposed to go to Jerusalem. How would I do that in a cell? The answer is breaking this siege. And the answer to that is getting word back to Venice. And that's exactly what I want Benito to do. But without you he'll probably fail.'

Was Erik following all this? It was impossible to tell from that poleaxed look on his face. 'Look, his plan relies on sneaking out of here in a small boat lowered from the seaward walls. But the rest of Emeric's troops and cannon have arrived. You can bet Emeric has shore patrols aplenty out now, especially after last night. The boy's a fighter, but he's not in your league. And he doesn't have your experience of small craft. He's Venetian, but a city-dwelling landsman, really.'

Now, finally, he was getting a reaction out of Erik; the Icelander nodded, slightly. Manfred went in for the kill.

'But the crunch is that he's got to move overland by night to a fishing port, well away from here. The boy can move around a city like a ghost. But I don't think he's ever been outside a city. He'll get killed for sure if you don't go along with him. Once you've got him safe—you can give your time to hunting for Svanhild.' Manfred paused. 'But Erik . . . my friend, you do know what usually happens to beautiful young women when an army invades.'

Erik nodded. 'Yes. She may be dead, or she may be raped and enslaved. But . . . I have to know.' He sighed. 'I'm sorry. I can't accept your logic. What you say about Benito and a message to Venice makes excellent sense, even if you are using it as an excuse. But I can't desert my post.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Manfred sat down on the bed. It complained. Beds generally complained when Manfred sat on them. 'I didn't want to do this. I've lugged this around since Venice.'

Manfred hauled a letter out of his pouch. It was plainly much traveled. He unfolded it. 'Here. Come and have a look at this. Uncle Charles Fredrik sent it to me when things started to unravel in Venice.'

Erik came over. The letter dangled half of the seal of the Holy Roman Empire. The sprawling spidery handwriting was unmistakably that of the Holy Roman Emperor himself.

'Read from the top of this paragraph,' commanded Manfred.

Erik did.

Manfred, The most valuable coin the House of Hohenstauffen has is loyalty. The house has no coin of a larger denomination than the loyalty of Clann Harald. The reason is simple: they owe their loyalty not to the Empire, or the Emperor. They owe it to us. The Hohenstauffen. The Clann have repaid their debt to the Hohenstauffen many hundreds of times over. Yet they still answer the call. Why, nephew? First, it is because they're raised and bred to it. They're a very honorable house, even by the standards of a very honorable society. But that is the lesser of the reasons. The reason is that they are our friends—because we are as loyal to them as they are to us. Always remember that. An Imperial house has very few true friends. They are more valuable to us than to ordinary folk for that reason. In every generation the time has always come when we, the Hohenstauffen, must put that friendship, that loyalty to our friends, above all other obligations. Do not fail me in this, Manfred. When the time comes, you will place Erik's interests above your own. I order this. Do not fail me or our house.

'I'm not going to fail him,' said Manfred grimly. 'You will be on that boat this evening. This is not a matter of duty, Erik. It is a matter of friendship. I won't see you dying by inches in front of my eyes with your heart somewhere over those walls.'

Erik stood up, came to stand before Manfred and put his hands on Manfred's shoulders. 'Thank you,' he said, gruffly. 'I was . . . not happy when the summons came for me to come to Mainz to serve. Willing, because it is our sworn duty. But not happy. Our regard for the Empire isn't high in Iceland, or Vinland either for that matter. My father said something to me then that I didn't understand at the time. He said: You will find it is not