This Rough Magic

There was a hasty consultation between the sentries. 'We'll get someone to call old Cheretis. It was his goats.'

The other guard peered at them more closely. 'Oh. It's you again, Spiro. I thought we'd gotten rid of you. I see you're in bad company, as usual.'

'But I haven't been anywhere near your sister, Adoni,' said Spiro with a grin.

The guard glared at him. The other guard nearly fell over the crenellations laughing.

The goat owner, when he arrived, reminded Benito more of a sullen, bad-tempered porker than a goat. Like the ones a few people over on Guidecca had kept on the scraps in those big market-gardens over there. He had the same sparse, bristly beard and pronounced jowls.

But he was as obstinate as a goat, even if he didn't look like one. 'They must be punished! Even if they pay for the goats, they must be punished!' He pleaded with the guards, in a squeaky voice. 'After all, if you shoot them, I get paid for my beasts from the money they have with them. And you get the rest.'

Spiro shook his head. 'Don't be dafter than you have to be, you old Malakas. They were strangers visiting our beautiful island when the Hungarians attacked. Where is our famous Corfiote hospitality? Why are you fussing over a few miserable, scrawny goats?'

'Scrawny goats! They killed my best milker! She was the most beautiful goat on the island, hair like silk, an udder as soft as a baby's face and milk, so much milk you'd have thought she was a cow. And as for hospitality: what sort of guests kill your livestock?'

Spiro turned to the Vinlanders, Benito, Erik and Thalia. 'See? I told you how they felt about their goats in Paleokastritsa!'

The laughter might have infuriated the goat-owner, but it decided the two guards that they were obviously no threat. 'Have you got the money to pay the old bastard?' asked one guard.

'In gold,' said Bjarni, curtly.

Not much gold came to Paleokastritsa. Even the goat-owner looked less sour. 'Such fine goats as mine are worth a great amount of gold.'

'Let us in and we can argue about it,' grumbled Benito, 'before some Hungarian troopers come along because of all that smoke. And they take all the gold instead.'

Benito reached into his own small pouch and hauled out a silver penny. 'Here, Spiro. I owe you this for information. I promised him a ducat from you, Erik.'

Erik dug in his pouch. 'Here are two.' He handed them over with a flourish carefully visible to the gate. 'I'm in your debt for finding and helping my friends.'

Guards and goat-owner had developed eyes like saucers; the goat-owner's were full of greed.

Spiro looked at the coins, beaming. 'I'm rich!' He walked over to the gate and pounded on it. 'Let me in. I need a drink.'

'You'll have to leave your swords and guns in the gatehouse,' said one of the guards. 'And you owe me a cup of wine, Spiro.'

Spiro grinned. 'I'm buying, so you might as well get yours before the money's all drunk up.'

'After you send some goat-boys to look for that friend of yours,' said Benito. 'The fisherman.'

Spiro nodded. 'Sure. But I intend to be already hung over and broke before Taki Temperades gets here.' Then he elbowed Benito in the ribs. 'Trying to rob you was the smartest dumb thing I ever did, eh?'

At the moment, Benito was inclined to agree.

 

Chapter 47

In the darkness, up on the landward wall of the inner curtain, Manfred paced. Von Gherens, as a bodyguard should, paced alongside him.

'It was a mistake. I should never have let him go.' Manfred stared over the cannon-flash in the darkness. Emeric's heavy guns were being maneuvered into place and the first of the forty-eight-pound bombards were already in action.

'It's early days yet,' said Von Gherens. 'Erik won't be easily caught. And even if the boat sank, he swims like a fish.' He looked pensive. 'You know, there's something very wrong about that. A good knight should have the decency to avoid learning how to swim. After all, if you're in the water with armor on, what is the point?'

Manfred ignored him. He gnawed on a knuckle, and welcomed the pain when he bit a little too deep. 'He and Benito were too valuable to risk like that. What the hell was I thinking of?'

Von Gherens didn't reply. Perhaps he realized that Manfred didn't really want an answer. Presently Francesca came up to the battlement, and took him by the elbow as he stared off into the hills. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. 'It's time to come down, Manfred. Perhaps tomorrow night . . .'

'Look. Look, Manfred!' Von Gherens pointed. Manfred whirled and followed the direction of his finger.

On the far hills a bonfire had blossomed, a tiny pinpoint of yellow and red. Now another. Then a third.

'You're hurting me, Manfred,' said Francesca quietly.

Hastily, Manfred let go of her shoulder. 'Sorry, dear.' He took a deep breath, then let out a long sigh of relief. He should have known; and he should have trusted that those damned Vinlanders were as hard to kill as his Icelander. 'And he's even found the girl! Come on, Francesca. Now, I really will sleep. Not even Emeric's damned guns will keep me awake.'

'About time, too,' grumbled Von Gherens. 'Keep him under lock and key, Francesca. I'm going across to the hospital to see how Falkenberg does.'