'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.'
* * *
The sail had been made into a crude tent, and through the long, hot spring day, the crew slept. After an hour or so, Benito grew tired of the heat and the flies and waded back onto the shore and slept under a pine tree. He could see the open sea from here; and, waking during the day, he saw several patrolling Dalmatian galliots. But they didn't come close enough to the dangerous-looking rocks to spot the fishing boat. Even a land patrol would have to come very close to the edge of the near-vertical vegetation and crumbling limestone cliff to see her. The tough part was going to be avoiding being seen that night, once they were at sea.
* * *
The two men were overly well dressed for Paleokastritsa. They approached the table in the taverna diffidently. 'Milord. We've heard a rumor that you came out of the Citadel.'
Erik looked them over cautiously. The clothes, on closer inspection, had once been fine but showed signs of very hard wearing. Erik doubted that the Hungarians would have gotten around to using spies or informers . . . yet. 'Why do you ask?'
The older of the two, the one with the neatly trimmed beard with hints of salt and pepper in the blackness, said grimly: 'Milord, we're both Venetians who have estates here. Or, I should say, used to have. Our families have been killed and our homes burned. We want to know what is happening. We want the Republic's armies to sweep these Hungarian bastards into the sea. We've scouted along the ridgelines . . . all we can see is that the Citadel is under siege. There aren't that many men attacking.'
'I just want to kill the bastards,' said the younger one, morosely, his pudgy, neat hands forming themselves into fists.
Erik pushed his chair back. 'What I can tell you is that Emeric has landed many more men. As for when the Venetian Republic's relief forces will be here—'
He shrugged. 'That is anyone's guess. I believe word has been sent, but whether it got through or not, I can't tell you. Of course, Emeric's Dalmatian pirates will try to stop the messages. So it may take a long time. Months at the very least.'
The younger man said: 'I told you so, Ambrosino. I'm going back out to kill a few of the bastards.'
In Erik's assessment, the young man would probably die the first time he encountered a real soldier.
The older man patted him on the shoulder. 'Forgive him, milord. He lost his wife and their newborn son. Pardon us for intruding on you.'
Erik took a deep breath. If he was going to organize resistance to Hungarians, he had to start somewhere. This unlikely looking material was as good as any. The younger man was going to get himself killed anyway in his fury and grief. Let him at least put them to some use.
'Sit down.' It was a command, not a request.
Both men looked at him in some surprise. So did the Vinlanders. But the two sat.
'If you go out there, you may kill a Croat or a Hungarian or two. However, if you really wish to hurt Emeric and his troops, you're going to have to be more methodical about it. Emeric has plenty more Croat troopers. But if you destroy his cannons or burn his supply dumps, then not only will you hurt him far more badly, you will save the lives of others.'
The young man shook his head stubbornly. 'I just want to kill the bastards.'
'You'll only die quickly without achieving anything.' Erik gave him a measuring look, and allowed a touch of scorn to come into it. The young man detected that scorn, and reddened. 'You aren't a fighter. You aren't a soldier. You certainly aren't a mercenary, who by nature is the toughest and cruelest sort of soldier. Your fancy dueling- master won't have taught you a single thing that will work in a fight against these bastards, and what you don't know will get you killed the first time you run up against one. Is that what you want? Or would you rather make Emeric pay fifty-fold for what he's done?'
The young man was scarlet by now, but he raised his chin defiantly. 'I want him to pay a hundredfold, never mind fifty-fold. But I'm not scared of dying.'
'Then either learn to be,' said Erik grimly, 'or go somewhere else. I have no space in my troop for foolhardy men.'
'Your troop?'
Erik nodded. 'I came out here for three purposes.' He saw no reason to blather in public about his feelings for Svanhild, and certainly not Benito's secret mission. 'Never mind the first two. The third, acting on Prince Manfred's behalf, was to recruit men and engage Emeric of Hungary's forces in . . . call it 'irregular warfare.' The kind of fighting we do in Vinland. I want to bleed Emeric white—draw off some of his forces from their attack on the Citadel, and make keeping the Citadel under siege a battle on two fronts. I want to make it as expensive as possible for him to be here, but I can't do that without men who are as interested in keeping their own skins intact as they are in killing Emeric's men. I don't need heroes, I need men who can be as cunning as foxes and hard to catch as weasels. Are you with me?'
'I am,' said a firm voice from an unexpected quarter. Thalia spoke quietly but clearly. 'I am. If I can save one other life, that's enough. If hurting this king will avenge my Georgio . . . then even if I am a woman I will fight. What kind of men will not?'
The plumper young man nodded, looking at Thalia in some surprise. Suddenly, with no warning, he began to cry. Deep, bitter sobs.
'He's upset,' said the older man. 'But he'll be an asset, milord. Giuliano's father was a master-at-arms. When he retired here, he married a local girl and they had one chick. Flavio Lozza gave his son one-on-one training from the day he could hold a sword.' He smiled. 'I think Flavio was secretly disappointed that the boy only wanted to grow olives and play the lute.'
