This Rough Magic

'Hadn't I told you yet? The scouts for the Venetian relief force have arrived.'

If the black powder in the barrels on the shingle had suddenly gone off, it could scarcely have caused a bigger explosion.

* * *

Hidden in some Aleppo pines in a rocky little defile, Erik surveyed the Citadel gloomily. It was still defiant, bathed in the last of the evening light, but he didn't see what he hoped to see. On the first day after the young tearaway left, he actually expected to see the banner of the Knights in that corner tower. When it wasn't hoisted, he'd given orders to move from all the localities Benito knew. Torture got information out of anyone. So did black magic. And Emeric used both.

The next day he still hoped. Tonight was merely a duty. The youngster was either a prisoner or dead, and most likely the latter. Erik thought about the sword Benito had left in his keeping, and sighed. He'd love to own it, but he'd part with it in a heartbeat if it could have spared the boy. He was so caught up in these morbid thoughts that he didn't realize that, flying above the north tower of the inner wall, was the famous treble cross of the Knights of the Holy Trinity.

'It'll be the most welcome saltcellar a bridal couple ever got,' he said to himself, laughing in relief. 'He must be down to two of his nine lives.'

The slave breakout that night brought Erik sixty-two fanatical new recruits. But Erik's first priority was to feed the poor devils up a bit.

* * *

The Magyar officer shook his head. 'They seem to have forgotten the meaning of trust. They won't even parley, Sire, let alone agree to terms. Early days—back in June—all they did when they saw our men was make sure the gates were shut and watch us. But now . . . Feeling has hardened, Sire. They're shooting on sight. Both Paleokastritsa and Kassiopi are still holding out. I've put men on watch, and they're in a sort of siege, but without cannon and a lot more men I don't see reducing either.'

Emeric considered. 'We'll play a waiting game, then. I don't want to take men off the siege here.'

'Getting the heavy cannon to either of those two towns would be very difficult anyway, Sire. There is no road, just a donkey-track. It could be done, but it would take a lot of men and a lot of effort. Easier to starve them out. When the Citadel falls, they'll be forced to surrender.'

Emeric nodded. 'I see the peasants are coming back onto the land.'

'The men and the older women are, Sire. You don't see a child except running away. Basically, hunger forced them out, but the lack of rain is worrying them.'

Emeric snorted wryly. 'I can only have it one way. The rain must stay away from the Venetians, too. So: What did you find out about the murder of those two Libri d'Oro collaborators?'

The Magyar officer scowled. 'The peasants did it, Sire. But they swear it was some klepthes—bandits from the hills in the north. We really do have a problem with that. Our troops can't move singly. I have to send them everywhere in squads. I've tried torture. I've tried beatings. I've executed a few in front of their families. No one talks. So I tried a different tactic in Gastouri, with that second murder. We're twenty miles away from where I'd tried the last time. This time I pretended it hadn't happened. I told my men to go easy. To buy the locals drinks. To convince them we were simply taking over from Venice and that they'd find us far better masters. The peasants won't drink with us unless you hold a knife to their throats. I finally asked one old bastard why. He said we eat babies and feed our dogs their bones. I told him this was rubbish, but he insisted he'd been shown the gnawed bones.'

* * *

'I don't want to go back there, Umberto,' Maria said, knowing she couldn't tell him the real reason—that she was certain Sophia Tomaselli had put some kind of ill-wishing on the house and on him. For that matter, she wouldn't put it past the woman to try to get someone to poison them at this point. Living there just made her feel too exposed.

But none of those things would have made any sense to Umberto. 'I know, it's getting colder down here. We'd benefit from living in a proper house again, but I'm scared. I won't take you there. I won't take Alessia there.'

Umberto smiled. 'Well. It makes a suggestion I have to make easier, Maria. I have here a letter from Master Grisini. He's not well. The honest truth is he's concerned for his wife's future if he should die. The captain-general would then reallocate his home. His wife should go back to Venice—in the normal course of events. Of course that can't happen right now because of the siege. Grisini is deeply worried that the captain-general will take a rather spiteful and petty vengeance by moving the old lady out. He could do it, too. However, the house is a very large one, and what Grisini proposes is that we—you and me and Alessia—move into the lower section. It's still bigger than our old house. The move doesn't have to be approved by anyone except Commander Leopoldo, and he's a reasonable man. If Master Grisini dies, we'll be 'sitting tenants,' the captain-general won't be able to evict us, and we can give house-room to old Mrs. Grisini until the siege is lifted and she goes back to Venice. The house is a lovely one, and Grisini is afraid if the scuolo lose tenancy of it we'll never get anything nearly as good again. He suggests we move four of the Illyrians into our old house, to stop fights with the Corfiotes down here.

Maria shrugged. 'Umberto, old Mrs. Grisini isn't really in this world anyway. But if it means I don't have to take you and Alessia back to that house, fine.'

* * *

'Your agent? You dared to do this without my permission?'

Eberhard cleared his throat. 'Captain-General Tomaselli, while this place is a Venetian possession—Prince Manfred is not a Venetian subject. To be a bit blunt, he doesn't need permission to get his men to do anything. And he did, in fact, obtain carte blanche from the governor to get a message out. Signor Valdosta here was delivering a message to the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire from the prince. That was his primary task, which he achieved. It was done on the prince's orders and with the prince's money. The fact that young Benito is a good citizen of your Republic and did his civic duty by reporting the matter to the relevant authorities there also, and returned with ships and men, was a bonus for Venice.'

He paused. 'I know you see this as an attack on the Venetian Republic. But please understand: To us it is a danger to the man who is second in line for the throne of the Holy Roman Empire. By comparison, the Emperor