week or two after the wedding? You would arrive in Ascalon just as quickly, as the vessels wouldn't accompany the convoy. The convoy stops for two or three days at each port to allow for trade. You'd be spared all of that, as well as all of the mess and confusion of herding pilgrims on and off again at each port. And with your two hundred men aboard, they'd be well-armed.'
Manfred nodded. 'That sounds fair. What do you say, Eberhard?'
The white-haired statesman looked thoughtful. 'A personal convoy of brand-new ships will look as if the Empire and Venice enjoy a very cozy relationship. Rome may not like that. Constantinople may not either.'
Manfred grinned. 'We're expecting to have the Grand Metropolitan's very own delegation along, in the shape of Eneko Lopez and his companions, according to a letter I have from my uncle. And as for Alexius, well, let him worry. The news is he may be a shaky ally at best. A good idea to fill his mind with doubts. In fact—on the whole, I think it would not be a bad idea at all for Alexius to think the Empire and Venice are on better than mere speaking terms.'
Eberhard looked speculatively at Manfred. 'I detect Francesca de Chevreuse's hand here.'
Manfred did his best to look affronted. 'I can think of ideas too, you know.'
The statesman shook his snowy head. 'Explain to him, my Lord Dorma, that a wise politician always tells the truth. If one day it is necessary for you to lie, no one doubts your veracity.'
Manfred snorted. 'The truth seems pretty rare in politics, Eberhard.'
'That,' said Eberhard, grimly, 'is because there are very, very few wise politicians. If you must play at politics, play by my rules.'
But Petro had picked up on another point. 'Francesca!' he said with unalloyed pleasure. 'You have brought her with you?'
Manfred nodded, warily. There was a little too much enthusiasm in the way Petro had reacted to Francesca's name. And he began to remember a few things from their last sojourn here. How Francesca had made it very clear to him that their liaison was not going to be an exclusive one. That she had several clients. And once, to comfort him, she had said lightly that one of them was balding and big-nosed . . .
He found himself eyeing Petro Dorma's balding head and lumpy nose with new understanding. 'Yes, we have,' he said curtly, trying to keep hostility out of his tone. 'But understand this: She is strictly off limits to anything but polite social calls, Dorma. Even if you are the Doge of Venice.'
Petro smiled, not at all discomfited. 'Ah, well. My loss is your gain. But Francesca's conversation is a jewel even more rare than her magnificent body.'
Manfred coughed. 'Hmm. Well, we are going to be staying at the Imperial embassy. Francesca's already gone to see Katerina Montescue. But she will be in this evening.'
Petro bowed. 'I will come and make a call. And I don't mind if Rome and Alexius of Byzantium see it as Venice wishing to cozy up to the Holy Roman Empire.'
'I'll send you a messenger when she gets in,' said Manfred. 'No. Wait. A better idea. We'll take young Benito with us. Trusty native guide, y'know. Well. Native, anyway. And then I can send him back without exciting comments about a messenger running between the two of us.'
Petro looked at Benito, who was grinning like a horse-collar. 'Why do I feel this is a bad idea, Prince? Well, I can hardly refuse. Off you go, Benito.'
Looking at Benito's eyes, alive with devilry, Manfred himself actually wondered briefly if this was a good idea. Then he dismissed the piece of caution with the contempt it deserved. What trouble could this young
Surely none.
* * *
'Well, there is a font, yes,' said Marco, thinking. 'But it is a very small and very poor church.'
'Maria likes the idea.'
'I'll talk to Brother Mascoli, then. I don't think he'd mind, and his Hypatian ordination allows him to do this. I've hardly seen you for days with all this arranging. Come with me. Mascoli is a nice man.'
* * *
So he and Kat went down to St. Raphaella, taking simple joy in just being in each other's company.
Brother Mascoli didn't mind. In fact, he was delighted. 'Sometimes people seem to forget that St. Raphaella also does the work of an ordinary church. It will be a pleasure to christen this child.'
His eyes moistened. 'The child is healthy? Well? So many of those that I christen here . . . their mothers just wish to make sure that at least their souls are safe, since we cannot help their bodies.'
'Marco has been to see them,' said Kat. 'He says the child is strong and healthy.'
Mascoli smiled. 'Well, that assessment is good enough for me. We can do it whenever suits the parents.'
'Brother, Mascoli—' Marco hesitated; then, as the little priest cocked his head to the side, he went on. 'Brother Mascoli, would it be out of order to ask the water-people to come add a blessing of their own? Just in case, you know? Umberto's family doesn't all approve of this marriage.'
He decided he had better not say anything about the fact that the baby had been, well, 'early.' Brother Mascoli knew the dates of the wedding and the birth, and he was fully capable of adding for himself.
Brother Mascoli blinked. But to Marco's relief, he answered with no hesitation. 'I think that would be an excellent idea. Would you care to ask, or shall I?'
'Would you?' he replied, with relief. 'If I ask, they might feel, well, obligated. If you do, and they'd rather not, there'll be no hard feelings.'
