'What?' he squawked. 'I can't! I'd rather go to
All right; he had to admit it. He
Marco nodded. 'I thought so. I'll ask him.' He sighed. 'But don't get your hopes up. He was pretty grim about this, and had made up his mind. And anyway, there aren't a lot of places you can go, now.'
* * *
The Terce bell had rung before he returned. 'I'm sorry, Benito. Petro says: 'If he can't learn to behave like a gentleman, then let him take the consequences. He'll have plenty of opportunity.' '
'No—' Benito whimpered. 'You didn't tell him? Didn't you tell him about Maria?'
Marco sighed. 'I told him everything, including how you felt about the christening, and how seeing Maria at the wedding just made you crazy. He said you'd have plenty of chances to help Maria in Corfu. He said you could offer to be a dry nurse, since the one Maria had was unsatisfactory.'
Benito groaned, and dropped his head in his hands.
Chapter 21
The great carracks and the smaller tarettes in the Bacino San Marco twitched and jerked at anchor, responding to the winds, the short chop on the water and the loads being swung on board from the lighters. The fleet would proceed slowly to Outremer, hopping from Lissa, Corfu, Zante, Candia, Negroponte and points east as far as distant Trebizond. The loading would proceed for another week yet, but already many of the ships had to stay in deeper water. Weddings and celebrations were fine things in their way and at the proper time, but the ships must sail soon. So finery and jollification were best put in the past, to be talked about later. Now Venice hummed with industry. Spring was here, the time for trade was at hand, and the ships were outbound.
Over at the quay-side the great galleys bound for Flanders were at the point of final deck-cargo. They would not proceed slowly, navigating out through the Pillars of Hercules, and then across stormy Biscay; with such a voyage ahead, there was no spare time to waste. Their stops were few, but they would pause at Corfu—the last safe port for a final refit at the Little Arsenal there. The trip to Corfu was a good 'sea-trial,' revealing problems, especially with new ships.
And in Corfu, the ship would discharge a new assistant foreman for the Little Arsenal: Umberto Verrier.
Maria knew that the new posting was, in a way, her own fault. If she hadn't led to Umberto's men capturing Torfini and Rossi in those first few days . . . Well, Umberto wouldn't have acquired a reputation for sorting out problems, quickly and efficiently. The more senior guilds at the Arsenal were, on the whole, not pleased with his wood-selection abilities. On the other hand, they were satisfied that he could fix problems, and the Little Arsenal apparently had plenty. So, Umberto had his new posting. It was farther from Venice, but, as he said, it was in a real town. Maria wasn't as happy as he was about that part, but at least it would be back beside the sea.
It was one thing to be married to Umberto. It was quite another to be married to Umberto and feeling as if she was going to have to be responsible for his success, while at the same time allowing him to bask in the illusion that his success was due entirely to his own effort. And it was a third to do so while caring for a baby. . . .
But that was unfair. He was a
He cares for what he thinks you are.
He loved the baby. And that insidious voice in her head could say nothing about that.
She had thought that she was going be able to settle down, and now they were moving again. On yet another ship, so Umberto would be ill again. Two babies to tend, in the close confines of a ship. Another set of new people to meet and deal with, another strange place to try to make into a home. Harder, this time. She could not count on a fortuitous accident to show her what she needed to know. And she already knew that although Umberto was good enough at dealing with honest men, he was lost when it came to those who were less than honest.
She had only traded one set of problems for another, in marrying the man. But he cared for her, and would do his best for her even if it killed him. It was up to her to see that it didn't. If she could not love him, she certainly owed him.
Maria stood on the quay, watching the corded trunks and canvas bundles being loaded, as little Alessia nestled into her arms and nuzzled. Maria looked down at her child, and sighed.
'To think a year ago I hadn't even been beyond the fringes of the lagoon . . .' she said, half to herself. 'And now here you are, daughter, off to another distant place.'
Beside her, Kat gazed at the ships, and her eyes were still luminous with happiness. Maria thought that she had never seen a more contented person, and yet she knew that Kat was not blind to Marco's faults. Nor, for that matter, was Marco blind to hers. They had both known exactly what they were getting into, and yet they were two of the happiest people Maria had ever known.
How very different, Maria thought forlornly, from the way I felt after my wedding.
'I wish you weren't going,' Kat said with a sigh. 'Or I wish we were going along with you. I'd like to visit Corfu.' Alessia stirred and Kat reached for her. 'Let me hold her a little. It may be years before I see her again.'
Maria handed the baby over. She watched with some amusement at how awkwardly and carefully Kat took the child. Just on three weeks ago, she'd been just as tentative.
'When I left for Istria, I was never coming back, Kat. Never ever. Now here I am again. Things change. Who knows? Petro Dorma might get so sick of Marco that he'll ship you both off to Corfu.'
Kat shook her head. 'Marco is as much part of Venice now as the canals.'
Involuntarily, Maria glanced across the thronged piazza behind them to the tall pillar where the bronze statue stood. 'Or as the Lion of Saint Mark.'
