This Rough Magic

could do to help. So, can I help?'

'I cannot see how,' the girl replied mournfully.

'Well, why don't you just tell me about it?' Maria said, reasonably. 'That can't do any harm, and it's better than crying here all alone over the turnip peelings.'

The girl's face worked for a moment, as if she was trying to hold herself back, but it all came out in a rush, anyway. 'I am so unhappy!' she wailed softly, in tones of such anguish that they imparted a sense of heartbreak to the banal words. 'I will never see him again!'

For one, sharp-edged moment, Maria was tempted to join her in her tears, for the words called Benito's stricken face up in her own memory. I will never see him again—

But she was older than this poor child—in experience, if not years—and she held onto her composure.

The moment passed. Maria patted the blond woman's arm awkwardly. What the hell did you say to a cry of pain like that? She settled for: 'There, there . . .'

Even this provoked another flood of sobbing. 'He was such a nice man. The nicest we have met here in all Europe. And so tall, too.' How could something that sounded so silly also sound as if the girl had lost her first and only true love?

Tall? Well, that counted out Benito. 'Didn't he, I mean, couldn't you . . . ?' Maria floundered. She really didn't know how to deal with this. 'What happened? Why won't you see him again?'

'I did not want to go. But Bjarni said Mama would never allow it. I know Mama would not be happy. But his eyes are such a beautiful blue-gray. And his chin is so . . . so square-cut and manly.' She sniffed; and then, obviously overcome by the vision she'd conjured up, began to cry again.

'I cannot sleep for thinking about him!' she sobbed.

From the tone of her voice, that was nothing less than the truth, and a great deal less than she felt.

'Why won't your mama approve?' Maria ventured, cautiously. 'Is he married or something?'

The woman mournfully shook her head. 'Erik is not married. But he is just a lowly bodyguard. We are the Thordarsons. We are one of the wealthiest families in Vinland. I cannot just marry a Nithing. Mama wants me to marry a man of position. That would help the family. But . . . but he was so wonderful.'

She began to hiccup, and Maria patted her back. Good Lord. How long has she been crying like this? Hours? Days?

She knew all too well what the girl felt like. She'd been there—before she learned just what a scum-bred bastard Caesare Aldanto was.

Cogs began to turn in Maria's head, though. And if this Erik was the Erik she knew, he certainly wasn't a scum-bred bastard. 'Who was he guarding?' she asked.

The Vinlander girl shrugged, as if anyone other than Erik was of no importance at all, and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. By the sodden look of it, she had been crying for hours. 'I do not know. A guard is a guard.'

Maria bit her lip again. 'You don't know the rest of his name do you? Erik what?'

'Hakkonsen. It is a good family . . .'

Maria almost choked. Just a bodyguard! 'Ah. Well. Have you heard of Prince Manfred?'

Svanhild nodded. 'Of course. The heir to the Emperor. The son of the Duke of Brittany. He was at the wedding.' Her tone turned bitter. 'It is very good for business, these connections that Katerina brings to the Thordarsons, ja.'

'Well, he's actually not the heir. That's his cousin, Conrad. Manfred's next in line after him. That makes him the third most important person in the Holy Roman Empire, which is the most powerful state in Europe. Maybe in the whole world.'

'Ja,' the girl said, indifferently. 'And also the Duke of Brittany has great standing in the League of Armagh. He is a very important man. If only my Erik could have such friends—' She began to sob again.

Maria shook the woman's shoulders, just a little, although it was like trying to shake one of those Teutonic warriors that had come into Venice among the Knots. Mostly, she was trying not to laugh.

'Listen to me! Erik Hakkonsen is Prince Manfred of Brittany's personal bodyguard and master-at-arms. Only bodyguard is the wrong word to use to describe him. It's more like—'

She scrambled for some phrase that might describe what Erik did besides 'keeper.' Or maybe, 'nursemaid.' And if Benito only had someone like that to knock some sense into him—

'He's a sort of teacher, or companion, and—well, he keeps Manfred from getting into too much trouble. Being a bodyguard is just a small part of it. Kat's friend tells me they are really much more like friends. What he certainly isn't is a—' Again she searched her memory for what the girl had said. '—a Nithing. I suspect if you asked Manfred, he would say that Erik is very important to him.'

The sobs stopped, abruptly, and the blond woman stood up from the stern rail, a look of fierce delight on her face. 'Really?' she breathed, hope replacing the despair in her sea-blue eyes so quickly that Maria's breath caught.

Maria nodded firmly. 'Really.'

The blonde hugged Maria. 'Svanhild Thordardottar is forever in your debt!' she said thickly. 'I must now go and turn this ship.'

Maria didn't try to tell her that you can't alter the course of a great galley in the Venetian Western convoy, not short of being the Bora-wind in person. But, by the looks of it, Svanhild would have a damned good try. Bless her heart, the girl had a good steel spine to her, when she wasn't sobbing in heartbreak!