This Rough Magic

Manfred's big shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. 'Not again, Erik! You beat up Benito for a while, that should do. You've got all the way to Jerusalem to take it out on me. And my ribs are still sore from yesterday.'

Erik's face loomed over him, his chill eyes back on Benito. 'Up,' he said. 'You aren't nearly as damaged as you think you are. And once you've warmed up properly, most of your bruises will stop hurting.'

* * *

Benito was engaged in Erik's idea of warming-up exercises, which he suspected would have him dead on the deck, when relief in the shape of Marco and Kat arrived to bid him farewell. And, to his surprise, Petro Dorma was with them. 

Petro had brought with him Benito's rapier, main gauche, and also several porters with the rest of Benito's clothing. 'You sail within the hour, and it may be some years, five perhaps, before I see you again. I have taken one liberty. I have given to your grandfather the broken sword that was in the armoire in your room. The duke requested it. He says he will have it reforged, since one day you may wish to give it back to Sforza. In which case, he says, it will be more useful if has a point with which you can drive it home. I will have it sent to you.'

Somehow that polite civility made it all worse. 'Thank you. And Petro . . .'

'Yes?'

'I'm really sorry I made all this trouble. It's just . . .'

Petro smiled. 'That is behind us. You understand that as the Doge I have to be seen to be fair, dispensing justice, rewards and punishments, with an impartial hand. Even to my wards; perhaps especially to my wards. Now. Go well. Enjoy Corfu. Report to my senior factor there.'

'Couldn't I go somewhere else?' begged Benito. 'Please?'

'No.' Petro shook his head emphatically. 'You will just have to learn to live with her there, too. I suggest you go and see her, make your peace. If, after a year or two I hear good reports from my factor, you will be transferred elsewhere to learn more of how the Dorma business is conducted. Now, farewell, Godspeed, and try to stay out of trouble, boy.'

Benito swallowed. 'I'll do my best, Petro.'

The farewell to Marco was harder. He wouldn't be seeing his brother for years. They'd never been apart for more than a month. Even when Marco was hiding out in the Jesolo marshes, at least Benito had always known where he could try to find him if he needed to. Now it would be a long time before they saw each other again. 'Good-bye, Marco. I'm sorry I've been such a fool.'

Marco was as gracious as Petro, and more understanding, perhaps. After all, he'd done stupid things for love, too. 'We've both done that, Benito. Please take care. I know you usually ended up looking after me, but I won't be there to help. Remember to write to us.'

'I will,' said Benito gruffly. 'Kat, I hope I didn't spoil your special day for you. You know . . . I wish you both to be very, very happy.'

Kat smiled radiantly at him. 'I don't think anyone could have spoiled the day for us, Benito. And we didn't even know about your adventure, anyway, until after lunch the next day.' She blushed rosily and looked sidelong at Marco. 'We didn't get out of bed until then.'

Benito reevaluated his brother's enjoyment of premarital favors. 'Beds are better than bridges,' he said with perfect sincerity.

'Benito!' They shook their heads at him in tandem. His brother sighed and smiled. 'You're impossible, Benito.'

Kat grinned. 'But if he wasn't . . . well, we might never have met properly, Marco. And he did sort out our misunderstanding, dearest. We'll have to forgive him.'

Marco hugged his brother. 'I'm going to miss you, Benito.'

'Yeah. Likewise.'

Kat hugged him too. 'Listen. Try to be understanding about Maria? Give her and little Alessia my love when you see them.'

'I will do. I promise.'

The capitano of the galley came up and bowed respectfully to Marco. 'We'll need to be getting underway, Milord Valdosta,' he said.

So Kat and Marco went. The ship cast off, and the rowers began edging her out into the lagoon, toward the sea. Benito watched and waved.

And then Erik bellowed in his ear.

* * *

By the time Benito collapsed into sleep that night he was: first, sore in places he hadn't even known he had muscles; second, awake to the realization that Erik was possibly an even better swordsman than Caesare had been.

Benito was a lot of things, but a fool he was not. Not about learning combat skills anyway. Erik had had him in a quilted jacket, practicing with a blunt-edged, round-pointed rapier until he could barely keep the point up. Then Erik had pulled up a grizzled old knight, who was at least as broad as he was high. 'Semmens's weapon of choice is the axe or the morningstar. He will drill you for an hour. You're not really big enough for those weapons, but knowing how they work will help you to stay alive when people armed with either are trying to kill you.'

Then, when it seemed things could get no worse . . . Eneko Lopez came up on deck. 'I have been asked by Petro Dorma to see to your spiritual welfare. This task is probably beyond me, but I will do my best.'

He did, with an incisive tongue. When he finally left, Benito realized that having his brother's superb memory would have been more useful at this point than an ability to climb buildings. He also knew a great deal more than he