Francesca smiled in spite of herself. 'You didn't pay attention, so you rely on the fact that I did. Of course.' She waggled a finger at him. 'You'd better start learning to pay attention! Someday you'll be somewhere where I'm not, and you'll curse yourself for not having the information when and where you need it.'
He grinned sheepishly; she delivered a frown, then gave him what she knew. 'There is only one real fortress. There are a number of small fortified towns, and villas, built to withstand attacks, but nothing that will stand up to modern siege weapons except the Citadel at Kerkira. The fortress there is on an islet, and the actual rock makes part of the ramparts. The Byzantines and then the Venetians have improved on what nature had already made fairly good.'
Manfred assumed the impassive oxlike expression that Francesca had learned indicated deep thought. 'I think we need to hold a council of war,' he said eventually. 'I don't know enough of Venice's affairs, their military strength on Corfu, the ability of the Venetians to withstand a serious siege or what our best course of action is. I have to think for the Holy Roman Empire, not Venice or Eneko Lopez. I think I will go and call Eberhard, Eneko, Erik, Benito—if they've finished with his wound—and Falkenberg. It's a pity Von Gherens is on the other vessel.'
'I'd also ask the capitano to join you, if he's gotten over having a divine gale push his ship. He was still gibbering, according to Falkenberg.'
'I'll ungibber him.' Manfred cracked his knuckles. 'He's been at sea in the service of the Venetian Republic for forty-five years, man and boy, as he has repeatedly informed me. A man of his experience shouldn't let a little of what Father Lopez assures us is ecclesiastically sanctified magic worry him.'
Manfred looked regretfully at Francesca's lush form. 'I know it seems a pity but maybe you'd better put some more clothes on.' He looked appreciatively at the outfit. 'I haven't seen that one before. Why were you wearing it when we were going to be attacked?'
'Practicality, dear.'
He looked puzzled. 'It doesn't look very practical . . . except for one thing, Francesca.'
'My legs are not enveloped in clinging petticoats. And we fight with what we have. I know full well when men's bollocks start thinking, their brains stop. If I put on breeches and took up a sword, even one of these attackers little brother's could kill me. But if the best of warriors is intent on undoing his breeches . . . well, I have two knives. There are certain other features about this outfit that are less obvious than knives, too.'
She did not add that, if the fight was lost, dressed in this fashion she'd almost certainly be booty for the captain. Manfred would possibly not understand that sometimes the things one did to survive were not pleasant. And she had a great deal of practice in that vein.
Manfred took a deep breath. 'You'd probably get raped.'
He looked admiringly at the diaphanous outfit, which was intended to hint at, rather than reveal, what was underneath. 'I admit the need, because I want your input at the council. But it does seem a waste of time.'
'Dressing is never a waste of time, Manfred dear, because undressing someone again is part of the pleasure. I shall dress and contribute what I can to your councils. Then later you can help me undress and contribute something to me as well,' she said, lowering her lashes.
'And now I'm supposed to concentrate on military matters,' grumbled Manfred.
* * *
Eneko Lopez looked gray with exhaustion. The capitano looked as if his eyes were still about to start out of their sockets. He chose a position as far away from Eneko as possible. The others looked battered in various degrees, too, noted Eberhard—except for the old duke's grandson, Benito. Benito had a bandaged shoulder, but it didn't seem to have slowed him down much. He looked like one of those fused grenades he'd tossed so effectively. His eyes reminded Eberhard of a sparking and sputtering wick, as if he were alternating between wild excitement and exhaustion.
Eberhard was an old man and a politician now, but he'd been a soldier once:
Privately, Eberhard was pleased by the way Manfred had handled the battle. Manfred would serve the Holy Roman Empire well, with some more experience; very well indeed. Eberhard noted he was able to take advice. That was rare, especially when combined with an ability to act decisively and effectively, and even rarer when combined with the ability to lead. Advice seekers often wanted others to make decisions, not merely advise, or else they merely wanted their own opinions confirmed, and didn't listen when advice ran counter to it.
This meeting, too, showed a maturity that he'd not expected. Merely calling them together like this proved that he was thinking past the successful escape.
Of course, Eberhard wouldn't tell the young prince that. But Manfred had come a long way from the spoiled brat he'd had the displeasure of meeting when he'd been in Mainz some years before.
'I suppose the crucial issue is how well this Venetian fortress at Kerkira will withstand the siege. Basically it is the only fleet-size anchorage around.'
The capitano made a wry face. 'It could withstand nearly any siege . . . if it were well enough supplied, and had enough men, milord. But last time I was there the garrison commander was complaining bitterly about how few men he had.'
'Commanders always complain about that,' said Falkenberg. 'The Venetians couldn't have taken and certainly couldn't hold the island without enough men.'
But Francesca was already shaking her head. There was another one whose still waters ran deep, thought Eberhard. The old diplomat had a good idea that Manfred had learned as much at the white hands of Francesca as at the calloused ones of Erik Hakkonsen. Probably more, in fact.
'It wasn't
