Erik?'
'Who is he, Manfred? It appears he's the bastard who set me up to be killed at the House of the Red Cat.'
Francesca smiled, as she neatly twitched the neckband of Manfred's shirt into shape. 'He is the man who believes he will be the next Doge.'
'I don't think you can do that, Erik,' said Manfred seriously. 'I don't think even my--the Emperor--could stop the Venetians hanging the lot of us.'
'Besides,' said Francesca, 'Aldanto is reputed to be for sale, confidentially, to the highest bidder. It may have had nothing to do with Brunelli.'
'He sounds like the sort to have influence with these Venetian Schiopettieri.'
Francesca shook her head. 'Not really. Any of the Signori di Notte could have done it. But Brunelli is not one of them.'
Manfred stretched. 'I know you don't like the idea, Erik. But I still think you need look no further than our dear abbot.'
Erik shrugged. 'Sachs says he sent Pellmann to me with a message that the raid was off. Pellmann has enough of a grudge against me to not deliver it. I'm not a North German Ritter.'
'And you didn't beat him, so he didn't respect you,' said Manfred with a grin. 'You're a callous brute, Erik. How could you treat the man like that? No wonder he ran off.'
Francesca laughed. 'And what the two of you do not see is that that does not add up. Aldanto being the organizer of that ambush, and the time at which the Schiopettieri arrived, adds up to two things: money and influence. Venetian influence. How would this Pellmann have access to either? He was not a Venetian, was he?'
'Pomeranian,' said Erik. 'Couldn't even make himself understood in the local dialect. Despised all Southerners, and Venetians most of all.'
Francesca sighed. 'I think you will find he's dead.'
Manfred snorted. 'Well, that's no loss to the world. Unless sharing Von Tieman's squire-orderly is worse, Erik?'
Erik shook his head. 'No. He's a nice enough old fellow. A bit slow upstairs. Probably from all those slaps around the head Von Tieman gives him. He's pathetically grateful that I don't. But why kill Pellmann? And if it wasn't him, arranging it in a piece of spite, who was it? It can't be the abbot, Manfred. Me being wounded or killed or even captured in a raid by the local constabulary on a brothel would have shamed the Knights--and by extension, the Servants.'
Manfred shook his head. 'Believe me. If they had caught you, the abbot would have been the first person to be shocked that you were there. It was a set-up, I tell you.'
'I don't believe it,' said Erik, stubbornly. 'I have opposed him, true--in a relatively minor matter--but surely that's not worth the effort and money such a plot would take. He could just send me home.'
Manfred grinned. 'Heh. I'd be sent off on the next boat. Just think. No Uncle Erik to ride herd on me.'
Erik didn't say anything. Francesca was there. But he smiled and shook his head. His duty was to protect Manfred. There were certain steps he would have to take if the abbot tried to send him away. A signet ring to be used. In dire emergencies.
'Well, the thought of my running wild has shut Erik up. He's even forgotten he's come to hale me away for guard duty. Goodbye, my sweet. Until tomorrow.'
Francesca shook her head. 'Not until Thursday, Manfred, as you well know.'
A look of pouting hurt spread over Manfred's face. 'I wish you'd give this up. I thought you loved me.'
She smiled, and patted his cheek. 'And I do! But not exclusively.'
He put his bulky arms around her waist and drew her close, his face growing sulky.
Francesca gave him a quick, easy kiss, but her hands were on his chest gently pushing him away. 'Please, Manfred. You could not begin to afford keeping me for yourself, and you know it as well as I do. So enjoy what we have.'
