This Rough Magic (66 page)

"And I mean no harm either. I'll let you go just as soon as I've had my say. Now someone can go and fetch Petro Dorma. Then if it's all the same to you I'll go back into exile. I've discovered just how much I hate the pettifogging bureaucracy of this place."

One of the Schiopettieri cleared his throat nervously. "Signor Valdosta. The Doge has gone to Verona."

Benito sighed and raised his eyes briefly to heaven. Very briefly. "Why don't we just move the whole town there? Very well . . . Is Lodovico Montescue in Venice?"

The two Schiopettieri hastily consulted. "We think so, signor. We have not heard anything about him going."

Benito grinned. Lodovico Montescue might be old, but he'd do just fine. He was influential enough to get things moving. And he and Benito saw eye to eye.

"Have him fetched. You." He pointed to one of the Schiopettieri. "Go. And don't even think of bringing anyone but Montescue back here. If you let me talk to Lodovico, no one gets hurt. If you bring a bunch of Schioppies charging in here, I'll cut this Capuletti's throat first, and then see how many more of you the sword can bring down before I die. "

Wide-eyed, the Schiopettieri nodded. And went with a degree of speed Benito was sure his plump body hadn't managed for many a year.

"Now," said Benito, looking at the tableaux of waxworklike people in the chamber, "the Swiss gentleman with common sense, if you wouldn't mind bolting that door. I've come a long way to bring this story to Venice, and I'd hate to be interrupted while I'm telling it. Also, if something goes wrong and I get killed I'd hate to have failed to bring this warning after all this. Clerk, you will write all of this down."

The small clerk nodded hastily.

"Right. I won't bother with things you already know about, such as when we left Venice. As our ships were approaching Corfu, we were attacked by two fleets of vessels, Narenta galliots and Byzantine carracks . . ."

He led them through a brief synopsis of the landing in besieged Corfu and his escape from the citadel and his adventures on the way here.

At the end he prodded Justice Capuletti in the ribs. "I have done my best to serve the interest of the Republic. Yes, I have broken my banishment to do this. Once my warning has been heard I am willing for the Chief Justice of the Republic to pass appropriate sentence. I just wonder whether this man's actions were prompted by malice and a desire for revenge against the
Casa
Valdosta, or whether he is an agent of King Emeric's attempting to silence me. I'll leave that for the court to decide, too."

The Swiss mercenary cleared his throat. "It's something of my fault you're here, milord. I made an error of judgment. Apologies."

Benito grinned wryly. "We all make mistakes, soldier. Some of us have the balls to admit it. No hard feelings. I was fairly stupid in my approach."

The mercenary looked at the door and scratched his chin. "In my professional opinion, Signor Valdosta, we ought to put a few of these benches across the door, and you should move across to that corner, away from the direct line of fire. If you don't mind, I'll ask these lads to give me a hand." He jerked a thumb at the Schiopettieri and the clerk.

The Schiopettieri nodded. "Good idea, signor."

The clerk stood up nervously. "Signor Valdosta . . . couldn't we just end all of this now? Now that Justice Capuletti has heard the reasons he understands what you were doing and why. I certainly think we could end this unpleasantness now."

Benito turned the Justice's head by his forelock. "Well, Capuletti?"

"Ah . . . yes. Of course. Just let me go."

Benito shrugged. "Very well." He let go of the Justice's pinioned arm. The Justice staggered forward.

And ran for the door. The clerk attempted to stop him and was floored by a flailing fist. But the Schiopettieri stepped in front of the door, his weapon in hand.

"Shoot him! I'm free now! Shoot him!" shrieked the Justice.

The Schiopettieri raised his piece . . . and knocked the Justice to the floor with it.

"You better come and grab him, Signor Valdosta," said the Schiopettieri, hauling the bloody-faced Justice to his feet. "Here. Hold him in front of you. They're battering at the door."

Benito held the half-limp Justice in front of him.

At this point the upper half of the door broke.

"Back. Back off or he gets it," yelled Benito.

"Just what in the name of heaven is going on here?"

The voice was old, cracking slightly on the upper registers. But Lodovico Montescue's voice was still strong enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

Lodovico stumped forward. Reached over the gap and opened the latch. "Well, Benito Valdosta. What is going on around here? What are you doing in those clothes? Did you pawn your boots for drink?"

It was like olive oil on wind-riffled water.

"I've just brought news that Corfu is under siege. It's blockaded, so I had to travel in disguise. And I'd kill for a bottle of good Veneto Soave, never mind pawn my boots."

"Siege, eh. Who?"

"Emeric of Hungary, together with the Byzantines."

"The bastards!" He turned to the Schiopettieri officer accompanying him. "The Marangona must be rung. So must the Campanile of San Marco's bells. We're at war. Have some of your men summon all of the Council of Ten that have not accompanied the Doge to Verona. And call in the Senate."

The old man took a look at the Justice. "Well, no one's allowed to even give you a cup of Soave for killing Venetian Justices, much though some of them might like to. So you might as well let him go."

"With pleasure. All I wanted to do was tell the Republic that we are at war. This one—who is either a traitor or a fool—wanted to stop me. I haven't harmed him."

Lodovico looked at the clerk on the floor. "And that one?"

The clerk sat up, looking embarrassed. "I just thought I'd stay on the floor for a while, milord."

Lodovico snorted. "Probably a good idea with all these guns. Let's uncock those weapons, gentlemen. And Benito . . . 
are
you going to let him go?"

"Certainly." Benito pushed him away.

Justice Capuletti staggered free. "Shoot him!" he shouted.

"Have you lost your mind, Justice?" snapped Lodovico, interspersing his powerful old body between Benito and the Schiopettieri. "Go and get that cut cleaned up, and have a glass of wine. You're overwrought. You'd better hope you're overwrought. If you're not, what you keep trying to do is treasonous."

He turned around calmly to face Benito, presenting his back to several half-raised firearms in a show of the bravura that had once made him the talk of Venice. "Do you mind sheathing your sword, young Benito? It causes unease."

The bells of the Campanile of San Marco began to peal, calling the people to the piazza. Benito knew that whatever happened to him now—and despite Lodovico's calm, Benito knew he was still in deep trouble—he had succeeded. Venice would go to the rescue of Corfu and Prince Manfred. He took a deep breath, allowing some of the tension to ease from his shoulders. And Maria and baby Alessia would not have to face the danger and privations of a siege. He calmly nicked his forearm—the blade must be blooded before it was put up—and put the blade back into its sheath. Then, hung that on the sash he had for a belt.

Only seven of the Doge's Council of Ten were in Venice and only five were in the Doge's palace. On their way to the great chamber where the Senate met, they were accosted by a functionary, who quietly escorted them into a small salon. Council membership was secret and anonymous; it rotated every three years with different members of the
Case Vecchie
selected through a complex process to serve. Benito was not surprised to see that the five assembled were wearing carnival masks. After all, their anonymity had to be guarded.

The military questions were terse, pointed and incisive.

"Tell us what force attacks the Citadel."

"We estimate at between ten and fifteen thousand. Croat light cavalry, Magyar heavy cavalry, Slav pikemen mostly. From what we could see."

"What cannon did they have?"

Benito scratched his chin. "Well, most of the enemy cannon were not ashore and deployed when I escaped. That was how we were able to effect a landing the previous day."

"How do you assess the Citadel's state of readiness for siege?"

"Sir, it is both good and bad. Provisions seemed adequate by what the captain-general said. But the fortresses were undermanned. The Citadel has nine hundred and fifty and the fortress on Vidos a further hundred and ninety. There were very few cavalry. In the region of fifty, perhaps. Of course, we added to that a bit."

"Well, that tallies with the known facts anyway," said one of the men. A portly one, that Benito was almost sure was Lodovico's friend Admiral Dourso under that mask.

"This will still have to be thoroughly investigated," said another sourly. "And now, thanks to the furor you've stirred up, Montescue, investigated in the full Senate and not in private. They're clamoring for news in the piazza and in the great hall."

Lodovico smiled wryly. "I've never really approved of the secrecy of the Council of Ten's doings anyway. Best to have this out in the open. I think there is less room for deception there. Come, boy. Let us go and face them."

The huge hall was crowded. Benito found himself looking at a number of expectant, worried faces. The Venice rumor mill was already working.

"Why are the bells being rung?" demanded one elegant
Case Vecchie
gentleman in the foreground. "Are we at war?" The hubbub of questions coming from the hundred and twenty members of the Senate—who, with all the other functionaries of state, had multiplied amazingly—was overwhelming. This many despite the short time? It was frightening. There must have been at least three hundred people there. Benito took a deep breath. It would probably be the great Council of a thousand five hundred members next . . .

A very badly played trumpet blast stilled the crowd.

"Quiet!"
Lodovico returned the trumpet to an indignant young herald. "Valdosta can't be heard above this racket. First he will speak. Then I will allow questions. At
my
discretion."

Benito cleared his throat in the hush. "First, I am here to bring news. A Venetian possession, the Island of Corfu, has been invaded. The Straits of Otranto have been blockaded by Byzantine and Dalmatian vessels."

"That explains the paucity of trade," muttered one of the senators. "We haven't had a vessel in for weeks. There's normally a trickle of coasters at least."

"Invading our territory—"

Lodovico snatched the trumpet again and blew it discordantly. It was a sound to make brave men quail. Even being quiet was easier than listening to it again.

Benito went on. "The Citadel of Corfu is under siege. Emeric of Hungary is conducting the siege in person."

A senator at the front of the press of people raised a long arm. "Lodovico, I need to ask a question."

"Ask away, Enrico. That's the gist of Benito Valdosta's news, isn't it Benito?"

"Have Byzantines also attacked other Venetian territory? And what is the proportion of Emeric's forces as opposed to troops of the Holy Roman Empire?"

Benito was almost sure that this had been one of those questioning him a few minutes before. "I don't know about other Venetian possessions, milord. I was sent from Corfu to bring word. I traveled disguised as a fisherman—which is why I am dressed as I am now. We were intercepted by a Byzantine galley but were lucky enough to talk our way out of it. We had attempted to send two great galleys following different routes with the news, but I think we may assume that the blockade vessels captured them, as you had not heard the news from Corfu. As for troops of the Holy Roman Empire as opposed to Emeric's forces . . . Well, we think Emeric has between ten and fifteen thousand men—and he may be bringing more. We managed to land some two hundred Knights of the Holy Trinity under Prince Manfred of Brittany to add to the Citadel's garrison."

"Are you trying to tell us that Manfred of Brittany is
inside
the Corfu Citadel?"

Benito nodded, puzzled. "Yes. I traveled south with his convoy of galleys. We managed to effect a landing the day before Emeric's carracks arrived with his cannon."

The tall man raised himself up to his full height. "Valdosta. I cannot think what you thought you'd achieve with this—this—" He fumbled for words. "This complete farrago of lies!" He turned to the other senators. "My fellow Venetians. I must tell you that well-substantiated reports—"

"They're nothing but rumors, you fool!" shouted another, but the speaker plowed on:

"—have Manfred of Brittany—having left Corfu for Canea—stating how much he would like to make it a possession of the Holy Roman Empire."

It was Benito's opportunity to fumble for words "But . . . that's impossible. There is no way he could have gotten out of the siege."

The tall man looked at Benito with cold hauteur. "It has been carefully verified."

"What nonsense!" That came from the same senator who had tried to interrupt earlier. He began pushing his way to the front of the crowd. "Rumors, that's all! And there are hundreds of them, flying all over Italy ever since word came of the Emperor's illness!"

The crowd in the huge hall started buzzing with jabber. Then, at the back of the hall, someone cleared his throat. "If I may speak?"

It was an elderly voice, but carried well. The assembled crowd turned to look at the elderly Patriarch of Venice. He came forward through the crowd, slowly. He plainly had no intention of speaking from where he was. All the time he was slowly walking down to the front of the hall Benito's mind was in ferment. This tall lord . . . he thought his name might be Enrico Licosa—a
Case Vecchie
who had served in Spain, and also in Naples—was he a traitor? Had the attempt by Justice Capuletti to sentence him to death really been nothing more than bureaucratic maliciousness? Benito started looking for ways out.

The elderly Patriarch reached the front of the hall where Benito and Lodovico stood. He was old, stooped, white-haired and white-bearded. No danger, surely.