Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

He shrugged. "Not a great help, but some. However, we know the besiegers have several thousand men-but no cannon." Manfred pointed. "Benito Valdosta there… You all know the boy, you all know his bloodline."

Benito looked furiously at Manfred. Manfred knew why. For Benito, his bloodline-at least that on his father's side-was not something he boasted of. Manfred was using that reputation.

Manfred gave him a quelling look-Damn right I am. He would use anything he could get his hands on right now-and went right on. "He came up with the plan that got us out of the pirates' grip. Now he's come up with another idea, the only way I can see that will deliver an extra five hundred men to the citadel, as well as whatever supplies can be loaded into the vessels. When he put the idea forward, I thought he was mad. I've pondered on it all night. Talked to Capitano Douro here. We can indeed sail to the Citadel itself, by night. But once they're in, the ships won't be leaving."

"And assuming you succeed in the madness of sailing by night, through the fleet of the enemy, the guns in the Citadel will sink you," said the oldest of the captains, Selvi. "It has to be the most harebrained idea I have ever heard. Ah, Prince Manfred."

Manfred now knew which skipper to send onward. That one. He shared a look with Benito, who gave him a slight nod.

"Milord Valdosta. Do you think it will work?" asked Da Castres, ignoring the older man.

Benito nodded more vigorously. "I can't see a better way, Captain. There are some things in our favor. I have thought about it long and hard, believe me. We know from the interrogation of our prisoners that only eight or so vessels remain at anchor out of cannon-shot in the bay. The northern entry is guarded by Narenta galliots. The south is blockaded by some of these eight vessels. The rest of their fleet is out in the straits of Otranto. More ships are probably due from Constantinople, and if we're going to do anything, we need to do it before they get here."

He pointed at the sky. The low cabin deck, rather. "For a second thing, the moon is down from early morning. We can approach under muffled oars. Capitano Douro here has found a Corfiote serving among the oarsmen. This man swears he can navigate safely to Kerkira under those conditions. The enemy will have less confidence in unfamiliar waters, in the dark. Finally, the guns of the Citadel will not fire on the Lion of Saint Mark. Eneko Lopez and his companions say they can work a holy magic which blazons the banners as brightly as if in broad daylight. We'll never get a better chance to get more men and supplies into the Citadel with the fewest losses."

Manfred patted Benito's shoulder, proprietarily. "There you have it, Capitano Selvi. Besides, we'll have our trumpeters on the foredeck, sounding the battle hymn of the Knights of the Holy Trinity. There are few soldiers anywhere who would not recognize that. Finally, this is not a matter for discussion."

He hardened his tone, straightened his back, and tried to sound as much like his uncle as possible. "This is what I have decided. This is what will be done. All of the vessels will take the parts I assign to them. All I have called you together for is to finalize details. To decide which vessel will have the honor of joining in our attempt to assist the Citadel."

"I am captain of my ship," said Selvi stiffly, "and responsible to the Republic of Venice for her safety."

Von Gherens stood up and put his hand on his sword. "Captain, I am a soldier of Christ. I am sworn by a holy oath to serve the Church. Senor Lopez is a direct emissary of the Grand Metropolitan. I've been in combat with him. I have never met a man who serves Christ as well and with as much integrity as Eneko Lopez. He has said that the Church needs our aid. If I have to chop your head off and sail your boat myself to get there, I'll do it."

Benito looked at Von Gherens, and Manfred watched sudden realization dawning in his eyes. Well, not surprising; he hadn't lived with Von Gherens the way Manfred had. Benito had never really understood the bluff, hearty knight. There was a core of deep piety under that hard-drinking exterior. If Von Gherens truly believed in the rightness of his deeds, it would take a cannonball to stop him. That could be a problem, when his ideas were wrong-but when they were right, there was nothing short of an armored elephant that it would be better to have on your side.

The captain also plainly realized he'd misjudged. "It's a ship, not a b-boat," he stuttered. "I-of course, I'll do my best to assist. But-"

"I'll volunteer to take my ship to Corfu," said the plump Da Castres. He smiled, revealing skewed teeth, yellowed like a mule's. "I'm more afraid of that knight than I am of either the Senate or the enemy. Besides, my wife says I'm too fat. A siege will be just the thing. And if it lasts long enough, maybe absence will make her heart grow fonder."

"I'll explain that to her when I get back to Venice," said the lean, dapper Bortaliscono. "Are there any other little services you'd like me to render? While I'm there, you know."

Da Castres shook a fist at him, grinning.

Bortaliscono bowed mockingly to his fellow captain, and turned to Manfred. "I'll need those letters before this evening, Prince Manfred. As soon as it is dark we'll sheer off westward. The farther south we go, the more I'll have to beat back. I'll want to head for the Italian coastline, and creep up it."

Manfred nodded. "We'll need to bring the ships together, and transfer the knights, horses and food. I think we should be prepared to split up this evening. Selvi, it looks like you're going on to Rome."

"It's the course I should have chosen anyway, Prince Manfred," said the captain sourly… but not too loudly.

Manfred ignored him. "It will still be dangerous. But it could also be the crucial route. A message from there to Flanders could beat the Atlantic convoy. They'll have to return posthaste. I suspect the Outremer convoy will be out of contention, stuck in the Black Sea."

"And the enemy will know that," Da Castres pointed out. "They can count. If there are only two of our ships in the harbor-and you can be sure they have spies everywhere-then they'll know that the other two are running back for help."

He smiled nastily as Selvi looked a little green.

Manfred went below to write the letters.

Benito was left scowling, trying to think if there was any obvious hole in the plan that had now been laid squarely at his door. He was scowling, too, at Manfred's reference to his parentage.

"I think that went off rather well," said Francesca to him, smiling. "So why do you look so unhappy, Benito?"

As if he was going to tell her. "Oh. Nothing."

She looked quizzically at him. "It was that reference to your blood, wasn't it?"

"It's not exactly my favorite point of public knowledge," he said grumpily.

She patted him on the arm. "Benito, it is public knowledge. And Manfred needed to mention the fact that you are descended from not one, but two of the greatest strategists of the age to prevent any doubt."

"That doesn't mean I inherited anything from either of them," he pointed out, still irritated. But his irritation was fading fast. It was impossible to stay out-of-temper around Francesca, particularly when she was exerting herself to be charming. Maybe she was a little old for him, but… on the other hand, older women were… He forced his mind away from that line of thought.

Francesca nodded. "Benito, whether or not you have inherited your strategic sense, nevertheless, you have it-and if it's suggested that you inherited it from the Fox and the Wolf both, people will accept it as genius and be willing to act on it instead of thinking you're just an impudent boy."

Benito sighed. Well, that much, he could accept. "But Manfred's a commander-"