Eric Flint - This Rough Magic

Francesca raised a perfect eyebrow. "What was it that Eberhard said to you the other day: 'If all politicians had to be soldiers first, they wouldn't ask soldiers to do the impossible.' "

Manfred shrugged. "He does make good points, occasionally."

Francesca laughed deliciously. "The poor old man. Every time he's getting to approve of you, you do the next rash thing, according to him. But as it happens I don't agree with him."

"Miracle of miracles." Manfred grinned. "Why not? For once he is simply making sense."

"Because it would make for monolithic thinking. All solutions would be militarily influenced, and military men don't always understand how civilians work, either. Anyway, forget Benito for a moment. You, too, Benito. Let's get back to what should be done for Erik."

Manfred, flopped into a chair, making it groan in protest. "I was all for Erik getting over her. Quite honestly, Benito, you and that ex-girlfriend of yours have stirred up something I had hoped would blow over."

Francesca had come to stand behind Manfred. She rubbed his shoulders. Benito couldn't help but notice how small her hands seemed on them. "I don't think it is going to happen quite as you'd like, Manfred dear," she said slowly. "He's a very intense man. A serious one. He is torn between his duty to you and his… shall we call it… infatuation, with this woman."

"He's stuck here. Fortunately, as far as I'm concerned! Can't we get him another girl to chase? I am not convinced she's good enough for him. I set high standards for Erik."

Francesca shook her head and smiled. "Manfred, you know as well as I do that that might work for you, but it won't work for Erik. In your company, he has been trailed past more attractive ladies than most men would see in three lifetimes."

Manfred grunted. "And half them wanted that clean-cut face of his. And he didn't notice them at all. No, I suppose you're right, as usual, but the point is that he's still stuck here. She's probably dead by now, anyway."

Francesca patted him. "Too little sleep, that's what it is. Manfred, Erik is an Icelander. He probably has spent more time in small boats than he has on horseback. That means he's as capable of getting out of here as Benito. He is staying here out of loyalty to you and tearing himself apart in the process. Worst of all, for him, is the uncertainty. Erik is one of the most effective warriors alive. He's used to taking initiative. Right now loyalty means he can't."

Manfred flicked himself onto his feet. From reclining to standing in an instant. Benito realized again just how strong the prince was. Not simply strong, as an ox might be, but phenomenally athletic as well.

"Well. No point in that! I'm as safe here as a man can be with three thick walls and a moat around him. Well, sea channel and a small ocean-better yet. Erik should get out there, set his mind at rest and either bring this charmer home or bury her."

Francesca sighed. "For an example of why only ex-soldiers should take part in politics, you've just failed, Manfred. You regard this place as militarily secure?"

Manfred nodded, cheerfully. "It would do better with twice or three times the garrison. With six thousand men you'd be able to hold this place against virtually any force, as long as the food and water held out. But it is not too bad, actually. According to Captain-General Tomaselli, with his forces, our men, the ship crews and the militia we have maybe two thousand men. The food stocks should last that number a couple of years with rationing"

"And yet," said Francesca, "there are at least eleven thousand souls here in this Citadel. Aside from children, that is. Does something not strike you as odd?"

Manfred made a face. "Uh. These guys have four wives each? No wonder they look so dozy. How did you get this figure, Francesca?"

Francesca laughed. "Dozy indeed! I asked the podesta's secretary, Meletios Loukaris. He's a very efficient little Greek. The local eminences fled to the Citadel when the warning came on the night before the attack. Most of them are Corfiotes, the local gentry, people of the Libri d'Oro who live in town and have estates in the country. The Citadel refused to allow in arbitrary locals, but in addition to these, some people had chits signed by the podesta. There are nearly six thousand of them. The captain-general is not well pleased with this."

Benito blinked. "You mean he wanted to leave them outside? But… this is supposed to be a Venetian protectorate!"

"True," said Francesca, in an absolutely level voice that conveyed as much by its evenness as her normally expressive tones did. "Unfortunately, the Senate did not vote the captain-general a budget to allow siege provisions for the people of Kerkira. Or so my little Greek informant told me."

Manfred bit his knuckle. "Are you telling me this ass is planning not to feed them? They outnumber his troops, oh, nine to one, and he's not going to feed them?"

"Fortunately the podesta prevailed on him that this would be foolish. They'll be issued a ration. Smaller than the Venetians, of course. There is no love lost between the locally stationed Venetians and the Greeks."

Manfred shook his head. "How do you find all this out so quickly, Francesca? Here we are sitting on a powder keg waving slow-matches and I thought it was quite safe!"

She smiled demurely. "It is because I am just a woman, and not a soldier."

"You're not ever going to let me forget that, are you?" grumbled Manfred. Insofar as a man could grumble while grinning.

She chucked him under the chin. "No. But I am also not going to let you forget that many more fortresses fall by treachery than by strength of arms. And this fortress, with its divided populace, is probably in more danger than most."

Manfred's eyes narrowed. "It sounds like the captain-general is going to have to go. That could be difficult."

"It's difficult from more than one direction. The Corfiotes themselves reciprocate the feelings the Venetians have about them. They won't cooperate unless their lives are in direct danger." Francesca smiled gleefully. "To think I thought I would be bored during this siege! Manfred, between Eberhard and myself, we will manage the captain-general and keep an eye on the locals. The actual commander of the garrison is quite young, but a better soldier, apparently. Relax. Erik wouldn't be any good at this sort of thing anyway. He might as well go and look for his Svanhild."

She looked consideringly at Benito. "You, however, would probably be very useful here, because-"

She broke off, cocking her head a little. "What is happening out there?"

They went out, following the people who were streaming to see what the commotion was about.

The strait was full of sails. Emeric's cannon and the rest of his army had arrived.

Capitano Da Castres pointed out something else, glumly, quietly: a hulk under tow. "My dapper friend Bortaliscono won't be going to comfort my wife after all."

Benito realized the implication of the burned and battered remains of the great galley. Those messages would not be getting back to Venice by sea. Of course, there was still a chance that the other vessel might have escaped and headed for Rome. But Benito had his doubts of Capitano Selvi, who, if he had managed to evade the blockade, was probably halfway to the Arabic emirates or the Khanates by now.

He turned to Manfred. "If Erik is going to go… this means he has to go tonight."

Manfred nodded. "True. By nightfall, Emeric's men will already be getting those cannon into action. By tomorrow night, they will keep up the bombardment. Sneaking out thereafter will be nigh impossible. I'll go and talk to him."

"Also, I think I'd better go with him."

Manfred shook his head. "Francesca wants you here."