Eric Flint - Much Fall Of Blood

Vinland… he wasn't too sure where that was. A wild land somewhere to the west, full of monsters and barbarians. He took a long look at Kari. Well, that fitted.

"Why are they here?" he asked. "Are the ogres and trolls of the north coming to attack our master the Ilkhan?"

Kari shrugged. "I am just Erik's blood-retainer, now. Or so he has told me. It is some affair of state, brat. Of no interest to you or me."

David had heard of affairs of state. Just quite what they were he was less sure. But he suspected high-paid whores. He found the idea very interesting indeed. The Mongol escort's slaves and servants began trickling into to the stable-area to see to the horses. One had a steaming piece of new bread. David was suddenly aware of a pressing need for food. He'd fallen asleep before anyone had eaten the night before. "Do we get to eat?"

Kari looked at him critically. "When you've finished with the horses, yes."

"Chartering vessels for this lot is going to be less easy than it was in Venice," said Manfred thoughtfully. "I don't have Francesca to smile at Petro Dorma, and the Venetians are going to look askance at fifty armed Mongols and their horses."

Eberhart shook his head. "Only nine will be going on with us. This is something of an honor guard. But yes," he said, his old eyes twinkling, "even I miss Francesca. Although it is her wit and her knowledge of statecraft that I miss."

Manfred grinned. "Old man, I saw you look at her statecraft, if that is what she kept on her chest. And I'll bet we miss her more than she misses us. She'll be breast deep in intrigue already, mark my words."

"Breast deep…"

"She never got neck deep. Always liked to be able to see above the common herd of players. I'd like her here to watch this emissary." Manfred began to chuckle. "Mind you, just think what she will drag Eneko Lopez and his friends into."

"The priest and the courtesan. An unusual pairing," said Eberhart, smiling.

"That depends on the priest," said Erik. "But those two are well matched, I would say. She'll add some worldly wisdom to his saintliness and he will add some his piety to her… uh… breasts."

Eberhart nodded. "It's as well that those two are numbered among the Empire's friends."

Manfred rubbed his jaw. "I wouldn't put it that way, exactly. Eneko Lopez is a friend of God. As long as the Empire is on God's side-at least in his eyes-he will stand by us through thick and thin. But only God will save us if we become like Aquitaine. I've heard him on the subject. As for Francesca… she is a wonderful woman. A very, very clever woman. I wonder if I ever saw what really motivated her. It wasn't just money. She could have become very rich, at least in the short term, by betraying the Empire. She knew who would pay-I know, because she pointed enough of them out to my uncle. She sees, or at least saw, that her interests aligned to the Empire-when it might have been of short term benefit to see profit elsewhere. Now…" he shrugged. "I know she will be in contact with my uncle's agent in Alexandria."

"You're very dispassionate about it," said Eberhart, impressed despite himself. His brief had been to teach Manfred something of diplomacy and statecraft on this journey to the Holy Land. At first he'd thought it hopeless…

Manfred shrugged again. "She said princes need to be."

Erik said nothing, but he knew Manfred well enough to know that his charge was still a little hurt by Francesca's departure. Manfred was deeper than he let people guess. And his armor was more complex too. Perhaps Francesca and Manfred had not been soul-mates, as he and Svan had been, and God knew how it still burned him even now to think of her, but Manfred had stuck almost faithfully to Francesca for longer than Erik would have thought possible. In a way he was comforted that Manfred was a little wounded. Dispassionate might be what princes had to be, but it was not what a man must be. And a prince needed to be a man, first, or he might become a monster like Jagiellon. Maybe errors in love were a small price to pay to avoid that.

But all he said was: "Time to ride before it gets too hot again."

"To think I longed for warmth in Ireland," said Eberhart, looking out at the cloudless sky.

"Too much of anything is a bad idea." Manfred speared another piece of meat from the wooden platter on the table.

"Tell your stomach that also applies to breakfast," said Erik. "The sooner we go, the sooner we'll get there."

The sea was near to mirror flat when they came in sight of Ascalon, gleaming as if some knight's poor squire had just polished it, with reddish tints from the setting sun. Erik saw how the new horseboy-who had possibly the worst seat of any rider Erik had ever seen, bar Benito-gaped at it, his mouth wide open. For once, the scrawny foxy-eyed boy didn't look like a thief looking for a target. He just looked stunned and very young.

"What is it?" asked the horseboy.

"The Mediterranean. They call it a sea," said Kari, sneering, "but it's hardly worth it."

"But… what is it?"

"Salty water. The tear of the giantess Ran."

"Can't be." The boy swallowed. "It's even bigger than Jerusalem."

"And has more fish too. Some big enough to eat a man whole."

The foxy expression returned to the boy's eyes. "I'm not some stupid Frank."

Kari grinned. "You just thought you were a horseboy. Really, we're keeping you for bait."

"Kari," said Erik.

"Well, he's not much good as a horseboy," said Kari with a shrug.

"And too scrawny for good bait," said Erik. "Now, someone who hasn't come to drill for the last few days is more likely to have a bit of fat on him for the sharks."

David decided that they were all crazy. He ignored them. But he wanted to get to that "sea." It called to him. He wanted to touch it. Tears… ha. There was not that much salt in the whole world. But to see it and touch it! The stories he would tell his older brothers.

The world was a bigger place than he'd realized. Bigger even than Jerusalem, although he would never admit that in public. Ascalon itself was barely worth calling a town, though, he thought, with a lofty sniff. They rode on into the gathering dusk, towards the port. The air smelled very strange. He recognized the garbage and horse-dung scent of Jerusalem. But it was overlaid with fish, tar, and a smell that he'd never come across before.

It smelled salty.

"The bad news is that going on to the Black Sea, let alone chartering a vessel to take Borshar there is simply not feasible," said Eberhart. "The Mongols are not welcome in Byzantium-with good reason, to be fair-and word is out that the Venetian traders on the Golden Horn are virtually under siege again. Alexius is not going to allow Venetian vessels to pass through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea. He may let the eastern trade convoy that has gone to Trebizond back out because to try and trap them again would mean war, but it's going to take a fleet bombarding his palace to get the Byzantines to let Venetian vessels sail up the Bosphorus."

"Get hold of the fleet in Trebizond and get them to transport these Mongol gentlemen to the lands of the Golden Horde first," said Erik. "The Mongols have this very admirable system of pony-messengers."

"It won't work." Eberhart shook his head. "I suggested that. It appears the eastern convoy did not make a long stop in Trebizond. Normally they stay for months. But this time… well, Venice may know something we don't. The vessels unloaded, took on what cargo was ready, and put to sea. Ahmbien had them watched, and used that system of riders to keep him informed."

"Then," said Manfred, standing up. "I think we need to sail for Venice. I suspect Alexius's capital is about to feel the weight of Venetian bombards. The question is what do we do with this Borshar Tarkhan?"