Petro laughed, and shook his head. "There is something in what you say. Now tell me, Manfred, Benito's um, partner in crime. Do I have to get her out of prison too?"
"Who? Lolita? No, she took off like a scalded cat, Petro. Laughing like a mad thing." Manfred remembered that quite clearly. Her little bare rear was just as luscious as the front.
Petro raised an eyebrow, but said only: "Good. I would hate to think Benito had gotten someone other than himself into trouble."
Manfred snorted. "In this case your worry is wasted effort."
"Nevertheless," said the Doge, with an attempt at seriousness. "I feel I should investigate these dancers. It sounds like a lively spot."
"That young hellion would find a lively spot in a Shetland town," grumbled Erik. "And if he couldn't find one, he'd make one."
* * *
Benito was in trouble, and knew it. More trouble than he'd ever been in before.
He'd never been in this room before; this was where they took people who had done things that were just short of murder or robbery, a darkly somber room that left no doubt in the prisoner's mind that he had trespassed on at least five of the Ten Commandments. There was pretty little doubt that everybody was still nearly incandescently angry with him. The chief Justice had not so much as cracked a smile when the affair with the bear had been related to him by the bear's former owner. By the time it had got to the challenge on the Rialto bridge . . .
Well, he sounded like God Himself, thundering out the Law.
"The Rialto bridge is one of the most important landmarks of our fair city! Your drunken and licentious behavior has brought shame onto us. I gather only your drunkenness has saved you from the more serious charge of public fornication."
The chief Justice had eyes that could pierce a fellow like a pair of stilettos. "That you should do this on the occasion of your brother's matrimony!—and as a ward of our Doge!—simply makes your lewd behavior and other offences more heinous still."
The Justice paused. He seemed to be waiting for Benito to say something.
"Yes, milord," he said, faintly.
The floodgates opened again. "This is not the first time you have been in trouble in this court. I see the record indicates you have been fined for brawling here before. I therefore sentence you to a fine of one hundred ducats, and the owner of the bear is to be recompensed for the loss of his animal. And you, Benito Valdosta, are hereby given a choice. Remain imprisoned here for a year. Or be exiled from the City of Venice for a period of five years."
Benito swallowed; this was serious. Really serious, this time. One hundred ducats! That was a year's earnings for a gentleman-at-arms. More money than he had. Dorma had paid him an allowance, but he had a feeling that would not be available any more.
All right; he'd pawn everything he had. Somehow he'd take care of the fine. But he was damned if he'd turn tail and run away into exile; he'd messed up, he'd take it like a man. "I'll take the impri—"
But he was interrupted.
"Pardon, Milord Justice! If I might be permitted to speak?"
It was the one and only member of the public who hadn't just come to gawk at Venice's latest scandal: Marco. Benito wished like hell he hadn't come.
The chief Justice nodded approvingly. "Permission is granted, Milord Marco Valdosta."
"No!" protested Benito. Damn it, Marco, you can't get me out of this one!
The Justice looked sternly at him. "Silence. Or I will have you silenced, Benito Valdosta."
Marco cleared his throat. "Your Honor. As Benito, my brother, is the ward of the Doge, no special consideration can be shown to him."
The Justice nodded gravely. "Well said. Indeed, I have a message here from Petro Dorma, instructing me that Benito Valdosta is to be treated in the same way that any other citizen of Venice would be treated."
Marco nodded. "Nonetheless, I would like to appeal on the basis of his youth and the fact he grew up without the guidance of good parents, as an orphan, and that in the fight to save Venice last fall he fought and led with great courage. Many here can testify to that. Perhaps some part of this—ah, incident—is due to a nature that requires an outlet, and there has been nothing of the sort to purge him of his excess of spirits."
There was a murmur of approval. The Justice, however, was shaking his head. Marco hurried on. "I do not appeal for the sentence to be reduced. I just ask that the option of imprisonment be removed. Your Honor, many of Venice's wildest young blades have gone out to the outposts of our empire and served well, and faithfully, and returned as upright and respectable citizens. I do not think Benito would be improved by a year in the dungeons. I think he might learn if sent elsewhere."
Benito felt his mouth dropping open, and snapped it closed.
The Justice nodded, the look he bestowed on Marco the very image of benevolence. "I find this a reasonable plea, Marco Valdosta."
He turned back to Benito, and God On High was back. "Very well, Benito Valdosta, the option of imprisonment is withdrawn. You are exiled from Venice for five years. You will remain in custody until a passage is arranged for you out of the city."
Marco stepped forward. He tapped a pouch, which jingled. "Your honor, I have here monies to pay the reparations and the fines for Benito Valdosta.
The Justice pointed. "The clerk will see to it."
And Benito, his leg irons clanking, was led out. Marco did not even look at him.
On the whole, that was probably not a bad thing.
* * *
He did come down to the cell, later. "Petro would have added twenty lashes to the sentence," he said grimly, the first words out of his mouth. Not: Are you all right, or: We were worried about you.
Benito shrugged. "I'm sorry, Brother. The evening started in fun. It just got out of hand."
"Several people, including Prince Manfred, have said that you were simply looking for trouble," said Marco, who could have passed, at this moment, for one of the chief Justice's prize pupils. He was doing a very good imitation of God on High, himself. "Petro's had some of his spies keeping an eye on you. You pitched one of them into the Rio San Felice. You're lucky that was not another charge you faced, by the way."
But then, suddenly, the whole stern image collapsed, as his brother added, plaintively, "Petro says you've been so much better the last while. And then this."
Benito shrugged his shoulders sulkily. He wasn't going to justify himself to Marco. He wasn't sure he could justify himself to himself. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let Marco know just how wretched he'd felt when he'd seen Maria with the baby in her arms, and she wouldn't even look at him.
Marco sighed. "I haven't even had a chance to tell you yet, but Kat and I stood as godparents to Maria's daughter."
Benito felt truly as if the wind had been kicked out of him. But he had to know—he was as starved for some word, any word, as a swampy was for a decent meal. "Is she all right? I mean with having the baby and all." In a very small voice: "She wouldn't even speak to me, Marco."
Marco looked at his younger brother with a compassion that hurt almost as much as Maria's silence. "So that was what it was all about, was it?"
Benito said nothing. What could he say? He couldn't deny it, but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit it.
Marco shook his head. "She's fine. Seems happy enough, Benito. The baby is fine, too." But then, he smiled, that purely Marco smile, with a touch of mischief. "She's got something unusual though. She has an undine as one of her godmothers."
That caught Benito off guard. "What?" he said, not sure he'd heard right.
"Umberto's sister was supposed to be one of the godmothers, only she didn't approve of Umberto's marriage. You know she always kept house for him. I suppose she must have thought that no one was good enough for him, but she absolutely hates Maria. So, at the last minute, she didn't show up. The Lion in me . . . I think the Lion must have guessed she might do something like that. I asked if the water-people would add their blessing, and the priest said he'd see about
it. Well, I think the Lion sent an undine to take her place."
So that was the reason for the mischief. Benito could hardly believe it. Marco, doing something just for the reason of giving someone who deserved it their comeuppance!
"All things considered, since they're going to be around water all their lives, you could hardly ask for a more useful godmother," Marco pointed out with just a touch of glee. "That little girl will never drown."
Benito tried to imagine the scene, and failed. "I wish I could have been there."
Marco looked at him hard, and raised an eyebrow. "And who would that have pleased or helped, Benito? Nobody would ask you to be a godfather."
Benito shrugged. "I just feel . . . Oh, I don't know. I just feel I owe her some help." He sighed. "She saw me that night, you know."
"So I have heard," said Marco dryly. "She told Kat." He paused, as if he was considering something, then evidently made up his mind about it.
"They're shipping out for Corfu in a couple of hours. You'll have your chance to help her, if you can manage to stay out of trouble long enough to do anything useful. You're going there too. It's a small place. You'll probably see her every day."
Benito's mouth fell open in horror. And worst of all, the horror was so mixed with a thrill of delight that he couldn't tell where one started and the other ended.
"What?" he squawked. "I can't! I'd rather go to prison, Marco." He gripped the bars, pleading. "Go and talk to Petro. Tell him about this."
All right; he had to admit it. He had to. It was the only thing that might save him. "Seeing her is what sent me over the edge. Please, Marco! I'll go anywhere else, but I can't go there!"
Marco nodded. "I thought so. I'll ask him." He sighed. "But don't get your hopes up. He was pretty grim about this, and had made up his mind. And anyway, there aren't a lot of places you can go, now."
* * *
The Terce bell had rung before he returned. "I'm sorry, Benito. Petro says: 'If he can't learn to behave like a gentleman, then let him take the consequences. He'll have plenty of opportunity.' "
"No—" Benito whimpered. "You didn't tell him? Didn't you tell him about Maria?"
Marco sighed. "I told him everything, including how you felt about the christening, and how seeing Maria at the wedding just made you crazy. He said you'd have plenty of chances to help Maria in Corfu. He said you could offer to be a dry nurse, since the one Maria had was unsatisfactory."
Benito groaned, and dropped his head in his hands.
Chapter 21
The great carracks and the smaller tarettes in the Bacino San Marco twitched and jerked at anchor, responding to the winds, the short chop on the water and the loads being swung on board from the lighters. The fleet would proceed slowly to Outremer, hopping from Lissa, Corfu, Zante, Candia, Negroponte and points east as far as distant Trebizond. The loading would proceed for another week yet, but already many of the ships had to stay in deeper water. Weddings and celebrations were fine things in their way and at the proper time, but the ships must sail soon. So finery and jollification were best put in the past, to be talked about later. Now Venice hummed with industry. Spring was here, the time for trade was at hand, and the ships were outbound.
Over at the quay-side the great galleys bound for Flanders were at the point of final deck-cargo. They would not proceed slowly, navigating out through the Pillars of Hercules, and then across stormy Biscay; with such a voyage ahead, there was no spare time to waste. Their stops were few, but they would pause at Corfu—the last safe port for a final refit at the Little Arsenal there. The trip to Corfu was a good "sea-trial," revealing problems, especially with new ships.
And in Corfu, the ship would discharge a new assistant foreman for the Little Arsenal: Umberto Verrier.
Maria knew that the new posting was, in a way, her own fault. If she hadn't led to Umberto's men capturing Torfini and Rossi in those first few days . . . Well, Umberto wouldn't have acquired a reputation for sorting out problems, quickly and efficiently. The more senior guilds at the Arsenal were, on the whole, not pleased with his wood-selection abilities. On the other hand, they were satisfied that he could fix problems, and the Little Arsenal apparently had plenty. So, Umberto had his new posting. It was farther from Venice, but, as he said, it was in a real town. Maria wasn't as happy as he was about that part, but at least it would be back beside the sea.
It was one thing to be married to Umberto. It was quite another to be married to Umberto and feeling as if she was going to have to be responsible for his success, while at the same time allowing him to bask in the illusion that his success was due entirely to his own effort. And it was a third to do so while caring for a baby. . . .
Two babies. Umberto is as much a child as the little one.
But that was unfair. He was a good man. He cared for her.
He cares for what he thinks you are.
He loved the baby. And that insidious voice in her head could say nothing about that.
She had thought that she was going be able to settle down, and now they were moving again. On yet another ship, so Umberto would be ill again. Two babies to tend, in the close confines of a ship. Another set of new people to meet and deal with, another strange place to try to make into a home. Harder, this time. She could not count on a fortuitous accident to show her what she needed to know. And she already knew that although Umberto was good enough at dealing with honest men, he was lost when it came to those who were less than honest.
She had only traded one set of problems for another, in marrying the man. But he cared for her, and would do his best for her even if it killed him. It was up to her to see that it didn't. If she could not love him, she certainly owed him.
Maria stood on the quay, watching the corded trunks and canvas bundles being loaded, as little Alessia nestled into her arms and nuzzled. Maria looked down at her child, and sighed.
"To think a year ago I hadn't even been beyond the fringes of the lagoon . . ." she said, half to herself. "And now here you are, daughter, off to another distant place."
Beside her, Kat gazed at the ships, and her eyes were still luminous with happiness. Maria thought that she had never seen a more contented person, and yet she knew that Kat was not blind to Marco's faults. Nor, for that matter, was Marco blind to hers. They had both known exactly what they were getting into, and yet they were two of the happiest people Maria had ever known.
How very different, Maria thought forlornly, from the way I felt after my wedding.
"I wish you weren't going," Kat said with a sigh. "Or I wish we were going along with you. I'd like to visit Corfu." Alessia stirred and Kat reached for her. "Let me hold her a little. It may be years before I see her again."
Maria handed the baby over. She watched with some amusement at how awkwardly and carefully Kat took the child. Just on three weeks ago, she'd been just as tentative.
"When I left for Istria, I was never coming back, Kat. Never ever. Now here I am again. Things change. Who knows? Petro Dorma might get so sick of Marco that he'll ship you both off to Corfu."
Kat shook her head. "Marco is as much part of Venice now as the canals."
Involuntarily, Maria glanced across the thronged piazza behind them to the tall pillar where the bronze statue stood. "Or as the Lion of Saint Mark."
Kat nodded. "The Lion is Venice after all, and Marco is the Lion, too. He can't leave, Maria."
Alessia twitched, gave a tentative whimper, and then burst into full bellow. Kat rocked frantically, an expression of raw panic on her face. "What's wrong, my cherub? There, there . . . Help, Maria! What is wrong? I didn't do anything to her. What do I do now?"
Maria found laughter a welcome gift. "By the smell, I think she's probably done something to herself. Don't worry, that's not what's making her cry. It doesn't seem to worry her."
Kat hastily held out Alessia at full arm's stretch, as if she were a precious piece of porcelain suddenly found to harbor a poisonous spider. Maria did not reach for Alessia.
"I'll show you what do about it," she said cheerfully.
Kat searched frantically for rescue. "Ah. Er . . . I see Papa's Vinlander partners are here. I'd—I'd better go and speak to them. I'll come back and see you in just a moment." She thrust the bellowing Alessia at her mother, and bolted.
Maria, familiar now with all the less pleasant aspects of babies, took Alessia off to change, glancing as she went at the tall, large, blond contingent that Kat was greeting. And there, hastening down the quay-side from the Doge's palace, was Marco. Probably been to see Benito. Benito's face, when he'd seen her, had been quite a study.
She scowled as she thought about it. If Umberto was one sort of child, Benito was another—a brat, a bridge-brat, destined to hang, no doubt. But Venice would not forget that latest exploit of his in a hurry. Being Venice, it would embrace it as quite a favorite story.
* * *
Eneko Lopez was on a high balcony of the Doge's palace, his eagle eyes looking out over the Jesolo marshes when Marco finally tracked him down. The stern visage cracked into a smile on seeing Marco. "And how is wedded bliss, Marco Valdosta?
Marco felt himself blush. "Um. Blissful, thank you, señor."
This reply lightened the stern visage further. "It is intended to be, you know. That is why Christ sanctified the institution of marriage with his first miracle." He pointed out toward the sky. "Tell me: what is happening up there?"
Marco peered into the blue. "I'd say that a bird . . . or a pair of birds, rather, are being mobbed by seagulls. The gulls around here can be quite territorial, and there are thousands of them."
The part of him that was the Lion stirred. And so am I, it said within him. They do not belong here.
Of course, Eneko Lopez could not hear that voice, and Marco did not feel easy enough to explain. But he knew, now, why the gulls were attacking the hawks. The gulls were as much part of the lagoon as the water was, and the hawks were the eyes of the Lion's ancient enemy. The Lion would blind that enemy, if he could—and if he could not, he would at least deny him the use of those eyes over Venice.
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