Only a flicker of movement in the window saved Benito. He rolled just in time. The crossbow bolt was buried to the flight-feathers in the bed. Benito stared at the bolt. Felt his neck; looked at the broken glass; got up and went over to the mirror. His neck had a fine cut from the touch of the barb.
A crossbow was slow to reload. By the time the bastard in that tree reloaded, Benito was going to be shoving his rapier right up the place the would-be assassin deserved it.
But by the time he got there . . .
There was no one in the tree. No one anywhere around. In fact, there might just as well never have been anyone there at all. Except for that crossbow bolt in the pillow.
Ten minutes later, Benito, crossbow bolt in hand, was in Manfred and Francesca's chamber.
"Manfred. I worked with him for years. This," he held up the bolt, "stinks of something Caesare would organize, if he didn't do it himself. He can't fly, so this must be something a hireling did. But I'll bet it was at his orders. He and his master know we found them. Now they're out to kill me, personally. Well, I won't sit still while they do it. And I don't care what you say about it."
"You could be right," said Francesca. "Indirectly, at least. It would have been Fianelli who gave the actual order, though, not Caesare. He's still somewhere in the Citadel, and his three goons have evaded capture also."
She turned to Manfred. "My dear, you are going back to living in a Koboldwerk shirt, now that they seem to be turning to crude assassination. You're a target, too."
Manfred rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Look, Benito, I understand what you're getting at. But . . ."
"But this fortress is flue-full of conspirators, spies, and traitors. I don't know who, or what, to trust—sweet Jesu, man, what can I do if I can't even be safe in my own bed?"
Manfred winced. Benito kept going while he had momentum. "Aside from anything else, out there, they seem to have sorted out the treachery problem. I'm safer running with Erik than I am here. Besides, if we get the chance I want Aldanto's head." He knew what his voice sounded like, and he moderated it before Manfred decreed he was too emotionally involved to go safely. "Look, it might not be Aldanto, but all the signs point that way, and I agree with Eneko. Get rid of this assassin, this agent of Chernobog—whoever, or whatever he is—-and we'll get rid of half the menace."
"Will you let me finish?" asked Manfred irritably. "What I was trying to say is the story of your exploits getting in and out of this place is now common property. You can bet your last penny that Emeric has had a full report. You can bet you're being watched. You can also bet that Emeric has done his damnedest to make sure you don't use those ways again. We've seen the beach patrols. The small-craft screen. It's a lot harder. The chance of you making it into the slave encampment, never mind out again, has vanished."
Benito shrugged. "I'll have to think of something else then."
"What I was going to suggest is that we do this the old-fashioned way. Von Gherens and I were just saying we are letting the enemy have too much leisure to do what they feel like. Those causeways are basically both repaired. We're going to lose what advantage the water gives us when they are able to attack in large numbers at will. We thought we might use one of these misty mornings we've been having to damage their little causeway, and make Emeric concentrate on defending his siege camp more. From this side, as well as Erik's side."
Manfred grinned. "So what do you say, young fellow? Get you on a good horse and have a little gallop. I won't promise to take you to the other edge of Emeric's camp, but in the chaos, mist, and few nice little fires . . . We'll dress you up as a Croat horseman and you should get yourself to the far side and out easily enough. It'll beat this swimming or sailing, eh?"
Benito groaned.
"It sounded like a good plan to me," said Manfred, a little defensively. "Given the mist and the fact that there hasn't been a sally except in response to an attack, they won't be expecting it. Von Gherens was just saying their entrenchments on the Spianada are too central. Emeric wanted the space to marshal his cavalry, no doubt, but it'll work in our favor."
"It's the horse part I was groaning about. I fall off the damn things."
Manfred chuckled. "There had to be something you weren't much good at."
"I can't dance. And Marco says I can't cook, either."
Francesca gave a little snort of laughter. "But a little bird told me you can change diapers," she said mischievously.
Manfred stared incredulously at Benito and then burst into laughter.
Maria listened to Benito in silence. Her expression grew more severe as he talked.
Then she stood in silence, looking at him for a while. Finally she said: "I don't suppose anything I say will stop you."
"No. I just stopped by to say good-bye, and to see Alessia and Umberto. I had to stop and see my favorite baby."
Maria shook her head. "Have you ever even touched another one?" She sighed. "Wait here. I want you to take something with you."
She came back a few minutes later with a wheel-lock pistol. "Kat gave it to me. You take it with you. And promise me this. If you get close to Caesare, blow his guts out before he gets too close. Remember, he'll mislead you with his talk. Don't give him a chance. And don't miss."
Clinging to the saddle, Benito cursed all horses. There had to be a better way to travel fast overland. Had to be!
Chariots. Or cutting canals everywhere. Or . . . anything. Trained giant serpents such as there were reputed to be in far-off Africa. Or dragons, as in far-off Qin. Or flying carpets. Anything but an idiot animal that went up and down in order to go forward.
True, the gallop hadn't been as bad as he'd expected. True, too, a grinning Ritter had had to haul him back upright when he'd started that slide down the side of the horse during the charge. But—like the raid on the Hungarian camp—it had been pretty successful.
The Hungarians were totally unprepared for those inside the Citadel to take the offensive. The men had settled into the humdrum of siege. Cannon fire every now and again. Daytime arquebus fire to slow down any signs of repair work on the walls. Otherwise sit around. Sleep if you could. Play dice. Eat. Keep a weather eye behind for an officer. The assault would come, when they had to go in and face enemy fire, but for now . . . the worst you had to fear was a work party or being part of the outer perimeter guards and patrols. That was dangerous. This was just military routine.
Sleep while you could. Even in the front trenches, a good two thirds had been in dreamland. The night workers on the causeway were already pulled back. The sea-mist was blowing and swirling. It would burn off in an hour or two, having given the cracked, dry earth no relief.
The mist swallowed sound quite well. The Knights' scouts had advanced cautiously, on foot, with their trumpets in hand. Seventy or so yards back, the Knights, a hundred of them, had come forward at a walk. They'd been able to get right onto the causeway—and the scouts off the far side—before the trumpet had called them to charge.
Yes, it had all gone well. Benito hoped the retreat had gone just as well. He hadn't stayed around to find out.
Instead he'd discovered the two drawbacks to Manfred's plan. The one was that he was still very close to the Hungarian camp and it was now full daylight and the horse was a lot more in control than he was. The other drawback was trotting. Now all he had to do was find Erik without the two downsides killing him.
He decided the best thing for it was to abandon the horse. He must be at least a couple of miles from the camp now.
A shot boomed from a nearby hillside.
Benito abandoned the horse by falling off into the dry broom. Up the hill he saw two Corfiotes scrambling for cover. Lying there, trying to catch his breath, Benito decided that the Croat's headgear had to be the next to go, before he was killed by own side.
Falkenberg came running in. "Leopoldo's been shot! A crossbow again."
Manfred's chair fell over as he sprang to his feet. "Damn! We should have expected this." He started heading for the door.
Von Gherens blocked his way. "Not without plate armor. And that Koboldwerk mail shirt. And Francesca, he's to stay away from all windows until we find this crossbow man. Leopoldo may live. Benito was lucky. Next time we may not be so lucky."
Francesca nodded and steered the prince back to a chair. "It's left a power vacuum, Manfred. The captain-general hasn't been near his office for two weeks. He's just abandoned things. Commander Leopoldo has been running the defense of the Citadel since then."
"And much better run it has been," Manfred said grimly. "You say he's not dead?"
"Well, not yet. He's being taken to the hospital."
"Is he conscious?"
"He was a short time ago. Cursing ferociously, in fact."
"Go there, Von Gherens. Get him to appoint a successor, if he's compos to do so. One of his junior officers will fill the post on seniority otherwise. And that may be a poor idea right now."
Von Gherens came back a little later. "The opium seems to be making him think clearly," he said with a wry smile. "He's just nominated Falkenberg to fill his shoes."
"But Falkenberg isn't part of the Venetian forces," protested Francesca. "The captain-general is bound to kick up a fuss."
Eberhard of Brunswick cleared his throat. "You could second him to the service of Commander Leopoldo, Prince. That would be completely legal."
The one-eyed Falkenberg grunted. "If this means I have to take orders from Tomaselli, forget it."
Eberhard smiled. "Well, technically you'd be taking orders from Leopoldo, as you would have to be seconded directly to his service. And Leopoldo would be taking orders from Tomaselli. We could persuade him to be too ill to pass them on. Of course this does presuppose Leopoldo staying alive. If he dies, it is another matter."
"You really could have trusted me with the sword, Benito," said Erik. "I would have given it back to you. I think."
Benito blinked. Svanhild was definitely giving Erik a sense of humor. Which was strange, as Benito didn't think she had had much of one to share. Perhaps it was just that the Icelander was so much happier.
"I needed it, Erik. Otherwise I'd have trusted you. Truly. But there is someone I have to deliver the sharp end of it to."
"And who would that be?"
"A mutual friend who had a crossbow bolt delivered to my pillow a couple of days back. A blond fellow with excellent classical features that the girls all admired. At least, they used to. I'm not sure what he looks like after all he's been through."
Erik's head shot forward like a snapping turtle. "Aldanto! He's here?"
Benito nodded. "And he hasn't changed except for the worse, either. He's joined up with another old friend that you've met before. With your old tomahawk."
The look in Erik's eyes was something that gave Benito a shiver. "I want him."
But Benito was not about to back down this time. "You'll have to stand in line, Erik. I've got a claim on behalf of my mother, my brother's wife's family, and Maria. Not to mention myself. And this time I intend to get him. If I fail, he's yours."
Erik looked speculatively at Benito. "He doesn't play by the rules, you know."
"I know.
"So should we play tag with him?" asked Erik, with a foxlike look. "I'll find out where he is. Our network of informers is unbelievable, especially since your jailbreak." He grinned at Benito. "Your status on this island is at a level that'll never survive the reality!"