The guards at the gates also thought she didn't belong here.
They barred her way with their pikes. "You can't go in here, woman. His Excellency only has public audiences on Wednesdays. Come back then." The guard who spoke looked at her without much interest, his tone of voice more bored than anything else.
"I don't want to see his Excellency. I want to speak to Prince Manfred. He will see me."
The guard snorted. "And no doubt you've brought his baby with you! Go on with you, get lost."
"Maybe she's a Teutonic knight in disguise," said the other, chuckling at his own wit.
She reined in her temper, and remained polite. "Can't you send a message to him? Tell him Maria Verrier would like to see him. Please?" She hated her own voice, so subservient—but angering them wouldn't get her anywhere.
"Hark at her!" One of the guards jerked a disdainful thumb at Maria. " 'Please!' Listen, dearie. We don't run a messenger service for Scuolo women to have chats with princes. He'll send for you if he wants you."
Maria flushed with anger, and was just considering whether it would be worth the consequences of pushing her dagger through his ear when the guards suddenly jerked themselves out of the slouch and came to attention. The frail, white-haired podesta's wife was coming down.
For all the attention that Contessa Renate De Belmondo paid the guards they might as well have been statues, except one does not nod to statues. She did, however, greet Maria with every sign of pleasure.
"Maria Verrier, is it not? Have you come for our little chat? I am so sorry! I have to go across to the garrison in the Castel a terra right now. Would you mind coming in and waiting for me?"
Maria realized that Marco's efforts on her behalf had borne fruit after all. She did her best to curtsey, which, as she'd never been taught and she had a baby in her arms, was not a success. But Lady Renate was real quality, certainly as far as Maria was concerned, and ignored the awkwardness. Such things were only important to Case Vecchie curti, new money that still had to try to establish how important they were. For the Lady Renates of the world, it wasn't important how you looked—money could buy looks—it was what you were.
Lady Renate smiled. "I see you've brought your baby up, too. I wish I could see my own grandchildren. Or Lodovico Montescue trying to be a good great-grandfather, ha! Mind you, hooligans usually turn out to be very strict with their offspring . . . but it is impossible to think that he might be a great-grandfather soon."
She touched Alessia's cheek gently. "So soft! I love them when they're this age." She smiled again. "What I love most, of course, is that you can give them back when they cry!"
"Actually, milady, I came up to see Prince Manfred, about a friend. To be honest, I hadn't come to see you at all."
Lady Renate pulled a severe face, with just trace of a betraying dimple in her lined cheek. "And why not me, Hmm? Young men have, as a rule, no liking for babies. They don't know how to hold them."
Maria blushed. "I was . . . embarrassed to come and see you, milady. I'm just a Scuolo wife."
Lady Renate shook a finger at her. "And a friend of my old flame's granddaughter! Close enough a friend to have stood as her maid of honor at her wedding. That is an honor for anyone, for it means the Casa Montescue holds you in very high esteem. As ancient a house as there is in Venice. And if Lodovico thought I was good enough for him, then you must be good enough to keep me company. Come up and see me—and soon. What about Wednesday just after Terce?"
Maria settled for a half-bow rather than trying to curtsey again. "Thank you, milady. I will come."
Lady Renate laughed. "You'd better! I look forward to it. And now I must run. The women from Kerkira have come in a delegation to see the captain-general. I shall go and prevent bloodshed." She waved and walked out.
"No escort," said the one guard disapprovingly. "And not riding."
The other shrugged. "There isn't a person in Corfu who would dare hurt her, and riding makes her sore these days." He nodded to Maria. "I made a mistake. Come on, I'll take you up to the prince's quarters myself. You won't report us, will you?"
Maria tempered the sharpness of her retort with just enough amusement to let them know that she wasn't really joking. "Not this time. But next time I'll pull your bottom lip over your ears. And don't tempt me to show you how it is done. You came that close." She showed a gnat-sized gap with her fingers.
The guard chuckled. "If they had women in the army you'd make a good sergeant major. Sorry, Signora Verrier. I'll pass the word around so you don't end up stretching too many lips around here."
"You tell them to watch cheeking the Scoulo people," she warned him. "We've got short tempers and long memories."
The guard led her up through the castle, around enough passages and up and down enough staircases that she was thoroughly lost, before finally knocking on an ornate door.
"Who is it?" asked a woman's voice.
Maria knew that voice well enough to answer before the guard could. "It's me, Francesca. Maria."
The door opened immediately, and the guard ushered Maria and Alessia into a sybaritically appointed chamber, vanishing prudently and closing the door behind them as soon as they were well inside. Manfred was sprawled on a heavy oaken settle, grinning cheerfully.
"We don't know a whole lot," he said, without waiting for the question. "I was going to come and tell you later that Erik signaled that he was ashore and he had found his Svanhild. I imagine Benito is all right."
"He was born to be hanged," said Maria, trying to hide her relief.
Maria must have squeezed Alessia. The baby woke and objected to being treated like a bundle. Maria had the interesting experience of seeing the normally imperturbable Aquitainian woman look decidedly alarmed, as an indignant squall arose from the wrappings. "Is something wrong with her?" Francesca asked uneasily.
Maria rocked and bounced; Alessia made a few more pointed remarks about her cavalier treatment. "She's fine."
"Good." Francesca shook her head. "I'm not really maternal. I don't like babies much, I'm afraid."
Manfred grinned. "They're not infectious, Francesca." He pointed at Maria. "Come on, Maria. Advance on her. Let's see if Francesca will retreat into the bedroom to escape. I've been trying to tempt her back there all morning. I never thought of herding her."
Francesca was recovering her composure, possibly because Alessia hiccupped and decided that she had registered enough complaints for the moment. "Manfred! Babies hold no interest for me, for excellent reasons."
She began counting off on elegant fingers. "You cannot have an intelligent conversation with them. They are utterly and selfishly demanding of all of your time and energy, regardless of war, peace, or any other considerations. You—ah, never mind." She shrugged. "Not all women love babies, legends notwithstanding. I'm one of the ones who doesn't."
Manfred stood up. "I won't hold it against you. I must admit I'm not too keen on them myself. Maybe one day. But certainly not yet."