Emeric went back into his tent and drew the circle. Scratched the pentacle and began the ritual that would allow him to speak to the chief of his spies within the Citadel. At this time of day, Fianelli would be in his cellar waiting.
PART VII
Francesca shook her head. "To be honest with you, Eberhard, this place is positively Venetian with intrigue. There is a strong pro-Byzantine faction, of long standing, among the Libri d'Oro. Not surprising of course, since Corfu's local aristocracy are Greeks themselves. Fortunately, they distrust Emeric of Hungary. But they long for Venice to lose power and for their own stars to be ascendant under Alexius."
Eberhard snorted. "That wastrel would be more likely to sell their precious island to pay off some of his debts. Or just to have more money to spend on his vices."
"Precisely," Francesca agreed, nodding. "But not having the knowledge that you do, Ritter, the pro-Byzantines here entertain some very unrealistic ideas. So far as they know, Alexius is cut from the same cloth as his father, which would make them Byzantine allies rather than vassals. And, most importantly, would put Corfiotes—or at least Greeks—back in the seats of power here. They resent the way the Venetian overlords here on the island often treat them. It's the sneering, really, not anything material. But noblemen—especially sorry, idle ones like most of these wretched Libri d'Oro—take offense easily."
"And how well placed are they to act on those unrealistic ideas?" asked Manfred, looking concerned. "I've known people to be prepared to die for some really stupid things."
"I am still compiling a list, Manfred. But so far, they have some bodyguards and some interesting working positions."
Manfred nodded, frowning. "One thing in our favor is that the Hungarians are present in such force. Nobody, not even the most self-deceiving pro-Byzantine Libri d'Oro, can believe that Emeric is going to give up this prize so easily."
Eberhard shook his head. "Self-deception is the greatest strength of such people, Manfred. Petty noblemen with neither work nor war to keep them occupied will often spend all their time wallowing in perceived insults and fantasies of retribution."
"True," said Francesca. "But Emeric's vicious reputation does work against him. So long as it does not appear that Alexius is allied with him in this venture, we may be able to keep the faction quiet. Quieter, anyway."
Manfred poured another cup of wine. "I never thought I'd be pleased to hear that Emeric was such a murderous, treacherous son of a bitch. So who else do we have stacked against us? A pro-Hungarian faction?"
"Fortunately, Emeric's reputation works for him there, too—or rather, works for us. There is, however, a Montagnard faction, that believes you have come to take over the island under the pretext of this war, and are very much in favor of the notion." Francesca dimpled. "Of course there are a few who also think it is true, but are opposed to the idea. And I have found evidence that someone is buying information. That suggests Emeric has some spies here in the Citadel."
Eberhard had been staring at her with more and more astonishment as she spoke, and now his mouth was actually agape. "How do you find all this out, Francesca?" he asked in disbelief.
"Among other things, Maria introduced me to the main artery of gossip in the Citadel. Sooner or later everything gets told to Stella." Francesca's smile faded, and turned to a frown. "She also told me another thing I must discuss with Eneko Lopez. She says there is a cabal of true magicians here, and they are not Christian."
Manfred chuckled. "Sleepy little seaside town, eh?"
* * *
In the living quarters which Sibling Eleni had provided for them adjoining the chapel, Eneko Lopez was scowling. "There, Francis—again. Did you sense it? And you, Diego?"
Both men nodded. "Someone is using Satanic magic in this Citadel," muttered Diego. "That was fairly close, although I couldn't sense the direction."
"And that one! A sending ritual requires blood."
"Most Satanic rituals do, Francis." Eneko shook his head. "At least that one doesn't require human blood."
"That's not my point, Eneko. We're under siege. Soon enough, finding a goat or chicken to slaughter isn't going to be so easy."
Lopez thought about it, for a moment. "True. We should speak to Francesca. Unless I miss my guess, she'll be running the counterespionage work here before much longer. The podesta is an old man and the captain-general is . . . well. Not competent."
"So charitable, Eneko!" chuckled Francis. "I would have used a stronger expression."
Lopez smiled thinly. "Well, charity is a Christian virtue."
Diego didn't seem to share in the humor. "Finding a stray goat or a chicken will be getting hard. But with thousands of people packed into this place, finding a human to slaughter won't."
Eneko and Francis stared at him. Diego shrugged. "I would remind you that charity is not a Satanic virtue."
"We'd best talk to Francesca about that as well," murmured Francis. "Although . . ."
Gloomily, Lopez finished the thought. "How do you keep track of people to see if any are disappearing—when half the people in this Citadel are here illegally to begin with? Thanks to that jackass Tomaselli!"
"Charity, Eneko, charity," cautioned Francis.
"I am being charitable," grumbled Lopez.
"Not to jackasses."
* * *
Through the open door of the taverna in Paleokastritsa, Erik could see that the sky across the straits of Otranto was traced with clouds the color of salmon-flesh. The closer view was even more distracting to him. Neither Svanhild's profile nor the memory of salmon in the ice-fed rivers of home were helping Erik with the matter in hand: planning an irregular campaign against Emeric's forces.
"Essentially, we need two things. We need information, and we need safe bases."
"What's wrong with Paleokastritsa?"
Erik shook his head. "Its defenses are good, but not that good. It'll fall eventually, either to a determined assault or more likely to siege. There is no second way out of the town. And we think like foxes now. Foxes always need a second or third exit to their lairs. We'll rely on friendly towns and peasants for food and information—but never from the same one twice in a row, and we'll never stay in any of the settlements. If we bring the wrath of the Hungarians down on any Corfiote town, not only will we have betrayed them, we will have betrayed ourselves. We'll get no more help from the peasants."
He looked at the faces around the table; no one disagreed. "You all know what the Hungarians are going to do, every time we strike: they'll destroy the nearest village, if it shows any signs of our presence. The peasants are in hiding now, but they'll have to return to their holdings soon. Farms and crops don't wait. We need the countryside sympathetic to us and hostile to the Hungarians."