"All four, Tiepostich?"
The adjutant nodded. "Yes. We got two men out of the northern one. In the others we lost all of the sappers and we lost most of the bucket chain."
"Damn! Labor is scarce enough without this. And the king is not going to be pleased that we have to dig the tunnels again. We need to wait a few days before we restart too. There are always aftershocks."
Tiepostich knew that when the king was not pleased, one of Dragorvich's men was usually going to be heading for a slow death. He wondered if, this time, it would be him.
* * *
In the cave beneath the Citadel the rock moved, though not so much as a stalactite fell. But the priestess watched in horror as the sacred pool cracked across, and the water drained away into the rock.
She looked at the small altar with the half almond. Without a bride he would not help. The Goddess would defend, but this . . . this called for him. For the actual wielding of power.
But who would pay such a price?
Chapter 72
Francesca, Manfred thought, looked sour. She sighed. "I thought—as you wouldn't let me corrupt the black market for my own ends, as I wanted to—that we'd be better off getting rid of Count Dentico as the most dangerous of the lot. It appears I misjudged the nasty piece of work. He was such a pompous ass that he was thwarting, rather than aiding, the conspirators."
He eyed her uncertainly. Francesca was really in a rather foul mood, which was unusual for her. He needed to tread carefully here.
"That black-market ring had to go, Francesca. There were supposed to be siege rations for at least ten thousand souls for a year. Those stupid bastards were using the stuff like there was no tomorrow. Seven, eight times the ration per person. Wastage you wouldn't believe. Feeding animals on it. At a full ration now, the supplies will all be gone by December. Even on the slow cutback in rations that not causing panic demands, we're going to be eating boiled boots by March."
Francesca scowled. "Damned soldiers and their straight-ahead view of things." She gave him a look which was not entirely admiring. "Manfred, I still worry more about treachery tomorrow than starvation by next March. It's now blindingly obvious—to me, at least, if not you and Von Gherens and Falkenberg and—"
She waved her hand irritably, encompassing in the little gesture all of the world's damned soldiers. "Count Dentico and that crowd of Libri d'Oro were just tools, being manipulated by someone else. Or, more likely, several 'someone else's.' There will be manipulators manipulating the manipulators, be sure of it, each layer of them better hidden than the next. And they'll have a more fertile ground than ever to do their work now, since the Libri d'Oro families have gone from a diet not far removed from the presiege one to a siege ration."
"Nine tenths of a siege ration, actually," corrected Falkenberg. "Do their souls good to fast a bit."
"It probably would," said Francesca. "Unfortunately, what it has done instead is to have made most of them angry and some of them desperate. They're blaming the Venetian authorities for their hardship, rather than themselves. There is still some black-market stock out there but the price has gone up sevenfold. And that's just making the people more bitter and revolt-ripe. I'm beginning to think we should have followed through on Falkenberg's ideas and hanged the lot."
The one-eyed knight grinned. "My old mentor had been through six sieges on the inside, and five major ones on the outside. You look at the bottom of all the usual suspects for why a fortress falls to siege, supply is usually the driving factor behind it."
"I'm worried that real trouble will break out now. I know there have been a whole rash of secret meetings among the Libri d'Oro families." Francesca sighed. "For that matter, the occasional exception like Leopoldo aside—the podesta is all right, too, if it weren't for his age—the Venetian upper crust in the Citadel doesn't fill me with great confidence either. Whenever you have someone like Tomaselli in a position of power in a small and isolated region like this, things get very rotten, very quickly. Venice should never have given him the post of captain-general in the first place, and, having done it, should have recalled him at least a year ago."
The soldiers in the room said nothing. What was there to say? On this subject, they all agreed with her.
Francesca never stayed in a bad mood for very long, fortunately. That wasn't so much because she had a naturally sunny disposition, Manfred thought, as the product of her long and rigorous self-discipline. The time he'd spent in Francesca's company—almost two years now, most of it in very close company—had made a number of things clear to Manfred about the once-whore, once-courtesan. Perhaps the clearest was that Francesca was the most formidable and capable woman he'd ever met in his life. Out of bed, even more than in it.
"Well," Francesca said, visibly forcing a little smile, "thank goodness young Leopoldo altered the duty rosters or I'd say the north postern was very insecure. But still, Manfred dear, I think we ought to consider extra patrols of Knights. Hefty patrols, not just a pair here and there. And I'm sure Leopoldo will listen to you if you suggest a few extra checkpoints."
Manfred nodded immediately. So did Von Gherens and Falkenberg. Whatever private opinion the two devout Knights of the Holy Trinity might have regarding Francesca's past, they had no more doubt than Manfred of her present competence.
* * *
Querini had a weakness for dice. And the cavalry captain's head was a lot less strong than he thought it was. The grappa had thoroughly fuddled it.
When he looked at the total of his losses he sobered up fast. "Ah . . . you'll give me time, surely?" If the siege went badly he might just die. That would be out from under this, at least. He'd lost several months salary, and was habitually in debt anyway.
The younger Dentico, now Count in his father's shoes, shook his head regretfully. "Can't do, I'm afraid. Since . . . the unfortunate happenings, we're having to watch things with the Army. You know my father was really killed because Tomaselli had borrowed heavily from him. It was a totally put-up job. We thought," said the young man, bitterly, "that Tomaselli was a friend of father's. So: no carried debts."
The cavalry captain was sweating now. "I . . ."
"Of course, if you could help us out on another matter that's been irritating us, we could let it go by for a while. We'd know we could trust you."
"Of course! Only too pleased to help. You know I organized those duty transfers you and the other fellows wanted so you could all be together . . ." Querini's voice trickled off.
"As it happens, Captain, it was about that that I wanted the favor. Some idiot's gone and shifted us around again."
Querini winced. "Commander Leopoldo has taken all the duty posting under his control. I can't do that again."
"Oh, there'll be no need to. I've got the June roster here. We'll just . . . cross out June and put in September. It's all in your writing anyway. And signed by the commander."
The sweat beaded on the cavalry officer's face again. "If Leopoldo finds out he'd . . . he'd . . . He doesn't like me anyway. I can't do it."
The young Dentico sighed and tapped the pile of chits. "Look, Leopoldo doesn't check every day, does he? The boys and I—well, I'll tell you the truth. It's Desarso's daughter. She's available and she likes a bunch. You know, some women just can't get enough. It's Adriano's birthday, and we thought we'd have a little party for him. But several of the fellows' fathers are real sticky about them being out, especially with this damned curfew. I mean, we understand why it's got to apply to the commoners, but it is ridiculous for us. So if you just slip this onto the duty board for the sergeants the day after tomorrow . . . we could forget this." He tapped the pile of chits again.