They laid him in the grave and gave him into the embrace of the earth. And the world seemed a poorer place, full of dust and ashes.
Maria stood white-faced and weeping at the graveside. Work-roughened hands touched her, awkwardly, gently. Hands trying to say what the scuolo, the Corfiotes, the women and Illyrians could find no words for.
Benito did it himself. Words were too inadequate.
She turned to him. "Thank you," she said, quietly. "You said the right things about him."
"I wish that bolt had hit me instead," he said. "I'm worth less than he was. Maria, if you need anything, or need help with 'Lessi . . . I'll be there."
She nodded.
He was not too sure what she was agreeing with.
* * *
Erik opened his eyes at the end of what seemed like a long, long tunnel of grayness. He looked up into Manfred's face.
"Are you dead as well? Did I fail you, too?" The voice was a dry, cracked whisper.
"No. You're alive thanks to that mad scamp Benito. I must talk to Uncle about a barony for the boy, at the very least. Maybe on the border of Aquitaine. It'll do him and the Aquitaines good."
Erik blinked. "Where am I?"
"In the hospital, in the Citadel."
Then the despair washed over him. "She's dead, Manfred. She's dead. I promised I would never leave her. I must go to her."
A firm hand pushed him down onto the bed. "She's dead. You're alive and you're going to stay that way. Because you are my hearthman. I need you here. I order it."
* * *
Manfred knew the Icelander was still on the border between life and death . . . And the direction he took now was very uncertain. But he had never seen Erik cry. Tears welled up in those gray eyes, drowning them. Then Erik swallowed, tightened his jaw and said in a quiet voice:
"Very well. Duty remains, Manfred." He paused. "To every life there comes a season of happiness. I have had mine."
* * *
The baby wailed, and Maria tucked sweat-damp strands of hair behind her ears, then bounced Alessia in an attempt to soothe her. She might as well have tried to stop the tide; she got no more result than when she'd tried to feed the poor mite a moment ago. Maria felt her own irritation building to an irrational anger, and did her best to control it.
"I know you're teething, child," she told the youngest member of the Verrier family wearily, "and I know your poor mouth is hurting. But you've been so good up to now, can't you suffer in silence?"
She heard a familiar step at the door. It was Benito. "I tried knocking but the competition was drowning it out," he said with a smile. "I was down at the Little Arsenal and Alberto's wife was there. She told me Alessia's teething and giving you a hard time."
Maria nodded tiredly. "I'm nearly at my wit's end with it."
Benito produced a jar from his pocket. "I came here via the monks at the hospital. Brother Selmi said this might help."
"What is it?"
Benito grinned. "I don't even look like Marco, Maria. It's no use asking me. I told him what it was for, I told him how old she was, and I told him that if it did her any harm I'd feed him his own cassock. He seemed a bit taken aback that I'd offer a man of the cloth violence."
Maria raised her eyes to heaven. "You're impossible, Benito."
"Well, he seemed to think his cassock was safe. Let's try it anyway. It's in a honey base and it has cloves in it, but that is all I know." He opened Alessia's mouth and rubbed a fingerful onto the sore gums. "I wish I had ice for her. But the nearest is over in Illyria."
"Which you are not to fetch!" He was quite capable of deciding to do that.
Benito chuckled. "Only if this doesn't work, which it seems to be." He held out his arms. "Alberto's wife said you've been trying to quiet her half the night. I'll be glad to take her for a bit until she falls asleep. Which probably won't be long; I bet she's tired herself out to nothing, with all that crying."
"She's tired me out, if nothing else," Maria admitted, letting Benito take the baby from her arms.
"It'll pass, according to the brother at the hospital. The truth to tell, I think he was glad of a teething baby problem that he could help with, rather than malnutrition and siege wounds he can't."
* * *
Maria watched as Benito moved with a sort of slow, catlike walk that Alessia always seemed to find comforting. She was still amazed at how good he was with the child, and how frequent and constant he'd been about visiting 'Lessi. He seemed to have no problems about the fact that she, Maria, was using him as a mere baby-sitter. His arrival usually signaled her departure. He wasn't just coming to see her.
The truth was she was uncomfortable about her feelings for Benito. Umberto's death was still recent and raw. She'd been troubled about it when Umberto was alive. Now . . . she was careful to keep her distance.
But he was very good with 'Lessi, seeming to derive a deep satisfaction from looking after her. She'd never have thought it of him, although there was a tender side to the younger Valdosta. He just tried not to ever let it show. Perhaps it was having to survive on the canals after his mother had been killed. He'd been very young.
She sighed. He still seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Alessia could easily be his child. Probably was, in fact. Had no one ever explained to him about how long a pregnancy was? Or had he just deliberately excluded the idea?
"She's out, poor lamb," said Benito quietly. "Shall I put her down in her crib?"
Maria nodded.
PART XIII
"Benito!" the panting Arsenalotti porter yelled. "You'd better get yourself back to Maria Verrier. You're needed there. Somebody's kidnapped her baby."
"Who?" he snapped, the chill grip of fear on his throat. "Who took her?"
The Corfiote porter shook his head. "Don't know, nobody knows. Some says it's more witchcraft, some reckon it is something to do with a Hungarian spy, some blame the captain-general's wife. It's every rumor you can think of going through the Citadel like a fire. No ransom note, no clues, no nothing. But there's guards and that Eneko Lopez, looking."
Benito felt stark horror. Eneko Lopez and the Satanists he was sniffing for! And a missing baby. It added up to things he didn't like to think about.
When he got there, out of breath, he found a crowd of Arsenalotti, an officer of the Citadel guard, Eneko, and Francesca, too.
"The baby vanished some time between when you left Signora Verrier and about half an hour ago," Eneko said curtly, raising his voice a little to be heard over the crowd of Arsenalotti. "You don't remember seeing anyone hanging around the outside when you left, do you?"
Benito shook his head.
"Whoever took her didn't leave a note, and hasn't tried to contact us," said the guard officer. "Unfortunately, that doesn't rule anyone out."
"They must have been around, watching," said Benito numbly, "If they took her that soon after I left."