The tide passed, and moved on, away from her, and Maria stepped down off the block, and walked on.
For a brief moment she'd nearly waded into that crowd of Schioppies to help Benito. Then Alessia had stirred against her, and how could she interfere in a drunken brawl with a baby in her arms? She couldn't exactly have put Alessia down. Benito had gotten himself into that trouble, whatever it was. Benito would just have to get himself out of it. It wasn't her job to rescue him anymore.
If it ever had been.
This close to midnight, even when there was a great wedding on at the Doge's palace, with feasting in the Piazza San Marco, the stall-lined wooden Rialto bridge ought to be quiet.
It wasn't. There were several groups of people, mostly local women, gossiping eagerly about what had just happened.
One of the women, her eyes bright with excitement in the lamplight that the Republic provided to make bridges and sotoportegos safer, turned to Maria as Maria tried to get past her. "Did you hear? Did you see? Isn't that younger Valdosta a scandal!" Her voice was full of glee.
Maria could not restrain her curiosity. "No, I wasn't there. I'd just come from the celebration. What happened? What did he do?"
She did restrain the "this time" she'd been about to add.
The woman pointed at one of the crossbeams that held chains that supported the center bridge section. "He was up there."
Well, Benito climbed things. He always had been like a little shaved ape. "What was he doing?" she asked warily.
The woman shook her head—then told her. "Scandalous! In a public place like that!"
Maria felt herself redden. "You mean he was . . ."
An older woman, looking out of her half-shuttered window, snorted. "Well, he was so drunk, that it'd be better to say he was trying to. Good thing for her the girl is a dancer."
"The Doge will have to make an example of him!" pronounced the first woman; half-primly and half-gleefully. "The last time—"
"And the other man?" asked Maria hastily.
"Oh, he was just singing some bawdy song and cheering. He only got involved when the Schioppies got here. He's as strong as an ox."
Maria walked on. To think that that was Benito. Her Benito.
No. Not hers. Never hers. And not her problem.
So she told herself. And maybe if she told herself often enough, she might believe it.
And pigs might fly.
* * *
Erik stared balefully at Manfred, and pointed a finger through the bars. "You are quite safe and I am going to leave you here. I have searched this stupid town for hours now. I thought you'd gone to bed, and suddenly I'm dragged out of my blankets and sent on a hunt that I should have known was going to end here." He glared, and an unrepentant Manfred glared back, then dropped his eyes and closed his hands around his head, looking very much the worse for wear. "I am going back to tell Francesca that waking me up was a waste of everybody's time, and that she should go back to sleep. I am going back to sleep. Back to my bed that I should never have left for a drunken oaf. I am going to leave you here, locked up like a common felon until this town goes back to normal business. After the wedding, that should maybe happen by Vespers bell."
Manfred held his head. "Don't shout, whatever you do. The jailor says I'll only be up for disturbing the peace and creating a nuisance. Just leave me some money for the fine and I'll get myself home. But find out what they've done with the kid, Erik. Dorma is unlikely to forgive me if I've let him get into serious trouble."
That was a change, Manfred thinking about someone else's woes rather than his own. Erik sighed and shook his head. "Just what did you do? Just what did he do? That boy must be the first person I've met who is worse than you are, Manfred."
"Uh. I don't think I'll tell you about all of it. But the first part involved some fellow bear-baiting. Benito took against the bear's master. The bear . . . Bears can swim, can't they?"
Erik put his hand over his eyes. "Why did I ask?"
"Well, when Benito set the bear after the Schiopettieri . . ." Manfred continued, and paused when Erik groaned.
"He set the bear—against the Schioppies! Why did he sent a bear against the Schioppies? Don't answer that," he added hastily, as Manfred opened his mouth. "It was a rhetorical question."
Manfred raised his eyebrows and managed a hurt expression. "It was very funny at the time, Erik. The tavern did get busted up a bit, but the girl seemed to like that . . ."
Oh, God. Erik shook his head. "I'll go and see Petro Dorma, and get it sorted out," he promised.
"Oh, good."
"But not immediately. In no small part because Benito is getting exactly what he was asking for. It will be after I have told Francesca that you are where you deserve to be."
Chapter 20
Manfred was more than a little nervous about this interview. The hangover had barely subsided. He had not even been back to the embassy to change—and after last night, these were not the clothes of a gentleman any more. Besides, he had a definite feeling that the Doge was not going to be very pleased to hear what Manfred had gotten up to with his young ward. Even if Manfred was here on an official imperial visit and was a noble of a great foreign power.
He was therefore both surprised and pleased to see that Petro was smiling, albeit slightly, when he entered the room. "Ah, Prince Manfred. I apologize for my people arresting you," said Petro urbanely. "They didn't realize who you were."
"And I didn't see fit to inform them." Manfred had the feeling that the more honest he was about all of this, the better off he'd be. "Less embarrassment all the way around. I've paid the fines. I'm afraid I gave your clerk a false name for his records."
"Wise," Dorma said, quite as if he had expected something of the sort. "But I still must apologize. Normally my agents would keep an eye on visiting dignitaries, and keep them out of trouble. Or at least out of jail."
"Should have left him there," grumbled Erik, glaring at Manfred. A glare like that should have qualified as an offensive weapon.
Manfred felt sheepish, and very much inclined to encourage just about any other thread of discussion, especially if it involved going home to bed. But there was the question of young Benito. "Um. About Benito . . ."
He was surprised to see the Doge go off into helpless laughter. Eventually, though, Petro stopped and shook his head.
"I am going to have the Justices come down on him like a ton of bricks, if only to stop every other damned young blade in Venice from doing the same thing—or trying, anyway. I doubt very much if they'd succeed. The boy has managed to make himself a legend, from the canals to the palace. The whole city is talking about it this morning, and there are bets on whether or not he actually did what he was trying to do. Just one thing I do want to know: Where on earth did he get a woman willing to go up there with him?"
Manfred felt his ears glowing as Erik stared at him. "She . . . uh . . . she's an acrobat at that place where they have the Alexandrine dancers. The stomach-dancers. Although there is a lot more to it than just the stomach," he amended weakly.