Far above in the blue, two hawks circled.
* * *
Bjarni knocked Kari's arm up hastily. The shot ricocheted off the limestone rocks, and Svanhild winced. Thank goodness Bjarni had more sense than the rest of them, or they'd soon be fighting both the locals and the invaders. And the locals knew this area like the rabbits in the rocks did.
"What the hell do you think you are doing, you idiot!"
"But chief, he threw a rock at us!" protested the young Vinlander.
"Of course he threw a rock at us, you mindless fool! And now we'll be lucky if the locals don't shoot at us. You shoot at the Hungarians. They already shoot back. The kids throwing rocks we wave at and shout 'friend, friend!' "
"And when they throw more rocks?" growled Gulta, wiping the blood off his face. "The little devil hit me."
"Duck faster next time," Bjarni said flatly. "If a kid with a rock can hit you, you aren't paying near enough attention to what's going on. You can't hit anything with wheel-lock pistols anyway, more than a few paces off. And there's no way to use an arquebus on horseback."
* * *
But Bjarni's orders were unnecessary. Word must have run up the valleys ahead of them. Nobody threw rocks. And there was nobody they could shout "friend, friend" at either. Locals seeing them ran.
"Maybe we should ride one of them down," suggested Kari. "We could explain afterwards."
Bjarni snorted. "You should be thinking of this as if it were the plains around Cahokia and you were a foreigner chasing your mother's people. This is their place. Their rocks and paths. Ten to one they'd get away from you here. And if they did that, then the fat would really be in the fire. No, we'll find a spot to fort up and sit tight until things settle down. They'll come to us in time."
They rode on. Toward evening they came to a gorge. Kari pointed. "You won't let me shoot rock-throwers. Can I shoot us some dinner instead?"
Bjarni looked up. "Sure. I never was that fond of goats anyway."
Kari missed again. Twice. In the end, laughing, Svanhild used her bow to kill the goat.
Meanwhile, scouting ahead, Gulta had found them a cave. "They use part of it for penning goats. There's another section where we can sleep. It isn't luxury accommodation, but it is better than the houses in the burned-out villages we've passed. At least, the cave's still got a roof. There's a lot of cloud about, too. It looks like it could come on to rain."
"Is it defensible?" Svanhild asked. Other considerations no longer applied.
Bjarni shrugged. "Is anything?"
* * *
Manfred knocked on Erik's door. There was no reply. He knocked again, waited, and then was about to turn his heel and leave when Erik said: "Come in."
Erik was seated in a chair by the window staring out. He turned to see just who had come to disturb him, with a look that said it would be the worse for them. "Oh. Manfred. I thought it would be some servant or orderly or something. I've had a chambermaid and a page come looking for you, all in the last hour."
"I've come to talk to you about this Svanhild."
Erik sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry, Manfred. I've let myself be distracted from my task. It's just . . . I wish . . . Well, I can't. I'll try to put it aside. My oath comes first."
Manfred grinned, hiding emotions far from humor. "Besides, as a confrere Knight of the Holy Trinity you are supposed to be celibate and not think such things. Listen, I have talked it over with Francesca and young Benito." Manfred chose his words now with extreme care. "You are sworn by clan-oath to be my personal hearthman. To guard me and also prepare me for the possibility that I might become heir to the throne of Charles Fredrik. To keep me alive. To take appropriate long-term steps to make sure this happens."
Erik nodded, dully. It was a matter of note on his mental state that he did not snap that he knew all of this. "Yes. That is my duty."
"If my bodyguard—you, that is—arrived with a severe chill or was injured—I'd send him to bed until he was well enough to be effective. I'd use another bodyguard if he insisted." Manfred waited for a response.
"I would insist, if I was sick." Erik did not even look indignant.
"Who would you nominate?"
Erik shrugged. "Von Gherens, I suppose. Or Falkenberg, had he not been injured."
Manfred nodded. "I will have both of them. Falkenberg, if he recovers. Because you are sick. I'm sending you off to get cured. Benito, a Corfiote seaman and you are taking a small boat out tonight. You will go and see if this sweetheart of yours is alive. Come back when you're well."
Erik gaped at him. And then closed his mouth and shook his head. "I can't do that."
Manfred had come prepared for that. "Your responsibilities go beyond those of some simple day-to-day bodyguard, Erik. You're responsible for my long-term safety. How would you best ensure that?"
"Putting you in a padded cell and feeding you through the keyhole," said Erik, still staring at him.
"Be serious, will you? Besides, Uncle Charles Fredrik said I'm supposed to go to Jerusalem. How would I do that in a cell? The answer is breaking this siege. And the answer to that is getting word back to Venice. And that's exactly what I want Benito to do. But without you he'll probably fail."
Was Erik following all this? It was impossible to tell from that poleaxed look on his face. "Look, his plan relies on sneaking out of here in a small boat lowered from the seaward walls. But the rest of Emeric's troops and cannon have arrived. You can bet Emeric has shore patrols aplenty out now, especially after last night. The boy's a fighter, but he's not in your league. And he doesn't have your experience of small craft. He's Venetian, but a city-dwelling landsman, really."
Now, finally, he was getting a reaction out of Erik; the Icelander nodded, slightly. Manfred went in for the kill.
"But the crunch is that he's got to move overland by night to a fishing port, well away from here. The boy can move around a city like a ghost. But I don't think he's ever been outside a city. He'll get killed for sure if you don't go along with him. Once you've got him safe—you can give your time to hunting for Svanhild." Manfred paused. "But Erik . . . my friend, you do know what usually happens to beautiful young women when an army invades."
Erik nodded. "Yes. She may be dead, or she may be raped and enslaved. But . . . I have to know." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I can't accept your logic. What you say about Benito and a message to Venice makes excellent sense, even if you are using it as an excuse. But I can't desert my post."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Manfred sat down on the bed. It complained. Beds generally complained when Manfred sat on them. "I didn't want to do this. I've lugged this around since Venice."
Manfred hauled a letter out of his pouch. It was plainly much traveled. He unfolded it. "Here. Come and have a look at this. Uncle Charles Fredrik sent it to me when things started to unravel in Venice."
Erik came over. The letter dangled half of the seal of the Holy Roman Empire. The sprawling spidery handwriting was unmistakably that of the Holy Roman Emperor himself.
"Read from the top of this paragraph," commanded Manfred.
Erik did.
Manfred, The most valuable coin the House of Hohenstauffen has is loyalty. The house has no coin of a larger denomination than the loyalty of Clann Harald. The reason is simple: they owe their loyalty not to the Empire, or the Emperor. They owe it to us. The Hohenstauffen. The Clann have repaid their debt to the Hohenstauffen many hundreds of times over. Yet they still answer the call. Why, nephew? First, it is because they're raised and bred to it. They're a very honorable house, even by the standards of a very honorable society. But that is the lesser of the reasons. The reason is that they are our friends—because we are as loyal to them as they are to us. Always remember that. An Imperial house has very few true friends. They are more valuable to us than to ordinary folk for that reason. In every generation the time has always come when we, the Hohenstauffen, must put that friendship, that loyalty to our friends, above all other obligations. Do not fail me in this, Manfred. When the time comes, you will place Erik's interests above your own. I order this. Do not fail me or our house.