"I'm not going to fail him," said Manfred grimly. "You will be on that boat this evening. This is not a matter of duty, Erik. It is a matter of friendship. I won't see you dying by inches in front of my eyes with your heart somewhere over those walls."
Erik stood up, came to stand before Manfred and put his hands on Manfred's shoulders. "Thank you," he said, gruffly. "I was . . . not happy when the summons came for me to come to Mainz to serve. Willing, because it is our sworn duty. But not happy. Our regard for the Empire isn't high in Iceland, or Vinland either for that matter. My father said something to me then that I didn't understand at the time. He said: You will find it is not service."
Manfred felt those powerful long-fingered hands squeeze his shoulders. "I understand now. You have been a friend for some time now. I just hadn't understood. If I have sons . . . I will send them to learn this, too. The Clann Harald are loyal to their oath. They are also loyal to friends. Linn gu Linn."
The emotion in that voice told Manfred that his uncle had been perfectly right. Manfred also knew that buying loyalty wasn't his reason for doing this.
Manfred stood up, and put an arm around Erik. He felt emotion thickening his throat and voice, and didn't try to stop it. "Wouldn't have mattered a bugger what Uncle Charles Fredrik said anyway. You need to go. You're going. I've made up my mind."
Erik took a deep breath. "Very well. Under certain conditions, which you will swear to me. First, Von Gherens will become your constant bodyguard. Second, you will not leave this fortress, unless I return or the siege is lifted. You will not make it a repetition of the affair of the Red Cat. You will not come after me. Promise me this."
Manfred was intensely grateful that Erik had not been there when Francesca had explained just how insecure the Citadel really was. "If there is a sally, I must lead the knights, Erik. You know that yourself. And this is a siege—God knows what will happen if Emeric breaks through. But within those limits . . . I'll swear. My Oath on it."
"If there is a sally. But don't stretch it." Erik took a deep breath. "Manfred, I didn't think you understood what it meant to be in love with someone. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."
That didn't make Manfred feel much better about Svanhild. But all he said was: "Well, let's go and organize a small boat and see if we can find that Corfiote sailor who doesn't know the draft of a great galley."
Chapter 41
Sitting under a tasseled awning in front of his tented pavilion, King Emeric regarded the Citadel in the growing dusk. Oxen had proved more of a problem than he'd anticipated. The islanders seemed to rely heavily on donkeys. Unfortunately, the heavy forty-eight-pound bombards really needed teams of oxen to move them. And the cannon of the Citadel and the island of Vidos commanded the deep-water landings for some distance. The carracks had too deep a draft to bring them in the way that those bedamned galleys had run up the beach. The bigger guns were too heavy and too unwieldy to unload onto lighters and bring in. They needed a dock, a quay next to which the ships could tie up.
Unfortunately, the nearest spot they'd been able to find was the village of Patara, nearly a league away. Emeric had had his cavalry scouring the countryside for oxen, or even mules, to move the guns. And now to make matters worse, it looked like rain. He was scowling ferociously when the senior Byzantine captain of the seven carracks that had just come in from Constantinople arrived. The Greek saluted smartly.
"Well, Captain?"
"Sire, the Venetian Outremer Convoy had arrived in Negroponte before we left. They should be on their way to the Golden Horn by now, except for the vessels heading for the Holy Land."
"While that is good news, I wanted to know if you'd brought the supplies Alexius agreed to provide. And why you are late?"
The captain bowed. "Contrary winds, Sire. And this morning we met, engaged and captured a Venetian great galley. I have her captain and most of her crew prisoner."
The captain cleared his throat. "They were carrying certain dispatches addressed to the Doge, the Grand Metropolitan and the Holy Roman Emperor. The captain, one Bernardo Selvi, pleaded for his life, saying he could give you valuable information. He has agreed to cooperate fully with us. I have promised him his life in return, Sire. He told me he was part of a charter for Prince Manfred of Brittany, and some two hundred Knights of the Holy Trinity, going to Jerusalem. They were on board their four vessels when they were attacked by a combined fleet of Dalmatian pirates and carracks bearing your banner. He said the others plan a night landing, perhaps at the very Citadel itself."
"Your news comes a little too late, Captain," Emeric said grimly. "Nonetheless I will see the prisoner and the letters he was transporting. Have them sent up to me."
The Byzantine saluted crisply again. "At once, Sire. And where and when shall I have my men land the food supplies?"
Emeric smiled his thin-lipped, crooked, and utterly humorless smile. "Vessels are discharging about a league away at a village called Patara. See the goods get handed over to my quartermaster there, see you don't get in the way of my cannon being off-loaded, and see I get the prisoner and his letters very, very fast."
"Sire!" The Byzantine saluted and left at a half-run.
Emeric, for the first time since the galleys had arrived that morning, felt something akin to pleasure. He enjoyed seeing Byzantines run. And the fact that the Holy Roman Empire's best troops were here purely by accident, caught up in this because they were on their way to Jerusalem, was excellent news. He must tell his spymasters to stop searching for the leak in his security.
Four men-at-arms from the Byzantine vessels and a prisoner, shackled neck-and-legs, arrived shortly thereafter. The prisoner was an elderly, slightly stooped man with a wattled chin. He fell on his knees before Emeric. "Spare me, Your Majesty. Spare me, I beg you," he wept.
Emeric stood up, put his hands on either side of the man's head, and forced him to look him in the eyes. He hardly needed to do anything; the Venetian was already crying with fear. Still, there was more to exerting his power than simply the need to cow.
"But of course, my dear chap. Provided you tell me what I need to know."
He blinked, and released a spell. A bolt of searing pain shook the captive. His back arched and he fell over backwards. The Venetian captain lay there on the ground gibbering, whimpering and crying. Emeric ignored him and held out his hand to the escorts. "The letters."