Manfred spent the trip over-polishing his armor. Polishing it to a mirror-gloss. Manfred was methodical about weapons and armor, without the fanaticism that characterized some Knights. This was excessive and unlike him.
Finally Erik asked why he was doing it.
"Cleanliness is next to godliness. And where we're supposed to be going to . . . I thought I could use a bit of help."
Erik snorted. "In your case, I think it is futile."
"My nurse used to tell me about the gray hosts when I was a gossoon," said Manfred. "Bright steel was supposed to banish 'em. I thought it might be useful."
From the hilltop, they could see the lake. Its dark waters were long and narrow, and a patch of cold mist clung to the middle. But it looked depressingly like a very ordinary lake.
They walked down to the edge where the limnaiad awaited them with a bag of old, old coins. She pointed at a seemingly ordinary boat rowing toward them. "Charon. You will need the obols for the ferryman. Don't expect the other side to be anything you recognize."
Erik shrugged. "I can see the other side from here. It looks very much the same as this side."
"There is more than one other side to the Acheroussia," said the limnaiad, in a cool voice. "You'll see."
Benito opened the bag and counted the coins. "Three is not enough," he said, sternly. "I want eight."
The limnaiad pouted. "They said you wouldn't know."
"The more foolish them, whoever they were."
"The Crenae."
"I wonder how well they do in dry fountains. I saw some ways of draining this lake, on the way here."
"Don't pay the ferryman until you get right across," said the limnaiad hastily.
The beach of black sand seemed to stretch to the far horizons. The only mark on it was the keel of the ferryman's boat. And looking back they could only see mist.
"You won't need the rest of that," grumbled the ferryman, as Benito put the purse away.
"Return fare."
The ferryman snorted. "I've never had one."
"We'd still hate to get back here and find you weren't going to take us because of it," said Manfred cheerfully.
They walked onward, in toward the gray gloom of the interior of Death's country. The way ahead was funneled by tall, glassy black cliffs. And then they came to an end point, a place where only three trails led on. One steep, rocky and draggled with straggly thorns, and seeming to peter out a few hundred yards on. The second, wide and well cobbled, went on into the middle distance. The third seemed to lead off into a valley winding up toward the cliff-top.
"Where now?" asked Benito, looking at the three trails.
Erik took one look. "The narrow one. The hardest one. Mortals are not supposed to pass."
"It would be," said Manfred with a groan. Climbing a steep path in armor was pure misery.
Upward and ever upward the trail wound. Eventually they came out at a misty gray plain.
"Do we have any idea where we're going next?" asked Manfred.
"To look for the dead, I suppose," said Benito.
"We're already among them," said Erik slowly.
Benito realized that the gray mist around them was full of shifting forms, almost seen . . .
Out of the corner of his eye he could see faces. He could also see the expression of eagerness on Erik's face.
Benito took out a small crock sealed with wax from the bag he'd carried with him. He opened it and poured the contents into a dish.
"What's that?"
"Colyva. Taki insisted I bring it. He said it feeds the souls of the dead and they'd be more likely to leave us in peace." Taki had had no trouble in believing they were coming to visit the dead. The captain had stayed sober the whole trip and Benito had seen him crossing himself and fingering an amulet repeatedly.
"What is it?" Manfred looked curious and hungry enough to steal morsels off the plate set for the dead.
"Wheat, pine nuts, almonds and raisins. And pomegranate seeds. I had the merry devil getting hold of those. All soaked together in honey. Each part of it has some significance, but Taki was pretty vague about it. It's as old as Greece, he said."
"If the dead don't want it, I could use it," grumbled Manfred.
But the dead did. Kin came first. And then friends.
Erik looked for Svanhild. But she wasn't there.
He peered forward, into the distance.
Manfred looked oddly at his friend. "Erik. You remember you said you'd never leave her?"
Erik nodded. "My vow. I wish . . . I wish I had not broken it. I will doubtless go to the place of oathbreakers."
Manfred shook his head. "No," he said solemnly. "You won't. She promised the same, didn't she?"
"I think so. In her dying breath."
Manfred took a deep breath. "I think you've been looking in the wrong place. I don't think she'd come here; this place is for the people that believe in it. She's gone somewhere else. And she's waiting for you. But I think—" he added, warningly: "That if you try to get there too soon, she's going to have some sharp words for you."
"The Lord of the Dead has sent me to fetch you into his presence," said one of the shades. "But only you may come into the presence of the living Embodiment of the great Goddess. She wishes to see you, and Aidoneus cannot refuse her."
"I want to see her, too. But what about Manfred and Erik?"
"They must remain here. No harm will come to them. No harm can."
Benito walked through shadows. At length, he came to a great hall. In the middle of it, in a patch of sunlight, stood an almond tree in full blossom.
And standing in front of it were two people. Not the insubstantial shade-people of this place, but real people. One of them was Maria. Benito gave a glad cry and would have run forward, seeing her there. But something stopped him.
"I can put unimaginable distances between us should you even take one step further forward," said the stern-faced man at her side. "The avatar of the Mother, the great Goddess, She who is the earth of Corcyra wants to speak with you. Speech I will permit. Nothing more."
"I've come to fetch her. She doesn't belong here in this prison."
The Lord of the Dead shook his head. "She came willingly. She has to honor her bargain."
"Did you, Maria?" asked Benito calmly.
She nodded. "I thought you were dead, Benito. Alessia was dying. I thought I could save her and the island."
Benito grinned. "You told me I wasn't allowed to die without your permission. You think I'd dare disobey? Seriously, Maria. They tricked you into this on false pretenses. That's no bargain. A bargain takes honor on both sides, Lord of the Dead."
Maria turned to Aidoneus. "You knew he wasn't dead."
Aidoneus nodded reluctantly. "Yes. I told you: I number the living and the dead. I can see the ends of the threads of destiny. I can see his end and I can see yours. Yours is far. Further than earthly time would allow. You must be remaining here in the underworld. Our time passes differently, and does not wear out the flesh as fast."
Maria's eyes narrowed. "But when you asked if I was a willing bride, I told you that was why: Because Benito was dead. You deceived me. You cheated!"
Aidoneus was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke. "Yes. I do cheat, but only by allowing people to cheat themselves. I wanted you. Your spirit is bright and strong. Many of the brides who have come were barely able to sustain themselves, never mind sun and light and flourishing life."
"The compact is for a willing bride," said Maria. "You told me that. You asked me if I was willing. Twice! You knew that you were deceiving me. That's why you tried to stop me seeing Benito in the shadows."
The Lord of the Dead held up a hand. "You gave me three reasons for being willing." Aidoneus pointed to Benito. "He was dead. Your baby was dying. And the siege was killing your friends."
Benito's eyes narrowed. "You know that Maria is destined to live for many years. Just exactly when is Alessia's time?"
"It is some time into the future," said Aidoneus calmly. "I may not tell mortals the exact time or place of their dying. I also may not lie."
"So you cheated a second time," accused Benito.
Aidoneus nodded. "But the third reason would have been true. The weave of fates was altered by her coming here."
"So does one third of a compact make it valid?"
Maria pursed her lips. Then, rubbed her square chin. "I don't cheat, Benito. It makes it one third valid. Because I was willing for that reason."
Benito sighed. "Agreed. But that still makes you mine for one third, 'Lessi's for another. Doesn't that outweigh the other?"
Maria sat silent for a while. She looked from Benito to Aidoneus, biting her lip. "Benito. You've just come all the way to the Kingdom of the Dead for me. No one else could do something like that. But fair is fair. One third of my life is Aidoneus'. He—and Corfu—need me."
The Lord of the Dead looked at her with eyes of longing, and sadness. "I'll accept that," he said quietly. "I did cheat. But I also gave fair return."
Maria nodded. "You did. But can you accept it, Benito?"
He started to reply immediately. Always the quick-witted one, Benito was. But then—perhaps for the first time in his life—stopped to think first. Really think.
He thought for quite some time.
In the end, it was the quietly sad, longing face of Aidoneus that gave Benito his decision—and, perhaps most important, allowed him to accept it calmly. For all that the two didn't look at all similar, there was something about Aidoneus that reminded Benito of Umberto Verrier. Lonely men in middle age—insofar as that term could be applied to someone like Aidoneus—who always did their duty. Including, when the need arose, sheltering and caring for a woman that a younger and more flamboyant man had not been able to do. Or willing to do.
Benito still felt that he was responsible for Umberto's death. That aching guilt had never left him. Until now, when he made his decision. The first truly adult decision he thought he'd ever made in his life.
"Yes, I can accept it." Benito shrugged. "I'd be a damned liar to say I liked it, Maria. But I thought I'd lost you forever and completely. Two thirds is a sight better than none at all. I see Aidoneus' point. I'd take one third if that was what I could get. How about eight months with me . . . and four down here?"
Aidoneus actually looked nonplussed. "I thought you'd refuse. Very well. I accept also. Maria will spend the four months of winter with me, the rest of the year with you."
Maria looked at him with a curious expression. "You've grown, Benito. I'm still not sure if I want a man—even for eight months of the year—who doesn't know if he's a wolf or a fox."
"I'm neither, Maria. I'm me. And I'm yours if you want me. I'll have you under any terms. Take me or leave me."
Maria bit her lip again. Then, nodded. "I think I prefer Benito to wolves or foxes."
Aidoneus sighed. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain. But this is my kingdom. There is a last clause to our agreement. Go back to your friends now. Maria can follow you out. But if you look back before you reach the far shore you have lost her forever." Aidoneus' voice was full of grim certainty.
Benito looked at Maria. "It's a deal. But how do I know if Maria is following us out?"
"You can turn and have a look," said Aidoneus with a raised eyebrow. "Or believe. She cannot make any sounds out there, away from the tree."
"You're cheating again, of course."
Aidoneus smiled wryly. "Yes."
Benito shrugged. "My companions can't turn either, I suppose?"
"It doesn't mean as much to them as it does to you. It is possible for them. But no, they can't turn either."
Benito took a deep breath. "You're on."
"What happened?" demanded Manfred.
"She doesn't belong here, and he cheated to get her—on two of three counts. But he did keep his side of the bargain on that third count. So Maria will spend four months of the year here. She can come out now, following us—but only if I don't look back to see if she is following. Not until I get out on the further shore. And you two can't turn around either."
"That's impossible," said Manfred.
Benito shrugged. "It's the terms I've got. It's better than no terms at all. But I have one request, Manfred."
"What?"
"Walk in front of me."
"If I walk behind you I can try and stop you turning."
Benito shook his head. "Manfred, you said you owed me for bringing Erik back. That I could ask for anything. Well, this is what I ask."
They marched. And marched. Even the final black beach sands seemed endless. The ferryman held out his hand. "Pay me."
Benito snorted. "You'll get our fares on the other side."
"Show me the money."
Holding the ancient coins firmly, Benito held up four obols.
"Isn't that one too many?"
"Play fair," said Benito boredly, and sat down. He did not even twitch his head.
The sunlight on his face was the sweetest thing Manfred had ever felt. The boat slid into the shallows . . . and Benito, still not turning around, held out the four obols.
"Can I keep the change?" asked the ferryman grimly.
"Play fair," said Benito, climbing onto the beach, without so much as a glance. Both feet firmly on the beach he turned, and took Maria into his arms, out of Charon's ferry.
He kissed his love slowly and long. Her lips were warm, as was her body pressed against his. They stood like that for a very long time.
Manfred leaned back against Taki's bulkhead and grinned at Benito and Maria. "I take my hat off to you, Benito. I'd have looked. I'd have had to."
Benito grinned. "I didn't need to look."
"You've got faith," said Erik seriously.
"Actually, Erik, what I had was Manfred walking ahead of me. You've got well-polished armor, Prince."
Manfred laughed until the ship shook. "The Fox's grandson, all right!"
Maria stuck her tongue out at him. "No. He's just Benito. My Benito."
Benito smiled at Maria, lovingly. "I could see you the whole time, Maria, dearest. All the way. I wished I could have told you not to look so worried. He cheated. I never said I wouldn't. For you I would do anything."