Now that the relief effort was fully underway, the Citadel was allowed a day of celebration, of feasting, of laughter. The feast was of course entirely brought from the ships. It was not very good food, but there was enough.
"Governor De Belmondo is retiring, as soon as Venice sends a replacement," said Marco. "The doctors have told the old man to quit or die in harness, soon. The siege took a toll on him and he's nearing eighty. But he'll stay on in Corfu. He has a small estate in the south."
Benito snorted. "Him, I can deal with. But his wife I'd prefer to see back in Venice, if not Vinland."
Maria pinched his arm. "You're not being fair, Benito. I've told you."
Benito's expression hardened slightly. "I've heard you. I'm never going to entirely agree with you. But I agreed to let it be."
"You're impossible, Benito Valdosta," said Maria. It was plain that there'd still be some stormy exchanges on this one. But Marco noticed she still held his hand, firmly.
"So who will they send to govern us?" asked Alberto, plainly keen to move the subject away from this area.
Marco laughed. "He's come to talk to you, O new head of the Little Arsenal. I was in magical communication with Venice from the ships this morning. Benito has been nominated to be interim deputy governor by the Senate; and to repair the war ravages here, the Senate has voted a budget allocation of half a million ducats."
"Deputy Governor!" Benito gaped. "Me? Are they crazy?"
Marco shrugged. "The Senate was adamant, apparently. For the moment, given De Belmondo's age, they mostly want someone whom they trust to keep Corfu Venetian—and, despite your hair-raising reputation in some other respects, you now have a rather towering reputation as Venice's man-in-a-pinch."
Benito was still gaping. Marco smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Benito. It's just temporary until the Senate can finish wrangling over who they want as a permanent governor to replace De Belmondo. If it makes you feel any better, Petro told the Senate they were out of their minds. He proposed you for temporary captain-general, instead. But the military types had fits over that idea."
That brought a grin to Benito's face. "And well they might! I'm never going to be their favorite in peacetime. But I've got the perfect candidate for the job: Giuliano Lozza."
"Now that the supply distribution is well in hand," said Manfred, "we'll be heading onward to Jerusalem. A part of the fleet is going east to Canea. There'll be other vessels there, and we can go on to Ascalon."
Manfred looked sad. "I've a need to do some praying for my uncle, who may well not live much longer. And the business of politics goes on. So: We'll be loving you and leaving you, Benito Valdosta. Unless you'd like to come along. I've always a space for you in my company."
Benito felt the earnestness behind those lightly spoken words. He thought back. Command and siege had made Manfred grow. He was no longer likely to challenge Erik's watch-keeping ability. "I'd enjoy it. But I think Venice and Maria would prefer me to stay put awhile. I'll be here when you come back. They also wanted me on the fleet that is set to deal with the Aragonese, Barbary corsairs and the Genovese, too. Strange, to be wanted—and not just by the Schiopettieri, for a change."
Everyone laughed. "Benito, I have to agree with Maria: You were born to be hanged," said Francesca.
Erik squeezed Benito's shoulder. "I really don't feel party-like, yet. I'll be back, to collect Bjarni and the other Vinlanders—except Kari, who insisted on coming with us—and to collect what remains of Svanhild's things. Honor demands I must return them to her kin in Vinland. You'll take care of them for me?"
Benito nodded. "They're managing to feed Bjarni, at least, Erik. If he comes out of it . . . I'll take care of him."
Erik mustered a smile. "I couldn't think of a better caretaker."
Benito assumed a look of injured virtue. "I'm respectable these days. I'd be a married man if the church would agree."
"I think the authorities are mistaken in that. Still. I think I have learned. Those who are truly joined, neither man's laws nor God nor death really put asunder. Words and rituals don't really seem to mean that much."
"Are you entirely mad?" demanded Giuliano, looking at Benito as if he had offered him a lifetime in purgatory instead of the highest military position on the island. "Who would look after my olives? No! Thalia and I," he put a possessive arm around her, "are going to grow good eating kalamatas, not little lineoleas. I've got a new vineyard in the planning, too."
"I could have told you that he wouldn't do it," said Eberhard quietly, when Giuliano had walked away. "Cincinnatus."
"What?"
"You'd benefit from some history lessons, young Benito," said Francesca. "Giuliano Lozza could be a great condottiere if he wanted to. He doesn't. All he wants is a few acres of olive trees, some vines and a wife to make plump with his spoiling. Give him a pack of noisy children, too, and he'd be happier than any king. There are some people who just don't want power, or adulation, or even too much money."
Benito laughed. "You know why?"
"No."
"Because it is his for the asking. So, if I can't have Giuliano, who do we make captain-general? Leopoldo will do for now, while he recovers, but he's good, and ambitious. Venice will move him on for sure. You're all off to the Holy Land. So who am I left with?"
"You can always do double duty while you look for someone else. And why don't you make Thalia the minister of agricultural reform? You'd get Giuliano that way. And if the island really needs him—Giuliano will be there."
"That should give the surviving Libri d'Oro the hissy-fits," said Benito, with a look of pleasure.
"When they discover what you're planning on doing about tenant farms," said Manfred cheerfully, "you might just need Lozza."
Benito grinned evilly. "No. We'll do it slowly. It's like cooking lobsters. If you start with cold water then they don't flap and snap like they do when you try to drop them into boiling water. But the system as it stands is a recipe for insurrection."
"As we saw during the siege," said Eberhard. "But you may find that loosening the bonds will lose Venice this island."
Benito shrugged. "The system as it is will definitely lose it. I plan to work on ties of trade and blood instead."
"You'll make a good deputy governor," said Manfred with a chuckle. "Keep the taverns in trade anyway."
"For four months of the year," said Maria sternly.
Benito looked at her. There was a sadness in his eyes, but acceptance, also. He put an arm around her. "It's not every husband—in all but name, anyway—who gets a four-month holiday."
Spiro came up with a Venetian glass of tawny liquid in hand. "Here you are Beni. Kakotrigi. You'd better get used to it, if you're going to be our governor."
"That's your third," said Maria, taking it herself.
Benito shook his head. "I should have said it is not every man who needs a four-month holiday. Ow! I was only joking, Maria! You'll get 'Lessi wet if you pour it over me."
Maria looked sternly at him. "I have walked among the dead and asked them secrets hidden from ordinary mortals, Benito Valdosta. And among them I found out your weakness. Tonight, I am going to tickle you."
The last part was said with a Maria smile, full of promise, full of loving. An older Maria, confident at last of herself. Of being loved enough. Of being someone who no longer felt insecure about her station, about being a canaler with a Case Vecchie man. She had something now that made her realize just how irrelevant these things were.
Maria pointed a finger at Spiro. "You. Fetch us two more glasses of this—this kakotrigi. I didn't like it much at first sip, but I'm finding it better and better."
"It grows on you," said Benito, putting his arm around her again. "Part of the magic of this place."
Eneko Lopez tasted the wine. "Rough magic," he said with a grimace.
"But good and strong," said Maria, laughing.
In the high valley in the shadow of Pantocrator, the faun played on his panpipes a part of the ancient dance that is love, life, death, joy, sorrow and Corfu.