Benito woke to the certain knowledge that he was getting soft. Sleeping on a cold stone floor might once have been luxury. After all, he was dry, and the other sleepers kept the place relatively warm. But the stone was a lot harder than what he had become used to. Erik and Thalia were already up. So he assumed, at any rate, because they weren't lying on the stone next to him.
Benito got himself up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bowed to the altar, and walked off to find either the others or the town fountain. He hadn't slept that deeply for many years, and he knew that if he was going to keep alive out here, he was going to have to go back to the habits of his days as an unwanted and uninvited secret tenant in people's attics. He'd have to learn to sleep with his senses keyed again, where the slightest sound would wake him. Only, he had been so tired when they first arrived, he knew he couldn't have slept lightly. Now he was just so hungry, he couldn't have slept at all.
The first familiar face he saw, also at the town's fountain, belonged to neither Erik nor Thalia. The Corfiote sailor no longer had his black eye. The sailor looked at Benito. Blinked. Looked again.
Benito hoped that this wouldn't get unpleasant. He was fairly sure he could deal with the man's inept knife-skills. What he didn't want was the trouble that would inevitably follow. He also didn't want his identity nosed about. It might not cause trouble—but there could be ears out here in the street that it shouldn't come to. Benito glanced about. There was no one in earshot, at least.
The sailor shook his head. "I'll be damned! Just what are you doing here, Case Vecchie?"
He didn't say it too loudly, or with any malice. Benito decided to chance friendliness. If he remembered rightly, the sailor from Bari had called him "Spiro."
"Trying not to give away that I am a Case Vecchie, Spiro. Do me a favor. Don't shout or call any attention to it or I might have to remind you how we last met. And I don't want to do that; I've got plenty of trouble as it is."
The man didn't really seem to have heard. Instead he was studying Benito intently. "You are him!" he said unbelievingly. "You really are him!"
"I really don't want everyone to know, Spiro," Benito repeated, fixing him with a stare.
The sailor grinned widely. "Safe enough with me, milord. I owe you."
Benito noticed that a couple of people were staring at them. He clapped Spiro on the shoulder, and turned the gesture into an arm around the sailor's shoulders, as if they were old friends. Which, at the moment, Benito really hoped was the case. "Let's go and find some wine. I was going to drink some of the water, but I've decided that I'm really not that thirsty."
Spiro looked skeptical. "Right now, wine in Paleokastritsa is damn near as expensive as wine in Venice. And I'm afraid I'm broke again, milord, even if I owe you a drink or two."
"For heaven's sake, call me Benito. Forget the 'milord.' And the wine is on me, and something to eat, if you can forget that fact. Venetian Case Vecchie are not popular right now. Out there, the Hungarians want to kill us for protecting the island. From what I can work out, the Corfiotes in here want to kill us for not protecting the island."
Spiro shrugged. "As you're buying the wine, I wouldn't dream of killing you, m . . . Benito."
"Afterwards is a different story," said Benito wryly.
Spiro chuckled. "After a few glasses of wine even the stupidest idea can sound like a good one. But I did learn that that was a really, really insanely stupid one. So what are you doing here, m . . . Benito?"
"I'll tell you about it over that cup of wine. Where do we find one?"
Spiro pointed across the square at dark doorway. "Papavanakis'. His taverna is dirty, it smells, his wife's face would curdle milk and I think he waters his wine."
Benito grinned. "So why are we drinking there?"
Spiro shrugged and grinned back. "At least what he's putting in the wine is water. And he is less of a thief than most of them."
They strolled over and went into the dim coolness out of the already bright day. Benito blinked, adjusting his eyes to the lack of direct sunlight. The taverna was clean and smelled of food and wine. Fresh bread and meaty smells, and the wine wasn't slightly used by prior customers. The pretty young woman behind the counter scowled at them. "Not you again, Spiro! Go away. Not another cup will I give you until you pay."
Spiro nodded to Benito. "See what I mean," he said mournfully. "Curdle milk, that face would."
She snorted and pretended to throw a wine cup at him. It was obviously an old joke. "Go away, Spiro. Papas will kill me if I give you any more credit."
Spiro gestured expansively. "It's all right, Anna. Beni here is paying."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "With the same coin as you pay? Or real money?"
Benito produced a silver penny.
"You shouldn't show her that much!" said Spiro. "She'll faint and we'll never see any wine. Or that food you promised me. It's been a while since I ate."
The taverna's keeper clicked her tongue. "He's impossible. How did he talk you into wasting good money on him?" She said it with perfect amiability, while filling two wine cups.
Benito realized that Spiro had addressed her in Italian Frankish . . . and that she'd replied in the same way. Plainly, by her accent and rapidity of speech, it was her mother-tongue. He'd been keeping his own mouth shut to play down his origins but it now seemed safe enough. "He borrowed money from me. He's had it for a year. So now he says I owe him interest," said Benito, earnestly.
The young woman snorted with laughter and handed them the wine. "And you'll keep owing him interest until the day he dies." She pointed to the tables. "Sit. I'll go and find you some food."
They sat. Spiro took a pull at his wine cup. "More water than wine."
It tasted pretty good to Benito. "So, what are you doing here, Spiro. Is this home?"
The Corfiote gestured expansively. "This dump? Ha. Liapádhes is a great metropolis. Broad streets, wonderful tavernas. Wine like a young lion. As far from this place as the sun is from the earth."
Benito was beginning to get the hang of Spiro by now. "So it is just like this, is it?"
Spiro gave him a conspiratorial wink and took another pull of his wine. "Two peas in a pod, really, except this has got a good defensive position. It's about a mile and half south."
"How did you get home from Venice?"
Spiro raised his cup. "A Dorma ship, thanks to you. I was with her all the way to Constantinople. I'd have stayed with her too, but when I got back to Corfu, on the return trip, there was a bit of family business I had to settle. A fellow had taken some liberties with my sister." He swallowed half the contents of his cup at a go. "So after I had thanked him very politely, I went back to Kérkira, but the ship had left. I couldn't come back to Liapádhes for a while. So I took a job with a fisherman. Taki drinks too much but he's a good skipper. Then this lot blew up. So I thought I'd come home. Only home seemed to be full of Hungarians. And you, Benito?"
Benito's ears had pricked up with the mention of the fisherman. "Got sent out here to be a factor for Dorma. And then this war blew up. Look, this fisherman friend of yours. He wouldn't like to earn a bit of money? I really want out of here back to the Italian mainland."
At this point, Anna the taverna keeper arrived with two earthenware platters, fragrant steam curling up from them. "I had some of last night's stifado still. I've just made it hot. That one," she pointed an elbow at Spiro, "didn't eat last night. So I thought he might as well eat this morning, and you looked hungry."
Spiro looked suspiciously at the plate of pearl onion-laced stew that she put in front of him. "It hasn't got quinces in it again, has it? You know I hate quinces."
She shook her head as she wiped her hands on her apron. Then she held out a hand to Benito. "And that's why he ate three helpings."
Benito handed over the silver. She looked at it very carefully. She was polite enough not to bite it in front of him. "It seems real enough. You want more wine with that?"
Spiro drained his cup. "Seems like a good idea. I'm not likely to get this lucky again in a hurry, and I don't see us fishing for a while yet. Which answers your question, Benito. The Dalmatian pirates sink any boat they can find. Even fishing boats."
Benito waited for the taverna keeper to walk off. "Even for a good bit of coin? Working at night?"
Spiro shrugged. "I'll ask around. My old skipper Taki would be your best bet. He's up in the hills with his cousin Georgio. He's probably so sick of the old man and his goats that he'd be ready to try anything by now. I could get word to him. Some of the boys who go out with the goats would do anything for a few coppers."
Wordlessly, Benito dug out a few copper coins and a silver penny. He held back the silver penny. "That one is for finding somebody else. A whole bunch of them. Big guys with blond hair and a blond woman with them."
Spiro stuck his hand out. "I'll have the silver too, thanks. Easiest money I've ever earned. They're in a cave in a gorge about a mile and a half east of here."
"What!" Benito started. "Are you sure?"
Spiro grinned. "Well, I was fairly sober when I heard about them. That's the trouble with being broke, you know. Do you want them alive or dead?" he asked around a mouthful of stew, still holding his hand out.
"Alive! Definitely alive!"
"Then you'd better get a move on. They stole some of Cheretis's goats and he's got all the men going out this morning. They're planning to burn them out."
Benito knocked over the chair in his haste to get up. "Come on! We must find Erik!" He hauled Spiro out of his seat.
"But I haven't finished eating! And the wine is still coming!"
"You want gold, not silver, you'll come and show us the way to this place as fast as possible." Benito hustled him along, trying to think where he'd be most likely to find Erik. The stables perhaps?
"Where are you going?" yelled the taverna keeper. "Here is your wine and your change. You haven't eaten your food!"
"We'll be back. Emergency!" yelled Benito.
Sure enough, Erik and Thalia were in the stable. Erik looked up as he and Spiro panted in. "So nice of you to bother to come and help. Finished in the taverna I saw you going into?"
"Get the tack on those horses! We've got to move, now!"
Erik didn't waste time asking questions, before starting to do that. Neither did the suddenly wide-eyed Thalia. But as he worked, Erik asked what was up.
"Your precious Svanhild is about to get roasted for goat-stealing," said Benito. "Spiro here knows where they are."
Erik didn't waste time on talk. But he worked at a pace that made lightning look as if it moved at a comparatively glacial speed. "Up." He hauled the one-time sailor onto the horse, behind him. Thalia was up and Benito struggled and scrambled behind her as they clattered for the gate. Erik nearly rode the stableman down. Benito almost fell off as the man used a pitchfork to make the horse decide to stop abruptly. "You owe—"
Benito frantically dug out some money and flung it at him. "We'll be back!" And then Thalia set off after Erik. Benito just hoped they'd catch up.
They did. The town gate was closed. "Let us out!" yelled Erik.
"Not likely. Let's see who you're running from first, foreigner," said the guard, clutching his spear.
Spiro saved the man's life. "Open up, Adoni! They're not running from anyone. They're trying to get to someone in hurry."
The guard peered. "Oh. It's you, Spiro Volagatis. Well, I guess if it gets you out of the town it's a good thing." He unbarred the gate, and they rode off down the steep, winding trail.
"Where now?" Benito heard Erik yell as they reached the foot of the trail. Benito missed the reply but they did manage to follow Erik off to the west. Then he spotted the trickle of smoke. By the way Erik was urging the horse into a gallop he'd seen it too.
The Corfiote men and boys, armed with a motley array of old arquebuses, pitchforks, spears and slings, were piling brushwood right across the mouth of the narrow gorge. Already someone had lit one edge. Benito arrived into what certainly sounded like a full-scale riot.
By the three men on the ground some of the locals had been foolish enough to try and stop Erik kicking the fire apart. But now he was under the noses of a dozen arquebuses, and there was a full-scale shouting match going on.
Thalia quelled it with a shriek and a stream of what could only be Greek vituperation. Hastily the locals began to pull the burning branches away and beat at the fire with branches of green leaves. "What did you say to them?" asked Benito.
"This is a sacred place! The holy mother is in the temple cave up there. This valley ends in some cliffs. There is no other way out."
"But they've stolen our goats!" bellowed one of the men at Erik. "They're bandits! They've been shooting goat-boys. And who the hell are you, foreigner? You knocked down my brother. I've a good mind to knock you down."
"When I come back," said Erik grimly, hauling brushwood out of the way, "you're welcome to try."
But the fire already had its teeth into the dry brush. Benito, beating at flames, got the feeling that he should somehow have gotten Erik there sooner. Already the heat was pushing at their faces and a river of smoke was funneling up the gorge.
And then there was a rumble.
Even the wet rag wrapped around her mouth couldn't stop Svanhild coughing as she tried, desperately, to calm the horses. Their eyes were wild and rolling and the animals were whickering and stamping. There was little likelihood that anyone could ride them now. The horses were already on the edge of panic.
"We'll have to leave them, Hildi," said Bjarni. "We'll have to get to the cliff and try and climb out."
"We can't! They'll die."
"If we stay much longer, we'll die."
There was a rumble and it grew darker, almost by the moment.
"Look at the stream!"
From atop the high rock Benito reached down and hauled Erik back by the collar. As the Icelander struggled to turn and throw Benito's hand off, the water flumed through, hitting Erik at about knee-height. It knocked his feet out from under him anyway. Benito clung to Erik as if he were a roof-beam four stories from the ground. If he hadn't hauled Erik back, the water-wall would have stuck the Icelander at least belly-button height. Another strong pair of hands came and grabbed Erik's arms. Between Spiro and Benito they hauled him up.
The sudden rain hissed down like arrows. A glance showed the local heroes running for shelter, bedraggled figures pelting away from the scene.
"Thanks," said Erik, as they hastened to a rock lip that offered some vague shelter. Looking at the torrent and the already decreasing rain, Erik shook his head. "What caused that?"
Thalia shrugged. "I told you it was a holy place. The priestesses command the magic here."
Erik shook his head again. "Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't natural. It was a clear morning a few minutes ago. Anyway, let me see if I can get up there."
Thalia took him by the arm. "I tied the horses just back there. You can probably ride up the valley now."
Erik smiled at her. "You're the practical one, Thalia. Seeing to the horses, doing all the things we forget."
The peasant woman looked serious. "Somebody has to."
But Erik had already left at a run.
Benito looked out. The rain was slacking off. It would be gone in a minute or two. The stream was already dropping. And on the blackened, burned brush a green creeper was already twining, growing as he watched.
The intervention had been magical, of that Benito was certain. He was less certain that he liked it.