The three light galleys Venice was sending to the aid of Corfu left without fanfare or fuss or any of the normal send-off. They left directly from the Arsenal sometime after midnight, with extremely select crews, a large supply of weaponry—and gold. Some fifteen thousand ducats worth, which would have made the small vessels a tempting target in any pirate's book. Led by the merfolk, the three ships slipped along the Dalmatian coast by night, pulling up, stepping masts and hiding on small islands by day. They laid up for two days with the mosquitoes in a swampy river mouth just north of the bay of Vlores, waiting for the merfolk to return with news of a safe route. The clouds rolled in, along with the triton, eventually.
"The water is clear of ships on this course," said Androcles, "because it's raining fit to raise the ocean level. You could sail within thirty yards of one of the carracks without anyone being the wiser. The galliots are all pulled up on the beaches. You humans don't seem to like getting wet."
They rowed on through worsening seas and squalls of rain. The light galleys had no real shelter for the rowers, and Benito found himself shivering. "Well, at least in this we should be able to land on the island during daylight," said Benito to the triton, who was pacing the vessel in the rolling gray sea.
Androcles shook his head. "No. The rain stops short of Corfu. Any lookout will see you. You'll have to wait for nightfall." He looked up at Benito and chuckled. "The seas are getting heavier. Looks as if you aren't wet enough already, you might just join us soon."
Never was Benito so glad to see landfall as in the lee of that unnamed cape. The Venetian relief force was cold, wet, and bedraggled.
And on Corfu—undetected.
The hundred and fifty men who had landed there were handpicked as good seamen, with some knowledge of Greek—easy enough, as many Venetians spent time in the Greek possessions. They were all reasonably skilled horsemen, and were all combat veterans. What they weren't . . . was too sure where they were, where the enemy was, and just where they should go. Benito blessed the fact that at least it wasn't raining here.
He went down to the water's edge to bid farewell to the merpeople. Only Androcles had come inshore. "My thanks. We're in your debt."
Androcles grinned, his teeth pearly in the moonlight. "We'll keep it in mind." He looked at the three galleys. "What do you do with the ships now?"
Benito scowled. "I busted my ass building them and now we'll scupper them, rather than let the Byzantines have them."
Androcles shrugged. "Why not put them in the sea caves? There are some along the edge of the cape. You can only get in dry at low tide. If you take the masts down you should fit them. You will have to swim out of the cave, though."
Benito sighed. "I'm just about dry."
Most of the gear was off-loaded and skeleton crews of strong swimmers set out for the caves. They nudged their way forward into the darkness of the sea-hollowed limestone. "This is where we leave you," said Androcles. "Corcyra is another's territory, and this is too close already."
It was dark. They had to feel their way in, inch by inch.
"Trouble with sea caves like this, is that they cave in," said one of Benito's companion's cheerfully. "I went into one near Capri on my first voyage. They said it used to be a bigger one but it caved in."
"I needed to know that," grumbled Benito. "Reckon we can strike a light now? We're well into this thing and we've curved away from the sea. They shouldn't be able to see it from outside, and we need to work out how to anchor safely."
"It's as black as pitch in here. We'll need to chance it."
Someone struck a lucifer. A lamp wick caught.
Benito looked at the five Greek fishing-boats that were in there already. And at the people on them and on the shore-ledges. There were an awful lot of arquebuses, pistols, arrows and just plain rocks all ready to come their way.
Benito was extremely glad to recognize at least one of the vessels.
"Captain Taki! Spiro! Kosti! It's me! Benito!"
It was as near to inevitable that the caveful of fishing boats should have its own taverna, with a supply of the wine that Benito recalled so well.
"Why is this stuff so vile?" He demanded, eyeing the cup of russet-colored liquid. "And why do you all drink it?"
Spiro drew himself up in affront. "If you don't like our kakotrigi, don't drink it! I'll relieve you of the burden." He reached for Benito's cup. "It is a wine of the Corfiote character, and like us, it is hard to harvest. The grape clings to the stalk like we cling to our soil."
Benito held his cup out of reach. "I'm paying for this round. You snatch my drink when you're paying."
"Which will probably mean the end of the world is at hand, so you might as well drink it anyway," said Kosti.
"You're paying? I'd have had the mavrodáphne then," said Spiro with his wry grin. "Kakotrigi is cheap crap. But you get used to it. Even get to like it, if you drink enough."
And for a few cups they could have shelter for their ships, and advice on where the Hungarian troops were. It struck Benito as a bargain.
"How did you make it back? Did you have any problems?"
Taki laughed and waved his arms expansively. "I told you I was the finest seaman around. We sailed rings around them."
"We came back in a patch of bad weather. We nearly missed the island," said Kosti.
"I hate to ask this. But just where the hell are we?"
Spiro rolled his eyes. "Great sailors, these Venetians. Masters of the Mediterranean. You're about a league and a half away from Paleokastritsa. And your dangerous friend is about four leagues away. Together with his blonde with the . . ." Spiro crooked his arms in front of him.
Benito grinned. This was going to be easier than he'd thought. He looked speculatively at the Corfiote sailors. "How are things going with Erik's private little war?"
Taki laughed shortly. "He doesn't have to do much anymore. The peasants are killing and sabotaging whenever they get the chance. Those Hungarians can't make up their minds what to do. One day it's reprisals and the next it's being nice to peasants. But the story is they ate a child from one of the villages down south. The father cooperated with them because they had his son hostage. And while he did that they ate the boy, like those Vinlanders did to old Cheretis' favorite goat. And fed the bones to their dog. There's this big yellow dog that goes about with 'em sometimes. People say it's no natural dog. Say it can be shot without being killed."
"That was Georgio's story," said Kosti. "Georgio once had a wild pig get drunk on fermented windfall apples in his master's orchard . . . and he tried to shoot it when it was sleeping it off. From about three feet away! He still missed it."
"Well, yes," admitted Taki. "But Serakis says he saw the boy's waistcoat and the thigh bone. Tooth marks right into it."
Benito scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound like they're popular. So how do you think you lads and the other fishermen would feel about helping the Venetians do a bit of quiet raiding? Sink a few of those patrol vessels?"
"With our fishing boats? Are you crazy?"
"With the galleys. You spot them from shore. Dark nights we run out and sink 'em."
They eyed him with interest. Kosti's grin was feral. "Should make night-fishing around here safer," said Taki with a nod.
Even with a guide from the fishermen it was Erik's men who spotted them first. He plainly had scouts out. And any Hungarian patrol was going to have to deal with an ambush.
Erik himself came out to greet them. The Icelander was, Benito thought, looking as happy as he'd ever seen him. Obviously things were going exceptionally well for him with his Vinlander girl.
"Well, Benito!" He clapped Benito on the shoulder and grinned as he looked at the hundred and fifty men in the valley. "Is this all you bring me? And I had to part with perfectly good silver for your trip over!" Then he gave Benito an unexpected bear hug. Benito had never seen any real signs of emotional display from Erik. Perhaps this, too, was Svanhild. "Well done, boy."
Benito felt considerably taller. "I brought back the principal and interest on the silver. In gold. We've got arms for five hundred. We've got a secure hidden port and three light galleys we can use to raid the blockade ships. And there are more men coming, as soon as we have the ships. And now, let me introduce you to Captain Di Negri."
Benito pointed to the broad, curly-haired, swarthy man who was at the head of the column. The man stepped forward. "Knight-Proctor Hakkonsen? I am Fabio Di Negri." The two shook hands, sizing each other up. "I have orders from the Doge and the Senate to put myself under your command."
Erik raised his eyebrows. "That's good. And surprising, to be honest."
"I had to talk long and hard to get them to agree to it," said Benito, with a wry smile. "Fortunately Petro and, indeed, Venice know you."
"Well, Captain, you are going to be on your own anyway, a lot of the time," said Erik, comfortingly. "We've found the countryside won't really hide more than twenty in one group. I've three separate units working now already. With your men and the recruits we can bring in we should make the north virtually free of Hungary. We'll seriously affect them in the south too, I think." He turned back to Benito. "And you, Benito? Have they very sensibly made you have to take my orders too?"
Benito shook his head. "Actually, the Council of Ten has given me another assignment. Petro was opposed to it, but . . ." He shrugged. "I wanted to do it."
"What?"
"Trying to get the news back into the Citadel."
Erik winced. "Benito, things have tightened up a great deal since you and I came out. Largely, I am afraid, because of what we've been doing out here. It's nearly impossible to get within two miles of the Citadel. Emeric must have as many men patrolling around there as he has in the siege trenches."
"I'll have to go and have a look to see what I can think of."
Erik shook his head. "Something crazy, no doubt."
"Probably," said Benito with a yawn. "Meanwhile, can we get out of the sun and get a drink of water? I drank too much kakotrogi last night."
Erik laughed wryly. "Haven't you noticed how dry it is, Benito? The stream in this little valley has dried up. We're maybe half a mile from the nearest spring that's still flowing. The Corfiotes say it should be raining, now that we're into September. The rains started . . . and then stopped. We haven't had a drop since the day we had the earthquake."
Benito scouted, with Erik. And then with Thalia, pretending to be a peasant with onions to sell.
He watched for hours, trying to find the obvious chinks in Emeric's armor. He had to admit that the organization was slick. Still . . .
"What is that compound over there?"
"Corfiotes. Slave labor. They are taken from villages where they suspect we have sympathizers." Thalia grimaced. "Mostly they get it wrong."
"They're not very well guarded. And they're marched up to the front lines every day."
"They have leg chains. The ones who are not working have a long chain threaded through all of the leg irons."
"Ah. I see. Do we know of a good blacksmith?"
Thalia turned to Giuliano. "Who is best? There are three making arrowheads and spear-blades for us."
"Gigantes, I think." The once-plump young son of an armsman smiled. "He used to make my plows. He was always coming up with new ideas that I didn't want."
"Do you think he could make me a set of manacles? And while I'm about it, provide me with some metal-cutting files."
"If you have the gold, yes. Files are precious."
"It's a mad plan!" snapped Erik.
Benito shrugged. "Of course it is. Do you think a sane plan would succeed?"
"No. But that's not the point. A breakout of those prisoners would certainly enhance our popularity even more. It's a good idea even if I don't like the way you want to do it. But look at the rest of it. It has one big flaw: Castles and fortifications are built not to be climbed. Trust me. I know about fortification."
Benito shook his head. "Erik, I don't try to tell you about hand-to-hand combat. Please don't tell me what I can or can't climb. I promise you that there are at least seven places where an upper-story man could get into the Citadel with ease. Of course they've got guards and I've got to get there. That's why I am going as one of the prisoners."
"It won't work. Look, after moon-down is the time they'll have their sappers sneaking over. The guards on the walls will shoot at anything that moves—or worse, if you're climbing, drop boiling pitch or oil on you."
"I know. Falkenberg told me. That's why I'm going in on the seaward side, near where we came down. I should be safe enough in the water."
"I forbid it," said Erik. "You're throwing away your life, Benito."
"I'm afraid, Erik, you can't forbid me to do anything," said Benito firmly. "Knowing for certain that relief is on its way will give the those inside the kind of fortitude that is worth an extra five hundred men. Those are my orders from the Doge."
He didn't tell Erik that what Petro had actually said was: if you can let them know without killing yourself. He wasn't planning on killing himself. If he died it would definitely be by someone else's hand. "What you can do for me is keep this sword. I don't think I can manage to hide it."
Erik looked at the rapier. It was plain he recognized the hilt. He'd been there the day it had been broken, and to someone like Erik weapons were as distinct as snowflakes. "That's quite an honor. What do you want me to do with it?"
Benito shrugged again. "Marco wouldn't appreciate it much. If I don't come back, have it for a wedding present that you can give to your firstborn son." He grinned at Erik's look of embarrassment. "If I do get away with this, you and Svan'll have to put up with a silver saltcellar or something instead."
Erik squeezed his shoulder. "It's a true Viking gift," he said thickly. "And our first. But I think—much as I envy this blade—I'd rather have the saltcellar."
"I'll do my best to see you get it."