Benito grinned. “That was a piece of cake. Cloister doorlocks aren’t much.”
Caesare shook his head. “Forget you were ever there. Don’t make a noise about how you got that coin, when you spend it.”
Benito nodded. “Actually, I’m not going to spend it. I’m going to invest it.”
This brought a snort of amusement from Caesare. “Spoken like a true Veneze. And what great venture are you becoming an investor in? Second-hand scarf business?”
“Nah,” said Benito. “A couple of us over at Ventuccio . . . we wanted to get in with a Colleganza for the galley convoy. We’ve got an insider hot tip. Silver is right up in Outremer right now. We can make a killing. You want in, milord?”
Caesare laughed. “A killing! No, boy. I don’t think I’ll put money on that convoy.”
“It’s a great-galley convoy! Safe as houses. Come on, Caesare. You’ve got real money. We ‘uns’ll get a tiny share.”
That hooded look came over Caesare. “No.”
Uncomfortable now, Benito decided to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, looking at the stack of three bright ducats on the table, his reward for the two collection runs well done. “I should put two o’ these into the housekeeping.” Maria managed the finances of the house. And Benito had heard her swearing about them enough lately.
Caesare shook his head, and pushed the ducats toward him. “Put them in your pocket. You just keep your mouth shut about this windfall, Benito. You don’t even tell Maria. I’ll sort out housekeeping.”
Benito nodded. Still, it was enough to get him thinking about his two shadowy pickups. Both in the same part of town. And both, unless one of Caesare’s male clients had an odd taste in scent, female. One had been using a nun’s habit for disguise. He totally failed to see the other. But he’d smelt her.
Chapter 69
“I’m terrified of weddings, Erik,” said Manfred grumpily. “You catch deadly diseases at them. And with Sachs there, I won’t be able to do the good part . . . you know. Get drunk afterwards.”
Erik snorted. He had to wear full armor for the occasion again. That worried him more than a mere wedding ceremony. “What deadly disease?”
“Matrimony. You can die of boredom, I’ve been told.”
Erik snorted again. “I am going to save that up and tell your wife. And then you are going to be in trouble. Deep trouble. Manfred, he asked for us specifically. It is that Venetian grandee, Dorma, whom we helped with the Dandelos. His sister is getting married. It’s a compliment. Sachs is delighted.”
Manfred traced the outline of the caryatid on Erik’s bedpost. “So we’re going. Erik, I sent a private message off to my uncle yesterday. I asked Von Stemitz to take it with him on his trip to Mainz. Whatever Sachs and the knight-bishops are doing keeping the Knights of the Trinity in Venice . . . it isn’t in the Emperor’s interest. The last thing Charles Fredrik wants is to be involved in a civil war down here in Italy, no matter what these Montagnard-Pauline fanatics think about one Holy Roman Emperor over all the Christian world. We have the Aquitaines on our western flank, the damned Grand Duke of Lithuania on our northeastern flank and the King of Hungary on the southeastern—with both of them creeping down into the Black Sea. We need trouble to the south in Italy like we need a hole in the head. He should know about the situation here.”
Erik nodded, hiding a grin. Francesca’s influence was considerable. She plainly enjoyed this game of politics, and Manfred, too lazy and too obstinate to do it when driven, was letting his private parts lead him into this. Perhaps Charles Fredrik should hire her as an instructor of heirs. “Yes. The Knights are supposed to be independent soldiers of Christ, defenders of Christendom. But they’re perceived by many—most, probably—to be the arm militant of the Empire, not the Church. And I get the feeling that the reality is the other way around. They’re trying to use the Empire as the political arm of their faction of the Church. Some of the leaders of the Knights, anyway—along with the Servants, I don’t doubt.”