Chapter 20: The Devil Himself, So Long as the Terms Are Fair

Vito took a slow drink, let the cup rest on his knee, and then gave them the rest.

"Genoa’s already on the island."

He dragged a finger west across the map, clean past the coastline, toward the direction a real threat would come from. "Merchants who’ve spent years buying good dinners for the local lords, letting each one walk away convinced the friendship was his own idea. That’s how a man like Pescatore takes an island, mia cara. A purse that never quite runs dry does more work than a fleet outside a harbor ever could."

Bepi had folded his arms, unsure what to say.

"A slow contest for the nobles’ friendship costs Venice no blood, only time we can’t spare."

Vito tapped the map again, on the small mark both of them had expected him to pick. "Station a garrison out there to watch an empty cove, and Genoa buys the rest of the island from under us one supper at a time. Candia’s the heart of Crete, miss it, and we’ve bought ourselves a fine view of Genoese harbor."

Caterina picked up the cup he’d poured her and turned it between her fingers, working the risk over before she gave him anything back. "And if one of those indecisive lords is more inclined to believe Genoa than a cadet’s promise, and shuts the docks before you’ve even dropped anchor?"

She kept her eyes over the rim of the cup.

"The little retinue of yours isn’t enough to occupy the island, Vitale."

Bepi jumped in the discussion, "The missus is right, you don’t row six ships straight at a harbor that might have a chain across its entrance."

The tease was completely gone from his voice.

"Not unless you want every archer on that town to have a fine morning’s sport with you.

Neither of them answered him.

"Even so..."

Caterina’s gaze stayed on the harbor mark, though she no longer seemed to be speaking to either of them. "If we take Candia, every ships that comes through those waters does business on terms we set."

She paused, turning the thought over as though it had only just occurred to her.

"Ten years, perhaps more."

The caution had begun to leave her voice, replaced by a far more dangerous desire. "That is a great deal more valuable than an empty beach."

Her eyes remained on the map.

"Perhaps that is what our investors were buying after all."

"Careful, mia cara. At this rate, you’ll have me taking Candia just to impress you."

"Hey you two, what about the chain..."

"That’s twice now, Bepi."

Vito grinned at him, altogether too pleased with the direction his argument had taken. "Third time’s a sermon."

"Fine."

Bepi muttered. "Give a man enough wine, and he’ll start promising maidens dowries before..."

"What was that?" Caterina glanced over.

"Nothing."

He said the last word quickly enough that neither of them caught what had followed.

Vito spread his hand the whole island, one sweep taking in every cove and inlet pressed into the vellum.

"Nobody’s going to rush to defend Candia the moment we come into the harbor."

He let that sit a beat before he went on. "The Empire’s gone, amici miei, and every soul on that island knows it better than we do. After living through this mess, a Cretan lord isn’t likely to rush out and kiss or fight the first country that appears. He’ll wait a little, see who keeps his land safe, who collects the taxes without eating his house first, and then decide which side he’s always supported."

His grin went a little wild, the kind that came from having lived among men who thought exactly that way, once, in a life a long way from any library. "A fisherman cares little who wears the crown. Keep his taxes modest, leave his boat in one piece, and he’ll have nothing bad to say about you."

He shrugged. "Some farmer will curse a new lord for a season or two, then the harvest comes and suddenly he remembers the old one was never so clever after all."

Caterina didn’t wait for him to finish before her own mind set to work on it.

"The dock owners and merchants will bend faster than any of the nobles ever will."

That private conviction came from a lifetime spent reading exactly that sort of man across a table. "These men have no love for waiting. Give them a harbor where his ships can come and go and a market worth their time, and they’ll make friends with whoever keeps it that way. Call him Venetian, Roman, or the Devil himself... coin has never been fussy about company."

Caterina set her cup down without drinking from it, and for a moment none of them moved to fill the silence that followed.

"Of course, there’s one matter the merchants won’t settle for us. The Church."

Caterina gave the map a faint, rueful look. "After our little expedition through their holy city, I doubt the Orthodox Church will be overjoyed to see Latins on their island. Whatever else we may hope to gain in Candia, I would count instant affection from their clergy among the less likely prizes."

Vito clicked his tongue in agreement.

He’d bled inside Santa Sophia himself, and he didn’t need any book from his old life to tell him what the sack had done to that building, or to the people who’d once prayed beneath its dome.

"There’s no clean answer to it."

Vito grimaced faintly. "What’s done is done. We can’t make them love us, but we can at least avoid to give them fresh reasons to hate us."

Bepi had retreated to silence, with no technical input to matters outside sea and ships.

Vito let the silence reign, then found his grin again, the kind he’d actually earned. "Maybe we build them a cathedral big enough to impress, and pray they mistake the gesture for an apology."

He spread both hands wide over the whole table, the map, the cups, the entire ridiculous venture the three of them had somehow talked themselves into.

Then he laughed joyfully, "So that’s the whole of it. Win the nobles before Genoa, one favor and one supper at a time. Let sincere trade keep the harbor happy, because a full purse forgives a great many sins a bare one never would. And tread around that Church as carefully as a virgin in a brothel, or at least as carefully as a Venetian temper will allow me."

He shrugged, easy again now. "Cazzo, I’ve got no use for a ruin with a lion painted over its gate, Caterina. I want it filthy with merchants, drunk with sailors, and making enough money that every bastard in the sea knows who made it possible."

"Very well. Let us see how much trouble we can make with it."

Caterina’s smile came back, sharper, like a tigress ready to pounce on a prey.

Bepi exhaled long and hard through his nose, and reached for his share of the wine at last. "The two of you have set the whole island’s fate over a jug of wine. God help those poor devils in that harbor, they’ve no notion what’s coming for them."

He raised the cup, more resigned than annoyed by now.

A shout cut through the cabin’s timbers from above, followed almost at once by another voice answering it. Whatever was happening on deck, it had already grown beyond ordinary shipboard talk.

Bepi was through the door instantly, muttering about God’s own timing under his breath. Vito caught Caterina’s eye for half a heartbeat before he went after Bepi at a pace that was more curious than alarmed.

He peeled off toward the men-at-arms the moment his boots hit open air, already rehearsing the version of this conversation Zaccaria was least likely to throw him overboard for.

Caterina didn’t follow either of them. She gathered her papers instead, unhurried despite the noise still carrying down from above, her attention already turning back toward whatever accounts this venture was about to demand of her.