Chapter 66: Crete, Per l’Amor di Dio

She was the Zorzi.

Vito caught the name as she came broadside to the pier, her oars shipping in a rhythm that had no business calling itself an easy voyage.

The ropes flew out and caught, and the gangway dropped at once. Zaccaria came down first, Orso one step behind him, broad enough to make the plank complain, and Toffolo energetically behind them both. Two soldiers followed whom Vito only half recognized, neither carrying anything that looked useful.

"Candia."

Vito didn’t bother with pleasantries.

"And Caterina. Tell me now if there was any emergencies."

Zaccaria’s mouth crooked in that dry little way of his. "City’s fine, and she sits at her books as usual, Barozzi, untroubled and probably richer than she was this morning. I cross half the island and that’s the first thing you ask."

"It’s the only thing that matters, amico."

"Sì. I noticed."

Near them, Orso clapped a hand onto Toffolo’s shoulder hard enough to send the boy sideways.

"Tell him the good news first. The important part, nobody’s dead."

"Nobody I’ve heard of."

Toffolo straightened, pleased enough with the attention.

"Good to see you standing, Ser Barozzi."

Vito looked the boy over.

"You’ve grown an inch, ragazzo, or the company has finally decided to feed you."

"Both, I hope."

By the side, Domenego kept his arms crossed. He said nothing.

Vito looked the whole party over once, then decided the docks were a poor place to hear what had brought them home in such a hurry.

He turned toward the barracks. "Whatever dragged you across the waters isn’t what we should discuss with the gulls eavesdropping."

The instruction was met with agreement, and the group moved together.

The garrison commander’s office still had the scent of tallow and old ink. There was some duty rosters on the wall, the parchment yellow with neglect and left there by some long-departed soul.

Two days earlier, Domenego had found a loose board beneath the desk and discovered a dozen bottles hidden there by some cautious officer from his own quartermaster. Three were already open.

Orso poured himself a cup without remorse. "To the coward who kept the good wine for himself and marched his men on watered rations. May his taste outlive his courage."

"You’d drink to any dead man who left wine behind."

Zaccaria snickered dryly.

"Loyalty, or thirst. With you, it’s hard to tell which."

"Both can be true."

Toffolo reached for a cup, only to have Orso slap his hand away.

"Grow a beard first, ragazzo."

"I’ve got one."

"I’ve seen better on a peach."

That got a laugh from Domenego, loud enough to make the shutters rattle.

Vito let them have its moment, then put an end to it.

"Basta."

He set his own cup down untouched.

"You didn’t cross a sea for wine you could steal there just as easily. What happened?"

The humor left Zaccaria at once. "Rethymno’s fallen. From the inside, the gates were forced open before anyone outside had even raised a blade."

He reported it to them plain. "Some of the lesser houses, with the church behind them and Genoese coin greasing both sides. They moved against the nobility district three nights ago and locked up every noble who refused to join them. Skordilis’s cousin is among them."

"The fellow who bows to nobody."

"Bows to a cell now, for whatever that’s worth."

"How many others?"

"A handful, at least. Word only travels so fast, and none of what comes through is kind."

Vito dragged a hand down his face and let out a short laugh. "Crete, per l’amor di Dio, enough with the rebellions. Few months on this island and I’ve broken a bishop’s dignity, hung an archbishop out to dry, marched an army through a streambed, and now Leon’s cousin is sitting in the dark because some priest felt Genoese silver was worth more than his oath."

Domenego’s cup struck the desk hard enough to slosh wine over the rim.

"There’s more."

Zaccaria continued, once the room had made enough space for the rest of it.

"There wasn’t time to wait for orders, so I put both galleys to sea on my own say."

"Both?"

He nodded. "Zustignana is outside Rethymno’s harbor now. Far enough out that she can’t reach the harbor, close enough that nothing sails in or out without her permission. Pellegrino’s platoon is aboard her, watching the walls from the water."

Orso grunted. "The second platoon lads are on the ridge near the city, dug in and watching the landward side. My second-in-command is in charge, man’s got no imagination but he can count to ten and hold a position. That’s more than most people give him credit for."

Vito nodded, it was a reasonable action from the company captain. Information was slow to travel in this age, and often one would have to act without input from their superiors.

"How’s Candia?"

Zaccaria met his eyes without blinking. "Naves’ crews on the walls, Contarini’s home guard at the gate, and every soul in that city convinced the compagnia never left."

The ghost of a grin came back to Vito’s face, though it took its time getting there.

"Then we depart." Domenego rushed to his feet. "Tonight, if the weather permits it."

Vito forwarded the sentiment without hesitation. "Naturally. We move fast, and we move whole, with no room for them to spread unrest."

Not a soul present in the room argued after that, which was answer enough.

Zaccaria asked. "And Chania? Word reached us it went well. Word from you, which I trust exactly as far as I can throw you."

Vito spread both hands. "It went beautifully. I parleyed with the archon myself, broke his army in a chokepoint of my choosing, and had the whole city arrest its government before I’d finished my second cup."

The news were met with more banter and quips, tease spreading out through the room together with the wine.

Two cities now answered, however loosely, to a lion that hadn’t even stood on this island months ago. Candia was theirs. Chania was theirs, for the moment. Rethymno would too, one way or another, before Vito allowed himself to think about rest.

He was still turning that over when the words gathered at the edge of his sight, unasked as ever.

Third rebellion in as many months, and the common thread is the man complaining about it. I’ve opened a promissory note for your patience. It remains in credit, mostly because you’ve never once spent from it.

Vito didn’t bother with a reply. There would be time enough for that on the road to Rethymno, and precious little else to do along the way but talk.