Eneko followed, standing in the entrance. "Stop," he said softly. The man, now halfway down the alley, paused and looked over his shoulder.
"Should you ever have need," said Eneko, "I will help you with your task. Those boys are vitally important."
The man's eyes seemed to widen a bit. "Smart, for a priest." Then he was gone, moving more quickly and silently than Eneko would have imagined such a scarred lump of a man could possibly do.
When he turned back into his room and closed the door, he found Pierre and Diego already there. The door to the adjoining cells was open. Pierre held a cudgel in his hand.
Seeing the cudgel, Eneko clucked. "We are not a militant order, Pierre."
"Define your terms," came the instant retort. "And remember that I'm a Savoyard peasant, not a theologian."
Chapter 60 ==========
Swords clashed in a high-speed flurrying dance of steel. Not for the first time, Manfred wondered how Erik could be so damned quick. The edges were blunt, there were buttons on the points, and they wore quilted jackets. So why did Erik always leave him feeling he had been half skinned and half beaten? He put in another determined rush. If he was going to feel like that, so was Erik.
"Hold." A voice commanded. They put up the practice swords. "You must go to Abbot Sachs's chambers." Von Stublau looked sour enough to curdle milk. "He has some Venetian lord to see you." He looked disdainfully at the training rapiers. "Pah. Too light for a knightly weapon."
"But very fashionable," said Manfred with a grin, knowing this would irritate the surly Altmark knight.
"Enough, Manfred," said Erik before the slow-thinking knight had time to respond to Manfred's lure. "We train with broadswords on the pells, Ritter. But these give us more of a chance to learn how to respond to a live opponent. Come Manfred, the abbot and this Venetian lord won't thank us for keeping him waiting. Help me out of this jacket. We need to get some kind of mask also, if we're to do this 'fencing' properly."
Manfred pulled the quilted jacket off his mentor, and turned so that Erik could do the same for him. "We're neglecting the legs, too. We need a trainer, Erik. A master of this Italian bravura style. I'll ask Francesca."
Erik turned hastily, to see if the supposedly celibate knight-squire had an audience. But fortunately Von Stublau had left. "It's not a bad idea, Manfred. I don't care what Von Stublau says--for marine warfare, anyway, armor is history."
"I like armor myself," grumbled Manfred, as they made their way up to the abbot's rooms. "But I'll admit having a horse to carry it helps."
* * *
The Venetian waiting for them with the abbot was the balding one of that group of Signori di Notte that they'd met after they'd saved Lord Calenti from being magically murdered.
Abbot Sachs was doing his best to be pleasant. It sat ill with the cleric. "Ah, Ritters. Signor Petro Dorma has requested specifically to speak to you two."
"You were quite correct in your surmise," said Dorma. "Each of these vile murders--except possibly one, where the fire destroyed the entire building it was in and therefore we can't be certain--has been found to have recently involved a missing item of clothing."
"Mammet witchcraft!" barked Sachs.
Petro Dorma cleared his throat. "Well, the expert on magic I have spoken to says there are several other possibilities. But I wanted to thank you gentlemen for your efforts on behalf of my fellow Signori . . . and also to tell you the sad news about Father Belgio and Lord Calenti. Despite our hopes, Lord Calenti died last night. And in a separate type of murder, someone killed Father Belgio as well."
"Father Belgio was not killed by magic?" asked Erik, intent.
Petro Dorma shook his head. "No. Just straight assassination. A misericord pushed in behind the ear while he slept. A thoroughly professional killing."
"Why?" Manfred demanded. "He didn't seem the sort of man to attract enemies."
Sachs snorted. "He was a man of God. That's enough for these Godless Strega."
Petro Dorma's expression was pained, for an instant. "We have had Strega murders from time to time, Abbot. Poison, not steel, is their way. We're following several lines of inquiry. That is only one of them."