1 - Interrupted Aria (26 page)

Chapter 27

The scene at the Palazzo Viviani recalled the uproar at the theater earlier that day. Constables were guarding the entrances to the warehouse, but the doors were standing wide open. We could see state clerks in black coats and wide-brimmed hats poking into crates, thumping barrels, and recording it all in bound ledgers. At the front portico, workmen were moving rolled carpets and gilt furniture down a wooden ramp into a covered barge. Before long, every possession that the Viviani had accumulated over years of trading would be stored in a government warehouse or, more likely, be transferred to the residences of the State Inquisitors and their friends.

No one stopped Alessandro and me from entering the
palazzo
and mounting the grand staircase. I was harboring vague ideas of finding Benito and pumping him for more information or even throwing myself at Elisabetta’s feet with the tale of our errant Grisella. I suspect that Alessandro had some ideas of his own. When we reached Elisabetta Viviani’s suite of rooms, we found that most of the furniture in the antechamber and reception room had been removed. The ashes in the fireplace were stone cold. We passed into the private apartment beyond and were immediately confronted with a squat, black-clad figure.

“Keep your hands off those trunks, you vultures. Those are my sister’s gowns, and Mateo Albrimani will have your heads if you so much as touch any of her things,” Elisabetta’s sister shouted in a shrill voice while she shifted an armful of feminine finery stacked nearly as high as her head.

I bowed to the angry woman. “Signora, we’re not here for the trunks. I’m Tito Amato, the singer from San Stefano. This is my brother, Alessandro.”

“Oh, so you are,” said Signora Albrimani, dumping her armload and looking me up and down with a squint. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Signora Viviani or her companion, Benito.”

The little woman addressed us with hands on her wide hips. “You’ve come too late then. My sister and her pretty boy have gone ahead to the Palazzo Albrimani and left me here to pack up this lot.” She indicated the bulging wardrobes and chests. “My Betta always needs her cavalier at hand to massage her temples and hand her the smelling salts. But her sister? Oh no, sister Maria gets left with the donkey work as usual.”

“Signora Viviani will be staying with her family?”

“What else is she to do?” asked Maria Albrimani, tossing her head impatiently. “After her husband absconds in the middle of the night calling her an accursed Albrimani whore? Of course we’re going back to live with our brother. A family of devils, Domenico called us. Can you believe it? I just thank the good Lord my sister never had children. It sickens me to think of Viviani and Albrimani blood mingling.”

“Signora, I beg you. I am at your feet. We must find out where Signor Viviani is headed.”

“Why ask me?” she snorted. “I’m the last person my shameless brother-in-law would confide his plans to. If that’s the information you want, you’d best find Bondini.”

Alessandro cleared his throat. “That would be difficult, Signora, as the steward is surely on the ship with his master.”

“Bondini? With Domenico? I think not.” The widow Albrimani sank into the nearest armchair and laughed so hard that she ripped some bodice stitches. “That has been the only bright spot in this whole sorry night and day.”

We kept silent and let her malicious gloating tell the tale. “Domenico must have known danger was in the wind when Bondini called him away from the opera last night,” she began. “As the rest of us were getting in from the theater, Domenico was sending Bondini to ready a ship down at the wharf. ‘Wake the captain of the Eastern Pearl, our flagship must be ready to sail by dawn,’ he was saying. Claudio questioned him, but Domenico silenced him with a wink and pushed his steward out the door to carry out his orders. When news of Mateo’s accusations before the Tribunal reached us, Domenico was ready. He gathered his brothers in a covered gondola packed with all the valuables it could carry and set off down the canal.

“Then Bondini returned.” Signora Albrimani gave an evil laugh as she rose to continue her packing. “It was delicious. The steward who cracked the whip with such gusto suddenly found himself at the tip of the lash. Domenico had used him as a decoy. While the most conspicuous ship in the Viviani fleet bustled with activity at the Venice wharf, Domenico and his worthless brothers disappeared into the night without so much as a goodbye for Signor High and Mighty Bondini.”

“Perhaps Signor Viviani had made arrangements for Bondini to meet him somewhere at a later date?” Alessandro ventured.

“Oh, no. The man was livid, livid I tell you. I’ve never seen anyone so surprised and angry at the same time.”

Alessandro and I traded impatient glances, but I gave Signora Albrimani my sweetest smile. “Is Bondini still here at the
palazzo?
”

“You’re a bigger fool than he is if you think he’d wait around for Messer Grande’s men to cart him off. I haven’t seen Bondini since early this morning, and I hope to never see the scoundrel again. Now, since the maids and footmen have scattered like the flock of ignorant chickens they are, I’ve got my hands rather full.” The little woman in black gave us an icy stare and bent to open a nearby chest. We left her shaking her head and clucking her tongue over a tumbled pile of laces and ribbons.

“We seem to have hit another dead end.” My brother hit his fist into his other hand as we hurried back through Elisabetta Viviani’s suite of rooms.

“Maybe not,” I answered, thinking back to a conversation I’d had with Torani in this very household. “Bondini hails from Bolzano. His family still lives there.”

“You think he would go to ground at his family home?”

“Why not? Bolzano is well beyond the borders of the Venetian state. It lies in the jurisdiction of the Prince-Bishop of Trento. Messer Grande has no more power to arrest anyone in Bolzano than he would in Paris or London.”

“Let’s suppose Bondini did set off for his native town. He could choose from several northern routes that all lead to Bolzano. Of those, the shortest road out of Venetian territory goes by way of Bassano.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “The only other handy escape route would be by sea, and our man doesn’t strike me as a sailor.”

Alessandro nodded his head. “I’ve never seen Bondini on a Viviani vessel. He tends to his master’s interests in Venice only.”

The bronze doors were still open. The workmen had progressed to moving the smaller goods. We picked our way through a labyrinth of bric-a-brac and paused at the canal’s edge in the late-afternoon sunshine.

“It’s time we made a decision, Tito. Do we set off for the mainland?”

“What else can we do? Bondini is the only person who could possibly guess where Viviani will light at the end of his flight.”

My brother stroked his beard as he did when he was besieged by conflicting thoughts. “Even if we can persuade Bondini to tell us where to look for Viviani and Grisella, we could never catch up to them in time to stop Messer Grande from handing Felice over to the Tribunal. Tomorrow marks the deadline he imposed.”

“I know, I could hardly forget that. But there’s nothing we can accomplish in Venice that would help Felice. Just getting into the guardhouse to see him would be risky. I was amazed that the trick with the Dominican robes worked once. I certainly wouldn’t want to try it again. Besides,” I finished with a burst of pique that took me by surprise, “right now, Felice needs Brother Mark by his side more than he needs me.”

Alessandro dropped his hand from his beard; his jaw was set in a firm line. “Let’s go then. The day grows late and we haven’t a moment to lose.”

Chapter 28

Rather than wait for a gondola, we started down the pavement at a dogtrot. The San Giobbe quay at the north end of the Canal Regio would be our starting point for the crossing to Mestre. From that mainland port we could arrange the rest of the journey to Bolzano.

We had covered about half the distance to the quay when I heard a feminine voice shouting my name. I looked around and discovered Leonora waving at me from a covered gondola that was angling toward the pavement. For a moment, my heart soared as if I had nothing weightier on my mind than floating down the canal in the company of this bewitching beauty. Alessandro’s tug on my elbow brought me back to our unhappy reality. Even so, I implored my brother to run ahead and promised I would meet him in a few minutes.

Leonora’s gondolier deftly positioned the boat alongside the pavement. The patrician coquette leaned out so far I feared she would end up in the murky water. She grasped my forearms. “Tito, I’ve been looking all over for you. I must see you.” With that, she pulled me into the boat with an iron grip. I had hardly settled on the cushion under the canvas cover when she threw herself astride my lap and began to cover my face with kisses. Her flowery scent and the proximity of her swelling bosom overwhelmed me.

“You are a hateful wretch,” she said playfully, between kisses, “refusing my invitation and then practically disappearing.”

“My adored one, you must forgive me. I long for your company, but my circumstances are more complicated than ever.”

She remained on my lap, stroking my cheeks and playing with my hair while I tried to distill the events of the past day into a coherent explanation. When I had finished, she declared herself amazed at Grisella’s daring in the affair with Viviani.

I shook my head. “Recklessness, I’d call it. And on his part, sheer perversion. He’s almost as old as my father. Who knows what coercion he subjected the girl to?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “I’ve never met your sister, but I do know Domenico Viviani. I’ll wager Grisella enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her. I only wish I hadn’t been locked into the convent when I was her age,” she finished wistfully.

As the boat bumped against the mooring at San Giobbe, I tucked her words in an empty corner of my mind to be examined at a later date. Just then, Alessandro was waiting for me, pacing up and down the quay.

I took Leonora’s arms and made to rise. “My dear, I must go. I must get to Mestre.”

She tightened her legs around my thighs. “Tell me where you’ll go from there so I can picture you on the road. I must light a candle in the chapel and pray for your safe journey.”

I hurriedly confided our plans and returned her kisses, promising to send her a message as soon as I returned to Venice. She finally released me with a pouty smile and a whispered, “
Addio, carissimo
.”

Alessandro had hired a little fishing boat with two oars and two sails. The vessel was built for speed and agility, and its pair of stout fishermen boasted they were ready to break all records in crossing the lagoon. We embarked. The wind caught the sails at once and we ploughed through the choppy waters with mighty gusts from the Adriatic propelling us toward the mainland. Looking back toward the spires and domes of Venice, I saw that the wind was also driving low, threatening clouds our direction. I shivered and sank into the collar of my heavy cloak. Oblivious to the weather, Alessandro had closed his eyes for a brief sleep.

I was constantly neglectful of my prayers in those days, preferring to solve problems myself rather than lay them at the feet of some plaster saint. But the gravity of our mission inspired me to offer a few prayers to Our Lady and beg her protection for Felice and Grisella. With her indulgence, plus the favorable wind, we landed in Mestre in three-quarters of an hour.

Our first stop was the post. Travel by the post diligence was expensive but generally faster than by hired coach. A helpful clerk told us two relays had left for Bolzano earlier that day but no man of Bondini’s description had been on them. We proceeded to inquire at the private stables. The port of Mestre was a way station to many towns on the mainland, so it seemed as full of inns and hostelries as its wharf was of sea birds. Alessandro and I practically ran from inn to inn, always asking after a long-legged, flinty-eyed man with a face barely more fleshed than a skull.

A host of innkeepers and stablemen had sent us away empty-handed and the sun was brushing the tops of the low hills when I spotted something. We had reached a corner far from the central piazza. A small knot of shopkeepers was gathering down a side street. We approached the group with flagging feet. A man in a starched white apron with trousers flapping around his ankles was just lighting a lamp before a statue of the Virgin bedecked with a lace collar and a necklace of glass beads. This streetside shrine was built into the wall of a small but neatly kept inn. Its sign creaked in the wind: The North Star. After the group had mumbled their prayers, Alessandro and I approached the innkeeper.

The host listened to our questions as he wiped his runny nose on a striped handkerchief. We had become so accustomed to denials that we had nearly turned to go when the man pushed the damp cloth back in his trouser pocket and said, “You mean that body that moved like a ghost, like he walked on air, and gave orders like the lord of the
palazzo
?
”

Alessandro’s tired face came to life. “That sounds like our man. He would have been traveling alone and eager to get to Bolzano as quickly as possible.”

“
Eh, si
. He hired my carriage and pair and set off just after dinner. He should make it to Bassano before nightfall.”

“He’s in a hurry. I’d expect him to push further down the road before stopping for the night,” my brother answered.

“Not in my carriage. Horses are costly, and I won’t have mine ruined. My driver has orders to stop in Bassano at the Crescent Moon, my brother’s place. He has the Moon and I have the Star, see?” The worthy man snuffled and began digging for his handkerchief.

“Have you horses to let?” my brother asked quickly.

“You’d set off tonight?”

“We must.”

“Can’t help you there, young lads. Wouldn’t if I could. It’s near dusk. Don’t want my horses out there stumbling and coming to grief in the dark. You’d be smart to stay here and find mounts in the morning.”

Alessandro thanked the innkeeper heartily and drew me back down the arcaded street. “Hurry, Tito. The last place we tried had a stable full of horses.”

“But, Alessandro, can’t we take a carriage?”

“No. We can get to Bassano much faster if we ride.”

I stopped and refused to budge. “Wait a minute. You don’t understand. I can’t ride. I’ve only been on a horse once or twice in my life.”

My brother threw up his hands. “Don’t tell me that now,” he cried in a thoroughly disgusted tone.

“You know there are no horses in Venice,” I answered harshly, letting irritation and fatigue get the better of me. “And at the
conservatorio
, there was little opportunity for such things. Where did you learn to ride?”

“In Syria, I think. Over the years, I’ve traveled on every beast from donkey to camel. Now that I recall, I learned to ride when the chief of a caravan threw me on a horse and told me to hang on. It was learn fast or be marooned in the desert. You can do the same, Tito. Come on.”

And so I found myself astride a huge chestnut beast picking its way along a narrow road through the forest of Mantello. We were not traveling in complete darkness. The moon was approaching its full and had managed to avoid the ragged clouds scudding across the dark sky. Even so, the path lay in dim shadow and, from my saddle perch, the ground seemed miles away. The forest was a scraggly collection of trees and brush. In Venice’s heyday, the shipbuilders had gobbled the mature oaks faster than they could be replanted. Although sadly depleted, the vegetation lining the roadway formed walls of twisted branches and tangled vines that emitted unsettling rustling and snapping noises. The distant rumble of thunder only added to my growing unease.

When we reached open ground, Alessandro urged his mount to a trot, and mine followed suit. The terrain grew more hilly and the air colder. In daylight, we could have glimpsed the outline of the lower Alps beyond the humped hills. As it was, I could only make out the light patches of scattered sheep on the sloping meadows and an occasional candle in a peasant’s window. Another bone-jarring hour brought us to a black river spanned by a covered bridge. Here our way was lit by lanterns hanging in the square openings of the bridge’s side walls. We emerged onto a smoother, wider road that wound up a domed hill to a cluster of buildings crowned by church towers. Bassano was just a small town of merchants and artisans; its only point of interest was a Franciscan monastery in the center of town. Even at the late hour, it didn’t take long to locate the Crescent Moon. A sleepy stable boy took our horses and confirmed that the carriage in the courtyard had been hired at the North Star and was scheduled to leave for Bolzano at first light.