Lackey, Mercedes & Flint, Eric & Freer, Dave - [Heirs of Alexandria 01] (94 page)

Manfred brightened visibly. "I'll stay here and look after the wine," he said cheerfully. "I wasn't there."

Dorma smiled humorlessly. "I suspect the 'Accusers' might well not have been there, either. This way, gentlemen."

Filippo Recchia, the handsome and wealthy champion fencer, looked sulky, angry, and just a little overawed. His sycophant Vittorio just looked terrified. They were led one at a time to bear witness. Dorma insisted they each testify separately.

Recchia spoke first, his face stiff but seemingly calm. "He was angry. He said to that friend of his, Rafael de Tomaso. 'I wish we'd killed all of these German monks and knights. I wish we could get rid of Bishop Capuletti. I would do it myself if I had half the chance.'"

One of the Justices pointed at Marco: "And it was definitely this man who said that?"

Both Filippo, and then Vittorio, confirmed the statement. Yes. They knew him well. Would recognize him with certainty.

"But it was not him you saw lurking in the alley next to the Fondamenta Pruili," the justice asked Recchia.

"I thought so, Your Honor, but I realized I must be mistaken and it must be his brother."

"Ah. But you saw him well enough to recognize him?"

Recchia crossed himself. "My oath on it."

"Thank you. Stand down, Signor Recchia."

Marco watched as the first of the knights was called. What if he were part of this conspiracy? Fear of the Knots and their reputation rose in his throat as the young blond knight with the chiseled features took the stand.

Unnecessarily, it seemed. "No. He was with us all the time from when the Schiopettieri arrived, until we were summoned individually."

"And did he at any stage say anything about killing anyone?"

The knight, Erik Hakkonsen, frowned. "No. Definitely not. He said very little. His attention was on the wounded. A good young fellow. An innocent bystander who came to provide assistance, that's all. The Knights of the Holy Trinity are in his debt."

"And do you remember these two?"

The blond knight pointed at Vittorio. "Him. He was very drunk. Kept singing. Some of your Schiopettieri would remember him."

The justices then called the next witness, Von Gherens, who seconded Hakkonsen's statements and echoed his praise of Marco.

Then Brother Uriel came along. As usual he didn't mince his words. "They swore they heard
what
?" he demanded. When told again, he snorted derisively. "Absolute lies. They've broken their oath sworn on the Holy Bible. Get your Metropolitan to excommunicate them."

Vittorio went pale, but Filippo laughed. "Who do you believe? Good Venetians�or foreigners and half-bloods like this Valdosta? He's mongrel Ferrarese, not Venetian. And Ferrara will be history soon."

The chief justice just shook his head. "Signor Recchia. Come through to the next room and point out the younger Valdosta. You did see him clearly, did you not?"

"It wasn't daylight, but I saw him clearly enough to think it was Marco Valdosta at first." Recchia spoke with supreme confidence.

The confidence disappeared when he saw the six young men, all wearing Dorma-blue.

"He's not here..."

"Indeed, he is," countered the chief justice sternly. "Point him out, put your hand on his shoulder."

Eventually Recchia chose the tallest. A young man with straight dark hair. "Him. He's Valdosta."

The young man accused got a very alarmed look on his face. "I am not!" he protested. "I'm Enrico Battista. Everyone will tell you so! I'm just a pastry cook."

Benito, curly-haired, stocky Benito, who had been through very little sleep, arrested for murder, thrust in jail, hauled out and made to dress in Dorma livery by two Schiopettieri and wait while this...
figlio di una puttana
lied about him, started laughing. And then, before anyone could intervene, he hopped forward and grabbed Filippo Recchia by the silk shirtfront. Marco watched as Benito kneed straight-nosed, handsome Filippo champion-of-the-fencing-salle-Recchia in the testicles�and then punched his face, once, twice, as he bent forward.

Marco noticed that the huge, solid young knight who had wandered in put his glass down and clapped. Once, twice, before the Schiopettieri dragged Benito off Recchia.

The chief justice managed to keep an absolute straight face. He was possibly the only one in the chamber to do so. "Perjury and the bearing of false witness, especially in such a serious case as this is a serious offense, with which you will be charged, Filippo Recchia and Vittorio Toromelli. Your false testimony also places you under extreme suspicion of being party to the murder...."

"I was in Zianetti's!" choked Recchia, still clutching his groin. "I can prove it. I was nowhere near the scene. I just heard about the dagger and�"

"Enough." The chief justice silenced him. "Benito Valdosta. Brawling in public places carries certain penalties. You are hereby fined one ducat, considering the extreme provocation. When that is paid you are free to go." Then he paused. "Wait. There is still the matter of the dagger and your whereabouts last night."

"Ahem." Petro cleared his throat. "The dagger was a transparent attempt to put blame on Valdosta. Anyone could buy one and color the tassels. Only a fool would use such a weapon�and leave it on the scene, eh, Your Honor? In my opinion, it's a base political thrust at Dorma, as the Valdosta boys are my wards and my kin."

Again, he cleared his throat. "As for the refusal to say where he was, Your Honor... a gentleman's obligations, you understand... a young lady by the name of Maria�no last names, please!�surely no one will insist..."

Marco watched his younger brother blush absolutely puce. "How the hell did
you
know?" Benito demanded.

Not even the chief justice could keep a straight face any more.

The door to the chamber burst open. Marco saw an extremely distraught, sobbing
Case Vecchie
woman standing there. It took him a few moments of incredulous staring to realize that it was Kat.

"I..." She swallowed. "I've come to confess! I murdered Bishop Capuletti. On the Fondamenta Pruili�last night, just before midnight."

The chief justice looked at her "Ah. The mysterious Maria."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "No. Katerina Montescue."

A look of wary understanding dawned across the chief justice's face. He was, after all, a man of about sixty who knew a great deal about the wrangles of the various families of the
Case Vecchie
. He looked at Benito "Valdosta..." Then at Kat. "And you would be Lodovico Montescue's granddaughter?" His voice held both understanding and trepidation.

Kat nodded.

The chief justice shook his head. "No wonder..." He sighed. "I suppose I can expect old Lodovico here any minute with real murder in mind?"

The Campanile bell chimed. When it was still, the chief justice continued. "But right now I am going to listen to the captain of that galliot. Out. All of you except Recchia and Toromelli. They can remain with the Schiopettieri until I return." He looked at Benito. "You might have been safer in jail, boy."

The passage outside was full of people. Anyone with the least excuse was hurrying to the great council chamber. Marco, as the oldest Valdosta, was supposed to be there. So was Petro Dorma.

Marco was instead engaged in hugging Kat.

Petro took a deep breath. "I suppose, as Angelina's brother and head of
Casa
Dorma, I should ask for an explanation. Or at least a formal introduction." He sounded resigned.

Flushing a little, Marco broke from Kat. "Petro. This is Kat. This is the woman I... I would have married, if I hadn't married your sister."

"Oh." Petro had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Don't worry," said Kat. "There is nothing between us." She sounded slightly wistful.

"Um. Yes. I suppose I'd better go and listen to the captain and hear what the Doge has to say," said Petro, uncomfortably.

Katerina smiled. "We're under blockade by the Genoese, the Dalmatian pirates out of the Narenta, and a fleet up from Ancona�presumably supplied by Rome. There is no sign of either the eastern or western fleets. The captain came island hopping from Ascalon, and sneaked up the coast at night, having heard about the blockade in Corfu. Which is more than he will tell you."

It was Petro Dorma's turn to smile. "And as I helped to draft the Doge's response, I don't need to listen to that either."

"On the other hand," Kat added, no longer smiling, "I can tell you who killed Bishop Capuletti."

"She... never..."�pant�"did it, Dorma." It was Lodovico Montescue, red faced, with rivulets of sweat on his choleric face. He looked ready to keel over.

"Grandpapa!"

"Away from him... girl." The old man went off into a paroxysm of coughing. Benito, quicker on the uptake than most, grabbed a chair from against the wall and sat the old man down on it. "Thank you. You're a good lad. Listen, Dorma. My granddaughter knows nothing about this... killing."

"I do." Kat said firmly.

Lodovico shook his head. "She's got a maggot in her head about this Marco Valdosta here. But leave my granddaughter out of this. I've forsworn my vengeance against
Casa
Valdosta anyway."

Marco stepped forward. "Kat isn't implicated. And I won't let her be. Not while I'm alive."

Lodovico looked at him in some surprise. "What? Who made you free of my granddaughter's name? But that's well said, for a Valdosta," he granted, grudgingly.

Petro laughed. "They're none of them guilty, Montescue. It was an attempt to falsely implicate them, and through them, me. We don't know who killed the bishop..."

"I told you," interrupted Kat. "
I do
. I saw him just after the killing. It was that Spaniard. Senor Eneko Lopez."

Petro Dorma put his hand over his eyes. "You saw him actually do it?"

"Well, no," admitted Kat. "I saw him running away from the scene."

Petro looked at her with absolutely no expression. "If I asked what you were doing there just before midnight... would I regret it?"

Marco beat Lodovico to the punch. "Yes. Just leave it please, Petro. We'll follow it up through that dagger. If we need to, we'll take action. Forget the court. We can even call Aldanto in if need be."

Lodovico looked at him very speculatively. But he nodded approvingly. Started to speak... But his words were lost in the thunderous applause from the piazza.

When the cheering had died down Kat asked: "What's happening?

Lodovico smiled crookedly. "I think, Katerina, that Venice just went to war. If they have any sense they'll pick off our enemies one by one."

Dorma nodded approvingly. "Correct. The Scaligers in Verona first. We need Fruili secure."

"The other vultures will try to attack the Republic on other fronts when we're engaged."

Dorma nodded again. "That's why I'm supposed to organize the formation of a militia. Angelina's been at me to engage Caesare Aldanto to head it, Marco. What do you think?"

Marco found himself in a quandary. He owed Caesare. Lord knew he'd owed Caesare. But Venice stood in danger. "He has been a soldier. He served with Sforza."

Dorma's eyes narrowed. "I read caution in what you say. I'll employ him with caution. You're very honest, Marco."

"Good," said Lodovico Montescue, his snowy brows drawing together. "Because I need to ask some honest questions which need honest answers."

Dorma sighed. "I'll leave you to ask them, Signor Montescue. Just remember, my arm is very long." This was said completely pleasantly and urbanely. Yet the feeling of power and potential threat went with it. "But now my duty to the Republic calls. I shall see you boys at the
Casa
Dorma tonight."

Lodovico Montescue watched him go. "Francesca said he was the rising man and I should throw him my support. I can believe her now." He turned to face the youngsters. "But I'll throw him my support soon enough. For the moment�Marco Valdosta, answer me honestly. What are your intentions as regards my granddaughter?"

Looking at him, Marco knew that if he said the wrong thing, no threat of Dorma or even the Doge would stop this fierce old man. "None. I'm married. I have a baby daughter. But..." He paused. "If that were not the case�and Kat would have me�I'd have married her, even if you or hell stood in my way. I was a fool not to have asked her the moment I saw her."

Kat leaned over him. "And if you lay just one finger on him, I'll... I'll..."

Montescue patted her arm. Smiled his crooked smile. "He's very like his grandfather Luciano. One of the good Valdostas. Gentle and soft, but good steel underneath. I tried to have you killed once, boy. My best chance came nearly two years ago now. My agents searched Ferrara, Milan, even Rome. Then I got word one had found you here in Venice. He never came back for the bounty."

"I killed the assassin," said Marco quietly. "It was an accident and I was lucky."

Lodovico snorted. "Luck? I doubt that. Any more than it was luck that enabled you to evade my spies thereafter." He coughed. "Who were, I admit, not the most competent at their trade."

His granddaughter was glaring so fiercely at him that the family resemblance, not usually that noticeable, was now obvious. Old Montescue winced.

"I gave it up entirely anyway, Kat, a few months ago. Stopped even looking for the lads. After Francesca�" He coughed again. "Well. I had a dream, also. About my boyhood friend Luciano. I woke up thinking I had ordered the death of a boy like Luciano. It was chilling."

He made a bit of a rally, presenting a stiff face to Marco. "So I called off my dogs, boy. But I still think
your
father had
my
children killed. I won't bring his sins on your head. My vendetta is over, and I have given my word. But there can be no friendship between you and Katerina, with this between us. Not even an honorable one. You have your life, and your wife. Go and live that life with your wife."

"And I respect your decision," responded Marco, just as stiffly. "But I must know one thing. Did you have my mother killed?"