"Exactly," said Petro. "But they'll claim it was wrestled from his grasp by the dying man."
Marco took a deep breath. "Who are these witnesses, Petro? And tell me about this knife."
"By the description, the knife is one with the main gauche you and Benito carry. As for the witnesses, it's a Filippo Recchia and Vittorio Toromelli. Boys from respectable rising families."
Petro Dorma was one of the most phlegmatic of the Case Vecchie. He was totally unprepared for Marco's harsh laughter. He positively gaped.
Marco stood up. "Petro, I think we can deal with this and find out for you exactly who is trying to get at you. Can we arrange to see the justices before the Senate address?"
"It should be possible, yes," said Petro. "Why?"
Marco smiled like a shark. "They came here looking for me first, right? Recchia and his buddy Toromelli know me. I'm willing to bet they don't know Benito. They know I have a younger brother. But he doesn't show up at the Accademia. And he hasn't been to any major functions with you."
"We're trying to polish out the rough spots," said Petro with a smile. "He's been to three private soirees. He should have been at last night's one. That would have been the first time you were 'on show' together."
"They claimed they saw me. Then, when you provided an alibi for me . . . they changed it hastily to Benito. We're going to trap them. They don't know that we don't even look alike."
* * *
Dorma realized that Marco was right. They don't look alike, not in the least. If I hadn't known--if Duke Dell'este had not warned me--I never would have guessed they were brothers. Even half-brothers.
Petro sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands. "That's not all," he said. "They claim to have heard you swearing revenge on the night of that abortive raid by the Knots on that supposed Strega circle. Except for the time when you were in with me--alone without anyone to claim to have listened--you were with the injured. Including a Knight of the Holy Trinity."
He rose and began pacing slowly about. "I wonder if the injured have been called as witnesses? I'll ask the abbot to send that knight to the justices. Sachs should agree--he wants back into my good books after that fiasco at the Accademia."
Dorma rang a bell, and then he wrote a hasty note. The runner came up and was dispatched.
"Well, I think we shall go across to the Doge's palace."
"Good," said Marco, grimly. "Because I have another string to this bow. If that blade is like this one, if we can get it to Ferrara, then my grandfather can tell us exactly who it was sold to. I want them."
Petro looked at the intent, pacing Marco. "I've never seen you like this before, my boy."
"They threaten my family, Petro. Filippo Recchia has let his little grudge against me put Benito in prison for murder. I won't allow that. If necessary I will kill him and his friend myself. Because I can if I have to. Or I will pay Aldanto to do it."
Petro stared at his young brother-in-law. He had never seen Marco in such a state, and was just realizing that the years in the marshes had left an imprint. A rather savage one. "I glad we're family, Valdosta," he said wryly.
* * *
The Piazza San Marco was already crowded. All ten of the justices were in their chambers. Most of the senators were also there in the palace. It was not hard for someone of Petro Dorma's standing to ask the chief justice with two of his colleagues to have a preliminary hearing on the holding in captivity of the suspected murderer Benito Valdosta, with a couple of eminent senators for witnesses. "This affair is political," explained Petro. "We are likely to take political actions this afternoon, so this may have a bearing."
Two Schiopettieri were sent off to find Masters Filippo Recchia and Vittorio Toromelli. Marco was able to direct them to a couple of likely taverns. Another three were sent to round up another five boys of between Marco and Benito's age.
They waited on them and the arrival of the Knights of the Holy Trinity.
* * *
Abbot Sachs looked thin on patience. He didn't get up when Erik entered but remained at his piled scriptorium. "I have all this correspondence from our courier out of Trieste, and now this note from Dorma. It seems better-natured than our last encounter. And we could still use the man's good graces. He wants Von Gherens and any other of the Knights or Servants of the Holy Trinity who were with the injured in that raid of ours at the Accademia. Go, Ritter. Take Von Gherens. He is up on his feet again. Brother Uriel helped attend him too, along with that student. Take Uriel along. Go." He shooed.
Erik was only too glad to go. The embassy had been full of things going on for the last while that he wasn't on top of--and whose consequences for Manfred worried him. He wanted out, for both of them. He didn't ask permission to take Manfred. He could always claim that he'd needed Manfred to support Von Gherens. So what if Manfred had been safe at the embassy--actually, with Francesca--that night?
The palace was crowded, but a couple of Schiopettieri were waiting for them at the doors, and escorted them to Petro Dorma, who was sitting with a couple of the Venetian justices, and a stripling Erik recognized. It was Dorma's ward. Yes, he had been there at the raid. Von Gherens probably owed his leg to the boy, and one of the students probably his life. Erik hadn't put two and two together at the time. There had been other things on his mind.
Petro Dorma greeted them. "So Abbot Sachs was not able to come personally? A pity. But never mind. We need you as witnesses to the truth or falsehood of a particularly unpleasant accusation. We are questioning statements allegedly made by this young man. Do any of you recognize him?" He pointed at his ward. Uriel, Von Gherens and Erik all nodded.
Dorma smiled. "Right. If you don't mind, could you wait in the antechamber? You will be called one at a time. I've sent for some wine."
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."