The Maestro nodded. “But that invitation would have had to come through the interpreter, Domenico Chiari. What went in may not have been what came out. Today Alfeo exposed Chiari as a swindler. I trust, Your Excellency, that he was taken into custody and questioned about these events?”
Only the Maestro would have the audacity to cross-examine a state inquisitor. Dona stared very hard at him while the rest of us held our breath. Finally he said, “The man Chiari has confessed to art fraud and is currently naming his accomplices.”
I had sent him to the torture chamber. I said a hasty prayer for both of us.
“But,” Dona continued, “despite careful interrogation, he persists in denying knowledge of the murder. He claims he did not even know about the viewing planned for this house and could not have told the Feathers about it.”
The Maestro shrugged. “It is sier Bellamy’s word against his. Vizio, pray ask the foreigner if he is truly married to-”
Bellamy did not wait for a translation, and his French improved dramatically. “No! I am her servant. We do not share beds. She paid me to pretend!” He jumped up and moved his chair well away from Hyacinth.
Hyacinth was not the sort to remain silent. She burst into an excited babble of French, English, and Latin.
When she paused for breath, a very unhappy-looking Vasco said, “I cannot remember all that, Your Excellency. But she denies using poison. She says she never met the procurator before and would not know him if she ever met him again. She came to Italy to buy art and she pays her secretary to masquerade as her husband because single ladies traveling alone may be molested. Domenico told her the book viewing was open to everyone. And she again asks to see the English ambassador.”
The inquisitor nodded, but I was certain that the Maestro’s accusations had not surprised him. He or someone in the Council of Ten had worked it out. Two people working together are much more effective than one alone. I should have seen that for myself without having to have my nose rubbed in it, and now I could understand her clumsy efforts to flirt with me as a desperate effort to find any available ally to help her escape from the trap.
The inquisitor said, “You have brought serious charges against these persons, doctor. Can you also supply us with their motive?”
The Maestro looked offended. “Certainly.”
“Then will you-”
“Lies!” Hyacinth shouted, on her feet, towering over both her husband and even Vasco. “I demand the ambassador!” She had taken two quick strides towards the Maestro before Vasco grabbed her arm and stopped her. To my regret she did not flatten him on the floor with a single punch; did not even try, in fact. Realizing I was on my feet with my sword out, I sheathed it and sat down.
“Silence!” Dona said. “ Missier Grande, have the foreigners taken to the palace and lodged in the Leads as witnesses in a case of murder. They may have one cell or two, as the woman chooses. You may tell them that their ambassador will be informed in due course.”
Missier Grande opened the door and called in two fanti, large young men wearing swords. He nodded to Vasco. No one said a word. Even the Feathers seemed to be shocked into silence. They vanished out the door with the vizio and the guards.
But just before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of more fanti standing outside. And also two slender youths I knew very well, Christoforo and Corrado Angeli, wearing matching grins as wide as the Grand Canal. My tarot had prophesied help coming from the two of staves-who else but the gondolier’s twin sons?
26
T he room settled. Only Missier Grande remained standing. The mood had changed, the dark clouds of worry rolled back to reveal the pearly sunlight of the Adriatic. It had been the foreigners all along.
“Now,” the Maestro said happily, “we can forget Domenico Chiari and the Feathers’ visit to Karagounis. It is probably irrelevant, except that it may explain how the woman knew-or could gamble-that there would be a strong-tasting wine like retsina on offer. No doubt Karagounis proclaimed its excellence. I cannot prove the details of their conversation, of course. How can we ever know what a spy told a thief to tell a murderess? I expect her secretary-husband will prove to be a cooperative witness. So, if you will give me the benefit of the doubt on that point, we shall proceed to the question of how she could be sure her victim would choose the retsina, so that her plot would work.”
“And her motive,” the inquisitor said.
“Ah, yes, motive.” The Maestro rubbed his hands. “And yet there is one small puzzle that remains unsolved. For a private gathering, the book viewing was curiously infested with gate-crashers. The doge had not been invited, nor had the Feather woman and her escort. Nor had you, sier Pasqual. Clarissimo, why did you go out of your way that evening to come here, bringing your charming lady with you?”
Pasqual threw back his head and laughed, seemingly quite unworried. “But I was invited, doctor! Not by our host, I grant you. By my father.”
The ambassador favored him with a rueful glance and then addressed the inquisitor. “So it is all my fault, of course! But my son does speak the truth in this case, Marco. I know old manuscripts. I knew at a glance that the supposed Euripides had been copied out in the late twelfth or early thirteenth century, almost certainly by a Greek monk. The hand is distinctive and the paper characteristic. The document was valuable in its own right, therefore, as an early copy of much earlier copies, but when had the original work been written? I asked Pasqual to come and look at it because he is a much better Classical Greek scholar than I am. I wanted to know if it read like something Euripides might truly have written.”
“Ah! And what did you decide?” the Maestro asked.
Pasqual appraised the company and then looked to his father.
The ambassador sighed. “Tell them.”
“Yes, father. I told him I was certain it was genuine. The imagery, the vocabulary, the flow of language-all cried out that this was a work of Athenian genius. And another thing! A few lines from the play have been preserved in works by other writers, as you are probably aware. Just glancing through it, I chanced upon the famous one about cowards not counting in battle-and the wording was not quite the same! A forger would certainly have been careful to include the known version, to give his fake a semblance of authority.”
“What does this have to do with the murder of Bertucci Orseolo?” barked the inquisitor.
Pasqual smiled. “Nothing, so far as I can see.”
“Nothing,” the Maestro agreed. “I was just tying up a loose end. I already knew that His Excellency the ambassador was not guilty, because he volunteered the information that he had seen the procurator pull a face after draining his wine. You, sier Pasqual, asked Madonna Violetta if she had noticed the same thing, and the timing of your query required that your father must have asked you the same question before rumors of poisoning started to circulate. That is not the action of a guilty man, nor one who suspects his son of being guilty.”
“Motive!” roared the inquisitor. “Why did that woman put poison in Bertucci’s wine?”
“Motive?” said the Maestro. “Ah yes, motive. I require another demonstration, a very brief one this time. If all the gentlemen present would kindly stand along this table, facing the door? Missier Grande has some witnesses he wishes to bring in to identify the real murderer. Thank you.”
Playing fair, the Maestro obeyed his own orders, struggling to his feet and leaning on the table before him. Violetta took Bianca’s hand and together they moved to the far corner, out of the way. The rest of us moved like galley slaves-promptly and in unison-until we were lined up as required. All except the state inquisitor. Marco Dona moved to a chair against the wall, so he could study the faces in the lineup. His acceptance of Hyacinth’s guilt had been so quick that he must have known exactly what was going to happen, but now he seemed more wary. If he did not know who was going to be denounced this time, then the Maestro must have cooked up this demonstration with Missier Grande after we arrived, while I was welcoming the guests. And Giorgio must have gone back to Ca’ Barbolano to fetch the twins. How did they fit in?