Violetta’s eyes twinkled like stars. “Only once, Bene? You were never satisfied with once. But no, I certainly did not mention that to her. I never discuss my patrons with anybody.”
“If I permit this, then you will remain Sister Maddalena in her presence and you will never have anything to do with my sister ever again, is that agreed-no visits, no letters, nothing?”
“Bene, you know you can rely on my discretion. Of course.”
“And you will never pester her either, Zeno.”
“Certainly.” I bowed.
“Wait here!” His heels went clicking away across the terrazzo to the door.
“You did that beautifully, my dear,” Helen purred, easing me away from the Titian as the ladder crew closed in on it. We wandered towards the empty center of the big room.
“You did more than I did. How long were you a friend of messer Benedetto?”
She smiled cryptically. “I never discuss my patrons.”
“Then discuss his grandfather. Why did somebody hate him enough to murder him?”
I thought for a moment she would not answer, but she was just working out what she would tell me.
“He was strict, and had his own ideas. You know that rich families sometimes hire a courtesan as tutor when a boy reaches the age to study calligraphy?”
“Penmanship?”
“Joined-up writhing.”
I laughed. “Yes, Aspasia.”
“And physical intimacy may blossom into friendship. I recall one young man who was very upset and desperately wanted my advice. He said his grandfather was planning to launch his political career right away by entering him in the Santa Barbara’s Day lottery.”
Every December the Great Council admits thirty youngsters as young as twenty, the creamiest of the cream, scions destined for greatness. The odds of winning a seat are good for anyone, and I would have been very surprised if an Orseolo had failed to win, because there are ways to adjust lotteries. Putrid would do it if I told him to. You should know by now why I never would, but there are other practitioners of the occult in the Republic and some have nothing left to lose.
“The young man in question,” she continued, “did not want that. He wanted to get away from home, poor little rich boy. He babbled about volunteering to be a gentleman archer on a galley. His ambition was to be a sailor, a great merchant trader like his ancestors. His grandfather would have blocked him. I suggested he ask to study law at the University of Padua. The old man accepted that compromise. It got him out of the city, at least.”
“Is Benedetto a good swordsman?”
“If you mean that literally and are not just being vulgar, I have no idea. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
Around any university you will find almost as many expert swordsmen as fleas. Pick a fight with one good enough to claim first blood without doing any serious damage, be first to draw so that you end up in jail, and you have an excellent alibi. I could not imagine why Benedetto Orseolo would have wanted an alibi. I am just a cynic.
15
B ianca entered on her brother’s arm. She was swathed in black, even to a full veil, although I could make out enough of her features through the lace to recall Giuseppe Benzon describing her as “fiery.” In fact she was gorgeous, with a heart-shaped face and eyes the size of cartwheels. She exchanged greetings with Sister Maddalena and curtseyed to my bow.
“Remember,” Enrico said, “that you do not have to answer this man’s questions, none of them.” He scowled unhelpfully at me.
“Madonna,” I said, “I am apprenticed to Maestro Nostradamus, whom you met the other night. There is reason to believe that your honored grandfather was poisoned at that reception, and we are trying to discover the culprit and bring him to justice. I deeply regret intruding on your time of grief, but you will agree that I offend in a good cause?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast even behind the veil. Workmen at the far end of the hall were laying out lumber to start crating up the pictures, as if determined to make the interview even more difficult.
“Did you often accompany him to such social affairs?”
She shook her head. I waited.
“No,” she whispered. “He rarely left the Procuratie any more. He was getting so unsteady…” More silence. “He was forced to use a cane and his right hand was bent. He called me his hands, clarissimo. ”
“That evening, he went straight to the book viewing from this building?”
She nodded again, but this time spoke more strongly. “Yes. We went in the gondola. It is not far. He did not see well in the dark and it was raining a little. But he very much wanted to acquire some of the books. He was quite excited.”
Wonder of wonders!-I had found a cooperative witness at last.
“Did he eat or drink anything before he left here? In the hour or so before?”
“It was not possible. He had been at a meeting downstairs, in the offices. He sent a clerk up to summon me and I went down to him.”
“Excellent! That is very important information! I do not wish to pry needlessly, but did he say anything unusual in the gondola? Was he angry about anything, or upset?”
“No, messer. He spoke about one of the books, a play. He said he was convinced that it was genuine but he wanted to take another look at it. He would gladly pay several thousand ducats for it, he said. But I mustn’t tell any of the other buyers he had said so.”
“And what happened when you arrived at the Imer house?”
“We climbed the stairs together,” Bianca said, and now she was telling the story as if eager to do so. “He was slow. Attorney Imer welcomed us, and presented his wife…He took Grandfather into the book room. I made my excuses to the lady and followed, because I thought he would want me with him.”
“You were offered wine when?”
“Ah, before that, when we arrived.”
“And you chose which?”
“I took malmsey. Grandfather had retsina.”
I waited for mention of a family joke, but it did not appear. But she did! She made an annoyed sound and lifted her veil back, as if it were getting in her way. She did not quite smile at me-indeed she did not even look straight at me, which would have given her brother cause to snap at her-but I found the change a great improvement. The footman, Giuseppe Benzon, had excellent taste in feminine temperature. Pyretic, she was. She was quite nubile enough to be enfolded in my strong arms and comforted by sympathetic words murmured into her shell-like ear.
I bowed low in admiration, provoking scowls from both Medea and Benedetto. “How welcome is sunlight when it breaks through the clouds!” Such talk would be a well-deserved novelty for a cloistered beauty like Bianca. “Tell me about the viewing, then. How many people were at the table when you arrived?”
Her account confirmed the Maestro’s. When she entered, he had been there, and Karagounis, and Senator Tirali, and her grandfather. Then the foreign couple had arrived and started asking the Maestro a lot of questions in a language Bianca did not know.
“And then…another man…”
“I know who you mean,” I said. “An old friend in crimson robes?”
She smiled then, but not right at me. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“Who was this old friend?” her brother demanded.
I could not resist saying, “That is a state secret. He came to speak to your grandfather?”
Bianca said, “Oh, yes, clarissimo. They greeted each other warmly. He asked him…The friend asked Grandfather if his health would let him come to dine at the, um, his house, and he said it would.”
She had been excited by the thought that she might get to visit the palace too.
“Did they discuss the books?” I asked.
She thought for a moment. “I think the, um, other man, asked if they were all the same ones they had seen before. And Grandfather said they seemed to be. And there was one they agreed might be a fake-I’m not sure which. I think Maestro Nostradamus had been saying it was, also.”