"No one sent me," the friar said grimly. "I came in charity to warn you. I admit that our mother has never accepted Zorzi's guilt. She always took his side and defended his sinful ways. But the Council of Ten judged him guilty and my brothers have suffered enough for his fearful crime. They are noblemen of Venice. If you attempt to embezzle money from her by preying on her delusions, then they will complain to the Council of Ten, which will run you out of town at the very least."
"Alfeo, how far along are you with that draft?"
"As far as, '… permitted under the laws of Venice,' master."
"Let the good brother read it."
I took the paper over to our visitor. He did not comment on my penmanship, but merely read it slowly and carefully, like a lawyer. When he lowered it, he was frowning. I carried it back to my desk.
"No money in advance," the Maestro said. "No money at all unless I produce evidence acceptable in a court of law. Those are always my terms, Brother."
He did not explain that he was less concerned with the guilt or innocence of Zorzi Michiel than he was with finding the killer of the courtesans. To suggest that a noble family might be involved in that sordid affair would terminate the discussion instantly. We would be in jail before sunset.
Fedele shook his head sadly. "Filippo, Filippo! You are accusing the Council of Ten of convicting an innocent man. I urge you for your own safety not to let your words get back to them. Perhaps you should discuss the sin of pride with your confessor?"
"Perhaps." Nostradamus did not sound convinced. "I have two more questions, if I may beg your patience, Brother. Suppose for a moment that Zorzi, your brother, did not commit that terrible crime. And yet also suppose that, despite his innocence, before fleeing into exile he wrote out a confession and slipped it into one of the 'Lion's Mouth' drop boxes for the Council of Ten to read."
"Absurd. Suppose the lagoon turns to wine."
"But my question is, who-in your family, in the city, in the whole world-might Zorzi have loved enough to shield in this way?"
The priest studied him for a moment with the basilisk stare of an icon. "My brother was about as far from a saint as it is possible to be, Filippo. He lived for lechery and debauch. He loved only his own carnal pleasure."
Nostradamus sighed. "Then my last question. Why did Giovanni Gradenigo ask for me when he was dying?"
The friar glanced momentarily across at his sister, then back at the Maestro. "I cannot tell you. I can assure you that he was very confused near the end."
"But when you wrote, you addressed the message to Alfeo, not to me. How did you know to do that?"
Fedele smiled thinly. "Priests learn many strange things in the course of performing the Lord's work, Filippo. Do you remember Pietro Vercia?"
The Maestro nodded. "The forger?"
"A forger you exposed. The night before his execution, I heard his confession, but then I spent the rest of the night just listening to him talk. Condemned men tend to talk a lot as the noose approaches. He told me how you had never left your house, but you had sent your apprentice around asking questions, gathering the information you needed for your spells. So I knew you would send Zeno in your stead and I saved time by summoning him directly."
"Spells? That was why you delayed sending for me until it was too late?"
Fedele rose, tall and stark. "That was why. Giovanni had made his last confession and I could not allow him to taint his soul by contact with black magic. I do urge you to repent your ways, Filippo. Eternity is a long time to burn." He raised his hand to bless.
"Have you heard about Marina Bortholuzzi?" Nostradamus asked brightly.
"Who? No." The hand dropped.
"Another courtesan murdered. Last night in the Campo San Zanipolo."
"I shall pray for her," the friar said, and muttered a quick blessing.
He headed for the door. The nun rose. I rose. But then Fedele wheeled around as if he had reached a decision. His voice seemed to resonate with the baleful reproach of fearsome Old Testament prophets. "Murderers usually have some reason for killing their victims, Filippo, even if it is only to lift their purses. Have you discovered yet why our father was stabbed to death?"
"Not yet, Brother," the Maestro replied.
"Then I shall tell you before you make even more of a fool of yourself. This is not exactly a secret, just something unknown to the general public. Everyone in his family knew, and I know that the Council of Ten did. Two days before our father died, he announced that he was so disgusted by his youngest son's debauchery that he was going to disown and disinherit him. He would cut him out of his will and ask the Great Council to strike his name from the Golden Book for conduct unbecoming a nobleman. Now you know the motive for that terrible crime."
Without another word, the priest spun around and stalked out of the atelier. His sister followed. He unlocked the outer door for himself and departed. I bowed the nun out. She paused long enough to bob me a curtsey, and then floated away like a black ghost. I locked up behind her.
"Very interesting," the Maestro murmured as I returned. "So Zorzi had a motive and access to the weapon. Are you convinced now of his guilt?"
"No, master." Could any man learned in the classics have been so stupid as to kill his father only two days after that dramatic denunciation and with an identifiable weapon? Someone who wanted both Gentile and Zorzi removed could have done so, two birds with one stone. I could imagine the pious brother disapproving of the lecherous brother's lifestyle, but San Francesco would not approve of double homicide as a way of registering protest. Cui bono? as the lawyers say-"Who gains?" Well, the two older brothers had split the family fortune between them, hadn't they?
"As for motive," I said, "I told you what Celsi said: 'He and his father fought like cat and dog all the time, with the old man always threatening to disinherit him if he didn't reform his ways.' So what was special about the last time?"
"Why did you offer the paper to the friar with your left hand, apprentice?"
The sly old devil had noticed!
"So that it was directly in front of him, master. He took it with his right hand."
"And why did you want to know whether he was left- or right-handed?"
"Because the blade penetrated Gentile Michiel's tippet, which hangs over the left shoulder. That is why you think Zorzi did not kill him."
Nostradamus leered at me. "No bad at all! You are learning."
"Thank you, master."
Gentile had been stabbed in the back on his left side, possibly a misdirected attempt to find his heart in near darkness. An assassin in a crowd will try to position his own body to shield his actions from other people, which in this case suggested a left-handed killer getting directly behind his victim. Zorzi was left-handed, and that might well have been another factor that influenced the Ten in reaching their verdict. But Gentile had been reunited with his wife. He would not have been wearing a sword in church, but a man normally offers his left arm to his lady, the origin of that custom being to leave his sword arm free. Donna Alina had said she was pushed aside by a tall man, and even if she had dropped back a little as her husband forced their way through the crowd, the killer would not have pushed her with the hand that held his knife. More likely the killer had held the dagger in his right hand.
"It isn't proof, you understand!" Nostradamus said. "The Basilica was packed with people, so determining exactly where everyone was would have been impossible even then, let alone eight years later. But it is suggestive of a right-handed killer."