"It's called a khanjar," my guide said cheerfully. "Syrian. Made of damascene steel. It was collected in 1204 at the sack of Constantinople by one of their"-his smile faltered-"my ancestors. Unfortunately he collected it between his ribs. Fortunately his son was there also and was able to salvage the dagger, if not save the situation."
"He saved the family honor, though. He must have killed the killer or he couldn't have brought back the sheath."
Jacopo nodded. "Never thought of that."
Or perhaps the dagger had been routinely looted from a corpse and its story had been embellished over four centuries. I could not but admire the deadly little horror-an assassin's dream, small enough to be easily concealed and quite long enough to kill a man. "This cabinet is kept locked?"
"It is now. It wasn't back then, when our father was stabbed. I used to play with the khanjar when I was small and it was still just as sharp as it must have been in Constantinople. In fact…" Jacopo hesitated. "I was the one who noticed that it was missing after the murder and opened my big mouth in front of witnesses. Apparently the sbirri had not thought to ask anyone if we could identify the weapon."
"And how did the scabbard find its way back this time?"
He stared at me blankly. "I don't know. I suppose it was left behind in the Basilica. The killer wouldn't want to be caught wearing it, now would he? Not with blood on it."
I wondered who had been crass enough to put the dagger back on display, but I wasn't crass enough to ask.
Jacopo started to stroll. "Let's go and see if the painters and decorators have completed today's masterpiece."
I went with him. "If Zorzi has come back to Venice, he must have found somewhere safe to hide. Who would help him? Who would give him shelter?"
"One of his harlots, I suppose. You'll be an old man before you finish questioning all of those maenads."
"He had quite a reputation, but I was thinking of family. Bernardo?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Good riddance, in his view. Why start the tongues wagging all over again? Why queer the Council of Ten? I know the Ten now are not the same men as eight years ago, but they're all part of the inner circle. You go nowhere in politics in Venice if the First Ones don't like you."
"Domenico?"
"Never!" he said, even more firmly. "He has the means, I agree. He comes and goes a lot, to and from the mainland. He has a lot of contacts there. Even the Ten may not be able to keep track of Domenico, not completely. And Dom sometimes took Zorzi's side in the quarrels, but that was years ago, when Gentile was alive. He's the last one to want him back now."
It's always helpful to have a witness who likes to gossip.
"Money?" I said.
"Definitely money," Jacopo agreed. "If Zorzi came back and was pardoned, he would own one third of the fraterna."
Which was a reminder that the two Michiel brothers had benefitted not only from their father's death but because their brother had been disqualified from sharing in the windfall. Jacopo, being illegitimate, would not be a partner.
"Their mother? Could she be hiding Zorzi?"
Jacopo frowned. "She couldn't help directly. She almost never goes out of the house-Communion at Christmas and Easter, that's about all. That's the way proper ladies live, in her view. She might provide money. She would do that. You think that's why she's hiring Nostradamus-because Zorzi wants to have his name cleared so he can come back?"
"Or has come back."
We reached the end of the salone and climbed a few steps to a corridor. The Michiel palace was a warren, assembled from more than one building, and in total it was considerably larger than Ca' Barbolano. My guide continued at the same ambling pace.
"Zorzi's not in this house, if that's what you're thinking," he said. "I'd know if anyone knew. I'm part family and part servant. There's nowhere and nobody could hide him from me." He sounded proud of that, but I'd marked him as a busybody within moments of first meeting him.
"And don't be surprised," he added, "if the lady has company. Bernardo is spitting musket balls about this Nostradamus idea of hers. He'll want to nip you in the bud."
Interesting! Suspicion stirred. "What bothers him most about it?" I asked. "Just renewed scandal? Or the fee?" Or was it that he feared whatever truth Nostradamus might uncover?
For a moment I thought that I was not going to receive an answer, then my companion said quietly, "The Council of Ten."
"They've been asking questions?" I knew from Sciara that the file had been receiving attention lately, but this confirmation of the Ten's renewed interest made the floor quake under my feet.
"They've asked Bernardo questions-unofficially so far. A fante dropped in not long after you left on Saturday. We had a family conference about it yesterday. They even let me sit in."
"Is that unusual?"
"The rule is that I'm not family when I want to be and vice versa."
"It's worrisome news. Do you know what sort of questions?"
Again there was a pause before he spoke. "He didn't ask about you, clarissimo. I know because Domenico asked Bernardo that. The Ten just wanted to know if we'd heard rumors that Zorzi had slipped back into the city, when we last heard from him, and so on."
"Did you all get your stories straight, then?"
Jacopo laughed. "We had a screaming, rip-roaring row, the best fight we've had since Gentile died and Zorzi left. Accusations of greed, duplicity, and senile dementia volleyed back and forth. Bernardo roared, Domenico sneered, Lucretzia sobbed, Fedele preached hellfire and Christian charity, sometimes in the same breath. Even Isabetta said a few sharp words. I just sat there like a cherub and enjoyed it all thoroughly. At the end, when they had all realized that they were going nowhere, I said that, as my conscience was quite clear and I had no guilty secrets to hide, I intended to answer all your questions fully and honestly. Then they all had to agree that they would do the same."
We had reached a door I knew. Jacopo halted.
"Do you suppose that one of them is a murderer and will lie to you?" he asked.
"That's for my master to decide," I said, although I knew that Jacopo himself had been lying to me like an Ottoman camel trader.
He reached for the handle. "Brace yourself for Venus In Splendor."
21
I could see no change in donna Alina since my previous visit. The face paint was no thicker, the impressive strings of pearls were the same, and if the black gown and shawl were not, then they were identical copies. Nor did she deserve Jacopo's slurs about her age. In her fifties she could reasonably look forward to another decade or so to spend the money he mentioned so bitterly. This time she was alone, reading a book. I knew it was a stage prop because she was not holding it at arm's length as she had held the letter she read to me the last time, and she made no effort to mark her place before closing it and handing it to Jacopo to shelve.
I bowed, was permitted to kiss her fingers, offered a chair. As before, she left her flunky standing. I admired her Paris Bordone portrait again; I still liked the bronze cherub better than the ebony desk.
Alina wasted no time on small talk. "So your master will do as I ask?"
"He is willing to try, madonna."
"How generous of him."
"He accepts no fees unless he succeeds, so he must be selective in the cases he accepts." I offered the contract.