Marco shook his head. “The knife is too obvious, Petro. Why would he leave it behind?”
“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.