Chapter 79
The passage outside was full of people. Anyone with the least excuse was hurrying to the great council chamber. Marco, as the oldest Valdosta, was supposed to be there. So was Petro Dorma.
Marco was instead engaged in hugging Kat.
Petro took a deep breath. “I suppose, as Angelina’s brother and head of Casa Dorma, I should ask for an explanation. Or at least a formal introduction.” He sounded resigned.
Flushing a little, Marco broke from Kat. “Petro. This is Kat. This is the woman I . . . I would have married, if I hadn’t married your sister.”
“Oh.” Petro had the grace to look a little embarrassed.
“Don’t worry,” said Kat. “There is nothing between us.” She sounded slightly wistful.
“Um. Yes. I suppose I’d better go and listen to the captain and hear what the Doge has to say,” said Petro, uncomfortably.
Katerina smiled. “We’re under blockade by the Genoese, the Dalmatian pirates out of the Narenta, and a fleet up from Ancona—presumably supplied by Rome. There is no sign of either the eastern or western fleets. The captain came island hopping from Ascalon, and sneaked up the coast at night, having heard about the blockade in Corfu. Which is more than he will tell you.”
It was Petro Dorma’s turn to smile. “And as I helped to draft the Doge’s response, I don’t need to listen to that either.”
“On the other hand,” Kat added, no longer smiling, “I can tell you who killed Bishop Capuletti.”
“She . . . never . . .”—pant—”did it, Dorma.” It was Lodovico Montescue, red faced, with rivulets of sweat on his choleric face. He looked ready to keel over.
“Grandpapa!”
“Away from him . . . girl.” The old man went off into a paroxysm of coughing. Benito, quicker on the uptake than most, grabbed a chair from against the wall and sat the old man down on it. “Thank you. You’re a good lad. Listen, Dorma. My granddaughter knows nothing about this . . . killing.”
“I do.” Kat said firmly.
Lodovico shook his head. “She’s got a maggot in her head about this Marco Valdosta here. But leave my granddaughter out of this. I’ve forsworn my vengeance against Casa Valdosta anyway.”
Marco stepped forward. “Kat isn’t implicated. And I won’t let her be. Not while I’m alive.”
Lodovico looked at him in some surprise. “What? Who made you free of my granddaughter’s name? But that’s well said, for a Valdosta,” he granted, grudgingly.
Petro laughed. “They’re none of them guilty, Montescue. It was an attempt to falsely implicate them, and through them, me. We don’t know who killed the bishop . . .”
“I told you,” interrupted Kat. “I do. I saw him just after the killing. It was that Spaniard. Senor Eneko Lopez.”
Petro Dorma put his hand over his eyes. “You saw him actually do it?”
“Well, no,” admitted Kat. “I saw him running away from the scene.”
Petro looked at her with absolutely no expression. “If I asked what you were doing there just before midnight . . . would I regret it?”
Marco beat Lodovico to the punch. “Yes. Just leave it please, Petro. We’ll follow it up through that dagger. If we need to, we’ll take action. Forget the court. We can even call Aldanto in if need be.”
Lodovico looked at him very speculatively. But he nodded approvingly. Started to speak . . . But his words were lost in the thunderous applause from the piazza.
When the cheering had died down Kat asked: “What’s happening?
Lodovico smiled crookedly. “I think, Katerina, that Venice just went to war. If they have any sense they’ll pick off our enemies one by one.”
Dorma nodded approvingly. “Correct. The Scaligers in Verona first. We need Fruili secure.”
“The other vultures will try to attack the Republic on other fronts when we’re engaged.”
Dorma nodded again. “That’s why I’m supposed to organize the formation of a militia. Angelina’s been at me to engage Caesare Aldanto to head it, Marco. What do you think?”
Marco found himself in a quandary. He owed Caesare. Lord knew he’d owed Caesare. But Venice stood in danger. “He has been a soldier. He served with Sforza.”