Again, laughter rippled through the room—less nervously, this time; almost with relief.
Dorma shrugged. “I have done my best for my sister. But the fact remains that Angelina is . . . unstable. And Venice cannot afford to have Marco Valdosta in an unstable marriage. Nor, for that matter, can it afford to have Katerina Montescue develop the reputation of an adulteress.”
He gestured with his head toward the great window overlooking the Grand Canal. Even though the window was closed, and the Piazza San Marco was some distance away from the Dorma palace, the roar of the huge crowd filling the streets and piazza in triumphal celebration was loud enough to be heard easily. Now in its second day, there seemed no sign yet that the festivities were abating.
“Some of that applause is for the Emperor, of course. Charles Fredrik is the first Holy Roman Emperor to visit Venice in two centuries, and since his visit—unlike the last one—is seen as a show of support for Venice, the crowd is casting its republican sentiments aside.”
“For the moment,” growled Lodovico Montescue. “If the Emperor isn’t smart enough not to leave within a few days, you watch how fast that’ll change. And good it is!”
“Oh, stop being a grouch,” drawled Dell’este. “Look on the bright side. The Montagnards have been dreaming for years of the day when the Emperor would enter Venice—and now that it’s finally happened, they’re all hiding in their cellars.”
He and Lodovico exchanged cold smiles.
Petro Dorma sighed. “Montescue, your house is still in dire financial circumstances. So you can’t afford assassins anyway.”
“I can,” interjected Dell’este immediately. “And Lodovico can find them for me.” He turned his head and smiled gently at Antimo Bartelozzi, seated in a chair behind him. “No offense, Antimo. But I always feel it’s wise to consult the local experts.”
Antimo nodded solemnly. “Quite so, milord.”
“Enough!” snapped Petro. He glared at the Old Fox. “Ferrara is not in charge of Venice. Insofar as anyone is, at the moment, I am. I’m certainly in charge of the Lords of the Nightwatch.” Discreet as ever, he did not add: the Council of Ten, also. “So if I discover either of you—or both together—have been conspiring to assassinate Montagnards, I’ll take measures. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve had enough—so has Venice—of these damned factional wars.”
The Old Fox was tempted to rise to the challenge—and just how will you take measures against Ferrara, Venetian?—but he resisted the temptation easily enough. He had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, from entering a pissing match with Petro Dorma. Besides—
“I give you my word, Lord Dorma,” he said, almost insouciantly. “But it won’t stop the crowd from doing it. Word is the Arsenalotti have organized their own assassins. And the canalers are guiding them to the Montagnard hideouts.”
Petro made a face; then, shrugged. “What the Venetian commons do at the moment, to settle their scores, does not concern me. They’ll crush the snake and be done with it. Casa Vecchie vendettas take on an insane life of their own.”
Lodovico Montescue had the grace to flush and look away. A bit to his surprise, Enrico Dell’este found himself doing the same.
“My word,” Dell’este repeated. This time, with no insouciance at all. After a moment, with a tone of aggrieved resignation that brought another little ripple of laughter, Lodovico added his own vow.
“Good enough,” said Petro. Again, he gestured at the window. “What I was about to say, however, is that most of that applause is not for the Emperor. It is—as everyone here knows—addressed at Marco and Katerina.” He rubbed a hand over his bald pate, smiling ruefully. “About whom the wildest rumors are sweeping the city.”
“What’s wild about them?” snorted Lopez. “Marco Valdosta does carry the Mantle of the Lion. And wears the Crown also, it seems.” Seeing the uncertainty in the faces of the hard-headed Venetian grandees in the salon, the Basque chuckled harshly. “Oh, yes—have no doubt about it. Metropolitan Michael tells me he was able to study enough of what Dottore Marina left behind to understand what happened, even if he could not duplicate the thing himself. I’m not sure anyone could, except a Grimas.”