Votive (42 page)

S
ANTO SAT FOR A MOMENT
, gazing out over the water. He began to shiver. He needed to change his clothes. He pulled his shirt away from his body and the odour that rose to his nostrils almost made him heave again. He struggled to his feet and stood swaying, trying to control the nausea. His head hurt. He felt a lump forming above his eyebrow, a companion to the one on the back of his head. Blood stuck to his fingers. His stomach and left shoulder ached as well. Nothing one more drink wouldn’t fix. Then he’d stop. He would. Promise. Stefano wouldn’t mind; he’d understand.

His eyes sidled in the direction Stefano had gone. He’d also never know.

On the way back to the taverna, he passed another one of those godforsaken posters. This time, he stopped in front of it and stared at the drawing of the Estrattore and at the, to him, illegible squiggles beneath. The image blurred but he could still see the dark hair and those huge, ugly silver orbs, staring at him, reading what he was, what was tucked away in the deep recesses inside his mind.

‘Make a fool of me, would you? Come between me and Stefano? Never again. Not you, or the Maggiore puttana.’ Shaking, he drew out his dagger and, first looking up and down the ramo to make sure no-one was about, clumsily shredded the poster into tiny pieces. He watched them flutter to the cobbles and then ground his heel into each little strip. He felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction.

Swaying to and fro, he stared down at the remnants of Tallow’s poor likeness, at what it signified, warmth infusing his body. He was about to leave when a thought suddenly occurred to him. In an instant, he knew how to win Stefano’s approval; earn not just his respect, but his love again as well.

Katina and Dante’s Obbligare Doppio might have stopped the Riders acting on their own Bonds, but what if he chose to fulfil Stefano’s for him? Surely the dual pledge couldn’t prevent that?

He began to smile, then laugh as he kicked the ground, scattering the fragments of paper in all directions.

Next time, it won’t be your image, I cut, Signorina Dorata
, he thought as he staggered back to the taverna, a wild grin splitting his face as he formulated a plan.
Oh, no. Next time, it will be your heart I break when I tear apart all who are Bonded to protect you
…’

T
HE
C
OUNCIL OF
T
EN, THE MOST LEARNED
and powerful of the Serenissian nobility, were ruled by a trio of men known as the
capi
. Head of the capi was Signor Zanino Nicolotti. In a small, dark chamber adjacent to their usual meeting room in the palazzo, Signor Nicolotti looked down the polished wooden table at the faces assembled before him. He’d dismissed the servants with the exception of four of his most trusted, and asked them to position themselves in the secret corridors that ran behind the room. He wanted not one word of what the ruling body behind the Doge was about to discuss to escape.

Thick candles atop enormous iron holders had been burning for a few hours as the capi waited for the other nobiles to arrive and take their chairs. Smoke filled the room and the air grew close, but Signor Nicolotti ordered that the solitary window remain shut.

He reached inside his togati and, tugging a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, patted at the sweat that dotted his brow. Picking up the silver ewer that sat near his glass, he refilled it, taking a long drink of the vino. Like the room, it too was warm.

Finally, all the members were seated. Whispering among themselves, curious as to why this late meeting had been called, even though they could guess the reason, they cast glances at the vacant chair in their midst.

Signor Nicolotti reached across the table for the little hammer and struck it against the block of wood in front of him three times. At once the talking ceased. All eyes fixed on his. He cleared his throat.

‘Signori, some of you will be aware of why we,’ he said, indicating the two men on either side of him, ‘have called you here tonight.’

There were murmurs, a few nods.

‘My reasons are twofold. The first, in light of the recent and most unexpected death of Lenuzo Vincini, distant cousin by marriage to Signor Moronisini – our condolences, good Signor –’ As one, they crossed themselves.

Signor Moronisini looked grim-faced. ‘There has been too much death, too many sons, brothers, nephews lost of late.’ He directed compassionate looks at other members of the Council. They all crossed themselves again.

‘Allora,’ continued Signor Nicolotti after a respectful pause, ‘our immediate business is to replace his seat so that, once again, we are a full Council.’

Again there were slight murmurs. Signor Manin, on his left, coughed.

‘It was unanimously decreed at our last meeting that, should a vacancy arise before the next annual election, Ezzelino Maleovelli would be offered the seat. I am pleased to say he has accepted the honour. Signor Errizo –’ he nodded to the gentleman on his right ‘– if you could admit our new Councillor.’

Colleto Errizo pushed back his chair and hobbled his way slowly to the large wooden door buried in the walls of the chamber. He pressed the secret latch known only to Council members and the capi’s servants and it swung open silently. Standing there, one of Signor Nicolotti’s men at his elbow, was Ezzelino Maleovelli. His usual black togati had been substituted for a red one, accompanied by a loose
white cowl, which draped across his shoulders and down his back. It was this that distinguished the robe from those worn by a regular member of the Great Council.

‘Permesso?’ he asked, as was required.

‘Prego,’ said Signor Nicolotti.

Ezzelino bowed as low as his age would allow him and then, using his cane more as a prop than an aid, walked proudly to the table. Each step was accompanied by the drumming of the Council’s hands against the table – a hollow-sounding refrain that ceased once he reached his designated chair.

‘Welcome, Ezzelino. It has been too long since a Maleovelli sat in this chamber.’

Ezzelino’s eyes glinted and Signor Nicolotti wondered briefly if it was from unshed tears until the candlelight caught his face and he saw only the glimmer of triumph. He quickly swore Ezzelino in, both of them using the Bible from which the Cardinale read in the basilica. As the ceremony finished, all the men crossed themselves and then, raising their glasses, toasted Ezzelino.

‘Grazie, Signori,’ said Ezzelino in a measured, deep voice, lifting his glass. ‘Salute. It is my honour to sit among the most esteemed and wise of my peers and to be trusted to do what is best for our country.’

He took his seat, running his hands up and down the polished wood, noting the comfort of the plush purple velvet, and received the approving nods of the Council members. Beside him, Signor Moronisini reached over and patted his wrist.

Signor Nicolotti sat, sweeping his togati behind him. He rested his hand on top of the papers piled in front of him.

‘What we are about to discuss, gentleman, is strictly confidential. The Council of Ten has long been trusted to act with discretion, with or without the approval of the Doge to
do, to borrow Signor Maleovelli’s words, “what is best for our country”. Tonight, we need to do this once more.

‘As you know, a great deal of misfortune has struck the Dandolo family. Some attribute this sfortunato, this bad luck, to beginning last century, back when Andrea Dandolo was Doge and sued for peace with the Jinoans.’

Grumbles issued from around the table. Signor Nicolotti repressed a smile. The Jinoans, for all that they made good trading partners, were not loyal allies. ‘Others locate it as commencing when young Claudio was kidnapped by unidentified intruders. But there has been no ransom, no threat, only silence. He has vanished. Whatever the reason for his abduction, the fact remains that the Doge’s two sons, the heirs to the throne of Serenissima, have, for whatever reason, seen fit to deny their birthright and follow alternate paths. There has been no other male issue in his family; no more sons or grandsons. God has seen fit to deliver of the Dandolos a daughter alone. And daughters do not rulers make, as we all know, Signori. Women were designed for different purposes.’ There were knowing smiles and chuckles of agreement.

‘Significantly, what this means for us is that we must look to our future. To the future of Serenissima. Doge Dandolo is the last of his family to hold office. He is an old man. In other words, Signori, it’s time to think about electing a new Doge.’

Signor Nicolotti watched as conversation broke out among the Council.

He banged the gavel. Gradually, silence fell upon the room.

‘Signor Errizo, you wish to speak?’ He indicated his fellow capi.

‘Grazie.’ Signor Errizo stared at the candle in front of him, gathering his thoughts. His skin looked yellow in the
halo cast by the light, papery and thin like the man himself. ‘I believe that when we seek to appoint a Doge, it must be someone from a large family, someone we can trust to train his sons to hold office with dignity. Someone who, at the first sign of trouble, will not run to the Limen or make a poor marriage. We need to prove once more that we are strong, that as a country, we are leaders in Vista Mare. For this, we need constancy. Tradition. Once again, we need to establish a new and long-lasting dynasty.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said a voice down the table.

‘I disagree.’ All eyes turned to Signor Moronisini. ‘With your permission?’ he asked Signor Nicolotti.

Signor Nicolotti inclined his head.

‘While I respect what Signor Errizo says,’ began Signor Moronisini, ‘I think he is wrong. I think that’s the lesson the trouble plaguing Casa Dandolo teaches us. Rather than look to a dynasty, I think we need to reconsider whom we appoint as Doge. Times have changed, so has Vista Mare. Rather than a family with many sons, a family who could rule for years if not centuries, we should seek to appoint someone who is powerful now and for the term of his natural life. Who, if he makes mistakes, will not pass these onto the next generation. With his death, a new Doge can be appointed. In the long term, we should consider changing the Dogeship from a hereditary office to one of appointment. In the short term, the question of male issue should not be a consideration. What should be is appointing a Doge with strong leadership and connections. For it is not the Dandolo problem alone we face, is it, Signor Nicolotti?’

‘No,’ said Signor Nicolotti, ‘it is not.’ He released a deep, heavy sigh. ‘Signori, the problem of the Doge is a vexed one. I will leave you to ponder this discussion later. But Signor Moronisini is right. We have other problems to consider, ones that will affect our choice of Doge, as well as which
families we approve to step forward to make claim to the throne.’

Ezzelino cleared his throat. ‘As the newest member of Council,’ he said slowly. ‘May I ask what these troubles might be?’

Signor Nicolotti nodded. ‘Indeed you must. They come from the East – it’s the Ottomans, Signor Maleovelli. The Ottomans are threatening the Serenissian Rebublic – specifically our ports and holdings in the Mariniquian Seas.’

There were sharp intakes of breath, the whisper of alarm. The men eyed each other cautiously, the fear of possibility and danger in their gaze.

Ezzelino frowned. ‘How? They are but a rabble, barbarians who roam the Ankaran Desert, worshipping their strange god, killing one another, are they not?’

‘Not anymore.’ Signor Moronisini leant forward. ‘We have had information from our ambassador in Konstantinople that the Ottoman ruler, Sultan Selim I, has done what his father failed to do – he has brought together the people. United, they pose a danger to, not only Serenissima, but the Church as well. Reports tell us they are on the move, not in their usual ad hoc, fractured way, but as a cohesive fighting force.’ He paused. ‘Worse, they have their sights set on Konstantinople – our most precious of the colonies.’

There were gasps, followed by hurried murmurs.

‘This can’t be allowed. Once these heretics get a foothold in the Mariniquian Seas, they’ll be no stopping them,’ argued Signor Dardi Pisano.

‘I know they’re good fighters. The skills of the Janissaries, their elite warriors, is legendary,’ said Signor Guido Maggiore from the other end of the table, his white hair shining. ‘But Konstantinople is well protected from land – and sea for that matter. It’s not only ringed by walls, but the Straits separate the Ottoman Empire from Konstantinople,
from the whole of Byzantium.’ He laughed. ‘What do we care if they create an army? They cannot walk across the water, nor can they swim. They are not the threat you fear, Pisano.’

‘Vero. This is true,’ agreed Signor Nicolotti. ‘But they can sail.’

‘Since when? They’re not known for their navy – surely, you worry about nothing? It wouldn’t be the first time a foreign power has made threats towards Konstantinople. But threats are different from actions.’ Signor Maggiore smiled around the table, seeking support. There were grunts of approval. A couple of the Council members struck the table.

‘Sì, sì.’

‘They have been acquiring a fleet,’ said Signor Nicolotti flatly.

There was a moment of silence before voices broke out. ‘How? Who would supply them?’ Concern and trepidation mingled in the air.

Signor Nicolotti shook his head. ‘Foreign ships, the like of which we have never seen before, are anchored outside their capital, Bursa. Our spies tell us they aren’t being made in any local shipyards. It’s as if they have materialised out of thin air.’

‘Magic?’ whispered someone.

Everyone laughed nervously.

‘But that’s not the worst.’ Signor Nicolotti waited till all eyes were upon him. ‘Our sources tell us they have acquired cannons as well.’

‘No!’

‘Non è possible!’

‘No-one on this side of the Limen would dare!’

‘My thoughts, exactly, Signor Moronisini, which leads me to ask, what if they’re being supplied by someone from the other side?’

‘You mean Farrowfare,’ said Signor Maleovelli, aware of eyes upon him.

There was a moment of silence.

‘But they have proved to be a staunch friend when others turned their backs on us,’ argued Signor Maggiore.

‘What do you think, Signor Maleovelli?’ asked Signor Nicolotti slowly. ‘You seem to know Lord Waterford quite well. Is Farrowfare a friend, or have we been duped?’

Ezzelino’s frown turned into a scowl. How could he answer this in a way that protected his interests?

‘I believe Farrowfare to be an ally. But, with the Signori’s permission, I will question Lord Waterford thoroughly and report back. I will do so in a manner so as not arouse suspicion. Naturalmente.’

‘Bene,’ said Signor Nicolotti. ‘Now, our information is telling us that the Ottomans plan to take Konstantinople. If they are successful, it will effectively cut off all trade between here and the Straits of Lapis Lazuli.’

‘It will ruin us,’ moaned Signor Errizo, and reached for his glass.

‘It will also make us vulnerable to attack. The garrison at Konstantinople has always been our ears and eyes in the East. With that gone, we’d be blind.’

‘What do we do, then?’ asked Signor Moronisini gravely.

‘We do what Serenissians have always done,’ said Signor Nicolotti.

‘What’s that?’

‘We follow Maleovelli’s lead and we ask questions. We gather information, we make sure of our facts and we prepare our fleet. If we’re forced to protect Konstantinople, then we will do so on water. We must mobilise the Arsenale, gather new recruits for the navy.’

‘What about the threat the Ottomans pose directly to us, to Serenissima?’ asked Signor Maggiore.

‘As Pisano says, if we lose Konstantinople, then what’s to stop them?’ said Signor Errizo.

‘That is why we cannot allow that to happen. We cannot lose Konstantinople.’

‘What about Roma? Surely they will come to our aid.’ Sitting up straight, Signor Pisano put into words what was on everyone’s minds.

Signor Nicolotti nodded. ‘That’s what we hope. That is why I need your permission.’ His arm swept the table. ‘To include the Cardinale in our plans. Whoever we put forward as our new Doge will have to have his approval if we’re to be guaranteed aid from the Great Patriarch.’

‘It would help if we could find this Estrattore,’ added Signor Errizo.

There were murmurs of agreement.

‘It would,’ said Signor Nicolotti. ‘It would assure Roma of our loyalty; it would rid us of another threat so we can focus on the one growing in the East.’ He opened a small wooden box in front of him and pulled out a quill. Dipping it in a little inkpot he wrote a few notes on the topmost piece of parchment. ‘I will discuss this with the Cardinale as well. Learn how his hunt progresses. Offer whatever aid he needs to bring this matter to a close.’ He placed the quill back in its box and closed the lid, looking from one grim face to another. ‘Now you understand why we called this meeting. We must not only prepare for a change of leadership but, potentially, for war. You can see now that the two are very much related. Dandolo is incapable of dealing with this crisis.’