Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

After Luciano heard what Marco had to say, he rubbed his face wearily. "Is happiness so much to ask for?" he murmured.

But he did not dwell on the matter. He had asked the Goddess that question many times, in his life. He would ask it no longer.

No more softness!

"Marco," he said quietly, "Venice is in the gravest danger. At such a time, you must think of your responsibilities. You don't even know this canaler-girl's surname. You know nothing about her family?or even, to be honest, she herself."

Marco's face was set in a stubborn cast. Luciano sighed. "Speak to the girl if you must, before you make your final decision. But I will tell you this, boy. I can think of nothing you could do which would strengthen Venice more than to weld Valdosta reborn?and Dell'este?to the house of Dorma."

Except a marriage between Valdosta and Montescue, came the whimsical thought. But Marina dismissed the notion as a ridiculous fancy. Lodovico Montescue would disrupt any such wedding by having the groom assassinated as he walked to the altar.

"The Valdosta name, which is still a powerful thing, would give weight to Petro Dorma's position. And, as I'm sure you've come to realize yourself, he's the best of the lot. Potentially, the leadership which Venice will need?does need, already."

Marco hung his head. He was listening, at least. Marina started to add more, but decided not to do so. Anything more, at this point, would be counterproductive. Marco Valdosta had a fierce sense of honor. Give the boy time, and he would make the right decision.

"I've got to talk to Kat," he whispered. When he lifted his head, his eyes were blurred with tears. The sight was heart-breaking.

"Talk to her then," said Luciano. "But please, Marco?remember your responsibilities."

It was time to change the subject. "So. When are you being officially presented to the city?"

Marco smiled wanly. "Tomorrow night, at the Doge's Levee."

"Splendid!"

"I think I'd rather go anywhere else," muttered Marco. "Even the Jesolo."

Kat was whistling. A terrible un-genteel habit, as Alessandra told her frequently. Right now the thought of that made her want to whistle louder. She wanted to practice being un-genteel. And besides, happiness was bubbling up in her.

Her joy seemed to be affecting everything. The last cargo had come through, perfectly. The Montescue's tiny share as part of a Colleganza of a wood shipment to Alexandria had paid off handsomely, the merchant having come up with a return cargo of ivory… which had caught the current fashion for marquetry just in the upswing. It had made them a tidy profit. Not enough to tow the Casa Montescue out of the river tick but enough to make it seem as if there might?eventually?be a light on the horizon.

And she'd be seeing Marco again on Thursday. She hugged herself. Two days. She should have made it sooner. But, well, she didn't want it to appear too much as if she was chasing him.

Even the thought of tonight's levee at the Doge's palace could not upset her. If Senor Lopez was there and wanted to talk to her… well, he had no real evidence. Mind you, even the thought of that eagle gaze was enough to put a damper on her mood. He wasn't the sort who needed "evidence." She shook off the thought and took her mind back to Marco Felluci. It wasn't hard. And the thoughts were pleasant as she waited for Madelena to come down and help her dress for the levee.

A levee at the Doge's palace… Marco was so nervous he could hardly think straight. All the haut monde of Venice would be there, Case Vecchie, rising merchant houses, distinguished foreign visitors, ambassadors and nobility. All the power and glitter of Venice. Marco had looked across the piazza past the winged lion of Saint Mark at the colonnaded Gothic palace often. But to be inside?!

The inside was a place of confusion, light, and above all, people. Musicians?no mean performers either?played in a side salon. Nobody kept quiet for them, however; people simply continued their light inconsequential chatter and laughter. If anyone had dared treat Valentina and Claudia's music thus! Marco was introduced to yet another Case Vecchie family head. He bowed politely for the… he'd lost count. No wonder the Case Vecchie went slumming at Barducci's.

"Valdosta, eh?" said the florid Count Antonelli. "That's one of the old names we haven't heard for a while. Where have you been, boy?"

"With his grandfather, Duke Dell'este," interposed Petro Dorma smoothly.

The Count nodded. "So, boy?which way is Ferrara leaning? Venice, Milan… or Rome?"

Yes, these were worrying times. Ferrara had for the better part of century stood by Venice, but keeping its independence. Then the Venetians had demanded the salt pans, and Ferrara had balked and called on Rome?and even, for a time, threatened alliance with Milan. Who, for its part, had sent no less of a condottiere than Carlo Sforza to pay a friendly visit to Ferrara… a visit to which, Marco suspected, he ultimately owed his brother.

It had all blown over, eventually. But… by the presence of that sword in the Casa Dorma, the storm was brewing again.

Marco was not prepared for the direct question. For the simplest reason: he had no idea what the old duke was planning to do.

"My grandfather keeps his own council, milord."

"Yes, but…"

"I see the majordomo is beckoning to us, Count Antonelli," interrupted Petro. "Pardon us. I must find my sister and take my new ward to be presented to the Doge."

Petro steered Marco away across the salon to where Angelina was talking to a tall, beautifully made up woman with a neat little mole above her rosebud mouth, standing in the circle that surrounded Lucrezia Brunelli. They were laughing. The woman gave Marco a very considering look as Petro snagged his sister and led them off to meet Doge Foscari.

Kat was preparing herself for the sheer delight of giving Signor Sergio Della Galbo the finest put-down of his obnoxious life. The fat curti had cornered her again. But knowing how her grandfather felt, and having met her soulmate, Katerina Montescue was going to tell this disgusting old rou? where to get off. In training for a life as Katerina Felluci she was going to use some choice canaler terms she'd picked up from Maria.

And then her grandfather came storming up, towing Alessandra. His lined face was as pale as his snowy linen. His eyes bulged. Alessandra was looking terrified and wasn't even protesting. "Come," was all the old man said. Very quietly.

Della Galbo protested. "Get lost, worm!" snapped Kat, pushing past him to her grandfather. She slid an arm around the old man. "What is wrong, Grandpapa?" she asked, worried. The last time she seen him like this was when they'd brought the news of Alessandra's baby's death. Normally, if he was angry, the whole countryside knew about it.

"Valdosta." He spat the name out as if it were a curse. "They're not all dead, girl. I told you some of the vermin still survived. But I never thought I'd see them here, bold as brass, under the protection of Casa Dorma." He pointed.

She was glad she had her arm around the solid if elderly stanchion of her grandfather. Walking, head bent forward in the listening pose she knew so well, had studied so lovingly… was Marco Felluci. He was listening to Petro Dorma and that horrible spoiled brat, Angelina Dorma. Marco was not wearing Ventuccio livery, or old canaler clothes. He was dressed in a silk shirt, and fine hose, with a cloak that could have bought Maria's gondola. There was gold on his finger.

"Who?who is that?" she asked, in a small wooden voice, feeling stupid, stunned, her world in chaos.

Her grandfather hissed like a leaky kettle. "Calls himself 'Marco Valdosta.' They claim he's been in Ferrara. With the Dell'este. That's another Valdosta lie. I'm quite sure he's the same one I tried to have assassinated here in Venice last year?and failed, I'm sorry to say."