Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

The palace was crowded, but a couple of Schiopettieri were waiting for them at the doors, and escorted them to Petro Dorma, who was sitting with a couple of the Venetian justices, and a stripling Erik recognized. It was Dorma's ward. Yes, he had been there at the raid. Von Gherens probably owed his leg to the boy, and one of the students probably his life. Erik hadn't put two and two together at the time. There had been other things on his mind.

Petro Dorma greeted them. "So Abbot Sachs was not able to come personally? A pity. But never mind. We need you as witnesses to the truth or falsehood of a particularly unpleasant accusation. We are questioning statements allegedly made by this young man. Do any of you recognize him?" He pointed at his ward. Uriel, Von Gherens and Erik all nodded.

Dorma smiled. "Right. If you don't mind, could you wait in the antechamber? You will be called one at a time. I've sent for some wine."

Manfred brightened visibly. "I'll stay here and look after the wine," he said cheerfully. "I wasn't there."

Dorma smiled humorlessly. "I suspect the 'Accusers' might well not have been there, either. This way, gentlemen."

Filippo Recchia, the handsome and wealthy champion fencer, looked sulky, angry, and just a little overawed. His sycophant Vittorio just looked terrified. They were led one at a time to bear witness. Dorma insisted they each testify separately.

Recchia spoke first, his face stiff but seemingly calm. "He was angry. He said to that friend of his, Rafael de Tomaso. 'I wish we'd killed all of these German monks and knights. I wish we could get rid of Bishop Capuletti. I would do it myself if I had half the chance.'"

One of the Justices pointed at Marco: "And it was definitely this man who said that?"

Both Filippo, and then Vittorio, confirmed the statement. Yes. They knew him well. Would recognize him with certainty.

"But it was not him you saw lurking in the alley next to the Fondamenta Pruili," the justice asked Recchia.

"I thought so, Your Honor, but I realized I must be mistaken and it must be his brother."

"Ah. But you saw him well enough to recognize him?"

Recchia crossed himself. "My oath on it."

"Thank you. Stand down, Signor Recchia."

Marco watched as the first of the knights was called. What if he were part of this conspiracy? Fear of the Knots and their reputation rose in his throat as the young blond knight with the chiseled features took the stand.

Unnecessarily, it seemed. "No. He was with us all the time from when the Schiopettieri arrived, until we were summoned individually."

"And did he at any stage say anything about killing anyone?"

The knight, Erik Hakkonsen, frowned. "No. Definitely not. He said very little. His attention was on the wounded. A good young fellow. An innocent bystander who came to provide assistance, that's all. The Knights of the Holy Trinity are in his debt."

"And do you remember these two?"

The blond knight pointed at Vittorio. "Him. He was very drunk. Kept singing. Some of your Schiopettieri would remember him."

The justices then called the next witness, Von Gherens, who seconded Hakkonsen's statements and echoed his praise of Marco.

Then Brother Uriel came along. As usual he didn't mince his words. "They swore they heard what?" he demanded. When told again, he snorted derisively. "Absolute lies. They've broken their oath sworn on the Holy Bible. Get your Metropolitan to excommunicate them."

Vittorio went pale, but Filippo laughed. "Who do you believe? Good Venetians?or foreigners and half-bloods like this Valdosta? He's mongrel Ferrarese, not Venetian. And Ferrara will be history soon."

The chief justice just shook his head. "Signor Recchia. Come through to the next room and point out the younger Valdosta. You did see him clearly, did you not?"

"It wasn't daylight, but I saw him clearly enough to think it was Marco Valdosta at first." Recchia spoke with supreme confidence.

The confidence disappeared when he saw the six young men, all wearing Dorma-blue.

"He's not here…"

"Indeed, he is," countered the chief justice sternly. "Point him out, put your hand on his shoulder."

Eventually Recchia chose the tallest. A young man with straight dark hair. "Him. He's Valdosta."

The young man accused got a very alarmed look on his face. "I am not!" he protested. "I'm Enrico Battista. Everyone will tell you so! I'm just a pastry cook."

Benito, curly-haired, stocky Benito, who had been through very little sleep, arrested for murder, thrust in jail, hauled out and made to dress in Dorma livery by two Schiopettieri and wait while this… figlio di una puttana lied about him, started laughing. And then, before anyone could intervene, he hopped forward and grabbed Filippo Recchia by the silk shirtfront. Marco watched as Benito kneed straight-nosed, handsome Filippo champion-of-the-fencing-salle-Recchia in the testicles?and then punched his face, once, twice, as he bent forward.

Marco noticed that the huge, solid young knight who had wandered in put his glass down and clapped. Once, twice, before the Schiopettieri dragged Benito off Recchia.

The chief justice managed to keep an absolute straight face. He was possibly the only one in the chamber to do so. "Perjury and the bearing of false witness, especially in such a serious case as this is a serious offense, with which you will be charged, Filippo Recchia and Vittorio Toromelli. Your false testimony also places you under extreme suspicion of being party to the murder…"

"I was in Zianetti's!" choked Recchia, still clutching his groin. "I can prove it. I was nowhere near the scene. I just heard about the dagger and?"

"Enough." The chief justice silenced him. "Benito Valdosta. Brawling in public places carries certain penalties. You are hereby fined one ducat, considering the extreme provocation. When that is paid you are free to go." Then he paused. "Wait. There is still the matter of the dagger and your whereabouts last night."

"Ahem." Petro cleared his throat. "The dagger was a transparent attempt to put blame on Valdosta. Anyone could buy one and color the tassels. Only a fool would use such a weapon?and leave it on the scene, eh, Your Honor? In my opinion, it's a base political thrust at Dorma, as the Valdosta boys are my wards and my kin."

Again, he cleared his throat. "As for the refusal to say where he was, Your Honor… a gentleman's obligations, you understand… a young lady by the name of Maria?no last names, please!?surely no one will insist…"

Marco watched his younger brother blush absolutely puce. "How the hell did you know?" Benito demanded.

Not even the chief justice could keep a straight face any more.

The door to the chamber burst open. Marco saw an extremely distraught, sobbing Case Vecchie woman standing there. It took him a few moments of incredulous staring to realize that it was Kat.

"I…" She swallowed. "I've come to confess! I murdered Bishop Capuletti. On the Fondamenta Pruili?last night, just before midnight."

The chief justice looked at her "Ah. The mysterious Maria."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "No. Katerina Montescue."

A look of wary understanding dawned across the chief justice's face. He was, after all, a man of about sixty who knew a great deal about the wrangles of the various families of the Case Vecchie. He looked at Benito "Valdosta…" Then at Kat. "And you would be Lodovico Montescue's granddaughter?" His voice held both understanding and trepidation.

Kat nodded.

The chief justice shook his head. "No wonder…" He sighed. "I suppose I can expect old Lodovico here any minute with real murder in mind?"

The Campanile bell chimed. When it was still, the chief justice continued. "But right now I am going to listen to the captain of that galliot. Out. All of you except Recchia and Toromelli. They can remain with the Schiopettieri until I return." He looked at Benito. "You might have been safer in jail, boy."