Jo Kilian - The Tiepolo mystery

“I’m afraid he gets what he deserves.”

“I think she will too.”

It didn’t take longer than a gasp of breath, when a circle formed around the two dancers. Rooting cheers pierced through the ballroom.

“Lift me up”, Lorenzo ordered, and Angelo set him upon his shoulders.

From there, the young Tiepolo had an outlook free of obstruction. What a wonderful inspirational view! Masks – wherever he looked. Smaller ones, for just concealing the eyes, studded with sequins, as well as lavishly decorated facial masks covered with sprouting feathers. Others represented animals like cats, tigers or birds. Some were dressed in black-beaked masks. They prowled around the pest doctor, who was clad in a round hat and a simple flowing garment. He held a cane, in order to keep his distance from ill-stricken souls. Lorenzo felt a chill run down his back.

“Are you frightened, young master?” Angelo asked. He never seemed to miss a thing, despite his long copper-dyed hair hanging down his face. It was his kind of mask, although it was impossible to mistake him for anyone else.

“Pah, never!” Lorenzo lied, aware that he could never fool Angelo. Ever since early childhood, Angelo had stood by his side, played with him, comforted him and protected him. In reality he was more like his big brother, while Domenico worked with his father in the studio.

“I can feel you trembling.”

“You’re mistaken. It’s from joy, not fear.”

“Are you homesick?”

Lorenzo sighed. “I wish mother were here and could celebrate with us. It’s such a splendid fest.”

“I’m sure all her thoughts are with you.”

“And mine with her”, he said quietly and brushed a tear away. “That’s enough now”, he took a deep breath. “I want to have fun. So tell me, what do we do next?” He was in the mood for adventure.

“The pheasant could be tasty.” Hardly an hour passed by without Angelo thinking of food, which was no surprise, since his large muscular body constantly needed sustenance.

“Eighteen dishes and five baskets with the finest confectionery have been passed around”, Lorenzo replied, astonished. “In addition: wine, beer and schnapps. And you’re still not full?”

“I didn’t get a bite.”

“Didn’t anyone serve you in the kitchen?”

“They are afraid of me, young master.”

“How rude!” Determinedly, he pressed his calf into Angelo, who then set him back down. “Wait here; I’ll go get you something.”

“Whatever you say.”

Back on his feet, Lorenzo fought his way between the clapping, singing and swaying guests. This time he wasn’t captivated by the magical costume ball – instead, he was bad-tempered – right down to fury.

“Step aside!” he yelled, without having a clue as to who was behind the French chevalier costume. The next one stood directly in his way, a popular fellow, who wore under his sweaty black hair a frightening dragon mask or some sort of animal with huge nostrils and gaping teeth.

“Where are you heading to, young Tiepolo?”

Lorenzo stopped. “How do you know who I am?” he asked, while grabbing his mask, which he had already pushed up onto his head. “Who are you?”

The dragon removed his mask. It was none other than the master of stucco art – Lombard Antonio Bossi. His father had been regularly meeting the important man, during their recent weeks, concerning the hall’s design. He should be careful.

“Sorry that I didn’t immediately recognize you”, Lorenzo apologized. “My appetite is steering me to the banquet.”

A somewhat stout person stood by Bossi’s side. His ill-fitting Turkish Bork hats, as well as the glued-on blue-black beard, were beginning to lose their hold. No doubt about it; he was Balthasar Neumann, the Würzburg Residence’s building contractor, and according to the prince, the most important commandant of all – especially for Tiepolo.

A rushed, perhaps exaggerated, bow from Lorenzo was meant to make up for his awkwardness. “Greetings, Master Neumann.”

He hardly acknowledged the young boy, for his attention was directed to the guests. Discipline and order were his first priority, making sure no one was getting too carried away. Not far from them, the prince was dining within an elite circle of chosen guests, and Neumann was most certainly one of them. Though not of noble origin, he had been a highly recognized colonel in the struggle before Belgrade, against the Turkish army. In no way was he any less important, since he was the prince’s most valuable servant in this breathtaking building project.

“Where’s your father?” Bossi asked with a thick tongue. “I thought I just saw him.”

“He’s retired for the night. The plans for the great hall have completely occupied his thoughts.”

“He’d be well advised to do so.” Neumann answered unexpectedly, and warned, in a most definite tone, “No way will we risk being tricked by a swindler again.” By that he meant the foxy crook, Visconti, whose reputation was ruined before Tiepolo began his work there. Instead of artistically painting the rooms and ceilings, Visconti hid behind a scaffold and consumed abundant excesses of wine, woman and song. The disgraceful story spread like the speed of wind through the lands, amusing many a gloating soul.

Lorenzo was aware of the high expectations set for Tiepolo. He attempted to appease: “No need for concern. My father will achieve miraculous, innovative masterpieces; I can promise you that. Now please excuse me, my hunger can’t be subdued any longer.”

Just leave as quickly as possible, don’t look back and take more caution. At this party masked gentlemen, disguised as servants, are wandering around.

The long banquet table, set with a variety of food and drinks, looked abandoned, for the distracted guests were intoxicated by Cristina’s permissiveness. Only one of them distanced himself from the commotion. The old court jester, in his common silly green-and-white-striped costume, was decked out in a garland of star-like bells, wrapped around his body and head. Jobless, he wasted away, drunk, in a corner. Lorenzo sympathized with him. What good is a fool among a crowd offools?

When, suddenly, someone grabbed his arm. “Come with me!” Domenico ordered, out of breath and bathed in sweat. “Cristina is steering us all into disaster.”

“Let me go!” Lorenzo squirmed. “Angelo hasn’t had anything to …” But in vain; protesting was a waste of time. Angelo showed up behind Domenico, for he hadn’t taken his eyes off his assigned charge.

“This won’t end well at all”, he said.

“It’s her problem as to how she will explain herself to father. She’s possessed!”

Any further arguments or fighting back was futile. Domenico pulled his brother out of the ballroom, out to the wide empty hallway, where voices faded away and were lost in shadows.

“We can’t just leave her behind”, Lorenzo protested.

Domenico didn’t want to hear another word. “Yes we can.”

Lorenzo glanced back with a pleading look. “Angelo …”

The words sounded like: “Fate will take care of her.”

The further they walked away, the less the noise, till it disappeared into the background. Continuing through the palace’s long dark corridors, they soon lost their bearings. The number of construction sites changed daily, as well as the points of orientation. It didn’t take long till they didn’t have a clue as to where they were.

“Porco Giuda!” Domenico swore – where the devil. “Where are our chambers?”

“We should have taken the other turn”, Angelo answered.

“Why didn’t you say that right away?”

“You took the lead.”

“Guard your tongue!”