Jo Kilian - The Tiepolo mystery

“Count Falkenberg, what kind of a lame duck do you think you are?”

He didn’t react angrily. Why, she even laughed and made faces, so that one would think an unruly, impertinent whore had secretly mingled with the high class. And the pasha didn’t bother to draw his crooked Turkish sable for revenge, for he began to throw sweets and fruit as his own ammunition. They flew around Lorenzo’s ears like cannon balls.

“Faster!” The whip obeyed; her new goal was the next sled.

“More!” she encouraged Lorenzo, “give me more”, and once again he passed candies and fruit to her.

Considering the way the countess greeted her new enemy, it was obvious they were dealing with another type of foe. This time no insults were spewed out, but instead a questionable flirt.

“My dear husband”, she purred, “do you dare contest me?” The count, dressed in a Roman emperor costume, was not willing. He listlessly waved her off, and instead provoked the countess by taking a sip of wine.

“Are you chicken? Here, take that!” and a handful of candies flew around his ears.

“You’re making a fool of yourself”, he said indignantly.

She continued to taunt him. “You’re a lying loser!”

He acknowledged her with a haughty laugh. “Charm has never been your best virtue.”

“If you call yourself a real man”, she screamed, “then try at least to challenge me! Or are your aristocratic pants full?”

She burst out into a loud forced laugh.

Lorenzo felt his stomach turn. “Countess, wouldn’t you prefer to choose someone else?” He pointed at the sleds in front and behind them, as well as the many carriages parked along the side of the road. Folks were busy collecting confectionary and fruit and putting them into their bags. Among them, children were throwing snowballs at each other, when suddenly a snowball was tossed in the wrong direction and flew from the midst of the turmoil into the festive parade.

Was it fate? Most likely a catastrophic accident that a snowball landed right smack in the middle of the count’s face. He ordered the sled to an immediate halt.

“Bravo!” the countess applauded. “What a perfect shot.” She ordered her sled to stop as well. Lorenzo jumped off and offered her his helping hand.

Holding his injured eye, the count demanded the whip from his sleigh driver. He then stomped through the snow toward the unfortunate group. “Who did this?!”

They all drew back, no one answered.

“One more time; which one of you attacked me?”

The countess stepped up to the count and tried to calm him down. “It was a dumb coincidence, dear husband; nothing more. Let’s go back, before we lose the others.”

Retreating wasn’t an alternative for the count. His first priority was to get revenge for being humilated. “One last time!” he yelled at the group. “Step up now, and I’ll leave it at a dozen whips.”

That wasn’t such a great bargain for a confession. Just about all of them saved themselves, though, by taking off into the night. Only one boy and a girl didn’t seem to realize how serious the situation was. They continued to throw snow at each other, and frolicked around like two young puppies.

“You there!” he ordered, “come here”, which they did, without expecting a thing.

Perhaps he’s handing out an extra portion of confectionery. Their faces, a bit darker and more ascetic than the locals, beamed with joy. Their clothing looked foreign, not from the local city, but more from the southern region.

Lorenzo thought, they must be travelers or traders or …

“Disrespectful, ungodly brute!” The count scolded and began to beat them with a massive whipping. The children fell crying to the ground, begging for mercy.

“Hold on”, the countess said, grabbing his arm. “You are chastising innocent children.”

“No one is innocent”, and with a hefty shove he pushed her into the snow and continued to whip the children’s bloody backs. “I’ll teach you never again to insult a cultivated nobleman of rank and honor.”

Count Falkenberg, the Turkish pasha, stopped his sled as well and pleaded, “Count de Valois, that’s enough! You’ll kill them!”

A third aristocrat, dressed as Aphrodite or Helena in a magnificent fur, joined them. “Count, get a hold of yourself”, but it was all in vain. “Baroness de Fleury, stick to your lovers. I am just carrying out justice.”

Lorenzo gathered all his courage together, and threw himself at the count’s feet. “Most gracious master and lord, show mercy, for they didn’t know what they were doing.”

“That doesn’t protect them from being punished”, Count de Valois answered. “Move over, before you get the whip too.”

“Master, I beg of you …”

“As you wish!” The whip rose, when suddenly a man and a woman appeared from out of the darkness. They gathered their sobbing children into their arms, while the man demanded an explanation for what was taking place.

“Per amor del cielo! Che cosa è successo?” For God’s sake! What is going on?

Lorenzo recognized his accent. He had guessed their origin correctly. They were from his country, although the man spoke in an unusual dialect. Genoese? Neapolitan? People from there were to be taken seriously, as far as honor and their families were concerned. Special caution was called for.

The man’s face distorted into a bloody rage, and he attacked the count with a short blade in his hand. “Che cosa hai fatto?!” What have you done? !

At first the count was taken completely by surprise and stepped back at the atrocity, till he realized his situation, and changed his stance to attack. The whip flashed through the winter air – three, four, a dozen times. That’s when the sleigh driver leaped to assist his master and helped beat the unfortunate man down.

Lorenzo was breathing heavily, not from pain, but from the weight bearing down on his body. Warm blood dripped on his cheek and eyes. The crying and sobbing from the children penetrated his ears. Finally, something he never would have thought possible, he heard a familiar voice.

“Lorenzo! Where are you?” It was Angelo, his guardian angel and most loyal friend.

He then heard: “Your death – my honor.”

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