Her breasts were tiny beneath her thin smock. Its hem showing more leg than was decent in a girl of her age. Tycho tried to imagine her naked, or half exposed with one breast visible and a trickle of blood beneath.
"You're hurting me."
No, if he was hurting her she'd know.
"Your name?" he demanded.
The girl hesitated, wincing as his fingers gripped tighter. "Rosalyn," she said. "And I'm sorry about your shackle… Josh sold it," she added. "I stole it, but Josh sold it. I'm sorry."
"What shackle?"
She really looked at him then.
Tycho knew there had been chains. They trapped him in darkness and held him fast. He had fleeting memories of those chains. Fire, then chains.
"The shackle that was hurting…"
Reaching his wrist, Rosalyn lifted it into the moonlight, gaping at the perfect skin where scars should be. The shock in her face was enough to make Tycho remember scars should be there too. He would have said so, but she had already dragged herself from his grip, and was pushing through the crowd, with her head down and her shoulders hunched, careful not to look back.
Tycho let her go.
17
The lamp was about to burn out when Giulietta heard footsteps beyond the sacristy door. Warmest room in the basilica or not, she was frozen and fed up with waiting. Her fingers were so cold her knuckles ached, and she'd been reduced to folding her arms over her chest and tucking her fingers into her armpits.
"Well. What did Uncle Alonzo say?"
She didn't expect the patriarch to have much success. He was allowed into San Marco at will and his unofficial palazzo, behind the basilica, shared a small garden with the ducal palace; but those were concessions Marco Polo offered for acceptance of his family's legitimacy. San Pietro di Castello, Venice's official cathedral, and Theodore's formal palace, were on the city's edge for a reason.
Mostly Uncle Alonzo got what he wanted. Unless, of course, Aunt Alexa objected strongly. If she did, she'd have stopped this already. That was the conclusion Giulietta had reached as she nursed her frozen fingers, shuffled her feet and wished she'd thought to visit the privy before this.
Here came Theodore to give her the bad news. Only the hooded figure in the doorway was not the patriarch. For a second, Giulietta believed that the silver-haired boy was back. But he wasn't this tall.
Other hooded figures appeared behind the first.
Wolf Brothers, she thought, feeling her guts lurch. Then she heard a clang as the man in the doorway turned and his dagger hilt hit the arch, and knew she was wrong. Krieghund went unarmoured. At least the ones that inhabited her nightmares did. When the man drew his dagger, Giulietta grabbed an altar cross, muttering an apology to God as she reversed it to use as a weapon.
The man laughed.
So she swung the cross hard, its base denting his vambrace as he threw up an arm to protect herself. The blow rang like a bell. His dagger landed on the sacristy floor.
"Laugh at that," she said.
When he retreated, Giulietta saw his face in the lamplight. A hooked nose, a sharp beard and a smile so cruel she shivered. "You burnt our ship," he said over loudly. "So now we kill you. Or you come with us…"
A man behind raised a crossbow.
"First," she said. "I must replace this."
Replacing the silver cross, Giulietta lifted the chalice from where it rested on the vestment chest, kissed it as if obeying some obscure rite and put the chalice carefully on the altar beside the cross. As she did, she palmed the wedding ring it contained.
"You're sure she's the right one?"
Grabbing her, their leader wrapped his fingers in her hair, and yanked back her head to take a better look. She would have tripped if his grip hadn't kept her upright. She found herself staring at a man with a golden earring.
"Oh yes," he said. "This is her." Oars slapped against water and Lady Giulietta felt the boat rock as it drew away from a jetty. A man spoke once, his words guttural and only half heard through the darkness of the rug wrapped around her. All she could hear after this was the creaking of the boat which stole her away.
Later she realised her hand was still clenched. Pins and needles stabbed it, but clutching her fingers confirmed something she hadn't dared hope. She still had the ring she'd grabbed from the altar.
Uncle Alonzo might have spent his life demanding demons take her. But he'd come after the sacred ring, Giulietta had no doubt of that. Without it, how could Marco marry the sea?
18
"Well?" The Regent's fury could be heard through the door of the Sala Scarlatti. In fact it could be heard down the corridor outside. And since the corridor was open to the courtyard, it could be heard by the stair guards, servants in the kitchen and a cat crossing snow-smattered flagstones in the courtyard.
Only the cat reacted, twitching in irritation. The guards and kitchen servants knew better. They heard nothing and saw nothing. "Well?" Prince Alonzo's voice was quieter this time. Hardly more than a bellow.
"My lord… We are searching."
"Search harder."
Captain Roderigo withdrew, risking a sigh as the door shut behind him. It could have gone worse. He'd walked out with his life. Something that had been by no means certain when he walked in. He would issue orders that his men should search ships faster. It would make little difference. They were searching as hard and as fast as they could.
In San Nicolo and Castello, the Watch swept through parishes that had hardly been policed in fifty years. Rookeries scattered, child brothels shut their doors, hazard dens threw loaded dice into canals. The frenzy lasted until the beggar kings, panders and den owners realised they weren't the target.
The Watch were both frenzied and tight-lipped. The whole city, from lowest to highest, knew they searched for something. Only a handful knew what. Some imagined the Ten had news of the missing glass-blower. Others insisted a philosopher's stone had been hidden in the city. A monk caused a riot by announcing Dr. Crow had disappeared, having spent the city's treasure trying to create an elixir of life. Cooler heads suggested the Watch hunted a spy.
Many wondered why the Watch hunted where it did. In the foreign sections of the city. Among the Mamluks, the Seljuks, the Moors and the Jews. Among those who kept their women's faces covered, and their mothers, sisters and daughters locked behind doors. Captain Roderigo could have told them. But he kept his secrets, and hoped this would be enough to let him keep his life. "We should have moved them…"
Antonio Cove was a black beetle. A small, old and hunchbacked one. If dung beetles became human this was how they would look. In his defence, the count was rich, and knew where most of the bodies were buried, having helped Duke Marco III, and lately Prince Alonzo, bury many of them himself. He was the oldest member of the Council of Ten, who controlled Venice under the duke. As such, his opinions had to be respected. No matter how hard that sometimes proved.
"Moved whom?" Alonzo asked.
"The Jews. The Schiavoni. The Mamluks. The leather-boiling workshops. Those stinking urine pits their tanners use. Why don't we just banish them all to the mainland? We could…"
"Count."
The man stopped talking.
"We have more important things to discuss."
"Yes," said Duchess Alexa. "We have. Explain again why my niece Giulietta was hiding in the basilica. While you met the patriarch here? And how you came to escort Archbishop Theodore back to his palace in San Pietro with a troop of your own guard? I'm sure my son would love to know."
Duke Marco IV, theoretical head of the inner council, looked more interested in his fingernails.
"It's a spiritual matter," the Regent said.
"Which is why Theodore has taken to his bed?"
"He's old. The shock of hearing about Giulietta." Prince Alonzo looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't kill him. We should be concentrating on getting her back."
"First we need to know who stole her."
"Indeed,
" said Alonzo. "I was going to ask you if you had an opinion on that." He held Duchess Alexa's gaze.
"The Abrahams," Count Cove's voice was bitter. "Who else? I dread to think what those fiends…"
Foam flecked the corners of his mouth.
"I doubt it," Duchess Alexa said. "This is one of the few cities where they're allowed to live in peace. Why foul their own nest? There has to be a better answer. Remember what Marco always said?"
Prince Alonzo's scowl showed what he thought of dragging his brother into this. Since this was who she meant. No one was about to start quoting the thumb-sucking fool kicking his heels in her late husband's place.
"No doubt you'll tell us."
"Who gains?" Duchess Alexa said calmly. "That was always Marco's question after an attack or murder. "Who gains from this?"
"No one," the beetle said triumphantly. "That's why it has to be…" A hard knock at the door stopped Count Cove before Alexa had to.
Kneeling to the duke, Roderigo bowed to Prince Alonzo and Alexa, and nodded to the rest, his apology for interrupting their meeting. His face was pale beneath his curling hair. He had trouble meeting anyone's eyes.
Marco IV, Duke of Venice, stopped kicking his feet. A beautiful smile spread across his face. "Y-y-you've found my butterfly?"
"No, your highness."
Everyone was so shocked Marco had spoken, they almost forgot to listen to Roderigo's answer. "But we found this." Producing a dagger from under his cloak, he placed it carefully at the duke's feet.
As guards hurried forward, Alexa waved them back.
"You know the law," Prince Alonzo said. "No weapons in this chamber."
"Yes, sir. I thought…"
Duchess Alexa was out of her chair, the others standing as she rose. Dropping to a crouch she flicked back her veil to examine the weapon. "Mamluk," she said. "Maybe Seljuk or Moorish. Where was this found?"
"Below the Riva degli Schiavoni."
She waited for him to explain the significance.
"If Lady Giulietta's abductors headed north, through the patriarch's garden, then chose Zalizzada San Provolo, they would have been able to cut south and reach the Riva without raising suspicion. At that time of night…" Everyone knew. At that time of night the Riva would have been filled with drunken crews from ships anchored in the lagoon.
"Anything else?" Alexa asked.
"An unflagged ship slipped through the sandbanks before dawn. Its oarsmen rowing against the tide."
"Galley slaves, you mean," Alonzo said crossly.
Serenissima's galleys used freemen. The Mamluks and Moors, Byzantines, Cypriots and Genoese used slaves. Some Venetians captured at sea served the Barbary pirates. But they were few. Marco III had extracted such revenge for attacks on his fleets that fewer Venetians now languished under the whip than ever before.
"How could you let this happen?"
A question on which Roderigo's life hung.
Although Roderigo knew it was already lost if anyone discovered what had really happened out on the lagoon the night the Mamluk ship burnt. A Mamluk princess killed. Now a Millioni princess abducted in revenge. A new ship slipping away at night. Roderigo needed to avoid laying these strands at Duke Marco's kicking feet. Only to have Prince Alonzo tie them neatly into a knot.
"You saw this ship leave yourself?" Duchess Alexa sounded acid.
"No, my lady. I was told."
"What nationality?"
"We don't know." Roderigo swallowed.
"Why not?" the Regent demanded. "What's the point of a Dogana chief who doesn't register vessels as they arrive in our lagoon?"
"My lord, there are five hundred ships out there. It often takes us more than a day to give them a place in the quarantine line."
"I'm not interested in excuses."
"We can deal with details later." Duchess Alexa was firm. "If Captain Roderigo has been lax he will be fined. If his men have failed they will be flogged. If treason is involved people will die. That is not the issue. Assume the Mamluks took Giulietta. Now ask, why?"
"W-w-why why?" Duke Marco asked. "Even, w-why why why?"
"Because," his mother said patiently. "If we don't know why they've taken her. How will we know what they want to give her back?"
"She's nice. Perhaps they'll keep her."
"Does he have to be here?" Prince Alonzo hissed.
"Without him there is no Council."
"Enter," the duke shouted. "Sweet bird."
Prince Alonzo and the duchess were still glaring when a guard suddenly knocked and the door was thrown open. In bustled a soft-faced man in scarlet, dragging a dark-haired girl behind him. She dressed as one might for walking. Since she was plump, pink and healthy-and he was old-she obviously allowed herself to be dragged. Her embarrassed yet defiant expression suggested to Duchess Alexa that this was her father. She had some experience in such matters.
"Lord Bribanzo…?"
The old man let go long enough to bow, turning back as if expecting his captive to be sprinting for the door. "I'm sorry to be late." He hesitated. "I have family problems of my own. Of course, if now is an inopportune time…"
The smile Prince Alonzo fixed into place belonged to a man who had borrowed fifty thousand gold ducats from Lord Bribanzo and had yet to repay them. "For you, we always have time."
"And this is your daughter?" Alexa said.
"It is, my lady."
Yes. She rather thought it was.
"She's joined our Council without my being told?"
There was an edge to the duchess's question. Even a man as distracted as Bribanzo understood that. "No, my lady. Of course not…"
"But you consider her a matter for the Ten?"
Being a matter for the Council was two-edged. They were the law in Venice, and in the city's fiefs on the mainland and in her colonies beyond. They found in your favour. Or they found against you. There was no appeal.
"I have been wronged," Bribanzo said.
"An unwelcome suitor, perhaps?"
"That's one way to put it…" Catching his temper, Bribanzo spread his hands apologetically. "This has political implications for the city, my lady. I've been in Milan, with Prince Alonzo's permission."
Have you now?
Alexa scowled "The Duke of Milan is our enemy."
"Alliances change," said Alonzo. "Milan needs access to the Adriatic. We could use an ally in the north. The ill will between our cities makes little sense. To me it never has." This was as close as he'd come to outright criticism of his late brother's policies.
"So you approved Lord Bribanzo's journey?"
"We gain an ally and lose an enemy. In Desdaio, Milan gains a duchess. A Venetian-born duchess," Alonzo stressed. "Whose father is a member of the Ten."
And Duke Gian Maria Visconti gains Desdaio's dowry?
Nothing else would persuade Milan's new duke to agree. Gian Maria had just fought a ruinously expensive war. So Bribanzo's gold would be welcome. His daughter's links to Venice less so.
"Months of negotiation," Bribanzo protested. "Weeks on the finer points." He meant how much Gian Maria wanted for making Desdaio a duchess. "All wasted unless we can hush this up."
"Hush what up?" asked Alexa.
"A heathen has ruined her. Stolen the flower of my pride and…" Bribanzo stopped, unable to finish.
"Wronged her? Or wronged you?"
The young woman was staring at the floor, blushing to the roots of her curling chestnut hair. She was pretty in a lush way. Breasts young men would like, full and firm. Wide hips and a soft stomach. Alexa had no doubt her bottom wiggled as she walked.
"They are betrothed," her father said furiously.
The duchess could see how that might upset him. Lord Bribanzo's strongroom was apparently so stuffed with gold ducats that his palace had needed new foundations. As well gold didn't tarnish in salt water. Since Ca' Bribanzo was as prone to flooding as the next house.
"Gian Maria Visconti was your idea?"
"Or Cosim
o de' Medici. He'd do."
Someone snorted and Bribanzo's chin went up. He was unapologetic about his ambition. How had Cosimo's father secured Florence if not by being rich and ruthless?
"You don't think Venice has young men to offer?"
Lord Bribanzo knew he'd strayed on to treacherous ground. This time he took longer to answer, and his voice was calmer when he did. "My lady, many worthy Venetians have wished for a union. Any one of them would have been preferable to this… Mamluk."
"He's not a Mamluk." These were the first words Lady Desdaio uttered. "And I'm not ruined…"
"What is he then?" Alonzo asked.
She dropped the Regent a curtsy. "A Moor, my lord."
Alonzo snorted. "Not much difference. They're all more trouble than is wise. It's time we reminded the heathens of our power. Venice is a great city. A kind city. A good city…" He glanced round, checking he had the court's attention. Bribanzo and Count Cove were nodding. Even the guards at the door looked attentive. Despite tradition demanding they hear nothing. "But we don't want our kindness mistaken for weakness." Opening her mouth to refute him, Alexa decided not to bother. She'd heard it all before.
"You'll punish him?"
Lord Bribanzo wanted more than his daughter back. He wanted his pound of flesh for the insult to his ambitions. He wanted a warning issued to anyone else who thought they could trick their way to his fortune. "A public flogging at the least?"
"Guards," Alonzo said. "Fetch this man!"
"My lord…" Bribanzo was meant to look grateful not embarrassed by this gesture of support from the Regent. "I've already sent for him."
The Regent considered this. Lord Bribanzo was within his rights. Any member of the Ten could demand the attention of anyone in the city.
"Then we wait," Alonzo said. The grounding of spears on marble outside the chamber announced that guards had crossed their halberds, barring entrance to the prisoner and his escort.
Alexa heard one demand their business.
The answer had metal creaking, as a guard turned the huge handle of the council chamber door. That was when Alexa realised her son was grinning. Sprawled like a skinny black spider across his throne, Marco had one leg dangling over its gilded arm, his shoulder twisted at an ugly angle, and was grinning fit to burst.
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