They looked doubtfully at each other. The Swiss mercenary guard commander who had been about to be first witness intervened. 'Do what he says. That man is a professional, boys. He'll kill the Justice and chop you into dogmeat if you try and rush him. And if you try to shoot him you'll as likely kill the Justice.'
'Listen to the man. This sword—you all see it? It's the sword of my father, The Wolf of the North. Do you want me to prove I can use it just as well as he could? If you do, just push me. I've come a few hundred leagues, by sea, foot, and bedamned horse, and nearly been drowned, caught or killed a couple of times to bring word about the attack on Corfu. I'm not going to be stopped by some small-minded petty bureaucrat. Now, if you do things my way, we can clear up this little misunderstanding and no one needs to get hurt. Isn't that so, Justice?'
The man squirmed. 'Yes. Just do what he says. You can go free Valdosta. I . . . I meant no harm. Just let me go.'
'And I mean no harm either. I'll let you go just as soon as I've had my say. Now someone can go and fetch Petro Dorma. Then if it's all the same to you I'll go back into exile. I've discovered just how much I hate the pettifogging bureaucracy of this place.'
One of the Schiopettieri cleared his throat nervously. 'Signor Valdosta. The Doge has gone to Verona.'
Benito sighed and raised his eyes briefly to heaven. Very briefly. 'Why don't we just move the whole town there? Very well . . . Is Lodovico Montescue in Venice?'
The two Schiopettieri hastily consulted. 'We think so, signor. We have not heard anything about him going.'
Benito grinned. Lodovico Montescue might be old, but he'd do just fine. He was influential enough to get things moving. And he and Benito saw eye to eye.
'Have him fetched. You.' He pointed to one of the Schiopettieri. 'Go. And don't even think of bringing anyone but Montescue back here. If you let me talk to Lodovico, no one gets hurt. If you bring a bunch of Schioppies charging in here, I'll cut this Capuletti's throat first, and then see how many more of you the sword can bring down before I die. '
Wide-eyed, the Schiopettieri nodded. And went with a degree of speed Benito was sure his plump body hadn't managed for many a year.
'Now,' said Benito, looking at the tableaux of waxworklike people in the chamber, 'the Swiss gentleman with common sense, if you wouldn't mind bolting that door. I've come a long way to bring this story to Venice, and I'd hate to be interrupted while I'm telling it. Also, if something goes wrong and I get killed I'd hate to have failed to bring this warning after all this. Clerk, you will write all of this down.'
The small clerk nodded hastily.
'Right. I won't bother with things you already know about, such as when we left Venice. As our ships were approaching Corfu, we were attacked by two fleets of vessels, Narenta galliots and Byzantine carracks . . .'
He led them through a brief synopsis of the landing in besieged Corfu and his escape from the citadel and his adventures on the way here.
At the end he prodded Justice Capuletti in the ribs. 'I have done my best to serve the interest of the Republic. Yes, I have broken my banishment to do this. Once my warning has been heard I am willing for the Chief Justice of the Republic to pass appropriate sentence. I just wonder whether this man's actions were prompted by malice and a desire for revenge against the
The Swiss mercenary cleared his throat. 'It's something of my fault you're here, milord. I made an error of judgment. Apologies.'
Benito grinned wryly. 'We all make mistakes, soldier. Some of us have the balls to admit it. No hard feelings. I was fairly stupid in my approach.'
The mercenary looked at the door and scratched his chin. 'In my professional opinion, Signor Valdosta, we ought to put a few of these benches across the door, and you should move across to that corner, away from the direct line of fire. If you don't mind, I'll ask these lads to give me a hand.' He jerked a thumb at the Schiopettieri and the clerk.
The Schiopettieri nodded. 'Good idea, signor.'
The clerk stood up nervously. 'Signor Valdosta . . . couldn't we just end all of this now? Now that Justice Capuletti has heard the reasons he understands what you were doing and why. I certainly think we could end this unpleasantness now.'
Benito turned the Justice's head by his forelock. 'Well, Capuletti?'
'Ah . . . yes. Of course. Just let me go.'
Benito shrugged. 'Very well.' He let go of the Justice's pinioned arm. The Justice staggered forward.
And ran for the door. The clerk attempted to stop him and was floored by a flailing fist. But the Schiopettieri stepped in front of the door, his weapon in hand.
'Shoot him! I'm free now! Shoot him!' shrieked the Justice.
The Schiopettieri raised his piece . . . and knocked the Justice to the floor with it.
'You better come and grab him, Signor Valdosta,' said the Schiopettieri, hauling the bloody-faced Justice to his feet. 'Here. Hold him in front of you. They're battering at the door.'
Benito held the half-limp Justice in front of him.
At this point the upper half of the door broke.
'Back. Back off or he gets it,' yelled Benito.
'Just what in the name of heaven is going on here?'
The voice was old, cracking slightly on the upper registers. But Lodovico Montescue's voice was still strong enough to stop everyone in their tracks.
