This Rough Magic

Right now, Marco was not going to listen to a litany of Kat's past sins. 'Kat's worried about you, Benito. And so am I.'

Benito could tell by the set of Marco's shoulders that his older brother wasn't enjoying this. He also knew Marco well enough to know that when Marco had decided that something must be done, it would be done. Still, Benito didn't enjoy this sort of thing either, and he was damned if he'd make it too easy for Marco.

'Well, stop worrying, Marco. I'm grown up enough to look after myself. I'm the one who usually ends up looking after you, remember. Or do I need to remind you of your little escapade with the love letters to Angelina, that got you into such a mess in the Jesolo marshes?'

Marco winced. 'That was then. I'm older and wiser now.'

Benito cocked an ear. Upstairs somewhere he could hear Angelina's shrill voice, berating a servant for something. Despite the fact that she was supposedly staying in one of the Dorma villas on the mainland, Angelina was forever finding some excuse to come back to Venice, to the Casa Dorma. 'And heaven knows you've paid for it, Marco. What news on the annulment?' Perhaps he could head Marco off the lecture on his way of life.

Marco looked gloomy. 'She's balking about which convent and which Order again. I really don't think she wants to go to one. I feel sorry for her. She's not really suited to a contemplative life.' But Marco was obviously determined not to lose track. 'But I want to talk about you, not my troubles. You can't go on like this, Benito.'

Privately Benito thought Angelina would be better suited to a brothel than a cloister, but saying that would offend Marco. Marco was a sympathetic soul; Benito didn't like to offend him unnecessarily. He was very fond of his brother.

It would also probably also offend Petro Dorma, who was the Doge and their protector as well as Angelina's brother. Petro was not a sympathetic soul, or wise to offend, although these days Benito was often tempted. Anything to get out of here. 'Like what, Brother?'

Marco shrugged helplessly. 'The parties. The women. The drunkenness. The fights.'

Benito shrugged in return. 'The way I live my life is no concern of yours, Marco. Or of Kat's. Leave me alone.'

Marco responded by putting an arm over Benito's shoulders. 'You've got to get over her, Brother. She had a right to make her own choices. Maria wasn't ever the kind of person you could force to do anything.'

Benito shrugged off the arm. 'She's just a woman. Like all other women.'

Marco stepped back, and this time he had more than a mere suggestion of a frown. 'Benito, that's got to be about the dumbest thing you have ever said, and you've said some really . . .'

'Ahem.' The servant at the doorway coughed. 'Milor'. Milord Dorma wants to see you in his office. Immediately.'

He left the two brothers, still glaring at each other. 'Who did he mean?' said Benito finally.

'Probably you,' said Marco curtly. 'Kat and I are not the only ones to hear about your stupid escapades. Especially last night's stunt. Well, I'd better come along and put in a good word for you.'

Benito tried to remember the details of last night. Truth to tell, he couldn't. He wondered what the hell he had done; he certainly wasn't prepared to ask Marco!

'I don't need your help,' he said, sullenly, setting off up the passage. When Petro issued this sort of summons, nobody, but nobody, actually dawdled. It was a bit of a mystery to Benito. The head of the Casa Dorma was plumpish, balding and good-natured, so how come everybody jumped when he said 'frog'?

'I'm coming anyway,' said Marco, his long strides easily catching up with his shorter brother. 'We Valdosta stick together. Besides, he may want me, not you.'

'Ha.' But it was mildly said. The Valdosta brothers did stick together; for many years they'd had no one and nothing else. Marco's loyalty touched him as nothing else, and when they walked into Petro Dorma's office, and Benito saw Angelina already there, looking ready for a five-star tantrum, he realized his brother might actually be the one who needed help, this time. Petro had been calling for Marco after all.

The Doge looked at him with a mixture of irritation and surprise. 'What are you doing here, Benito? Aren't you are supposed to be at dancing classes or something?'

Best to dodge that one. He was in fact supposed to be at an elocution and poetry class that Dorma's mother insisted he take 'to get rid of that working-class accent.' Neither poetry nor dandified dottori from the Accademia, nor a desire to speak like the Case Vecchie motivated him. Besides, he'd been sleeping off last night.

'Came to support Marco,' he said stoutly. 'He's my brother, after all, and Grandfather said I was to look after him.'

That was true enough, and when your grandfather was Duke Enrico Dell'este, one of Venice's greatest allies . . . it carried influence. Even if Benito had not spent much time with the old man since he'd been eight years old.

'Humph. Stay then. Even though this really has nothing to do with you.' Dorma tapped the inlaid desk in front of him. 'This is a document of the annulment of your marriage from the Grand Metropolitan in Rome. You will both sign it now. Angelina, I have arranged for you to take up the novitiate in the Carmelite sisterhood with the Cloister of Santa Lucia Della Monte outside Verona. Your escort will leave with you before Terce bell.'

He said it like he meant it. He said it in a way that Petro Dorma, Angelina's indulgent brother, had never spoken before. Benito blinked.

'What!' squawked Angelina, rage flying banners in her cheeks. 'I won't!'

'You agreed to,' said Petro, calmly but implacably.

I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you, Angelina, Benito thought warily. Or he might send you to some Pauline sisterhood in Sweden.