'Fortunato Bespi.'
The chair came down with a thump. The Old Fox looked anything but cheerful. Then he shook his head sharply.
'All right, Antimo. You've succeeded! For once you have brought me a piece of information that was so totally unexpected I was at a loss. Bespi! Who would have thought it? All reports claimed he was dead. That he should turn up protecting Lorendana's children is . . . bizarre.'
There was a long silence. The duke sat quietly. After a moment, he turned his lined old face away from Bartelozzi and stared blindly at a far wall. Moisture welled in his eyes, and, eventually, slowly, a tear found its way down one cheek.
At length Antimo Bartelozzi cleared his throat. 'What do you wish done about the matter, milord?'
The Old Fox rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Nothing,' he said harshly. 'Lorendana made her choices. It may be that I failed her as a father. She was a very beautiful child, Antimo. Maybe I indulged her more than I should have. But, nonetheless, she made her own decisions. She lived by them and she died by them. Bespi was a fanatic. Had he murdered her for money, I would have had him assassinated at the time as a message: Killing a Dell'este for money guarantees you will not live to spend it. But Bespi killed to orders, because he was a single- minded fanatic. I would have done as well to have my revenge on a knife. Still true.'
He peered at Bartelozzi, his eyes once again as sharp and dry as usual. 'Tell me this, however: are you certain that Bespi guards them?'
The agent nodded. 'Yes, milord. He could have killed both boys in the swamp as easily as he could two chickens. You know that as well as I. Bespi is--deadly. And I've watched him myself since he returned to the city. A mother hen puts in far less effort caring for its chicks. You know, my lord, how a fanatical foe can turn into the most loyal of defenders, if you can change their hearts.'
The Old Fox looked at the man who had many years ago been sent to kill him. 'I know that, Antimo,' he said quietly.
There was silence, for a moment. Then the Duke of Ferrara clapped his hands in a quick and decisive gesture. 'Enough! I trust your judgment. Now, let us turn to the general situation in Venice. The Council of Ten: what of Calenti?'
Antimo shook himself back to the present. 'Lord Calenti remains apparently neutral, milord. But . . . we have discovered he has been having a very discreet liaison with Lucrezia Brunelli.'
The Old Fox raised an eyebrow. 'She's a busy woman. She must have to apportion her time carefully. She's been linked to several other people whom we have watched. Well . . . does this lean him toward the Metropolitans?'
The agent shook his head. 'Based on Lucrezia's other . . . paramours . . . I would guess that the tendency is not in favor of her brother's party. Lucrezia is her own woman. Ricardo Brunelli thinks his sister draws her suitors to him. But of the ardent suitors and possible lovers we know of--quite a number have Montagnard sympathies or contacts. Count Badoero, for example.'
'A bad egg if there ever was one,' said the Old Fox. 'Lord Calenti will bear watching. And what of Petro Dorma? Have there been any repercussions from Marco's foray into poetry?'
Antimo shook his head. 'No, milord. Apparently, Lord Dorma stifled the usual 'young bravo' sentiment within his own house quite decisively. I have to say I'm growing increasingly impressed by the man. I think he remains our best bet among the Council of Ten.'
The Old Fox reached for his quill. 'So am I. Well, then. Let us see if we can arrange a little warming of relations between the Dell'este and Dorma. I think the blade that is my grandson Marco has been tempered. It is time to start using it. Let us see if my enemies dare to move openly--when the head of a reborn Casa Valdosta stands forth in Venice under his rightful name.'
Antimo looked perturbed. 'He may be killed, milord.'
The Old Fox shrugged. 'If he is, then we will know he was poorly tempered steel,' he said quietly.
* * *
When Eneko returned from Ferrara, he said nothing to his companions at first. He simply unwrapped the small parcel he brought with him, and showed them what it contained.
Diego hissed. 'Dear God, what a resemblance.'
'There is a much larger portrait at Dell'este, in which the resemblance is even more striking. But the duke gave me this miniature.'
'Why?' asked Pierre.
