'Yes, servants of Satan have no place demanding sanctuary,' put in one of the two monks unctuously. 'Such rights should be denied the likes of them. And the abbot is your superior!'
That was apparently the wrong thing to say to Ugo Boldoni. His spine straightened. 'You attempted to remove them from the sanctuary of the Church? You? You had no right!' He glared at the abbot. 'Nor is he my 'superior.' In this see, that is the Metropolitan Michael--no other! In this church I am the final arbiter.'
The little priest's anger was peppery hot. 'Get out of this church! Get out right now. Go.'
And that was enough--more than enough--to end the whole affair. The knights were entirely in support of the priest, not the abbot. Within a minute, all of them were gone, the abbot and the two monks scurrying ahead of the knights as if afraid that if they didn't move fast enough they would be manhandled out. Which, Kat suspected, was not far from the truth. On the way out, Manfred seized the still-groaning Pappenheim by the scruff of the neck and, using only one hand, dragged him out of the church as easily as he might drag a sack of onions.
* * *
When they'd gone, Father Ugo turned to Katerina. 'Just what are you doing here, milady? The Casa Montescue is a long way from here, and it is late.'
Kat shrugged. Boldoni's father had been a sailing master. A good one too, apparently. And it showed in the son's manner, she reflected. 'About my father's business,' she said quietly. She knew that he'd know that Carlo Montescue was long overdue back from sea. Missing; presumed, by nearly all, dead.
Ugo nodded. He knew perfectly well that the Montescue might be Case Vecchie, but they were in financial trouble. All of Venice knew quickly enough whenever one of the famous old houses fell into difficult times. And knew as well, that there were some tasks only family could be relied upon to do.
'You swear that there is no truth in what that abbot said? Your soul is clean?'
'I swear by all the Saints and upon the holy cross that it was a complete lie.' Her conscience twinged slightly. 'These two children are naughty, but were not practicing any kind of witchcraft.'
She took a deep breath and turned around, so that Ugo could not see. She reached into the pouch and took out one of the ducats. The Casa Montescue was in a desperate state, but not that desperate. Not compared to those two children, still wide-eyed and frightened. She returned the bag to its warm nest and turned around.
'Here.' She held out the coin.
Father Ugo's eyes bulged slightly. Ducats didn't come his way often. But he was of iron principle. 'You cannot pay me to free you of sin, Katerina,' he said, sounding extremely doubtful.
'It's not for you. It is for those two children. A small thank you to God for sparing me from the Servants of the Holy Trinity.'
His voice was troubled. 'They do God's work, Katerina Montescue.'
'That one young blond knight did God's work. Had it not been for him, that abbot . . .' She shuddered. 'Anyway, forget it. I'm grateful. So is Montescue. So take this for those two children you also saved.'
He took the warm ducat. 'I'll buy a candle.'
Kat shook her head. 'Food. They'd only play with the candle!'
It was the ragged little girl's turn to shake her head. So fiercely that it looked as if it would come off her skinny shoulders. 'Never play with no candles no more.' She looked earnestly up at the priest. 'Promise!'
A smile lit Father Ugo's countenance. He patted the children's heads gently. 'Do you both promise?'
They both nodded, eyes still wide with fright.
'Good! When the rain is over I will go and check that the Servants have really left. Now, I think we will go to the altar and I will lead you all in some prayers. Tomorrow I will go to speak with Monsignor about this. Be easy, Katerina. He is Venetian, you know.'
* * *
As the party of knights and monks trudged through the rain, Erik and Manfred bringing up the rear, Von Gherens paused to allow them to catch up with him. Then, walking alongside, spoke softly.
'I am forever in your debt, Hakkonsen.' His square, solemn face was creased with worry. 'I fear I have allowed myself . . .' The next words were almost hissed. 'Damn the Servants and their witch-hunts, anyway! They're twisting my mind. Sachs sees a witch under every cobblestone in Venice.'
