'Gentlemen, please,' said Grimaldi. 'The Master may be able to advise the Committee of Forty-One when they meet to elect the new Doge, but he cannot sway them. And for all we know, the Master may be thinking of someone quite other than either of you.'
'You mean yourself?' said Silvio incredulously, while Marco merely gave vent to a sneering laugh.
'And why not? I'm the one who's put in all the real graft!'
'Signori, please, keep moving,' put in Dante. 'It'll be safer for you all when we get back inside.'
'Of course,' agreed Marco, quickening his pace. The others followed suit.
'He's a good man, your Dante,' said Silvio. 'How much did you pay for him?'
'Less than he is worth,' replied Marco. 'He's loyal and he's trustworthy - he's saved my life on two occasions. But I wouldn't say he was exactly loquacious.'
'Who needs conversation from a bodyguard?'
'We're here,' said Grimaldi, as they arrived at a discreet door in the side of a building off the Campo Santa Maria Zobenigo. Ezio, keeping a safe distance between them and himself, aware as he was of Dante's extreme vigilance, rounded the corner of the square just in time to see them enter. Looking round to ensure that the coast was clear, he climbed the side of the building and positioned himself on the balcony above the door. The windows to the room beyond were open, and within it, seated in a heavy oak chair behind a refectory table covered with papers, and dressed in purple velvet, sat the Spaniard. Ezio dissolved into the shadows, and waited, ready to listen to all that transpired.
Rodrigo Borgia was in a filthy mood. Already the Assassin had frustrated him in several major enterprises and escaped every attempt to kill him. Now he was in Venice and had eliminated one of the cardinal's principal allies there. And as if that wasn't enough, Rodrigo had had to spend the first fifteen minutes of this meeting listening to the parcel of fools left in his service bickering about which of them should be the next Doge. The fact that he had already made his choice and greased the palms of all the key members of the Council of Forty-One seemed to have passed these idiots by. And his choice had fallen on the oldest, vainest and most pliable of the three.
'Shut up, the lot of you,' he finally spat out. 'What I need from you is discipline and unwavering dedication to the Cause, not this pusillanimous quest for self-advancement. This is my decision and it will be carried out. Marco Barbarigo will be the next Doge and he will be elected next week following the death of Giovanni Mocenigo, which, given that the man is seventy-six years old, will hardly raise an eyebrow but which nevertheless must look natural. Do you think you are capable of arranging that, Grimaldi?'
Grimaldi cast a glance at the Barbarigo cousins. Marco was preening and Silvio was trying to look dignified in his disappointment. What fools they were, he thought. Doge or no Doge, they were still the puppets of the Master, and the Master was now conferring the real responsibility on him. Grimaldi allowed himself to dream of better things as he replied, 'Of course, Master.'
'When are you closest to him?'
Grimaldi reflected. 'I have the run of the Palazzo Ducale. Mocenigo may not like me much but I do have his full confidence, and I'm at his beck and call most of the time.'
'Good. Poison him. At the first opportunity.'
'He has food tasters.'
'Good God, man, do you think I don't know that? You Venetians are supposed to be good at poisoning. Get something into his meat after they've tasted it. Or stick something into that Sardinian jam they tell me he's so fond of. But think of something or it'll be the worse for you!'
'Leave it to me, su altezza.'
Rodrigo turned his irritable gaze on Marco. 'I take it you can lay your hands on a suitable product for our purpose?'
Marco smiled deprecatingly. 'That is rather my cousin's area of expertise.'
'I should be able to lay my hands on enough cantarella for our purposes,' said Silvio.
'And what is that?'
'It's a most effective form of arsenic and it is very difficult to trace.'
'Good! See to it!'
'I must say, Maestro,' said Marco, 'we are lost in admiration that you should associate yourself personally so closely with this enterprise. Is that not dangerous for you?'
'The Assassin will not dare come after me. He is clever, but he will never outwit me. In any case, I feel inclined to involve myself more directly. The Pazzi disappointed us in Florence. I hope sincerely that the Barbarigi will not do the same.' He glowered at them.
Silvio snickered. 'The Pazzi were a bunch of amateur -'
'The Pazzi,' Rodrigo interrupted him, 'were a potent and venerable family, and they were brought to their knees by one young Assassin. Do not underestimate this troublesome foe, or he will bring the Barbarigi down too.' He paused to let that sink in. 'Now go, and get this done. We cannot afford another failure!'
'What are your own plans, Master?'
'I return to Rome. Time is of the essence!'
Rodrigo rose abruptly and left the room. From his vantage-point hidden on the balcony, Ezio watched him leave alone and cross the square, causing a flock of pigeons to scatter as he strode in the direction of the Molo. The other men soon followed him, separating and taking their own paths out of the square. When all was silent, he leapt down to the flagstones beneath and hurried off in the direction of Antonio's headquarters.
Once there, he was met by Rosa, who greeted him with a lingering kiss. 'Put your dagger back in its sheath,' she smiled as their bodies pressed together.
'You're the one who made me draw it. And you're the one,' he added knowingly, 'with its sheath.'
She took his hand. 'Come on, then.'
'No, Rosa, mi dispiace veramente but I can't.'
'So - you tire of me already!'
'You know it isn't that! But I have to see Antonio. It's urgent.'
Rosa looked at him and saw the intense expression on his face, in his cold blue-grey eyes. 'OK. For this once I forgive you. He's in his office. I think he misses that model of the Palazzo Seta now that he's got the real thing! Come!'
'Ezio!' said Antonio as soon as he saw him. 'I don't like that look. Is everything all right?'
'I wish it was. I've just discovered that Carlo Grimaldi and the two Barbarigi cousins Silvio and Marco are in league with. a man I know too well, whom people call the Spaniard. They plan to murder Doge Mocenigo and replace him with one of their own.'
'That is terrible news. With their own man as Doge they'll have the entire Venetian fleet and trade empire in their grasp.' He paused. 'And they call me a criminal!'
'So - you'll help me stop them?'
Antonio extended his hand. 'You have my word, little brother. And the support of all my men.'
'And women,' put in Rosa.
Ezio smiled. 'Grazie, amici.'
Antonio looked thoughtful. 'But Ezio, this will take some planning. The Palazzo Ducale is so strongly defended that it makes the Palazzo Seta look like an open park. And we don't have time for me to have a scale model built so we can plan -'
Ezio held up his hand and said firmly, 'Nothing is impenetrable.'
The two of them looked at him. Then Antonio laughed, and Rosa smiled naughtily. 'Nothing is impenetrable! - No wonder we like you, Ezio!'
Late in the day, when there were fewer people about, Antonio and Ezio made their way to the Doge's Palace. 'Treachery like this no longer surprises me,' Antonio was saying as they went. 'Doge Mocenigo is a good man and I'm surprised he's lasted so long. As for me, when I was a child, we were taught that the nobles were just and kind. I believed it, too. And though my father was a cobbler and my mother a scullery-maid, I aspired to be much more. I studied hard, I persevered, but I could never make myself one of the ruling class. If you aren't born into it, acceptance is impossible. So - I ask you, Ezio, who are the true nobles of Venice? Men like Grimaldi or Marco and Silvio Barbarigo? No! We are! The thieves and the mercenaries and the whores. We keep this place going and each
