I sent a man to find one and then tried to calm the ladies, some of whom were very upset. Orseolo was taken home and everyone left.”
“Not helpful.”
“The best I can do. You want me to invent answers?”
“Was anyone else taken ill?”
“Not that I am aware of.”
“Who was the servant who poured the wine?”
“There were two-Giuseppe Benzon and a man I heard called Pulaki, a servant of the merchant Karagounis, whom you met. Benzon has been in my employ for four or five years.”
“Indeed?” the Maestro murmured. “Karagounis is from Athens, in Turkish Greece. Is this Pulaki also a Greek native?”
“I don’t know.”
“If so he would be a subject of the sultan. You let a subject of the sultan serve wine to, er, Nasone?”
Imer had seen that one coming and did not faint or cry out with horror. He looked as if he wanted to, though. “I did not invite that man to my house! His arrival was completely unexpected.”
“But…” The Maestro shook his oversized head sadly. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning and explain how you got yourself into this swamp?”
By now Imer was ready to clutch at any straw. “As you know, I am an authority on old manuscripts.” Then why had he shown no special interest in the Maestro’s book collection since he came in? “The foreigner Karagounis came to me with some interesting items he wished to sell. All looted from churches and monasteries, I’m sure. Since the Turks conquered Greece and the Balkans the Church there has been…not suppressed, but it doesn’t flourish as it used to.” He babbled for a few minutes, telling us things we already knew, how foreigners were forbidden to trade, and how wonderful the Greek’s manuscripts were. “You really doubt that Meleager?”
“Lost works by Euripides turn up all the time,” the Maestro said sourly.
“But not with poetry like that! Several of the prospective buyers seemed to think it was genuine. It would have fetched a fortune! I couldn’t possibly afford to buy it, but I did agree to help him in return for one of the lesser pieces, which he withheld from the sale, and I intended to bid on a few of the others. I approached the top ten collectors in the Republic…”
The Maestro turned steely-eyed at not being ranked in the top ten, but did not interrupt the flow.
“Eight were interested enough to view the collection. Six said they would make offers. Procurator Orseolo and Senator Tirali both said they would come in person. The others appointed agents to bid for them. I asked a few friends…” Imer had invited some people he wanted to impress and his social triumph had turned into nightmare. “And yourself, Doctor.” He dried up.
“The doge was one you had shown the books to?” the Maestro asked.
“And his agent was there. I never expected him to come in person! He didn’t stay long.”
“And the foreign couple who spoke French?”
Imer shook his head. “I have no idea. They seemed to think it was a public gathering. When I realized…I ordered them to leave. The man was abusive, but they left.”
“You offered three wines.”
“There were to be others at supper. Karagounis provided the retsina. He said it was better than any in the city. Vile stuff. I never touch it.”
I was careful not to show any reaction and the Maestro certainly did not, but he chased the ball.
“Who else drank retsina?”
“How should I know?”
“What happened to wine that had been opened and not finished?”
“I expect the servants stole it. They usually do.”
“What do you know about this Karagounis?”
The attorney squirmed. “Not very much. He is planning to marry a local girl, so he can become a resident. He is taking instruction in the Catholic faith and plans to abjure the Greek heresy…So he says. I warned him it would be better if he did not come to the viewing, but he turned up anyway.”
“Has he chosen a bride yet?”
“I believe so.” The attorney colored, which suggested that the bride was part of the deal, some niece or cousin, no doubt. He was not old enough to have marriageable daughters to dispose of.
But that seemed to be that. The rest of the Maestro’s questions produced nothing of use. Imer had been dashing back and forth between his books and the main party and could not say who might have been close enough to tamper with the victim’s drink. If he was representative of the Republic’s attorneys, I hoped I would never need to sue anyone.
“Well, we may be worrying needlessly,” the Maestro said. “I must track down the procurator’s physician. My boat is at your disposal, lustrissimo. Alfeo will come with you as a witness when you question your servant.”
“Benzon? Why?”
“If we learn that other people drank from the same bottle as the procurator, we can eliminate one unpleasant hypothesis.” The Maestro stretched his lips in a smile.
The attorney grimaced as if he had a serious toothache.
Giorgio rowed us back. He sang a couple of romantic ballads in case we wished to talk confidentially, but Imer said absolutely nothing, except to tell me Karagounis’s address when I asked for it.
The moment we entered his chambers, he ordered the old clerk to fetch Giuseppe Benzon, an order that obviously surprised the old man. This time I was invited to sit in a client’s chair. Moving like an old man, Imer walked around the cluttered desk to his own.
“If we frighten Benzon so much that he runs away, we shall be in grave trouble.”
This was precisely why the Maestro had specified that Imer ask the questions, not me. I said, “You are entitled to interrogate your own servant, lustrissimo.” If the servant did flee, that admission of guilt would rescue the Maestro from suspicion, but might not help Imer much.
Benzon was about my age, a stocky, honest-looking lad with a smear of jewelers’ rouge on his hand to suggest that he had been cleaning silverware. He looked reasonably scared already by the unexpected summons. He bowed and was told to shut the door, but not told to pull up the third chair.
“As you know,” Imer mumbled, “one of my guests took ill two nights ago. All he had consumed in my house was some wine, and the doctors are wondering if there was something wrong with that particular bottle. Do you happen to remember which wine the procurator chose?”
“Yes, lustrissimo. He laughed and said he would take the retsina.”
I was already impressed by Benzon. His eyes were quick and he did not fidget.
“Thirty-two guests and you remember what every one of them drank?”
“No, lustrissimo. But he was only the fourth or fifth to arrive, and I never served a procurator before.” Procurators wear marvelously ornate purple robes and tippets.
“Did anyone else take the retsina?”
“Three or four, lustrissimo. I had to open a second bottle.”
Imer’s glance at me was a comment that the first bottle was therefore not available as evidence, and I nodded.
“Pulaki brought six bottles. Where are the others?”
“His master told him to take them when they left.”
“Well, apprentice? Have you any questions to ask?”
I could think of several. Being neither a state employee nor a doctor in the case, I had no right to ask any of them. Procurators do not joke with other men’s menservants.
“My name’s Alfeo, Giuseppe.”
Benzon eyed me uncertainly. “Yes, lustrissimo.”
“Just Alfeo. How many glasses could you fill from a bottle?”
“About six, if the glasses were all empty. Topping them up, I would get more, of course.”
“That’s good. Thank you. You said the procurator laughed. Did he come alone, or who was with him?”
“A young lady.”
“Hot?”
