The Venetian (16 page)

“Thank you,” Gabriele said with a sigh as though the request had been taxing. He remained silent for several moments. Francesco felt like a boy caught at something. He scanned the mostly empty room once more.

“Do not concern yourself with the fact that we are meeting in daylight,” Gabriele said, guessing his thoughts. “We are quite safe here. There is no chance of intrusion. We use this place from time to time.” Francesco said nothing, waiting. Gabriele turned to the man next to him. “May I introduce Signore Bonifati.”

The man nodded. Francesco could see the small smile—arrogance. Yes my friend, enjoy your feelings of self-importance. They will be fleeting. He does not yet know with whom he is dealing—with
what
he is dealing. He will learn soon enough, but by then it will be much too late.

“Do not be alarmed Francesco. Though you sit in shadow I can feel your distress. It is like a smell on you. Signore Bonifati is an ally. He can be trusted. And he is in a position to perform certain services that are…required.”

Francesco shifted uncomfortably on the divan. He spoke, his voice even, his manner unconcerned though he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. “And what services might those be?”

“Why Francesco, I would think you would be able to guess. After all, had you succeeded in your task, we would have no need of Signore Bonifati’s services.” Francesco began to speak. Gabriele held up a hand, stopping him. “No need. In truth I did not expect you to succeed. But rest assured, it was not because I thought you lacking. No, I have seen that you can be quite persuasive. But our friend has exhibited more…determination than I had expected. So, a contingency plan.”

Francesco waited.

“As you and Avesari have become close, it is necessary for you to be informed. Signore Bonifati will swear to possessing personal knowledge of Signore Avesari’s involvement in the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his departed brother.”

This Francesco had not expected. “I do not understand. His brother has not yet been implicated himself.”

“Quite true, however should young Paolo be condemned, his brother will surely follow. And it will be—Ciro was it?—who will receive the superior end of the bargain. After all, it is far better to be charged with treason posthumously. One cannot be killed twice.”

Francesco struggled to work through the logic. “But I am not sure such a course of action will have the desired effect.”

“Come, come Francesco. Surely you do not think that I keep you informed of all that I do.” The mocking tone was fueling Francesco’s anger once more, the display for their new colleague not yet finished.

“And what may I ask will Signore Bonifati receive in return for services rendered?” He recognized the name now, a once noble family fallen out of favor.

“You may ask, however it is none of your concern.”

He hadn’t expected an answer and it didn’t matter. Knowing who Bonifati was, Francesco could guess at the bargain that had been struck. Still he required a better sense of the purpose and desired outcome of this new plan. Whatever else he may be, he was a merchant, and a merchant does nothing by chance. “What do you hope to gain by this course of action? If Avesari is accused, he will surely deny it. Do you have any evidence beyond the word of a noble fallen on difficult times? Surely you understand that such
testimony
would be suspect.”

This last statement was unnecessary Francesco knew, a childish bit of retribution for Bonifati’s earlier show of disrespect. In truth it wasn’t Bonifati’s fault. All was unfolding as Gabriele had planned, down to the snicker in the dark he had no doubt. He and Bonifati were merely puppets on a string.

Gabriele sighed again, a sound that was beginning to enrage Francesco. He could not be crossed however, so it was an impotent rage, which made it all the more infuriating. He spoke with exaggerated patience, as though to a child. “Yes Francesco, of course he will deny it. But what will it matter? The accusation will have been made, and the stink of the traitor will be on him. His guilt or innocence will be of no consequence. He will be under suspicion and unable to continue his inquiries. And that will be most valuable.” Again Francesco moved to speak, and again Gabriele cut him off with a raised hand. “That is all Francesco. Should I find it necessary to pass along additional information, you will be contacted through the normal channels. You will leave now. Do not linger. Signore Bonifati will follow in a few moments.”

Francesco rose, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the two men. He made his way back toward the narrow staircase. He didn’t look back, could hear nothing behind him, but knew their eyes were on him, the cold dread beginning to seep into his brain once more.

***

“WILL HE DO
as you instruct? He seems an unruly sort.”

Gabriele turned to Bonifati. “My occasional disdain for Francesco serves a purpose, just as everything I do serves a purpose. Do not interpret contempt for the merchant as favor for you. Although I find him to be much too soft in his dealings, he has proved to be someone on which I may rely. I cannot say the same for you…yet.”

Gabriele saw the look of surprise on Bonifati’s face. He smiled, shaking his head sadly at the simplicity of his new protégé. “Do you wish to trumpet the success of your little party? I did not require such an elaborate feast to establish the proper conditions with which to deal with the trader. It was a small matter which required little planning. No, that was simply to see if you had the stomach for what I require. On that count you did not disappoint, but you have done nothing yet. After all, a talent for hosting lavish affairs is hardly unique in Venice. No, you still have much to prove. I am not in the habit of restoring the fortunes of disgraced families without the proper…payment.” He stared silently at Bonifati, thoughtful, enjoying the other man’s discomfort. “Perhaps I have misjudged your usefulness.”

Bonifati was slowly becoming wary of his part in all this, felt a chill scampering up his spine. He had heard people talk of the feeling before, thinking them theatrical, but no more. Here was a man who could deliver such a feeling with little more than a glance. He peered at the shadowy silhouette next to him. Only moments before the gloomy room had seemed full of intrigue, replaced now with something decidedly more perilous. Since the moment of their disgrace, the restoration of his family’s name had meant everything. No price had been too high to pay. Suddenly, Alessandro Bonifati wasn’t so sure.

***

“YOU HAVE DONE
well my friend. So well in fact that I would like to engage your skill and discretion once more.” The man hesitated, did not respond. “I trust you have found your compensation to be sufficient?”

“Yes, more than sufficient.”

“Good.” Gabriele made a show of lazily looking about the small dark room— another small dark room in another small dark house that he used now and again, before settling his gaze back on the man sitting opposite him. “But we both know this has nothing to do with money, do we not? Such a thing would be beneath men like us. No, this is about honor. And sacrifice.” With each word Gabriele’s gaze hardened, boring deeper into the man’s own eyes until he—easily twice Gabriele’s size—looked away. A knowing smile from Gabriele, barely noticeable. “So, may I count on you my friend, for the greater good?”

The man’s own gaze met Gabriele’s, now full of conviction. “Of course.”

“Very good.” Gabriele shifted in his seat, seemed to relax now. “I have two more for you.”

Nineteen

T
hey came at sunrise. Paolo was already awake, and had been for some time. He didn’t know when, or if, he would ever sleep peacefully again. There were three of them, Paolo recognizing the enormous man leading the small contingent as the one that had brought them to see the deputy, a night that now seemed to belong to another lifetime. So, it was to be the Council of Ten then. Very well. Perhaps there would finally be some answers.

Equally intimidating were the other two, their muscled chests barely contained by their plain doublets, finely-honed daggers only just concealed in their breeches. They said nothing when they arrived and Paolo said nothing in return. There was no point. He had learned that lesson the first time. He would find out soon enough. He appreciated the fact that they chose not to make a show of it. If there was anything he had craved these last few weeks, it was anonymity. They wound their way toward the Doge’s Palace in tight formation, four enormous birds, the leader in front, Paolo directly behind, flanked by his escort. It was a little unnerving, Paolo feeling more like a prisoner than the brother of the victim.

They walked in silence. Paolo listened to the sounds of Venice rousing from her slumber. The breeze off the canal was cold, the mild winter finally turning. The street merchants were setting up their stalls, the fishermen taking to their boats. Paolo suddenly wished to be one of them, a life of simple existence, taking only what the sea chose to give and being content with that. He had chafed at the shackles of his position as
Canever
, felt himself a failure for accepting it, and a coward for keeping it. Now he could only long for it, its chronic sameness, and he knew that he would never be back.

The water beneath the white morning light flashed like one of his father’s mirrors, small ripples caused by the breeze like tiny imperfections in glass.

***

THE COMPASS ROOM
, was the first room on the second floor of the Doge’s Palace dedicated to the administration of Venetian justice, and Paolo was surprised to find himself there. He had expected to be escorted back to the deputy’s office, via a more traditional route, for news on the progress of the investigation. Instead they had come here. His escorts stood stoically against the wall, Paolo sitting in a nearby chair. Content to keep silent earlier, a mounting disquiet filled him, questions forming with urgency in his mind.

The room took its name from the lavishly adorned wooden compass in the northeast corner, a statue of Justice standing atop it, blindly meting out her cold equity. The compass and statue hid the entrance to the rooms of the Three Heads of the Council of Ten and the State Inquisitors. The walls were decorated with scenes of legal allegory. Paolo saw the
bocca dei leoini
, the lion’s mouth. All citizens of Venice knew of the small slit in the wall; there were many throughout the city. Such instruments of control were always well known. That was part of their power. Secret denunciations and accusations could be placed into the lion’s mouth, resulting in quick arrests, the “enemies of the State” being brought before the Council. In theory, accusations were required to be signed and include the signatures of two witnesses. Anonymous allegations were supposedly burned. But when the charge was a matter of state security, exceptions were made.

Paolo felt a cold stab of dread in his chest. Is that what had happened? Had he been denounced by someone? But it was impossible. There was nothing of which to accuse him. Although the thought absurd, Paolo’s fear was mounting. How naïve he was. He had thought himself worldly, even more sophisticated having been exposed to this sordid business. But he realized that he was nothing of the sort. Rather, he was too trusting of a place that cared little for him. It doesn’t matter whether one is guilty or not. That is why it is all so terrifying. Paolo scanned the room, the three men as still as the statue in the corner, its impartiality suddenly a bitter joke.

Paolo tried to think of something else. He had to stop jumping at the shadows in his mind. If this truly was a matter of state security, the details would be sensitive. Perhaps what the Council had to say needed to be relayed in person. The wait felt interminable, and so he reflected on what he had come to know of the Council of Ten. While no student of history, Paolo knew well the legend of the council. Established in 1310 as a response to the attempted overthrow of various institutions of the State by Bajamonte Tiepolo and other noblemen, the council was initially meant to exist only as a provisional body tasked with trying the conspirators.

Like many Venetian institutions that were meant to be temporary however, the council became a permanent, and powerful, force in Venice. While The Ten, for the most part, conducted its affairs with equity, the secrecy with which it did so inevitably led to fear, both among the city’s citizenry and other organizations of government. Its purview covering all things concerning the security of the State, the council, in an emergency, could bypass the slow moving deliberations of the Senate and put its own decisions immediately into effect. And when it came to the security of the State, when was it not an emergency?

Normal business was conducted through normal channels, but those situations demanding confidentiality or delicacy of handling were passed by the
Collegio
directly to the council. The Ten could make payments for its operations out of clandestine funds, and enjoyed nearly unlimited authority over governmental affairs—if it could make the case for its involvement. The list of unchecked powers was exhaustive and eventually even the security of the State, as critical a purpose as that was, was not enough to allow the council so much unrestrained independence. After The Ten forced the resignation of Doge Francesco Foscari last century, the council’s authority was finally limited to those “most delicate matters” only—
cose segretissime
. This small change in mission however did nothing to stem the disquiet around The Ten. And Paolo, now sitting anxiously in the Compass Room, was certainly proof of that.

The creak of a door stirred Paolo from his thoughts. His reflections had only made him feel worse. His three chaperons maintained their vigil, giving no indication they had heard the door or noticed the movement behind the statue in the corner. In this morning of surprises, here was something finally that he had expected. The deputy appeared from behind the compass, dwarfed as much by the statue now as he had been by the enormous desk in his office those weeks ago. He silently motioned for Paolo to follow him. There was no hint of recognition when he looked at Paolo, seemingly no memory of the night that would stay with Paolo for the rest of his days, his introduction to the dark places of Venice.