The Venetian (17 page)

Paolo rose and followed with a final glance at the three motionless men staring at the opposite wall. Would they not look at him because he was already a condemned man?
Stop it
he chastised himself. This was simply the way of the council. It had a reputation to uphold, and seemed to enjoy enhancing it at every opportunity.

Paolo followed the deputy around the statue and into the room of the Three Heads of the Council of Ten—the
Capi
—who were elected from among the ten members for one-month terms. During the month in which the
Capi
served, they were confined to the Doge’s Palace in order to prevent corruption or bribery. It was a curious notion—that the Council had been established in such a way as to prevent the very things many feared had already come to pass.

Three large desks dominated the dark paneled room, now empty, its inhabitants presumably waiting in the adjoining chamber. The deputy pointed Paolo toward the intricately carved door at the far end of the room. Paolo approached the door slowly, wondering what lay beyond. He turned to ask the deputy what he was supposed to do, only to find himself alone in the room. He took a deep breath and entered the Chamber of the Council of Ten.

The room was massive. Paolo’s attention was immediately seized by the vast, gilded ceiling. Divided into 25 compartments, it was decorated with allegorical images depicting the power wielded by the council to punish the guilty and exonerate the innocent. Jove descended from the clouds in the ceiling’s center to hurl thunderbolts at Vice. Paolo found it disturbing that this representative image was one of condemnation rather than pardon. The perception The Ten wished to encourage among their countrymen was clear.

Paolo dropped his gaze from the ceiling to a scene no less intimidating. Standing in the room’s center were 17 semicircular desks for the ten members (chosen from the Senate and elected by the Great Council), the Doge, and his six counselors. This morning however, only the desks of the actual council were filled. Standing to the side of the last desk on his left was a man who looked to be nearly as uncomfortable as he was. Paolo looked at the man, attempting to make eye contact, but he only looked away. Paolo discreetly surveyed the somber faces of each member, trying to get a sense of what was to happen, still hoping for a favorable outcome to the unexpected summons.

A gavel struck a desk with a loud crack and Paolo flinched. All eyes were on him, and he noticed at least two grim smiles.

“The council will come to order,” intoned the man in the center desk, presumably one of the
Capi
. “Paolo Avesari, you are charged with treason against the Republic by your willing attempts to profit from the disclosure of secrets critical to the health and welfare of the State. The very destruction of the economic foundations of this great Republic hang in the balance, and your blatant disregard for such a fate in favor of personal advancement and wealth places you among those considered to be enemies of the State. How do you plead?”

Paolo could not move. His worst fears had been realized in an instant. Yet he could not bring himself to believe what had just happened, as though he were observing the fate of another man from a safe distance. How could this happen? He was no traitor. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes wide
. I must look like a fool
he thought in some faraway corner of his mind, yet he was paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle.

“Signore Avesari. How do you plead?”

“I…” Paolo stammered. “I…do not understand,” he said, his voice coming back. “How can this be?”

“Signore Avesari, this is neither the time nor the forum for argument. We require only your plea. You will have the opportunity to defend yourself at a later date to be set by this council.”

Paolo glanced at the man he had noticed earlier. He now knew who he must be, the one who would not meet his gaze. An accuser. He stared hard at him now, demanding that he face him, but the man’s eyes never left the floor. But why would he be there at all? Paolo had no right to confront his accuser. He was not required to show himself.

“How do you plead signore? I will not ask you again.”

Paolo turned back to the speaker, his confusion buried now by anger. “I plead not guilty signore,” he said defiantly. His mind was churning now, how this could have come to pass, how he would defend himself against the charges, what this had to do with Ciro and his murder, what this would do to his already fragile father. In a manner of a few brief moments his life had been irrevocably altered. He wanted to scream at these self-important men, these
nobles
, sitting at their gilded desks, holding his life in soft hands that had never known an honest day’s labor. What did they know of justice? Certainly nothing or this would not be happening. He wanted to rage but knew it would accomplish nothing, and would instead serve the veiled purpose of those trying to destroy him. So he remained still, appraising the council with impassive loathing.

“Your plea has been recorded.” Paolo heard soft scribbling somewhere off to the side. “You will be confined to the
Piombi
until such time as this council sees fit to set the date of your trial.” The gavel erupted once more. This time Paolo did not stir, barely registering the sound.

The men were moving now, rising from their desks, casually resuming their day as though they had not just destroyed a man’s life. Paolo saw the three men who had brought him to the palace that morning advancing toward him. They would take him to the
Piombi
, the leads, where he would await his trial. The prison was located directly beneath the roof of the palace, which was covered with slabs of lead. In winter, the slabs did little to fend off the bitter cold and in summer they were efficient conductors of heat. No matter the season, conditions for those being held there were miserable.

“Signore,” he blurted, catching the attention of the men, who all turned in unison. “My father, Tomaso Avesari, is very ill. I would appreciate the opportunity to see him before I am confined.” The only man who had spoken that morning, one of the
Capi
, glanced at the others, a silent request for their opinions. “It need not be long,” Paolo added.

The man nodded. “Yes, we have been informed of his condition. Very well. You may see him. You will be accompanied of course.”

“Thank you.” The words stuck in his throat, that he should thank such men for their duplicity.

The three minders, who had halted their progress during the brief exchange, advanced toward Paolo. “Shall we go?” Paolo smiled, letting the anger flow through him, and wondered which one of the three was the strongest.

Twenty

“
S
ignore Avesari, a moment if you please.” Paolo turned and saw the deputy emerging from a door he hadn’t seen earlier on the far side of the office of the
Capi
. It was constructed to blend with the rest of the wall, the seam perfectly concealed. Paolo wondered how many such hidden doors there were in the palace. “Gentlemen,” the deputy addressed Paolo’s escorts, gesturing toward the door back to the Compass Room. “If you would please wait outside.”

The three men silently exited, the contingent’s leader nodding curtly, casting an inquisitive glance at Paolo and the deputy. Paolo now realized why there had been no contact since that initial meeting in the deputy’s office. The council had decided to focus their efforts on him. What could this…
functionary
possibly have to say to him now? He suddenly felt a great hatred toward this small man. He clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms, trying to maintain control.

“Signore, I must apologize for the manner in which you have been treated.” Paolo waited. This was surprising, although hardly comforting.
How
he had been treated was not so much the issue as
why
. “You were led to believe that we would provide you with answers while the true nature of the investigation was hidden from you.”

Paolo was not interested in an apology that meant nothing. “Do you believe me guilty?”

“I am not privy to the information employed by the council in its investigations. As such, the question of guilt or innocence is not for me to determine.”

He has an opinion yet he speaks in circles
. The question was, why was he speaking at all? “If I were guilty, would this treatment not be appropriate? Why alert a suspect to your suspicion which may induce him to flee?”

“Forgive me signore. I do not wish to distress you further. I meant only to convey my sympathy for your plight. These are serious charges and the council does not bring them lightly.” Paolo studied the man’s face.
The council does not bring them lightly.
Was he trying to tell him something? Pass on some sort of message, a warning? If so, he was making the task very difficult, his face as inscrutable as a stone. And why would he do such a thing? To what purpose? What little grasp of human nature Paolo believed he had once possessed before all this had been utterly swept away by his encounter with these ignoble men. He was sure of nothing now.

“I will leave you now.” The Deputy bowed his head. “I do not wish to delay your reunion.” Looking up, the small man gazed hard into Paolo’s eyes. “Godspeed signore.”

***

PAOLO COULD NOT
remember a single detail of the trip to Murano, aside from the brooding hulk of his escorts as they fought to maintain their menacing countenance amidst the chop of the lagoon. Lost in thought, he still could not fathom how this had happened. Upon hearing of his brother’s murder, he had believed things as dire as they could be. In that he had been mistaken, now facing imprisonment, being branded as a traitor, and quite possibly execution. From the beginning it had been his father he had been concerned about, how he would survive yet another tragic loss. He never dreamed it would be his own life in peril. How would he tell his father he was about to lose the last member of his family?

“Come.”

Paolo looked up and saw they had arrived. The three men were already outside the small boat, one working to steady it with a foot while the other two glared down at him. The oarsmen looked grateful to be relieved of their passengers. All three were wet, varying only by degree. Paolo slowly climbed out of the boat. Preoccupied with the impending conversation with his father, he stepped out in front to lead the way, a calloused hand on his shoulder holding him back.

“We know the way.”

Yes,
of course you do.

***

TOMASO COULD NOT
speak. Paolo had relayed the morning’s events. His father stared dumbly at him, his bewilderment tangible. He wore the expression of a devastated child, slumped in his chair. Although it was Paolo himself facing a terrible fate, he could not help but feel pity for his father.

“I will fight this. I will show them that they have made a mistake. An innocent man has nothing to fear.” The words sounded hollow even to him, spoken without conviction. He didn’t know what else to say. It all still seemed so unreal.

Tomaso sighed. “After all that has happened, you still believe that? They will crucify you.”

Paolo glanced at the door. He had asked for permission to speak with Tomaso alone in the kitchen. The men had not been pleased by the request, but acquiesced at the sight of Tomaso’s evident frailty. They seemed to feel sorry for the old man and hostile toward Paolo for thrusting even more tragedy upon his ailing father.

“It has always been this way Paolo.” Tomaso’s voice was soft, almost apologetic.

Perhaps the elusive secret to our relationship is to be accused of treason.
It was a hard thought Paolo knew, though he didn’t admonish himself for it. “What do you mean?”

“Venice does what she must to protect herself and her interests. Such an insignificant thing as an innocent man cannot be allowed to change that.” Paolo remained silent. He knew his father was right. Recent events had taught him as much. “It was what I had tried to tell you all those years ago,” a sad smile, acknowledging the time that had been lost, the years that could never be regained. “I was a fool, blinded by my own ambition, my pride.”

“Father…” Paolo put a hand on his father’s shoulder. Tomaso gently removed it, patting Paolo’s arm as he did so.

“No, no Paolo. I must. Time is short.” He was silent for a moment. “I did not see your words for what they were, the dreams of a young man. Dreams that should have been nurtured, cultivated. It had never occurred to me that you might desire a life different from that of your father.” He shook his head slowly now, parts of words choked off. “Instead I saw them only as a threat to what I was trying to build, to the happiness of my family.” Again Paolo saw the flicker of a sad smile, his father seeing the irony. “My mistake was in never actually asking my family what it was that would make them happy.” He sighed. “So…” Tomaso did not need to finish, to say the words.
And
it has come to this.

“Father…”

Tomaso seemed to snap awake now, his eyes focusing, pensive reverie to tense alertness in an instant. “You must go,” he said sharply.

“But…I have only just arrived. I need your counsel.”

“And I am giving it to you.” Tomaso lowered his voice to a whisper. “You must go. But not back with those men,” he said, indicating the door with a glance. “You must flee.”

“What?” Even as the shock of the suggestion was registering, his mind was comprehending the truth of it.
They will crucify you.
The words of the deputy came back to him now in a torrent.
The council does not bring them lightly. Godspeed.
“I will be a fugitive,” Paolo said softly.

“Yes. But you will be alive. I will distract them.”

Paolo looked at his father with alarm. It was happening too quickly. “Father…” he began, an edge of panic to his voice.

“Paolo!” Tomaso whispered fiercely, grabbing his son’s hands as he used to do when Paolo was young to get his attention. “There is no time.” Tomaso softened his voice, smiled sadly as though to say
I know, but it is the only way
. “My son, we have no time. If you leave with those men, you will be lost forever. You must go.”