The Botticelli Secret - By Marina Fiorato Page 0,192
than that you have been in Venice. No more than that. In fact—not even that. You could have stolen these things or even earned them on your back right here in Genoa. And if you are, as you say, Venetian, why would I trust you? For we are enemies.”
I closed my eyes in frustration and could almost hear the rumble of a thousand horses cresting the mountains and pouring into the sea plains, almost hear the thunder of the great siege machines rolling down behind. I toyed with the idea of getting out the painting but realized that waving the cartone around could only compound my lunacy in the doge’s eyes.
“You have to believe me. I’m trying to save your city and its people.”
“And why do you care for my city?”
A goodly question. Inspiration struck, as I realized why I cared. “I know one who lives here! Signor Cristoforo, who was just lately at your gates. He tutored me in Venice, at my father’s house!”
“The sailor?” Now he seemed jolted.
“Yes! Did he not tell you, he was just lately in Venice?”
“He did. And petitioned me for permission to go in the first place. I gave him leave to take their money for his lunatic trips if he could get it, for it is a fool’s errand and he could not have mine.”
“Well, then. And you know him to be loyal?”
The specter of a smile. “I thought him so, yes. Crazy but loyal.”
“Then ask him,” I urged. “He waits below.”
The doge sighed. “Salvatore!”
In a very few moments Signor Cristoforo was in the room. His presence was enough to make the doge sit all the way up.
“Cristoforo. You have lately been in Venice?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And you met this lady there?” I noted I had been elevated from jade to lady at least.
“I did. I was her tutor in maritime matters for a short while, while I petitioned the Council of Ten for expeditionary funds.”
“Yes, yes. And you are aware of her true identity?”
“I am. She is Luciana Mocenigo, daughter to the doge and dogaressa, and heir to the Republic of Venice.”
“You have heard her story of an impending attack?”
“I have.”
“And you believe her? Before you answer, answer as a good and loyal Genoese. Think for a moment of your city, for treachery will be rewarded with death.”
I saw my friend swallow. “I do believe her, my lord.”
The doge stroked his hairless chin. “Very well.” He called to his guard. “Salvatore, close the city gates and double the guard.” He turned back to us. “Satisfied?”
Signor Cristoforo and I exchanged a look. “With great respect, no, my lord.”
The doge raised his brows once again at such insolence.
“For il Moro brings with him such siege machines as the world has never seen, invented by a Tuscan engineer.”
“Very well,” conceded the doge. “Then this I will do. I will send a scout into the mountains to verify your tale. You, my dear”—he waved his languid hand in my direction—“will stay with me here—let us not say as my prisoner nor hostage, for these are ugly words; but as my guest, until he returns.”
I went to him then and knelt by his couch. “My lord, you might as well send me down to the shore and bid me hold back the tide. For in the time it takes for your runner to go and return, the army of the Seven will be upon you, and will beat your outrider to the gates. What you must do is send every available footsoldier and every cavalry knight to the mountains—now.”
Signor Cristoforo took up the cause. “If our forces meet them on the slopes, in a surprise attack, their superior numbers will not avail them any advantage. If you meet them in the Torriglia pass, they will be forced through the neck of a bottle.”
The doge stroked his hairless chin. “One tiny thing, though. If I denude my city of all its soldiery, who will defend us against an attack by the sea?”
Signor Cristoforo and I swapped glances. “We’re just coming to that.”
“There’s more?” The poor besieged doge gaped like a codfish.
“A fleet of Pisan and Neapolitan ships is bearing to your coastline even now, and will be here by first light, led by Don Ferrente, King of Naples.”
Now the young duke blanched whiter than milk. “Then we are done for.”
“Not so, my lord. Even now my brother is rousing the harbormaster and militia. Our fleet can be ready, the cannon loaded by dawn. They are planning to sail right