to an end up there. The heart I’ve loved will beat no more. I rest against a pillar, feeling faint, struggling to compose myself.
I’ve heard tales of previous executions in Venice. The man who was suspended in an iron cage, surviving on bread and wine, until he was brought down and hung. A criminal whose body was stripped and dragged through the streets behind a cart. How one man was cut into four pieces and his head stuck on a lance-point for all to see.
The executioner, a giant of a man, already wears his canvas hood and cloak. He sits on a stool and has a whetstone braced between his feet, against which he sharpens the blade of his ax. It’s all a performance, designed to get the crowd in the mood. The ax glistens. Carina will be disappointed today. Not a blunt blade in sight.
Emilia leads me through the gathering crowds towards the front of the stage. Today, I don’t care that a noblewoman should not be amid the throng. Now that I no longer wear the disguise of a servant, people recognize me as Roberto’s betrothed and step away, lowering their eyes in respect. Justice is about to be done; no one need hate me anymore. Soldiers line the front of the stage, wearing cloaks and carrying leather shields. Executions can become animated, and these men will stop the baying crowds from climbing the stage and attacking the prisoner. They’ll also stop the condemned from escaping their fate, I think bitterly. I haven’t eaten in who knows how long and feel light-headed. But I must stay strong. I won’t let him down.
A drumroll sounds from a young drummer at the side of the stage. The executioner takes his place beside the block, and a herald steps forward. “Bring forth the prisoner!” he shouts. At my side, I hear Emilia’s breath catch.
The drummer takes up a slow rhythm. I close my eyes for an instant, but when I open them again the boy is looking uncertainly at the herald. He gives the drummer a quick nod, and the drumroll continues as the older man darts from the stage. Murmurs pass through the crowd.
“What’s happening?” Emilia whispers. I shake my head; I have no idea.
After slow, agonizing seconds, the herald appears back on the stage, his face flushed. He goes to talk to the commanding officer of the soldiers. Beside him I notice for the first time the Doge, cloaked in black robes, sitting in a low chair at the side of the stage. The Duchess Besina is absent, presumably unable to bear the agony of watching her son die. Guards stand on either side of the Doge. He needs their protection more than ever, with the vultures circling. He looks pale and old. People are pushing forward now, and the row of uniformed men raises their shields, leaning their weight back into the crowd and looking over to their leader for instruction. Even the executioner looks impatient as he shifts his ax in his hand.
Something is wrong. I begin to move through the crowd, trying to get closer to the stage, Emilia’s hand grasping my arm.
“Back, you!” a soldier orders and shoves me away. The Doge’s eyes meet mine and widen in recognition. He gets to his feet, leaning heavily on the arm of his chair.
“Bring her to me!” he calls over. Now the murmurs and whispers that surround me become audible voices.
“It’s the murderer’s girl,” says one woman.
“Have some manners!” I hear Emilia tell her.
My cheeks burn with humiliation. A soldier helps me onto the stage, taking my hand to pull me up. My wrists are still sore from Carina’s bindings, but I brace my feet against the edge of the stage and lever myself up.
“Thank you,” I say. I glance down at Emilia who watches me, wide-eyed. Then I brush down my skirts and approach the Doge. Despite his rich cloak and peaked cap, he looks frailer than I’ve ever seen him, and I can see that the fits have drained his strength.
“Come,” he says as soon as I’ve drawn close. “We must visit the jail. I’ve heard … Well, come, let us go.” He grasps my arm, and pulls me after him. As we vacate the stage, the crowd begins booing and jeering. They’ve been robbed of their morning’s entertainment—for now. I can only hope that Emilia will get home safely.
“What’s happening?” I ask as we hurry through the corridors of the palace, heading towards the