time. You know, he treated my little Leonora.”
As the crowd began to disperse, Benito had the satisfaction of realizing that, at least among the common people of Venice, his brother was already well known. And well liked. Unlike Mercutio . . . Venice would not forget Marco Valdosta overnight.
He took a deep breath. “The Capi are taking lists of volunteers over at the foot of the columns of St. Theodoro and St. Mark. Maria, I’m going to volunteer for the galleys that are going to the Polestine forts. They haven’t said so, but I think they’ll make an alliance with my grandfather.”
Maria looked startled. “What’s Dorma going to say? What’s Cae . . . he going to say?” She still wouldn’t say Caesare’s name.
Benito shrugged. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Marco would keep the name alive. And he could get away from this situation of divided loyalties. The more he thought about Maria—and part of his mind wanted to think of very little else—the more things he kept thinking of about Caesare that bothered him. Bothered him a lot.
* * *
Marco and Petro walked slowly from the Doge’s chambers, where the old man lay under the care of doctors who really were the best Venice had to offer. The Doge had regained consciousness again when he was ensconced in his great pilastered bed, a tiny old man propped on mountains of snowy white pillows. He’d talked perfectly lucidly and with no sign of any impairment of his faculties for near on five minutes. And then, shuddered and lapsed into unconsciousness
As the crowd began to disperse, Benito had the satisfaction of realizing that, at least among the common people of Venice, his brother was already well known. And well liked. Unlike Mercutio . . . Venice would not forget Marco Valdosta overnight.
He took a deep breath. “The Capi are taking lists of volunteers over at the foot of the columns of St. Theodoro and St. Mark. Maria, I’m going to volunteer for the galleys that are going to the Polestine forts. They haven’t said so, but I think they’ll make an alliance with my grandfather.”
Maria looked startled. “What’s Dorma going to say? What’s Cae . . . he going to say?” She still wouldn’t say Caesare’s name.
Benito shrugged. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Marco would keep the name alive. And he could get away from this situation of divided loyalties. The more he thought about Maria—and part of his mind wanted to think of very little else—the more things he kept thinking of about Caesare that bothered him. Bothered him a lot.
* * *
Marco and Petro walked slowly from the Doge’s chambers, where the old man lay under the care of doctors who really were the best Venice had to offer. The Doge had regained consciousness again when he was ensconced in his great pilastered bed, a tiny old man propped on mountains of snowy white pillows. He’d talked perfectly lucidly and with no sign of any impairment of his faculties for near on five minutes. And then, shuddered and lapsed into unconsciousness