Vossi removed the two pages from the remainder of the letter and handed them to Adrian.
Adrian read, in Latin:
and the lease which he holds from the arsenal. However, he assures me that the whole property can be secured for six thousand florins and no link to Venice will be apparent to the Assino or anyone else.
Finally, Father, I have learned of disturbing news, or perhaps it should be called disturbing coincidences. You no doubt remember that last month our secret man in Milan informed us that three noble young men of that duchy had been murdered, all within two days of each other, and that these men had all studied at Pisa until last year, the same year Carlo finished his own studies there. You will also remember that the man communicated to us their names, that I asked Carlo if he knew any of them, and that Carlo replied that all three had been close friends of his at the university. You will also doubtless recall that we speculated the three must have been somehow involved in the attempted assassination of the Duke of Milan last month, since they were all of such noble families and were all killed so cleanly and without any clue as to the murderer and that such efficiency probably could only come from the duke. But it now appears that our speculation was wrong.
I have just learned that another recent student at Pisa, Giuseppe Noppo, was murdered between Venice and Padua when he was riding to visit a friend at the university in the latter place. An arrow was shot through his heart. Noppo is a son of Luigi Noppo, head of the big gold trading firm of the same name, and I know that he was a friend of Carlo’s because I met him when I visited Carlo at the university last year. I have also learned, because I made it my business to learn, that the Noppo have no connection to Milan nor to the enemies of the duke.
Father, it appears to me that there’s a pattern here. Four students who finished their studies at Pisa in 1479 have now been murdered by an unknown hand. Carlo himself may be in danger. I commit him to your protection until my return, which should be within a fortnight.
I remain as ever your obedient son and servant,
Adrian handed the pages back to Leon Vossi when he finished reading.
“The letter mentions your ‘secret man’ in Milan,” said Adrian. “Have you involved yourself in Milanese politics or with people involved in Milanese politics?”
Vossi didn’t answer. His face assumed an obstinate appearance.
“If I’m going to help you,” pressed Adrian, “I must have all the facts, even at the cost of learning secrets, your excellency.”
Vossi hesitated longer before he answered, but he did answer. “We have secret commercial arrangements with three Milanese families.”
“Are they enemies of the duke?”
“Not to my knowledge. They are the Relle, Cumi, and Luazzenza.”
“Luazzenza? I’m surprised that a proud and old noble family would—” Adrian stopped, embarrassed.
Vossi smiled. “Would what, Adrian? Would do business with mere merchants? Don’t forget that we Vossi aren’t like the Asinno and other new families. We are noble. We fought in wars, on horseback, at the head of armies, long before the city came to dominate the country. Our ties with the Luazzenza go back centuries, although the commercial tie is a new one.”
“I meant no offense, excellency. It only surprised me that the Luazzenza would engage in mercantile activity. They have a reputation for being reactionary.”
“And so they are. Now, to the business at hand...”
“I’ll need to talk to Carlo and to examine the area where the attack occurred.”
“The interview will have to wait until tomorrow. The boy is weak from the blood he lost. I’ll personally take you to the scene of the attack.”
And he did.
Leon Vossi watched while Adrian minutely examined every part of the side hall near the door. The smile on the old banker’s face showed that Adrian wasn’t fooling him by this nonsense, for obviously there was nothing to be discovered in an empty room after the activity there was done.
Adrian for his part looked at the blood on the floor and at the print left on the wall behind the long window drape. The greasy print was of a hand, apparently made when the assailant waited with his back to the wall, trying to make himself flat as possible so that his form wouldn’t be noticed through the drape.
Adrian looked keenly at each line of the palm print and each line of the fingerprints.
“What’re you looking for?” asked Vossi.
“Something in his hand or fingerprints that would distinguish him from all other men. Some sign of a mole or scar. But there’s nothing.”
Adrian stepped out from the drape and walked over to Vossi.
“I’ve been thinking about the letter,” said Adrian. “I’m curious why you thought the first three victims might’ve been involved in a conspiracy against the Duke of Milan. As I heard it, the would-be assassin was a frog-faced man in peasant dress.”
“The ‘peasant’ disappeared too completely. Someone is hiding him, someone with power enough and estates enough to do it successfully, assuming the duke hasn’t already done away with him quietly. That indicates a conspiracy. That’s why we thought the duke’s vengeance might have struck down those three. But when the murders went beyond Milan, and beyond people connected to the duke, the possibility of the duke’s being involved ended. But I agree with my son that system is involved here. Coincidence is out of the question.”
“I agree.”
“You may stay in one of our guest rooms tonight, Adrian. I hope Carlo will be well enough to talk tomorrow... Too bad you couldn’t learn anything from the palm and fingerprints.”
“But I did,” said Adrian. “I learned that the assassin has normal-sized hands without moles or cuts, that he’s of average height, and that he was among your guests.”
“Among my guests! How do you know that?”
“The print itself. Grease from the feast, your excellency. He ate among you without wearing his gloves, and when Carlo left, he pursued in such a hurry that he didn’t take time to wipe his fingers on the bread loaf. Or maybe he saw that Carlo was about to leave and rushed to depart before him, in order to lay his ambush. Whatever the case, he dined among you.”
Vossi shook his head incredulously, then looked back at the drape. “May I have a servant clean off that man’s print now?”
“I have determined everything that may be determined from it, excellency.”
A week later Adrian was still hard at work on the mystery, and he’d begun to fear that progress was over.
At first there’d been much progress. The day after the assault on Carlo, Leon Vossi had provided Adrian with a list naming the twenty-eight guests who had attended the dinner. Of this number, Vossi servants and sentries could attest that twelve had left at least a quarter-hour before the attack. These guests and their attendants and bodyguards had already ridden out into the Via de’ Ginori and turned towards their homes. Of the sixteen remaining guests, probably fifteen had still been in the banquet room when the attack occurred, but Vossi, his servants, and his friends could only name ten of them. Of the six remaining guests, one was known to have eaten with his gloves on and another to have been too short to account for the palm print on the wall. That left four men unaccounted for.
The four were Flamino della Montea, a Florentine silversmith in his early fifties whose knowledge of classical studies made him welcome at both the Vossi and Asinno tables; Ugo Ricco, a Milanese trader in his forties who had lived in Florence for five months; Gian Coslossi, a Florentine trader in his thirties; and Gian Turra, a bankrupt Florentine silk importer in his forties who had one of the best wits in the Republic and a deep hatred for the Asinno. Adrian decided that the assailant was one of these four men.