After what felt like an eternity, a short man dressed in black breeches and a bright purple doublet skittered out from one of the doors. He was about Luca’s age, with wire-framed spectacles and a hooked nose that made him look more like a bird than a person. “Signora da Peraga?”
“Yes?” Cass stood up. Siena stopped pacing and stood stiffly next to her.
“I am Giovanni da Riga, aide to the Senate. You will follow me, please.”
Cass followed Giovanni into an even larger room. Quickly she realized she was in the Hall of the Senate. If there were to be a trial, it would be here, with the room full of politicians and bloodthirsty citizens who were always eager to see a man condemned to die. The chamber was empty, but Cass could imagine how it must look when occupied—the elevated platform with ornate wooden seats for the Doge and the Council of Ten, the velvet cordoned-off chairs for other high-ranking Senate members, wooden booths for those in attendance but not part of the official proceedings.
Giovanni motioned for Cass to sit in the first wooden booth. Siena sat next to her, and Cass could feel her trembling. Giovanni stood in front of the girls, pacing back and forth, peering down at a half-unrolled parchment as he spoke. “Signor da Peraga’s situation is quite grave. The signore has been indicted and imprisoned on the charge of heresy, as accused by parties both anonymous and in person.”
Cass felt rage seething in her veins. “And who are these parties who have accused him in person?” Her voice came out hot and tight.
“I’m not at liberty to give out that information,” Giovanni said haltingly.
Cass couldn’t help it. She jumped up and ripped the parchment from the aide’s hands. She would see for herself just what kind of witnesses Signor Dubois had managed to buy. A bunch of starving lepers and mercenary prostitutes, undoubtedly.
Hortensa Zanotta’s name was on the list, as were several other names Cass didn’t recognize. She gasped. “All of these people accused Luca?”
“Signora!” Giovanni seized the list from her trembling fingers. “You must maintain order.”
Cass inhaled deeply, trying to cool the heat that threatened to boil out through her skin. She changed her tactics, forcing a demure smile as she returned to her seat, adjusting her skirts to show just a hint of her stocking. “Mi dispiace, Signore. I’m just afraid that my fia—my husband has been the victim of a terrible crime, and that unsavory people were paid in exchange for their testimony.” She arched her eyebrows meaningfully.
“You—you’re not suggesting—”
“Surely those who are desperate for a little gold might be persuaded to remember events in a certain way, don’t you think?”
“I understand your concerns, Signora, but Signor da Peraga’s accusers are from noble families. Well-known, God-fearing members of the community.” Giovanni’s spectacles started to fog over, as if his face had begun to sweat. “You can understand why the Senate took the accusations quite seriously.”
“Is there any chance at all of a trial?”
“My understanding is that Signor da Peraga has already been sentenced,” Giovanni said.
Siena made a tiny whimpering noise. Cass shot her a sharp look and she ducked her head, focusing her attention on the floor. Cass turned back to Giovanni and nodded. “I don’t suppose I can visit Signor da Peraga? Even to lay eyes on him just for a moment would be such a relief.”
Giovanni shook his head vigorously. “It is never permitted. Only his legal counsel is allowed to see him.”
Did Luca even have legal counsel? Perhaps Cass should send a message to his mother on the mainland just in case. No. He had mentioned that his mother was unwell. This was the sort of news that could kill a woman. Luca was industrious and prepared. Undoubtedly, he had gotten word to an attorney.
Cass shook a few gold pieces out of her purse. She transferred them from one hand to the other. “There is absolutely no way I can see my husband, not even for a moment? Not even from a distance?” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of a gloved hand, trying to squeeze out a couple of tears for the aide’s benefit.
Giovanni stared at the gold. “I would like to assist you, Signora, but it would be a grave risk for both myself and the jailer.” He licked his lips.
Cass doubled the amount of coins in her hands. Behind her, Siena inhaled sharply. It was probably more gold than she had ever seen all at once.
Giovanni removed his spectacles and polished them on his shirt. He glanced around the Senate Hall warily, as if he thought maybe the paintings were spying on him. “Return to the antechamber.” He gestured toward the door they had come through. “Let me see if there’s any possible way I can help you.” His voice wavered slightly.
He disappeared, only to return a few minutes later. “Exchange your cloak and shoes with your maidservant and put up your hood,” he said. “Someone will come for you.” He skittered back through the door like a nervous rat before Cass could ask who, exactly, was coming for her.
Probably someone to arrest me, she thought as she slipped out of her cloak and shoes. She secured Siena’s plain muslin cloak around her gown and lifted the hood so that it obscured her face and hair. She settled back in on the bench, watching with amusement as Siena awkwardly fastened Cass’s embroidered silk cloak around her neck and slipped her feet into Cass’s velvet slippers.
A different door creaked open, and a stumpy bald man shuffled through. He was almost as old as Agnese, with yellowing skin and a hump on his back that made him walk stooped over. He looked up at Cass with a pair of beady eyes that were set close to his crooked nose. He had the look of a man who had lost one too many tavern brawls.
“You.” He pointed at Cass and then rotated his hand until the palm of his dirty leather glove faced up. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for payment. She deposited the gold coins into his hand. “Follow me,” he said.
Cass gave Siena’s hand a quick squeeze and then wordlessly rose from the bench. She nodded at the man, who did not respond except to turn his back and mutter under his breath. She followed him back through the door, across a gallery, up two narrow flights of stairs, and down a dingy passageway lit only by minuscule openings carved straight into the marble walls. The heat was unbearable, the sun on the lead-plated roof turning the entire corridor into an oven. The passage ended at a thick metal door. A tarnished ring of keys hung on a hook just outside.
“Keep your head down,” the jailer muttered as he reached up and grasped the set of keys. He shoved one in the lock and jiggled it. The door swung open with a groan.
Cass raised one of her gloved hands to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit from the overpowering scent of urine and feces that wafted into the hallway. Holding her breath, she ducked her head low to enter the room. No wonder the jailer walks hunched over, she thought. The ceiling couldn’t have been higher than five feet.
She stood inside a garret, the roof of the Palazzo Ducale just above her head. A single high window cast a beam of scattered light across the dusty enclosure. A row of thick iron doors with circular vents cut in the middle ran along the edge of the room. So these were the infamous piombi—cells so cramped and sweltering that men sometimes went mad from being imprisoned in them.
Cass tried not to look at the dark holes centered in each of the cell doors. She didn’t want to make eye contact with any of the prisoners, at least one of whom was moaning. Instead, she focused her attention on a long wooden table that ran against the far wall of the room. On it sat coils of rope and scattered pieces of silver that reflected the scant light. Cass squinted. Were those . . . knives? She took a tentative step forward, and then another. Sure enough, an assortment of daggers was displayed on the table, their tips smeared with rust.