With a long belch that sent the barmaid scurrying back toward the counter, Basilio Cuor turned to study Leoncio Sen's smug visage. "And I suppose you think you're doing well?" he asked sarcastically, though his voice was hardly more than a whisper. He looked more uncouth than usual, with large yellowish stains on his camisa from sweat and other, less savory things; his leather doublet was unfastened, its front gaping wide, and his canvas round-hose were badly in need of washing.

"Of course I'm doing well," said Leoncio. "Better than you, in any case." He touched the piping on his doublet, preening with satisfaction.

Cuor shook his head slowly. "If you think that, then you're a greater fool than I suspected, Camilio."

"You don't have to call me that," Leoncio protested. "You know whose nephew I am."

"But it's best if I don't know which nephew," said Cuor, leaning toward Leoncio. "Your uncle calls you Camilio to me."

"Why? Because you insist upon it?" Leoncio was indignant.

"Yes, I do, and you should remember the reason," said Cuor, shooting a glare at the barmaid to keep her a good distance away. "What do you think our work is? We're supposed to be invisible. So what do you do? You actually ran after di Santo-Germano's gondola, not once, or twice, but four times I have seen. And if I have seen you, so have others. You've made him suspicious by being too obvious. What were you thinking? If he hasn't noticed by now, he must be blind, and his gondolier an idiot."

"You're offensive," said Leoncio with as much hauteur as he could muster. "You are dissolute, debauched, dirty, dis-"

"I know I am. I intend to be. It is a pity you're too vain not to cultivate my slovenliness." Cuor took a deep breath. "You have almost ruined all the work I have done. Now di Santo-Germano knows he is being watched, and that makes my task far more difficult than it was. And I, unlike you, have made progress."

"You-work?" Leoncio laughed nastily.

"I have warned you not to assume anything about me," said Cuor, and raised his voice, "I'll have your money shortly; my Word on it."

"What are you doing?" Leoncio hissed.

Cuor's voice was soft again. "I am keeping the barmaid away from us. If our meeting seems ugly, we'll be left alone."

"Who'd listen to a barmaid?" Leoncio chuckled.

"Those whose work it is to listen-men like me; there are more of us than you would guess." Cuor looked directly into Leoncio's face. "Until you made such a botch of your part of our mission, I had worked up a contact with the under-steward at di Santo-Germano's house, but thanks to you, that's come to nothing; I can't get anything more out of him. The Conte has warned his staff against outsiders who are suspicious, and they have taken his warning to heart. Not even a new baker's assistant was welcome at the house this morning. And I-I-was forbidden to enter San Luca by Padre Bonnome when I asked what would usually be ignored questions about di Santo-Germano."

"Surely you don't think it is because of anything I've done?" Leoncio asked, affronted.

"I think it is precisely because of what you've done. No doubt di Santo-Germano would have become aware of something eventually, but your obvious, clumsy pursuit has alerted him much earlier in the game than I had anticipated." He shoved Leoncio's shoulders. "Camilio, you are a difficult fellow," he exclaimed loudly enough to be heard in the tavern kitchen. "Let me buy you a drink. We'll arrange things over some good wine."

"I haven't time enough to waste the day with you." He flung his hand toward the door of the ordinary-looking tavern. "I should be taking prandium with my uncle even now."

"Should you?" said Cuor. "That wasn't what he told me, this morning at Santa Maria Formosa. I met with him after he completed his morning walk along La Merceria. He said nothing about dining with you. In fact, he applauded our meeting at this time, when most of Venezia is at table."

"Do you mean you report to him directly?" Leoncio was shocked, and this time he remembered to keep his voice down.

"I do. Every ten days; oftener, if he sends for me." The shine in his eyes was not from wine, but from malicious glee. "I gather he didn't bother to tell you."

"No," said Leoncio, a cold sensation beginning to form under his belt. "He didn't."

"Well, now you know," Cuor said with satisfaction, then whistled through his teeth. "Bellissima," he called to the barmaid. "Two tankards of your best Sangue di Christi." He held up three silver coins.

From the protection of the counter, the barmaid signaled she would comply, and reached for the double-handled glass tankards that were the pride of Venezia; she reached behind her for the covered pitcher containing their wine.

"Why should I drink with you?" Leoncio muttered.

"Because we must talk, Camilio, and in a tavern, men who talk must also drink if they wish not to be noticed." He paused and looked around at the table on the far side of the room where a group of sailors were devouring large plates of prawns and scallops, drinking as much as they ate; only two other tables were occupied, and the men at both of them were more interested in their food and wine than in any of the others in the tavern. "You and I have to work in concert, not in opposition." He pointed to a table near the hearth. "That's private enough without seeming so."

"More concern for appearances," Leoncio said sullenly.

"You would do well to keep such things in mind," said Cuor as he took the seat with its back to the wall. "I can see everyone who enters, and they will notice you before me." He cleared his throat and spat. "Your uncle tells me that at the end of summer, di Santo-Germano is going to Antwerp and Bruges, or so he has informed the Collegio. He has business there, which the Collegio already knew. He is traveling overland, rather than going in one of his ships; probably afraid of corsairs. He plans to be gone a year, and has appointed Gennaro Emerenzio as his deputy in his absence. He is going to keep his house open and maintain his staff during that time, as well as his press and his patronage of Pier-Ariana Salier. It is clear that he plans to return."

"He told the Collegio all this?" Leoncio asked.

Nodding, Cuor said, "More to the point, his household and the men at his press have confirmed it. One of the Collegio's clerks is going to call up Signorina Salier to find out what she knows of his continuing patronage." He motioned for silence as the barmaid brought the glass tankards. "Mille grazie, madonna," he said as he handed over the three silver coins.

The coins vanished expertly. "My husband says that you're not to cause any trouble."

"If we do, it won't be my fault," said Cuor. "And my companion is too well-mannered to misbehave."

"Da vero?" The barmaid gave a disbelieving snort and returned to the shield of the counter.

Leoncio tasted the wine and found it fairly good. "For a canal-side tavern, this is quite good," he allowed.

"Keep your voice down, or Gezualdo will surely throw us out. He prides himself on his wines."

"Oh, very well," said Leoncio sullenly.

Cuor was not moved by Leoncio's morose demeanor. "Not that I anticipate much useful, but what have you found out about di Santo-Germano in your dogged pursuit?"

Rather than answer the question, Leoncio posed two of his own. "Why does this foreigner merit so much attention? The Collegio, the Minor Consiglio, and the Savii, all probing his every move and choice. Why not have him live on the Giudecca with the other foreigners? Then none of this would be necessary." He glowered at the cold cinders on the hearth. "I shouldn't think his being an exile makes that much difference."

"He is a successful merchant and he has a press, and he has sponsored a number of civic projects. As an exile, you must remember his allegiance cannot be called into question. Not that there aren't foreign merchants living on the Giudecca, but their situation is different," said Cuor. "For one thing, di Santo-Germano has provided the Arsenal with an improvement on the war galleys, and that makes it necessary for him to live on the main islands. It also means that he must be watched." He sighed. "I dislike northern cities, but I am ordered to follow him, and send regular reports back to the Collegio."

"Then why are we talking?" Leoncio asked. "Let the fellow go, and be thankful he's gone."

"Camilio, don't be more of a fool than God made you. The north is a hotbed of Protestantism, and that is dangerous to all who follow the True Faith. You know what has been going on in the German States and among the Swiss." He took a drink of wine and went on. "It is bad enough that the Ottomites have taken so much Christian land for their own, but now, when united faith is needed, the German States of the Holy Roman Empire and the English are coming apart from the True Church with opposition to His Holiness. A man of means, travel-seasoned and with di Santo-Germano's knowledge, would be invaluable to those turning from the Church, to say nothing of what the Ottomites would want with him."

"What nonsense you talk," said Leoncio, and took a long drink of his wine. "What do the Protestants care about Venezian ships?"

"If I talk nonsense, I learned it from your uncle, Camilio. You would do well to keep it in mind. You and I serve the same master." He folded his arms on the table. "So-you have yet to tell me what you have learned."

"His servants are unwilling to speak with me," Leoncio said reluctantly.

"Given your appearance, I should think so," said Cuor, unpleasantly amused. "Were I you, I should try the mistress."

"She won't admit me. I sent her a box of honied rose-hips, but she sent it back with a note saying that she was not a strumpet." He laughed. "As if the fidelity of mistresses were legendary."

"You were foolish to do such a thing," said Cuor.

"Why? She's like any other woman-won over with gifts and sweet words, and with more wiles than a hungry fox. You know what women of her sort are-twice as capricious as any wife. I should think she would welcome my attentions, since her patron's may not always be available to her." He smiled to show his experience in such matters.

Cuor flung up a hand in exasperation. "This isn't some lightskirted whore you're dealing with: this woman is a musician, an artist who has a book to her credit and another to-"

"Her patron has a press," Leoncio dismissed the matter. "It is another kind of gift he gives her."

"You're hopeless, Camilio," said Cuor, and drank most of the wine in his tankard, then raised his hand for more.

Offended at this dismissal, Leoncio tapped the table in irritation. "Va bene," he snapped. "What would you do?"

"Learn some of her music, and know what is thought of it, so you might speak about it intelligently," said Cuor; he had been waiting for such a question. "I would ask to hear her new works, and praise them. I would encourage her to write more."

"Appeal to her vanity," said Leoncio, nodding.

"To her artistry," Cuor corrected. "She is as serious about her tunes as any man who writes them; perhaps more so, there being so few women composing music. Make light of her talents at your peril." He added this with only a slight hope that Leoncio would heed him.

"Yes, yes," said Leoncio, nodding as the barmaid approached with two more glass tankards in her hands. "I may try what you suggest. Once di Santo-Germano leaves, I will have a better opportunity to press my suit with her. She'll be lonely, and a little novelty would likely please her."

Cuor shook his head, sighing. "You had best begin now, so that your motives will seem more genuine. She's not going to be fooled by you if you play the seducer instead of the admirer."

"An excellent idea," said Leoncio unconvincingly. "I'll consider it."

"You had better, or your use to your uncle will diminish. Your gambling priest has not brought the level of intelligence he had hoped, and your debts are mounting again."

This reminder caught Leoncio's full attention. "You know about that? How can you?"

"I must remind you again that I am employed by your uncle, as you are, and I have proven my worth many times over, earning his confidence. He knows he may rely upon my discretion so he tells me many things, and I have learned many more." He took a drink of the second tankard of Sangue di Christi. "Ah. A different bottle. This is an improvement."

"An appreciation of your custom," said Leoncio, making no apology for the slight.

"Well-earned, if true," said Cuor, refusing to be insulted. He put his hand flat on the table. "Now listen to me, Camilio: you must begin to show that you are capable of doing this work, or your uncle will not support you. For your own good, make yourself known to Pier-Ariana Salier, and do it soon, and without compromising her, for if she breaks off with di Santo-Germano, her worth to you is lost, and that would not redound to your credit."

"I will keep all you say in mind," Leoncio mumbled. He wanted to leave the tavern and join his uncle and the rest of the family for prandium, as he had planned to do, but he was increasingly wary of breaking in on the meal for fear of earning a rebuke in front of all the family.

"Do so. And remember that while I am gone, you will have another man appointed to deal with you." He drank eagerly.

"Why not simply my uncle?" Leoncio asked, peeved at this slight.

"Because he must be able to select what he knows and from what source he knows it," said Cuor with the extreme patience of one dealing with a fool. "If you tell him directly, then he must admit it."

"That is a risky game, I think," said Leoncio. "All this hidden attention on foreigners."

"The Greek merchant hasn't provided much of use, has he? He is what he presents himself to be: a merchant of the Eastern Rite, and an honorable resident of Venezia, one who is here to do business and nothing more. Have you discovered anything to the contrary, Camilio?" Cuor asked with exaggerated sympathy. "I have learned very little to Samouel Polae's discredit, and unless you have uncovered something dangerous in his dealings, I think you need only concentrate on Pier-Ariana Salier and di Santo-Germano's business arrangements while I am away."

Leoncio thought of his appointment with Padre Egidio Duradante later that afternoon at Casetta Santa Perpetua, and determined to learn something useful from the Pope's man, if only to show his uncle and this unkempt hulk that he, Leoncio Sen, was the more capable of the two of them. "I can speak to di Santo-Germano's appointed deputy; he is likely to have a great deal of information."

"No doubt. And he is also used to having men attempt to learn his employers' business," said Cuor with real dubiety.

"Gennaro Emerenzio likes games of chance as well as the next man. I have met him in one or two of the Casette where men may indulge their fancies for many things, gaming and drinking being only the most obvious pleasures." He smiled with a fine cynical air. "After wine and dice, when the blood is running high, a man sometimes guards his tongue less than he should."

"And sometimes his ears are less open than they ought to be," Cuor added. "It won't serve anyone's purpose if you cannot remember all you hear."

"I know what I have to do," Leoncio declared huffily. "You will see, reprobate that you are, that a man need not lose all his demeanor and good conduct to serve the Doge and Venezia."

"Your uncle will be pleased," said Cuor, and shoved himself to his feet. "I will speak to you again in three days, at noon at I Frari. Be sure to be there." He wagged his finger at Leoncio. "Camilio, I depend upon you," he declared, sounding a good deal more drunk than he was.

"Three days at I Frari, at noon," said Leoncio dutifully. "I will be there."

"See you bring what you owe me," Cuor persisted. "I will not countenance delays in-"

"I will, I will," Leoncio promised and saw that the barmaid was watching them with more attention than they merited. "I will not cheat you."

"You had better not," Cuor blustered, shoving out of the niche and trundling toward the door. Once in the street his stride became brisker, and he moved off through the general confusion toward La Merceria, and beyond it toward San Zaccaria and the small, neat house where Pier-Ariana Salier lived. He made his way around the side of the building and knocked on the kitchen door, calling out as he did, "Baltassare Fentrin! Baltassare Fentrin! Eccomi-Basilio Cuor come to pay you the three ducats I owe you. Open the door, Baltassare, te prego."

Just as Cuor expected, the kitchen door opened slowly and Pier-Ariana's steward poked his head out. "Oh. You."

"I said I would have your winnings to you before sundown," Cuor said as if he were used to being disbelieved.

"So you did, so you did," Baltassare said, opening the door enough to admit Cuor, but far from displaying any geniality. "You come just as we begin our prandium."

"An intentional ploy," Cuor admitted, a bit too eagerly. "I thought I would find you in, and not so busy that you would not see me." He handed three ducats to Baltassare as they made their way down the narrow corridor to the kitchen.

"You came in the hope of dining here," said Baltassare with a sigh. "I suppose we can feed you."

"Most kind," Cuor muttered.

"As you say," Baltassare responded.

"Tell me," said Cuor as if struggling to make conversation, "are you allowed much time for yourself, or is the household demanding? You said you have only a single woman to serve-does she demand much of you?"

Baltassare shrugged. "She is usually busy with her instruments and pens, so much of the day-to-day running is in our hands. We have our appointed tasks, but our mistress does not demand we do them at any particular time." He pointed to the three men and one woman gathered around the table against the wall on the far side of the kitchen; the woman sat a little apart from the others, as her status and her gender required. The men clustered at the end of the table nearest the open hearth. "Lilio, Gabbio, this is Basilio Cuor; Merula"-he nodded to the woman at the table-"Basilio Cuor."

"A pleasure," said Cuor with a forced gallantry that earned him a disbelieving chuckle.

"He owed me money," said Baltassare. "And paid it in less than a day."

"As any man should," said Merula. "It is to your credit." She indicated a place next to her. "You may sit here, if it suits you."

"I thank you profusely," said Cuor with an unsteady bow to her. "You know how to behave in a respectable house. It is apparent that you have learned from most admirable tuition."

Gabbio looked from Lilio to Baltassare as if to try to decide how he should behave. Finally he reached for a glass and filled it with trebbiano, then held it out to Cuor as if attempting to make peace.

Merula's somber face wreathed in smiles. "Indeed, yes. I had the honor of serving in the household of the Doge's son-in-law when I was trained."

Cuor, who had learned this weeks ago, pretended surprise; taking the glass from Gabbio, he said to Merula, "How fortunate for Signorina Salier, to have so worthy a personal servant as you."

Color mounted in Merula's face. "It is not for me to say."

"No; you are too gracious," said Cuor as he sat down. He looked at the others at table. "I do not mean to intrude, but it is most pleasant to pass this time in a well-ordered household instead of a tavern. I thank you most earnestly."

Merula actually simpered. "And you must have learned your manners in a higher station than we see you now."

"Alas, yes," said Cuor, allowing Lilio to bring him a bowl of sweetbreads and crab in a creamy sauce made fragrant by garlic and herbs. "My family had three ships when I was a boy, and ... and a favorable seat in the Maggior Consiglio. Within a year two of them were taken by corsairs. That was the ruin of our fortunes; my father fled, making his disgrace complete." It was a fairly accurate story, and one most Veneziani would hear with sympathy; it would be likely to unguard the tongues of these servants.

"The Ottomites are shameless," said Lilio, passing a loaf of bread.

"That they are, and to our woe," said Cuor, accepting the bread and breaking off a hunk of it. "This is very fresh, by the smell of it."

"Made this morning," said Lilio, his stiffness beginning to fade.

"Very fine," Cuor approved as he dipped a bit of it into the thick sauce.

"Our mistress' keeper has lost ships to Ottomites," said Merula, and ignored the sharp look Baltassare shot her.

"Ah, it is ever more the case," said Cuor as he chewed.

"It isn't our place to talk about the Conte," said Baltassare with a hauteur worthy of the very highest stewards.

"I don't see why not," said Lilio. "His fortunes are our fortunes, after all. If he loses all, so does our mistress, and so do we." He put his elbows on the table. "It isn't as if we haven't talked about this."

"Among ourselves," said Baltassare sharply. "It is nothing to speak of in front of outsiders."

"He's a Venezian," said Lilio. "Hardly an outsider."

Merula put her hand on the table. "Peace, you two. This man is our guest, and it is our duty to treat him as handsomely as we may."

"Because he pays you compliments," said Baltassare. "He's a gamester and who knows what else."

"His family's misfortune haunts him," said Merula. "Who among us would not have to live precariously if anything befell our mistress?"

This sobering question silenced the discord; after a short silence, Lilio said, "It may be difficult while di Santo-Germano is in the north."

"Ah. He goes to Udine," said Cuor, having a little of his wine.

"No, much farther-to the Lowlands," said Baltassare. "For a year."

The servants exchanged single nods of significance, and Merula said, "He is returning, but he will be away for a year."

Cuor nodded. "That may be inconvenient for all of you."

"It isn't money," said Lilio quickly. "The Conte is a very wealthy man, and he has provided for this household in his absence, very handsomely. We have no concerns on that head. But there may be trouble if any of his ships are seized or he is unable to return as he planned."

Baltassare sighed. "We're told provisions are in place, but who can say?"

"He may not wish to continue as our mistress' patron," said Merula, expressing their deepest fears. "Who knows what disposition he may make, if that happens?"

The three men nodded slowly; Cuor had a little more wine. "A bad business, no matter how it ends."

"The Conte says that he wishes to publish her music, but he says it as a man who supports her and who shares her bed," said Baltassare heavily. "But if he no longer wants her flesh, what will he expect of her music?"

"He has presented her with deeds and grants," said Merula.

"Which he may rescind at any time," Baltassare reminded them all. "The Collegio will not enforce any woman's claim against her keeper."

"Can you imagine what a nest of intrigue the courts would be if the Collegio did allow such claims?" Lilio asked, and laughed harshly. "No other cases could be heard."

When the laughter had died down, Cuor said, as if it had just occurred to him, "Is there anyone else who might become her patron, or keep her?"

Merula shook her head. "I don't think so. She's not one to try such measures. I think she would make herself a nun to her music."

"A strange thing for a young woman to do," said Cuor, thinking that Camilio's task was likely to be more difficult than either of them had conjectured.

"A pity she comes from ordinary folk," said Lilio, preparing to offer second helpings of his excellent meal. "It leaves her open to so many troubles."

"Troubles may happen to any of us," said Cuor, and held out his bowl for a second helping.

Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens at Nepete, north of Roma on the Via Cassia, to Franzicco Ragoczy di Santo-Germano in Venezia, written in Imperial Latin, carried by general messenger and delivered fourteen days after it was written.

To the Conte di Santo-Germano, Franzicco Ragoczy, at the Campo San Luca in Venezia, the greetings of the Roman widow, Atta Olivia Clemens, at Nepete for the summer, and perhaps into the autumn as well, unless matters in Roma improve.

Before you begin your northern journey, I thought I should send word to you of my present whereabouts, in case you should have reason to contact me in the months ahead. I am at my small stud farm here at the lake; you will remember it from your visit six centuries ago, although the house has been rebuilt twice since then. Niklos Aulirios is with me, but goes monthly to Roma to supervise my properties there, including my house in the city as well as Senza Pari, beyond the walls, and, incidentally, to keep watch over the Villa Ragoczy, which is being given a new roof, which it very much needs, even as I write this. I expect Niklos to return in four days; if he has a report for you, I will authorize him to use my messenger to carry it to you, but you may rest assured that he has taken good care of your property.

As always, I am puzzled why one of our blood would choose to live in Venezia, of all cities, amid all that water, the tides constantly in motion. It must be disconcerting at the least. But you have done so in the past, and will probably do so again, so you need not answer my question unless you have some reason I am unaware of. I find that living next to a lake, as I do here, is not nearly so uncomfortable as being near a river or on the ocean, where the water is forever moving, and rest is difficult even lying on your native earth. Certainly many of your shipping businesses require you from time to time to live in a port city, and Venezia is unquestionably that, but I cannot help but think that you must have daily inconvenience brought about by the enervation of running water, to say nothing of the sunlight.

You have said you are seeking a quiet life, and that may be, but it strikes me as odd that you are attempting to find it at Venezia, or in the turbulence of the north, for that matter, since you are bound thither when summer is gone. Not that there is much quiet anywhere, these days. Since Roma was sacked, the whole of Europe has been in a frangible state, and I doubt it will improve in the next decade, or century. Upheavals always take so much longer than anyone thinks they will-except perhaps for us and those like us, who have such long lives. I am content for now to remain here at the lake where I may tend my horses and enjoy the company of Dionigi Eso, who is a most promising young scholar to whom I have extended my protection, and who is willing to remain with me here for a year or two, exploring the past and other, more personal matters.

The horses I raise at this stud farm are beginning to flourish again; you may recall that half the herd was plundered four years ago by Spanish soldiers, the last time the house was burned. They were their own company, mercenaries, in fact, not immediately under the Crown-an excuse that has made it impossible for me to claim any damages for their theft and destruction-and so had no fear of superior authority. Carlos may be a reasonable and tolerant man in the eastern part of his empire, but he is ferocious in Spain and all Spain commands. Luckily, Eliseo, my farrier, escaped into the hills with six of my studs and a dozen of my best mares, so all was not completely lost. I have rewarded Eliseo with two foals to be his own, and the horses as well as their get to pass to his heirs, which should prove a worthwhile legacy in time.

And speaking of time, I hope you are not still morose over the True Death of Demetrice Volandrai. It is never easy to lose one who comes to your life-the Blood Bond is more than a contract, is it not?-but she admitted that she was unable to live as we must, and certainly a swift end is preferable to slow, unending starvation and madness. She has been truly dead for roughly three decades; surely you can accept the distance time imposes, for you were the one who taught me to acquiesce in the passage of time. Must I now remind you of your own lesson?

You tell me that your musician is proving an understanding mistress, which I hope is the case. Then you tell me that you have only visited her knowingly three times, and that all your other visits have been in her sleep, to mingle with her dreams. This way you seek to avoid having to bring her to our life at the end of hers, and may be an act of probity as you see it, but she may prefer to have you knowingly, and to decide for herself if she wants to come to your life; you are imposing your will on hers: why is that? You have not permitted her to make a choice, and that seems unlike you. If you are afraid of losing her, then let her know the risks of your love, so that she may make up her own mind. To do otherwise cheats both you and Pier-Ariana (you see? I do remember her name).

I have the books you sent me, and very handsome they are. I particularly liked your volume on healing herbs and roots. That will be put to good use. But the other five are not so compelling, my interests not being concerned with folk tales or travels, and my musical skills are limited, as you are well-aware; I leave the music to you, my most dear friend. Still, I know these works are useful in many ways, and when the winter comes, and Dionigi is occupied with his studies, I may yet be glad of something to read.

This comes with my heartfelt concerns on your behalf, as well as my

Eternal love,

Olivia

by my own hand on the 16thday of June, 1530 Anno Domini