The ambassador sighed. “Tell them.”

“Yes, father. I told him I was certain it was genuine. The imagery, the vocabulary, the flow of language-all cried out that this was a work of Athenian genius. And another thing! A few lines from the play have been preserved in works by other writers, as you are probably aware. Just glancing through it, I chanced upon the famous one about cowards not counting in battle-and the wording was not quite the same! A forger would certainly have been careful to include the known version, to give his fake a semblance of authority.”

“What does this have to do with the murder of Bertucci Orseolo?” barked the inquisitor.

Pasqual smiled. “Nothing, so far as I can see.”

“Nothing,” the Maestro agreed. “I was just tying up a loose end. I already knew that His Excellency the ambassador was not guilty, because he volunteered the information that he had seen the procurator pull a face after draining his wine. You, sier Pasqual, asked Madonna Violetta if she had noticed the same thing, and the timing of your query required that your father must have asked you the same question before rumors of poisoning started to circulate. That is not the action of a guilty man, nor one who suspects his son of being guilty.”

“Motive!” roared the inquisitor. “Why did that woman put poison in Bertucci’s wine?”

“Motive?” said the Maestro. “Ah yes, motive. I require another demonstration, a very brief one this time. If all the gentlemen present would kindly stand along this table, facing the door? Missier Grande has some witnesses he wishes to bring in to identify the real murderer. Thank you.”

Playing fair, the Maestro obeyed his own orders, struggling to his feet and leaning on the table before him. Violetta took Bianca’s hand and together they moved to the far corner, out of the way. The rest of us moved like galley slaves-promptly and in unison-until we were lined up as required. All except the state inquisitor. Marco Dona moved to a chair against the wall, so he could study the faces in the lineup. His acceptance of Hyacinth’s guilt had been so quick that he must have known exactly what was going to happen, but now he seemed more wary. If he did not know who was going to be denounced this time, then the Maestro must have cooked up this demonstration with Missier Grande after we arrived, while I was welcoming the guests. And Giorgio must have gone back to Ca’ Barbolano to fetch the twins. How did they fit in?

Who was next? Whom did Inquisitor Dona suspect? In his ducal counselor’s red robes, he was sitting directly opposite me. Beside me stood Ambassador Tirali in his senatorial red robes. Was it mere coincidence that we had lined up like this? Did Dona suspect Tirali?

The demon in the illusion had claimed that Tirali was possessed, but what demons say must never be trusted. They can turn around and speak the truth to deceive, though, and Tirali’s bribe to me had come at a very convenient moment. He had known that the poisoning must have happened in this room, he had known about the attack on me, even that the bravi had used knives and not swords. He had known I would be coming to call on him. Had the doge really revealed all that to a man who had been present at the scene of the crime? Surely Pietro Moro would not be so indiscreet?

Charming, Violetta had called Tirali senior, but also ruthless. What motive could he possibly have to order the murder of old Bertucci Orseolo? So that he could buy the Euripides manuscript to give to the Pope for the Vatican Library?

That was utterly ridiculous.

Missier Grande was still by the door. “If Your Excellency permits? The two persons outside have been assured that they are required only to tell the truth and will not be punished for it in any way.”

Dona said, “Let’s get it over with.”

Quazza opened the door, peered out, then stood aside.

It was neither of the Angeli boys that entered, though, but a man in his twenties, wearing his church best, obviously a laborer and a scared one.

Missier Grande closed the door behind him. “Do what I said. Take your time and don’t be frightened.”

Pulping his cap in both hands, the man walked along the line of us and then turned and walked back again. It is amazing how much guilt that sort of inspection can generate. I searched my soul all the way back to puberty. I didn’t bother going farther than that, because my earlier memories are less interesting.

“Well?” Missier Grande said. “If you recognize him, point.”

The man raised a very shaky hand and pointed. Nobody said a word, but Bianca stifled a gasp.

The first witness was dismissed. The second had more confidence, although he was only a youth, little older than the twins. Grinning cheekily and without even removing his cap, he strolled along the line. He, too, stopped in front of Enrico Orseolo.

“Him, Missier Grande.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t looked closely at all of them.”

“No, him. I’m sure.”

The door was closed behind him. We returned to our seats, mostly in the same places, but I strolled along to the end, where I had a better view of them all.

The great minister stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. It was a bizarrely informal pose for a Venetian magistrate. “Well, Missier Grande? Who were those men and what am I supposed to have done?” He was admirably calm. His children, flanking him, looking considerably more frightened than he did.

Inquisitor Dona said, “Maestro Nostradamus?”

Fingertips went back against fingertips. “Yesterday morning, assassins tried to kill my apprentice. Such things happen in the Republic, but rarely in broad daylight, and it would be stretching belief to dismiss a connection between that assault and his inquiries into the procurator’s death. At that time very few people knew that he had begun asking questions about it. The doge did, but it was at his suggestion that I had set Alfeo to work on the matter. Alfeo began by consulting a physician I respect, and a couple of personal friends. All of those we trust. He also called on the Feathers. Bellamy, if that is his name, drove him out at sword point.” The Maestro chuckled. “It is an interesting, but probably immaterial, question as to whether the alleged sier Bellamy is naturally so irascible, or if he has been acting so at every opportunity on the woman’s orders in order to justify the outburst he staged in this room four nights ago.

“I was already confident that the Feathers as a team had committed the crime, but I did not know why. Without a motive, they were unassailable, so why should they have been sufficiently worried by a boy’s questions to attempt a second murder? By his own admission, Alfeo had no authority and fled from Bellamy’s threats. They are strangers to our city. They had met me, but a senescent bibliophilic doctor should not seem dangerous, even if they knew of the spectacular clairvoyance I demonstrate in my almanacs and horoscopes. How would they find their murderous assistants in time? They had acted extremely fast to prepare such a trap overnight.

“Many great houses employ large staffs of manual workers-boatmen, warehousemen-and sometimes employ them for wrongful purposes. It was more than likely that Alfeo’s attackers came from such a source, but two of them had been killed and thus would be missed by their workmates. Although the Council of Ten has sometimes been accused of turning a blind eye to misbehavior of the nobility, this case was clearly related to the death of a senior magistrate-the doge knew that, even if no one else in the Ten did. I could be confident that inquiries would be made in both Ca’ Orseolo and Ca’ Tirali. The fact that both Your Excellencies were available to attend this conference is evidence that the thugs did not come from either of your workforces. I hasten to add that I would not expect either of Your Excellencies to be so foolish as to involve your own workers in a criminal affair already being investigated by the Ten.