Veiled Passions. Tracy MacNish

and gratitude. Matteo said something to the guard beside him, and a long conversation was conducted before the guard slipped away and the Inquisition continued.

      “What do we do?” Kieran asked Rogan in a whisper. “What are they saying?”

      “Just wait.” Rogan had her take a seat. “They know who we are and why we’re here.”

      Kieran watched the proceedings continue. Matteo stood with his face sober. She leaned over to her brother once again. “Are Venice’s laws similar to ours?”

      Rogan nodded gravely. “Aye. The penalty for treason is death.”

      Kieran sat back and retreated back into silence, considering that if Venice executed treasonous persons in the manner in which England did, she did not want to know about it.

      Still, as she studied Matteo from the back, it pained her to imagine his body dangling from a rope, those amber-lit eyes bulging as he gasped for air.

      After what seemed an eternity, a guard came and gestured for Rogan and Kieran to follow him, and led the way to the front of the massive courtroom.

      Kieran behaved as she would before her king, and swept into a deep, deferential curtsy. Beside her, Rogan bowed low.

      A man approached and identified himself as a translator summoned by the Council, and with his aid, they addressed the Doge and the Council of Ten.

      The Doge turned his attention to Kieran first.

      “You claim you were with this man, Matteo de Gama, last night?”

      “I was, your Serenity,” Kieran answered, and she curtseyed once more. “He saved my life when I fell into the canal, and he returned me safely to my brother.”

      “Impossible,” the patrician man screamed, pounding again on the papers. “She lies!”

      “Do not call my sister’s integrity into question,” Rogan interjected, his voice firm and resounding in the great hall, echoing off the high ceilings.

      “And you are her brother, no? You confirm this is the truth?”

      “Indeed, your Serenity.”

      The Doge leaned over and listened to the whispered words of a counselor at his side, nodding as he took in the information and the advice. He cast his attention once more to Matteo, and his flinty, dark eyes narrowed in contemplation.

      “This is not the first time you have been brought before the Council of Ten, Matteo de Gama. However, it is the first time I have heard anything that defames your loyalty to Venice.”

      Matteo did not hesitate to defend himself. “I have written many satires that have inflamed those who read them, it is true. I have engaged in private gambling despite the ban on it, and relieved many a man of his coin, that is also true. But what Count Carlo Gambera claims, that I turned my loyalties elsewhere and endangered Venice with correspondence and maps of our city in an effort to weaken our defenses, is not true. No man loves Venice as I.”

      “Nor her women.” The Doge’s eyes rested briefly, but knowingly, on the count who made the claims of treason and freemasonry against Matteo, and his wife who sat at his side.

      The Doge leaned back in his chair and regarded the group before him. His dilemma proved sensitive. The count who made the claims had gone to great length to prove them. He was a man of influence and power. To say the count fabricated the documents would mean he would be guilty of a high crime.

      The Doge chose to address Rogan with the aid of the translator. “You are a duke in England, no?”

      Rogan bowed deeply. “I am, your Serenity.”

      “You are also one the shipbuilders who petitioned for the Republic’s naval bid.”

      “Yes, your Serenity.”

      “And you say your sister was returned to you by this man, Matteo de Gama?”

      “She was, and I’m very grateful for his help. If not for Matteo de Gama, she would have drowned.”

      “He sent you a letter from inside the Leads.”

      “Only his request that we come speak on his behalf, your Serenity. I will happily show the letter to you, if you would care to read it.”

      The Doge’s gaze traveled to Kieran, the count, Matteo, and finally back to Rogan. “Would you say that Matteo de Gama is an honorable man?”

      “He returned my sister to me, unharmed. ’Tis an action that speaks to me as one of honor, yes, your Serenity.”

      The Doge fell silent again. His counselor leaned over and whispered something else. The Doge replied in the same fashion, and the discussion continued until finally the Doge smiled and nodded. He sat up straight and laid his hands flat on the table, fingers spread. He was prepared to give his answer.

      He addressed the man who brought the charges, and by way of the hushed voice of the interpreter, Rogan and Kieran were able to follow the proceedings.

      “Count Carlo Gambera, the claims you make are of the most serious in nature. I do not take your word, or your proof, with lightness. Yet, we have conflicting information presented here today, in the form of an English noble. I can not disbelieve His Grace, for I am not the reader of hearts and minds, but only an examiner of evidence. I do not believe we have enough evidence to convict Signore de Gama, for we have papers that could have been given to you by a man with a vendetta. Papers alone cannot compel me to order a man’s death, most especially when he has an alibi that debunks one of your documents.

      “Yet, Matteo de Gama, you have troubled our city with your inflammatory writings. Simply that you have been brought before the Council of Ten for other infractions proves that while you may be a man who loves our city, you are not a man who treasures harmony. Venice values harmony. I value harmony.

      “I hereby decree that you, Matteo de Gama, will be exiled from the Republic of Venice for a period of five years. Go out into the world, and see if when you return you will be prepared to enjoy the harmony that my Republic has to offer.”

      A knowing gleam came into the Doge’s eyes as he glanced from the count to the gambler, and the woman who had obviously come between them. “I will send you with my guards, to see to it that you find safe passage out of Venice. Farewell, Signore.”

      The Doge stood and left the room, followed by the Council. The count gathered his papers, tapped them in order, and towing his wife by her upper arm, approached Matteo. He leaned in and hissed a stream of Italian before he walked away, dragging her behind him. She looked back, and with a smile, blew Matteo a kiss goodbye.

      Matteo stood stunned in the center of the immense chamber. Surrounded by frescos and statues and all things beautiful and Venetian, he realized the full impact of the Doge’s orders.

      Exile.

      Five years! He’d planned to leave Venice for a short while and let the matter with Gia fall to rest, but never had he intended on being gone for five years. Five months, perhaps, but years?

      No more sailing his burchiello on the canal at twilight. All the pleasures of Venice would be denied to him, from Festa del Mosto, the annual pressing of the grapes that Matteo loved to attend, to even the noise and upheaval of Carnivale, which he now knew he would miss. The food, the wine, the scent in the air, it was everything Matteo knew, and the only thing he wanted to know. He was stripped of his city, his home, his life.

      Exile.

      The word cut like a blade, sharp, cold, and merciless.

      Suddenly his satires became insipid and contrived. His intrigues with women turned empty and hollow. His gambling and swindling left a bitter taste in his mouth. Without Venice, what would he be, where would he go? He would now be like the travelers he had scorned, plunged into a new culture where he knew nothing of their customs.

      Rogan approached Matteo. He outstretched his hand in a gesture as ancient as the castles of England: