Chapter 41
“We have the makings of a woeful tragedy,” I said, for Chandrika had a way of cutting right into the beating heart of Magno’s motivation.
“For some, for Lord Bortolo and Tobias of Valpolicella, who both expired so horribly of poison, for Sir Christofolo of Cittadella, who died on the sword, it has already been the ultimate tragedy. Chandrika is right. If indeed Magno has perpetrated these crimes, what did Magno pledge to himself, and why?”
“I believe I know the why,” Fiametta said.
“During my lurking in stairwells and in corners of the public room, I observed a variety of scholars, vintners, and noblemen speaking together in low tones and chuckling like boys who had successfully bit their thumbs at some great and hated bully and got away with it.”
“At Great-uncle Magno.” A chill ran up my spine. “I’ve seen his reaction to ridicule, even so innocent a farce as the family theatricals when all are mocked. Especially me.”
Chandrika stifled a grin. “Your family is so funny!”
Fiametta didn’t bother to stifle her grin. “Chandrika and I laughed until we hurt.”
I glared at them both, but mostly at Fiametta. “Scurvy elder, stai zitto!”
Fiametta did shut up. But she still grinned.
“Never mind that.” Everyone in my family was having far too much fun at my expense. “What happened with Magno? Fiametta, what did you hear?”
She got serious again in a hurry. “I was catching the conversations in bits and pieces, so it took days upon days before I realized what a great offense had been perpetrated on the profitable world of wines.”
I heard that word profitable.
Fiametta continued, “It seems a Veneto vintner, Sir Galeazzo of Belluno—Do you know him?”
“No. Belluno is north and east. The Montague vineyard is in Vicenza, much closer to Verona. The distance …” In a time when roads were treacherous and travel took days of discomfort, we preferred to stay close to home. “Perhaps Nonno Montague knows Sir Galeazzo?”
“Perhaps. I was curious to know if there was an additional personal component to the tale, but no matter. Sir Galeazzo is a former younger son, but because of the death of his childless oldest brother, the man who now has custody of the family vineyard.”
“How Magno must envy him that!” An ugly thought that Magno would have loved to see Nonno Montague die childless, but ugly fit Magno all too well.
“Traditionally, that vineyard produces amarone of great renown, yet Sir Galeazzo is Magno’s contemporary. They attended Padua University, and Sir Galeazzo failed to become one of Magno’s sycophants, and when it was required, he failed to show the proper respect for Magno’s expertise.”
I interpreted. “He didn’t bribe him enough.”
“More than that, Sir Galeazzo laughed at Magno’s demand for bribes, public adulation, money for his brand … In revenge, Magno declared his amarone undrinkable.”
My brain, which Mamma had declared far too mathematical, clicked through the consequences. “Which made a difference to … buyers?”
“Si, because Magno has gained power in his scheme to make profit for himself. The power he desires. The power to destroy his enemies, to force respect, to threaten, and never ever have to pay tribute to his ancestors, to his brother, to the people who raised him.”
“That sounds like a goal he’d embrace.” In my mind, this raced downhill with the speed of a sled on an icy track.
“Put simply, Sir Galeazzo refused to take his defeat at the hands of the odious Magno without reprisal. He joined with two wine guys.”
“Ampelographic specialists?” I suggested.
Fiametta put her hand over my mouth. “Do not say those words to me!”
I laughed into her palm and pushed her away. “Tell all.”
“He joined with two wine guys—”
“Wine snots,” I corrected her. “Lord Bartolo and Tobias of Valpolicella?”
“Exactly. They conspired to test the mighty Magno. They told him about a wine they enjoyed and were anxious to get his opinion on. They described it as a marvelous innovation for wine storage, a luminous glass bottle closed by wax. They dazzled him with a Murano glass goblet, poured the wine from the bottle, invited him to sip and describe it to them. In lyrical words he described every varietal and nuance and, in a tone of worship, declared it the best he’d ever tasted.
” She sat back and waited for me to finish the story.
“It was the same amarone he’d previously described as undrinkable. And …” This part I wasn’t sure about, but I was willing to speculate. “And the blackmailer became the blackmailed.”
Fiametta touched the tip of her nose to signify my correct reading of the situation.
“Great-uncle Magno couldn’t allow the news of his vanity and stupidity to gain ground in the wine community lest his tasting-for-profit scheme fail. Murder always comes back to love or money, doesn’t it?” I had some experience in these matters.
Chandrika had her own thoughts. “Frequently to power, sometimes to real rage at a betrayal.”
“To laughter, too, if it’s a weapon.” I was still working my way through the wormy mind of Great-uncle Magno. “Magno … he came to my wedding to escape the mockery? And run from the blackmail?”
Fiametta nodded as I speculated.
“All his enemies followed. They were the men sniggering in the stairwells.”
“Yes.”
“Until they started to die.”
“Yes.”
“Magno is the poisoner.”
She nodded once.
“Magno poisoned himself to distract attention from … Wait.” I was remembering that horrible scene in the palace dining room, where the stench of vomit, death, and treachery tainted the air.
“He poisoned Papà, Lord Bartolo, and himself, and then … then he fought so hard against taking the antidote. He refused it over and over, begged Friar Laurence not to give it to him, blamed himself for not warning Barolo and Papà.”
“Rightly!”
“Not because he was honorable, but because he had already taken the antidote, and to take more than the prescribed amount would likely kill him!” I leaped to my feet, fists clenched.
“That wretched viper! That lily-livered boy! That beast that walks on two legs and hides his true face behind a wizard’s mask! ”
“He did almost die,” Fiametta reminded me.
“Almost is not good enough for him. He poisoned my father! He would have left Mamma and all my siblings without his love, support, and wisdom. And why?” The answers were all too obvious, yet I spoke them to firm them in my mind and hers.
“Because when I was a girl and that vile lecher groped me, Papà defended me and punished him! Because after Cal punched Magno, Papà sternly reminded Magno that it was treason to speak of madness and Prince Escalus in the same sentence.”
“Because Lord Romeo’s father is Magno’s greatest rival,” Fiametta added.
I thought of Nonno Montague, his unshakeable position as the family patriarch and his own clear-eyed view of his brother. “In his own mind!”
Fiametta said, “In our investigation, we readily believed Magno’s misdirection, that it was he who was the target of a murderer.”
“Because everyone wants to kill him.” As a personal testimonial, I curled my fingers around the knife I wore in my sleeve.
Chandrika laughed softly, and Fiametta said, “Because yes, he is a man who disdains all and exalts only himself.”
I quoted old Italian wisdom, saying, “‘The professore who must praise himself speaks to a class of one.’”
“Magno dreams of the day all sit at his feet in admiration, and now he’s a laughingstock among his peers who know.” Fiametta couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of her tone.
“In my country it’s said, ‘A secret kept by more than one cannot remain a secret,’” Chandrika remarked, quoting in her turn.
“Only Lady Juliet saw a possible different motive and suggested you were at risk,” Fiametta said.
“Mamma never suspected him, or she would never have given him shelter in our home.” I was quite sure about that. “Who does Magno hate?”
“Ask instead, who does Magno hate most? For the list of people who have offended him are legion! They tower above him and about him.” Fiametta gathered my hands in hers.
“Rosie, make no mistake. You are at risk. You made an ass of him at the tasting. Not even he believes you cheated. He said so to save face, and people, his family, laughed even harder at him. Now you again face him in competition. By whatever means possible, he’ll ensure you don’t once more make a jester of him. ”