His most trusted agent's nod was one of understanding. But pitiless for all that.

"You have other offspring, milord. Of position if not of blood. All of Ferrara depends upon you. Venice too, I suspect, in the end. There is no leadership in that city that can compare to yours. If you begin leading again, like a duke and not a grieving old man."

Dell'este tightened his lips, but accepted the reproof. It was a just one, after all.

"True," he said curtly. Then, after a moment, his lips began to curve into a smile. Hearing Bartelozzi's sigh of relief, he allowed his smile to broaden.

"You think it is time the Old Fox returned, eh?"

"Past time," murmured Bartelozzi. "The storm clouds are gathering, milord. Have been for some time, as you well know. If Venice is destroyed, Ferrara will go down with it."

The Duke of Ferrara began pacing about. For all his age, there was a spryness to his steps. "Venice first, I think. That will be the cockpit."

He did not even bother to glance at Bartelozzi to see his agent's nod of agreement. So much was obvious to them both. "Which means we must find an anchor of support in the city. A great house which can serve to rally the populace of Venice. The current quality of Venetian leadership is dismal, but the population will respond well?as they have for a thousand years?if a firm hand takes control." He sighed regretfully. "Doge Foscari was capable once, and still has his moments. But?he is too old, now."

"If either of your grandsons is alive…"

The Old Fox shook his head firmly. "Not yet, Antimo. Let our enemies think the ancient house of Valdosta is well and truly destroyed. That will be our secret weapon, when the time comes. For the moment?assuming they are still alive?my grandsons are far safer hidden amongst the poor and outcast of Venice."