Silent Water by P. K. Adams

Author:P. K. Adams [Adams, P. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781732361157
Publisher: Iron Knight Press
Published: 2019-08-05T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

January 4th, 1520

I found the note two days later.

I had spent a busy morning accompanying the queen and her confessor, Father de la Torre, to a private burial for Don Mantovano. It was held at the Church of St. Agata in Kraków, on a quiet street a short ride from the castle. We were joined by the abbess of the Order of Poor Clares, who held the church in trust, and a group of Italians who had known the secretary well. There were also a few other courtiers in attendance whom I knew from sight but not by name; they must have been the chancellor’s men, sent to observe the proceedings and see if they could uncover any clues as to the killer’s identity. But if so, they must have been disappointed.

“Into your hands, O Lord, we entrust the soul of your servant Ludovico Niccolo Mantovano,” the priest intoned in Latin as we stood before the oak coffin adorned with silver handles and trimmings and draped in rich black velvet. “Look mercifully upon the sins he committed out of human weakness, and grant him the joy of life everlasting in your presence.”

He shook the censer, and swirls of pungent incense enveloped us before rising lazily to the vaulted ceiling. There, a newly painted image in vivid colors—by one of the city’s Italian artists, judging by the style of it—looked down on us. It was of God sitting in judgment, saints on one side, sinners on the other. Through the smoky haze, I could see the severe aspect of his oversized white-bearded visage, and it sent a shiver down my spine. But I still could not imagine Don Mantovano being guilty of anything serious enough to provoke that divine reaction when he stood before the Heavenly Father’s throne.

After the prayer concluded, the priest began chanting the Office of the Dead, and we followed the casket to a side chapel where it was lowered into a crypt below the stone floor. The queen had paid for the crypt space herself, and she was the only one present who seemed genuinely moved; everyone else appeared to be there out of duty or necessity rather than any sense of loss or mourning for Don Mantovano. I found it sad that so few tears were being shed for him, although in truth I felt no great urge to cry either.

Unlike that of Zamborski, whose body had been taken to his family’s seat to be buried, the cause of the secretary’s death had not been made public. The king feared panic after a second violent death, but rumors were already circulating. The queen was becoming increasingly impatient with the investigation. She had raised the matter again with the king during their private supper the night before the funeral, but it must not have gone as she had hoped because she returned to her apartments in a bad mood, and I dared not ask any questions. I was one of the few people at the court

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