Lorenzo Vendramin's journey to Mantua begins beneath the veil of lagoon fog, amid the memory of a vanished love and the burden of a task that intertwines duty and pain. In the carriage that takes him away from Venice, his mind turns to Elisabetta, to her inexplicable absence, while the Venetian plain passes like a gray, motionless dream. Every noise, every face encountered along the road becomes suspicious, a prelude to a deception that seems to stalk him. A stop at a country inn does nothing to quell his anxiety, and the city of Gonzaga draws closer like a labyrinth of power and secrets.
Having finally arrived in Mantua, Lorenzo enters the gates of the ducal palace, amid columns, frescoes, and attentive gazes, to introduce himself to Duke Vincenzo I Gonzaga. The meeting between the two men marks the beginning of a subtle diplomatic game, in which the art of words conceals unspeakable truths. But behind the official mission, a silent oath binds Lorenzo to a destiny that no seal can undo.
Amid Venetian mists and Gonzaga splendors, Lorenzo Vendramin sets out for Mantua: a diplomatic mission that hides a personal tragedy and a mystery
Tales. 1572 Blood Carnival. Chapter 17: The Oath of Mantua
The journey to Mantua had begun while the city was still asleep, wrapped in that milky fog that rose from the canals like a glassy breath. The wheels of the carriage, wet with humidity, squeaked softly over the paving stones of the fondamenta as the coachman urged on the two black stallions, powerful and skittish, their nostrils steaming. Lorenzo, wrapped in a dark wool cloak, watched from the window as Venice faded behind him: towers, campanili, motionless sails in the harbor, and then only the silver reflection of the lagoon, growing ever more distant.
Riding alongside the vehicle were Pietro and two chosen men-at-arms, proven loyalists, chain mail hidden beneath leather jackets, swords at their sides, eyes fixed on the road. They had left Mestre a few hours earlier, and already the Venetian plain spread before them like a glass tabletop, dotted with isolated farmsteads, ploughed fields, and irrigation ditches that mirrored the clear sky.
Lorenzo sat in the carriage, arms crossed, but his mind knew no rest.
His thoughts returned obsessively to Elisabetta, to the previous evening, to the emptiness behind the door that had remained shut.The hearth, kindled three times, had dwindled to cold embers; the candle on the desk had eaten all its wax, and dawn had found him still dressed, cloak on his shoulders and throat parched. He had waited, thinking every footstep was hers, every voice on the canal a sign of her coming.....
