TWENTY-SIX
The patter of rain beat upon the roof and gray light filtered in the long narrow windows. A large group of men gathered in the masculine room, but silence prevailed in the solemn, mournful atmosphere, quiet and foreboding like the light that infused them. They had come one at a time, called together by no certain assignation other than their grief. So many of them, there were not enough chairs in the palazzo’s large study to accommodate them all. They congregated into a haphazard circle, drawing as close together as the large furniture and their bodies would allow. The circle of men standing around those in chairs soon grew to two deep.
Teodoro Gradenigo stood behind a large winged chair, having surrendered his seat to an elderly man who had shuffled in after all the seats wer
