Title: The Man With Sapphire Eyes
Series: The Ballot Boy, Book Two
Author: Larry Mellman
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 05/16/2023
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 96100
Genre: Historical, historical/14th century Venice, lit/genre fiction, gay, new adult, interracial, political rulers, political intrigue and plotting, wartime action and adventure, gore, family drama, betrayal
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Description
In this exciting sequel, disaster threatens Nico, ballot boy to the doge, as neighboring Padua launches an undeclared war. Mistrustful of diplomats and spies, the doge dispatches Nico on a secret mission to the court of King Louis of Hungary to gauge the king’s resolve to aid Padua.
The doge also drafts Donato Venturi, the greatest swordsman in Venice, nicknamed Black Hercules, as Nico’s adviser and bodyguard. It’s love at first sight for Nico, but he knows nothing about Donato, the son of a Venetian noble and a princess of Mali. Assuming Donato is straight, Nico guards his feelings until an unlikely encounter at the Prior of Brotherly Love proves otherwise.
The pair steal moments together, but the war changes everything. Cutthroat political struggles with his own nobles keeps the doge busy in Venice as Nico again confronts the carnage of battle, testing his cunning. This brings him face-to-face with his nemeses, Ruggiero and Marcantonio Gradenigo, forcing an unplanned rescue of his soulmate, Alex.
When the war goes disastrously for Venice, the fate of the Serene Republic hangs on the will of the doge and the skills of Nico and Donato. Desperate to defeat Padua and drive out the Hungarian invaders, they risk everything in a final gambit to checkmate in three. In love as in war, winning and losing aren’t what they seem.
The Man with Sapphire Eyes
Larry Mellman © 2023
All Rights Reserved
Halfway home, I hear alarm bells summoning the nobles to an emergency session. By the time I reach the palace wharf, a thousand grim-faced nobles in black velvet robes fill the Great Council chamber, newly enlarged to accommodate them. Palace guards toss out the snoops, imposters, and spies before bolting the doors shut. I sit in Serenissimo’s shadow on the dais, his careworn golden robe dappled with dancing rainbows. His six councilors, the Ten, and Marino Vendramin, now head of the Forty, surround him. Sunlight bouncing off the jade water of St. Mark’s Basin through the new glass windows spangles us all with jewels, as well as the newly completed mural on the wall behind us, the Coronation of the Virgin by Guariento of Padua.
Marino Vendramin, youngest of the doge’s councilors when I was chosen ballot boy, my first minder, convenes the session. Not even Caesar could be heard over the din of nobles arguing, gossiping, and commiserating. Marino nods to the captain of the guards, and they beat their shields with the pommels of their swords until the nobles pipe down.
“Gentlemen of Venice. Fellow nobles…” Marino raises his hands inclusively and waits for silence. “We have been informed on the highest authority that Lord Francesco Carrara of Padua, our best enemy, yesterday received a promise from King Louis the Great of Hungary—five thousand Hungarian troops to aid Padua against us as soon as Lord Carrara successfully provokes us into attacking. King Louis avers that law and conscience forbid him to aid an aggressor, but if we attack Padua first, his hands are freed. We are not prepared for a war on land and must raise the money to pay for it. We must decide whether to defeat Padua in the field before the Hungarians arrive, or bide our time and prepare adequately, despite the Paduan raids, pillaging, and terrorizing of our mainland villages and towns, baiting us to attack.”
The floodgates holding back a fratricidal war within the Great Council burst open in a torrent of scabrous debate. Bruno Badoer of the Ten epitomizes the pro-war sentiment among the men hungriest for more territory on terrafirma—for rivers and plains with vast fields, and orchards, all of which our watery situation prevents. Short and round, a red-faced barrel covered in white fur with a white fringe around his ears like a frosted laurel wreath, Badoer always favors war.
“I warned you,” he roars. “Nip that jackal in the bud, I said, and none of you listened. Now we have to rip the whole family out root and branch before he seizes our throne and throws us the scraps from his table.”
Lorenzo Morosini, third wealthiest merchant in Venice, remains only a senator. Scion of an ancient house joined by marriage to the throne of Hungary, much to his chagrin, he has never been elected to the Doge’s Council, the Forty, or the Ten. Thus, he speaks not from the dais, but from the floor.
“Gentlemen, how many times have we heard this same foul wind blowing from Sir Badoer’s mouth? It’s nothing but bellicose posturing. We are not knights, and this is not a crusade. It is a border dispute with a neighbor. Did not our own Lord instruct us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves? Francesco Carrara is only a man. He is rational. We can negotiate a solution without waging a war we cannot afford with an army we do not possess, and which we must assuredly lose as soon as Hungary enters the field.”
“Blow it out your ass, Morosini.” Bruno Badoer swats him away like a fat horsefly. “Is your name Carrara now?”
Boisterous laughter and angry shouts volley over the insult. Federico Cornaro, the sugar king and currently one of the Ten, addresses the dispute.
“We have no cause to question Senator Morosini’s motives or loyalties, gentlemen. We all know what fighting a land war means. Our fleet, the mightiest on the seas, heroically protecting us from the Genoese, pirates, and infidels, cannot fight on land. Instead of attacking the enemy on land with an army, we need only block the rivers and canals from the Adriatic to the marketplaces of Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Milan, and Austria. See how they like it without salt and pepper. See how long their people will stand for it before rioting. Negotiate, we must. The alternative is unthinkable.”
The debate rages back and forth roughly along those lines until the vote is taken, and I count the ballots. The party of diplomacy narrowly but solidly triumphs over the aggrieved warriors.
For now.
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Larry was born in Los Angeles and educated in literature, political science, and life at the University of California, Berkeley. He has worked as a printer and journalist in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and St. Paul, Minnesota. Larry also worked with Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground on the Exploding Plastic Inevitable in NY, Provincetown, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, was mentored by Dean Koontz, and shared a palazzo in Venice with international opera singers Erika Sunnegårdh and Mark Doss.”
While living in Venice for many years, Larry also taught English, led tours, and immersed himself in the history and art of the Venetian Republic. The Ballot Boy was born in Venice and completed in St. Paul.
Larry is a lifelong social activist and writer, a voracious reader and researcher, an opera fanatic, and devoted walker. He currently lives in St. Paul with his partner of twenty-one years and his ex-wife of twenty-five years. His son is a pianist devoted to blues and jazz.
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