Read A Death in the Venetian Quarter Online

Authors: Alan Gordon

A Death in the Venetian Quarter (7 page)

BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
2.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Well, um, I was going out,” he began.
“Out? Out where? You're not thinking of going to battle at your age.”
“Actually, I was. They expect me to.”
“Who does?” she demanded.
“Well, the citizens. The people. You know, the ones I rule.”
“The ones you rule. Yet you are off to battle because they expect you to. Sounds like they rule you.”
“Now, my dear, this happens to be the sort of thing an Emperor is expected to do every now and again.” He motioned to his servants who carefully lifted him off the sawhorse and stood him on the floor. He grimaced as his legs took the weight of the armor.
“You can't even stand up without help,” she said scornfully.
“That's why we have horses, my dear,” he replied. “Wonderful creatures. Carry you straight into battle, and not a word of complaint from them. I truly like horses.”
Rico stood on the throne, seized the Emperor's spear, and used it to vault across the room.
“Here, Your Bigness,” he said, handing it to him. “Spit a few Frenchmen with it.”
“Thank you, little friend,” said the Emperor, taking it. “Would you be so kind as to bring my sword?”
The dwarf somersaulted across the floor, grabbed the sword, and dragged it slowly back. He raised it slowly over his head, then collapsed under the weight.
“It would take a mighty arm to wield this blade,” he said. He proffered it to the Emperor, who seized it and waved it clumsily about.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Like a fragment of a man,” Euphy said. “What will happen to me if you get yourself killed?”
“Oh, I expect you'll manage,” he replied easily. “Get Laskaris to run the place—he's the best of the bunch.”
She burst into tears. He looked at her impassively.
“That won't work any more,” he said. “Go back to your plotting, Euphrosyne. If God sees fit to extend my life a little longer, then I will see you when I return.”
The tears stopped immediately. She turned and marched out of the room, Evdokia running to keep up. The Emperor watched them leave.
“And if He doesn't, then I will see you in Hell,” he muttered. “By God, it would almost be worth dying in battle to get away from her.”
He turned and caught sight of me. “Go,” he said, frowning. “Go and attend your mistress.”
Rico chased me out of the room, squawking, “Go! Go!” like he was some deranged crow. I ran down the corridor, then slowed as I turned the corner and waited for him to catch up to me.
“Isn't marriage wonderful?” he sighed.
“Easy for you to mock,” I said. “You've never been married.”
“I've been saving myself,” he informed me proudly.
“Really?”
“I figure that if he takes a spear in battle, I might have a chance with the flutist.”
I giggled. I couldn't help it.
“She's beneath you,” I said.
“Not yet,” he said. “But that would be the general idea. Did Euphy really think she could talk him out of going?”
“She forgets that he occasionally takes being Emperor seriously. Will he really ride to battle?”
“Just enough to give the city a good show,” he said. “He'll wave his sword, shake his spear, flash the ikon, then send the Guard on ahead of him. His fighting days are long past.”
“How about the bribery?”
“I've brought it up. He said, ‘Is there enough gold in the world to make them go away, I wonder?' It's a good question. How did she like the idea?”
“I haven't had a chance to mention it. The day has been filled with dramatics, and the quality of the acting has been poor.”
“Well, watch your back. When this family starts feuding, the words don't last long. Sooner or later, the knives will come out. I'll see you tonight.”
We thumbed our noses at each other and left for opposite sides of the palace.
I returned to the Empress's chambers in time to see the captain dragging Evdokia down the hallway as she shrieked, “But I don't want to go to my room!” A door was slammed and bolted, and the shrieking faded.
The Empress was nowhere to be seen but had left a trail of battered ladies-in-waiting in her wake. I helped one of them get to her feet. Her name was Isadora, and she was from a wealthy family in the city who thought placing her with the Empress would further her prospects. So far, it had only taught her how to take a punch and keep smiling. Not the worst thing to learn, but still.
“Thank you, Fool,” she whispered to me, as I dabbed a kerchief at the blood on her lip. “It is fortunate that I am not expected to leave the palace anytime soon. I'd hate to be seen in public like this.”
“Wear it with pride,” I said. “The men are always boasting of their scars. Why shouldn't we?”
She smiled wanly.
“May I ask you a question?” I whispered.
She glanced around, then nodded.
“I've become curious about a woman who lives on the Fifth Hill. She dresses in mourning and lives alone in a mansion set back from a high wall. The rumor is that she's a witch. Do you know …”
Then I stopped, for she had turned quite white.
“Please, Aglaia,” she whispered fearfully. “Never mention her in this room.”
“But—”
She shook her head and walked away, leaving me holding a bloodied kerchief.
What was that all about? I wondered. Perhaps it was just simple superstition. Lord knows it ran rampant in this palace, with the tone set by the Empress. But when Euphy encountered a witch, she was more apt to trade recipes than to run away. What was special about this one?
It was too hard a knot for me to untie for now. I decided to let Time untangle it for me.
A servant came running from Euphy's bedchamber. To my surprise, she came directly to me.
“She wants you,” she said. “Quickly!”
I looked at the female debris about me, gulped, took a deep breath, and headed in.
She was pacing the room, still in her imperial regalia, the crown askew. She stopped when she saw me, then strode toward me, her hands extended toward my face.
I did my best not to flinch. She seized my head in both hands and peered into my eyes.
“A daughter,” she said. “That is my prophecy.”
“I think so as well, Majesty,” I replied.
She nodded, satisfied, and released me. I rubbed my jaw where her fingers had dug in.
“Daughters are difficult,” she said.
“So I see.”
“The problem is, we spoiled them. Treated them too gently. They have no idea what the world is like, then suddenly they're being married off and learning the hard way. My fault, but there's nothing I can do to change the past. All I can do is change the future, and I have devoted every minute of my existence to that end.”
“Your untiring efforts in that regard are an inspiration, Highness.”
“Stop it,” she said sharply. “The one person I can count on to be honest in this entire city is you, Fool. Don't play up to me when I need you the most.”
Well, compliments from an unexpected quarter. I never expected her to praise me for my honesty. It showed what a thorough job I had done in deceiving her.
“All right, Euphy,” I said. “What do you want from me? I won't bother tuning my lute for this occasion.”
“I can't keep Evy locked up forever, as much as I wish I could. We have to show the people how strong we are, and that's everyone in the family. She will be out making her charitable rounds as usual. You know she's fallen for this prisoner.”
“Yes, I've heard.”
She sighed.
“Romantic folly is the worst kind,” she continued. “One must be clear-eyed about men. Marriage is a relationship where the two parties use each other for their own ends. If you don't want to be used, you can't let love get in the way. That's a lesson I've learned a little too late in life. I want to teach it to my daughters while they're still young.”
“And Evy needs to learn it the most?”
“Exactly,” she said, pleased. “I want you to become her companion. Go with her on these outings. Worm your way into her confidences, and report back to me. She has bodyguards, but they don't fully perceive what is happening with her. I need a woman in there, and you're the only one I trust right now.”
I bowed.
“I will do this, of course,” I said. “But don't you think she'll suspect me?”
“I've already thought about that,” she said. She opened her door a crack, then beckoned to me. I peered through to see the ladies and servants working on their needlepoint and gossiping, all while keeping their ears pricked up in our direction.
“Traitor!” Euphy screamed suddenly, causing me to jump. I turned to look at her uncertainly. She was grinning maniacally. “You stupid, evil tramp! You think you have a license to mock to my face? Who knows what you do behind my back?”
“But, Your Majesty,” I protested, realizing the scene we were playing. “I was only trying to help.”
“I alone decide what is best for my daughters,” she shouted. “How dare you take their part! Go tell your little jokes to them if that's the way you feel.”
She flung open the door and shoved me through it.
“If it please you,” I began, then stopped as I saw her pull back her arm. This is carrying verisimilitude a bit far, I thought just before her fist connected with my jaw. I pulled back at the last second to soften the blow, but she was remarkably strong for an old woman. I was knocked back onto the floor, skidding about ten feet on the smooth black marble. She slammed her door shut, and I sat up, surrounded by the stares of the other women. Some of them seemed frankly pleased at my discomfiture.
I inspected my lute for damage, but I had managed not to fall on it. I was glad, for I had only had it a few days, a gift from my husband. I then inspected my jaw, which I had had for much longer, a gift from my parents and of much less value. It was sore and tender. I suspected that a bruise would emerge. I pulled out my makeup kit from my bag.
“That's one advantage I have over all of you,” I announced to the ladies as I powdered the flour-chalk mixture over my jaw, wincing a bit. “I can still show my face in public after that. Good day, gentlewomen. I leave you to the whims of this considerably less gentle woman.”
I walked out a bit unsteadily, but my head cleared by the time I reached the gate from the Blachernae complex. That was a blessing, at least. I needed a clear head tonight.
I was going out with my husband to commit a burglary.
Let's vary piracee
With a little burglaree.
——W.S. GILBERT,
THE PIRATES OF
PENZANCE
 
I
often marvel at the correspondence between religion and superstition in our world. One would expect the Church to push pagan beliefs and rituals out of the way, relegating them to the odd heathen sacrifice in a remote cave or a witches' sabbath deep in the woods. Yet somehow the opposite was true. The greater the influence the Church had over a given area, the greater the concomitant use of talismans, worship of relics, interpretations of the stars, and casting of fortunes.
Perhaps it was because of the Church's emphasis on saints and miracles rather than faith and morals, the rallying of armies to conquer Holy Lands rather than the rallying of minds and spirits to chasten sin and bring the gifts of goodness and charities on our own doorsteps.
All I truly know was that in this city of over two hundred churches, there was such widespread practice of arrant nonsensical magics that an ancient Greek or Roman—or even better, a Druid—dropped into the middle of the city would find himself right at home.
 
The Hagia Sophia was the largest church in the world, or at least that part of the world that was known to us. Perhaps some enterprising monk even as we speak was building some bigger monstrosity in India or Cathay, but no one around here had heard anything about it. So,
this pile of marble, porphyry, gold, tiles, and gems rose to the heavens from this shaky patch of land, all for the greater glory of God. Truly, it was a palace of a church, and it would be churlish to note that Our Savior set foot in a palace only once in His life that I can recall, and he didn't particularly enjoy the experience.
The building was so infused with the trappings of holiness that it was no wonder that its congregants believed the very stones and tiles had powers. It had stood for so long that the powers had become specialized. Each of the 104 columns was invested with a particularized healing quality. One drew the lame; another supposedly cured maladies of the kidneys. Another, set in a gloomy gallery off to the side, reportedly helped those who had lost their sight. I had never heard of anyone actually being cured by this tall piece of rock, but the legend seized it and named it the Column of the Blind.
I watched the poor souls come into the gallery, stepping uncertainly. A pair of young deacons took each of the pilgrims by the elbow and led them to the column, which received their gifts and prayers with a face of stone. The deacons, I noticed, were not averse to accepting tips to further their holy work.
The bureaucrats of the Senate and the Great Palace complex frequented this gallery solely to amuse themselves by watching the blind stumble toward the column. They sat in the pews, twisted away from the altar, eating their lunches, laughing among themselves. I watched them with disgust.
“So many born blind, so many who have been blinded, so many who just refuse to see,” murmured a voice behind me.
“Hello, Nik,” I said without turning around. “Do you have time for a real lunch?”
“With you, always,” he said. “Let's go to that place in the Genoese quarter.”
We left separately, passing through the Augustaion. As I walked by
the Column of Theodosios, I marked Ranieri going the other way. I had been in such a suspicious frame of mind lately that I was ready to follow anyone at a moment's notice, but lunch with Niketas was my priority now. Where was Plossus when I needed him?
Niketas found a table in the back and was ordering a marrow-bone custard for the two of us when I sat down. He was a middle-aged man like myself, though stouter. We jesters tend toward the slender due to our regimen of exercise and constant dashing about. I had never seen Nik do anything more strenuous than lift a spoon to his lips or wag his tongue.
We came here because the place catered mostly to the local Genoese. It was unlikely that we would find a Greek who would wonder about seeing us together and impossible that we would run into any Venetians. Given the topic of conversation, it was a good choice.
“Now, what was so urgent that you needed to move up our luncheon date?” he asked.
“For once, I've come to ask you something in your official capacity.”
“As a senator?” he laughed. “You've never thought much of that position before.”
“As Logothete,” I said.
“And you generally think even less of that,” he said. “When did my bureaucratic powers become interesting to you?”
“Since the death of Camilio Bastiani,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow at that.
“Who wants that looked into?” he asked quietly.
“You know I can't tell you that,” I said, while simultaneously nodding my head to the north.
“Ah,” he replied, glancing in that direction. “Well, I can make my own guesses. Bastiani died in his sleep, I heard.”
“I think he was murdered. So do his friends.”
“I didn't know he had any,” said Niketas.
“What do you know about him? The quarter falls under your jurisdiction. You probably know it better than anyone outside of the Venetians.”
“He came to the city about fifteen years ago, I think,” he said. “Went about his business efficiently, kept a low profile. Never gambled, either with ships or with dice. Kept a carefully steady margin of profit and otherwise drew little attention.”
“What about family? I heard something about a wife, but nobody said anything at the funeral.”
“There's a wife. Children, too.”
“I haven't seen them about.”
“That's because he left the whole family in Venice,” said Niketas. “Arranged marriage, did his duty, continues to support them, goes back to visit when his business requires the voyage, but makes his fortune here.”
“Not much of one,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“He lived in a boarding house in a tiny, windowless room. Not the mark of a rich man.”
“Then it may surprise you to know he was one,” replied Niketas, grinning.
“Really?”
“As I said, he didn't gamble. The money went back to Venice. He lived simply because he had no desires. This was all that he did.”
“He must have had some desires,” I said. “Rumor had it there was a woman here.”
“Then I am glad for it,” said Niketas. “He always struck me as a lonely, crabbed individual, trapped in his life. If he had found some beggar's mite of happiness before he died, good for him.”
“But you don't know who the woman is?”
“This is the first time I've heard anything about it.”
“Hm. If a merchant is murdered, it's usually over money,” I mused, remembering Tullio's words. “Who inherits?”
“The family back in Venice, I suppose.”
“What about business competitors?”
“Every silk trader in the city would be one,” said Niketas. “Even his fellow Venetians. The denizens of that embolum present an ever-shifting series of alliances. They invest in shipments together, secretly sell each other out for better independent deals, then they reform for the next one. The only thing they won't do is collude with any of the other quarters.”
“Could Bastiani have been doing that? Entering into some kind of pact with the Genoese or Pisans?”
“I doubt it. As I said, he didn't like to gamble. The quarters police themselves, and any outside contact would be scented quickly and dealt with.”
“Maybe it was dealt with,” I said. I leaned forward to whisper. “There is some belief in Blachernae that a Venetian uprising is being organized. What do you know of it?”
“Just the same rumors,” he said.
“Was he the type who would participate?”
“Not him,” he said firmly. “He cared little about his fellows. I cannot see him taking up arms for Venice. It would cut into his profits. And now you have me wondering if he was killed because he knew too much about it.”
“I am beginning to lean in that direction myself.”
“I have to get back to the Senate,” he said, rising. “We are bravely deciding upon a wait and see position. But I will keep my ears open. Come by anytime, Feste.”
He paid for the lunch, and left.
 
 
I saw a pair of familiar faces when I came out of the tavern. Henry, a captain of the Varangian Guards, was standing in the street, his adjutant Cnut by his side. They were in full armor, as always, their enormous axes resting casually on their shoulders.
They were chatting amiably with a group of Genoese, who were listening intently and nodding a lot. The conversation ended with handshakes all around, and the two soldiers turned and caught sight of me.
“Hallo, Feste!” bellowed Henry. He was a good-natured Englishman who took soldiering seriously but little else. Even for a Varangian, he was powerfully built, with any number of scars that he would proudly display at the slightest hint of a request. Cnut was much younger, a stripling sent from his native Denmark to gain military experience, something lacking at home of late.
“Well met, good soldiers,” I said.
“Hello, Feste,” said Cnut. “What brings you here?”
“What brings me anywhere? Good food, good wine, and someone else paying for them. How about yourselves?”
“Just getting some of the city defenses organized,” said Henry.
“Time for people to decide what side they're on. Either you're a Greek or you're a Venetian, that's the choice.”
“Said the Englishman and the Dane to the Genoese,” I said. “And there are Frenchmen with the Venetians, too.”
“That just means I get to combine pleasure with business,” chortled Henry. “It's about time we had a proper war around here. Things were altogether too boring.”
“So I hear,” I said. “Someone told me you're now doing escort duty for funerals.”
“Exactly my point,” said Henry. “Escorts for the dead! A waste of our talents. If this keeps up, I'll end up using my axe to hew wood.”
“I'll beat your sword into a plowshare if you like,” I said. “I admire
your bloodthirst, but what will you do if there is no war? They could still make peace, you know.”
“Now, where's the fun in that, eh, Cnut?” scoffed Henry, slapping the younger fellow on the back, which resulted in a loud clanging noise.
“How about you, lad?” I asked Cnut when the reverberations had faded.
“Oh, I would like to see battle,” he said. “Father sent me here for experience, and I haven't had much, except for marching.”
“There's plenty of experiences you can have without getting yourself killed, you know.”
“You can stay home in bed and grow old if you want,” said Henry. “But the true test of a man is with steel.”
“Steel cuts all men, the brave and the cowardly,” I replied. “Well, may you get what you came for, my friends. And I wish you well. There is no shame in surviving battles, either. Remember that.”
We made our farewells and parted.
I spent the afternoon roaming the Great Palace complex, juggling far and wide. I could find no sight of Ranieri. But as I came up to the lighthouse, I saw a crowd gathered, watching the fleet as it sailed north up the Bosporos. Needless to say, they were completely uninterested in my little performance.
 
In the evening, I watched from a discreet distance my wife fooling around with a younger man. I was not alone in watching them—they were surrounded by a crowd of Venetians. I was leaning against a corner of the embolum, my back to the alley leading to the side entrance.
To all outward appearances, I was a Venetian myself, abandoning the motley and makeup for dark clothes and a voluminous cloak. I had also added what I thought was a rather dashing mustache and beard, but all it did was produce peals of laughter from my beloved when I showed myself to her. She told me afterward that it helped her forget
about the throbbing pain in her jaw, which was good. When I saw the size of the bruise under her whiteface, I had to be restrained from storming Blachernae and committing reginacide.
Aglaia's duties to the Empress generally kept her inside Blachernae, but she was a superb street performer when given the opportunity. It was the first time I had seen her work with another fool besides myself, apart from when all four of us performed together.
Plossus and she transformed into a variety of couples: mother scolding son, old lecher pursuing virtuous maiden, squabbling siblings. When he donned his stilts and began to juggle, she pulled out her lute and matched melodies to his movements.
BOOK: A Death in the Venetian Quarter
2.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Seduction Scheme by Kim Lawrence
Love Story by Erich Segal
31 Days of Autumn by Fallowfield, C.J.
Bride of Blood:: First Kiss by Anthony E. Ventrello
Spellbreaker by Blake Charlton
Teaching Patience (Homespun) by Crabapple, Katie
Take Me Home Tonight by Erika Kelly
Broken by Martina Cole