Harem (10 page)

Abbas followed the coach on foot from the
palazzo
. He lost it along the narrow calles but caught up again in the bustle of the
mercato
around the Campo Santa Maria Nuova. He barged his way through the fruit sellers and peddlers, vaulted a handcart loaded down with bolts of silk.

The church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli was one of the city's most beautiful churches, its façade built from yellow and antique white marble. The coach stopped below the steps, and Abbas watched two figures step out; one was short and stocky, the other tall, lean and graceful. She was dressed all in black, and her face was covered with a veil, but he knew it was her, just from the way that she moved.

'Please, Abbas. Don't do this,' Ludovici said. He was out of breath after pursuing him through the streets.

'Have you really never been in love, Ludovici?'

'This is not love, this is an escapade!'

'I cannot live without her now.'

'You breathe, you eat, you drink. That's all there is to living. It's simple. Anyone can manage it.'

'That's not life, Ludovici! That's just taking up space.' He started toward the church. 'I just want to look. They will not see me.'

Ludovici gave up. What was the point? He was headed for disaster and could not see it. At the very least Gonzaga would ruin Mahmoud, and he and Abbas would be expelled from the Republic - if they did not end up in prison.

He watched his friend bound up the steps, blind to everything but his own whims. Like a child, Ludovici thought. A headstrong, passionate child.

***

The church was empty. Saint Francis pointed a long marble finger in his direction, as if singling him out for the Doge's soldiers. A frieze of naked
putti
danced above the main arch, mocking him. Where was she?

They were there, and then they were gone; shadows among shadows. They were already behind him, scuttling out of the doors. Why had they come and then left so quickly?

'Julia!'

She stumbled, dragged along by the old crone beside her. She threw back her veil and he saw the anguish on her face. He started to run after her, then stopped. What could he do?

When he came back outside they were already gone. He sat down on the top of the steps. Ludovici looked up at him, shook his head in frustration. Abbas supposed he had been right all along. A coach rattled away down the Via delle Botteghe, the horse's hoofs ringing on the cobbles. It had been a trap and it had fallen right into it.

***

Signora Cavalcanti nodded eagerly, revelling in her own mendacity. She had lured him out so easily. She was sure His Excellency would be delighted with her.

Gonzaga jumped to his feet, his oak chair crashing onto the tiles behind him. 'A Moor?'

'He followed us inside, just like he did the first time. I saw him with my own eyes. He called her name as we left the church.'

'The first time? What was the first time? You said nothing of this to me.'

The
duenna
realized her mistake and her breath caught in her throat. 'It seemed like a trifle.'

'How did this … trifle … occur?'

'I thought nothing of it. Men stare all the time.'

'That is why she has a veil.'

'In summer she says it is too hot. Sometimes she pulls it back.'

'And you let her?'

'She is headstrong.'

'So do I pay you to be compliant?'

Signora Cavalcanti knew she must deflect his line of questioning, shift the focus elsewhere. 'I saw someone else there.'

'Who?'

'Ludovici Gambetto.'

He stared at her, appalled. 'You think she has had commerce with both of them?'

'No, of course not, Your Excellency! He was just looking on. I saw him watching as we left the church. I believe the Moor is friendly with him.'

Gonzaga went to the window, watched the gondolas and barges moving up and down the Great Canal. He need to think about this intriguing revelation. 'So. My brother-in-law's bastard! You think this is how messages were passed?'

'His sister Lucia visits here often.'

Gonzaga nodded. 'Of course. I congratulate you on your discoveries. You shall have your reward Signora Cavalcanti. You may leave me now.'

***

The door closed softly behind her. Gonzaga stood there for a long time, thinking it through. What was he to do? If he brought the matter before the courts he would be the laughing stock of all Venice. His daughter and a blackamoor! They would force him from his seat on the
Consiglio di Dieci
.

He could perhaps bring the matter to the attention of Ludovici's father, but that was just as perilous. Old Gambetto's wife - his sister - had been a long time dead, and now he was manoeuvring to be elected the next Doge, a rival to Gonzaga himself, and might welcome the opportunity to create a scandal.

The matter called for subtlety and patience. Ludovici could be punished in due course. The Moor must be dealt with now.

What was it that Signora Cavalcanti had said? 'His sister Lucia visits here often.' This was the key. Lucia was the conduit, then; but if water could flow one way, it could also flow the other.

But this time he would make it run to his own advantage.

***

When Lucia arrived that afternoon her
duenna
was dismissed and instead of being escorted to Julia's loggia or the drawing room overlooking the Great Canal, as usual, Signora Cavalcanti ushered her into Signore Gonzaga's private study where the
Consigliore
himself waited to greet her.

'Ah Lucia,' he said. 'How pleasant to see you again.'

'Excellency,' Lucia said, alarmed. She bent to one knee and kissed the hem of his sleeve.

'Come and sit here beside me,' he said. He dismissed Signora Cavalcanti with a glance.

They sat together on the divan by the window and he watched her, his face frozen in the travesty of a smile. Lucia squirmed in the silence. She wondered if he knew about the letters. Why else would he wish to talk with her alone? And how much had Julia already told him? If he caught her in a lie it would go badly for her.

'I believe you have something to tell me,' he said finally.

'I … I did nothing wrong.'

'I know you didn't. It's all right. Julia has told me everything.'

'You are not angry?'

'With her, yes. With you? Yes, I am angry with you, too, my dear.' He fixed his executioner's eyes on her, still smiling. 'But you may yet find pardon in my eyes. You were, after all, only a messenger.'

'You knew about the letter?'

'Of course,' he lied.

'I did not know what was in it! My brother asked me to give it to her. That's all I know.'

'You think this excuses your conduct in deceiving me and Signora Cavalcanti?'

She stared at her hands. 'I don't know.'

'Perhaps you are right. I think it does excuse you.'

'You do, Your Excellency?'

'You were asked to convey a message from a friend. Where is the sin in that?'

'There is none.'

'Of course. So you will not mind, then, extending me the same favours?'

Lucia stared at him, bewildered.

'Tell me, did you ever deliver letters to your brother from Julia herself?'

'Oh no, Excellency. Only that once through my brother to her. She never gave me anything to take back.'

'Good. Because that is about to change.' He unlocked the drawer of his desk and produced an envelope with a heavy wax seal. He passed it to her. 'This is for Abbas.'

'For Abbas? From whom, Excellency?'

'From Julia, of course.'

She hesitated.

Gonzaga leaned across the desk and his smile vanished. 'Understand me well. You will give this to your brother and tell him to hand it to Abbas, and you will say that you took this from Julia's own hand. You will tell no one - no one - of our conversation. If you fail me in this I shall inform your father of the role that you and your brother played in this infamous episode and bring down such calumny on both your heads that neither of you will ever be able to share polite society in La Serenissima ever again. The scandal may cost your father his place on the Council of Ten, and he will blame you and you alone should such a disaster befall him and your family. Am I making myself clear to you?'

Lucia nodded. The envelope trembled in her fingers.

'May I see Julia now?'

'I am afraid not. She is unwell and unable to receive visitors.' He stood up and opened the door. 'Signora Cavalcanti will show you the way out.' He put a hand on her shoulder as she passed him. 'Be sure that Abbas gets this message. I shall know if he does not. Count on it.'

Lucia nodded, unable to find her voice. As the door closed behind her she clutched at a table for support. She felt dizzy with fear. She wished now that she had never let her brother talk her into this. All she wanted to do now was give Ludovici the Signor's missive and be done with this business forever.

'
My dearest Abbas,

I am to be sent to the convent at Brescia until my marriage. Time is short. If you truly love me, as you say, I put my trust in you. I can get away but once more. The door that leads to the canal is now forever locked, but there may be another way. If you will wait for me at midnight tomorrow on the Ponte Antico I will come to you there. I will go wherever you choose to take me. My life is now in your hands.

May the hours pass swiftly until tomorrow night!

Julia'

Abbas read the letter twice more. Ludovici watched him, impatient. 'What does she say?'

Abbas tore the vellum in half and held the pieces over the candle. Soon it was no more than a few wispy black leaves on the table. 'Nothing,' he said.

'Abbas?'

'You are a good friend,' he said. 'I can't put you in danger any more.' He stood up and walked out of the room.

***

Abbas was ushered into his father's council chamber at the Ministry of War, the
Savio alla Scrittura.
Mahmud glanced up from the charts on the table in front of him, maps of the Peninsula and the surrounding Ottoman possessions.

'What is so urgent that you disturb me here?'

'I am sorry, Father. But I need money.'

'Is your commission as an officer in my army not enough?'

Abbas drew a deep breath. He imagined the Prophet must have been a little like his father, stern and courageous and proud, awesome in his mental and physical presence. He did not remember his mother - she had been a concubine in Mahmud's harem long ago - and so his father was all things to him now; mentor and master, teacher and confessor. This was the first time he had gone against his wishes.

'I have to go away.'

Mahmud straightened up and stared, tucking his thumbs into the broad silver belt that was buckled at his waist. As he walked around the great oak table he reminded Abbas of a huge brown bear he had once seen in the forests near Belluno. On that occasion he had ten archers at his back. He wished they were there now.

'Go where?'

'Spain.'

'Why do you wish to go to Spain?'

'I have been meeting a woman secretly. We plan to leave Venice together as soon as possible.'

Mahmud put out a hand to steady himself against the edge of the chart table. He puffed the air out through his cheeks in a long sigh. 'You little fool,' he said.

'I love her.'

'How you feel is meaningless to me. You have put both our necks on the block.'

'I have already fought in two campaigns against the Ottoman and your name is known across the Mediterranean. I will find myself a commission and when it is done, Gonzaga will have to accept it. A year, perhaps two, and I will be back in Venice.'

Mahmud shook his head. 'Your resourcefulness far outweighs your intelligence. How you have managed to deceive Gonzaga for so long I do not know, but do not think he will ever forgive you when he finds out what you have done. Nor me. He is not a man who accepts anything that happens in this world unless it is of his own design. He was weaned on venom.'

'Once we are married, what can he do?'

'There are many things he can do, you little fool. Does anyone else know of this?'

Abbas shook his head.

'Good.'

The blow was so sudden and so unexpected that it lifted Abbas off his feet. He found himself suddenly on his back, staring at the vaulted ceiling. There was a buzzing in his ears and he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

Mahmud lifted him easily from the floor with one hand and pushed him against the wall. 'Now listen to me! I love you and I will not let you ruin your life - and mine - by one rush of youthful lust. Buy yourself a mistress and leave Julia Gonzaga alone! Do you understand me?'

Abbas rested his head on his father's shoulder until his senses cleared. He felt his father's grip relax. When it did, he pushed himself away, swaying slightly on his feet. 'Goodbye Father,' he said and stumbled out of the door.

***

No
Magnifico
was allowed, by law, to speak with the Captain General of the Army alone. The
Consiglio di Dieci
was vigilant for any nobleman who might try to use the army for their own purposes, as Sfroza had done at Milan. So Mahmud was accompanied everywhere he went by two senators, the
Provveditori
Generali delle Armi
and they were with Mahmud early that morning when he burst into the private chambers of Antonio Gonzaga.

Gonzaga sat at the far end of the room, the lead-paned windows at his back. Behind him the domes of the San Marco loomed against a mauve sky.

'Most reverend Signore,' Mahmud murmured and bent to kiss the sleeve of Gonzaga's robe.

'I am told you wish to see me on a matter of urgency,' Gonzaga said, with a glance at the
Provveditori
. 'A matter of private and not state importance, I presume?'

Mahmud fidgeted with embarrassment. Better to have discussed this with Gonzaga alone, but the law made that impossible.

'A matter of the utmost delicacy, Signore.'

'Is it to do with …matters of the heart?'

Mahmud was in some ways relieved that Gonzaga already knew. It would make it easier to discuss this with the two senators present. He glanced at the
Provveditori
, who were almost licking their lips in anticipation of a scandal. They would have to be prudent before these two gentlemen. 'You already have some knowledge of the matter?'

'All I know is that a certain lady has been impudent enough to pass letters between her friend and a young man who should have known better. I put it down to the tempestuousness of youth.'

'I needed to be sure that you were apprised of the situation.'

'Such indiscretions will never be allowed, of course. But I appreciate that you came here to warn me. I assure you all precautions have been taken to stop this foolishness from getting out of hand.'

'I am most relieved to find you so informed.'

'You have my thanks, General. But may I ask how you came by this information?'

Mahmud hesitated. Now that there was a way to contain this scandal it was not necessary to reveal to Gonzaga - or the
Provveditori
- that he had not seen his son since the last evening. 'From the young gentleman in question. His duty is to Venice. As is mine.'

'Do not upset yourself. All matters are in hand.'

Mahmud bowed and made his leave. As he left the
palazzo
he persuaded himself that everything would end well. Now that Gonzaga had been warned there was no possibility that his son's life - and his own - would be ruined for the sake of something that could be easily purchased for a few
dinari
anywhere in the Republic.