The False Virgin (16 page)

‘Who?’

Katie sat up and stamped her foot. ‘You’re always interrupting, Grandpa.’

‘Well, what sort of outlandish name is that? Be-orn-wyn.’

‘It’s English . . . or Welsh . . . or something. Anyway, I don’t suppose she’s a proper saint like Mark or Agnes, just one of those false Celtic ones.’

I was getting impatient, and tried to hurry Katie along. Like all Zulianis, she did like to tell a tale. I had been accused of telling a million lies when I came back from Xanadu.

‘So where does virginity come into it? On the way back from the monastery, you said he was peddling virginity.’

She grinned broadly. ‘Yes. That was what turned Brother Hugh into a sensation. Imagine what little a gathering of bored Venetian wives, weighed down with the riches of generations,
didn’t have and couldn’t buy. Brother Hugh told them that, if they venerated St Beornwyn, and lived as she did, they would somehow regain their virginity.’

I fairly bellowed with laughter, so much so that one of the servants came running to see what was wrong. After I had shooed him away, and wiped the tears from my eyes with the end of my
expensively fur-trimmed robe, I asked Katie to run that by me again. She looked at me as if I was some monkey that a crusader had just brought back from Afric lands. And not a very bright or
well-trained one at that.

‘Let me explain, Grandfather.’

That name again. I kept my face straight and nodded.

‘This St Beornwyn was apparently a noble Englishwoman who was betrothed to a local lord. But she was renowned for her nightly vigils at the local church, where she prayed for the salvation
of her father’s land from invading pagans. And for her own perpetual virginity.’

Katie glanced at me to see if I was going to break out into laughter again. But I managed to look serious. She went on.

‘While she was living she was called a saint, offering up her virginity and her regular vigils for the good of others. Then one night the invaders came and struck her head from her body.
They flayed the skin from her body and draped it on the altar, but the Virgin Mary sent blue butterflies to cover her nakedness. So you see she was an exemplar of the virtue of
virginity.’

I grunted. ‘It didn’t save her life, though, did it?’

‘Oh, Grandpa Nick, you have no soul.’

I summed up. ‘So St Beornwyn is a saintly virgin, and Brother Hugh was holding her up to the
case vecchie
as a figure to emulate. What did the husbands of all these newly created
virgins think of this?’

‘Granny Cat said they were probably mostly glad to concentrate on their mistresses, and not to have the attentions of their wives to cope with. It was lucrative for Hugh for a while, as
the women would offer gifts to St Beornwyn.’

My ears perked up when I heard that. I loved a good scam.

‘Ah, so he got rich with his little cult.’

‘For a while, until the women got bored. Then Hugh decided to concentrate on one of his followers who had been most devoted to the saint.’

‘Let me guess. Speranza Soranzo.’

‘Exactly.’

‘He could see by then that her father was a hero of the Republic, and well on his way to becoming Doge. If he snared Speranza, then he would revive his fortunes. Unfortunately, her husband
went and got himself involved in a little conspiracy, and Hugh’s acolyte was banished to a Greek island.’

I waved my arms to encompass the isle of Sifnos, where we were lodged. ‘This very enchanted isle.’

Katie nodded.

‘To give him his due, Hugh followed her into exile. And maybe his gamble will now pay off. If you can persuade the Doge to allow her and her husband back to Venice, Hugh’s fortune
will be made again.’

I scowled at my granddaughter. ‘It’s my job to decide if his daughter won’t be an embarrassment to Giovanni Soranzo, not to act as Speranza’s agent and persuade him to
allow her back.’ I knew what I had to do. ‘I need to know more about Brother Hugh and his virgin saint. Especially if he is to come back with Speranza and her husband. And where is
Querini, anyway?’

It was getting dark outside, and Querini still had not put in an appearance. Maybe he was still sleeping off his binge at the harbour. But I thought he was less of a man for getting in such a
state, and for avoiding me into the bargain. Was he afraid of coming back to Venice, where he had attempted to oust the former Doge? Or was he embarrassed by his wife tossing him out of the
marriage bed for a monk and a cult of virginity? I suddenly realised that Katie had said something and I had missed it.

‘What was that, girl? Your grandpa is getting deaf in his old age.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t think so. You’re as sharp as that knife you carry at your waist.’

I touched my favourite dagger instinctively, and Katie carried on.

‘I said let me approach Brother Hugh as a possible convert to St Beornwyn. I can then find out more about him, and about Speranza.’

I scrubbed at my beard, worried about what my granddaughter might get herself into. However, it was a sound proposition.

‘I suppose it’s not a bad idea. After all, you are young and virginal.’

I thought I saw a blush emerge on her throat, just for a moment. She coughed delicately.

‘It’s certainly true I’m young enough to remember what virginity is like.’

I guessed she could see the storm brewing in my look, because she quickly held up her hand.

‘Don’t even ask, Grandpa. That’s a girl’s secret, and not even her future husband has a right to know the truth.’

I was about to say it surely was his right to know if his bride was a virgin or not, but I stopped myself. How times must have changed since I left Venice for the distant lands of Kublai Khan.
And I had to remind myself that I had left behind in Cathay a black-haired, dark-skinned beauty, who had been part of a virgin tribute to Kublai before I relieved her of her qualification to belong
the group. I sighed at my recollection of dear Gurbesu, but then put her to the back of my mind.

‘It’s a good idea, and you should act on it – the sooner the better, in fact. So make a start tomorrow. By then perhaps Niccolo Querini will be available for me to question
also.’

It turned out that that was wishful thinking on my part.

Katie arose bright and early, eager to carry out her task of insinuating herself into Brother Hugh’s exclusive circle. So she wasn’t present when the furore began.
I was eating a slow and luxurious breakfast, mulling over what I might ask Speranza Soranzo, when Galuppi burst into my room. He was so agitated he stumbled over his words, finally managing to get
one sentence out.

‘He really is dead this time.’

I calmed him down a little and asked him to repeat what he had said, though I already suspected what he meant.

‘Who is really dead?’

‘Niccolo Querini. His manservant was giving his hunting dogs some exercise this morning close to the shore below here. When they ran off, he followed them and found Querini lying on the
strand just above the tideline. He came back for assistance, and alerted me to the situation. They’ve all gone off to bring the body back.’

I cursed. ‘Damn them. I would have liked to have seen the body in situ.’

Galuppi looked puzzled. ‘Whatever for? His man said he must have fallen from the cliff. He was drunk and paid the penalty for incaution.’

I wished life – or more precisely, death – was that simple. Not for the first time since returning to the West, I longed for the assistance of Masudi al-Din. I had met him in the
heart of Kublai’s great Mongol empire at a crucial moment in my investigation of a murder. He was an Arab from Yazd, with a cornucopia of knowledge about the human body. He could examine a
body, and tell you all sorts of marvels about it. How the man had died – either by accident or design. What weapon had been used – poison or blade. He could even say how quickly the
victim had died, and whether in pain or not. And when he opened a body with his sharp knife, it was like he was opening a book. He had always taught me never to jump to conclusions, so I needed to
hurry if I was to see Querini’s body where it had fallen. I threw a tunic over my shirt, and dashed from the room as fast as my old legs could carry me. Galuppi roused himself enough to chase
after. I ran down the path he indicated that led to the beach below the mansion. It was one of the sea escape routes in case the mansion was ever attacked from the landward side. I heard the loud
barking of the hunting dogs before I even saw the gaggle of servants around Querini. They were bent over the body, in the process of lifting it. Despite my ragged breathing from the unusual
exertion, I mustered a loud cry.

‘Leave him where he is.’

Fearfully, the servants looked up at the vision of a red-haired demon descending on them down the cliff path. In China I had earned the nickname of Zhong-Kui, a demon who sets wrongs right. That
is how I must have seemed at that moment, even though my hair was no longer quite as flame red as once it had been. I strode over the sand, and the group of men around the body stopped what they
were doing, and parted for me. Niccolo Querini lay face up, his arms spread wide and his dull, lifeless eyes staring into the heavens. There was no point in looking at the ground around him for any
signs because the sand had been churned up by the restless feet of the servants and the dogs. Even now, the two large hounds were snuffling round their dead master, licking his face.

‘Get these dogs out of here.’

I snarled the command at the man who I knew was Querini’s servant, Antonio. It was he who must have been the one who discovered the body. He hung his head, and muttered an apology,
grabbing the dogs by the scruff of their necks, and dragging them away. I looked up at the cliff above where the body lay and at the back slope at its foot where it was supposed to have landed.
Mentally noting what I saw, I indicated to the servants that they could now carry out their mournful task. I would examine Querini’s body in detail in the comfort of the mansion, not here on
the strand, where the sun was already beating down on the back of my neck. Besides, I needed a good goblet of wine to steel myself for the task ahead. I hated the sight of blood.

I hurried up the slope, anxious to precede the body back to the mansion. Speranza Soranzo would be waiting for me, and I didn’t want her to see her husband before I had spoken to her.
Bertuccio Galuppi bustled along breathlessly at my side.

‘There is no question, is there, that it was a terrible accident? I am sure that is how Doge Soranzo would wish it to be.’

I stopped in my tracks, and stared at Galuppi.

‘Is that why you are here? To ensure I do the Doge’s bidding as you see it?’

For a moment the secretary’s façade slipped, and a sneering look transformed his face.

‘You don’t think the Doge sent you here because of your diplomacy skills, do you, Zuliani? You’re here to provide the common touch, and be your usual slippery self when it
comes to winkling out secrets. But now that the main impediment to the Lady Soranzo’s return is conveniently dead, I see no further need for your services.’

I smiled politely, and carried on back to the mansion. He ran to catch me up, and grabbed my arm.

‘Did you hear me, Zuliani? You are no longer needed.’

I shook his hand off my arm disdainfully.

‘Oh, really? And you will tell that to the Doge, will you, when you return with the lady and her monkish lover in tow?’

I loved the way Galuppi’s face went puce on such occasions. Feed him something he didn’t know and put him in a sticky position, and he fairly exploded. Of course I had no proof that
anything irregular was going on between Speranza and Brother Hugh – especially as he was apparently extolling the virtues of virginity. But it did no harm to overstate the case with Galuppi
– he was bound to back off. And so he did, but with ill grace.

‘I am sure you are maligning the lady most foully, but have your way. I will only be the happier when you fall over your own clumsy feet. Then I shall tell the Doge what you said about his
daughter with the greatest of pleasure.’

He stormed off in the opposite direction, which was quite amusing because it meant he was walking away from the mansion, and would get tangled up with the impromptu funeral cortège. Let
him think what he did about me in his snooty supercilious way. I was the one who had the confidential talk with Doge Soranzo, Hero of the Aegean, Head of the Navy, and Governor of the Gulf,
Ambassador to Sicily and Egypt. He told me he had worries about the behaviour of his daughter, not about that of Niccolo Querini. He didn’t tell me exactly what concerned him, only that I had
to find out for myself.

‘I don’t want to prejudice your opinion of her, Zuliani. But there is a serpent in her bosom, and I want you to tell me if she is too dangerous to bring back to Venice.’

His voice still rang in my ears. I had thought he meant his son-in-law, but now I had some inkling of what form the serpent had truly taken. I would let Galuppi do his job as he saw it, but I
wouldn’t allow him to impede me in doing mine. As I approached the mansion, I could see a figure in a white dress standing on one of the balconies. Katie never wore white, and besides, she
would still be with Brother Hugh. So I guessed it was Speranza Soranzo spying out the return of her husband, like a sailor’s wife who had been told some bad news. Then I suppose she saw me
because she slipped back through the window.

When I entered the great chamber of the Querini mansion, she was once again on her knees in the little chapel alcove at the far end. It was as if she were deliberately reminding me of our first
encounter at the monastery. And of her piety, though I wondered if she should be wearing black. Maybe she imagined herself royalty, now her father was Doge. Many queens wore white mourning garb,
just as she was. Whatever her plan was, the sombre effect was spoiled by the sight of a large red boil on the back of her neck. I could see it because of her bowed head.

‘Domina Soranzo, I imagine someone has already given you the bad news. You have my condolences.’