The False Virgin (21 page)

Speranza Soranzo’s words were peremptory, and to my ears bore no sign of the forbearance due from the follower of a Christian martyr. But then I had my doubts about Beornwyn anyway. The
daughter of a nobleman – which the saint had been – was not someone used to self-sacrifice, as the domina herself clearly exemplified. I thought Beornwyn was as false a virgin as
Speranza was, despite the stories spread by her faithful maidservant. She herself, whose name I had forgotten, would have had a vested interest in creating the myth of her mistress. She probably
made a lot of money from pilgrims and the like. It was such a good scam I wondered why I had never tried it myself. Maybe because I was never in the company of virgins. This thought made me look
guiltily at my granddaughter. A man who had spent his life enjoying the company of a certain type of woman, and coming late to family obligations, had little to judge a good woman by. But I knew
that, virgin or not, Katie was, like her grandmother, the best of women. And far and away above Speranza Soranzo in nobility, even though she had a ne’er-do-well for a grandfather. Oh well,
time to pull the final threads of the unravelling tapestry that was Niccolo Querini’s death. I took a deep breath, and began.

‘Before we arrive in Venice, I must conclude the matter of the murder of Domina Speranza’s husband.’

The woman in question opened her mouth to speak, but I raised my hand and surprisingly she remained silent, contenting herself with a deep sigh. I went on.

‘Firstly, there is no truth in the story that he fell to his death accidentally.’ Galuppi glared at me, but I pressed on. ‘It has also been suggested that he was killed in a .
. . brawl – shall we say – between colleagues embarked on a private venture.’ I almost said the word ‘pirate’ but held back to spare the domina’s embarrassment.
‘This I have dismissed because of lack of evidence of a struggle on the body. His hands and knuckles were not—’

This time it was the monk who tried to intervene.

‘Messer Zuliani, does the domina need to be subjected to these intimate and disturbing references? It is her husband’s body to which you are referring, after all.’

I tilted my head to acknowledge his concern. ‘As you wish. I will not go into detail. Suffice it to say that none of the inhabitants on Sifnos, or the servants in the Querini mansion, were
guilty of murder. Similarly, none of the crew on this ship were involved.’

I stared hard at Galuppi and defied him to object to my raising this point. He merely stared off to the horizon, which was beginning to tilt alarmingly as the ship rolled on the growing sea. Of
course, I had not excluded Galuppi specifically from my list of suspects when I mentioned the crew. But it was to Hugh that I next turned.

‘Brother Hugh, I know you profess to be a man of God, and I have no reason to doubt your sincerity.’

The monk’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as to where my speech was leading.

‘I am glad you acknowledge the nature of my vows, messer. But I detect a note of caution in them. Where is this going?’

Hugh took a step or two away from me as he spoke, leaving Speranza reaching out for support to a rope that angled up to the ship’s mast. Hugh stood with his back to the handrail around the
edge of the deck, and he clutched at it as he staggered a little on the lurching deck. I stood with legs apart and my knees flexed as my father had taught me when a boy. Father had been a cruel and
harsh man, but he had passed on all I needed to know about ships. I carried on with my investigation of Hugh’s recent behaviour.

‘You have worked hard to bring Domina Speranza to an appreciation of the value of St Beornwyn’s virtues. Her virginity. In the process, you have managed to cut her husband out of her
consideration.’

Hugh cast a look around the deck as if seeking an exit.

‘It was the domina’s own choice to reject her husband, and return to the values of virginity. I had no hatred of Querini.’

‘Hatred was not the motive I was looking for, merely expedience. How much more suitable that Niccolo Querini was out of the way permanently, than as an encumbrance that could keep popping
up at awkward moments. So when you found him on the strand, drunk and argumentative, you decided to take action, did you not?’

‘I was not there.’

The monk looked hunted now, and kept casting a pleading look at the domina. I thought my plan was progressing well, and pointed dramatically at the hem of his robe. The same robe he had been
wearing since I had first met him.

‘Then tell me where you got the stain of sea salt on the hem of your robe, if not on Chlakopo beach.’

‘It wasn’t me. It . . .’

Brother Hugh’s cries were drowned out by a demonic wail, taking us all by surprise. Before I could do anything to prevent her, Speranza threw herself at Hugh, spitting and clawing.

‘Devil in disguise, you killed my husband. You killed him.’

He looked at her aghast. ‘You know why I was on that beach.’

Before he could finish, she struck him a blow on the head that sent him reeling. The ship lurched, and he didn’t stand a chance. Losing his footing completely, Hugh pitched over the
handrail and into the boiling sea.

We rowed in circles as best we could in the gale, searching for him, but it was hopeless. Finally I agreed with the captain that we should give up, and he plotted a course for
Venice. I sat disconsolately in my cabin, with Katie perched on a stool close by me. The space was so small that we filled it, our knees touching. There was nowhere for me to brood in solitude.

‘Well, that wasn’t as I had planned it.’

‘Why not, Grandpa? You uncovered the murderer, didn’t you? It is a shame that he drowned rather than face justice in Venice. But in the end it all worked out.’

I sighed, and patted Katie’s knee, which was pressed against my thigh.

‘Did it? Brother Hugh may have been guilty of many sins, but he didn’t deserve to die in that way. And it is time I did something about it.’

I slapped my hands on my knees, and prised myself up, taking care not to bang my head on the low ceiling.

‘Come, Katie. I must set matters right and do it now.’

‘Where are we going, Grandpa?’

‘To speak with Domina Speranza.’

I was in no mood for courtesy any more, and burst into the lady’s cabin without knocking. I groaned at the sight facing me. Katie peered over my shoulder, and gasped.

‘Lady Speranza, your hands.’

Speranza Soranzo sat at the small table in the captain’s cabin with her hands laid out the surface, palms upwards. The stigmata were once again leaking blood onto the table’s
surface. She looked up at us slowly, a serene expression on her face, and held out the evidence of her saintliness. I growled in anger, and sprang across the room.

‘Enough of this mountebank tomfoolery.’

I knew what I had to do, and stared the fake virgin in the eyes.

‘I know all, you see, domina. I had planned to scare Hugh in order for him to tell me what he knew about Querini’s death, but you stopped him.’

Her voice, when she spoke was languid and distant.

‘I shall carry the sin of his death on my conscience for ever, but I don’t regret what I did. He killed my husband.’

‘Oh, no, he didn’t. I think he was on the beach when Querini was murdered, but was unable to do anything about it. And he was just about to tell us who did kill Querini, but you
prevented him. And you know why? Because it was you who killed your own husband.’

Katie gasped, but Speranza merely smiled beatifically.

‘How could I have done that? A poor, unarmed woman.’

‘But you are not unarmed, are you? You killed him with the same implement you use to fake your stigmata. I couldn’t figure it out at first, but it’s obvious just looking at
you.’

Katie peered at the domina.

‘Where, grandfather? Where is it?’

I pointed at the leather cord round her neck.

‘We all thought that was a crucifix. But if it were, why is it hidden, when the domina is so religious? Why is it not on display?’

Speranza’s hand went to her breast, trying to cover what was on the end of the cord, but I was too fast for her. I grasped the leather cord, and yanked on it hard. The knot snapped, and I
pulled it away from her breast. On the end dangled a long and viciously sharp ship’s nail with a rounded head. There was blood on it from her efforts to open her own wounds, but I had no
doubt that at some point it had also borne Querini’s blood. In cross section the nail was square, and tapered to a point. If it was held by the flat head in a fist with the point protruding
from the knuckles, anyone of moderate strength – even a woman – could punch it deep enough into a body to reach and rupture the heart. It fitted the small but deep wound I had found on
Querini’s body perfectly.

Speranza Soranzo turned her head away from me as if not caring one jot what I knew. She wrapped her bloodied hands around her and began to rock slowly backwards and forwards. Katie and I
retreated from the cabin. There was a key in the door lock on the inside. I transferred it to the outside and turned it. The murderer of Niccolo Querini would be safe until we reached Venice.

Once on deck, and breathing fresh air again, Katie and I stood in silence for a while, each contemplating the recent events as darkness fell around us. It was my granddaughter who spoke
first.

‘What are you going to do, Grandpa Nick?’

I shrugged. ‘What can I do? She may be a murderer, but her victim was
persona non grata
in Venice, involved in plotting against the previous Doge. And she is still the present
Doge’s daughter. I can only tell Soranzo what I know, and leave it to him to deal with it. It’s family matters, and as I said to you, I’m not good with those.’

Katie rubbed my arm gently. ‘I think you underestimate yourself. You make a fine grandfather.’

She poked around in the little purse hanging at her waist.

‘I was going to give this to Speranza. I found it on the deck after Hugh fell overboard.’

She showed me what she had. It was a series of finger-bones bound with gold wire. The relic of St Beornwyn. I laughed.

‘Well, you can keep it now. It is quite valuable.’

She gave me a strange look, and shuddered.

‘What? Keep some relic that ensures virginity? I can’t think of anything worse.’

She raised her arm, and without a second thought, tossed the saint’s finger into the sparkling sea.

Footnote

You will no doubt have in your mind the question of the truth of all this. After I returned from my adventures in the far distant land of the Great Khan Kublai and told the
people of Venice of the wonders I had seen, many chose to disbelieve me. I was branded a liar at worst, and a storyteller at the very least. Another Venetian to return from a similar place, Polo by
name, was dubbed
Il Milione
– the Teller of a Million Lies. In the future I may be said to be worse than a liar, and be seen as no more than the figment of a deranged imagination
myself. But history will tell you who to believe. Certainly there is some dispute about Niccolo Querini’s end, due no doubt to the fact that Speranza murdered her own husband. To obscure the
fact, a story went round that he didn’t die until close to 1326. But one thing is certain. After the events of 1310, once his property was forcibly liquidated in Venice and a price was put on
his head, clandestine piracy must have been his only means of survival in exile. And the plain truth is that Speranza Soranzo, sometimes called Soranza Soranzo, did return to La Serenissima hoping
to be received as the daughter of the Doge. Instead, Giovanni Soranzo ordered her excluded from the Doge’s palace for life. She was to spend the rest of her days in the monastery of Santa
Maria delle Vergini in a secluded cell, apart from other nuns, in the occasional company of a servant. She was forced to apply to the Council of Ten for permission to visit her family on very
special holidays, or for medical reasons, when she had broken out with boils and stigmata. Upon those occasions, the lady Soranza, by order of Venice, was directed to arrive inconspicuously at a
side door of the palace, at night, and in a covered boat – in order to remain undetected.

And by the way, the Italian banks did not crash in my lifetime, after all. But I guarantee that, if you are reading this twenty years or more after I am gone, they will have, creating havoc in
the world. History will confirm my good sense in taking out my money before they did.

Niccolo Zuliani
, 1314

I

June 1376

It was Hugh who saw him. At first they thought he had drowned. The body lay face up on the foreshore of the river as if deposited by the tide, waiting to be revealed by the
growing light of a summer’s dawn. But when Hugh and Alfred clambered down from the landing stage and squelched across the mud to the corpse they saw that the visible areas of clothing and
hair were not waterlogged but dry. The face was composed.

From a distance the two men also assumed this must be a member of the household. The tunic the corpse wore was of blue and white, the livery of the house of Lancaster. But when they drew closer
they saw the cloth was of much finer quality than anything they wore, and the colours more subtle in their dye. They soon forget these distinctions anyway, for blotting out the centre of the chest
was a circle of dried blood. Hugh and Alfred did not recognise the dead man even though his features were not disfigured.

‘He did not die natural,’ said Alfred, shielding his eyes against the early morning sun as he gazed at the red spill on the dead man’s tunic.

Hugh crouched down to examine the man’s face closely. Alfred, older and more stiff in the joints than his fellow, stayed upright.

‘This is one of
hers
, not ours,’ said Hugh, standing up and jerking his thumb towards the great white palace that stretched along the river front. Eager to show how he came
by this conclusion, he went on: ‘His face is darker and his beard is not after our fashion and, besides, he does not look English.’