The False Virgin

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘I am Brother Hugh, Mistress Soranzo’s spiritual guide.’

  So this was the monk who had stolen Speranza from her husband. He was not the most manly of rivals for Querini, so I could see why Niccolo had turned to his cups in despair. Perhaps it was his religious message that was irresistible. I was to find out the truth of that soon enough. The woman in white had risen from her knees by now, and approached my little confrontation with the charismatic monk. She was more composed now, and calmed him down with a few gentle words.

  ‘It’s no problem, Brother Hugh, I have been expecting Messer Zuliani.’

  She stepped past the monk and gave me a bow that was no more than a curt nod of the head. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any more. I was a common trader, and she the daughter of the Doge of La Serenissima and a member of the same élite ruling gang in which my own Cat Dolfin had her origins. I gave her my best cold stare that had many a business opponent quivering in his boots, but she merely ignored it and ploughed on.

  ‘I am sorry that I was not at my husband’s house to greet you. We thought the storms at sea would have delayed you.’

  I saw from her tone that she wasn’t sorry, and that the ‘we’ she referred to was not herself and her husband, but herself and her monkish mentor. She had slightly inclined her head to indicate him as she spoke. I tipped my own head to acknowledge her comments, and assured her that our stout Venetian galley had weathered the storms easily.

  ‘We even outran the pirates that seem to infest this region. Now, Domina Soranzo, I need to arrange a time when you and I can speak. In private.’

  I made it clear what that meant for the monk, and blushing, he retreated from our presence and walked through the sanctuary arch to where Speranza Soranzo had been praying. I noticed that he picked up a small gilded box from the altar before he snuffed out the candle and plunged the sanctuary into darkness. When he turned the box had disappeared somewhere in his robes. Querini’s wife drew my attention away from his activity by taking my arm and walking me away.

  ‘I regret I cannot see you in the monastery as I have a private cell not suitable for visitors.’

  By her tone of voice I assumed she meant not for male visitors. She was clearly either taking her pretence of following the terms of her exile to an extreme, or she truly had shut herself off from her husband. I guessed the monk was the key to what she was up to, and mentally noted I would have to find out more about him.

  ‘Then we should talk at your husband’s house. I take it that propriety will not be offended if you met me there. After all, my granddaughter will be there too.’

  I looked over my shoulder at Katie who, in her pageboy disguise, had been skulking in the shadows all this time. ‘Won’t she . . . Sebastiano?’

  Katie glared at me in giving her such a stupid name, and with as gruff a voice as she could muster replied, ‘Indeed, master.’

  Katie need not have been concerned at me drawing her to Soranzo’s attention. The Doge’s daughter hardly deigned to look at the page who attended me. But I did notice that the monk gave ‘him’ a sharp look. Perhaps he was a more dangerous adversary than I had at first suspected. From his mangling of Italian I guessed he was an Englishman, so maybe I could speak to him in his own language. I had learned some of the rough tongue from my own mother, and could speak it passably. It would pay to know where he stood in the Soranzo household before I questioned Speranza more closely.

  After she had agreed to meet me at her husband’s mansion the next morning, I left the monastery with ‘Sebastiano’ trailing sulkily after me. It didn’t take long for Katie to emerge from her mood, though. She grabbed a long, dry twig and started slashing at the trailing brown grass on our return path. Gradually she speeded up and came up to my shoulder. She was bursting to tell me something, but was going to make me repent for treating her badly first.

  ‘Sebastiano? Where did that stupid name come from?’

  I smiled evilly. ‘The way you were behaving, I just thought you resembled a martyr.’

  ‘Oh, very amusing, Grandfather.’

  To be deliberately reminded of my advanced years hurt, and I winced at the jibe.

  ‘Very well. You are obviously bursting to tell me something you know. So I apologise for the slur on your manhood . . .’ She swished at my legs playfully with the twig. ‘. . . and am ready to listen with ears wide open.’

  Katie pouted in that endearing way of hers, making a play of deciding whether or not to tell me what she knew. But it was obvious that she would without any further encouragement, and she managed a pause of a few moments.

  ‘I have seen the monk before.’

  ‘Brother Hugh? Where?’

  ‘Why, in Venice, of course. Before you came back from your travels. He was a sought-after guest in the houses of Granny Cat’s friends. The more vacuous ones.’

  Katie had some choice words at her disposal, revealing her fine education at the expense of the Valier family, whose name she bore. ‘Vacuous’ was one I would remember when it came to the case vecchie of La Serenissima. I laughed.

  ‘And what was he peddling? Indulgences to save them from Purgatory?

  Katie grinned in a way that suggested she had a salacious secret to reveal. ‘No. Something far more valuable than that.’

  ‘Oh, what?’

  ‘Virginity.’

  Once we had returned to the Querini mansion, and I had persuaded Katie to dress like a proper girl once again, she told me the story. We first ate a quiet meal with Galuppi, and I sank a few goblets of Querini’s good red wine. Eventually, the fussy secretary saw that his presence was not wanted, and he bowed and left. Relieved by his disappearance, Katie threw her legs over the arm of the chair she had been sitting demurely in, and clasped her hands behind her head.

  ‘Lord! I thought he’d never go, Grandpa Nick.’

  ‘Is that why you were sighing heavily all the time? Bertuccio Galuppi is a good man, you know, and doesn’t deserve to be on the end of your bad manners.’

  She waved one hand in the air. ‘I’ll apologise to him tomorrow. Now, let me tell you the story of Brother Hugh.’

  It seems that the monk had turned up in Venice three years ago in search of a relic. He had come all the way from a place called Carmarthen somewhere in the badlands beyond the edge of England. He was peddling a story about a finger bone belonging to a saint that a Venetian merchant had long ago purchased.

  ‘My great-uncle Marco!’ I exclaimed. ‘It must have been him. He went all over the place collecting relics to resell at a profit.’

  Katie hushed me, and kicked her legs in anger.

  ‘Let me finish. This Brother Hugh was nothing much of an attraction at first, according to Granny Cat.’ She looked across the table at me. ‘You can see he’s not much to look at, and his message was all about a saint no one had heard of. But then he somehow laid his hands on the relic, and it all changed.’

  At a gathering of bored matrons of noble lineage to which Hugh had been invited, more out of habit than expectation of something exciting, a stir had been created. The monk had produced a small gilded box, and announced he had the relic of St Beornwyn.

  ‘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 coul
dn’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.