‘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.’
She sighed dramatically, and held out her arm, asking for my assistance in raising her to her feet. It was all a little ponderous and imperious, and an attempt to put me in my place, but it would have been churlish to refuse the assistance. I took her weight and she rose up. Our proximity allowed me to get a closer look at her face than she might have wished. For a woman of only thirty or so, she looked quite careworn, and she clearly had plucked her eyebrows out of existence. Her face was pale without evidence of those foul lead-based whiteners some women used. Though I have heard that some women swallow arsenic to make themselves pale. Masudi al-Din told me this could result in headaches, confusion and hair loss, if not death. So perhaps Speranza Soranzo followed this cosmetic regime. She certainly sounded a little confused when she replied to my half-question about receiving news of Querini’s death.
‘Yes. Antonio told me, when he came back with the dogs. They will be so upset, you know. They loved Niccolo.’
It took me a moment to realise she was talking about the dogs. And it was probably true they loved Querini more than she did, I thought. She gave no sign of sadness at her husband’s passing, or even made an enquiry as to the cause of his death. Instead she rambled on about the dogs and Querini’s manservant.
‘He told me that when he approached the body, a cloud of blue butterflies rose up around Niccolo. It was a sign, of course.’
Of what, she clearly wasn’t going to tell me, though it rang a bell with me. Something Katie had said, but I wasn’t able to recall it. And before I could try, she cast a nervous glance towards the door of the great chamber. There had been the sound of shuffling feet, and subdued voices. It was as if she were afraid her husband might not be dead after all, and would come striding in from the strand. Instead, his lifeless body was unceremoniously borne in like someone who had passed out after a night of heavy drinking. One servant clasped him by the armpits, and another by his ankles. His head was turned at an acute angle on the leading servant’s arm. They paused upon seeing the mistress, but she waved a hand, and they carried on with their task of laying the body in the chapel. Once he had been arranged on the stone altar, she drifted over to the body, and peered closely at it as if reminding herself of what her husband looked like. Her hand went nervously to the back of her neck, where I knew the suppurating boil would be giving her pain. Then her hands closed in prayer, and I knew it was no use questioning her today. Nor would I get to examine the body more closely for a while. I gritted my teeth, and walked out of the great chamber, leaving her to her own thoughts.
‘Niccolo Querini is dead?’
Katie shook her head as she asked her question of me. I had been waiting for her in the shade of the ancient olive tree, which was set in the centre of the courtyard of the Querini mansion. I sat for a long time before her smiling face appeared in the archway. She had skipped over to me, no doubt full of what she had learned from Brother Hugh. But I had to tell her my news first, before she learned of it from somewhere else. I thought it would have upset her, but I didn’t really know my granddaughter that well yet. Her eyes opened wide, and a look of excitement pervaded her beautiful face.
‘Was he murdered?’
Trust my Katie to get straight to the point. I shrugged and waggled my head in a noncommittal way.
‘I can’t say yet. The grieving widow is with the body.’ I indicated the doorway to the great chamber and chapel. ‘Perhaps when she has completed her obsequies, she will allow me to examine him. But from what I saw on the beach, there is no way that he fell from the cliff.’
Katie squeezed my hand. ‘Tell me what you saw that made you come to that conclusion, Grandpa Nick.’
We had both already worked on the case of one murder together, and I knew how she loved the mental exercise involved. And her enthusiasm stoked the fires of my own.
‘The body was at the foot of the cliff, from where it was presumed he had fallen.’
Katie quickly interrupted me. ‘Who presumed this?’
‘Why, Galuppi, of course. He pretty much told me that was the conclusion that the Doge would want me to come to.’
‘Ohhh, Galuppi.’ My granddaughter waved her hand, dismissing Galuppi’s opinion.
I went on with the explanation for my suspicions.
‘The cliff edge is crumbly at that point where the loose soil overrides the rock. So it’s true, a fall was possible. But there was no sign of disturbance above, and no evidence of loose soil on the sandy beach. No, Querini didn’t fall from the cliff, or even get pushed. Of course, he could have died naturally of a failure of his organs. He was a heavy drinker. But I don’t believe that was the case either. I will know more when I can examine the body.’
‘Yes, we can examine it together.’
I knew that was as close Kati
e would get to a request to be present when I looked at Querini’s body. And to be honest, I didn’t mind the thought of having her as a companion. As I said, blood always turns my stomach. I had already allowed her to see a much more gruesome body when we explored my burned-out house in Venice for any remains. We had come across the body of a man that was no more than a blackened cinder. Katie had a strong stomach and a good eye for detail too. I nodded my agreement.
‘Now tell me what you learned from Brother Hugh.’
She laughed. ‘He showed me his most precious possession.’
I looked suitably concerned for her modesty, just as she had intended with her ambiguous comment. But it turned out that what she referred to was the relic of St Beornwyn. The finger that Great-uncle Marco had originally brought to Venice. Katie was convinced that the monk truly did revere the saint and what she stood for. He came from a small community based in a place called Carmarthen on the edge of the English king’s territories. He had been offended when Katie had called him English, and insisted he was Welsh. I had heard of these hill-dwelling people on the fringes of King Edward’s lands. Troublesome and independent-minded, they had taxed the patience of the older King Edward, now his son was not doing any better apparently. Perhaps that was why he was borrowing so much money from the Bardi and Peruzzi banks, where I had my own funds invested. If Hugh was Welsh he would be an opinionated fellow, no doubt.
‘I told him I had heard of St Beornwyn and the tale of her saintly devotion to keeping her virginity. He blushed a little, but explained more of the saint’s history to me.’
It appeared that Beornwyn had been betrothed to a local lord in the north called Aethelbald, or some such barbaric name. Beornwyn, however, though being the daughter of another lord and therefore always likely to be married off for dynastic purposes, wished to dedicate her life to Christ. There was a belief that as long as she remained a virgin, the pagan invaders would not devastate her father’s lands. Refusing Aethelbald, she maintained a nightly vigil at a remote chapel. Hearing this, I snorted in derision.
‘It sounds like she had a younger lover and her vigils covered some sort of assignation with him. She didn’t want to give him up for some old baron.’
Katie pouted. ‘Grandpa, you are so coarse. The story is beautiful. Anyway, finally the invaders did come, and they murdered Beornwyn when she refused to give up her vigil. They even flayed the skin from her body and hung it on the chapel altar. And that is why she is the saint of virgins, and people with skin diseases.’
‘Hmm. And the relic?’
‘When he had finished his story, Brother Hugh produced this small gilded box from his sleeve. He opened it and inside, laid on red velvet, were the bones of St Beornwyn’s finger held together with gold wire.’
I pulled a face.
‘I have always thought there was something gruesome about holy bones. I mean, how is a saint to be clothed in flesh again at the Resurrection, if his body is scattered all over the Christian world?’
Katie’s laughter was like a tinkling silver bell. Unfortunately, at that very moment, Speranza Soranzo emerged from the great hall into the sunlight. Maybe it was our levity that caused her to screw up her face, or maybe it was the brightness of the sun. Whatever it was, she stormed past us and out the archway. And there went my chance of questioning her about Querini and the cult of virginity. I wearily pushed myself to my feet, my knees protesting at the effort. Katie almost put out a hand to assist me, but seeing my glare, stopped herself. I would be fooling myself if I thought that I still had the physique to give her a run for her money. She would soon outstrip me. However, my mind had not dulled yet, and it occurred to me that she could be my eyes and ears with Domina Speranza Soranzo. But I would leave that until later.
‘Come. Let’s take a look at Niccolo Querini before anyone prepares him for his funeral. They could wash away a lot of evidence.’
The interior of the great chamber was suitably sombre with no candles lit. The small slit windows let in little light as well as keeping the hall cool in high summer. Someone, presumably Speranza herself, had lighted a solitary candle inside the chapel, which was located at Querini’s head. I was glad of it, for it would give me some light for the next task. As we got closer to the body, I saw that she had also placed her husband’s hands in a prayerful pose on his chest. I moved them apart, examining the hands closely.
‘What are you looking for?’
Katie’s question was a good one. I wanted to see if there had been a struggle.
‘A man may have traces of blood on his hands, if he was in the act of defending himself when he died. I see nothing here, though.’
I placed his hands at his side, and proceeded to pull up his eyelids, peering into his eyes. Katie was full of curiosity.
‘I thought it was nonsense to imagine that the image of the murderer was left fixed on the victim’s eyes. Is it then true?’
I smiled at her misunderstanding of my actions.
‘You are right to think it ridiculous. And in response to your enquiry, I was looking to see if the eyeballs were spotted with blood in any way. Masudi al-Din told me that if a person were strangled or smothered, blood vessels in the eyes would be burst. Again nothing.’
I gazed at the torso of Querini, stroking my hands over his chest.
‘Ah, here is something odd.’
‘What?’
Katie leaned forward eagerly. I smoothed out the outer jacket, which was laced up the front over his undershirt, and pulled the opening a little wider. There was a patch of blood on the dark red shirt that had not been noticeable before. And I could see a small hole in the shirt, which I could just poke my finger in. Not caring about the evidence I was now destroying – for who but I cared about it? – I ripped open the hole and revealed a similar hole in Querini’s chest. Swallowing the bitter taste of vomit rising in my throat, I poked my finger in the hole. It ran deep, probably as far as his heart. The wound made a sucking noise as I withdrew my finger. Katie was fascinated, quite unmoved by the presence of blood and violent death.
‘Is this how he was killed? Stabbed to death? Such a small wound and so little blood.’
‘I have seen this before, though. A thrust to the heart with a slim bassillard can kill as effectively as chopping a man to pieces with a sword. And the blood can stay inside the body because the puncture in the skin is so small. You heard how it sucked closed after I pulled my finger out.’
Katie stared at me, her eyes big with an excitement that I suddenly regretted exposing her to. She whispered the word that was in my head.
‘Murder for certain, then.’
I nodded, and added the inevitable question.
‘But who did it?’
The following morning I had my first intimation of what might have happened. Katie had already left for Mongou monastery in the hope of speaking again to both Brother Hugh and Domina Speranza. We had spoken briefly about what information she should gather. Ostensibly, her task was to discover more about the cult of St Beornwyn, and Speranza’s adherence to it. But if in the process she learned more about Querini and his life on Sifnos, then that too would be very useful.
All I knew about him was that he had no obvious income other than his wife’s money, but was living the life of a lord with a heavy drinking habit. It was Antonio, the manservant, who began to explain that conundrum. I requested his presence soon after I had finished my breakfast. I found the heat of midday intolerable, causing my brain to boil and prevent concise thought. Mornings and evenings had become the time on Sifnos for me to apply myself, leaving the middle of the day to eat and rest. A timid tapping on the door alerted me to the arrival of Antonio. I called him in, and observed him closely for the first time. He was a dark-complexioned man with thick black hair, more like a Saracen than a Venetian, and it confirmed that he must be a local man. The Greeks were closely intertwined in physique to the Turks who ruled them, though they were loath to admit it.
‘Is your name really Ant
onio?’
The man blushed, and shook his head. ‘That is what my master called me. He liked to imagine he was still in Venice, I think. My real name is Antonis.’
‘Antonis, I want to ask you about your master, and why he should have been on the strand in the first place. It is pretty much out of his way if he was coming back here from Kamares harbour. Even drunk, he would know his way home.’
Antonis dropped his gaze to the floor, examining his sandals quite extensively. I had obviously hit a nerve, and needed him to explain. I waited only a moment, then bellowed in the most intimidating way I could muster.
‘Come, man. Tell me what you know, or by the will of the Doge, it shall go ill for you.’
The cowed servant looked over his shoulder, as if fearing that Querini would rise from the altar and stop his words with a ghostly hand.
‘Master, please tell no one or they will surely kill me too.’
This was getting interesting.
‘Who will kill you? Do you then know who killed Querini?’
He licked his lips nervously, and I sought to reassure him.
‘Speak up, and I promise no one will know from me what you said.’
‘The master needed money because the domina had stopped giving him any.’
So Speranza, who no doubt had funds provided by her family, gave nothing to her husband to sustain him in his miserable exile. That of itself was interesting in terms of her immersion in the Beornwyn virgin cult and of her devotion to Hugh. Perhaps the monk was receiving what Querini had lost. I returned my gaze to the man before me, and encouraged him to go on.
‘So how did your master sustain his style of life here?’
Antonis shrugged and remained tight-lipped. But I would not give up, though it took some time before I got the facts from him. It seemed that to supplement his income, Niccolo Querini had resorted to clandestine piracy, along with some of the inhabitants of Sifnos, who were long used to making a living from the pickings of the sea. For many years small trading vessels were boarded and robbed of their goods. Not enough was taken to cause a major problem, which would have resulted in someone like Giovanni Soranzo, in his days as Head of the Navy, cracking down on pirates. They took just enough to feed and sustain a few men and their families. Querini’s role was mostly to discover news of the passage of vessels, but he also relieved his boredom with some active participation too. Antonis was clearly hinting that there might have been a falling out of thieves on the beach.
The False Virgin Page 13