by S. D. Sykes
Just when I wondered if we could be pulled any farther into this tangled muddle, Sandro tugged at my cloak, stood on his tiptoes, and then told me that we had reached our destination—Gianni Ricci lived with his mother in the first house to our right—a tall building, where a new floor had been built on top of an existing home, making the lower part of this house appear as if it were being pushed down into the mud of the lagoon.
I told the guard and Sandro to move out of sight, while I knocked at the low door and waited for somebody to answer. The guard followed my order with a weariness, merely leaning against the wellhead at the center of the campo, folding his arms and staring at the gray sky above us.
At my third knock, a woman opened a shutter at the window beside the door. Her hair was drawn back from her face with a white scarf, and her skin was as lined as a patch of clay soil after a long, hot summer. “What do you want?” she said, looking at me with suspicion.
“I’m looking for Gianni Ricci.”
She slammed the shutter, so I knocked again, and this time she did not answer. Now I called the guard forward and ordered him to kick the door open. He did so without the slightest hesitation or trouble, and then we ran inside the decrepit house to find Ricci. Ricci’s mother followed us as we searched each room, screaming at us continually to get out—but in the whole house we found no sign of the man.
“Where is Gianni?” I asked his mother, when she had finally stopped screaming. The guard wanted to shake an answer from the woman, but I ordered him to step away. He obeyed this command with a foot-dragging reluctance, as if I had ruined a favorite game.
“Who are you?” she demanded to know. “And what do you want with my son?”
“That doesn’t matter. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
The guard advanced again, so I held up my hand to signify that I did not yet require his services. “Does your son live here with you?” I asked.
“Yes. But he didn’t come home last night.”
“Why not?”
She regarded me for a moment with wary eyes. “I didn’t see what happened. I only heard the story from my neighbors.”
“What story is this?”
“They said he was taken by the Signori.”
I felt my stomach churn and my heart thump. “The Signori di Notte? Are you sure?”
“Yes! That’s what I said didn’t I?” She roared. “People say that my son is a sodomite. That’s why he was taken. But it’s a wicked lie! Gianni is due to be married in a month.”
This was a bad turn of events. How had the Signori reached Gianni before I had? I hadn’t told anybody his name, apart from Sandro. And then the painful realization hit me, as I ran back along the low passageway of the house and looked with desperation into every room. I had put my trust in the boy, but Sandro was gone. He had betrayed me.
I strode with all haste through Castello toward Ca’ Bearpark, with the guard at my heels, muttering that he still wanted to be paid, no matter that we hadn’t made an arrest. I barely heard his words, for I could only think about Ricci and what he might confess to under torture—for I knew how quickly a simple length of rope and a set of steps could prize an answer from a man. If Ricci admitted to spying with Enrico, then Bearpark was doomed. I needed to warn the old man, and not because I cared for his fate, but because I needed to secure Filomena’s release, before her husband was dragged to the doge’s palace and then thrown into the Pozzi. Whether Filomena wanted to leave Venice with me, or whether she wanted to stay in this city, she would not remain imprisoned in Bearpark’s storeroom.
We thumped at the door to Ca’ Bearpark, but nobody answered, and at first I wondered if the Signori di Notte had already visited, when the elderly maid opened the door a crack, and we were able to push past and run up to the door of Bearpark’s bedchamber. In the whole of this twisting, meandering house, we didn’t meet another soul.
I didn’t bother knocking. In fact, I had half expected to fling open the doors to find another empty room—but I was wrong, for there was Bearpark, lying in his bed like a corpse.
He woke with a shock as I prodded him. “De Lacy?” Then he smiled and clasped my hands in his own. For once his skin felt warm and supple. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to warn you, Bearpark. The guards from the doge’s palace may be here at any moment. You must release Monna Filomena straight away. And I think you should leave Venice.”
“I can’t leave Venice!” he said, his voice trembling and weak. “This is my home.” His eyes bore the bemused stare of a very old man.
Now that I was nearer, I could see a streak of blood upon his forehead. Not only this, his lip was swollen. “What happened to you?” I asked.
He touched his face, and then looked at the blood on his fingers. “I was attacked, de Lacy.”
“Who attacked you?” I asked.
He became agitated. Twisting his head from side to side, as if he had suddenly remembered the incident. “Are they here?” He looked about the room with the eyes of a madman, until they landed upon the tall frame of the guard, and he let out the most terrifying shriek. “Have they returned? Tell me you haven’t brought them here with you!”
I laid my hand on his chest, in an attempt to quell his agitation. “It’s just the man you employed to guard Monna Filomena’s door, Bearpark. Calm yourself.”
He relaxed immediately, and then squinted, in order to focus better on my face. When he still couldn’t see me, he reached instinctively to the table beside the bed to find his spectacles, but his fingers alighted onto a broken frame and two circles of smashed glass.
“What happened here, Bearpark?” I said, taking the spectacles from his hand, in case he cut himself. “Please. Tell me who attacked you.”
The old man only placed his hands against his bloodied cheeks and laughed like a lunatic until he started to heave, causing the guard to edge away toward the door in alarm. It was at this moment that the door opened, allowing the man to rush out as Bernard and his sister, Margery, ran in.
On seeing my face, Bernard stopped in front of me and performed one of his most expressive bows. “Lord Somershill. Isn’t this terrible?” He then waved toward his sister. “Margery here has offered her services as a nurse to poor Master Bearpark, as he is covered in the most monstrous wounds.”
“Will somebody please tell me what has happened?” The pilgrim gave one of his awkward smiles, as if he didn’t quite agree with something I’d just said, but didn’t have the nerve to say so. “Why is there blood on Master Bearpark’s face?” I demanded. “And who smashed his spectacles?”
Bernard gave his sister a sideways glance. “You don’t know, my lord?” I shook my head, causing Bernard to cough and exchange a look with Margery. “Poor Master Bearpark was attacked by his wife.”
“What do you mean?” I said. “Monna Filomena is locked in a storeroom.”
Bernard loudly sucked in air. “I’m afraid to say that she’s escaped, my lord.” He then looked to the ceiling, as if embarrassed to utter the next sentence. “With the help of her lover.”
“What?” I shook my head, as if a rush of blood to my brain would help. “I mean. Which lover? What are you talking about?”
“It is the clerk, Giovanni.” Bernard crossed himself. “To think that the pair were the murderers, all along. Though Margery and I always maintained that the killer was connected to this household, didn’t we Margery?” He heaved a long sigh. “Though we never guessed at such treachery.”
Now the floor felt as if it were undulating beneath my feet, and it was just as if I were back on that ship, crossing the sea from Felixstowe to Flanders. “Giovanni?” I said in consternation. “No, no. I don’t believe it.”
Bernard crossed himself, and then swiftly offered me a chair. “I’m afraid it’s true, my lord. If Margery and I had not accosted them in this very bedchamber, then they would have killed poor Master Bearpark as well. They were upon him like a pair of dogs.” He waved to Ma
rgery, indicating that I was in need of some wine.
I fell onto the seat, but refused the sweet Malmsey wine that Margery offered me. “I don’t understand, Bernard,” I said. “How did Filomena escape? There were guards on her door.”
“But there was only one guard this morning, my lord. Once the other man was sent to you at the Fondaco.”
I groaned. “Don’t tell me that Giovanni managed to overcome this man all alone?”
“No. I believe that Giovanni bribed him. He had the key to Master Bearpark’s secret strongbox, you see.” Bernard dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid he has also stolen a good deal of money.”
At these words, Bearpark coughed so violently that Margery ran to his aid and offered him a bowl in which to vomit. Thankfully he produced only a trail of bloodied dribble that caused Margery to flinch as she wiped his chin.
“I don’t understand any of this,” I said, to nobody in particular. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know, my lord. It is a terrible shock,” said Bernard, patting me lightly upon the shoulder. “An unfathomable sin. ’Tis a shame that Margery has no more of her miraculous St. Thomas’s water, as I’m sure it would revive your spirits.”
“But Filomena and Giovanni hated each other,” I said, still incredulous.
Bernard sighed, and then drew closer once more, to whisper into my ear. “I won’t speak too loudly, as I’m afraid this whole episode has caused Margery the most terrible upset. You see, it seems that Giovanni and Monna Filomena were sweethearts on the island of Burano.”
I thought back to my visit to Burano and remembered how Giovanni was known to the islanders. “Oh God.” I held my head in my hands and groaned aloud.
Bernard continued. “Giovanni brought the girl to Venice when they decided to marry. But then it seems that Master Bearpark saw the girl himself and fell in love with her, and instead of telling him the truth, the two of them hatched a plan of betrayal.” Bernard sucked his teeth. “No doubt they hoped Master Bearpark would die quickly, and then they could marry.” He clasped his hands together and then wrung them repeatedly in agitation. “But, of course, Enrico Bearpark stood in their way.”
“Are you saying that they killed Enrico?”
“No, no. That was Monna Filomena’s brother. They paid him to carry out the murder, I believe.” Bernard crossed himself again. “What was that man’s name, now? I always found him quite congenial, as it happens.”
“Adolpho Bredani.”
“Yes. That’s the fellow.”
“But then he was murdered as well?” I said. “Do you mean to tell me that Monna Filomena also killed her own brother?”
Bernard continued to wring his hands. “I’m not fully in possession of the facts, my lord. But it seems that the evil pair must have paid somebody else to kill Bredani. Perhaps the man was threatening to reveal the truth? I don’t know. But anyway, as I said before, Giovanni was in control of a lot of Master Bearpark’s money, so he was not without the means to fund such a crime.”
“And Filomena’s child? Is she Giovanni’s?”
Bernard nodded, solemnly, and then crossed himself.
This whole sorry tale now fell into place, like quoits landing upon a wooden pin. The enmity between Filomena and Giovanni had been a sham all along, and I had been deceived as greatly as Bearpark. No wonder Filomena had refused my proposal that we leave Venice together. This had been her plan all along.
I lifted my head from my hands and looked about the room, trying to catch a skein of fresh air from within the stuffiness of the place. “How do you know all this?” I asked Bernard, but the man was frowning at a distant thought and ignored me. Now I grasped him by the sleeve and shook him. “Bernard! Answer my question. How do you know this?”
The man focused his eyes upon me. “I’m afraid that the pair told Bearpark the whole story, before they attacked him.” He crossed himself. “I believe that they wanted to torment the poor man. I would say they were rather proud of themselves, you see. It was their revenge.” Bernard looked to Bearpark’s heaving frame with pity. “Poor Master Bearpark. He was able to relate the whole story to us, but now it seems he is losing his mind.”
I needed to get out of this room and this house, for my shock was turning to rage. I was both angry with Filomena and Giovanni, but more than that, I was angry with myself—for I had wasted many months in Venice, imagining that I was falling in love with this woman.
As I reached the door, Bernard caught up to me and placed a hand upon my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, my lord. Are you well enough to return to your inn alone?”
I declined his assistance, but as my foot crossed the threshold, I thought about Gianni Ricci’s arrest by the Signori di Notte, and wondered if I should warn Bernard and Margery to expect a visit. Then I looked back to Bearpark as the old man stared blankly at the ceiling, and decided that there was no reason to make this disclosure. Not even the Signori could torture a man who had lost his mind.
I opened the door. “Goodbye, Bernard.”
“Will we see you again, my lord?”
“No.”
“But surely we will be sailing in the same flotilla to the Holy Land?”
“I’m not going to Jerusalem,” I told him. “I’m returning to England.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. I have a son there. A young boy who is nearly two years old.” I felt my chest tighten. “I’ve been away for too long.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
It had started to rain again, and a punishing wind chased me through the narrow alleys of San Marco and buffeted me beside the wider canals. I felt sick with anger, mostly at myself, for in this whole tale of deception and treachery, it was my own betrayal that stung with the most pain. I had abandoned a child. My own child—when I had promised my dying wife that I would love and cherish him. It was time to remedy my mistake. I would return to England with all haste, but there were no straight paths in this story. No easy progressions. As I turned a corner, I came face-to-face with my next obstacle. He put his arm across the alley and blocked my path.
“Going somewhere, de Lacy?” Vittore sneered.
“Just get out of my way,” I said, trying to push him aside.
Vittore took my arm, twisted it behind my back, and then threw me against a wall. “Thought you’d escape from me, did you?” he said. “Without paying your debts.”
The pain in my shoulder returned. “No.”
“So, why didn’t you tell me that you’d moved to the Fondaco dei Tedeschi?” He twisted my arm more vigorously. “Did it slip your mind?”
I tried to kick him in the shin, but he was wearing thick leather boots, and I caused more pain to my own heels than I managed to inflict upon his leg. “It’s not Saturday yet,” I said, as he laughed at my attempts to escape. “You’ll get your money tomorrow, as promised. It doesn’t matter where I’m staying.”
He drew close, and I felt the heat of his breath upon my ear. “Tomorrow morning then, de Lacy. I’ll be at the door to your inn at dawn.”
And I’ll be sailing for Marseilles, I thought to myself. “Very well Vittore,” I said. “Until tomorrow,” and then I shook myself free of him.
Upon reaching my chamber at the Fondaco, I tried to open the door, but found it locked. I knocked softly and waited, but nobody answered. Surely Mother was still in the room? I knocked again, and this time heard a shuffling from behind the door. A strange, quaking voice asked me to identify myself. It spoke in Venetian.
When the door finally opened a crack, I forced my way into the chamber to be confronted by a person dressed in the flowing gown and white turban of a Persian merchant.
“Where’s my mother?” I demanded.
My question was met with a giggle. It was a familiar sound. “Ha! See how I’ve duped you. My own son.”
I quickly shut the door behind me. “God’s bones, Mother! What are you doing?”
She spun around, so that I could admire her outfit to its full advantage
. “You told me to wear a disguise,” she said. “Remember?”
I folded my arms. “I haven’t got time for such stupidity. We need to pack and leave.”
“Don’t speak to me like that, Oswald. I’ve been ready to leave for hours. It’s you that has caused the delay, with all your investigating.” She looked behind me. “And where’s that little urchin you adopted? I hope he’s not trying to get into the room again.”
“I lost him,” I said.
“Oh. I see.” She looked at me quizzically. “And do you hope to find him again?”
My answer was emphatic: “No.”
She removed the turban from her head. “Did you clear Monna Filomena’s name?”
I turned my face from hers. “No. I didn’t.”
“So, she’s guilty then. Just as I suspected.” She raised her eyebrows. “She’ll hang for this, you know. There’s no sentimentality in Venice, Oswald. I’ve seen plenty of women dangling from the gallows. In fact, there was even a girl locked in that cage, the last time I was in the Piazzetta.”
I threw myself onto the bed and let my arms stretch out across the blanket. “They can’t hang Filomena, unless they can catch her,” I said.
Mother looked at me with puzzlement. “Oh yes?”
“Because she escaped.”
“But I thought Bearpark had locked her in a guarded room.”
“She had some help.”
Mother sat down on the bed next to me. “Was it you?”
I sat up and rested on my elbow. “No, Mother. It was Giovanni.”
“I see,” she said. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story, don’t you?”
I lay back on the bed and stared at the wooden struts that ran across the ceiling, while a rain storm beat at the shutters. “Monna Filomena and Giovanni were lovers.”