Dai looked at him.
‘…would your ladies do my family the honour of accepting gowns? Not new, you understand, and not of the latest mode, but of good quality. I would not offer your two ladies anything other than that.’
‘It’s very generous you are, Francesco. Do you think your sisters will be happy to be equally generous?’
‘They will be more than happy to be of help. Especially,’ he added, ‘when they know they will have new gowns in the latest fashion to replace the ones they give as gifts.’
Dai chuckled. He recalled Kazan preening in Rémi’s best clothes that first evening she had arrived at the han. What would she make of these western gowns with their long flowing skirts and over-dresses, she who was used to the freedom of şalvar and gömlek?
The day was full of business. It seemed like Attaleia all over again. Edgar was packed off to the merchants’ fondaco to book lodgings. He took with him Kazan and Agathi. Dai had stolen moments to speak with Kazan, to order her not to go out alone, as she had done in Attaleia, with such disastrous consequences. He knew his anxiety made him abrupt. He gritted his teeth. Tried again.
‘It is what I am wishing, Kazan. I beg you to stay safe indoors.’
Kazan laid her fingers on the scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw, healed after two months at sea though it would never fade, as the memory of that last terrifying night in Attaleia would never fade.
‘Do not beg me,’ she said. ‘It is not fitting. Of course I shall do as you wish,’
‘Diolch yn fawr, cariad.’ He couldn’t help himself. He turned his face and quickly kissed her hand where it had rested against the scar. ‘Now, go with Edgar.’
They said goodbye to Brother Jerome who set off for the friary. Twm was to join him later.
‘First I’ll come with you to the Bank, Dafydd, in case there are messages to read.’
It was for Giles to stable and settle the horses. ‘Fresh air first, Giles, and some exercise.’
Giles gestured towards the Rivo Alto Bridge and the loud clattering of hooves and high-pitched neighing. Two horses were being raced across it, pedestrians leaping out of their way and cursing loudly. Behind the riders, a pack of hunting dogs, tails flowing behind, mouths open, red tongues lolling. ‘Like that?’ He grinned.
‘Not like that! It’s time that was outlawed.’
Dai and Rémi had business. After amassing the baggage, there was the Bank and accounts to be settled. Dai thanked God for Rémi and his skill in numbers. There was a letter as well, from Heinrijc Mertens. Dai held it up in front of his face. ‘He knows I cannot read.’ He was exasperated. ‘Rėmi is better at numbers than lettering. What shall I do without you, Twm?’ He watched Twm’s grave face. ‘Well?’
‘He knows the fleet is late and hopes you are safe though he does not doubt it. He says you have five of your nine lives left to you.’ Twm raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. ‘He says you are to finalise the contract with Francesco Corner. He says ten years as a shareholder is enough.’ Twm exclaimed. ‘England has forbidden export of fleeces to Flanders! This is worse than we thought, Dafydd.’ He read on, silently, his face serious. ‘There is much written here that I do not like to speak aloud.’ He looked about him. ‘He urges you to destroy this letter at once, as soon as you know its contents.’
‘Yes?’
‘Corner is flying close to the wind. Before long he will lose money – this year, next year, maybe even the year after. Heinrijc does not think it advisable to renew a contract.’
‘What else?’
‘He has heard that his friend Pietro da Silvano, the glass-maker of Murano, was arrested this autumn.’
‘What?Sior Silvano?’
‘Hush Dafydd. This is Venezia, remember. There were accusations laid against him. Heinrijc didn’t know the outcome when he wrote this but he is worried because you always trade with da Silvano. He says to make enquiries first, if he was found innocent or guilty.’
‘What accusations? Does he say?’
‘Revealing secrets of the glass trade.’
‘But Sior Silvano would never reveal the secrets of glass-making!’
‘Heinrijc Mertens is worried enough to write this, Dafydd.’
‘If he were found guilty it would be a heavy punishment.’
Twm thought a moment. ‘Where would it be safe to ask?’
‘There’s always gossip in this place. Keep our ears open, isn’t it? Maybe the Friary will know. If not, Murano will have the answer.’
Twm nodded. ‘I’ll bring word as soon as I find out anything. Tread carefully, Dafydd.’
‘Send Heinrijc a message to say we’ve arrived and are safe. Soon on our way home.’ The message would arrive in a month, he knew, as long as the weather stayed well enough. They’d be following soon after. Under two months, they’d be in Flanders. If they were lucky they’d be there before the new year. Over-winter in Ieper then spring would see him and Kazan in England. God willing, her grandfather would be living still. After that? He refused to think.
They were well lodged. Kazan and Agathi were glowing with cleanliness and content after bathing in a tub of warm perfumed water provided for them by the patronus of the fondaco. ‘He fell in love with Agathi’s beautiful face and golden hair, I think,’ Kazan chuckled. ‘It is not like the hamam, but it is good to be clean.’ She sniffed. ‘You are also much in need of hot water, Welshman.’
He flicked her cheek. ‘Impudent wretch.’ He knew he smelt rank after the months of voyaging. ‘Later,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what’s for supper.’
It was an evening of listening to news and gossip. Venezia always had news and gossip. There had been a storm in Paris that August. Thousands of trees uprooted in the woods about Vincennes. The Scots had attacked an English merchant ship in the mouth of the Seine. Edward, the third Edward, had retaliated, attacking the Moray Firth, his soldiers pillaging as they went. Now there were rumours the French were raiding the Channel Islands. King Edward had asked for money from the Pope to fund a Crusade and had been refused but he had taken it anyway from St Mary’s Abbey. The talk went back and forth, but most of all it centred on Venezia, even amongst these foreign merchants, and the imminent threat of war. City states had formed allies, each with each and against others. The balance of power was strong on both sides; strong enough, perhaps, to avert war but now, at the closing of this year 1336, the prospect of peace was fragile. If there was war here, and war between England and France, what hope did honest merchants have of making a profit? Nobody spoke of Pietro da Silvano. Whatever had happened was old news. Best not ask questions in this crowd of strangers. Too much gossip, see, in this sea-city. He hoped Kazan and Agathi were comfortable in the women’s quarters. His mind drifted to the time when she slept next to him in the han, woke in the morning next to him, so that, if he chose, he could have stretched out his hand to hers. He loved her then; how much more he loved her now, knowing her, living with her. He realised the man next to him was asking a question, forced himself to focus, answer.
2
You’d fancy she had wintered, sure enough,
Where icebergs rear themselves in constant snow:
And Lord! if in mid-August it is so,
How in the frozen months must she come off?
(Dante Alighieri: 1265 – 1321)
Kazan was awake before the Marangone bell rang out to announce the beginning of the working day. The shifting light woke her, glimmering through the slats of the shuttered windows. The wind had risen sometime in the night, dispersing the fog. Today the sky was the light, clear blue of late autumn and it threatened rain. She opened a shutter and looked through the window on to the canal, already busy with boats, buildings reflected in the water and shadows rippling across the surface of the buildings. She had never seen anything like this. A broad street of water with buildings rising out of it, arches on the ground floors because this was the place of business and where boats could unload. The fondaco might be for visiting merchants but it w
as the same for the noble families living in great houses they called casa along the length of this waterfront. There, too, the ground floor was given over to business and the families lived above. Some buildings had a third floor, and everywhere the huge chimneys of Venezia were already smoking, fires lit and the business of the day begun.
There was more business for Dai and Rémi. ‘But later you will take me on the Canalazzo in one of those strange black boats with the prows like galloping horses?’ Kazan begged. ‘It is perfectly respectable. I have seen the women who travel in these gondola and they are very handsome and very rich.’
Dai smiled at her innocence. ‘But not respectable, my Kazan,’ he said.
‘No? Is it so?’ She chuckled. ‘But all the same…’
‘Will I take you in one of these black gondola? Do you trust yourself to me?’
‘Always,’ she said, very serious. ‘Always I trust you.’
It was late morning when a messenger arrived from the sisters of Francesco da Ginstinianis inviting them to the casa. It was a very formal, very polite invitation and Kazan wrinkled her nose.
They do this because the brother says they must, she thought. She sighed. These noble Venetian women, they were very correct, very beautiful, very obedient. Very foreign.
Edgar was to accompany them, and the servant who had brought the message. He was an austere man dressed in severe black with the blazon of the da Ginstinianis household on his cloak. He made her a stiff bow. ‘I am sent because I am a trusted servant who has been with the family for many years,’ he said. ‘You need have no fear, siorina. You are well protected. Sior Francesco has sent his private gondola for your use so there is no need to walk through the calli. Ourladiesdo notride on the public boats.’
She flushed but lifted her chin. ‘I am not afraid, sior. It is only that I gave my promise to sior Dafydd to stay indoors, and a promise is a promise.’
The servant hid his surprise. This was not how the ladies of Venezia spoke, and certainly not to a servant, but this young woman stared boldly at him, though what she said was honourable and obedient. Edgar said, ‘Dai meant only that you were not to go out alone, Kazan.’
‘You think so, Edgar? I would not want him to be disappointed in me.’
‘He would want us to go.’
She smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. ‘I would like very much to ride in this boat of sior Francesco on this street that is water. And you, Agathi, you would like this?’ She chuckled. ‘We shall have adventures to tell Dai after all.’
Agathi nodded, her eyes wide with pleasure and excitement. They wrapped themselves in their cloaks, as much to hide their shabby clothes as to keep themselves warm. They went down the stairs of the fondaco and out on to the fondamenta, the pavement beside the canal. The arches of the building cast shadows over the gondola bobbing on the water. It was dark green, with the same blazon of colours. The servant handed in the two young women and their escort and stepped in beside them. Kazan and Agathi exchanged startled glances; the inside of the gondola was richly painted in reds and golds and the seats were well cushioned in brocade. This was a sumptuous floating palace.
‘It is a short distance only,’ he told them. The boatman poled them away from the side. Kazan watched him, dazzled by the ease with which he handled the long, thin boat, the sinuous movement of the pole in the water. Sunlight reflected off the water and on to buildings which themselves reflected looking-glass images on the water. It glanced off glassed windows. It struck the pale stone. A city of light, except that the water of the Canalazzo was dark and mysterious. The seas at home revealed the pebbly bottom and small fish swimming in beams of sunlight. It glistened. Here, nothing penetrated its dark surface. A city of contrasts, of light and dark. The dispossessed slept at night under the Rivo Alto Bridge whilst the nobles slept in grand houses. A city of marvels and miracles, of saints and churches and monasteries and nunneries but its true worship was commerce. Better to be a yürük, and free to move from winter dwelling to summer pasture than a vagrant in this city. She wondered where Radovan had slept. She wondered what would happen to his mother and his sister, who would look after them. His father was dead and they were alone, as Agathi and her brother Niko were alone. Now Niko had a new family in Attaleia while Agathi…she glanced at the girl, her pale gold hair gleaming. She was smiling, touching Edgar’s hand to bring his attention to something on the further bank of the Canalezzo. Lucky Agathi, she thought, to be betrothed to the one she loves, and who loves her. She remembered the pale shivering girl they had rescued from slavery, despair and hopelessness in her face. Now, Agathi smiled and sometimes laughed. That is Dai’s doing, she thought. It is because of him that Agathi is free and can smile and laugh. And Niko and Hatice and pale, dead Asperto, all rescued by Dai. And me. Such care he has taken of me. Such a worry I have been to him. She looked at her hand, the hand that had stroked the scar on his face. She felt again the light warm touch of his lips.
‘I am sorry. What did you say, sior?’
‘I said only that we are coming to the ca’ Ginstinianis. See?’
It was a grand building indeed, set back from the canal side with steps leading up to the fondamenta and the arches of the ground floor. There was a grand entrance, with skillfully carved stonework and heavy wooden doors. The first floor projected over the ground floor, protection from sun and rain. A row of glittering windows ran along its length, the stonework casement shaped to arched points. They did not enter through the great doorway. The servant led them into a narrow calle that ran alongside a smaller canal that he called a rio and through an archway into a courtyard where a huge cistern head of carved stone sat in the centre. Steps led up to the first floor. Their cloaks were taken from them and they were ushered into the salon. Kazan looked about her curiously. It was a large room lit by the windows she had seen from the canal. At the further end, close to a huge fireplace, were ornate carved chairs where the sisters of sior Ginstinianis were seated. At their feet sat a bright-eyed, black-nosed little dog, a jewelled collar glittering against white fur. His ears were cocked, his eyes inquisitive, his whole body quivering with friendly curiosity.
Not so the sisters. They rose in unison and glided across the length of the salon. Their gowns trailed behind them, the folds of gleaming soft scarlet and pale blue whispering and rustling on the polished wooden floor. Their hair was elaborately plaited and pleated over the crowns of their heads. Kazan saw the startled look that passed between them as they took in the foreign women strangely clad in garments that were so indecently masculine. Beside these dazzling rich noble women, they looked wretched indeed – plucked crows to glistening plumage.
‘I am Elizabeta da Ginstinianis, and this is my sister, Alegreza,’ said the older of the two. ‘We welcome you to our home. We are pleased to be of service to you.’ Her voice was polite and as cold as the mid-winter ice on the mountains; her smile stretched her mouth in a thin, tight line and did not reach her eyes. Kazan’s heart sank. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Agathi looking nervous and ill at ease. She smiled shyly when Edgar introduced her as his betrothed.
‘Your promessisposi?’ Elizabeta raised politely incredulous eyebrows. This girl who looked like one of the dispossessed betrothed to this handsome young man with such golden curls and eyes as blue as the summer skies?
So this is the welcome Venezia gives to its strangers, Kazan thought. Better to be a yürük who knew how to give proper welcome. She raised her head. ‘We are grateful to you for your welcome,’ she said, haughtily. ‘We are strangers here in your city. To be welcomed into the home of such a noble family is an honour.’ Her voice was as dry as ever Thomas’s could be.
‘You must first have some refreshment,’ said Elizabeta. She clapped her hands and a servant appeared at the doorway with a tray that contained glass beakers chased with gold and silver and an ornate honey-coloured glass jug enamelled with scarlet berries and green leaves and blue-clad huntsmen on prancing white horses. Kazan eyed it curiously. Th
is had been brought from the east. She recognised the style of workmanship. The servant poured light wine and proffered sweet sugar cakes. They nibbled and spoke in stilted voices. At last, the sisters rose. ‘You will come with us, siorinas.’ Elizabeta looked towards Edgar. Her voice was noticeably more affable when she spoke to him. ‘My brother will be here shortly and will bear you company, sior. We trust your wait will be worthwhile.’
Kazan and Agathi followed the two women through dim corridors into a chamber that contained a huge carved chest and a large bed hung with deep red damask curtains. Gowns were spread out across the bed.
‘We have made a selection for you. We hope you will think it appropriate.’
Kazan and Agathi looked at each other. These were beautiful gowns. ‘But how can you part with them?’ Kazan asked impulsively. ‘These are too beautiful and too costly to give to us. It is too much to ask of you.’
The first genuine smile touched Alegreza’s lips. ‘It is our pleasure. Besides,’ she added naively, ‘these are not in the latest mode. The new fashion is for the cloth to be cut close and shaped to the body and this is what we shall have to replace these gowns we give to you. Perhaps it is better these are not so.’ She cast an experienced eye over the two girls. ‘My brother said you were of our height and size but you are smaller than either of us. Fitted gowns would hang loose. First, though, you will wear the chemise. Come, let Cristina dress you.’ A stern-faced elderly maidservant came forward. She held up loose shifts of soft linen and waited until Kazan and Agathi shyly undressed.
‘Hm,’ said Elizabeta, ‘no need for breast bands for either of them, sister.’ A flash of cruel amusement came and went in her face at their embarrassment. She pointed at a fine woollen gown that was the green of fresh oak leaves in spring. ‘See, sister, this green is just the colour for the dark one, I think, with that russet over-gown that never became me. It will bring out the colour in her hair. Such short hair.’ She frowned then smiled and nodded. ‘See, sister! Am I not right?’
The Heart Remembers Page 3