‘Well, what of it? We’re doing nothing wrong. . . . Oh, of course,’ he added as he saw Celia’s expression, ‘you don’t want him to see you like that!’ He grinned. ‘It’s true you look thoroughly disreputable. You easily pass muster as a disgusting Venetian urchin, and no trace of Master Ashby’s charming daughter at all. Enough to give my poor employer nightmares!’
Celia blushed and looked away for a moment. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said defiantly. ‘We should go to the Ghetto. Better have a different story there, though.’ She eyed Ned.
‘If you think I’m going to try and pass as some flighty, empty-purse Englishman who needs a loan, you can think again! We can go on some other pretext. Like . . . well. . .’ He smiled at her. ‘Like I’m just one of those heathen Englishmen who wants to come and gawk at the Ghetto. I’m sure there must be people who come to do just that.’
‘I’m sure there are. But nobody will want to talk to you then,’ said Celia.
‘So what? I can’t talk to them. You can do the talking.’ He added drily, ‘You seem to be good at it. Very good at it.’
5 8
Celia shrugged. They won’t talk much to me either, I wager. It’s likely they padlock their tongues when a stranger’s about.’
‘We might as well try, seeing as we’re so close,’ said Ned.
They set off, walking rapidly along the side of the canal towards the bridge which led to the Ghetto. Suddenly, Ned gave a little exclamation. ‘Oh, no! He’s coming this way. . . . Quick, Celia . . .’ And he drew her into the shadow of a doorway.
She whispered, ‘Is it Father?’
‘Shh. No. Wait.’ He peered out carefully. ‘Good. He’s heading in the opposite direction. We can go.’
Celia said, ‘What are you talking about?’ Her eyes scanned the crowd. Ned pointed and she saw, at some distance, shambling wearily away from them, a twisted wreck of a man with long, tangled white hair. ‘Ned, who is that?’
‘A crazy man I ran into yesterday—I chink he’s an Englishman,’ said Ned. Rapidly, he told her the story.
Her eyes widened. She put a hand on his arm. She said, ‘Oh, Ned, you could have been really hurt!’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Ned, warmed by the expression in her eyes and by her touch. ‘But it was horrible, still. Horrible—and sad. That expression on his face . . . the way he called me devil ... as if he hated me from the bottom of his soul! And yet he didn’t know what he was saying. . . . Poor creature.’ He sighed. ‘It seems
terrible to think that he’s English; I mean, that he’s alone and friendless here, and in that state. I wonder what his story is. . . .’
‘I don’t supppse we’ll ever know,’ said Celia, recovering her former briskness. ‘And we’re wasting time talking about it. Come on, let’s go to the Ghetto.’
■<“4* 6 0 ~H*“
Do WE NOT BLEED?
Surrounded on all sides by canals, the Ghetto of Venice was a miniature city within the city. And like any city it had its share of fair and foul..Those tall, thin houses were not all the same. Some looked shabby, unkempt, poor; others boasted balconies, arched windows, and fountains and quite clearly were the dwellings of the better-off. On the bottom floors of some of the houses were little shops, many selling cloth of one sort or another, for the textile trades, along with medicine and
6 1
moneylending, were the only ones Jews were legally allowed to practise in Venice.
There were quite a few people about, and Celia tried to ask questions, but drew a blank. It was not until they came across a small boy of about six or seven playing knuckle bones by himself on the step of a house that she managed to get any answers. But they were worth waiting for, for the child chattered away to her quite happily—and incomprehensibly, as far as Ned was concerned.
When they moved away, Celia whispered to Ned, ‘He knows Dr Tedeschi. The house is in the next street. He says lots of people, all sorts, go to him to be treated.’
‘Do you think this lover of Sarah’s might be a patient of her father’s?’
‘Maybe, though usually when it’s a Christian patient the doctor will go to them. It would be mostly Jewish patients visiting the doctor in the Ghetto.’
‘But you can only tell someone’s a Jew if they wear those hats and cloaks,’ argued Ned. ‘And Sarah can’t be doing that right now, or she’d have been spotted long ago. So why couldn’t her lover be doing the same thing? He could be a Jew too.’
‘Yes, but then they’d both have had to get out of the Ghetto at night,’ said Celia. ‘The guards would have to be bribed—and I’m sure it would be more expensive for two people, and a much more risky enterprise. No, I’m sure her special friend’s a Christian. And listen to this,
6 2 ->■>
Ned—the child said he’d heard his parents say Sarah was accused of being too friendly with some young Gentile—that’s what they call us Christians.’
‘Really?’ said Ned excitedly. ‘Who was it?’
‘He didn’t know. It was just hearsay.’
‘But Dr Tedeschi didn’t say anything about this in his letter to Mistress Lanier.’
‘Maybe it was too delicate a matter. Or maybe it only happened after he sent the letter, which was a few weeks ago. What’s more, it’s taken us two weeks to get here. A good deal might have happened in that time. In fact,’ she added, ‘we do not even know how things stand right * now, until we speak to Father. I think we should get back home. We need to find out what happened at Dr Tedeschi’s before we go any further.’
But Master Ashby and Dr Leone had not come back. They did not arrive till lunchtime. And they did not seem to be in a hurry to talk about what had happened at Dr Tedeschi’s, though over the pasta and fish and honey-cakes Master Ashby did speak about his meeting with Angelo, the son of the murdered shipping agent, Salerio.
It had not gone very well at all. Angelo, who seemed very frightened, claimed not to know anything about what his father had discovered. He said his father had told him nothing and, furthermore, that all the papers relating to the piracy had mysteriously vanished. He
6 3 ■>>-
told them that his agency could no longer handle the London merchants’ business, that it would be better for everybody if Master Ashby and his colleagues took their business elsewhere.
It was quite clear that someone had got to him.
Under heavy pressure, Angelo admitted that the London merchants were not the only ones to have lost ships, and that his father, on the last day of his life, had found out interesting information from a source in the nearby city of Verona. This was that a small-time Verona crook called Gamboretto, who operated a business buying up stock from bankrupt merchants, might possibly have a connection with the pirates.
‘He said Salerio intended to go there and speak to the man, but was killed before he could do so,’ said Master Ashby, now. ‘We will have to go to Verona to interview Gamboretto, that’s clear. But we will have to move very carefully. Orlando’s advised me to get the help and protection of the city authorities before I go any further.’
‘We don’t want you ending up like poor Salerio, knifed to death in some dark alley,’ said Dr Leone grimly. ‘These people mean business, you know, Mateo.’
Lunch wore on and still nothing was said about the Tedeschi case. Ned couldn’t think of a natural way to introduce the subject, and Celia seemed a little distracted. Then, after lunch, Mistress Quickly went off for a nap and Master Ashby declared that he wanted Ned to write a couple of letters for him. Dr Leone proposed that they
■< 4 * 6 4
adjourn to the library, and Celia declared she would come with them. She couldn’t wait to see the books in an alchemist’s library, she was sure they’d be so interesting. ... A white lie, of course, thought Ned, for Celia had never shown the slightest interest in any form of science, let alone alchemy. But of course Dr Leone was delighted.
The library was a small, cosy room, packed from ceiling t
o floor with books. Only in the bookstalls in St Paul’s churchyard in London had Ned ever seen anything like this richness of books. He picked some up at random. They were in all sorts of tongues: Latin, Italian, English, French, German, Spanish. There was even one in a script that looked to Ned for all the world like the wanderings of a spider. Dr Leone told him this was Hebrew and the book was about the Kabbalah, the Jewish teachings of mysticism that interested many alchemists. One of his acquaintances in the Ghetto, he said, was a brilliant Kabbalist, a man called Serafin, who was teaching him Hebrew as well as discussing Kabbalistic principles with him. Serafin had come originally from Alexandria, where, he said, there were many great Kabbalists and other mystics and philosophers; and one day, declared Dr Leone, he himself intended to travel there and study for a few years at the feet of the masters.
After a short while browsing the books, Master Ashby remembered what they’d come for—and Ned was
■< 4 - 6 5 ■>->
seated at the desk, a fresh sheet of parchment before him and a new quill in his hand.
‘Now then,’ said Ashby, ‘you will begin by saying—’
‘Father,’ interrupted Celia, clearly unable to wait any longer, ‘before Ned starts, can you please tell us what happened this morning?’
Ashby looked at her in surprise. ‘But I already told
you—’
¥
‘No, no. At Dr Tedeschi’s house.’
‘Nothing much happened, my dear. Just a preliminary talk. We went really to make sure the girl hadn’t turned up.’
‘And had she?’
Ashby shook his head. ‘No. But her father had had another note from her, telling him she was safe and that she was trying to find the proof she had spoken of. Nothing that advanced us much.’
‘Oh,’ said Celia. ‘What manner of man is he—the doctor, I mean?’
‘Tall and stooped and soft-spoken, with worried eyes and a sad mouth,’ said Matthew Ashby. ‘His wife’s dead years since and he lives with his sister, Rachel.’
‘Fine-looking woman, but a bit of a tartar with a sharp tongue on her,’ said Dr Leone, smiling faintly. ‘She told us off for being a little late and a little desultory. Then she told us about something else, something unexpected, which rather complicates matters.’
Ned and Celia shot a glance at each other.
■<* 4 - 6 6
‘Something about his daughter’s friend, sir?’ blurted out Ned.
Dr Leone said sharply, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing,’ said Celia, but not quickly enough. Dr Leone said even more sharply, ‘What have you been up to?’
‘No-nothing, sir,’ stammered Ned, but Celia turned to her father and said quickly, ‘Now, don’t be angry, but Ned and I have been doing a bit of investigating ourselves, and we . . .’ She explained what they’d worked out and what they’d discovered, while Matthew Ashby listened in stupefaction and Orlando Leone’s face darkened.
When she’d finished, the alchemist was the first to speak. ‘Of all the reckless things to do!’ he snapped. ‘There are informers everywhere in Venice, and one must be careful who one talks to. That young man you spoke to so freely, he may have been one. You may have put the Tedeschis, as well as yourselves, in great danger.’ He rounded on Ned. ‘What sort of idea of yours was it, dragging my friend’s daughter into this dangerous escapade?’
‘It wasn’t his idea,’ said Celia tightly, before an astonished Ned could answer. She looked defiantly at the alchemist. ‘It was mine. Ned went along with it.’
‘Then you should have remonstrated with her, Master Fletcher, and stopped her!’
Ned said quietly, ‘I thought it was a good idea too, sir. I still think it was.’
-M- 6 7
Celia’s eyes flashed. ‘And we did not breathe the name of Tedeschi to that young man. We are not such fools as you seem to think, Dr Leone.’
‘Now, now, my dear,’ said Master Ashby uncomfort-
»
ably, ‘I am sure Dr Leone does not think you are fools. Far from it. But really, you were rather naughty, going off on your own like this without asking anyone.’
‘I wasn’t on my own,’ said Celia. ‘I was with Ned.’ She moved closer to him. ‘There was nothing to fear with him there.’
Ned felt as though his insides were turning to water. Sweet, hot water, coursing through his body. His ears burned. He looked at Celia. She looked at him and smiled. His hands shook. He said, ‘I would have protected her with my life, sir, if need be.’
There was a little silence, in which everyone in the room looked at Ned with various degrees of surprise. Then Master Ashby said, ‘You’re a good and honest boy, Ned, and I know you mean what you say, but you do not know Venice—’
‘But you didn’t take us with you,’ broke in Celia. ‘And we want to help. Both of us.’
‘I can see why you might,’ said Dr Leone, obviously making an effort to control his temper. ‘And it says much for your spirit that you did. But you might still have thought carefully before leaving a trail a blind man might follow. It’s not only that young man who may be a problem. The child may babble about the strangers
*<4* 6 8 ~H*-
who asked him questions about the Tedeschis, and it may get back to the wrong ears.’
‘But he’s in the Ghetto—it’ll only be other Jews he speaks to!’ exclaimed Ned, feeling light-headed and lighthearted and not at all anxious.
Dr Leone smiled thinly. ‘And in your innocence you think all Jews should agree amongst each other and love each other? But they are men like any others, and as prone to the same feelings, noble and ignoble.’
“‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?”’ quoted Ned drily.
‘What?’ said Dr Leone, startled.
‘A speech by Shylock, the Jewish moneylender. From The Merchant of Venice,' said Ned.
Dr Leone looked puzzled.
‘By William Shakespeare,’ Ned went on.
Dr Leone still looked puzzled.
Master Ashby sighed. ‘Never mind all that. You see, my children, things are complicated. It appears Dr Tedeschi has a bitter enemy within his own community, a wealthy textile manufacturer named Solomon Tartuffo, whose son fell in love with Sarah. The Tartuffos sent a matchmaker to formally ask for her hand, but Sarah abominates the son and her father was in no mind to force her. He said he did not like the young man, or his family either, despite their wealth and status in the community. Solomon Tartuffo was furious at what he called a gross insult and ended up by accusing the Tedeschis to
-M- 6 9 ->->■
the rabbi—that’s their priest, if you like—of planning to abandon their religion to snare some Gentile.’
‘Why didn’t he tell Mistress Lanier about it, then?’
‘He says the whole thing blew up after he’d sent the letter to her. When we asked him—delicately, of course—if there was any truth in Tartuffo’s accusation, both he and his sister said it was sheer wicked nonsense, that they were all faithful Jews.’
‘But Jessica gave up her religion for love and turned her back on her father,’ said Ned sadly.
Everyone looked at him. Dr Leone’s eyes narrowed. But Celia said crossly, ‘Oh, don’t worry. He’s only talking about that blasted play he saw, not real people.’
Dr Leone raised his eyebrows. ‘I see. To continue, Dr Tedeschi said that Sarah knew no Gentiles well. The only one she’s seen more than once is a young carpenter called Tomas, who has worked with his father on renovations to the house, some months ago.’
‘But that’s what we thought, Father!’ said Celia excitedly. ‘We were sure Sarah’s helper must be not only a Christian, but her lover, and—’
Matthew Ashby shook his head. ‘Dr Tedeschi swore it was all aboveboard. Tomas is married, as is his father, of course.’
‘But that doesn’t mean—’
Dr Leone shook his head. ‘Dr Tedeschi was quite adamant that his daughter would never do such an immoral thing as car
ry on with a married Gentile. And the
young man in question was absolutely correct in his behaviour, at all times. Dr Tedeschi said the family are honest and very well respected, both in Cannaregio and the Ghetto. He says he trusts them.’
‘But maybe, even if this Tomas isn’t in love with Sarah, perhaps he might have helped her, as a friend?’ said Ned.
‘We did raise this with the good doctor, but he was certain that was not so. He said he had asked Tomas and his family point-blank, and they swore they knew nothing about it. He believes them.’
‘Then how did she get out?’
‘He thinks she must simply have bribed one of the guards. It does happen. And she does have a little money of her own.’
‘Perhaps one of the guards is in love with her,’ suggested Celia hopefully.
Matthew Ashby laughed. ‘Perhaps. That will be our next move. Orlando and I will arrange to speak to the guards, discreetly.’
‘May we come with you then, Father?’
‘We will see,’ said Ashby firmly.
‘Sir, did you find out if the Countess knows that Sarah’s gone?’ asked Ned.
‘He thinks she must do by now. He’s afraid she’s got her spies out, looking for her.’
‘Perhaps now you understand why I was so harsh with you, Signorina Celia and Master Fletcher,’ said
Dr Leone earnestly. ‘I’m sorry, but this could be a matter of life and death, and if you make the wrong move, it’s not just the Tedeschis in danger, but yourselves too.’
‘Could this Tartuffo—this merchant, who hates Dr
>
Tedeschi—could he be in league with the Countess of Montemoro?’ asked Celia.
‘It’s possible, my dear. We just don’t know. These are very murky waters we’re wading in,’ sighed her father. ‘And now, Ned and Celia, you will have to give me your word that you will not go off on any more expeditions like this without telling us. We must work together if we’re to solve this with the least danger to everybody, do you see?’ His eyes glistened anxiously. ‘Promise. Both of you.’
‘But, Father—’
‘Please, Celia.’
The Madman of Venice Page 5