But there was no time. What can’t go down must go up. Fortunately the pilasters were none of your smooth and slippery Greek design, but good ornate Gothic, and the ornamentation provided excellent hand- and footholds. I swarmed up to the next floor, considered re-entering the house, decided against it, and continued up to the roof.
To my surprise, Margharita was right behind me. I had thought her far too well-built for this kind of exercise, but fear is a mighty trainer, and those generous limbs must have been heavy with muscle rather than fat.
The roof had a shallow parapet and a broad flat perimeter around the large tiled centre area, which was much more steeply sloping than is usual in Venice. Two-thirds of the way up this, a single huge chimney-piece protruded, through which all the flues of the house must have been channelled.
‘Come,’ I said to Margharita, for having accompanied me this far, she could not be left here to betray me. And together we began to scramble up to the stack.
The tiles were loose and great care had to be taken, partly for our own present safety and partly to avoid leaving a trail obvious to pursuers.
And pursuers there were, for no sooner had we got behind the stack than we heard the noise of armed men down by the parapet and the sharp giving of commands.
‘Two of you, up to that chimney. Take a look behind it!’ snapped some over-enthusiastic NCO. ‘Come on! Move yourselves!’
There was a pause, then the sound of men cautiously crawling up the bright red tiles. Silently I drew my stiletto and prepared to give a good account of myself.
Then came a startled cry and the sound of breaking and sliding as when rocks on a hillside start to move in avalanche. A mixture of crashing and cursing culminated in one huge bang.
‘The tiles have given way,’ I murmured in Margharita’s ear. She looked up at me in sudden hope and opened her mouth to speak. But I shook my head and pressed her hard against the chimney stack.
Below there was one of those military debates going on in which an NCO who knows his order is not going to be obeyed seeks a way of saving face. His men had no intention of risking the tiles again, so in the end he compromised by commanding two of them to remain on guard on the roof till it was certain the house was cleared.
Margharita sucked in a great breathful of air in relief. Beneath my chest I felt that magnificent torso move, and further down I felt myself move also.
It was some time before either of us realized what was going on, Margharita because she could scarcely believe it possible up here on a roof with a pair of hostile soldiers only a few yards away, myself because my mind refused to admit that my body, so long preserved so pure for my lovely Felicia, could be on the point of ravishing her sister.
But there came a moment when both of us had to face the truth.
‘Nay. Nay!’ said Margharita trying to thrust me away.
‘Giorgio, did you hear something?’ asked one of the soldiers, just below us.
‘What? No. God’s bum, what a way to spend Ascension Eve! Let’s take a walk round to the other side. It’s bloody draughty up here.’
We heard their footsteps receding.
‘Call out if you wish,’ I murmured in Margharita’s ear. ‘Perhaps Giacomo has recovered consciousness.’
For I cared nothing for consequences now, either for my body or my soul. My bow was bent to the point where only the snapping of the string could prevent the firing of the arrow.
Margharita did not reply but her silence was answer enough. I lifted her against the hot chimney and fired.
After that we did not move for an hour till the NCO returned and called to his men, ‘All clear! Form up outside. On the double now!’
‘On the double,’ mimicked one of the departing soldiers. ‘It’s always on the fucking double except when it comes to pay or leave or food ….’
Their voices, rehearsing lines that must have been spoken in ten thousand armies these ten thousand years, faded out of our hearing.
I waited another half hour before moving. The house was empty and ransacked. We stood in the great salon and looked at the overturned furniture. There were bloodstains on the floor.
‘You should have killed the bastard,’ said Margharita suddenly.
‘Who?’
‘Basadonna. He has done this.’
I shrugged.
‘If not him, someone else.’
‘Not like him. He has shamed me.’
This talk of her shame made me feel more guilty than ever about my ungentlemanly behaviour on the roof.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘About what?’
I motioned upwards with my head. To my surprise she laughed.
‘Never apologize, Carlo. Either the woman doesn’t mind, in which case it’s not necessary, or she does mind, in which case, it doesn’t help.’
I considered this.
‘And in your case …?’ I asked.
‘In my case, nothing happened,’ she said. ‘I’m Margharita Molini, virgin, with a fair dowry and worth any man’s courtship. I helped scotch your chance of that dowry, not that it was ever much of a chance, so that makes us even I suppose. In any case, you have a certain talent, young Carlo, too much to squander on such a worthless object as my sister.’
This scornful reference to Felicia stung me and also brought me back to my present plight, which was still desperate. Presumably Basadonna would have provided a list of all members of the Mascherati to the Ten and even if any others had escaped in the confusion, the military would be out seeking for them, me included.
I escorted Margharita from the house, and we took our leave by a quiet rio.
‘Will you marry Basadonna now?’ I asked curiously. ‘He did try to save you.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she answered proudly. ‘But I may be forced to. Would you had hit him harder! But what of you, Carlo? My name may not be on the list, yours certainly is. What will you do?’
I almost told her what was planned, but had discretion enough still to hold my tongue. Succeed or fail, she would hear soon enough.
Taking my silence for uncertainty, she reached into her robe and produced a heavy purse.
‘Here. Take this. It will not get you far, but far enough perhaps. I doubt you are more than a small fish, however big your fin!’
And with a laugh she went out of my life. For a treacherous moment as I stood there I wondered if after all perhaps I had gone after the wrong sister. Certainly this Margharita would not have let herself be sent against her will to a nunnery.
On the other hand Felicia would scarcely have let herself be ravished against a chimney without a scream!
It’s perhaps a question of which horse, which course, I thought with a cynicism which would have done credit to Quevedo, and went on my way.
The city was full of alarums and excitement. I soon gathered that things were as bad as could be. It was too much to hope that the raid on the Mascherati had been mere coincidence, one of the Ten’s periodic purges of gatherings they regarded as subversive, resulting in a few heavy fines and slapped wrists. No, the talk in the street was all of an attempted coup by certain dissident nobles backed by the Spaniards. There had been hundreds of arrests including (I was not displeased to hear) certain mountebanks and their troupes. Already, I was assured, bodies still warm were dangling between the pillars in the piazzetta, and from time to time the most dreadful shrieks were heard spiralling up from the depths of the Ducal Palace.
I passed the Spanish Ambassador’s house as a crowd of rioters, emboldened by the lack of resistance within and the lack of civic force without, smashed down the doors and poured inside. It was soon clear that Bedmar and his staff had left for some place of greater safety, and on impulse I joined the mob. My own old cutlass I had put into Godfrey’s care to put with whatever baggage we might take, for I could not wear it through the streets without attracting attention. Before the present riots, I mean. Now everyone seemed armed and I felt naked without a sword. Bedmar had said one
would be waiting if I needed it. Well, I needed it now! Brutally, I shouldered my way through the looters, till I reached the room which contained the only booty I desired. A smelly ruffiano had just seized the superb rapier as I entered and was waving it around like a waggoner’s whip. There was not time to discuss the affair rationally so I picked up the matching left-hand dagger and proffered it to him to complete the set.
‘Thanks, friend,’ he cried, dropping his sword arm and reaching for the dagger.
I gave it to him beneath the ribs, killing him instantly so that his smile of thanks was still on his lips. Sending him to his Maker in a state of grace was beyond me, but at least I’d dispatched him in a state of gratitude.
Feeling better now I was armed, I continued on my way. I was hoping desperately to encounter Godfrey, for it was clear now that the whole of the Spanish plot had collapsed and with it, I feared, our plans for escaping from the city. But he was not to be found in his lodging nor at any other of his usual haunts. I even went to the Priuli palace to discover if he had contacted Zanetta, but as I approached I saw that the entrances were heavily guarded with soldiers. Obviously the Doge and other great nobles would make sure that their own families and property were protected in the uproar. I dared not try to get inside in case my name was already known to the guard as wanted by the Ten.
Finally, after a couple of narrow escapes from patrols and looting mobs, I found myself at the sea-front, near a familiar tavern. I went in and slumped down in a shadowy corner. The place was almost empty, for its clientele were just such types as would delight in the present opportunity for riot and robbery. I ordered a grappa and then another and another. The drink just served to increase my despondency. The future seemed completely black and when a dark figure suddenly came between me and what little light there was in that place, I looked up ready to go without a fight.
‘Well, young sir,’ said Sabino Baroja, sitting down before me. ‘So it’s tonight. And may I say you couldn’t have picked a better night for it!’
For a mad moment I thought he must be privy to all my plans, but then it dawned on me that this was a Wednesday night, the time of our designated appointment, and he thought I was there to name the victim.
And why not? I thought. Why not?
‘Giacomo Basadonna,’ I said vehemently. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Not I, but I shall find him soon enough. Too soon for him, I daresay!’
And he laughed so that his rotting teeth were bared to their foul stumps. Unasked, the landlord brought a whole bottle of grappa to my table and our glasses were filled.
Quickly I described Basadonna. The Basque didn’t appear to take much note but, when I questioned him, repeated my description perfectly, adding, ‘In any case, I always ask first, just to make certain. Now, as to the fee ….’
‘We will talk of that later,’ I began. His expression made me realize that he was used to other business conventions and I was about to try persuasion (not with much hope of success) when my finger lit upon Margharita’s purse in my pocket.
Taking it out, I tossed it negligently into his lap.
‘There’s for your pains,’ I said.
He hefted the purse in his left hand.
‘ ’Tis fair,’ he said to my surprise, which rapidly disappeared when he added, ‘Ten per cent deposit secures your tradesman, the rest to collect when the job is done.’
Well, thought I, if you can find me, you can collect!
‘What’s o’clock?’ I asked, filling my glass again.
‘After ten,’ he said. ‘And all’s well!’
He grinned and shook a large leather bag he carried slung over his shoulder, such a satchel as wildfowlers do use to hold their prey. But this was packed not with the soft down of slaughtered birds but the hard metal of (I guessed) looted ornaments. Sabino had not been idle that night. There was danger here. Things sounded much quieter now and soon the forces of the law would be out in search of looters. I had to find Godfrey and there was only one place I could hope to make a rendezvous.
I rose to my feet.
‘Whither away, sir?’ asked Sabino.
‘I think I shall go to church,’ I replied lightly as the grappa took a hold. ‘To celebrate our deliverance.’ And I added for the sake of appearances, ‘When shall we meet again to settle up?’
‘Never mind that, sir,’ came the reply. ‘I shall find you, rest assured. Say a prayer for me now!’
I left the smelly villain ordering another bottle of grappa. And as I made my way towards the basilica, I regretted having handed over Margharita’s purse for it seemed most probable that Baroja would merely get drunk on it and probably be back in the galleys on the morrow.
In any case, what would the killing of Basadonna profit me? Money in my pocket might give me some faint chance of escape, but now I was practically penniless.
But the grappa, which had started by casting me down suddenly bore me aloft on its strong fumes, so that I felt I was able to soar with the golden angel who stands ever alert on top of the campanile.
Boldly I joined the crowds flocking into St Mark’s. The city was now back under control and the fear of arrest by the authorities or assault by the mob had given way to the joy of deliverance. The High Mass turned into a service of thanks-giving and the Bishop gave an extempore address in which the forces of evil were specifically identified with the Spanish.
My own joy was as devout and sincere as any of my neighbours’. In that richly smelling, high-vaulted, gold gleaming holy place, it seemed easy to believe that St Mark himself had intervened to preserve La Serenissima and I truly rejoiced at her salvation.
And this religious exultation remained with me even as after the service I lay concealed beneath an altar in one of the side chapels and listened to the doors crashing shut and the wards dropping home one by one.
Finally the friendly grappa put me to sleep and I dreamt I had indeed joined the angel on the campanile and together we looked out across the sea towards my distant homeland.
But when I awoke I felt cold and sick and wretched. The church was like a huge tomb and the mosaic figures and icons seemed to follow my every movement with unfriendly eyes, as though waiting for the moment to descend and rip my body and soul in tatters. I tried to pray but was too frightened to kneel and close my eyes.
And, as the grappa abandoned me entirely and my brain grew clear again, the thought occurred that should have been obvious to a half-witted Greek before I entered the church.
If, as was most likely, Godfrey had abandoned our plan, or if he had been and gone while I slept, then I was trapped in the basilica until the doors were opened and I was discovered in the morning.
16
I DO not think I have ever felt such joy, not even with a woman, as I experienced when, after what seemed hours spent crouching against the small side door by the sacristy, I heard the sound of a key being cautiously turned outside.
I pushed back the many bolts, lifted up a bar solid as the Vatican’s bit of the True Cross, and flung wide the door with a cry of welcome.
For a moment it seemed as if no one was there. Then Godfrey stepped out of the shadows, pistol in hand, pushed me back into the church and swiftly followed, pulling the door shut behind him.
‘God’s fife and drums, Carlo!’ he hissed angrily. ‘So much noise, I thought there was half the Maggio Consiglio in here at the least!’
But soon, observing how truly delighted I was to see him and guessing at something of my fears, he put aside his anger and embraced me.
‘I’m glad to find you here, in truth, Carlo,’ he said. ‘Brave lad! I knew I could rely on you to stick to our plans despite this little contretemps.’
Flattered, I inquired as to what more he knew of the ‘little contretemps’ and how it might affect our plans.
‘The bad news is that no one will shoot the Doge or take over the city and there’ll be no randy Uskoks running through the streets to divert attention from our departure,’ he said,
as he produced certain instruments from the bags he carried and set about breaking through the Treasury door.
‘And the good news?’ I prompted.
‘Why, the good news is that we shall save money on lodging,’ he answered with a laugh. ‘For, once on the terrafirma, we shall not pause for food, rest or shelter till I have put the Alps between us and Venice!’
This was little comfort, but the way he spoke it and his very presence, so assured and purposeful, was more comforting than any other man’s promises of freedom.
‘Your friend Quevedo, by the way, I hear he has slipped through the net,’ he told me as he eased the door off its hinges.
‘I am glad of it,’ I said sincerely. ‘And what of Bedmar and his secretary?’
‘Why, they are diplomats not conspirators!’ he said mockingly. ‘An ambassador does not fly, though he may be expelled. But I doubt if even that will happen. No, the Marqués will no doubt take his place of honour in the Bucintoro tomorrow – I mean today! – and rejoice in the marriage though he privately longs for the divorce!’
So. Bedmar untouchable, Osuna distant. I had not realized so clearly before how the great ones of the world may be movers without themselves being moved.
Godfrey meantime had started breaking open chests and I began to fill our bags indiscriminately till he stopped me.
‘Easy, Carlo,’ he said. ‘We cannot take everything and there is much dross here. These religious collectors are gullible. Tell them St Francis crapped a lump of granite and they’ll value it as highly as the purest diamond! Take precious stones only, to start with. Bulk for bulk they’re more precious than gold and a damn sight lighter to carry!’
I did not care for his lightness of language. It seemed to me that even a sacrilegious theft should be carried out as devoutly as possible. But worse was to come.
I picked up an ornate casket, some eighteen inches square and about ten deep. It was richly set with magnificent jewels and I held it up to Godfrey for his approval.
‘Yes, fine. That’s worth a gazet or two,’ he said. ‘What’s inside it?’
The Forging of Fantom Page 19