The Four Horsemen Page 14

  “Oh really. What was it?”

  “Did he not tell you that?”

  “Not very clearly,” I said. “He talked in a very confused way about – well, about a group he called the Four Horsemen.”

  “Ah.” Once again I had caught his attention.

  “Until a few minutes ago,” I said, “I had no real idea who they might be, but having heard Sanudo’s parting line I wonder if I’ve discovered them.”

  “It seems possible,” said Komnenos. “In fact, I’m sure he could tell you more about this.”

  “I’m just a little puzzled by the notion that Padoan was frightened to death of Sanudo,” I said.

  “When you say ‘to death’, do I understand you are speaking literally? I understood he fell off his roof.”

  “No, not literally. But there are some puzzling elements about his death.”

  “Are there?”

  “Well, let’s say some people have even questioned whether it was an accident. But why do you think Sanudo might be able to tell me more? Excuse my asking you, but it’s not a conversation I can easily imagine having with him.”

  “No, I can see that. Let’s just say that Sanudo and his friends seem to have decided to play with Padoan.”

  “To play with him?”

  “Signor Padoan was clearly out of his depth in circles like these. Oh, he had the classical learning, and he knew far more about the history of Constantinople than anyone else there. He got quite excited when he met me at Sant’Elena and learned my surname, but I had to disappoint him by telling him I was not a direct descendant from the Komnenos dynasty of emperors. I think quite a number of people at the salotto have never heard of the Komnenos emperors. So Padoan’s awkwardness in fitting in had nothing to do with intellectual deficiencies. It was a social awkwardness. He was not used to society. Certainly not the society of a salotto run by a noblewoman.”

  “And Sanudo played on this awkwardness?”

  “It was nothing crude. He didn’t make fun of Padoan’s shabby clothes or his table manners. After all, he had probably seen far worse from me.”

  “Because of course you’re just a mountain bandit,” I said drily.

  He laughed. “All right, I’m performing again. But it’s what they want from me, after all. In any case, Sanudo didn’t openly jeer at Padoan. In fact he and his companions seemed to go out of their way to welcome him, to try to bring him out, encouraging him to speak up on obscure points of history – precisely because they knew his tedious manner would irritate everyone and he himself would get flustered.”

  “And they sat back and laughed?”

  “Oh, again, nothing as crude as that. I’m sure they laughed among themselves afterwards. But Signora Isabella put a stop to it after a while. Quite severely.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He swung his lantern again, in order to look at me as he spoke. “I imagine you are,” he said. “I would just suggest . . .”

  “What?”

  “No, nothing.” He moved the lantern aside to light the way forward. We passed through the archway that led to the Rio dei Greci. To our right we should have seen the leaning tower of the church, but the mist was too thick.

  “It was after she stopped it that their playing took a different form, I think. They began to talk to Padoan after the salotto had broken up for the evening. They flattered him that he’d been taken under their wing. And I think it was then they started telling him stories about some mysterious secret society.”

  “The Four Horsemen?”

  “Something of the sort. They had all gone to a tavern afterwards, and I happened to drop in as well. He was clearly very flattered – and very flustered – to be drinking with four noblemen.”

  “So it was just a story made up to frighten him.”

  “I really can’t say any more than what I’ve already told you. I was not privy to their private conversations. I simply overheard a few stray remarks on that one occasion.”

  “And did he ever talk to you about finding the tomb of Emperor Constantine XI?”

  “Oh, that.” He laughed. “It was clearly an obsession with him. He talked about it one evening at the salotto and everyone clearly felt very uncomfortable. Some flippant remarks were made and that, I think, greatly disappointed him. Sanudo and his companions pretended to take it seriously. Maybe it was then that their games with him began.”

  We crossed the bridge. To the right was the Greek church and the various buildings connected with it.

  “So you live here,” I said.

  “For the moment. The priests are very generous.”

  “I saw that one of them came with you.”

  “Yes, Father Giorgos. He doesn’t talk a great deal. His Italian is not very good.”

  “So you make up for it.”

  “Words are my calling, after all.” Although he answered lightly enough I could tell that my remark had irritated him a little. Perhaps he really would have preferred to be a bandit. He made a clear effort to keep the tone light. “You can continue on your way by yourself without falling into any canals?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “This is my area. If I feel in any danger I’ll just call on Saint George.” There are numerous images of the saint in the quarter.

  “Well, yes, between us and the Slavs round the corner,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the little school of Saint George of the Slavs, “we have rather set his mark on this corner of the city.” Then he added in a slightly more serious tone, “But don’t only rely on saintly protection.”

  “Are you warning me against Sanudo? Or the Four Horsemen?”

  “I think we can leave the horsemen to poor Padoan’s fevered imagination. So, yes, I am referring to Sanudo. But not only.”

  “Oh?”

  “When I mentioned the symmetry of our experiences, perhaps you guessed I also meant something else.”

  “You mean Signora Isabella.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you too . . .”

  “I, too, have entered her graces momentarily.”

  “I see. And what do you mean by a warning? Sanudo’s jealousy?”

  “Yes, that too. But beware the lady herself.”

  “And you mean . . . ?”

  “What I said. Good night.”

  And with one last smile he turned round and walked towards the church. I made my groping way back home through the fog, mulling over all I had seen and heard that evening. I will have to admit that one of the last things I thought of before I went to sleep was the dazzling smile of Noblewoman Isabella Venier Querini.

  13

  Next day, which was as foggy as ever, I called in at the Missier Grande’s office. Sior Massaro greeted me with a woeful expression.

  “Sior Alvise, what a disaster.”

  “Is it as bad as that?”

  “It’s fairly bad, fairly bad. The Missier Grande was summoned to report to the Inquisitors yesterday. He came back looking very grim.”

  I didn’t point out that he was never a chuckling harlequin. “He was reprimanded?”

  Sior Massaro looked at me reproachfully. “Sior Alvise, does that seem a word to use about l’Illustrissimo?”

  “Sorry. Do you think they expressed reservations about his inquiry?”

  “Strong reservations. Very strong ones.”

  “You mean they told him to stop.”

  Again he gave me a reproachful look but he didn’t actually deny it. “Missier Grande has temporarily suspended the investigation.”

  “So I must stop.”

  “It would be better.”

  “Just when I was beginning to learn something about the Four Horsemen.”

  Sior Massaro was obviously dying to ask me what, but with an agonised expression he said instead, “Well, you’ll have to keep it to yourself for the moment.”

  “Would we have any information about the Sanudo family?”

  This time he actually winced. “One of the present Inquisitors is a Sanudo.�
��

  “Ah.” Given the usual age of Inquisitors I imagined this would be either the father or an uncle of Andrea Sanudo.

  “It would not be advisable to look into any files concerning the Sanudo family just now.”

  “No, I can see that.”

  At that moment the door behind Sior Massaro’s desk opened and the Missier Grande entered. I stood up immediately.

  He gazed at me for a few seconds without saying anything, his blue eyes unusually meditative. Then he said, “Sior Marangon.”

  “Illustrissimo.”

  “I expect Sior Massaro has informed you that we are to put the investigation in abeyance for now.”

  “Yes, Illustrissimo.”

  “Good. I’m sure you understand what that means.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, surprised.

  “I expect you to take account of these orders in your usual fashion.”

  “Yes, Illustrissimo,” I said.

  “In your usual fashion,” he repeated. Then he simply nodded and turned round and went back into his room.

  Sior Massaro was clearly a little puzzled by this, but he said to me, in as categorical tone as possible, “Well, there you have it. From the Illustrissimo himself.”

  “Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “There we have it.”

  I made my way to a hat shop in the Merceria puzzling over the Missier Grande’s words. If I remembered rightly, in the first case I had been involved with he had led me to believe (after it was all over) that he had instructed me to stop investigating precisely because he had guessed that this would only spur me into further action. Our relationship had altered since then, having been put on an entirely official level, with much signing and countersigning of stamped documents in which I committed myself to total obedience and to total secrecy. None the less, it was difficult to see any other reason for the particular formula he had used just now.

  Of course, it was always possible I was interpreting things this way because I wanted an excuse to go on investigating. Perhaps I was just an incorrigible busybody, as Lucia clearly suspected.

  No, I suddenly said to myself, as I passed under the clock-tower, it wasn’t just that. There was the undeniable fact (as I now saw it) that someone had murdered poor Paolo Padoan. Crazy fantasist though he may have been, he at least deserved to have his own murder investigated. I would not stop.

  I did not answer the other accusatory voice, which was telling me I just wanted an excuse to go on that assignation with Noblewoman Isabella. After all, it would be discourteous not to . . .

  And so at nine that evening, wearing my new tricorn hat (the anonymity it guaranteed had been spur enough to buy it, even without Siora Giovanna’s admonitions), I made my way towards Campo Sant’Angelo.

  It scarcely needs saying that it was still foggy. Wherever one went one heard the grumbled word caigo, usually with prefatory adjectives. Some old people said that it never used to get so foggy; others that the month-long fogs that had wrapped the city when they were children were much worse. People from the mainland said that this was nothing compared with the thick fogs that swathed the countryside all the way to Bologna and Milan, while housewives complained that drying anything was impossible in this weather. Jokers recounted stories of people not seeing the canal-edge because of the fog. Sailors and fishermen told of inexperienced sailors and fishermen who got hopelessly lost in the featureless wastes of the lagoon. And tales abounded of a surge in street crime, as robbers took advantage of the possibility to evade all pursuit.

  From Campo Sant’Angelo, as instructed, I took the broad Calle dei Avvocati and walked along it until I reached the fourth door. I groped in the darkness and found a bell-pull, as she had told me. Before pulling it I did what had now become almost routine with me and checked the surrounding area; I had come to realise that being disadvantaged in terms of swordsmanship (not owning a sword was the first handicap) and sheer brute strength, I was well advised to know all possible exit routes from any unknown place I visited. I found the nearest calle that led to a canal, and walked down it to see if there was a boat moored at the end of it (I had learned how valuable this could be from my experience at the Remedio tavern); if I lost my licence as a cicerone I could probably get a job as a cartographer. The alley was unpaved, just beaten earth, which turned to a muddy slime towards the water. As so often with such alleyways, the local residents had found it a convenient place to leave unwanted items of household furniture. At the water’s edge there was a heap of what appeared to be broken chair-legs and some smashed jars and pots; a rat scuttled out from beneath the heap as I prodded it. There was also, to my satisfaction, a boat.

  I returned to the door and pulled the bell. A few seconds later the door opened, the latch being lifted by a string from the first floor. I made my way up the stairs, which were lit by a glow from an open door above.

  I expected a servant to receive me and was surprised (and not at all disappointed) to find Isabella Venier alone. This was clearly a noblewoman of a very independent kind.

  She stood beside the door, the candlelight behind her so that her face was in shadow. Her dress was dark this evening. However, her smile still gleamed.

  “Good evening, Excellency,” I said with a bow.

  “Good evening, Signor Alvise.”

  So we were still on fairly formal terms, it seemed.

  And then she grabbed me and kissed me, long and hard.

  I had been telling myself all the way to this appointment that I was going there in order to see precisely what Noblewoman Isabella wanted; I was going to try to question her on matters related to the Four Horsemen; I was going to expound my frank reservations about the appropriateness of a relationship between myself and a noblewoman; I was even going to mention that my heart was engaged elsewhere, although that particular path seemed problematic at the moment; I was only going to yield to my desires if I got satisfactory responses to the points I had raised.

  As it turned out I yielded immediately.

  After our lips disengaged, she said, “I never see any point in delay.”

  “No,” I said, rather huskily. “So I see.”

  “We both know what we want.”

  “Yes, I suppose we do.” It was becoming all too evident what I wanted – or, at least, what my body wanted.

  “Follow me then,” she said, taking me by the hand.

  I had only the vaguest impression of the apartment. It was clearly furnished at some expense, with gilded furniture, tall mirrors and small but elaborate chandeliers. These were lit, as were fires in the main room and the bedroom, and I wondered in passing whether she had done this by herself or had had a servant do it.

  The bedroom was decorated mainly in dark red, with gold for the frames of mirrors and paintings (mythical scenes with plenty of glowing flesh on display), and scarlet curtains. There was a welcome flickering glow from a fire opposite the bed, which made removing our clothes quite a natural act.

  Where her shimmering dress yesterday had dazzled me, her softly glowing flesh this evening had a different but equally powerful effect. It looked as if I was going to have to postpone my discussion about the appropriateness of this relationship.

  14

  Some time later we lay back on the sheets, the blankets pulled up around us. I looked at the nearest mythological scene on the wall: Jupiter up to one of his tricks with a swooning female. Prompted by the classical suggestion I said, “And now for some Homer?”

  She laughed. “That’s the first time anyone has suggested a poetry reading on such an occasion.”

  “Well, it was the official excuse for the meeting.”

  She waved one bare arm in dismissal of all excuses. “We can have a Homeric feast, if you like.” She gestured in the direction of the room we had passed through on our way to the bed. “It is laid out in there. I had been half in doubt as to whether you would be a pre- or post-prandial love-maker.”

  “I hadn’t even noticed the food,” I said.

  “I th
ought as much. Perhaps it is some time since you . . .” She paused.

  “Since I made love.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope I didn’t seem out of practice.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “There was just an added eagerness that was rather charming.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thank you – I suppose.”

  “Now don’t start getting all embarrassed. You were really very good. I enjoyed it.”

  “Well, you did give that impression,” I said, slightly mollified. “Shall we go and eat, then?”

  “Certainly.” She got out of bed, found a pair of slippers and strode towards a wardrobe. She appeared superbly unconscious of her nakedness – probably because she was all too conscious of how superb it was. Although she was certainly ten years older than me, her body remained that of a twenty-year-old girl. I was sorry when she wrapped it in a long casual gown from the wardrobe.

  I got up as well and made an awkward scrabble for my clothes. There was a washstand towards the window, and I took advantage of that before getting dressed again.

  It was strange that I had not noticed the meal that was laid out on the table. It had certainly done nothing to hide itself. It was set out for two people, with fine Murano glasses, Vezzi porcelain dishes and bowls, and embroidered lace napkins. The bowls, when the lids were removed, contained razor clams, squids cooked in their own ink, small octopuses, raw oysters and crisp rosette buns. There was also a dish of grilled fish of various kinds, set on a tripod near the fire to stay warm, together with a steaming slab of white polenta.

  “Probably not exactly the way Achilles would have set it out,” I said, “but Homeric all the same.”

  “You can thank my maid Arianna for this.”

  I looked around the room for a startled second until she said, “She has gone back to the palace. She is extremely efficient and the soul of discretion. She’s been with me since I was a child.”

  “So she’s Greek?”

  “Yes, of course. She still speaks very little Italian, which is not a disadvantage.”

  “For you, I suppose,” I said.

  She looked at me. “I suspect a criticism. But yes, I mean for me. Does that surprise you?”