The Four Horsemen Page 15

  “No,” I said frankly.

  “Good. It means you understand me. I like it when people understand who I am and how I behave. It saves a lot of time.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to waste your time,” I said. I waited till she had sat down and then took my place opposite her. “Shall I pour the wine?”

  She nodded, and I poured a glass of white wine for her and one for myself.

  “So far it has not been time wasted,” she said with a smile, raising her glass towards me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “And for you, Sior Alvise?”

  I answered in English: “‘There want not Gods to favour us above; / But let the bus’ness of our life be love: / These softer moments let delights employ, / And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy.’”

  “And that means?”

  “Paris to Helen, Book Three,” I said. I translated.

  “I see. What he said to her when he should have been out fighting Menelaus on the battlefield. Not everyone would approve of such sentiments. Perhaps you yourself are already feeling guilty?”

  She was extremely acute, I realised. I made warm protestations as I helped her to oysters. She merely smiled.

  “While we are showing off our classical learning,” she said, “it might help assuage your guilt to know that you had little chance of resisting my charms.”

  “I made no attempt to resist,” I said.

  She ignored this and went on, “You see, I’m descended from Venus.”

  “I have no doubt of it,” I said. I wasn’t being totally insincere.

  “As you will know, after the Crusaders had taken Constantinople in 1204, the Venetians were declared lords of a quarter and a half-quarter of the Roman Empire; they promptly seized many of the Greek islands, including Cerigo, or Kythira, as the Greeks call it. The Venier family declared their own right to rule this island, birthplace of Venus, since the family descended from the goddess, the proof being in the name itself.”

  “Well, obviously,” I said.

  “So I was taught as a child,” she said, lifting an oyster on a bright pin, “and so I have chosen to go on believing.” And the oyster slid sensuously through her provocatively pursed lips.

  “I believe oysters themselves are aphrodisiacs,” I said.

  “Why do you think I like them so much?” she said.

  “However, I thought Cyprus was Venus’s island,” I said.

  “Never say that to anyone from Cerigo. And particularly not to me.”

  I was reminded of the abbot at Sant’Elena making his claim for the real body of the saint. “Far be it from me to attack a local tradition,” I said pacifically.

  “But now let’s hear some more about yourself. In particular the real reason you decided to join my salotto.”

  “The real reason?”

  “Yes, Sior Alvise. The real reason. You don’t really seem to me to be a natural salottiere.”

  “Did I make some foolish gaffe?”

  “No, you were perfectly delightful. But I can’t imagine you would have come along of your own accord. Is there some young woman who wanted you to improve your mind? Or your social standing?”

  I felt myself blushing and hoped the flickering light from the fire concealed it. “If there were, do you think I would be here with you now?”

  “Remember I am Venus,” she said blandly. “And you mustn’t think this little episode need in any way interfere with your personal relationships outside this apartment.”

  “So it is just an episode, then,” I said, not sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed.

  “I think you knew that before you allowed yourself to yield. Which is not to say that there might not be a second episode.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said, feeling it was only polite.

  “Perhaps it will depend on how many oysters we eat. However, you still haven’t answered my question. If it wasn’t a young woman, what was the motive?”

  I decided not to deny or confirm the presence of the young woman. “I heard about the salotto from a neighbour of a friend of mine. The friend is the gondolier I work with, who lives out in eastern Castello.”

  She had probably heard that such an area of the city existed, but I doubted she had ever visited it. “I see. And who was this neighbour?”

  “A former schoolteacher with an interest in classical studies – or more particularly in the Eastern Roman Empire. His name was Paolo Padoan.”

  “Ah yes, the little man with the curious walk. Didn’t he die?”

  “Yes, he fell from the roof of his house.”

  “Poor fellow,” she said. It was said simply but perhaps sincerely.

  “I was talking to Komnenos yesterday evening. He actually rescued me from your friend Sanudo and his companions.”

  “Oh dear. What were they up to?”

  “Sanudo told me he wanted to teach me a lesson. It involved a sword, it seemed. I, of course, have no sword so was at something of a disadvantage as a pupil.”

  She sighed. “I’ll speak to him. He can be very tiresome. I’ve tried to make it clear to him that he has no exclusive right over me.”

  “That isn’t something people often want to hear,” I said.

  “Well, I hope you at least have understood it.”

  “Have no worries there,” I said. I speared an oyster myself with a pin.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Spoken almost too quickly. Now I might get offended – but I’ll take comfort from the fact you’ve eaten an oyster.”

  I swallowed it and licked the salty fingers with which I had helped it to my lips. “Anyway, Komnenos told me something about Padoan and his time at the salotto.”

  “This, however, was after you had attended your first evening and so cannot be part of the motive that spurred you to join us.”

  “No, that’s true. But what Komnenos told me confirmed some of the concerns I had had about Padoan and his experiences with your friends.”

  “And what were these concerns?”

  “I know that Padoan had some rather eccentric ideas, but he was a perfectly decent old man. He attended the salotto because he was thrilled by the idea of being in contact with people from the Eastern Roman Empire.”

  “Which collapsed three hundred years ago.”

  “But was still alive in his imagination. He probably had rather unrealistic expectations of the salotto, and it seems Sanudo and his companions did all they could to confound those expectations.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I can imagine that. But I’m sure it was harmless fun.”

  “Well, maybe. Until he fell to his death, anyway.”

  “Oh come now, Sior Alvise. What on earth can Sanudo and his friends have had to do with that?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, quite honestly. “But there was definitely something strange about the fall.”

  “Well, now you are being as eccentric as your friend Padoan. I refuse to believe there was any connection between his death and the behaviour of my friends at my salotto. If you persist with this nonsense I will take serious offence.”

  “I’m talking about Sanudo and his companions, not about you.”

  “Yes, and please remember you are talking about members of the Venetian nobility. What you are suggesting is a serious slur on all our reputations.” Her blue eyes were icy now.

  “I remember you telling me that at your salotto there were no distinctions between people.”

  “I was not giving you licence to slander my friends.”

  “I’m sorry if that’s how it seems to you. I’m merely puzzled by what I’ve heard. It seems Sanudo and his cronies taunted him with talk of some mysterious society known as the Four Horsemen.”

  She was momentarily taken aback. “Who told you this?”

  “Komnenos. He thought they were merely making up stories to frighten him, but I’m not so sure. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  She did not answer straight away. She to
ok another oyster, as if it were the slippery passage of this delicacy that was delaying her. Once it had gone down her throat she said, “In the old Venetian territories of the east there have been rumours of a group by that name. Perhaps associated with the four horses of the basilica.”

  “The bronze horses?” I said. The coincidence of the numbers had occurred to me, but I had not been able to make any real sense of it.

  “The bronze horses brought to Venice from Constantinople.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Perhaps you do,” she said, “but more probably you don’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s no need to be offended. The horses have a meaning to us of the overseas territories that they cannot have to Venetians born and raised in the city.”

  “Well, I was not raised here.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Your years spent with Angles and Saxons are irrelevant. You can’t know what the horses mean to those who have lived under the constant threat of the Ottomans. Set up on the front of the basilica of our city, they make it clear that Venice is the true heir of the Roman Empire. And therefore to us they are a symbol of Venetian power and protection.”

  “And so an anti-Turkish symbol?” I said.

  “That’s one way of thinking of them.”

  “And would that mean that the Horsemen, whoever they are, are an active force of resistance against the Turks?” I was thinking of the recent petty acts of hostility that had been committed against Turks in the city.

  “I really can’t answer that. As I said, I have only heard rumours of such a group. Probably the same rumours that Sanudo recounted to your friend.”

  “Rumours that apparently terrified the poor man.”

  “That was probably embroidery by Sanudo; I imagine he just wanted to satisfy the man’s craving for excitement.”

  “How very thoughtful of him,” I said.

  “Sior Alvise,” she said, “I have warned you already that I will not tolerate criticism of my friends. We will change the subject.”

  “Shall we go back to Homer then?” I said.

  “That seems safe enough. Of course, if you’ve had enough oysters we can always see if their reputation stands up to scrutiny.” All frostiness had disappeared from her gaze, and to my surprise I found desire growing within me again.

  She stood up and let her gown slip to the floor. It would clearly have been the height of ill manners to stay sitting over my meal. I rose to my feet as well and followed her back to the bedroom.

  The oysters lived up to their reputation.

  Some hours later she shook me awake. “Arianna will be coming soon to clear up.”

  I gazed at her in sleep-befuddled puzzlement. “You mean I have to go?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Your maid will be scandalised otherwise?” I said.

  “Let it suffice that I wish you to leave before she comes,” she said.

  Delicate creatures, the maidservants of Venus, it seemed. I got into my clothes and dashed some water into my eyes from the wash basin. She stood still while I made my preparations for departure. Then we passed into the next room where our scarcely touched meal was still laid out. I hoped Arianna was hungry.

  There was a clock in this room. I saw by the light of the one candle still burning that it was just after four o’clock.

  Isabella saw me looking at the time. “Arianna rises early. She likes to do her cleaning before she visits the Rialto market. She always goes at around seven to buy fresh fruit for me. She is a lover of routine.”

  “I see,” I said. “Well, I certainly don’t want to upset anyone’s routine.”

  She accompanied me to the door. “Sior Alvise, addio.”

  “Addio?” I asked. It seemed rather final.

  “I suspect you have no intention of repeating this visit,” she said.

  “Well,” I said awkwardly, “I – that is –”

  “Please do not lie to me,” she said. “We enjoyed ourselves.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “We did,” she said firmly, “but it was an episode. I advise you not to return to my salotto.”

  “Not even to retrieve my Homer?”

  “I will see to that. Where would you like it delivered?”

  “Sior Fabrizio’s bookshop in Calle dei Fabbri,” I said after just a moment’s hesitation. I guessed that it was unlikely she herself would make the delivery.

  “I know the shop,” she said. After a pause she said, “I believe Sior Fabrizio has an attractive daughter.”

  “I believe so,” I said.

  “Sior Alvise,” she said, “have no fear that she will ever hear of this night.”

  I said nothing.

  “Please go now,” she said. “Take care on your way home.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “And perhaps take care of yourself for a while. It might be worth avoiding places where Andrea Sanudo is likely to be.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “But then I suspect you do not usually frequent the same places.”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “This has been an interesting exception,” she said with a smile, which was clearly one of farewell.

  I made her a formal bow, but she then leaned forwards and gave me a long lingering kiss. “Go, my northern songster, and captivate others with your sweetly barbarous verses.”

  There was no answer to that, so I just gave her a final wave and set off down the dark stairs.

  I stepped out into the clammy mist, my head reeling with a fuddled mixture of drowsiness, perplexity and melancholy-tinged elation. It was still dark, but the open space of Campo Sant’Angelo at the end of the calle offered a hazy illusion of light, so I moved in that direction.

  And as I did so I heard footsteps. Perhaps Arianna hurrying to wash her mistress’s dishes?

  But no, these were at least two sets of footsteps, and they were heading towards me. I stood completely still, making sure that I had detected the direction correctly. Then I turned and headed towards the alleyway I had checked out earlier, which led to the canal.

  As I turned into it I glanced back and could make out dark shapes blundering towards me through the mist. There was no way to distinguish any features; in any case, they would almost certainly be wearing cloaks and masks.

  I ran down the alley, hoping the earthy surface was not too treacherously uneven. I came to a panting halt beside the heap of broken chair-legs and shattered pots; I grabbed a handful of the short stumpy poles and threw them down the alley behind me, where they thumped and clattered on the earth. Seconds later I heard the first of my pursuers grunt as his foot skidded on one of them; I could hardly see anything, just a floundering black shape. Then he let out a curse and there was a louder thump, followed by another one, as the man behind him cannoned into him.

  I was fairly sure I recognised the style of these two. It seemed they had not learned much from their previous experience. I didn’t stop to enjoy the confused noises of their predicament but stooped down and scrabbled amid the rubbish heap until I found a sharp-edged shard of a broken pot, and then stepped down on to the boat. It was a simple sandolo, and I guessed it was moored at the front end. It rocked drunkenly as I clambered forward. The shard would serve to cut the rope, if not for any more drastic purpose.

  However, just before I put the shard to the cord I heard ominous noises from the alley and swivelled. One of the men had reached the water’s edge and paused, ready to leap on to the boat. As he did so I spread my feet wide apart and set the boat rocking even more drunkenly, so that when he crashed down on to the boards he immediately stumbled, keeling over towards the side, his hands flailing for support; from one of them dropped a dark object. I leaned forward and grabbed the nearer hand, supplying the extra momentum needed to tip him completely off-balance and into the water, which he entered with a gratifyingly turbulent splash.

  I stooped and snatched up the object he had dropped: a
cudgel.

  His colleague now appeared and stood hesitantly at the water’s edge. I crouched in what I hoped was a menacing position, swinging the cudgel. The boat rocked again, this time as the man in the water grabbed at the side.

  I said to the man above me, “Come down here and help your friend if you want. But leave me alone – or I’ll break his fingers.” I gestured with the cudgel towards the hand that was clutching the side of the boat a few inches away from me.

  The man in the alley said, “All right. I’m going to get into the boat. No tricks.” His voice was muffled; he was wearing a mask, as I had suspected.

  He stepped down. He, too, was holding a cudgel.

  “Drop your cudgel,” I said.

  “You too,” he said.

  “No,” I said. I lifted it over his friend’s hands again.

  “I’m putting it down,” he said. He bent down and laid his cudgel on the planks and then straightened, showing me his empty hands.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  His friend was spluttering now. “Help me!” I imagine his sodden clothes were impeding his movements. The boat continued to sway as he tried to pull himself out.

  “Can’t tell you,” said the man in the boat.

  “I can guess,” I said, moving warily down the boat towards the alleyway. However, it seemed the second man was now more concerned with his colleague than with whatever violence he had been paid to inflict on me. It was touching to see such solidarity among bravi.

  I was able to heave myself out of the boat unimpeded, and I ran briskly down the alley, listening to the splashing and scrabbling and cursing behind me. I thrust the cudgel into my breeches and made my way towards Campo Sant’Angelo.

  I knew where to go next. Even at this time of night.

  15

  I arrived at the casino in Corte Contarina about five minutes later. There was a torch ablaze beside the door, and I could see lights in the rooms on the first floor. As I approached the door a large man stepped out and blocked my way.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to play some faro.”

  “You got an invitation?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sior Boldrin himself asked me to come along.”

  “So you’ll know the password then,” he said.