The Four Horsemen Page 18

  “We’re not going to fight them,” I said.

  “Right.” He paused. “You’ve been in this business for a while now, haven’t you?”

  “If you mean my work as a confidential agent, a few months, yes.”

  “Have you ever thought of getting a few lessons in, I don’t know, fencing? Or buying yourself a pistol?”

  “What kind of agent do you think I am?” I said.

  “I’d have thought those skills could always come in useful.”

  “Yes, perhaps. Only I don’t think they’re my kind of skills.”

  “Right.” Another long pause, as he revealed his kind of skill in swinging us to the right around an approaching sandolo. “And your kind . . .” he said eventually.

  “All right, this is not going to sound impressive . . .”

  “Yes . . .”

  “I’m quite good at improvising in a difficult situation.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “And I do notice things. Things other people don’t notice.”

  “I see,” he said again. “Still . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “A pistol would always come in handy.”

  “Well, actually . . .” I said, and I pulled out the cudgel.

  “Well, it’s something, I suppose,” he said, after giving it a glance.

  “Can’t imagine ever using it, mind you,” I said.

  “That makes it a bit less handy,” he said with a sigh.

  We arrived alongside the church of Sant’Eufemia. The front of the church gave on to a side canal, and Bepi manoeuvred us into it. An old lady dressed in black was sweeping the ground in front of the entrance. Bepi edged us to the canal-side, and I clambered out and approached her.

  “Excuse me, siora,” I said.

  “What do you want?” she said. At least that is what I presume she said; the fact that she had hardly any teeth and spoke in a very thick dialect did not help. I had thought I understood all the dialects of the lagoon, but it seemed that the Giudecca had its own unique variety.

  “I’m looking for the house of the Sanudo family,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “The Sanudo family,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to shout it.

  In fact she at once said, “You don’t have to shout, I’m not deaf.” I followed this by intonation, rather than by any specific consonantal sounds.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “They don’t live here,” she said.

  “I know that, siora, but they have a house here.”

  “Well, it’s not really a house,” she said.

  “No,” I said, “I suppose not.”

  “So why did you say a house?”

  “I was misinformed,” I said.

  “House indeed,” she said with a scornful laugh. “I suppose you’ll be wanting them to give you a bed for the night.” I was getting better at interpreting her spluttering outbursts, or perhaps she was taking more care at enunciating her words, having grasped that she was dealing with an idiot.

  “No, no,” I said.

  “Well, good thing. You’d be sorely disappointed.”

  “Yes, I realise that. But I don’t want . . .”

  “Bed for the night indeed,” she said. “You’d be in a pretty fix.” She laughed again. I imagine she didn’t get many opportunities for jocular conversation.

  “Yes, siora. I don’t want a bed. I just want to know where their house is – or casino or whatever it is.”

  “Well, everyone knows that,” she said.

  “Not quite everyone,” I said. “I don’t.”

  She looked at me with contempt; she had never come across such ignorance. “Go down this fondamenta, past the church of Saints Cosma and Damiano, you’ll see the gardens of the convent, go beyond them, in the field just before you reach the lagoon you’ll see a small house – only it’s not a house, just a large cottage, really, near some hazel trees . . . Used to be a house, but it’s falling to pieces now.” This was all remarkably clear.

  “Thank you, siora,” I said, “you’ve been very helpful.”

  “But they can’t give you a bed for the night, remember. I warned you . . .”

  “Yes, I realise that. Thank you.”

  I went back to the gondola, leaving the old lady to shake her head over my stubborn refusal to take her word about the lack of available hospitality.

  Bepi rowed us down the narrow canal. We passed the large classical church dedicated to the two martyr saints on our left, and then the open spaces of the Giudecca’s fields and orchards revealed themselves, the rust-coloured autumnal trees looking damp and bedraggled in the mist. A solitary building gradually became visible in this flat landscape; it was a square single-storey construction in crumbling brick with arched windows and a steep tiled roof. It looked several centuries old and one side was propped up with dark wooden beams. There was a single door at the front and a man in a cloak and a tricorn hat was standing outside it. Oddly (and ominously), given the rural context, he wore a mask. His blank face turned in our direction.

  “That must be it,” I said. “What would the Sanudo family be doing with a place like this?”

  “It was probably just a hunting lodge,” said Bepi. “I know other noble families that have places like this on some of the other islands.”

  “Hunting?” I said.

  “Well, birds. Someone once told me there were even rabbits.”

  “Keep going,” I said. “We can’t stop here.” I gave another glance at the man, who took a step or two in our direction but then seemed to think better of it.

  “I think I know who that is,” I said. “It’s your friend’s master.”

  “Tron?”

  “Yes. I think I recognise the way he walks: small indecisive steps. That might make things a little easier. Tell me anything you know about him from your friend. Anything at all; it doesn’t matter what.”

  “He’s got a lot of gambling debts. He tried to court a girl from the Loredan family but got turned down. He studied half a year at Padua but then gave up. His father is always shouting at him. He never gets up till midday – you sure that’s him?”

  “Maybe he hasn’t been to bed yet. Yes, I’m sure. Keep going.”

  “He tried to get into business importing malvasia but got cheated and had to ask his father for money. He was once accused of cheating at cards by a man from Florence and was supposed to fight a duel but got out of it by apologising. He’s got a mistress in Castello who’s a singer at the San Giovanni Crisostomo theatre; she once pretended to be pregnant to scare him. He went to Corfu to get out of that. He’s written a lot of bad poetry about her.” Bepi paused for breath.

  “My goodness,” I said. “I don’t know why the Missier Grande hires people like me.”

  “We pick things up,” said Bepi.

  I decided not to ask what his mates knew about me. Instead I asked, “Tell me about the gambling debts. Who with?”

  “Mainly with Molin, in Corte Contarina. I think one of his friends gets him to play there.”

  “Yes,” I said, “Sanudo. Maybe I can do something with that.”

  We were now approaching the open lagoon on the south side of the island. A clump of trees concealed the house from us.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s moor here. I’ll go and check things out.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Bepi said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You don’t have to.”

  “No, but I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Just until you’ve learned how to use a cudgel.”

  I smiled. “Perhaps you’d better take it,” I said, pulling it out of my cloak.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Handier than an oar.” He steered the gondola towards the bank, coasting alongside a convenient tree. He clambered out and secured the boat, and I followed him. I handed him the cudgel, which he slipped inside his jacket.

  We were in an uncultivated field, which sloped down towards the lagoon. There was almost complete
silence, just the faintest lapping noises from the water and an occasional cry from a seagull. The house was a dim shape through the mist; there was no sign of Tron, who had been standing on the opposite side of the building.

  We began to trudge towards it. The ground was soft and mushy, and we were able to walk almost noiselessly. We came up to the back of the house, and there was still not a sound. There was a single window on this side, which had a dark wooden shutter across it. However, it had a crack down one side, which allowed me to peer in. There was complete darkness. Bepi stood dead still by my side.

  Then I heard a faint rustling sound, as of someone moving inside the house. I listened hard. The noise was repeated; it sounded like something or someone sliding, or attempting to slide, across the floor. There was also a strange muffled whimpering. I listened for another few seconds, then turned to Bepi.

  “There’s someone in there, and I think they’re gagged,” I whispered.

  Bepi simply nodded.

  I listened again, trying to decipher the whimpering sounds.

  “I think it’s a woman,” I said.

  Bepi’s eyebrows went up, but again he said nothing.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’m going to speak to Tron. But I think it’s best if you don’t show yourself, unless I get into serious trouble. Wait here.”

  He scratched his cheek doubtfully but nodded. I walked around the side of the house, making no attempt to silence my footsteps. Before I reached the end of the wall the man in the cloak had stepped out to face me. Prepared though I was, the blank gaze of the white mask was disconcerting.

  “Ah, good morning,” I said, making my tone sound as casual as possible.

  He said nothing. He had, however, drawn out a sword and held it just slightly raised.

  “Sanudo sent me,” I said.

  The sword wavered slightly. “Sanudo?” He was whispering, but I recognised Tron’s high-pitched voice.

  “Yes,” I said. “He said we have to move her.” Even as I said it I realised I didn’t know whether it was one person or more.

  “Move them? Where?” He had not even spotted my slip. He was clearly agitated.

  “He told me Molin has got a useful place. Somewhere on Murano.”

  “Molin? You mean he knows about this?” He was not even bothering to disguise his voice in his agitation.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. He’s got too much money tied up with Sanudo to let anything slip. And then there are your own debts. He certainly doesn’t want to lose his chance of getting those paid.”

  “Oh my God,” he said. “And why did Sanudo send you?”

  That, of course, was the weak point. “Don’t worry about that. Sanudo and I have made things up. Isabella Venier made him see that we’re on the same side.” I could only hope that he had little insight into Sanudo’s character.

  “So what are you going to do with them?”

  “I’ve got a gondolier, entirely trustworthy. He and I will take care of them. We’ll hide them in the felze and deliver them to Molin’s place on Murano. I think Sanudo is going to be there to receive them. And the other Horsemen, I expect.”

  “All right,” he said. He pulled a key out of his pocket, and we approached the door to the house. I realised that the only possible reason it had been so easy to deceive him must be because he desired nothing so much as to be rid of his captives. This was a Horseman who could not wait to dismount.

  The door scraped open, and we stepped into the gloomy interior. There was just a single large open space; it might have been divided originally into separate rooms, but any interior walls that had once existed had been removed to transform it into a broad barn-like space. The walls were just bare brick, and the windows were all shuttered. The floor was mainly hard earth, although there were traces of a former tiled surface around the edges. There were dim shapes of farming implements on the right, but my eyes were drawn at once to two dark recumbent figures against the opposite wall. They stirred as we approached them, and as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I saw they were trussed and gagged. They were clearly female figures and were dressed in long dark garments. They made whimpering noises as we came nearer, and I felt a burning rage rising inside me. I knew I had to be very careful not to give this feeling free rein.

  “Can they walk?” I said in as casual a tone as possible.

  “Walk? Of course they can.” His voice was rising to an agitated pitch. He knew just how terrible his present role was. “We haven’t hurt them.”

  I said, “No, I suppose not.”

  They both had traditional Turkish headscarves and veils; I expected to see their eyes at least, probably glazed over with fear, but then I realised they were blindfolded. It was actually something of a relief.

  “How long were you planning to keep them here?” I asked, as if out of mild curiosity.

  “I don’t know. It’s Sanudo who planned all this.”

  I was on the point of asking where Sanudo had gone when I remembered that I was supposed to have come from him. “Have they behaved well?” I asked.

  “The younger one’s been all right. The older one has done nothing but whimper, even with the gag on. It’s been awful.”

  I wondered if he expected me to pity him. I merely grunted something inarticulate. Then I said, “I’ll call my gondolier. He’ll help me get them into the boat.”

  “All right,” he said.

  And then we both heard approaching footsteps and a murmur of voices. My heart sank.

  There was an exclamation, presumably as they saw the open door, and the footsteps became swift and urgent. Seconds later three figures appeared in the doorway, pausing on the threshold for their eyes to adjust. They were all wearing long cloaks, tricorn hats and masks, just like Tron. It was quite intimidating.

  17

  “What’s going on?” came Sanudo’s sharp voice.

  “He said you’d sent him,” said Tron, in an automatically defensive tone.

  “Who?” The figure of Sanudo advanced into the dark space; he had already drawn his sword. “Oh, you.” It was said with venomous intensity.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I said. “Before you run me through, I’m not alone. BEPI!” I yelled.

  He had already appeared in the doorway behind them, the cudgel held firmly in one hand.

  “So there are two of you,” said Sanudo. “That’s not a problem. Two low-life rats.”

  His companions had drawn swords as well but were looking to Sanudo rather than at us. Tron had lifted his sword in a rather unconvincing fashion.

  “I think it’s more of a problem than you suspect,” I said. “I have no doubt you can run us both through eventually, although my friend Bepi will probably cause some damage before he goes down . . .”

  “Just a little,” he agreed, swinging the cudgel demonstratively.

  “But then what do you do? Are you going to bury our bodies out here? The Missier Grande knows I came out here, by the way, so don’t think there won’t be questions. I suppose you could take the bodies out and sink them in the lagoon, but you’ll have to go a long way to find a deep enough part to be sure we won’t re-emerge . . .”

  “These are our problems,” Sanudo snarled. “Don’t worry on our accounts.” And he came towards me with the sword outstretched.

  “Well, you feel like that, I suppose, since you have some personal grievance against me, but I’m not sure that your companions do.” I turned away from Sanudo and addressed the two Bon brothers. “I know your friend can be very persuasive. But ask yourselves if you really want to run the risk of a trial for murder just because he’s a hothead. At the moment you haven’t yet committed any really terrible crime.” This was yet another lie I was forced to tell, one that was clearly disproved by the presence of the two women lying there, terrified out of their wits. “It can even be hushed up. I can take these two women back to the Fontego on my own initiative, and I won’t need to say anything about where I found them.”

  “He’s lying,” said
Sanudo. “He’s a spy. He’ll rat on us.”

  “You know as well as I do,” I said, “that the authorities will want this whole story hushed up. Everyone will be very glad if the whole thing is quietly forgotten. And I can certainly help you there.”

  “We don’t want it to be forgotten,” said Sanudo, his voice quietly furious. “We did this to make a mark; we want people to remember it. We particularly want the Turks to remember it.”

  “So you plan to rape these women and send them back to the Fontego shamed and humiliated?”

  He did not deny it. “It’s no worse than what happened to our people in Cyprus, in Crete, in Negroponte . . .”

  “All right. But now you will have to rape them and then kill us. Or kill us first and then settle down to your rape. Whichever is easiest, I suppose.” I turned again to the other men. “Do you still go along with this plan?”

  One of the Bon brothers spoke at last. “I never wanted to do this at all. Not the rape. I didn’t mind an attack on the Fontego. Like the other things we’ve done.”

  “You filthy traitor,” spat out Sanudo. He seemed about to turn his sword on the backslider.

  I spoke up: “So let’s get these women into our gondola and then it can all be forgotten.”

  Sanudo suddenly lost control and rushed towards me with his sword upraised for a slashing attack. Even as I reared backward I saw something fly through the air and crash into him, knocking him sideways. Still crouching defensively I swivelled and saw Bepi straightening up. He had hurled the cudgel and perhaps saved my life.

  “Come on,” I said to Tron. “Let’s help these women to their feet.”

  Tron gave a curious whimper himself, looking nervously to his fallen companion.

  “He can get up by himself,” I said.

  I moved towards the recumbent figures. One of them was trembling uncontrollably while the other was rigid. I bent down and spoke in as soothing a voice as possible. “Siora, I’m here to help you.”

  I put my fingers to the blindfold.

  “No!” said Tron, clutching at my hand. “They mustn’t know where they are.”

  I looked at the two Bon brothers, who were kneeling over Sanudo. They had their masks turned towards us, but I could tell they were equally agitated. I realised I would have to humour them on this if I wanted to get these women to the gondola quickly. I tried to rationalise it in my mind: what difference did another couple of minutes of blind terror make for them, after all? But I did not feel good about it.