The Four Horsemen Read online

  “Oh, him,” she said with great distaste.

  “Yes, him,” I said. “He’s revelling in the downfall of the Missier Grande. I strongly suspect that he took it upon himself to oversee the security for this entire affair.”

  “Now you’re making me want Komnenos to win,” she said.

  “We don’t need to go that far,” I said. “We just need to show Basso that he can’t manage things by himself.”

  Lucia peered out of the cabin window. “Where are we now?”

  “We’re going down the Rio di San Zan Degola,” I said. “It’ll take us past Sant’Agostin and then San Polo, and then we’ll re-join the Grand Canal.”

  “So we’re not going back the way we came,” she said.

  “No,” I said. “This is much faster, since it cuts out the great loop of the Grand Canal – leaving aside the fact that Bepi couldn’t turn the gondola round in this one.”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said. “Not even Bepi. Do you think we’ll make it in time?”

  “It all depends where Komnenos started from. I was presuming he would set off from the Fontego, but of course there’s no reason why he would do that. He just has to turn up at the quay by the Piazzetta in a suitably dignified gondola to be taken seriously as an official delegation. I have no doubt that he can arrange that. But with this fog he could have started out even from a place as close as the Salute church and no one would be any the wiser.”

  “And who will be helping him?” Fabrizio asked. “He obviously can’t do all this by himself.”

  “Well, no,” I said. “I think we can presume there will be at least three other people.”

  “The Four Horsemen,” said Lucia.

  “Yes,” I said. “The real Four Horsemen.”

  “But we’re also talking of probably two gondoliers,” she said, “two people posing as the wife and daughter, the ambassador or someone similar, and I imagine some kind of guard. Does he have all these people at his beck and call?”

  “He has followers,” I said. “How many will be closely involved, I don’t know. There’s a priest from the Greek church who I suspect will be on hand. Maybe he’ll even play a part as a member of the delegation. Anyway, we’ll soon see.”

  “If you’re right,” she said.

  “If I’m right. Let’s get to the church and see if we can work out what’s happening. And then . . .”

  “And then we’ll make a plan,” she said calmly.

  We emerged into the Grand Canal and Bepi steered us to the left, towards the Rio di San Luca, from which we had come about two hours earlier. There were now fewer other boats around, but Bepi none the less took care to call out the traditional “Òhe” as we veered into the narrower waterway. With a growing sense of impatience and anxiety I stepped out of the cabin. Bepi, a dark shape against the tall buildings that loomed from the canal, seemed as unflappable as ever.

  “You want me to wait by the quay?” he asked.

  “I suppose so,” I said. “Though I’d rather have you with me.”

  “It might be better to know you can get away quickly,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think you’re right.”

  I marvelled at the way he guided his gondola down the canal in almost total darkness, our little lantern at the front providing just a faint yellowish glimmer, enough to illuminate the few inches of black water directly ahead of us. Occasionally another gondola would glide past us in the opposite direction, its own lantern emerging as a vague glow from the fog and then flickering into the gloom as the sleek black shape slid alongside us. Bepi would generally exchange a brief salutation at the closest point of encounter. At times there were sounds of mirth or festivity from the closed cabins, but for the most part it was a quiet journey, with just shushed slapping noises from the disturbed water and the occasional echoing sounds of footsteps from nearby bridges or alleyways. The canal grew wider after we had passed Campo San Paternian, our starting point that evening, and soon the familiar sight of Bepi’s own station, Campo San Moisè, slid past us. There were more lights here and Bepi raised a hand in greeting to one of his colleagues in the little wooden shed by the water. And then, after another warning “Òhe” from Bepi, we emerged again into the Grand Canal, the great bulk of the Salute church rising in the mist before us.

  Bepi steered us to the left, and soon the lights of the Molo flickered into hazy brilliance ahead of us, illuminating the still lively Piazzetta, where people were parading on the Liston.

  Other gondolas were off-loading passengers at the various landing stages, and we had to wait for a minute or two before Bepi could steer us towards one.

  “See if you can find out any news,” I told him.

  “You mean ask if anyone’s been spotted running off with the pala d’oro?” he said, referring to the basilica’s most treasured possession, the great bejewelled gold panel that stands above the high altar.

  “Well, casually,” I said, “as you know how.” I took my mask from my satchel and put it on. In the Piazza in the evening one is more noticeable without a mask at this season.

  “Piero!” Bepi called to a young gondolier sitting by the landing stage, who was playing cards with an older colleague who had the smug smile of one who holds all the best hands. Not surprisingly, Piero didn’t seem to mind the interruption.

  “Ciao, Bepi,” he called back. “Haven’t seen you round here for a while. You still with that cicerone?”

  “Say no,” I whispered urgently as I stepped out of the gondola. I put on an exaggerated act of gawping at the impressive buildings like a newly arrived traveller.

  “No,” said Bepi aloud to his colleague. “Haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks.”

  Lucia looked out of the cabin. She had heard the exchange between Bepi and the other gondolier, and she did not call my name. “I’m coming too,” she said quietly.

  This was clearly not the moment to draw attention to ourselves by arguing, so I offered my arm as she stepped out. She accepted the assistance, but as soon as she was safely landed she detached herself from me.

  Her father had followed her out of the cabin. “Don’t worry; I’ll stay here,” he said.

  “Certainly, Sior Fabrizio,” I replied.

  “No dice games,” said Lucia.

  I winced at the idea. A gondolier playing dice with his client would not fail to arouse attention in this most public of places.

  “Don’t worry,” said Fabrizio. “I’ll behave impeccably.” He retreated into the cabin.

  Meanwhile Bepi had got into conversation with his friend Piero. “Anything happening this evening?” he said. “A friend from up by the Rialto told me there was some visit to the basilica by some foreigners or others this evening. You seen anything like that?”

  Piero considered. “Ah, that was what it was. Nothing special, though. Not like when the French ambassador called last month. That was ten gondolas in all. Procurators and magistrates and what have you all lining the Piazzetta. And jabbering away in French.”

  “Nothing like that this evening, then?”

  “No. It was just one gondola. But there was a Procurator waiting. And there were two Mahometan women in the gondola. You know, all veiled and scarved. And off they went.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, about twenty minutes ago.”

  “We’d better go and see,” I said quietly to Lucia. “Bepi, will you wait here?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Although if I’m stopping for a while I may have to moor over there.” He indicated the poles further along the Molo, in front of the library.

  I nodded, bade him farewell and set off with Lucia. We walked across the Piazzetta, moving to the right-hand side, towards the Doge’s palace, so as not to get caught up in the parade on the Liston. I gestured towards the four porphyry statues on the corner of the treasury. “Earlier horsemen, they say.”

  She gave me a quick, tight-lipped smile. She apparently knew the legend.

  The doors at the
front of the basilica were all closed, as was usual at this time in the evening. We rounded the far corner and headed towards the north-western door, the one that was generally used for private visits to the church after hours.

  A custodian was standing there; I recognised him as the usual night watchman for the basilica. Years of standing in the doorway in all weathers refusing entrance to hopeful visitors had given him an expression of perpetual dismay. His voice, as he told us that the church was closed, seemed laden with all the cares of the world.

  I put on my most commanding voice. “We have come with an urgent message for the Procurator. The Missier Grande has sent us.” I was gambling that the news of the Missier Grande’s dismissal would not have reached so lowly an official as this. I was also hoping that he would not recognise me as one of the more persistent ciceroni who contributed so greatly to his woes.

  “Well, I think you’ll have to wait while I go and fetch him. I’ve been told no one is to enter.”

  “Has anyone left?” I demanded sternly. I turned to Lucia. “Siora, take note of his answer.”

  She gave a firm nod of acquiescence.

  “Left?” he said, slightly flustered. “Not yet. Just the workers.”

  “Which workers?” I snapped.

  “You know, the ones who have been working on the mosaics in the baptistry.”

  “When did they leave?”

  “Just a few minutes ago,” he said. “They seemed to have a lot of tools tonight. They took a whole chest of things with them.”

  “Why were they still in the church during this private visit?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, getting even more flustered. “In fact, I didn’t even know they were there . . . there must have been a mix-up when Luigi and I changed over. He didn’t tell me they were working late.”

  “This is the kind of incompetence the Missier Grande has been complaining about. How many workers were there?”

  “Four,” he said. “Two more than usual, but that’s happened before.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Over there.” He pointed in the direction of the Rio de la Canonica, the canal that flows under the Bridge of Sighs.

  “I see,” I said. I moved towards the door. “Let us in.”

  “But, sior, my instructions—”

  “Have been over-ruled,” I said, waving a piece of paper I had taken from my pocket for this very purpose. (It was a sheet on which I had tried to work out my drinks bill at the Remedio tavern.) “Come along, siora.”

  He made a half-gesture, as if about to try to restrain us physically, and then allowed it to collapse into a helpless shrug.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Oh, and I’ll borrow your lantern.” I took it off him, and Lucia and I stepped into the narthex.

  At once the festive noises from the Piazza died away. The light of our lantern flickered on the shimmering golds and scarlets of the mosaics above us. We climbed the steps to the inner entrance door and pushed it open.

  Ahead of us a light burned in front of the image of the Madonna Nicopeia. I whispered to Lucia, “At least they haven’t taken that.” It was, after all, one of the most precious images that had been taken from Constantinople. But perhaps the fact that it was placed on an altar had deterred them.

  “I’ve never been in here when it’s empty,” Lucia whispered back.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Yes. But it’s magnificent.”

  We moved cautiously across the church. There were a few candles lit here and there, but otherwise the only light was our lantern. It helped us across the splendidly decorated but uneven floor, but it was not sufficient to illuminate the vast golden domes above us.

  “Is there anyone there?” I called, my voice a little hoarse. Reverence for the place prevented me from shouting.

  We heard faint scuffling noises ahead of us, from the direction of the right transept – and the treasury. I suddenly remembered the rustling noises I had heard two days earlier from the barn on the Giudecca. I suspected we were about to make a similar discovery.

  We approached the great iron door to the treasury; our lantern brought out the glittering shapes of the two mosaic angels that stood above the doorway, set within the elegant curves of a Moorish trefoil arch. The door itself was slightly ajar and we could see a glow of light from within.

  “Hello?” I called out again.

  More scuffling noises.

  Lucia touched my arm, as if involuntarily, and I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. We passed through the doorway and turned right into the first room. The light came from a chandelier with numerous lighted candles. On either side of us cabinet doors were hanging open, displaying a gleaming collection of wonderful objects – bejewelled reliquaries, chalices, crucifixes, crosiers – but there were clear gaps in the array, and one or two of the cabinets were completely empty.

  Lucia gave a gasp. “It’s happened,” she said.

  We heard further scuffling noises from the next room and passed rapidly on. There were more cabinets here, but our eyes were immediately drawn to the figures lying against the far wall. A number of people, all with their hands tied behind their backs and gags over their mouths. One or two of them were making desperate writhing gestures, their eyes glaring furiously up at us. In one corner was a pile of colourful robes: presumably the discarded Turkish disguises of the men who had then left the basilica dressed as simple workmen.

  “Oh my God,” said Lucia.

  I ran my eyes over the prisoners. A quick survey told me there were two guards, one Procurator, one other official and two women in Turkish garb. It was both the puzzling aspect of this last discovery and, I would like to think, a certain sense of chivalry that induced me to direct my attention immediately to these two. Lucia helped me remove the gag from one of them.

  The torrent of Venetian curse-words that at once assailed our ears made it clear that these women were neither Turkish nor Greek.

  “Calm down, siora,” I said. “We’re here to help you.”

  “. . . never been so filthily treated,” she said. She pulled the veil back from her head, revealing a face that was not young but bore the traces of former beauty. At the moment it was contorted in anger. “Just a bit of carnival fun, the man said it would be. That was all.”

  Lucia had removed the gag from her companion, who added her quota of curses. Lucia said mildly, “Siora, we are in a church . . .”

  “We certainly haven’t been treated like people in church,” spat out the other woman. “Last time I go with a foreigner, no matter how much they pay.”

  I turned my attention to the Procurator, whose white-bearded face was twitching urgent signals to me.

  “Just one moment, Excellency,” I said. I had recognised the sharp chin and furious little eyes of the man squirming beside him.

  “Sior Basso,” I said, bending over and removing his gag. Once I had done it I lifted my mask off my face so he could see me.

  “I might have known you had something to do with this,” he spat out.

  “Actually, I think the phrase you are looking for is ‘thank you’,” I said. “I imagine it was you who made the arrangements for this debacle.”

  “Sior Alvise,” he said venomously, “you are already under suspicion of murder. It looks as if we’re going to have to add treachery, blasphemy and theft . . .”

  “Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” I said, and thrust the gag back into his mouth.

  Lucia gave a gasp. “Sior Alvise, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going after Komnenos,” I said. “I haven’t time to stay and answer these people’s questions. I’ll leave you to deal with them.”

  “Thank you very much,” she said drily.

  “Sorry, Sior Lucia,” I said, “I don’t want to seem selfish, but you heard what this man said. I’m still under suspicion. I think it will be far more profitable for me to follow Komnenos than get myself thrown into a prison cell while they run round in circles l
ooking for the wrong people.”

  She bent over the nearer woman and started to undo the rope binding her wrists. “You’re probably right. Go, then. Oh, and send my father in here, will you?”

  “I’ll be happy to,” I said. “You might want to help the poor Procurator over here before he bursts a blood vessel. But I wouldn’t remove the gag from Sior Basso’s mouth until you absolutely have to.”

  “Leave me with them,” she said. “I think I can cope.”

  “Thank you so much, Siora Lucia. As ever, I don’t know what I’d do—”

  “Just go. No more flowery speeches.”

  “No.”

  “And Sior Alvise – be careful.”

  I left her, infinitely grateful for those last two words.

  28

  As I made my way back through the church I heard a spluttering outburst which suggested she had not followed my advice about Sior Basso’s gag. Well, that was now her responsibility.

  When I reached the outer door the little custodian looked at me, his face twitching with conflicting expressions of guilt, concern and dismay. I said, “My friend could do with some help. In the treasury.”

  “My lantern?” he said, pointing at it in my hand.

  “If you don’t mind I think I’d better keep it for the moment. Plenty of candles inside.”

  I strode off. He called a feeble “Hey” behind me, but in the end he must have decided that he had better see what was happening in the church, because when I glanced back he was no longer there.

  I walked swiftly back to the gondola. Bepi had moored by one of the poles opposite the Zecca and was looking out for me.

  “They’ve done it,” I said.

  “You mean . . . ?”

  “They’ve looted the treasury. They took it all off in a chest towards the Rio de la Canonica. They must have had a gondola waiting for them there.”

  “And so where do you think they’ve gone?”

  “I think Sior Fabrizio might be able to help.” I moved towards the gondola and called his name.

  Fabrizio peered out of the cabin, his face peering up at us in mild curiosity. I wondered if he had been taking a nap.

  “Sior Fabrizio, you must go and help Siora Lucia in the church.”