The Four Horsemen Page 31

  “And why did you offer this help?” I said. “Was it just because Komnenos was so good in bed?”

  “There’s no need to be insulting,” she said with a sudden return of her aristocratic hauteur. Then she made a visible effort to control herself. “I apologise. It is a reasonable question, even if phrased with unnecessary crudity. It all comes down to debts. Sior Alvise, quite simply, my husband is a gambler.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I had suspected that. In fact, I realise I must have seen him at Molin’s establishment the other night. And he was clearly losing.”

  “As usual. He is not a strong man. And of course all around him in the family home are portraits of his glorious ancestors: successful admirals, bishops, procurators . . . And he has the incessant voice of his mother reminding him of his failings. His art collection is not sufficient consolation – especially when he keeps finding himself forced to sell the most valuable works. So it is not surprising he has looked for other possible sources of revenue. Of course, gambling rarely proves to be one of those. And so when I mentioned this new possibility to him he jumped at it. I understand he owes Sior Molin a good deal of money. I know that he was really very happy when Molin’s odious debt-collector was murdered the other evening.”

  “Of course he was,” I said. “He ordered it. And it was two birds with one stone. The debt-collector – and myself.”

  “Yourself?” She seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “You really didn’t know that he had set things up so that I would be accused of the murder?”

  “No,” she said. “I knew nothing of that at all.”

  “My copy of Homer was found near the body,” I said. “If you’re telling the truth then your husband must have obtained the book directly from Sanudo.”

  “That is perfectly possible.”

  “Does your husband have friendly relations with all your lovers?”

  “When he thinks it might serve his purposes,” she said. “He is a practical man in the end. In the case of Sanudo and his foolish friends he had what struck me as rather a clever idea.”

  “You mean the false Four Horsemen,” I said.

  “Exactly. I see you’ve worked it out.”

  “Once you had told him about Komnenos and the real Four Horsemen your husband saw the danger of the secret’s getting out. After all, Komnenos was not exactly a master of intrigue and secrecy.”

  “No,” she said with a slight smile. “That, of course, was a great part of his charm.”

  “And so Querini came up with the idea of creating some false Horsemen, just in case one of the city’s numerous secret agents heard rumours of the real ones.”

  “Well, it was a risk,” she said. “You know how many of those odious characters there are in Venice . . .” She put a hand to her lips in sudden realisation at what she had said.

  I ignored it and went on, “And Sanudo and his friends turned out to love the idea. I suppose it was your husband who fed them the notion of the Four Horsemen as a secret group of Venetian resistance against the Turks.”

  “I imagine so. It was only Sanudo he ever talked to. They both got some perverse pleasure out of creating a strange relationship between them, almost like father and son. Something that went against the usual rules for such situations. There was also the fact that they frequented the same gambling house.”

  “Both petty little failures as men,” I said, “who found a way to play at being dangerous rebels. And Sanudo could even play at being a leader.”

  “You’re very harsh,” she said.

  “I’m an odious spy,” I said. “It’s my job.”

  “I should not have said that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it. But whatever else, I am a loyal spy. I do my job for the city I love. The city of Saint Mark.”

  “You want me to weep and play the penitent?” she said. “I don’t weep. But I am penitent.”

  “Because you didn’t succeed,” I said.

  “I won’t deny that comes into it,” she said. “But please remember I had no idea any violence would be used. To tell the truth, I didn’t think the final plan of looting the treasury would ever come about. It was something Komnenos had talked about: his great dream. He had managed to get his two friends places as mosaic-restorers inside the basilica – thanks to my husband’s contacts, it must be said – but then he discovered just how strict the rules were for access to the treasury. So when he talked about it I just thought of it as his dream – a boy’s dream, if you like. There is something boyish about Komnenos. And then suddenly, yesterday afternoon, he sent me a message asking me to meet him at my casino, where he told me of this wild plan to impersonate a Turkish ambassador that very evening and rob the treasury. He had already let my husband know. In my case he wanted to bid me farewell, since he would never be able to return after this exploit. But I confess I never really thought it would work. The idea actually shocked me.”

  “But not so deeply that you felt you should warn the authorities.”

  “We had been following this path together for some time, remember. I suppose I had even been affected by his rhetoric. What right does Venice have to that treasure from Constantinople?”

  “And what right do you or your husband have to it?”

  “None, of course. But as I have told you, I had no idea that my husband’s plan was to acquire the booty all for himself. I would never have countenanced it.”

  “You were happy with just a quarter of it.”

  “In this case I would not have asked even for that,” she said.

  “Very cautious of you,” I said. “After all, how would you sell such famous items?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said. “And some of the pieces would be worth a fortune just for the jewels themselves.”

  “So your husband would have simply ripped them out? Melted the gold and silver down?” Perhaps it was the cicerone in me, but I found this even more shocking than the notion of the theft.

  “I don’t know what he would have done. All I know is he was tempted by the idea of all that sudden wealth. And so he sent word to his – his . . .”

  “His personal killer.”

  “I suppose that’s not an unfair definition,” she said, after a short pause. “It seems he’d had this planned for a long time, if ever the Horsemen should succeed in robbing the treasury. It was going to be the end of the whole thing. And, I suppose he thought, the end of all his financial troubles. When I told him my suspicions that you had uncovered the scheme he was terrified.”

  “I imagine he thought I had already been arrested,” I said.

  “Possibly,” she said, clearly pausing to think back. “Anyway, it was then he confessed to me what he had planned. All four men would be killed, and the treasure would remain there on the island until it would be safe to go and recover it. It would be all ours. I was horrified, of course. But reason told me that there was nothing that could be done to stop it.”

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  “It was too late to find a reliable gondolier.”

  “By reliable you mean one who wouldn’t reveal anything.”

  “Yes, of course. So we just had to think of a way of limiting the damage if you should survive and return to the city. My husband thought it unlikely you would survive, of course. This man from Naples was very efficient, he said.”

  “I suppose he had met him on that one foreign mission to Smyrna.”

  “I believe so. My husband then introduced him to Visentin, and they often used his services. He was a skilful smuggler, you know, not just a killer.”

  “Good to know he had other lines of work to fall back on in hard times,” I said. “You know he almost killed me. It was Komnenos who saved me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “Two men I’ve loved.”

  “And two men your husband must have hated,” I said. And then I remembered something: “Hephaestus . . .”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It wa
s something the poor schoolteacher wrote in his diary: just a reference to Hephaestus. And I thought he was referring to the Neapolitan killer, who was lame. But no: I’d forgotten.”

  “Hephaestus is the husband of Venus,” she said with a quiet smile.

  “Exactly. Cuckolded and scorned by the other gods. ‘Vulcan with awkward grace his office plies, / And unextinguish’d laughter shakes the skies,’” I quoted in English.

  “I presume this is your Alexander Pope,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “First book of The Iliad, when the other gods mock him. Padoan must have seen how your husband was not a forgiving man. Like Hephaestus he stored his resentment, forging his weapons and waiting for the right moment for revenge. It wasn’t only greed.”

  I detected a slightly agitated expression flickering across her face and wondered what had caused it. But I remembered she had probably spent some hours in this cold and dingy storeroom, waiting without any certainty for my arrival, so a certain degree of stress was only to be expected.

  “So what do you want?” I said, deciding it was time to get to the point.

  “Just exclude us from your account of this whole affair,” she said. “My husband will depart for Cerigo at once.”

  “Hephaestus banished to the land of his in-laws,” I said. “I can see it might be uncomfortable, but it is hardly commensurate with what he has done.”

  “I’m asking for myself, not for him,” she said frankly. “And I can’t believe you feel nothing for me.” She pushed her shawl right back so that her hair was visible in all its golden glory. She gazed steadily at me, the cool blue pools of her eyes drawing mine towards them.

  “And now you’re demeaning yourself,” I heard my voice say, a little hoarsely.

  Anger flickered in her eyes for one second — and then, to my puzzlement, the agitation returned. I saw she was now looking over my shoulder, and I turned round. The door of the dark rickety wardrobe was opening: out stepped Nobleman Querini.

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  I couldn’t help but utter a brief laugh. But then it stopped being funny. He was holding a large pistol, and it was trained on me.

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “You’ve done your best. Now you had better leave it to me.”

  “Was that all a pack of lies?” I said to Isabella Venier. “Were you in on the whole scheme from the beginning, murders and everything?”

  “No,” she said, her voice now breathy with agitation. “It was all true. I just omitted to mention that my husband . . .”

  “. . . was hiding in the wardrobe,” I concluded. “Well, that would have been embarrassing to admit, after yesterday.”

  She didn’t answer. Querini spoke: “ ‘ Demeaning’ is the word you’ve just used, isn’t it?” he said. “You dared to use it to my wife.”

  I decided not to point out to him that he had just stepped out of a wardrobe, and so the word was not exactly inappropriate for him either. It was not the right moment to antagonise him.

  “A mere cicerone, pretending to teach deportment to a noblewoman,” he went on.

  “Not deportment,” I said. “Honesty.”

  “How dare you?” His voice was shrill and intense, the voice of a weak man who had worked himself up into a fury, which he was trying to convince himself was righteous indignation. “You who come treacherously into our house, who break all the traditional bonds of hospitality . . . A mere vagabond, pretending to know about art, about the great classics . . .”

  “Excellency,” I said, “this is scarcely the time for a competition in artistic expertise. What exactly do you want from me?”

  “Where are the treasures?”

  I had hoped he was going to ask that. So long as he held on to a greedy desire to reacquire them, however mad it might be, my life was worth something to him. The moment he realised they were unattainable, he would kill me. I had no doubt about that.

  “I’ve put them in a safe place.”

  “You are going to tell us where.”

  “And then?”

  “And then you can go back to your petty little life, showing the glories of our civilisation to uncultured barbarians who understand nothing. My wife and I will retire to her properties in Cerigo.” He was now making an obvious effort to calm himself and appear reasonable.

  “Well, that sounds sensible,” I said slowly. “Do you want to come with me and I’ll show you where they are?”

  “No, you will tell me here and now.”

  “It’s a little difficult to explain,” I said.

  “Stop playing with me!” he snapped. I could see the pistol shaking slightly.

  “My dear,” said Isabella Venier, “try to stay calm.” She moved towards him.

  “It is very difficult,” he said, apparently through clenched teeth, “when I am dealing with a wretched fool who has interfered in matters that do not concern him.”

  “Excellency,” I said, “my only concern was for the city I love. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Do you think I don’t love this city? Do you think I haven’t devoted my life to appreciating its treasures? But I can also see beyond its confines; I know that the great works of art do not belong just in one place.”

  Ah, I thought, that was how he had rationalised his theft. He was liberating the works of art for the benefit of others.

  “I see,” I said.

  “I doubt that you do,” he said. “But, to use your own word, I demean myself by talking about such things to you. Just tell me where the treasures are. Immediately.”

  “Excellency, I’m sure you can understand that I would like some guarantee of my safety if I do so.”

  “You have my word as a Venetian nobleman.”

  And as a Venetian bankrupt, thief and hirer of assassins. “Well, would you mind putting the pistol down then, Excellency?”

  “You are not in a position to tell me what to do,” he said.

  “No, Excellency, I’m asking.”

  “And do as you ask I will not. Now tell me where the treasures are.”

  “And I can only answer that I will show you. I can’t tell you.”

  “I will not ask again. I will shoot.”

  “And then you will never know.”

  “I will shoot your leg. The pain and the blood might help you to reflect on how absurd your attitude is.” He pointed the pistol downwards to make his intention clear. His hand continued to shake slightly. Without taking his eye or the gun off me he addressed his wife: “My dear, you will find another loaded pistol in the wardrobe. Please have it ready.”

  She did not say a word but went to the wardrobe and returned with another pistol. She held it in both hands, its muzzle pointed at the ground. She stood just behind him.

  “I’ll count to three,” said Querini. “Then I will shoot. You do realise I don’t want to do this, but you are forcing it upon me? My dear, the moment I have fired, please pass me the other pistol. We must be ready for all eventualities.”

  “Excellency,” I said, “please consider what you are doing.” Would it be worth trying to rush him?

  “One,” he said, very slowly and deliberately.

  “Excellency . . .”

  “Two.”

  There was a sudden loud explosion, and I reeled back. Almost instantly there was a sudden gasping cry from Querini, and he pitched forward to the ground. Isabella Venier had also staggered back, from the kick of her pistol, which was now smoking.

  Seconds later I was bending over Querini. There was a great spreading stain in his back. He was still breathing, and his fingers still clutched his pistol. His face was turned towards me and was twisted in pain and shock. “What . . . what . . .” he managed to gasp.

  “I’ve had enough, dear husband,” Isabella Venier said in a flat voice. “It’s all over.” She made no move towards him but just stood there, the pistol pointing downwards once more.

  “You’ve betrayed us all . . .” he gasped. “For this wretched vagabond . . .”

&nb
sp; “Don’t force me to say what I think when I compare you both,” she said. Her voice remained flat and unemotional.

  “My mother said you were a whore . . .” His face gave one final twitch of pain and became still.

  We stood in silence for a few moments. Then she said, “Typically gracious last words.”

  I was unable to speak for some seconds. Eventually I managed to say, “Thank you.”

  “For what? For aiding a thief and murderer? For destroying your love life?”

  “For saving my life.”

  “I wonder whether he would have ever found the courage to pull that trigger. Well, we’ll never know. Now do what you must do.”

  “I’m not sure what that is,” I said.

  “Go and talk to your famous Missier Grande. He’ll know. Don’t worry. I won’t run away. I have nowhere to run to.”

  “There’s always Cerigo,” I said.

  “I hope that will be allowed me,” she said. “I know that otherwise I’ll be expected to join a convent.”

  I could not help smiling.

  “Ah, Sior Alvise, I see you find that a ridiculous idea. Whatever else, I feel you do know me.”

  “I think so. I hope so.”

  “Before you go to your Missier Grande, grant me one last favour.”

  “What’s that?”

  She said nothing but laid her gun down on a nearby chair, put both hands up to my face and drew me into a long and passionate kiss. Inappropriate though it was, I could not help responding. Once again it seemed only polite.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That really was the last time.”

  “Yes,” I said, a little hoarsely.

  “And your bookshop lass has never had the experience?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I would love to tell her myself that it’s worth it, but perhaps that’s not a good idea.”