‘Why didn’t you come back to Venice immediately?’
‘I couldn’t face it. I needed to be alone. I wandered aimlessly around those parts, until I happened to arrive in Constantinople. Being there, among all those people and in the hubbub of a large city, well . . . it brought me to my senses. I decided the only way to keep going was to work myself into the ground. I’m an experienced shipwright and it wasn’t hard to find work in a shipyard. Venetian craftsmen are highly sought after in that part of the world.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘I see you already know.’
Menico got up and walked around the table to rest the doll on the dresser and pour some more wine into the glasses.
Marco noticed that he was limping slightly. ‘What’s wrong with that foot?’
‘This? Oh, nothing. I twisted my ankle a few evenings ago, climbing down a vine at a locanda on the Giudecca. You know quite well what I’m talking about.’ He stared out of the window in silence for a moment. ‘But you were asking me about Constantinople,’ he went on. ‘It happened this spring. There’s a place in the bazaar, run by a man from Verona, and it’s a meeting point for all of us from the Veneto, or Milan, or from these parts. I used to go every now and then, just to enjoy a bit of home cooking. The landlord has a large room with long low tables and benches, and it’s always nice and quiet. That evening Giorgione walked in: he’s unmistakable, with his red hair. I couldn’t believe my eyes. He spotted me too. We embraced each other, not needing to speak, and then he sat down beside me and told me about his adventures. Then we talked about Marianna . . .’
He gave a deep sigh and held his head in his hands.
‘I was still under the impression that she’d died from an illness,’ he went on. ‘He understood and realised that I was confused, so he didn’t want to say any more. But in the end, I made him talk.’
His voice shook. ‘I can’t tell you the agony I suffered when I found out the truth . . . my little girl in the hands of those filthy perverts. I howled like a beast. The other customers surrounded me, and I felt I was suffocating. In the end, I calmed down and I demanded to know the names. Giorgione was forced to tell me, and at that point I tore off my crucifix and kissed it, making a solemn oath to avenge my daughter. Giorgio was horrified. He rushed out, as if to escape me, and I’ve not seen him since. Is he back in Venice too? Did he set you on my trail?’
Marco was shaken. ‘No, Giorgione said nothing. He didn’t even say that he’d met you. To tell you the truth, he didn’t even know that Marianna’s murderers had been killed.’
‘Now tell me, Your Excellency . . .’ Menico hesitated, keeping his eyes down. ‘Given that you’ve heard all the witnesses, do you know whether my little girl suffered? I’ve spent years at sea, and I’ve heard the tales told by soldiers . . . and criminals. I know what happens when they get their hands on a woman. I can’t bear to think of my Marianna in the hands of those animals . . .’
‘She didn’t suffer,’ lied Marco. ‘I was told that the poor girl died from suffocation when she was wrapped in her cloak and carried away. They didn’t have time to touch her.’ Pisani hoped that his lies would soften the father’s pain, and indeed he did seem slightly relieved. ‘But what about you?’ he went on. ‘What did you do after you learned what had happened?’
‘I planned my revenge. I came back to Venice in September but didn’t come home. My sister believes that I’ve only been back for a few days. I stayed at the Arsenale, in the houses on Fondamenta Nuove which are used for sailors in transit.’
‘I know,’ interrupted Marco. ‘I just checked the ships’ passenger lists and your name appears among those on board a galley that docked in Venice on 16 September. Then you lived in the Arsenale, and it was there that you met my gondolier.’
‘Yes, the young man who asked me about the rope. It was mine, but I told him that it might have been Portuguese in order to delay the investigations. I still had a job to do.’
‘Indeed. Even Alvise Cappello told me about someone who was known as the Levantino. He said that he’d not been back home since his daughter had departed. But for some reason I thought that Cappello was simply referring to a man whose daughter had been married. However, I had that conversation on 12 December, and at that stage I knew nothing about Marianna’s disappearance. Both Barbaro and Corner were dead, and I was groping my way in the dark. But how did you manage it?’
The man sighed deeply. ‘I may as well tell you. Now it’s over, I no longer care whether I live or die. It wasn’t that difficult. I started to follow all four of them, sometimes dressed as a Turk, and sometimes hidden by a cloak. With Barbaro, there was no problem. All I had to do was study the route he took at night when he paid a visit to his friend.’
‘Lucrezia Scalfi.’
‘That’s her, yes. I looked for the darkest corner where I could lie in wait for him and then carry out the deed . . . He was the first. He hadn’t a clue who I was, but he put up a fight. See this scar?’ Menico held out his left hand. ‘I’ve had to wear gloves ever since so I don’t have to answer awkward questions.’
‘And Corner?’
‘That was more complicated. He was often with his wife, and I couldn’t find the right moment. Then one day I went to the palace and they took me on as a gondolier for Dario, his brother. I’m quite handy with an oar, and for a few weeks I was able to study the comings and goings inside the house and Piero Corner’s movements, which is when I discovered that he visited the Ridotto every Sunday evening. Initially, I was a bit reluctant because he’d just had a baby girl and he seemed happily married. But then I told myself that he hadn’t stopped to think about my little girl, and so . . . When his turn came, Barbaro was already dead, and he was frightened and made sure that a servant came with him. But even so, I succeeded. In the end, he didn’t resist much.’
So Menico was the mysterious gondolier, thought Marco, the one whose name he had forgotten to ask old Matteo about. He should have guessed when Matteo had mentioned Constantinople. Another detail then came to mind. ‘Was that when you got hold of the sash with the Corner coat of arms?’
‘Precisely. I used to wear it even after I left the job. Then I lost it when I fled the locanda on the Giudecca. You very nearly caught me then.’
‘And it was you who visited old Signora Domenici and persuaded her to tell you where her son was hiding.’
‘That whole family is rotten to the core. That repulsive old woman had drunk her fill of wine, and the only thing she cared about was money. Her eyes glittered with greed. But her son was another matter. I had a real fight with him . . . At that point, with two of them dead, he must have understood that I had him in my sights. I walked into the tavern wrapped in my cloak, and no one paid any attention because of the two tarts who were singing, half nude by then. I grabbed a jug of wine and went up. I hadn’t a clue which room he was in, so it was luck that I knocked on the third door. I heard someone moving around inside and pretended to be a waiter. “Here’s the wine!” I said. The door opened a fraction and it was him. I’d observed him carefully when I had followed all of them earlier. I shoved my way in, but he slipped out of my grasp and then we fought. It was as if I had superhuman strength, though, because I couldn’t stop thinking of his filthy hands on my daughter’s body. I knocked him out with a blow, and then he came to the same end as the others. Labia was the only one I didn’t get . . .’
‘Tell me something. You’re an intelligent man; why did you use the same method for each murder? This allowed us to connect them and finally led us to you. If you’d killed each of your victims in a different way, perhaps making each murder look like an accident, we’d never have managed to solve them. You’ll have heard the rumours that are doing the rounds, because no one knows about your daughter’s death, and so the talk is of a murderer who kills for pleasure.’
Menico shook his head. ‘To begin with I didn’t think I’d use the same tactic and the same type of rope. Look, I’ve still got a pi
ece here, which was destined for Labia.’ He pointed to a coil lying at his feet.
Marco shivered, and for the first time realised how strange this situation was: an avogadore drinking and talking amicably with a killer in his own house.
‘But when they arrested that poor man,’ Menico went on, ‘the one called Maso who had nothing to do with it, I was frightened that an innocent passer-by might be blamed for it. It was then that I started following the gossip, and I let Maso off the hook by killing Corner while he was still in prison. But, Your Excellency, what led you to suspect me, given that none of my relatives know that I’ve actually been in Venice for the past few months?’
Marco understood that he owed him an explanation. ‘For days I, too, didn’t think of you. I was convinced you’d only just come back, even if, when we met last Saturday, I should have realised from what you said that you knew Marianna was dead. But a few hours ago, while I was talking to Giorgio Sporti, I had a flash of insight. Constantinople was always cropping up in conversation, and Giorgio knew the truth but was so obviously innocent. So I asked myself who could he have confided in. What other man would have wanted to avenge Marianna? That’s when I put two and two together. I asked Giorgio straight out who he had met in Constantinople. He, too, understood at that point, and he hesitated for a long time, and then told me a lie. He wanted to save you.’
Menico sat there with his head hanging. Pisani was also deep in thought.
It was the sailor who broke the silence. ‘I’m in your hands,’ he sighed. He seemed resigned, almost serene. ‘I’m sorry for my sister, who I’ll leave alone, but I’m ready to go to prison. But there’s one more thing I have to ask you: find my little girl. My last wish is that she has a Christian burial and a tomb where at least her aunt can go and pray.’
Marco drained his glass to give himself courage. He walked over to the fire, holding his hands out to the warmth of the flames. His voice was a whisper. ‘Menico, listen carefully. I’ve been thinking about this. You are a good man and you’ve suffered enough. I am a man of the law and I believe in justice, but I also believe that there is a more perfect justice than the one imposed by us humans. I know you are not a murderer: you saw those scoundrels walking free around Venice, unpunished by the law, and you took matters into your own hands. You also know full well that if they had stood trial, they would have deserved the death sentence. In short . . .’ At this point Marco turned and started to pace up and down the room. ‘I don’t have the heart to arrest you. No one knows anything about you yet. I haven’t confided in a soul.’
He stopped in front of Menico, who looked at him in astonishment.
‘We haven’t talked this evening. I’ve never set foot in this house. You must now pack up your belongings and leave. Take a boat. The weather is awful, but you’re a sailor and you’ll manage to reach Trieste, which is Austrian territory. No one will come looking for you there. Or you could escape on one of the Dalmatian boats departing from Riva degli Schiavoni. You’ll only need a few ducats to pay for a passage. You have twenty-four hours. You mustn’t say anything to your sister, and above all don’t bid her farewell. In a few months you can write to her and ask her to join you so you can make a new life together in the East. Now, you must go. In twenty-four hours, I’ll send the guards to arrest you, and by then you must have left Venice.’
Menico, deeply moved, found the strength to stammer, ‘Why?’
‘I’ve already told you: you’ve suffered an appalling injustice. I don’t want you to pay again. You’re not a murderer. I’m sure you’ll find a way to atone for your sins.’
‘And my little girl?’
It was time for Marco to reveal the final secret. ‘We’ve found her.’
Menico broke down and sobbed.
‘Her coffin is at this very moment lying in San Pietro, not far from here. You can pray for her before you leave.’
Is this true justice? wondered Marco as he climbed back into the gondola. Have I done my duty, or have I just played God?
He had always been convinced that law and justice could and should overlap, but he wasn’t so sure now. In this strange case what was morally correct and what was legal had clashed, and he had followed his conscience.
Yet he felt as if a weight had been lifted off him. And he wanted to see Chiara.
CHAPTER 29
Light streamed out of the Gothic windows of Palazzo Pisani, creating dancing reflections on the waves of the Grand Canal, and the discordant sounds of instruments being tuned up echoed through the doorway. Gondolas thronged around the water gates as their gondoliers jostled to come alongside. Once the passengers had disembarked, they processed in their ballroom finery into the palace. Today was 26 December, Saint Stephen’s Day, which marked the end of the liturgical celebrations for Christmas, and it was the date on which the Pisani family traditionally inaugurated Carnival with a magnificent evening reception.
Liveried footmen holding torches and candelabras lined the dramatic grand staircase, which had been designed by Tirali and was one of the most beautiful in Venice.
Chiara was both nervous and thrilled as she walked up those stairs in the company of Marco and Daniele. She was wearing a full-skirted gown of dark gold brocade which set off her blue eyes, and her hair was gathered into a cascade of curls. In the candlelight her pale skin gleamed more than usual as her willowy figure swept gracefully up each ramp. Her companions attracted equal admiration. Marco was wearing a long black jacket edged with silver, a taffeta waistcoat and, for once, a white wig. Daniele had chosen a bottle-green suit trimmed with gold. The other guests who were climbing the staircase beside them shot curious glances at the beautiful young woman on the arm of the avogadore.
Teodoro and Elena Pisani stood on the landing by the main hall to welcome their guests. When they caught sight of the approaching trio their faces lit up.
Chiara bowed slightly and, turning to Elena, whispered, ‘Thank you, signora. Thank you for inviting me and for this.’ She gestured to the magnificent ring that she wore on her left hand: a circle of golden roses surrounding a huge ruby, whose purity made it shine with extraordinary radiance.
‘My child,’ interrupted Elena, pulling the younger woman into her arms in a warm embrace, ‘you can’t imagine how happy I am to have you here.’ The old senator smiled benevolently. ‘As Marco will have told you’ – and Elena looked at her son, her face a study of emotions – ‘it’s a family ring and belonged to my grandmother. No one deserves to wear it more than you.’
The ballroom shone as bright as day, illuminated by hundreds of candles that glittered in the Murano chandeliers and in the gilded wall sconces, creating shimmering reflections in the huge mirrors. Between the mirrors Chiara noted the famous Pisani family paintings: Veronese’s The Family of Darius before Alexander and Piazzetta’s more recent work, The Death of Darius.
A few dozen guests had already taken up their seats on the chairs set in front of the stage where the concert would be played. As the trio approached there was a buzz among the guests. Marco greeted his acquaintances, and Daniele guided Chiara to a seat in front of the orchestra.
‘See that family on my right?’ He gestured discreetly towards a tall, elegant woman with a stout husband and a rather unattractive girl wearing an emerald necklace. ‘That’s the Foscarini family and they’re looking at you rather pointedly because for months they’ve been angling for an engagement between their daughter and Marco. Now that they’ve seen the famous Pisani ruby glinting on your finger, their hopes are dashed.’
It was true: both mother and daughter were staring at Chiara in open disdain.
All the guests had now arrived and the place was full. Elena and Teodoro Pisani walked to their chairs beside the stage and were promptly joined by their son, Giovanni, and his wife, Rossana, whose wide skirt did nothing to hide her pregnancy. They, too, had welcomed Chiara affectionately.
When the orchestra started to play the opening notes of Vivaldi’s ‘Primavera’, the chatter immedi
ately died down.
Sitting beside Chiara, Marco let his mind wander. In the past few days he had resolved a number of problems. As he had promised, the guards had been sent to Rio Sant’Anna to arrest Menico on 21 December, but they had found only his sister, who had just returned from the cathedral of San Pietro in Castello, where she had remained in vigil over Marianna’s coffin until the funeral. Menico had vanished without saying a word to her and she hoped that he had not come to harm after the shock of learning about his daughter’s death. She had seemed, and indeed she was, sincere.
Pisani had not mentioned his conversation with Menico to a soul, not even to Zen. He had admitted to his friend that he had guessed that the old sailor might be the murderer they had been seeking and he had also confessed that he’d gone to his house. Daniele had given him a fierce telling-off for such imprudence. But Marco had shrugged it off, saying that, though the door had been open, the house had been empty, even though the Turkish clothing and the coil of rope served as sufficient evidence to confirm his suspicions.
He’d recounted the same concoction of half-truths to Chiara, who had looked at him with understanding but not said a word.
The inquisitors had been pleased that the case had been resolved and they had finally presented the investigations to the Council of Ten. Labia would be quietly put on trial in due course and sentenced to exile. He was a figure who brought prestige neither to his family nor to the Republic. For the time being he was still in the Piombi, where a series of manservants, barbers, wig-makers and tailors waited daily on his every need. He had even managed to have his fellow prisoner given a bath, shaved and provided with a new set of garments. A special servant had been employed to set traps all around the cell and had already caught a dozen or more rats. Marco smiled to himself at the thought.
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