A Richer Dust Concealed: A gripping historical mystery thriller you won’t be able to put down!

by R P Nathan

  “Right,” said Julius when they were done. “Do you guys fancy some lunch?”

  “We’ve already eaten,” I said sourly.

  “Suit yourself. See you later then. Or will you already be gone? If so can you leave some cash for the room?”

  “Catch you back in England,” said Duncan cheerfully.

  Julius gave a little shrug to Patrick – you know how it is, doesn’t change anything between us – and then he and Duncan were gone.

  “Enjoy Naples!” I yelled down the stairs after them and then felt like an idiot. I clumped back into the room, pulled out my rucksack and started retrieving clothes from the floor. “Can you believe them?”

  Patrick sat down on his bed.

  “The cheek of them.” I was furiously stuffing trousers, shirts, and underwear into my pack in any old order. “And he did not get off with Sarah. She doesn’t even fancy him.” I cleared my toiletries into my washbag and crammed it into the infeasibly small space remaining at the top of the rucksack. It was me she liked. I yanked the webbing straps as hard as I could to get it closed, to hold it together. I mean we’d almost had sex for Pete’s sake.

  But then why hadn’t she dropped by or left a message?

  Why had she left without saying goodbye?

  I looked up feeling crosser than ever and then saw that Patrick was still just sitting there. “Come on, we need to get going.”

  He raised his face from his hands. “But where? Are we still going to Naples?”

  “No, of course not. We’re going to Venice.”

  “Venice?”

  I hesitated and then realised it was a little late to be coy. “I agreed with Sarah that I’d meet her there in a couple of days.”

  “You did?” He didn’t even sound that surprised any more.

  “Yeah. So, I thought we could go up to Venice, get a nice pad and wait for the girls to arrive. Just the two of us and the two of them.”

  He made a face. “What’s the point? Maya doesn’t like me.”

  “Of course she does.”

  He looked at me and sighed. “I really like her you know.”

  “I know. And I really like Sarah. And if we meet up with them we’ve got a chance to do something about it. So why don’t you get your stuff together and start thinking about what you’re going to say to Maya when you see her in St Mark’s Square.”

  Chapter 4

  There was a train at 1.30. It was reservations only but by the time we got to the station it was already twenty past so we thought we’d wing it.

  We shuffled under the weight of our rucksacks straight to the platform. The train was there and we walked past first class and squeezed on where second began. Patrick stayed with our packs and I walked unhindered through the carriages to find a seat. But it was completely packed, and I ended up rejoining him in the connecting area between cars 5 and 6, along with a couple of young Italian women who’d just done the same tour of the carriages as me.

  The doors closed and we moved smoothly away. A pair of ticket inspectors came by almost immediately and remonstrated that we needed reservations. But we just remonstrated back that we didn’t speak Italian, safe in the knowledge that the next stop was Florence and we couldn’t get kicked off till then. Eventually, one of the Italian girls stepped in and said a few calming words. The inspectors sighed and shrugged, clipped her ticket and her companion’s, glared at our inter-rail passes and then left us alone.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” She was mid-twenties with thick brown curly hair. Now I looked closer, I saw her companion was much younger, maybe only sixteen, mousy blonde. “I told them you were medical students on your way to a conference on cancer,” she continued smiling. “They were more understanding then.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a medical student on the way to a conference on cancer.”

  Patrick and I laughed.

  We all sat down on the floor, making ourselves as comfortable as we could against the vibrating metal walls.

  “I’m Carlotta Contarini,” she said.

  “John.”

  “Patrick.”

  I looked at the seventeen year old encouragingly. She stared back stony faced. “Non parlo inglese,” she said eventually, pointedly.

  “Her name is Fran,” said Carlotta. “She’s my cousin.” Fran just shrugged at us uninterestedly.

  “Are you from Venice?” I asked.

  “My family is and Fran lives there. I work and study in Rome. Now I must be rude and read through some of the notes I have brought with me.” She pulled out a handful of papers and a pair of reading glasses. She said something to her cousin who huffed out a sigh, then stood up again and stared out of the window. Carlotta exchanged an amused glance with us and then settled down to read, putting her fingers in her ears.

  I knew if we just sat there with nothing to do we’d spend the whole journey fretting about Sarah and Maya and the bust up with Julius, so I retrieved the two books I’d bought from my rucksack. I caught Carlotta’s eye as she was looking up, thinking about a passage she had read. She smiled at me then concentrated on her paper again.

  I opened Shaeffer’s notebook to the translation at the back, looked at Patrick who nodded and I held it between us so that we could both see.

  15 September 1570

  We walked back from the beach retracing the steps by which we had come until we reached our horses. It being close to eleven o’clock, and the sun high, we servants, our blindfolds by now removed, proceeded to prepare some small repast from the victuals we had brought with us, and we ate them there and then, just some pieces of meat, and some cheese and bread and a draft of sweet Cyprus wine.

  Our meal over, we saddled up to return to the city. We rode in silence and I fancy every man and not just this unworthy servant was thinking upon the sight he had seen. I felt even more certain of this as my master had not reproached me for my behaviour on the beach. And I was glad that there were no harsh words from him in the light of what was to follow.

  We rode without break taking the same path we had the previous night but now we rode faster for we had the benefit of light, and in less than an hour we had covered the distance to the outskirts of the city. We approached from the south where the land though flat was strewn about with rocks and boulders. Although the previous night we had seen no sign of the Turks we made our approach with care for their scouts were already active in the area, and we knew that Mustafa Pasha’s army would soon be making the march up from Nicosia.

  Thus when we were yet half a league from the walls we stopped in a sheltered place and my master and I and Count Sigismondo and my friend Giuseppe, who was his servant, dismounted and leaving our horses with the remainder of the company, we walked forwards as an advance party to spy the land and to ensure our way was clear.

  We made our way some two hundred yards through a rocky approach and then moved cautiously into the open on the other side, keeping low amongst the scrubby bushes and the blowing dust. We surveyed carefully but there was no sign of the Turk and the way over to the Limisso gate, some mile away, seemed clear. We stood up straight and signalled to the rest of our party with the wave of a red pennant. They signalled back and began to ride to us.

  The four of us walked on a little further into the open still scanning the countryside for movement. The sun was high in the sky now and beat down on us, its light flashing from my master’s polished breastplate. Suddenly over to my right, but a hundred yards distant, I caught the same glint amidst a clump of low rocks there. I turned and cried a warning but even as I did so there was a puff of smoke and my master fell to the ground with a musket ball smashed into him. As I ran to him more shots rang out and I threw myself to the ground crawling to his side. But the musket ball had blown a hole in his armour, a clean shot right in the centre of the breastplate guided by the faithless sun. His head was to one side and blood came from his mouth and I kissed him and closed his eyes for he was already dead.


  There was continued fire onto us and the Count Sigismondo had also fallen. I could see from the continuing puffs of smoke that there were perhaps only ten Turks attacking us. I looked round to our horsemen and saw that they had assessed the situation the same and were riding on the Turks’ position, fearless of their muskets. I saw the Turks stand up and wave empty hands signalling their cowards’ surrender. Our company slowed accordingly but suddenly musket shots came from the left hitting two of our horses immediately. At the same time the Turks in front picked up their weapons again and began to fire now at close range and I realised a trap had been set for us and our lords were caught in a deadly cross fire.

  From my position I could do nothing so I helped Giuseppe to drag Count Sigismondo towards the closest rocks which provided what cover there was. The Count was badly injured though still breathing. He bore a wound to his side where a ball had ripped through the seam of his armour but Giuseppe thanked God for the ball had not lodged inside him. He carefully removed his master’s upper garments and cleaned the wound as best he could. Meanwhile I tore my linen shirt into strips and Giuseppe used them to bind the Count’s side to staunch his blood.

  About us the dust whipped into a cloud, the sun blazed down and all was confusion. Our horse had been split and two were galloping away riderless from the mayhem. On the ground I could see three bodies of our company. The remainder were still circling, reining their horses to control them, undecided whether they should press forward or retire to their original cover. But then Captain Bragadino spurred his mount and drew his sabre from its scabbard and cried aloud an exhortation to Venice and to God; and the others, encouraged, drew swords also and charged with him. They smashed into the enemy and my heart leapt as I saw the Turks cut down, their raised musket butts no match for the fury of Venetian steel. Our company broke them entirely and rode on through the flashing sun and the dust and the blood to the Limisso gate and safety.

  I looked to Giuseppe with relief for their escape, but with a shared knowledge of what was to come next. For the Turks who had lain in ambush whilst their fellows had allowed themselves to draw fire were now advancing upon us. There were a dozen of them and having fired off their muskets they now drew their cruel scimitars and ran forward through the dust.

  Giuseppe and I drew swords also. And we sat Count Sigismondo up against a stone, for he was a little recovered, and drew his long knife for him and he was grateful and he held it before him determined to sell his life dear. Then Giuseppe and I embraced. For we were old friends from the same quarter in Verona, and we had played together when we were boys along with my brother Antonio. And we told each other that we would see each other in heaven that very day where we would be welcomed by St Mark and our good masters, mine already gone there. And Count Sigismondo laughed to hear us, for it raised all our spirits, though we could see that the effort pained him.

  And then the Turks were upon us wielding their crescent blades high so that the sun shone along them like star gleams. We jumped back and onto the rocks. Two came at me at once and I swung my blade killing the first outright, clashing steels with the second. My arm jarred with the force but my higher ground told and I turned him and kicked him away. I felt a sharp pain in my back and twisted round. Another Turk had jumped onto the rock behind me but he struck before he was at balance and missed me. I jumped down and swung at his legs as he made to chop down onto me. I caught him first and he fell dead to the ground.

  The Turks fell back, surprised by the fury of our resistance. I looked round and saw Giuseppe, his left arm thick with blood, standing over his master. The count was slumped, a scimitar thrust into him. Giuseppe wept openly out of love for him and anger too.

  I called to him and we scrambled back onto the rocks and stood there together, our chests heaving, burning with the effort, our brows encrusted with dirt and blood and baked under the sun’s high heat. “My master is dead,” he said grimly. “And I will die with him rather than subject myself to the mastery of the Turk.” I nodded and we embraced once more and stood there back to back now as the Turks came charging through the dust at us for the final time. All of them together, their scimitars aloft and yelling in their language terrible impious words. They closed around us and though we fought back bravely, too soon they forced us from the rocks. I saw Giuseppe fall to the ground and then I was struck on the shoulder and fell also. I was on all fours and held out my sword one last time. To strike a final blow for my master and for Venice and for Giuseppe before I was killed. But my sword was knocked away and I was without defence. I closed my eyes and prayed to God and waited for the blow to fall.

  But it did not come, for blessed, uncalled for, my assailant was suddenly thrown aside in a clattering of hooves, his chest speared through by a lance and from it like some miracle of God appeared a banner bearing the winged lion of St Mark and it had not been touched by his bloody entrails or the dirt and was on a virgin white background still and he fell with the mighty power of Venice shown to him.

  Captain Bragadino, for it was he who had returned to save us, most blessed of all captains which have ever served Venice, dropped the lance and drew his sabre and cut down two Turks with a blow this way and that. And my heart leaped for his charge had put our enemies into chaos. Looking round, I saw that Giuseppe that I had thought dead was alive still and I helped him to his feet for he was weak from his wounds. Captain Bragadino and his faithful horseman Zani wheeled their horses and cantered to us. I helped Giuseppe onto Zani’s horse and then I clambered up behind Captain Bragadino himself and we galloped towards the gate. He had let none others risk themselves save him and his squire, and I almost cried in gratitude; and then I did cry in anguish as I thought of my dead master.

  “What ails thee?” he inquired of me.

  “My master, the Count Bugon, is dead, sire.”

  “Ah, this has proved a bitter day indeed. We have lost five by my reckoning. And there have been greater men, but one was my servant Alvise and I loved him. What is your name?”

  “Girolamo Polidoro, sire.”

  “Polidoro, since you have lost a master today and I a servant, what say you to serving me?”

  I was so overwhelmed that I could but nod and I struggled to hold back my tears. He looked over his shoulder at me and nodded also in satisfaction. “I will need a brave man with me in the days to come, Polidoro.”

  “Yes, sire,” I blurted now. “And I vow to you that I will save you one day as you have saved me.”

  He laughed. “There will be plenty of occasion for that. The Pasha’s army is almost upon us and the siege of Famagusta will begin in but a matter of days. Now hold to me tight, Polidoro. We must cross this open space to get to the walls and the enemy might be lurking for another attack.” So I held close to my new master; he spurred his horse and we rode like the wind.

  Chapter 5

  At Florence some seats came free and Patrick and I settled down at a table with Carlotta and Fran sitting opposite. Carlotta continued to read her papers. Her cousin took a pack of playing cards from her pocket and started to shuffle. It looked at first like she was going to deal them out for a game of patience but she didn’t; she just kept shuffling, her hands moving lazily but precisely, her face toward the window, her bored expression turned away from us. The motif on the back of the cards was unusual and I inclined my head to see it more clearly: a blue-green background with a winged lion sitting above an X.

  There were voices from down the corridor and the ticket inspectors appeared again. This time though they just glared at us and walked past.

  On returning safe within the city walls I wanted no more than to lay down and sleep. But many things had to be done and were immediately asked of me once I was back. Captain Bragadino gave me but one hour to fetch my belongings from the Count Bugon’s residence and to bring them and myself to his own servants’ quarters. There I dressed myself in the manner of his household and was required almost immediately to attend upon his person.

  He
was weary after the battle and spoke little but there was one piece of news which was brought to him whilst I was there. The city of Kyrenia has surrendered without a shot being fired, unhappy tidings as Commandant Giovan-Maria Mudazzo and Captain Alfonso Palazzo had previously declared their intention of holding out as long as they could. It is clear that the Turks are now free to overrun the island at their leisure and that the only resistance will come from Famagusta.

  16 September 1570

  I went to see Giuseppe to take him news and was greatly pleased to see that he was recovering from his wounds and his fever had passed. It heartened me to see him so well changed and I embraced him fondly. Yet he was still weak and, though able to stand, walking and fighting will surely be beyond him for some time.

  17 September 1570

  All is change. I have been detailed along with most of the able men and women in the city to work on the fortification of the walls. Hard work but necessary and I have been told to expect my duties will remain as such whilst the enemy is without.

  Many Turks were riding to and fro today as we laboured on the battlements. They rode carrying on lances the heads of those killed in Nicosia. A sight that raised not terror but defiance in our hearts. They sent a messenger to parley with our commanders and ask them to surrender the city. This was of course refused and the messenger sent away. In the afternoon Turkish forces moved up in full to the outskirts of Famagusta bringing with them guns and timber and all manner of materials for war.

  18 September 1570

  We expect the Turks to attack at any time now. We have set in place what defences we can and now must wait upon the mood of the enemy and the mercy of God.

  While time still remains to me I shall describe the layout of the city. The lines of fortification form an imperfect square with the harbour on the eastern side. The circuit of the fortress is some two and a half miles and the walls throughout are excellent and of stone. On the land side these are twenty feet thick with a ditch in front of it at least twelve paces broad.