by R P Nathan
“They’re not police,” said Patrick. “They’re Loredan’s men.”
“So why haven’t they questioned us or tortured us or something?”
Patrick shrugged. “Because they know what they’re looking for. They’re just getting on with it.”
“And then what?” asked Sarah. “What happens to us when they find it? Will they just let us go again?”
“Sure,” said Patrick. “Why not.” But he said it too quickly, and even he didn’t sound convinced.
Sarah hung her head. “What are we doing here?” she muttered wearily.
I licked my lips and swallowed and then, my voice no more than a low croak, whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh. You’re awake now. How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “I feel quite bruised. How are you feeling?”
“OK. We got a whack on the head each. I think you copped the worst.”
“I guess.” I was drowsy still, my mind unclear, and it felt like a struggle to make sense of the situation. “I don’t understand why you’re here,” I repeated.
“Same reason as you.”
“What I mean is, why have you brought Patrick with you? He shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m OK, John. Really I am. We were worried that something would happen. We thought—” Patrick stopped abruptly and, even in the dancing glimmer of the firelight, I could see the awkward look on his face.
Sarah helped him out. “We thought you and Julius would... would come to some harm,”
“From each other,” added Patrick. Sarah glared at him.
The thoughts registered dully, echoing earlier thoughts. “You thought Julius was in danger from me?” I said eventually.
“We didn’t know what to think,” said Sarah looking suddenly distressed. “You headed off here on your own. And we saw your room…”
“Ah.” I nodded. “The room’s not me. It was once but not any more.”
“I know that now.” She tried to edge towards me, struggling against her bindings. But in the end she gave up. “I know that now,” she said again, her voice low.
“Well,” said Julius. “I agree with John on this one. I think it was pretty irresponsible of you to let Patrick come along.”
“Irresponsible?” she echoed in disbelief. “Me irresponsible—”
“Dragging Patrick over here—”
“I didn’t—”
“No one dragged me anywhere—”
“Whatever,” said Julius imperiously. He turned to me. “Are you sure you’re OK, John? Your face looks pretty bad.”
I shrugged. “I’m OK. Are you OK?”
“Sore head, but otherwise fine.”
“Since when did you two become such good friends?” Sarah muttered irritably.
“Just trying to get on,” said Julius.
She glared at us in turn and opened her mouth to say something more but just then there was a whoop of delight from the hole. We heard excited chatter between the two police officers. The one at the top shouted and then jumped into the pit himself.
Loredan ran over in time to see them reappear, manhandling an oblong wooden box between them, four feet long by two feet wide by a foot deep. They carried it away from the hole to a flat area of sand illuminated by the campfire; laid it down carefully and then made way for Loredan. He knelt over it, brushing the stray grains of sand from its surface.
“So it’s true,” sighed Julius. “It really exists.”
Loredan blinked his eyes closed, like he was saying a prayer, and then lifted the lid of the box. It opened outwards, hiding its contents from us.
There was a moment’s silence, a silence which gripped the whole beach so that even the sea fell suddenly quiet and the only sound was the barest whisper of the wind.
A moment.
Two.
Then a scream and the lid of the box was flipped back so hard that it broke away and landed with a thump on the sand. Loredan was revealed, kneeling there still, his face contorted in fury and even in the flickering yellow half-light we could see the interior of the box now as well: empty except for the twelve flat stones arranged inside.
Loredan stood up, his face contorted with rage. His men were peering into the box, their faces distraught. They picked over the stones, cursing. An angry exchange. Raised voices in Italian.
Sarah caught her breath. “They’re saying we’ve taken it. They’re saying we’ve taken the cross!” All three men were looking in our direction, and we stared back petrified. They started walking over, Loredan in front.
“Where is it?” he yelled at us.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Julius.
“Where is it?” He was incandescent with rage. “What have you done with the cross?”
“We don’t know where it is,” said Patrick. “We swear.”
“Silence!” He screwed up his face and bellowed with frustration. It was starting to get light and I could see him more clearly, tall, dressed in black and when he opened his eyes again, I could see them flash with anger. He seemed to be struggling to bring himself under control and then he turned and muttered something in Italian to his two henchmen. Sarah flinched.
He turned back to us. “If,” he said in English. “If you do not tell me what you have done with the cross then I will be forced to kill you one by one. Start with him.” He pointed at Patrick.
“But we only just got here,” said Sarah desperately. “How could we have taken it—?”
Loredan clicked his fingers and his men walked over to Patrick, picked him up between them, swung him high and then threw him to the ground. Patrick gasped as the air was knocked out of him.
“No!” Julius did a forward roll towards them, trying to catch the closest one off guard. But he easily jumped out of the way and gave Julius a savage kick in the stomach. He writhed in agony. “It’s nothing to do with Patrick,” Julius moaned. “I got him into this. I’m responsible—”
The uniformed man kicked him again and again until he fell silent.
“Tell me where the cross is,” said Loredan. “Tell me where it is and you all will live.”
“We don’t know,” sobbed Sarah. “Please leave us alone—”
“Do not take me for a fool.” He grabbed Patrick by the hair and shook him. “Tell me what you have done with it.”
“We... haven’t... done… anything…”
“Tell me!” He let Patrick go so that his head fell back hard onto the sand. Then he drew a pistol from inside his jacket, bent down and pushed the muzzle into Patrick’s face.
“Oh God,” groaned Julius.
“Let us go!” I shouted.
“Tell me where the cross is and I let you go. I count to three and then he dies.”
Patrick closed his eyes.
“One.”
“Please,” screamed Sarah, the tears rolling down her face. “Please don’t hurt him—”
“We don’t know anything—”
There was a click as the pistol cocked.
“Two.”
“Please—”
“Leave him.” A voice from behind us, strong commanding. “Let him go.”
There was the sound of footsteps and three policemen ran into view, guns drawn. They pushed Loredan away from Patrick and took his pistol.
“Release them,” the voice said again, still out of view, a woman’s voice, clear and cool. The policemen who had just arrived pulled out knives and cut the ropes binding us, helping Patrick up to a sitting position, helping us all up as we gabbled our thanks to them.
They sat us with our backs resting against the largest boulder, facing down the beach to the sea. As well as the three who had helped us a further three police were standing on the shoreline, two women and a man. The sun had risen and we squinted into its glare to make out their faces.
“Thank you,” Sarah called to them, massaging her wrists and ankles.
“Thank you so much,” I chorused. “You came just in time. The
y’re not real police.” I pointed at Loredan’s men. “They’re impostors.”
“Of course they’re not real police,” said the woman in charge, the one in the middle of the three uniformed figures by the water’s edge. “Neither are we.”
The smiles faded on our faces.
She took a couple of steps up the beach. “There is no need for guns here,” she said waving at her three men who had liberated us and who were guarding the others with drawn pistols. They holstered their weapons. One of them walked to the box and inspected its contents.
“It is empty, Capo,” he said and held up one of the smooth stones from inside. “Just these.”
“Under whose authority was the box opened before I arrived?” the woman asked.
“Under my authority.” Loredan stepped forward, brushing past those guarding him. He walked down the beach and stood before her. He was taller but she was in now way cowed.
“You have no authority here, Loredan. You should not even be here.”
“I would not be here if left to you. Luckily young Galbaio knows where his loyalties lie.”
“You’d asked me to alert the members of the Ten, Capo.” It was a policeman standing on the shoreline who spoke, the anxiety clear in his voice. “I hope I did nothing wrong. I did tell Uncle he was to wait—”
“Wait,” sneered Loredan. “I wait while the Capo comes for the cross herself. How convenient. And how ironic when I am the only member of the Ten who ever placed any credence in the old stories about this treasure.”
“Not the only one, Loredan,” she said. “And I asked you to wait behind for a reason.”
“Because you wanted the cross for yourself—”
“Because you are too impulsive; as your family has always been. Your activities in our name have drawn attention, and made things more difficult for us all as a consequence.”
“A real Capo—”
“I am a real Capo, Loredan—”
“—would understand that I have done what I’ve done to keep the spirit of Venice alive.”
“Bombings. Terrorism. Your methods provoke anger and outrage. Times have changed. So must we. There are other ways to get what we want.”
Loredan snorted. “You are weak like Galbaio’s father. He gave the books away when I was on the point of a breakthrough. You let them come here and try and steal this treasure out from under our noses.”
“I am here aren’t I?”
“Too late it seems. Is this how you will free Venice?”
“Venice will not be freed overnight. It will require patience.”
“Patience is what destroyed Venice.”
“Patience helped Venice endure for a thousand years. You should learn its strength.”
“Strength comes through action.”
“Yet for all your action nothing has been achieved thus far. That is why a new approach is needed.”
He scowled and spat. “You and your politicians. I am already tired of your new approach.”
“Then you are tired of being part of the Ten.”
“The Ten. The Ten.” He gave a hollow laugh. “We are but a shadow. And now you will destroy us entirely.”
“You doubt my leadership, Loredan?”
“I doubt those who put a girl in charge.”
“I am Capo because of who I am. And because of what I will do. Look at me Loredan.”
Loredan had turned to walk away.
“Look at me!” Her voice was deep and suddenly commanding and Loredan slowly turned to face her. She drew herself up to full height. “I may be a girl, Loredan, but never forget who I am. I am Francesca Morosini, descendant of Francesco, Commander Doge, Scourge of the Ottomans, Defender of Crete, and Conqueror of the Peloponnese. I am Capo of the Ten, elected to serve all Venice. And I will have your allegiance whether you like it or not.”
Then she put her hand out to him and, her voice grown soft, she said, “One day, Loredan, our Venice will rise again. You know it to be true.”
He grimaced. “One day,” he said. “I will be Capo. Then things will be different.”
She shrugged. “When you are Capo, you will have my loyalty. Because, my dear Loredan, until the World has changed, loyalty is all we have.” She smiled at him and he looked at her and nodded. He gave her the tiniest of bows and then strode back to the jeep with his two colleagues running behind. He started the engine and they drove away.
The four of us looked at each other blinking, not quite sure what we had just witnessed.
After a while the man standing by the empty box said, “If the cross is not here, then where is it? Was it Polidoro after all?”
“Polidoro?” She laughed clear as a bell; but cold like one too. “Polidoro didn’t have the cross. He thought he was so clever with his code but the Ten were waiting for him on his return and he was thoroughly interrogated. Let me assure you, Polidoro did not bring the cross back with him. Nor did he ever make any further attempt to retrieve it: he was watched by the Ten till the day he died.”
“Then who?”
She looked at the man and I thought that I had seen him somewhere before. “Tron,” she said, “four hundred years have passed since it was buried. Four hundred years. It could have been taken by anyone in that time.” She sighed. “There is nothing more to be done here. We will take the box with us as evidence.”
The man tipped the rocks out and, slipping the empty box under his arm, he walked back over the beach to the others.
“Hey,” called Julius. “Hey!”
The leader turned to face us haloed still by the sun.
“Do you want to tell us what’s going on here? Who the hell are you?”
“Who am I?” she said and then started laughing. “You mean you still haven’t recognised me?” They all started laughing now. She took off her cap and shook out her hair. “You mean you really don’t know who I am, Julius?”
I saw his face suddenly stiffen.
She took a step forward and for a moment she blocked out the sun and we saw her clearly: tall and willowy and beautiful.
“Julius,” said Patrick, his eyes narrowing. “Isn’t that your cleaning lady?”
Julius stared at her. “It can’t be...” he muttered disbelievingly. “Francesca?”
“And what about me?” called one of the men also walking forward. He too was tall, his hair dark but with a blond streak through it.
“Galbaio,” murmured Julius. “Giovanni Galbaio.”
“That’s the guy who sold us the book,” I said excitedly.
“At your service,” he said bowing low.
“Or me,” said the other woman, dark, her hair a curly brown. “Carlotta Contarini.”
“Or me, Nicolo Tron.”
We blinked at them as they stood there, handsome in the glittering morning sun.
“But…” said Julius eventually, his voice dry, his eyes blinking, still struggling to understand. “Francesca, who are you?”
She smiled at him gently now, kindly. “Were you not listening, Julius? We are the Council of Ten.”
“But how can you be? The Ten were dissolved two hundred years ago when Venice fell to Napoleon.”
“Did you think the institutions and structures of so great a nation would just disappear? That they would simply die? No, the Ten survived and has survived ever since. In secret we continue to protect Venice from her enemies and campaign for her liberation. Some would say we have little influence now but one day the Republic will be remade and Venice will rise again; and when that day comes we will be ready.”
“And Loredan?”
“A rival Julius. A dangerous rival. There are always factions are there not and different camps? Loredan does not respect me. But he respects the Capo of the Ten. While I am Capo that is enough.”
“But why did you want the cross?”
Now she laughed. “We have survived two hundred years, Julius. How do you think we have done that? By selling what fragments and artefacts we had to bribe and cajole to keep the
memory and power of Venice alive. The Most Holy Cross of St Peter and St Paul would have kept us going forever. But no matter. We must manage without it. You have Polidoro’s journal with you?”
“His journal?” said Julius, reddening.
She looked at Galbaio who walked over and picked up Julius’s satchel from where it lay on the sand, checked inside and then held it up. “I have it,” he said.
“Good. Then we shall go.”
“But, but...” Julius stuttered. “Francesca,” he called to her, looking at her, his eyes wide. “It’s just that you’re so different. You’re so... strong.”
She laughed and walked up the beach to him. “I was always strong. I desired you and I had you.” She bent down and kissed him hard on the lips. His arms dropped limply to his sides. She pulled his head back from her by his hair. “Goodbye, Julius,” she said. “I have enjoyed my time with you.”
She stood tall again and ran down the beach to the others. She drew a pistol from the holster on her belt and the others did the same. “You will not see us again,” she said and all six of them levelled their guns at us. “Shut your eyes.”
We closed them and I felt a sudden rush of fear that it should end like this after all. We heard the barking of their pistols and we fell backwards into the sand.
But after the shock of the moment had passed we realised they had fired over our heads and we were unhurt. We scrambled back to our feet but, by then, the Ten were already gone.
Chapter 47
It was seven o’clock and the sun had fully risen. We had lain on the beach for almost an hour after the Ten’s departure. Then, of one mind, we had silently refilled the hole. It seemed smaller in the daylight and, with four people working, it had taken no more than half an hour. The sand was level there now, a patch slightly darker than the rest if you looked closely enough.
When we were done we sat and ate the remains of the bread and cheese and stared out across the sparkling water. My mind was empty, my thoughts elsewhere, and I was happy just to be sitting there squinting against the brightness, savouring the morning breeze.
Over to my right Julius and Patrick were talking.
“When we get back,” said Julius, his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I want to spend some time together. Properly I mean. It’s been too long. You should come over,” he said including Sarah and me in the invitation. “I want to make amends.”
