by Claire North
How is this house standing in this place? How can it be here, where it was not a few months ago? It is as if the street itself shuffled ungainly to the side to make room for it, buildings all around squeezing a little tighter, and yet she has wracked her brains and she cannot remember any building works or hearing any rumours of this place until the day she came to its lion-headed door.
She has questions, but knows the answers are not yet hers; not until victory.
Games.
They focus her.
Thoughts sharpen.
The complexities of the world are simpler here.
Black, white.
Forward, back.
Win, lose.
She plays, her mask still on her face, and she wins without thought, without passion, without enthusiasm for the victory, but with an intensity that speaks of another game, another Thene, working behind the mask.
We watch her, and she does not see us, so intensely her mind turns to the game, until…
…another player sits opposite her at the chess set.
He wears a mask that is nearly the twin of hers: white, soulless.
She looks and starts – a huge reaction for her – towers topple, earth shakes, she starts in surprise but hides it at once and perhaps it was not even seen, save by us who have so long been in her company.
The other, the player, says:
- Shall we?
She gestures her acceptance.
They play.
A while they are silent.
Pawns fall, knights scuttle, bishops are swapped for bishops, queens break from cover, kings cower by the castles, quick moves and silent periods of contemplation, until at last, without very much business about it, the other, the man, says:
- You will lose, my lady.
- She looks up from the board into his empty face, then back down at the board and is silent a while. - The position is balanced, she replies.
- No, he answers. - It is not.
Again she raises her head, and his eyes are blue, so very blue where they meet her own. Who is this man? She can recognise, even behind the mask, the face of he who played Tiapolo, and knows that player to be no threat. Is this stranger now Contarini’s man, the player who pulls his elusive puppet’s strings? But no.
No.
She knew at the moment he sat, she knew without the need of words what he is, who he is, his purpose tonight.
He plays Faliere, and though the board between them is even, the board that matters is not.
She knows, as she has known for a while, that he is winning. He has won Zanzano, and though as matters presently stand, she thinks the Senate is for Contarini, yet Falliere has many cards yet to play, and he is waiting to make a great move.
- What would you do? she asks, almost surprised to hear herself speak. - To win, what would you do?
He doesn’t pause to think about the question.
- Anything, he replies. - Anything.
- So would I, she says, leaning away from the board.
Then, - We should stop this, she says, gesturing at the game between them.
- You said it was evenly balanced.
- The game before us is, but we are now playing another by different rules. I dislike the asymmetry of it.
- No one said the game was simple. If you don’t feel ready for the challenge…?
- Do you ask that because of my actions, or my sex?
- I merely ask.
- You are wrong.
- Am I?
- In one regard. You say that I am losing, but you are mistaken. At this point in time, you and perhaps Contarini are ahead in the count, winning the election. I am not. But, sir, my time has not yet come. Do not assume that you have won until every player has made their move.
- I assume nothing. And yet here you are, my lady, alone in the Gameshouse while your drunken husband whores and gambles alone in the house you wish to leave behind. You assume every air and speak the speech as if it were doctrine, but you are still only the Jew’s daughter. As for the game between us…shall we call it a draw or would you like to test your mettle tonight in preparation for tomorrow?
Her hands are soft in her lap. Her voice is light as breath. She has mastered both these things from a long time ago.
- Let us call it a draw, she replies. - I think the joy may have gone from it for now.
Alone.
In the dark.
Walking.
She is angry.
So long she has been angry, and so long she has bitten it down, becoming nothing at all but tonight there!
It rises.
It rises.
She rages!
Rage!
Rage.
Until it goes.
And then she is alone again, and with the buoyancy of anger spent, she feels small and lost in this world.
Chapter 20
A moment in which we look inward.
Let us make an inventory together as Thene walks through the palazzo of Angelo Seluda, her piece, her king-in-waiting. We count up servants, slaves, nieces, nephews, cousins from the countryside, wife, two daughters, a son, physician, nurse, accountant, couriers, sailors, merchants and knaves. Dozens of people flitter in and out of the house of Seluda every day, and no one seems to keep an account of their activities.
She asks herself a question:
What wouldn’t I do?
To win.
Nothing. There is nothing.
In the evening she stands before Seluda at his table weighed with messages and papers and says:
- The prostitutes must stop.
He splutters some denial.
- I have spoken with certain ladies who make little effort to disguise their purposes in this place. They are a risk to the security of this endeavour. I have other requests.
- Requests?
- Suggestions you would be wise to consider. Too many unknown people come in and out of this place; too many letters are sent by too many men; too few precautions are taken. I have spent the last few days gathering information on your rivals, positioning pieces to be of service in your cause, and I have no doubt that others are doing the same. You are a threat to them as they are to you; therefore they will be acting against you. From now on, greater care with security must be taken.
- This seems…
- … do you want to win?
- Yes.
- … then as I say, I have some suggestions. We must guard your warehouses, protect your ships. Your power is money, prestige, the friends you have, the contacts you’ve made. We secure your wealth, remove it from anyone or anything which might be a risk. If you have supported gambling nephews, that support now ceases. If you have loans in play, recall them now. You have men-at-arms who you trust? They secure this house, your family, your gold. And no one captain works alone: two captains together, that they might watch each other, guarantee the other’s loyalty. No messages are sent unnecessarily, and when you do dispatch a note, your messengers do not wear house colours, decoys are sent and secrecy is maintained. In the Doge’s palace, we must look who to bribe and who is a lost cause already; this election will be won with money. Do not trust people who are too easily swayed; they may be swayed by another’s cause. Every night tonight you will dine with groups of your dearest friends and your more questionable allies – but if you have eating habits, you will now change them. Simple dishes, you must eat foods you dislike, drink modestly, commit few indiscretions. Anyone who you do not fully trust, send away for the coming two weeks. Anyone or anything which could be used as leverage against you, we also retire. A castle is as strong as its weakest point – I cannot win the game for you if you are defeated from within.
- You talk like a general, like Tacitus himself! he says.
- I am a player, she replies. - I know the value of a good defence.
- What you propose is very costly.
- Do you wish to win?
- Of course.
- Then invest in victory.
Chapter 21
A letter from the King of Coins arrives at last! We have checked for messengers every day, never running, never in a hurry – we would never be caught being so undignified – but at last, at last it is here, on the cusp of that moment which would have been almost too late.
She forces herself to open it slowly. Splits the wax. Unfolds the paper. Holds it close to the flame. There is strength in being slow; intelligence in never rushing. She must be strong.
The King of Coins says that he has a cousin who has a cousin who has a sister whose husband’s brother was married to…
…you know how it goes…
Someone whose word he trusts – this is the heart of it – helped wipe up blood from a cellar floor in Milan some two and a half years ago. The boy who bled was a Venetian who had made an unwise accord with a woman whose brother was not of good humour in this regard. The boy died; the sister sent to a convent. They say the boy’s remains were thrown into the river, but that is not the whole story, for the water in Milan is sluggish and no sooner were the remains dumped then they were pulled out again and the unknown corpse was buried in a patch of unsanctified ground where now wild garlic grows. - Now I know a man who knows a man who has a cousin who has been known of a quiet night to dig up corpses from their fresh graves and carry them to the scholars of the city, who all in secret dig through guts in search of mysteries, and prophecy a new age of blood and bone. Upon hearing some tale of your lost boy, I asked this friend to make a little enquiry, and he pulled a corpse from the earth that had upon its flesh, a most terrible tale to tell.
Yet they say that the body wore a ring upon its finger that bears a seal.
Would you like to guess to whom that ring belonged?
And then Seluda says – no, roars:
- Never!
She stands before his ire, hands clasped in front of her, shoulders pulled back, and says simply, - If we are to win this battle, we will need the support of Marco Belligno.
- He is my bitterest enemy, a whoreson, an eater of dung…
- He is also an important piece in this game, one which has been sorely neglected by the other players. I do not think he can win by himself, but he commands a significant faction which, if it can be swayed to our side, will help secure the day.
- I will never work with that man. I will never—
- You need not speak to him; I will handle that. The important consideration here is what you are willing to agree.
- Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!
- Then, sir, I do not think you shall ever be a Tribune.
- You are a player! You are supposed to make this happen!
- I am only as good as the cards that are dealt me.
- A player should be able to win off any hand.
- We both know that is not always the case. There are those in Venice who consider you an outside candidate, and marvel that your name is even considered. I have a great deal of work to do to put you in a position where you can win this. Belligno is the ignored partner in this – I can use him.
- What about Zanzano? He’s a friend, he’s a good man…
- …he has been bought by Faliere.
- Then buy him for more!
- I do not think that will solve the problem. He is, as you say, a good man. The definition of “good” is such that it is best encapsulated by the terms of being a man who, having taken a bribe, will not take another that runs contrary to his original contract. Nor can I believe that it was purely wealth that was offered him, since he has such an abundance of his own, but rather something more subtle we have yet to determine. Other players have cards they have played as well as I.
- We need Zanzano’s support…
- And we will get it, but not by flattery or bribery. Rather, if we are to secure the support of Zanzano we must demonstrate that Faliere’s tenure, profitable though it might appear, will do greater harm than good to interests other than the lining of his purse. The only thing which Zanzano prizes more than money is honour – that therefore is what we must target and the tool we must use. Securing the support of Belligno is honourable if done correctly, and the policy I wish to pursue.
- I will not speak to that man.
She considers, a question which she does not want to ask, has no interest in yet which rears its head and will not leave her until it is uttered. - Did you betray Belligno’s son? she asks at last. - Did you betray him to Milan?
He is silent a while, and in that silence is a great answer and a great deceit that, just this once, has the good grace not to be uttered. - You’re a player, he says at last. - You must know something of grief, if you would use the grief of my enemy to make him my friend. Tell me then, my queen of stone, do you know something of anger? Of rage and jealousy? Or are they merely tools, as the chisel is, which you use to carve your victory like a mathematician, all lines and no heart?
- I know grief, she replied, - and rage. I know them so well that I think they have burnt a part of me to ash, leaving only the shape of what they were inside me, and not the feeling itself. I do not care if you betrayed Belligno’s child to his death. I care that you cannot be caught at it.
- There is no proof that I did anything, he replied. - There never was.
- Then that is enough.
Chapter 22
And then she stands before Marco Belligno and says:
- I need you to cast your lot in with Angelo Seluda.
Belligno, the fish merchant’s son, who has married his daughters off nearly well enough that people no longer dare mention his origin (at least, not to his face) cannot hide his astonishment.
- Are you mad?! he exclaims. - Are you looking to die? Do not think that because you are a woman I will not split you in two where you stand, are you mad? Now I know the old man cannot have sent you unless he despises you and hopes that I will do his dirty work, destroy you where you stand, in which case you are betrayed, or you are not and he is mad, you are mad, all things are madness!
- You are not going to reach the Supreme Tribunal, she says simply. - Faliere and Condarini have the election too closely held. The most you can hope to do is push your support one way or the other for a suitable consideration. Faliere and Condarini will not bother to bribe you because they assume that Seluda, being your enemy, will take action against you instead. Either way, and however you view the argument, your support – your considerable yet insufficient support – is something that must be either won round or destroyed. I wish to win you round.
- I would never…
- I believe you lost a son?
Silence now. He is silent, though whether he will burst or whether he will stumble, who can say? She pushes on.
- The rumour is that Seluda sold him to a Milanese man who believed your son had violated the honour of his sister. I do not believe that Angelo Seluda had the opportunity, though doubtless he had some motive in this. Regardless, no one would confess to having kidnapped and murdered your child, and so you must persist in ignorance. Ignorance can be worse than knowing, can it not? I had an agent make some enquiries. He has a cousin in Milan who is physician to certain well-placed gentlemen. I can resolve this matter for you, should you wish it done.
- Resolve?
- Should you wish it so.
- My son…is dead.
- Yes.
- You know?
- Yes.
- You can prove it? You can prove that he died?
- Yes. And I can deliver to you his remains, with proof that they are his, for proper burial. And I can give you the man who killed him.
- And for this you want me to sacrifice my family honour, my family name?
- No. For this I ask that you make peace. There is a great deal of profit to be made between you and Seluda. Divided, you are easy prey to the machinations of Faliere and Contarini: they know that while you war together you cannot war against anyone else. Peace will bring great opportunities, and more. More, that only peace can bring.
And for a moment, it
seems as if he is considering.
Chapter 23
At night, as she returns, she knows she is watched.
This time she stops in the middle of a square and turns and looks, and does not see the watcher but a glimpse of coat, a slither of boot as her follower turns into the shadow. She stands straight to show them that she is not afraid. Her mask is bright in the moonlight, and for a while there she stays, waiting, until at last the cold settles on her and she turns and returns home, and is followed no more.
Chapter 24
Belligno sends word.
Bring me the body of my child, he says, - and bring me the man who wrought his death, and I am yours.
The man who wrought his death is in Milan, but she has planned for this too, and knows just the card to play.
Galliard Viole, the Fool. He is a Frenchman who, having discovered himself unremarkable in France, travelled to Italy where the novelty of his being French might be at the very least somewhat more entertaining to the mighty. A short man, he is neither excessively witty nor particularly droll, but has mastered some of the essential arts of being a courtier as heaping liberal praise on the mighty and heavy scorn on those whom he predicts will shortly fall. Indeed, it is this latter characteristic – the ability to lose friends wisely – which has doubtless kept him alive as he journeys, ever hopeful, through life.
She meets him by the pier to Forli, hands him one thousand ducats, a sword and a pistol.
- Ah, Milan! he exclaims joyously. - A beautiful city, if somewhat humourlessly run! I have missed its women.
- You do not strike me as particularly foolish, she confesses as he pulls his cloak tighter about his shoulders.
- Do I not? he asks brightly. - That is very strange. I played in the Gameshouse when I was young, and cheated in order to win. The very same night, the umpires found me, and took me before the Gamesmaster, who said that I had broken the laws of civilised men and would pay the highest forfeit and become a servant to the house for a term of one hundred years, until my lesson was learned and my debt was paid. I laughed in her face and told her that she was a ridiculous, over-puffed old lady in a stupid dress, and the next day my wife died, and the day after that my only child, and on the third day my father fell ill, and on the fourth I knelt at her feet and kissed her white pointed shoe and begged her to stop, told her I was hers for ever, and she asked if I knew now what it meant to be a fool. That was seventy-three years ago. In twenty-seven years, I think she will let me die.
