‘Chlakopo beach is where the pirates bring their loot ashore, you see.’
That was the fearful servant’s last offering. It was going too far for him to offer names. After all, he had to live on this island after we had all gone. But there was one question I had to ask.
‘When you found the body, Domina Speranza said there was a . . . cloud, I think she said . . . yes, a cloud of butterflies that rose up from it. Is that true?’
I had remembered in the meantime why her description had chimed with something in my mind. Katie had related to me Speranza Soranzo’s own account of the discovery of St Beornwyn’s flayed body. It had apparently been modestly enveloped with blue butterflies. I was wondering if the miracle had been repeated. Antonis snorted in disbelief.
‘I told her the dogs disturbed some purple butterflies, and that to Greeks they represent the souls of the dead. But there were only two or three. Hardly a cloud.’
Not a miraculous cloud then, more like a figment of Speranza’s fond imagination. I dismissed Antonis, and he practically flew from the room, relief written on his swarthy face. My throat felt dry, and I poured myself a quite palatable Cretan wine of Querini’s. I believe it came from Candia. I decided I would have to follow up Antonis’ information, and find out the names of these petty pirates. The reason why I hadn’t pressed him for the names – besides not having him fear for his life – was that I was unconvinced that Querini’s death had been due to a brawl between thieves. Querini’s hands bore no signs of bruises or scrapes such as he would have got in a fight. However, it was important not to dismiss the idea out of hand. Someone could have crept up on him, and done him in. Besides, what other possibilities did I have at the moment? Katie might come up with something, but until she did, I decided my investigations warranted a journey back to the harbour at Kamares. Querini must have had drinking companions there who could have loose tongues. And the only other avenue I had was Galuppi. If he really did have any orders from the Doge that I was not party to, they may relate to clearing the husband from the scene in order to allow the daughter to return unencumbered. But that was going to be a hard one to tackle. A sojourn in an unnamed tavern close to the harbour had greater appeal as a line of investigation. I would get Querini’s servants to saddle a horse for me.
In the end the horse turned out to be more of a mule, and that was being kind to its ancestry. Perhaps donkey was a more accurate description. Its broad back and recalcitrant ways made the journey over the high back of the island long and sweltering. So I was glad to flop in the shade in one corner of the tavern where I had first seen Querini. In response to my demand for a good red wine, the tavern-keeper brought a jug of something he called Xinomavro. When I poured it into the cracked goblet he provided, it looked as black as old blood. I drank the first draught deeply and incautiously, and my mouth was sucked free of all moisture, leaving me thinking dried blood was an accurate description. I learned later that the name he gave it meant ‘sour black’, which was quite to the point. At first, I didn’t know if I was being played a trick on like some innocent traveller. But everyone else in the tavern seemed to be drinking the same wine, and there were no furtive glances to see if I had been taken in. I poured a second goblet, and took it more slowly. Soon the taste began to grow on me. It was either that, or I was getting drunk enough not to care. I smiled gently and looked around. Several of the faces were familiar from the time I had stormed in to confront Querini, and I wondered if they now knew of his death. And if they did, was it because one of them had been involved in his demise? They all looked like brigands to me.
When I had consumed most of the blood wine, I waved the jug at the tavern-keeper, whose lack of a name made him as anonymous as his hostelry. He brought another jug over, and plonked it on the table by my elbow, splashing some of the wine on my shirtsleeve. I half expected it to burn through the material, but it didn’t. Before he could leave, I grabbed his arm and asked him to sit a while. Reluctantly he did so, casting a defiant glance around the low-ceilinged room in case any of his cronies was of the impression he was consorting with the enemy. I broached the subject on my mind.
‘Querini. Was he a regular here?’
The stubble-chinned man scowled. ‘Why do you want to know? Going to pin his death on one of my customers?’
His Italian was good, which was fortunate. My Greek was execrable. But at least I had learned one thing quickly from his response. They knew Niccolo Querini was dead. I suppose I should not have been surprised – on such a small island bad news would travel fast. It was either that or someone in the tavern had murdered him and boasted of it.
‘Not unless someone here is guilty of his murder. I did hear that he had some . . . dealings . . . with local sailors that might have resulted in a falling out.’ I looked around the tavern. ‘Does anyone here fit the bill?’
The tavern-keeper let out a guttural laugh and spat on the rush-strewn floor.
‘Has Antonis been blabbing?’
I kept my mouth shut and my face impassive so as not to give the manservant away. So the tavern-keeper carried on.
‘You don’t need to say anything. He would spread any tale to divert attention from himself.’ He saw the surprise on my face. ‘Oh, yes, he’s dabbled in some offshore fishing, too, if you take my meaning. Him and that little pig-sticker dagger of his. But in answer to your question, there’s some here bold enough to steal, but no one with enough balls to kill a nobleman.’
I nodded sagely. ‘That’s as I thought. But tell me, did Querini talk about his wife much when he drank here?’
Another gob of spit splattered on the floor.
‘That witch? God rot her and her little familiar that follows her around.’
I guessed by the witch’s familiar he meant Brother Hugh. It was not very complimentary for a man of God, but quite apposite. I thought I would stir the pot a little and see what brewed.
‘They say the monk convinced her to deny Querini his rights as her husband, and to play the virgin.’
That amused the Greek, and he chortled deeply in his phlegmy throat.
‘She’s a fake virgin, if you ask me. But it’s true, what you say. Querini always used to boast how wild she was in bed, but recently she had denied him. He used to come here and drink the jug dry and bemoan his fate. He said he wasn’t getting anything from her purse either, though he always paid his bills here.’
We were back to Querini’s illegal business again, and I felt there was nothing more the man could offer. So as I had learned all I was going to from the tavern-keeper, I gave him a coin in way of payment for his information. He got up and shambled back to the corner of the room and his wine barrel, from where he presided over his domain. I too started to get up, but I had been sitting so long, my knees were stiff. They almost gave way under me, and I had to grip the edge of the table for support. It was a toss-up between whether it was infirmity or the effects of the Xinomavro. Whatever, I stayed where I was for a moment, and that slice of pure good luck meant I was not crossing the tavern floor when Galuppi entered. He had a black cloak on with the hood thrown over his head, but I recognised him all the same. No one else in Kamares had the gait of a man with a rod up his arse. I sat back down sharply, and leaned over my jug like some drunken Greek, hoping Galuppi wouldn’t spot me. I watched out the corner of my eye as he spoke briefly to the tavern-keeper. Then he was ushered through a door that presumably led to the owner’s private quarters. I waited to see what would happen next and was rewarded by the swift arrival of another familiar face. It wasn’t a local, but the debtor who was working off what he owed by being an oarsman in the galley that had brought us here. I racked my brain to recall his name, cursing age and poor memory, until it came. What was a common labourer like Stefano doing meeting up with the patrician Galuppi in an anonymous Greek tavern?
I didn’t want to be in the tavern when Galuppi or Stefano came out of the back room, so I got up, paid my bill, and went out into the coolness of the early evening
. Walking past the boatyard, I watched idly as a gnarled old man worked on the beginnings of a boat. He drove long nails into the overlapped planks, then bent the nails’ end back into the plank on the inside. I ambled past and, further along the quayside, I noticed a burly figure that I recognised. It was a ship’s captain I had used on a few colleganze – business enterprises overseas to you. I called out his name.
‘Captain Doria! What are you doing here?’
The grey-bearded, old sea dog looked up furtively from making a written record of the goods being loaded on his boat. He looked very concerned that someone had recognised him. Then he realised it was me.
‘Niccolo Zuliani, by the Devil. I might ask the same of you. I noticed that sleek vessel in the harbour, but I would hardly have associated it with you.’
His own vessel was patched and the wood grey and worn. But I knew it to be seaworthy, having trusted my money in it more than once. I gave him a vague explanation of my apparent improvement in fortune.
‘I wish it were mine. It’s borrowed, as I’m on some business for a big man in La Serenissima. But why all the muscle on your ship?’
I had noted the two finely honed men staring disdainfully at me, as if I were a dog turd on the sole of their boots.
Doria cocked a thumb at them, and whispered in my ear, ‘Oh. I’ve got quite a lot of gold on board. The deal has been to buy cheap gold from the Saracens with silver coins. The Doge is behind most of it.’ He tapped the side of his nose, and laughed. ‘Soon, there won’t be any coins to buy goods with anywhere in Europe. It will all be in the hands of the infidels. Not that it will matter to the English. They say the English king is so far into debt with the Peruzzi and Bardi banks, he won’t be able to pay them in the end anyway.’
Doria’s chatter sent a shiver down my spine. What money I had was in those banks, and he had just told me a good recipe for their crashing soon. I asked him to do me a favour when he returned to Venice, and took the quill from his hand. On his bill of lading, I quickly scrawled him an authorisation to arrange the removal of my money from both banks. I cursed the Doge for engineering the crisis, and for keeping me in Sifnos when I most needed to be home.
‘Take this and hold my money for me until I return. There will be a percentage for you.’
Puzzled but compliant, Doria took my note and strode back to his ship. I hoped to God he realised the urgency of the document I had given him. So, what with all that distraction, I think I must have missed Galuppi and Stefano’s emergence from the tavern. I hovered by the end of the cobbled street where the tavern lurked, but it got later and later with no sign of either man. Finally, even the boat-builder gave up his work for the day. The sun was sinking, and I had to get back on my donkey and make for the other side of the island before it got completely dark. I didn’t want to fall over a cliff like I had been told Querini had. My late arrival at the Querini mansion meant that I didn’t know that Katie had not returned until the following morning.
I got anxious when she didn’t appear for breakfast. I thought she would be up promptly in order to tell me what she had found out the previous day from the domina and Brother Hugh. So when she wasn’t, I became concerned. So concerned that I didn’t even talk to Galuppi about being in Kamares the previous day. That would have to wait until I discovered where my precious granddaughter was. And the obvious place to start was the monastery at Mongou.
I hurried across the open fields surrounding the monastery, sweating in the morning sun that was already getting hot. The sound of a doleful bell carried across the valley, and despondency clenched my heart tight. I had a bad feeling about what I might find at the monastery of St John the Theologian. The bell had stopped ringing when I reached the main gateway to Mongou, but it still swung backwards and forwards, and the rope that worked the bell was swinging too. Someone had just left it and disappeared. The doors to the church inside the walls of the monastery were open and I could hear monotonous chanting coming from inside. I peered into the gloom, and saw for the first time the black-clad monks that occupied the monastery. For once they weren’t avoiding me. The heavy aroma of incense hung in the air, and clouds of it drifted on the breeze through the open doors. As a Venetian, I was familiar with the Orthodox heresy. I was old enough to remember tales of Venice’s role in the shambles that was later called the Fourth Crusade, when the Latin Church invaded Constantinople and ousted the Roman Empire and its faith. Venice profited mightily from its fall. That state of affairs didn’t last long, though, and in my youth the Greek Emperor and the Orthodox Church took it all back. Being Venetians, we made deals with the Emperor in the same way we had with the Latin crusaders sixty years earlier. So the bearded black monks were a familiar sight to me, but I had not seen such fervent prayer as was presented to me that morning. I felt awkward about disturbing them, even though I feared that they might be praying for Katie’s soul. I turned away to try and find either Brother Hugh or Domina Speranza, but was blessed instead by the happy sight of Katie Valier rushing across the open courtyard towards me. She almost bowled me over, and hugged me hard.
‘Grandpa, you must have been worried when I didn’t get back to the mansion yesterday.’ To my surprise she then scowled at me. ‘I thought you might have come searching for me last night.’
I smiled broadly, and tried, albeit half-heartedly, to extract myself from her embrace.
‘You can let go of me now. And I am sorry I didn’t come last night. I didn’t get back until late myself, and assumed you were already abed. It was only this morning that I knew otherwise.’
She finally pulled away, much to my regret. I was glad of her warmth, as I had feared deep down that I might have next seen her cold and dead. If this was what it was to have family and blood relatives, it was not entirely pleasant. I shook the bad thoughts from my brain, and asked her what all the fuss was about.
‘I have not seen the black crows so agitated.’
‘Nor I. They are usually hidden away in their cells. Women are not something they like to feast their eyes on in such holy surroundings, I am told. But I can tell you why the monks are so excited.’
Her eyes gleamed with a burning desire to tell me what she had discovered yesterday, and the reason why she had been unable to return last night. But she restrained her natural exuberance in the desire to lay out her facts cogently.
‘I must tell you the story in sequence, so that you understand how it came about.’
She dragged me over to a stone bench that was in the shade created by the walls of the church. As she spoke, her tale was embellished by the hypnotic chanting of the monks inside.
‘When I arrived yesterday morning, I couldn’t get in to see Speranza because the door to her cell was locked. From the inside. Brother Hugh was already at the door trying to talk to her, but she wasn’t answering.’
Katie explained to me that Hugh expressed a worry that something might have happened to Speranza. But on putting her ear to the door, Katie heard sounds from within. It was a low mumbling and the rustle of a linen dress. She reckoned that Speranza was alive and talking to herself. Assuming she was in no immediate danger, she convinced Hugh to leave his benefactor alone for a while. She brought him to the very bench we were now sitting on, and asked him why he thought Speranza had done this.
She looked at me. ‘He said that since her husband’s death, she had been distant and uncommunicative. He had been concerned for her sanity.’
I snorted. ‘More concerned that his meal ticket was slipping away from him.’
‘Perhaps. He did seem to be showing real concern, but I can’t fathom his true feelings. What Grandma told me about him left me with an impression he was a fraud and a charlatan. And it’s true, he did seem more worried about the disappearance of the relic than for Speranza.’
‘The relic has gone?’
‘Yes.’
Apparently, Hugh had placed the saint’s finger on the altar, where Speranza liked to pray, that morning. And when he returned, both the dom
ina and the relic were nowhere to be found. He at first suspected the monks because they had expressed admiration of the relic when he had first shown it to them. And he didn’t think Speranza would have taken it, as she had always left it for Hugh to collect after her prayers. But now that she had locked herself in her cell, he was beginning to suspect otherwise. Katie had asked him if it truly was the finger of St Beornwyn.
‘Oh, yes. Her hands were once brought to Carmarthen by clerics from Whitby. She had lived her mortal life nearby in Lythe. What we know of her comes from the very lips of her constant companion, Mildryth. She was St Beornwyn’s maid in life, and cared for her. After her mistress’s death, Mildryth became the virgin saint’s guardian and protector. Many pilgrims went to her to kiss her hand, for if you touch the hand of the person who touched the saint, then her blessings will flow to you. Mildryth herself told the story of her virgin mistress many times. As for the relic, I wasn’t born when the saint’s hands were in Carmarthen, but I traced them to Broomhill Priory. It was there I learned that a Venetian merchant had obtained one of the fingers. I have to admit to my shame that I coveted a relic of St Beornwyn, so I followed the trail to Venice . . .’
Katie then told me that Hugh failed to get any further because at that moment a piercing scream came from the direction of Speranza’s cell. He and Katie leaped up and ran across the courtyard. Her door was now ajar, and Katie, arriving ahead of the monk, pulled it open.
Katie stopped her story for a moment and stared at me wide-eyed.
‘Oh, Grandpa Nick, you should have seen the blood.’
The False Virgin Page 14
