Turri had inched forward in his chair as he gave his little speech, his heart beating faster with the thrill of the hunt. He smiled and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. This was going to be a very good day.
***
NICOLO SPOTTED HIM, right on schedule, walking briskly toward the water. Avesari’s head was bowed and hooded beneath a dark cloak, and Nicolo wondered if their presence had become known. If so, Turri would be most unhappy. Their strategy, in part, relied on Avesari’s having become complacent. He was a fugitive however. Perhaps he was still being cautious. Nicolo counted to ten slowly—though it was difficult with his quarry in site—before following. He had to be careful. It was still early and the Ruga Maestra was nearly empty. If Avesari should glance back, Nicolo would have no hope of concealing himself in a crowd. Avesari was walking with purpose however, his eyes fixed on the harbor. Nicolo controlled his eagerness, stayed the requisite distance behind. It was his job to remove the escape route, not to take him.
Maffeo was playing with the pile of rubbish at the water’s edge, pushing it back and forth with a long-handled broom, looking as though he had no intention of actually doing anything with it. Nicolo silently cursed. If Avesari was on alert, Maffeo’s unconvincing performance would be very suspicious indeed. He tensed, preparing to charge Avesari should he detect the trap. He didn’t seem to notice however, but Nicolo remained vigilant. Bernardo was out of sight and the Provveditori, he knew, were waiting in the tavern. Nicolo quickened his pace. It would happen soon. The closer to the harbor they got, the wider the street became, the cramped houses giving way to larger businesses—taverns, shops, warehouses.
The cough came a moment later. It was soft, but loud enough to alert Bernardo without being too obvious. A man can walk a fair distance in sixty seconds, and it was that length of time Bernardo had been told to wait before emerging. He silently ticked off the seconds, still crouched behind the pile of cargo. He was breathing rapidly now in quick, shallow gulps. The cold mist of the early morning clung to his face and settled on his clothes. He closed his eyes, still counting, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He carefully removed his dagger from the pocket of his coat as though it were a fragile thing.
He stood up, not too quickly, and walked out from behind the freight, scanning the area. He found Avesari immediately. There was no one else there, save a few peddlers farther up the street preparing their carts. He could see Nicolo about fifty feet behind. He couldn’t see Avesari’s face, his head covered in shadow beneath the cloak’s hood. The hood turned ever so slightly, Avesari’s brisk pace suddenly less so, and while Bernardo couldn’t see his reaction, the motion of his head and the slowing of his pace told him that the traitor had seen him. Good. Finally the fight could begin. He tightened his grip on the dagger, his arm hanging down, concealed behind his leg.
The sound of the broom being carelessly dropped was loud in the morning stillness. A big man, more of a boy really, was slowly walking toward him, his hand making a lump in his pocket. He had an anxious face, eyes darting about, flitting between himself and the other man, also solidly built, who had just emerged from behind a stack of cargo. Something was very wrong. He was still thirty feet from the galley, could see no one on deck. He glanced at the other man. There was no longer any doubt; he was the subject of their interest. He looked ahead to the galley, taking in the positions of the two men on either side, calculating his chances of making it to the ship. They were not good.
He stopped and so did they. So, forward was not an option. He had to play this perfectly. He slowly turned, making sure his face was still buried in the shadows of the hood. Despite the chill in the air, he could feel the sweat sliding between his shoulder blades, down his back. An even larger man stood in the middle of the Ruga Maestra, arms crossed, legs spread at the ready. A small smile played on his lips, animating a long purple scar running up the left side of his face. Apparently back was not an option either.
No one moved. The three men were waiting for him to do something; run perhaps. Maybe his strategy should be to do nothing. Would they remain immobilized if he did? It was an amusing thought. He heard the grating creak of a door hinge from off to the left, followed by shuffling feet. Three men were rapidly approaching. It was time to go. As naturally as he could, which under the circumstances was not very natural at all, he turned toward the younger one and began walking with a hurried but even gait.
“Mi perdoni signore,” came a voice from behind him, one of the three from the tavern.
He ignored it. He needed more time and quickened his pace. The three men moved with astonishing speed considering their size. He was surrounded in seconds, the other men arriving a moment later. They had him. It was time for outrage. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Oh I think you know,” said a man with a hooked nose, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
“I most certainly do not!”
The man didn’t reply. Instead he snatched back the hood, his eyes wide, teeth bared. It was a priceless moment.
“Who are you?” he cried, furious.
The man jerked back his head and Turri let go of the fistful of fabric. “I know who I am. Who the devil are you?”
“I ask the questions,” Turri snarled, “and if you do not wish to be arrested, you will answer them.”
“Arrested? Does the Republic arrest its subjects for strolling by the water now?” He was trying to look appropriately outraged.
“Where is he?”
“Where is who?”
“Why did you run?”
“I was not running,” the man said with exaggerated patience. He was beginning to enjoy this. “I was however trying to evade three large, intimidating men who were moving toward me in a coordinated and aggressive manner.”
“Do you find this amusing signore? Because if you continue this, I assure you that your mirth will be short-lived.”
“I assure you signore that I do not find this at all amusing. If you have business with me, please state it. If not, allow me to go about my business.”
Turri glared at the man with undisguised hatred, turning without another word, and stormed off back toward the tavern. Doro and Utino hurried behind, Turri’s rage washing over them like the wake of a boat. The three soldiers, having been given no further instruction and unsure of what to do, went back to their positions. Maffeo looked with dismay at his pile of refuse.
Turri seethed all day in his seat by the tavern window and as darkness fell over Candia’s harbor he knew that his grand moment of terrible knowledge would never come because Paolo Avesari, the traitor, would never come.
Thirty
Paolo scrambled up the hillside, fighting the urge to look back down to the harbor. He kept as low to the ground as possible, using the brush as cover. The terrain was rocky, the ground crumbling underfoot. He felt exposed. Isolated stands of oak dotted the hillside. Still early spring, the trees had not filled out completely and he crept from one to the other in search of cover. The going was agonizingly slow, but he couldn’t afford any rapid movement that could be easily seen from the waterfront. He was still too close to the city. The mist was heavy and he said a silent prayer in thanks. The water jug in his bag, slung over his back, was pounding the base of his spine with each step, but he could not possibly complain. He had only just barely escaped.
While he may have become a little careless over the duration of his stay in Candia, Adnah had remained as vigilant as a sentry. The Jews, more than anyone, knew to never become too comfortable. Venice had thrown them out too many times. Each time a new ship arrived from the lagoon, Adnah had it watched. Yes, he had his own little network, much to Paolo’s surprise. Did the boy think Bercu would ensure his safety to just anyone? The Jews stuck together, employing multiple levels of protection like layers of clothing on a bitter cold day. Business was their occupation it was true, but survival was their life’s work. He had been alerted to the arrival of the Provveditori almost immediately, although he didn’
t know who they were at first. They had taken great pains to conceal their identities, wearing the effete doublets of the nobles. But they came in threes. The Provveditori always came in threes. And so Adnah began to think. They had not been hard to find, hiding in plain sight part of their strategy. They dined at the palace, visited the barracks. That was when he knew.
So he had them watched and followed. For the last three days they and their soldiers had been observing the harbor. Adnah had mentioned his suspicions to Paolo on that first night and, as Paolo was due to conduct a fair amount of business on the waterfront over the course of the next few days, they decided to give the visitors exactly what they wanted. There was no attempt at concealment, no effort to hide. It was too late for that. They were here, which meant they knew Paolo was here. Better to show them what they expected to see, convince them that one thing would follow another, and then do something else. Paolo had been reluctant at first. What is to keep them from taking him right away? Does the wolf wait and watch when the sheep saunters by? Adnah explained. The Provveditori were not unknown here. Crete was one of the Venetian colonies and they were responsible for the Stato da Mar. This is how they did things. They were not fools, rushing in to bungle an operation. Hundreds of years of rebellion had taught them a great many things about ferreting out their wily enemies. But they did have a fault. “They underestimate us, the Jews,” Adnah said with a sad smile, “think our cunning extends only to making money.”
It was difficult, deliberately exposing yourself that way, knowing the men watching you wanted nothing more than your capture, to deliver you to your death. The urge to flee was overwhelming. But for two days Paolo performed for them. On the third day he awoke before dawn, packed his bag with water and food, changes of clothes, a good knife. He kissed Esther on the cheek and she hugged him as a mother might, wiping her tears furtively and making a mumbled excuse to go back to the kitchen where she could cry in private. Adnah put a hand on Paolo’s shoulder.
“Remember what I told you.”
Paolo nodded. “I will.”
“Stay off the road as much as possible. Make for Rethymno. About halfway there will be a small village. They will hide you. Wait there two weeks. The Provveditori will expect you to try and leave Crete as soon as possible. The logical place is Rethymno. They will go there immediately. When you are not there, they will search the interior. That is when you will continue on to Rethymno. It is a smaller port, but you will find a ship that will take you to Negroponte.”
“They will leave someone at the port in case I show up.”
“Yes, that is likely. You must be alert when you arrive.”
“They will know me, in the village, in Rethymno? Even though they do not know that I am coming?”
“Yes. Use the names I have given you. Arrangements were made before you arrived in Candia. We knew that you would not be able to remain here indefinitely.” Adnah suddenly looked very old, as though Paolo’s perpetual state of vulnerability were taking a toll on him as well.
“I cannot run forever Adnah.”
“I know my friend.” He said no more because what else was there to say? It was true, he could not run forever, but as of now, there was no other option.
“You had mentioned bandits when I first arrived.” Paolo said this without emotion. Indeed, he realized with some surprise that he felt nothing about it one way or the other. It wasn’t so long ago that the idea of traveling a dangerous road with the constant threat of capture or robbery would have been frightening to him. Now it was simply the next thing he would be required to do in a life that was no longer his own.
“Yes, many survive by robbery. They are mountain people who typically stay in the mountains, but will have men watching the road, especially when they are running low on supplies.” He paused, thinking, said almost apologetically, “I know it is not ideal, but if you can travel under the cover of darkness, it would be safer.”
Paolo nodded again. No, it is not ideal. None of this is ideal. “What will they do to Tomek?” Tomek, Paolo’s stand-in at the harbor, the nephew of a friend helping Adnah. He had been present when Adnah and his small band of collaborators had met to discuss options and devised their little ruse. He had volunteered immediately. He and his uncle had had to fabricate a story of early-morning business dealings (he was an apprentice in the trade) to explain his whereabouts to his mother. They hoped that once the talk of what had happened at the harbor was making its way through the town, the boy’s mother would not put the two together. The woman could be far more fearsome than the Provveditori.
“Oh, they will do nothing. What can they do? It will be a case of mistaken identity. They may throw a curse or two at him to cover their embarrassment at looking foolish, but they can do no more than that. We would not have endangered him.”
“Good. And you? What will become of you and Esther? I do not wish anyone to be hurt on my behalf.”
Adnah smiled. “It is too late for that my friend. But do not worry. We were deceived by you, yes? You came to us with a letter of introduction from Venice, forged as it turns out. We will be appropriately shocked by your treachery and thankful that you did not hurt us.”
“Will they believe you?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. It is not what they believe however that is important. It is what they can prove. We have covered our tracks well enough I think.”
Paolo wanted to say that proof had very little to do with it, but held his tongue. And then it was time for him to go. They said their goodbyes, each man putting on a confident face he did not feel. His mother, Ciro, his father, Bercu, Chaya, Esther, Adnah. Too many goodbyes.
***
AH, BUT THIS was wonderful! The Provveditori were even more incompetent than he imagined. Qilij watched with amusement as the deception unfolded in the harbor, the three officials and their soldiers returning to their positions to await Avesari who, Qilij suspected, would never come. They were obviously hoping this was simply a case of their seizing the wrong man, but Qilij recognized it for what it was. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who had been watching the Provveditori. This was a stroke of good fortune indeed. Avesari was gone, that much was clear. What was less certain however was where he was going. Qilij did not know the extent of his support. Did he have the resources to hide in the wilderness or did he have to make for a port, and a ship off the island?
He had pored over maps of Crete before coming, its geography, towns, and ports. If he were fleeing the island he would head east. If not, the options were far more numerous. It was logical that even if he were to stay on the island, he might still head east because eventually he would need to leave. Better to be closer to an escape route when the time came than farther away. One thing Qilij did know was that he could no longer shadow the Provveditori. They knew even less than he did. Gabriele would be pleased. There was still a chance of getting to Avesari first, of making him disappear and sending the Provveditori home empty-handed. If Qilij guessed correctly. It was time to go.
***
“WE NEED MORE men.”
Turri looked at Utino with distaste. They were back on Turri’s terrace in the Ducal Palace, wine, cheese, and bread on a low table untouched. “Why? Why do we need more men? We were not overpowered or outmanned. We were careless. Would the outcome at the harbor have been any different if we had had ten, twenty, a hundred more men?”
“Pietro…”
“No, it would not,” said Turri, answering his own question.
He is too proud thought Doro. They had met with the Duke earlier. He had heard what had happened. Everyone, it seemed, had heard what had happened despite the fact that the harbor was nearly deserted at the time. Turri acted as though it were a minor setback, something he had almost expected. The smiles were forced, the levity strained. Doro could see that the Duke did not like Turri, the failure almost pleasing to Donato. He was sure that Turri had recognized it as well. All the more reason to not request any additional assistance. His reputation had been
tainted. He had something to prove.
“More men would be a hindrance,” he continued. “What we need now, even more than before, is speed and surprise.” Turri reached down and tore a piece of bread from the loaf, brandishing it like a weapon as he spoke, his voice rising in agitation. “We are six to his one!”
More accurately three to his one thought Doro. It was so like Turri to include them as part of the fighting detachment, however the Provveditori would not be leaping into the fray.
“There is no excuse,” Turri said sulkily.
Utino risked speaking again. “We have no idea where he went.”
Rather than upsetting him, the comment seemed to cheer Turri. “Of course we do,” he said, smiling. “He’s gone to Rethymno.”
***
HE HAD TRIED to stay off the road and travel under the cover of darkness as Adnah had suggested. It had not been a good combination. In Venice, the natural world was a thing to admire, the sky and water on display for their beauty, framed by the magnificent city. Every step one took had been built. Here, in the dark, it was a hostile thing.
After two nights in the countryside, Paolo was battered and bruised, blood from a dozen cuts crawling down his arms and legs. Tree roots grasped at his ankles, thorny bushes clutched at bare flesh. It was impossible to navigate without being familiar with the terrain, difficult even in daylight. Periodically he would hear something scrabbling on the hillside and freeze, holding his breath and his knife at the ready. Later, through the milky veil of dawn, he could see the source of the sounds, the darting shapes of the kri kri, Crete’s revered mountain goats, bounding from one precarious outcropping to another without so much as a pause to consider the way. He would have to take some chances on the road. Otherwise he would never make it. In the dark he could easily walk off a ledge and break a leg, or trip over a gnarled tree and crack open his skull like a melon.
The sun was warm, the spring now arrived for good. Paolo sat on a dense carpet of pine needles, his back against a wide tree in the shade of a grove of tall pines. He nibbled on his bread and cheese, conserving as much as he could. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to replenish his food supply. He could hear the low murmur of a stream nearby, a reminder that his water jug was nearly empty. He would fill it before moving on. He wasn’t far from the road now, and had to move further into the trees. He would travel by day he decided, when he could, when the trees and brush were thick enough to conceal him. Otherwise he would stick to the edge of the road at night, observing as much as he could with his other senses. He was not overly confident in this plan, but he shrugged off his doubts. What else could he do? He had very few options at the moment.
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