One Knight in Venice

by Tori Phillips

  Sophia leaned over and whispered, “If you let her! The time has come, Jessica, for you to cease living in the shadows. Let the daylight into your life. Ignore Signorina di Luna with all her fine clothes and sparkling jewels. Seize what this moment offers you.”

  The wine warmed the blood in Jessica’s veins. She rested her head against Sophia’s ample shoulder. “You mean that I should go out dancing tonight with Lord Bardolph?” she asked.

  “Sì, now you have caught the right pig by the tail!” Sophia replied, draining the remainder of the wine in Jessica’s glass. “Take what pleasure you can. Life is far too short as it is, even without that whore’s threats.”

  Doctor Stefano Leonardo strolled among the people who thronged the streets near the Rialto Bridge. Nodding to his many acquaintances, he basked in their open approval. As one of Venice’s most respected physicians, Doctor Leonardo savored the wealth and social status he had achieved. Unpleasant memories of the hunger and hiding in his youth had dimmed with time. Spain with its terrifying Inquisition was long past. Here in Venice no one suspected that the most trusted physician—one who enjoyed the patronage of the Doge himself—had returned to the religion of his forefathers. Pleased with the success of his deception, Doctor Leonardo stroked his snowy white beard as he inspected a platter of purple grapes fresh off a boat from Damascus.

  “Messere Doctor?” said a low voice in Stefano’s ear.

  He glanced over the heaps of produce at a short, anxious man with a curly brown beard and bushy eyebrows. Though he did not wear the yellow cap prescribed by Venetian law, Tubal was a Jew. Stefano inclined his head a fraction, then pointed to a shadowed alley. The little man darted away. Adjusting his handsome black bombazine robe with red-velvet facings, the eminent doctor sauntered after him.

  “¡Buon giorno! Tubal. And a lovely day it is, too,” said Stefano. “Does something ail you? Your wind, perchance? More aches in your joints?”

  Tubal shook his head. “I am sick with fear, good doctor.”

  Stefano stepped further into the shadow cast by the buildings that enclosed the alleyway. “Speak softly, Tubal. Venice is alive with listening ears,” he whispered.

  “The eyes and ears of the Holy Office,” Tubal agreed. He spat on the ground. “A pox on them all.”

  Stefano tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, but no one appeared to be watching them. “Smile as you tell me in case we are observed. Many daggers are hidden in a smile. What is the matter?”

  Tubal clasped his hands together. “I think that someone has mentioned my name to the officers of the Inquisition.”

  Stefano felt a sudden chill. Though Jews were openly accepted in Venice, provided that they obeyed the city’s laws concerning their dress, residence and occupations, recanted marranos such as Tubal and himself were harshly punished if they were discovered. The physician hunched inside his costly robe.

  “How do you know this to be true?” he whispered.

  Tubal gnawed his lower lip. “Yesterday, several Franciscan friars visited my street. They asked my neighbors about me.” He lowered his voice even more. “They asked how often I went to hear Mass.”

  Stefano wished he was far away from this unfriendly alleyway. He wished he had never met Tubal. He wished it were yesterday again. “This is indeed unsettling news,” he remarked through his weak smile.

  The little man laid his hand on Stefano’s arm. “You must help me and my family, good doctor,” he pleaded.

  Stefano shuddered inwardly at Tubal’s touch and his request. Instead of coming to his aid, the doctor wanted to distance himself as quickly as possible from this dangerous person. Though Stefano had remained true to the faith of his fathers, he was also a man of the world. It had taken him half a lifetime to build up a golden reputation here in Venice. He did not wish to have his comfortable life come crashing down around his ears now. Yet Tubal was doubly dangerous since he knew the doctor’s secret heart. Tubal was a weakling. Under torture, he would betray everyone, especially if he held a grudge against Stefano Leonardo.

  Stefano lifted his palms to the heavens. “What would you have me do?”

  Tubal wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Take my Talmud and hide it away in your house. Hide my gold, as well.” His eyes narrowed. “I have saved over five hundred ducats.”

  Stefano choked at the enormous sum of money. “It is foolish to have so much coin under your roof. Why not give your fortune to one of the goldsmiths to keep for you? That is their business and I am sure that their interest rate would be generous.”

  Tubal snorted. “Generous to whom? Themselves—not me! No, doctor, I do not trust them with my life savings. No one but you. Will you do it?”

  Stefano stroked his beard while he pondered this disagreeable situation. Tubal was right to hide his fortune and the incriminating books from a possible search by the Inquisition officers. On the other hand, the doctor had no intention of being caught in this net. Why compromise the safety of his own fortune as well as his own life for Tubal? A less risky option formed in his mind. Jessica! A good Christian girl who went to daily Mass. Completely above reproach. Beloved by both her neighbors and by her patients high and low. No one would suspect the doctor’s sweet pious daughter of recanting her Catholic faith. Many people considered her practically a saint.

  Doctor Leonardo nodded to his companion. “Meet me at nine o’clock tonight at the Campo de San Felice. Bring those things you wish to hide.”

  Tubal cast a shrewd look at him. “That is not your address.”

  The doctor again nodded. “True enough. It is where my Christian daughter keeps her establishment. She will be our safeguard.”

  “Can the wench be trusted?” the man wheezed.

  Stefano drew himself up. “Though Jessica is as Catholic as the pope in Rome, she is still my daughter. Blood will prove true. She will do as I say. Now let us part with a cheerful countenance. Until nine this evening.”

  Tubal tossed a corner of his dark cloak over his shoulder. “Until the clock strikes nine.” He scurried away from the bustle of the marketplace.

  Doctor Leonardo followed Tubal’s retreat with a soft curse.

  Jacopo took up his familiar position across the campo from Jessica’s door. He rubbed his nose under his black dottore mask and wished that its leather didn’t itch him so much. With his black cloak wrapped snugly about him and his head covered by its inky hood, Jacopo melded with the shadows around him.

  The boy yawned. He was tired of trailing the Englishman day after day. What was the point? The messere knew that Jacopo dogged his steps. In fact, Lord Bardolph had even taken to waving at him. On one cold evening, the Englishman had sent him a mug of spiced wine to ward off the chill of his lonely vigil. If Madonna Cosma knew how poorly her hireling had concealed himself, she would have flayed him alive by now. Across the small square, Lord Bardolph and his black friend, attended by several jovial torchbearers, rapped on Jessica’s door. The whole company were masked and dressed in colorful attire. Jacopo grumbled under his breath. He longed to have a few free hours for his own Carnevale amusements.

  The fat dwarf answered their summons with cries of delight and she ushered the lords inside the lighted house while the torchbearers waited in the street. Jacopo rubbed his itching nose again. By the look of things, tonight would be a long one—and cold, as well. The boy hunched against the wall and wished he had brought along his new pet monkey to entertain him.

  The door opened again; golden light from a lantern spilled into the campo. Jacopo stifled another yawn. Lord Bardolph led out a young woman who wore a white volto half mask and a full-length black cloak. The blackamoor followed close behind them. The spy straightened up. By Saint Mark’s book, they had flushed out the elusive Signorina Jessica Leonardo after all! Jacopo didn’t think they could have persuaded her to leave her nest—especially after Donna Cosma’s visit this afternoon. He whistled through his teeth. Though he could not see her face, the girl appeared to be comely and her laughter sounded
like silver bells. No wonder Donna Cosma was worried!

  “¡Volare!” the blackamoor called to the lounging torchbearers. “We have enticed a beautiful dove from her cage, now let us fly away with her!”

  Lord Bardolph added, “To the piazza!”

  Signorina Jessica laughed again. “I am yours to command, messere.”

  The torchbearers fanned themselves around the trio. “To the piazza!” they chorused.

  Jacopo slipped further back into the shadows as the merry band passed within ten feet of his hiding place. Lord Bardolph looked over his shoulder. “Ho, young bravo!” he called to Jacopo. “Come join us in our sport. It would be more pleasant than skulking in the corner all night.”

  Jessica looked across the empty campo. “To whom do you speak, my lord? I see no one.”

  The blackamoor chuckled. “We have a little shadow that follows us. He is somewhere nearby. I can smell him. Do not fear, madonna. That alley cat is harmless,” he added with a laugh.

  Jacopo pressed his spine against the wall. The blackamoor’s disdain pricked his ego and compounded his shame at his discovery. The boy in him wished he could accept the Englishman’s invitation to pleasure but the man in him rejected the offer. Donna Cosma would carve him into dog meat if he joined that happy crowd. He stared up at the slice of the night sky that was visible between the two houses where he hid. Tomorrow he would tell Donna Cosma that he had found other employment—then he and his monkey could enjoy a bit of the carnival season before Lent came.

  When he looked back into the campo, Jacopo saw his quarry disappear down the Fondementa. He pushed himself away from the wall and stretched his chilled muscles. No need to rush after them. They had made it plain where they were going. Jacopo had just stepped into the square when he saw a short, round man enter the campo from the side street that led to the canal. The newcomer’s furtive haste and the large pouch that he hugged to his chest immediately drew the boy’s interest. Jacopo slipped back into dark alley and watched.

  Just as the church bells of San Felice began to toll the hour, a second figure appeared in the square. This man was taller, wore the gown of a physician and had a white beard. He, too, acted in a surreptitious manner, looking over his shoulder several times. He carried an intriguing chest under his arm. Jacopo wet his lips. What sport is this?

  As fortune would have it, the two men met each other within earshot of Jacopo’s hiding place. With the African’s words still burning his pride, the boy pulled his stiletto from its sheath at his belt. He was not a whelp to be dismissed with a sneer but a bravo to be feared. Perhaps he could make a little profit on the side—to repay himself for his long hours of watching. A bold, swift strike could make him a very rich man—if that pouch contained coins as he suspected. He heard it clink when the short fellow moved. Flexing his fingers, Jacopo pressed himself against the wall and listened.

  The first man greeted the second with a kiss on each cheek. Then they spoke quietly in a foreign language. Whatever it was they said, the meaning was obvious from their demeanor. A stealthy, perhaps unlawful game was afoot. The boy wiped his sweating palms on his cloak.

  The short man handed his pouch and several books to the physician who deposited them in the chest. The tall man then murmured something to the other who nodded and scuttled away. The whole mysterious transaction had concluded in less time than it took the church bells to toll the nine strokes. Jacopo tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger. How easily fate had played into his hand! One man was certainly easier to kill than two, especially since he was burdened with a heavy chest. Jacopo planned to attack after his prey had passed by him. He tensed and waited.

  Instead of returning from whence he had come, the physician moved further away from the alley where his death lurked. He crossed the campo with quick strides and stopped in front of Donna Jessica’s house. Jacopo ventured a step or two closer to observe what would happen next. The physician rapped on the blue door, waited for a few moments, then rapped again. Once more, the dwarf answered the summons.

  Her eyes widened with surprise when she recognized the visitor then she dropped a bob of a curtsy. “¡Buona sera! Doctor Leonardo,” she greeted him in sour tones. “It is late for you to be abroad.”

  “I wish to speak with my daughter,” the physician snapped.

  The maid shook her head. “She is not at home.”

  “Have her wits slipped askew?” he asked even more sharply. “It is dangerous for her to be out in public.”

  Jacopo tucked this little piece of information in the back of his mind. It might be worth his while to investigate this nugget at a later time.

  The maid laughed. “Curb your fears, sir. She is accompanied by several friends. They have gone to enjoy the sights and sounds of Carnevale.”

  “Wanton gambols!” the father snorted. “Jessica will rue it later, I vow. Well, woman, do not stand there gaping at me! Am I not allowed inside my own house? Do not forget who pays for my daughter’s privacy. Go to, go to!” He tapped the chest. “I have something to give her.”

  The maid held out her hands. “I will relieve you of that, sir. I will tell Jessica that—”

  “No!” the man almost shouted. “This chest is too heavy for such a snail mite as you to hold. I will put it in her room myself. Stand aside, Sophia. I am in no mood to banter with an ape.”

  The little woman did as she was told, but she glared at him in return. “Nor am I, Doctor Leonardo.” She shut the door with a bang behind them.

  Jacopo released his pent-up breath. He tried to make sense of the scenes he had just witnessed but could not see a connection between the two men who acted as if they feared their own shadows and the physician declaring that he had a present for his daughter. A few minutes later, the door reopened and the doctor stormed out into the campo. He no longer carried the chest.

  “In the future, Sophia, remember who buys your bread,” he warned her. He drew his gown around himself and stalked off in the dark.

  Sophia shook her fist at his departing figure before she again shut the door. Jacopo waited for a few more minutes to see if anyone else would come, but the only sign of life in the square was a lean cat that stalked around the rim of the wellhead. Relaxing his shoulders, Jacopo returned his dagger to its sheath. His near attempt at murder left him weak and shaking. He took off his hot mask and mopped his face with a corner of his cloak. When he thought of what he had almost done, his stomach lurched in shame. The blackamoor was right. I am the poorest excuse for a bravo in all of Venice.

  Jacopo donned his mask again. Though he had gained nothing for the time being, he had learned two interesting things for possible future profit: that Donna Jessica had a dangerous secret and that a chest of money was now hidden in her room. He promised himself to wait for the right opportunity to steal it. Certainly not now with that miniature she-dragon guarding the house. Pulling his hood lower, Jacopo crossed the square and headed toward the piazza.

  Patience is always rewarded, his father had once told him. The boy would bide his time.

  Chapter Ten

  Gobbo sat up in bed and pushed his nightcap out of his eyes. “Who was at the door?” he asked his diminutive wife.

  Sophia set down the lantern on the coffer at the foot of their bed. “Doctor Leonardo.” She made a face.

  Gobbo yawned. “Strange time to visit his only child. Was he afraid that someone might recognize him if he came during the day?”

  Sophia shook her head. The mystery of the doctor’s box pricked her curiosity. “He had no desire to see Jessica. He carried a cedarwood casket. He claimed it was a gift for Jessica, but I think not.”

  Gobbo curled his lip. “When was the last time the good doctor remembered to send a gift to her? New Year’s Day? Ha! Her birthday? Hardly! Had it not been for his wife’s tender heart, I warrant Jessica would not have lived past her first day on this earth.”

  “That is what confounds me,” Sophia agreed.

  Gobbo tossed back the featherbed
and struggled into his mules. “Where is this marvel?”

  Sophia picked up the light. “As always we are of one mind, my love. The doctor wedged the box under Jessica’s bed. Come.”

  Holding the lantern as high as her short arm allowed, Sophia led him down the hall to Jessica’s chamber. She mounted the bed’s platform and lifted the coverlet hem. A corner of the intriguing chest protruded from under the bed frame.

  With a low grunt, Gobbo hunkered down next to it. “It is well made,” he remarked as he pulled it out from its hiding place. “And heavy, as well.”

  Rubbing her finger across the lid, Sophia noted the smoothness of the grain and the high polish of the wood. “Dare we open it?”

  The two of them looked at each other for a long moment. Sophia and Gobbo regarded Jessica more like the child they never had than their employer. Any hint of danger to Jessica enkindled a fierce reaction in the hearts of the little man and his wife. They did not love nor owe any allegiance to Doctor Leonardo, no matter what the man boasted.

  Gobbo tapped the box. “This night visit bodes no good, I vow. The doctor is a selfish man. This is not so much a gift for Jessica but a profit for her father.” He pushed the clasp but discovered it was locked.

  Sophia snorted with her frustration. “Have you lost all the skills of your youth? Surely you can pick the latch.” She held the light closer for his inspection.

  He studied the problem for several minutes before finally shaking his head. “This is no ordinary lock but one fashioned with cunning skill. Therefore, I think it must be a treasure chest.” Frowning, he pushed it back under the bed. “I think it best that we have nothing to do with it, sweetheart. I have escaped the gibbet for so many years now that I have grown cautious in my old age.”

  Sophia bit back her disappointment but could not disagree with Gobbo. She, too, had known the hard hand of the law in her salad days and she had a healthy respect for it now. “I will tell Jessica about it in the morning.”