Philip’s response was all too quick, and betrayed something of his feelings for Panaretos’ wife.
‘Oh, yes, sir. She is always in the square. I often . . .’
The young monk paused, realising what he was admitting to. And I was certain that he was beginning to blush to the tips of his ears. He was cautious in his next enquiry.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I want you to ask her if there have been any other threats since the parchment was sent.’
The relief in his voice was evident, and he must have been glad that his revelation had not resulted in my censuring him.
‘Ah, yes, master. I am sure I can do that.’
I bet you can, I thought, imagining it was a perfect opportunity for the love-struck young monk to engage the Circassian beauty in conversation with good purpose. But that was for tomorrow. For now, I was glad of a brisk walk to work off the excessive amount of good food that I had consumed.
The next morning, Philip was eager to carry out his task, and rushed me off to the Emperor’s library as soon as we had broken our fast. Once seated in the marble hall, I could tell he was champing at the bit. So I arranged for Theokrastos to read to me instead of Philip.
‘Go, Philip, and use your wiles on the lady.’
He coughed nervously at my words, and hurried out, his sandalled feet slapping on the floor. Theokrastos laughed quietly.
‘Did you know that his ears get quite red when he is embarrassed?’
‘Indeed I do. It has been observed by others. Now, what do you have for me?’
The librarian settled in his seat, and I heard him opening a heavy tome. I could even smell the dust of lack of use rising from it. I sneezed.
‘This is the treatise of Cyril, Bishop of Alexandria, entitled Against the Blasphemies of Nestorius. It is in five books.’
I sighed, thinking of Sauma, the Nestorian monk in far-off Cathay, who had given me an introduction to Theokrastos. His heretical form of Christianity was about to be ripped apart, and I was about to be bored stiff. I leaned back, and closed my sightless eyes.
Philip took an inordinate amount of time shopping, and I became a little annoyed that he left me so long with the monotonous voice of Theokrastos. In the end, I suggested that the librarian might like to wet his throat after such exertions. He took the hint, and brought us both some very nice sweet wine from the island of Kition, sometimes known as Alashiya or Cyprus. The wine must have loosened his tongue somewhat for I learned a few things about Trebizond that I didn’t know before. And some interesting news about the matter I was investigating.
Eventually, Philip did return full of apologies. As he spluttered his tale of woe, Theokrastos whispered in my ear, ‘His ears are bright red. In fact, they are as red as the wine we have been drinking.’
I brushed aside the young monk’s apologies, and thanked Theokrastos for his hospitality.
‘Come, Philip, we must leave George to his duties, and return home.’
As we left the library, Philip began to tell me what he had learned. As he guided me through the crowds that thronged the narrow streets of the lower town, he explained.
‘Mistress Baia was most co-operative, master, and even invited us to eat with Panaretos tonight. But I fear she did not have much to tell concerning the campaign of intimidation against her husband. She said that the letter we have already seen was the only threat that her husband had received.’
I frowned, and wondered what this meant in the light of what Theokrastos had told me. Philip’s news, from the lips of Lady Baia, needed some consideration. In the meantime, I needed him to accompany me to the warehouses of our various suspects to enquire more closely into the pressures they were being put under by their employers. Even with hundreds of miles separating Belzoni, Ricci and Finati from their home cities, and letters taking months to travel between them, they must still have felt the heavy breath of their employers on their neck. Each trader would have been sent on the long journey to Trebizond with orders to achieve certain goals, and to return without reaching them could prove disastrous. A good reason to employ threats as well as cajolements.
I didn’t want to play my hand with the Genoan, Finati, too soon, so I decided to drop in unannounced on Alessandro Ricci first. With Philip leading me along the unfamiliar streets that dropped down from the top of the lower town to the harbour, I began to smell the odour of fish. It got stronger and stronger, until we must have been close to the quayside. I told Philip what to look out for.
‘The Venetians’ warehouse will be painted with the sign of the Lion of St Mark. You will not be able to miss it – it rather fancifully has wings.’
‘I know it, sir. It was a familiar sight in Byzantium. If you recall, it was I suggested we seek it out when we arrived in Trebizond.’
‘Yes, indeed, of course you did.’
I recalled that Venice had once been the master of Byzantium, but that it had not been so for long. However, it was no doubt long enough to have made its mark on the city and its people.
‘Here it is, sir.’
We stood at the doors of the Venetians’ warehouse.
‘Tell me what you see, Philip.’
There was a momentary pause while he looked round, then he described what he saw.
‘The store is large, and there are plenty of goods in it, but there is room for much more.’
I could smell spices – cinnamon and pepper, chiefly – and the slightly different aroma that I identified as the bark and dried insects used for dyes. I had become used to the smells of such products on my long journey along the Silk Road.
‘And silk? Does Ricci have raw silk here?’
I had walked into the warehouse on my own to take in the aromas, and Philip was soon at my heels.
‘Yes. I can see some bolts of silk over to our right.’
‘Then these are just the purchases made from the same caravan we travelled here on. Not the result of any major negotiation with Panaretos.’
‘No indeed, Master Falconer. But I can tell you what I do expect to get, if you wish.’
It was the voice of Ricci himself, who had come in behind us. I turned round to face him, aware of his position in the doorway by the change in light his tall body created. It was my only visual sense, and necessitated bright sunlight to provide it to me.
‘Messer Ricci, you have caught me out being nosy. Alas, my studying of the books in the Emperor’s library sometimes becomes boring, and I can’t resist poking around the lower town to see what I can find.’
Ricci moved away from the doorway, and I followed his steps on the flagstone floor with my unseeing eyes.
‘I hardly think there is anything here to assuage the thirst of a scholarly mind.’
‘Oh, but trade is such a fascinating subject.’
He came out with a sort of belly laugh that suggested he was a man who liked a drink, and a good story.
‘Forgive me, Falconer, but trade is hard work. Frustrating and rewarding in equal degrees, it is true. But I would hardly say it is fascinating.’
I heard the clink of glass on glass, and guessed from the aroma that he was pouring a good Rhenish into some goblets. Philip slipped between myself and Ricci, artfully taking my glass and pressing it into my hand without allowing the Venetian to sense my disability. Then the young monk declined his own proffered glass. Ricci grunted, and clinked my glass with his. I drank a draught, and reckoned it a good red wine. With this and the Commandaria I had drunk with Theokrastos, I was beginning to feel quite drowsy. Ricci explained that the wine was a consignment he had brought to Trebizond, being all part of his reciprocal trade with the Emperor. I nodded my head in understanding.
‘And how is the trade – between you and Trebizond, I mean?’
Ricci moved close to me, and all but whispered in my ear, ‘Moving swiftly to a conclusion actually, but don’t tell Finati. I am mostly interested in the alum trade out of Kerasous. The weavers of Bruges will pay well for it as a mordant f
or their dyes. After the Emperor’s little spat with Genoa that resulted in some fisticuffs, Panaretos is under instructions to offer Genoa’s concessions to Venice, as long as we pay the proper dues.’
‘Which you will?’
Ricci laughed, and audibly downed a great glug of wine.
‘Of course, we will. Anything to get one over Genoa. Finati will be going home empty-handed.’
A final draught of wine went down his throat, and I thought I had all I wanted to know. Though there was one other matter that perhaps Ricci could enlighten me about.
‘What of the Florentines? Is Belzoni going to get what he wants, or could he be as frustrated as Finati, and capable of similar extreme measures to get his way?’
I almost heard the frown creasing Ricci’s face.
‘Extreme measures? I don’t know what you mean. For all of us trade is trade – we are not warriors. No, Belzoni will be glad with what sweepings-up he can get after my deal is concluded. After all, he will be more than satisfied that the Genoans – who are in league with the French here and in Italy – will go home with nothing.’
I downed the rest of my Rhenish wine, and thanked Ricci for his hospitality. I left, thinking he had been wrong – trading was indeed a fascinating subject. Our conversation had told me a great deal. Enough to set Panaretos’ mind at rest. It only remained for me to confront Finati with the facts, and then I would be finished. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, Philip and I had an invitation to a banquet.
The meal turned out to be a special occasion, for Lady Baia was present from the beginning at the table. She had not been relegated to the kitchen, nor was she being used as a serving maid. I detected her patchouli-scented presence from the very start, but as if I needed any confirmation, Philip spoke up eagerly as he guided me into the room. ‘My lady, we are delighted by your presence.’ I could detect the catch in his voice, and wondered if his ears were already glowing. I added my own thanks at her invitation, and bowed in the general direction of her and the stronger scent that hardly hid the odour of the sweating Panaretos. His voice wheezed breathily as he spoke to me.
‘I am told, Master Falconer, that you have been questioning the Venetians about the constant threats on my life. Did you draw any conclusions, or are you still reluctant to come to a decision on who it is wishes me dead?’
I heard a faint rustle of alarm from the lips of Baia, and a quiet remonstration at her husband’s boorishness. But Panaretos clearly waved her concerns aside.
‘This . . . man was presented to me as some expert on deductive logic. So let him expound his theories.’
I knew the slight hesitation between his first and second words hinted at his desire to say another word. His inclination had been to pour scorn on my sightless state, and wonder how he could have let a blind man even begin to investigate the perpetrator of the threats. For multiple threats there had been – Theokratos had just told me so. Baia had deliberately misled Philip, but before I could ask her why, she broke the awkward silence that hung over us.
‘Look, the warners are being served. We should sit.’
Philip subtly guided me to my place and sat at my elbow. He expressed delight at the sugary subtleties that had been brought to the table as a warning the meal was under way. I had no sweet tooth and declined the carved delicacy, but I could tell that Panaretos had no such reticence, and was cracking the sugary sculpture in his no doubt ravaged teeth. I could smell his bad breath from where I sat. I told him of my discoveries as we awaited the first course.
‘I have no doubt that the document you showed me at the beginning of this enquiry was made to look as if it was written by, or at least on behalf of Messer Finati. He will be much vilified when he returns to Genoa without a renewal of the trade contracts that formerly applied.’
Panaretos laughed harshly, and smacked his lips. The broth was being served, and he was already spooning it into his maw, along with lumps of bread torn from his trencher. I revelled in the aroma of mace and cinnamon that drifted from the bowl placed before me. I tasted the soup appreciatively, noting the flavour of chicken, and the thickness of it that had been achieved with mixing in bread crumbs and then sieving most carefully.
Philip whispered in my ear, ‘He is surely twice as fat as when we first saw him. His chins have multiplied till they rest upon his breast, which is itself of a womanish roundness.’
I was sure the young monk was extra critical of our host due to his enchantment by the man’s wife, but I am sure his assessment of Panaretos was essentially truthful. The man’s gluttony was causing him to expand like some blown up bladder. Apart from expressing his delight at my findings – which I was not sure he understood – he spoke little, addressing more the plates that came forth inexorably from the kitchen.
The next delicacy was crustardes of herbs and fish. A pastry case enclosed pieces of fish stewed in lemon water to which were added walnuts, parsley, thyme and lemon balm. I don’t suppose that Panaretos had time to taste any of the subtle flavours in his pursuit of excessive consumption, but I complimented Baia on the concoction.
‘I am pleased you like it so, Master Falconer.’
I could get little else out of her, though, and was unable to question her about the more veiled threats that had dogged her husband from the time of the first clear warning contained on the parchment. Theokratos had told me that Panaretos had complained about one particular incident that his wife had reported to him. She had been with her maid in the fish market down by the harbour, and a hooded figure, dressed like a foreigner, had said that she should tell her husband to hurry up and sign the trade deal or he wouldn’t have a pretty wife any more. Perhaps she had refrained from telling Philip this because she was afraid the threat might be carried out if she spoke of it to anyone but her husband. Whatever the reason, Panaretos was not going to give me the chance to ask her.
The next course was a heavy stew called monchelet. Neck of lamb pieces had been stewed in a large pan in a wine and herb stock, along with chopped onions, then the sauce had been thickened with egg yolks. The meat was tender and glossy, and once again Panaretos soon began to demolish his portion. I could hear his breathing, stertorous and heavy, and then he belched. I wondered if he had reached the limit of even his gargantuan appetite. Baia’s announcement of the final course told me.
‘We have a blanc manger next, darling, made from pounded chicken breast flavoured with sugar and almonds.’
‘Good. I am still hungry.’
I silently marvelled at Panaretos’ capacity for ever more servings of rich food, and was ready to decline anything more than a spoonful of the sweet, tempting dish that crusaders had first encountered in Outremer years ago. I was not, however, faced with such a dilemma. Before the blanc manger could be brought, we heard a disturbance in the kitchens, and the sound of running feet. One of Panaretos’ servants came into the room where we sat, and called out a warning.
‘Master, we have been warned that pirates from Sinope – the Emir’s men – have attacked the harbour. They are woring their way up the hill towards us. What shall we do?’
Panaretos lurched to his feet; I could hear his breath quicken in alarm. But before he could give any instructions, his voice became nothing more than a strangled gurgle. I heard his chair crash over, and the cry of alarm from the servant. Then I heard the soft thud of a considerable body landing on the marble floor. I called out to Philip, groping for his arm.
‘What has happened? Philip, tell me.’
It seemed my companion was completely unable to respond, other than to stutter a few meaningless words. It was a female voice that cut calmly through the panic.
‘It looks as though my husband has had an apoplexy. When he rose from his chair, his face turned bright red, his eyes bulged out of his head, and he collapsed. I am afraid he also vomited all down his robe.’
Her tone was unusually calm in the circumstances, and she seemed to be observing a scene in which she took no part, nor had any interest in. P
erhaps the shock of such a sudden series of events had overwhelmed her, and she would break down and weep as soon as the consequences struck her. But I was not so sure.
‘What of the Emir of Sinope’s pirate band? Should we not flee for safety?’
The scent of patchouli came closer, and I felt a feminine hand on my arm.
‘Oh, I don’t think there is truly any danger. The gates to the lower town will have been closed already. The Emperor must be protected at all costs, and we shall be safe enough here. The servants are such ninnies, and run around in fright at the slightest danger.’
I heard her sit back at the table.
‘Would you like some blanc manger?’
The old man sensed all the eyes of the assembled pilgrims were on him, boring into him. He hoped he had told his story well, and that the correct conclusion had been reached. It was the woman, Katie Valier, who spoke first. He had known before she even uttered her opening words that it would be she who would guess the truth.
‘Panaretos ate himself to death, and that was the reward for his gluttony.’
Falconer smiled.
‘Oh, it was more than merely his gluttony that killed him. You see, I travelled to Genoa on Finati’s ship, and he swore to me that he never wrote the threatening letter, nor acted in any other way to coerce Panaretos into accepting a trade deal. It only confirmed my own conclusions, which Panaretos did not give me time to expound upon. I could have told him who was threatening his life, but he died before I could.’
Katie was quick to see his point.
‘Then it was Baia who wrote the letter, and she also made up the other threats in order to scare her husband.’
One of the other pilgrims piped up, not fully comprehending the enormity of Katie’s suggestion.
‘But why would she do that? I know that from what you tell us, Master Falconer, that he mistreated her. But what would she gain by making him even more fearful and angry?’
The old man could tell Katie was looking at him in an understanding way, so he completed the story.
The Deadliest Sin Page 15
