by Laura Rahme
“I see,” I replied, trying to conceal my surprise.
“Do you know this woman?”
“Err…No. No.”
“Are you still interested in the book?”
“Si, si. I am.”
“Prego. Here you are, Signore. And all the best with your witch-hunt. This must stop.” He crossed himself once more as though warding further evil.
I took the book aside and retreated to a candle-lit desk, away from prying eyes. Inhaling a whiff of dust as I opened the book, I began my perusal of its jaundiced pages. No paper here. This was an old manuscript, over fifty years old, with smooth vellum and pages so thin that some of these appeared transparent.
The scrawl was tight and black, almost difficult to read. I could scarcely make out the name of its author.
I wondered what Catarina had been looking for. It dawned on me that her interest in Magdalena had been a long passion. A passion that one must have for one’s rival. Almost as though…she had wanted to find her weakness.
In truth, I ignored what I was looking for. I was here because of my dreams. I had assembled what I knew from Catarina’s letters and from Giacomo’s diary, yet none of it satisfied me. I felt as though these dreams were somehow calling me, urging me to uncover the missing piece–a secret so terrible that it had led Giacomo to murder his rival Francesco and brought upon Magdalena’s revenge. But what was it?
And I must say this, also. I felt, as I read, that the cult of Diana held a special interest to me. An interest that seemed to have inhabited me for years and had only just resurfaced as a result of my being in Venezia and being lured into this strange case. The more I read this obscure Latin scrawl with its archaic expressions, the more I grew absorbed with the history of the cult and strangely, the more at peace I found myself.
How can I explain the sentiments that overpowered me? How best to put to words the power of this book to move and transport me? Such things are best left unexplained.
But I will write here, of what I learned.
The Vecchia Religione is old. It is older than our forebears the Romans. From whence it has come, no one knows. But this crescent-crown Goddess and her Stag-Horned consort are worshipped together and have been known to pagans for many thousands of years.
The Romans, our ancestors, looked down upon these pagans, yet they tolerated them. Over time, the spread of Romans to the pagan lands led to many myths and different ways of describing The Goddess. She and her consort have been known as Fana and Faunus, Tana and Tanus but also, Diana and Dianus and lately, Jana and Janus.
The followers of Diana believe in the spirit in all things. They worship the Moon and the forces of Nature. From these, they draw power. It is said that the Moon can confer powers onto her worshippers.
Of late, they have grown dangerous in thought and deeds. They couple at will. They couple freely and without guilt.
I knew not what this meant. Not yet. So I read on.
At the time of writing, the Vecchia Religione has resurfaced and is stronger than before. About twenty years ago, it is told that a witch, called Aradia, began to preach to peasants, giving them false hopes. This rebellious woman was born on 13 August, on the feast day of the Goddess Diana.
She instructed her followers to revert to the Old Ways and challenged the Christian church with her vile teachings. One of her numerous assertions was that both men and women have masculine and feminine traits. She encouraged free coupling, free of shame and guilt. She has taught that death is not an ending but that souls return to the earth to live again.
I read on, swept by each word. Now I understood how Magdalena had acquired her carnal reputation in Verona and why Giacomo was convinced he could easily lie with her. The woman was free. I trembled as I read the rest.
Aradia and her followers were hunted down by soldiers. But there exists survivors of this forbidden faith. Some say the witch’s followers have taken refuge in the town of Benevento, near Napoli. But they are unseen and difficult to apprehend.
Aradia split the Vecchia Religione into three groups. One of these is the Janara faith, whose followers are the preservers of the lunar forces. The janara followers are masters in the art of herb preparation, divination and magic. In divination, they are known to gaze at the pattern woven by the three Fates and can derive its meaning.
They are headed by a high priestess and a high priest.
I lifted my head and looked about, alarmed by the quietness of the library.
My thoughts raced from what I had just read.
I wondered if Magdalena had been a high priestess. Her romantic refusal of Giacomo seemed to have come from a divination that only a follower of great power could have had; someone who could easily interpret omens in dreams.
The more I consumed the book’s pages, the more my heart raced.
The followers focus their magic through spells, amulets, talismans and natural objects. Their charms have the power to attract and to banish.
I felt for the pendant around my neck. At once I could sense it, burning my flesh, boring into my chest. I felt the undeniable tug at my soul. Even the dreams that I had seen were drawing me ever nearer to her.
It is said that often when a witch dies, she is reborn many times and becomes more powerful each time.
Was Magdalena still alive, then? How many times had Magdalena lived? How often, if she were a witch, had she lived in human form? Would I find her?
I thought of Catarina’s interest for this book. I realized that eleven years ago, Magdalena had already died. Did Catarina then, upon reading this book, fear that she might return? Or had she befriended Magdalena during her regular visits to the Francesco home and now sought to better understand her late friend by reading about her faith?
And then, there–this passage, atop the next chapter, startled me.
Janara is the name one gives for a follower of Jana and of her consort Janus.
I stared ahead, my gaze vacant in the direction of the window. Outside, the December sun was high over the Piazza.
Janus. What did I really know of the Roman God, who had it seemed, given his name to our month of January.
I looked down to the book where the script filled many more yellow pages.
I know not what took hold of me. I fumbled for a little vial of ink in the deep folds of my mantle pocket. Into the pages of my journal, I began to feverishly make notes of all that I read.
In the hours that followed, while the marbled-floor room sat still and the humming of the assistant had quietened to a deafening silence, down came the etchings of my sharpened quill upon each page. My eyes raced across a blackened scrawl, its Latin words furious with meaning, words that leapt at me from tarnished pages, pages which I no sooner devoured that they were turned to reveal others.
In truth, the eerie passage of time I encountered in this library could only be likened to the thrill I felt on the night when I had chipped the white paint off her portrait. Every Latin word that was gifted to me and which I then recorded, became a flake of white paint that I peeled off, layer by layer, until I could almost touch her.
Magdalena’s Pendant
Letter from Antonio da Parma to Esteban del Valle
29 December 1422
Esteban,
Does it surprise you how rapidly I sought the man on stilts from the Piazza? I hope he delivers this letter.
Something terrible has happened to me since our last encounter. I no longer dwell in Santa Croce. This morning, I heard loud noises near my lodgments. I was forced to make a fast escape when, by my window, I saw three armed sbirri come running into the building.
I now reside close to the Rialto and my new masked existence has become a necessity. Esteban, the man you know is no longer free. I am under arrest. I have with me a letter from the Consiglio dei Dieci which they left to my name yesterday and whose contents are deeply unsettling.
I must speak with you.
Given the gravity of the situation, I am prepared to reconsider your pro
position. I am certain that we can devise an ingenious plan to arrive to a more satisfying state of affairs. Shall we say, tomorrow midday, in the Piazza? I shall be sporting white hose and a green and gold tabard.
Yours in faith,
Antonio da Parma
***
Letter from Almoro Donato to Antonio da Parma
Antonio da Parma,
Not content with neglecting your duties and refusing to sign a document that would allow us to close the Contarini case, you disobeyed the Consiglio’s orders and pursued your inquest by visiting the Ca’ Contarini.
You were then seen lurking in a Santa Croce atelier, late into the night, knowing well that it would be visited by the signore di notte under my orders. You were also seen rousing the crowds when the swollen body of Rolandino appeared along the canal banks.
Antonio, why do you persist with a path which can only displease the Council of Ten?
I have, to date, been your staunch supporter under increasing disapproval of the Council members. I have had to provide them with excuses for your refusal to sign the deposition. Naturally I referred to your foible superstitious mind, but there is only so much I can do, Antonio, before your behavior arouses the ire of the Council.
Permit me to remind you that when you were assigned to this case, you were warned to cast aside your occultist delusions. Yet I find that you made a recent visit to the library, where you spent hours immersed in a certain book.
You have not only ignored my advice, but now it appears you have abandoned all reason. Your mind is clouded, Antonio. Your erring can only cost us both in reputation.
Let me then, elucidate you, Signor da Parma, and leave no doubt as to the decreed resolution of this case. Read on and grasp its full meaning.
Following the discovery of Francesco Visconti’s body, the Contarini murders have been satisfactorily resolved as Acts of God.
Illness and death can arise from defects of the soul Antonio. Often, our own guilt precipitates this. Have you not, in a fit of depression, following your wife’s death, drowned your sorrows in abundant wine like Guido Canal did before he fell and drowned in the lagoon?
Have you not, in a fit of self-loathing, dreamed of poisoning yourself to swallow your guilt, like Ubertino Canal did, when he ingested shellfish and crab knowing full well that he would be ill from it?
And in regards to Morosini, do you dare deny, Antonio, that God has the power to inflict disease to punish the wicked? Because how else could Morosini have fallen ill in the span of a night and passed away into the next world so suddenly, if our Lord Almighty had not intervened to inflict this punishment?
And finally, we come to Giacomo. Giacomo who, no doubt, out of sheer madness, orchestrated the murder of the Visconti mascheraro and who, the following night, murdered his own daughter thinking her to be, as I am told, his son’s Jewess. Have you not been guilty of some crime and felt hunted by your enemies, seeing them even when they are not near? Giacomo’s madness was an extreme example but it stands in all evidence as a sign of his guilt.
There it is then, the truth you seek. You would agree this heavenly truth is no less formidable than the delusions you entertain to nurse the occult that has long been your fantasy. But God has set out his designs and he will not have you see shadows where they do not exist.
For as long as I have known you, you persist in your strange beliefs. Beware that they do not lead you away from God and into the path of heresy. Your delusions, whatever these may be, have no place in the Catholic Church nor do they play a role in the tragic demise of these Veneziani.
For now, I urge you to cease your wanderings before you, too, would lose your mind.
Now to the object of this letter.
We are tired of seeing you dance to the whims of your imagination.
But it is more serious than that.
Antonio, from the beginning, I warned you. All your actions are watched and known.
Our spies informed us that upon your visit to the carampanas, you appropriated the mask left by the person of Balsamo Morosini on the night of his death. Your rigorous approach to gathering evidence would be commendable if it were not so macabre.
Did you think you could conceal this mask from us, Antonio?
Concealment from the Consiglio dei Dieci places you in infringement of the law. Do you understand my meaning? No? Then read on.
On the night I spoke of, after you broke into the Visconti atelier and the body of Rolandino was found, one of the sbirri saw you take something from Rolandino’s neck.
The guards set out after you to retrieve this object. You know which object I speak of and I know it is in your possession. Despite what you probably believe, Da Parma, the sbirri were not intent on taking your life on that night. They were after the object you took in secret from Rolandino’s corpse. Why you would choose to rob a corpse is beyond my comprehension. But this object does not belong to you, Antonio. It belongs to the Council of Ten.
As of now, your actions are an offense to the institution that you were called upon to serve and I can no longer place my trust in you. I have tried to delay the inevitable but the Council is unanimous on the matter. I will though, salvage whatever amity still exists between us. Deliver yourself to us, tonight, with the pendant. I pledge that once we are satisfied that your mind has not wandered, we will let you go.
I am warning you, Antonio–there is an order for your arrest. If you do not come tonight, expect the sbirri at your doorstep.
Almoro Donato
***
Almoro was lying. When I had last seen him, he had raved about Rolandino’s guilt for engaging in acts contra natura. He had expounded on Ubertino’s gluttony and Guido’s love of drink. It seemed convenient that upon discovering Francesco’s body, no—it seemed too suspect that Almoro had leapt and found new explanations for the mechanics of each death. How fast he revised his judgments! How nimble and certain, his mind, on each occasion!
I saw well what he had set out. He was intent on closing this inquest no matter what evidence was found, discarding my reasoning at all times.
To what aim? Did he intend, at all cost, to quell the gossip already spurred by the merchants’ deaths? Was he using this case as a moral example to the popolani? He seemed to incorporate each new evidence to support his God theories.
There had to be more to these deaths.
I had to prove that I was not mad, if only to regain my freedom.
Giacomo’s diary had brought forth one piece of the puzzle and I possessed other clues. But I still needed more. And I was determined to find it in the Council’s cancelleria.
Upon reading Almoro’s letter a second time, I was struck by another curiosity. He had stated clearly of his contempt for my recent visit to Catarina Contarini. And yet, later, he had asserted that my movements were watched and known. He had known from an earlier letter that the natural course for me to take in pursuing my investigation was to make an appointment with the Contarini widow. Then why had he not stopped me? I had visited her in daylight without so much as hiding my actions. If he had wanted to, he could have stopped me and sent his sbirri after me. Even in the Giudecca gardens, their assassin could have arrested me.
That he had allowed the encounter to take place could only mean that he intended me to speak with Catarina Contarini. He had had every intention that I reveal to her the grave accusations against her husband. I had served their purpose.
And now, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Twice, the Consiglio had made attempts to frighten Catarina. The first occasion was brought upon by my revelation that her husband’s reputation, much like Rolandino’s, was dubious. The second occasion came with the vicious attack upon her son.
But why frighten this woman? And to what purpose?
And why was Almoro insisting that I return a silver pendant? What did they know of it?
I retrieved Magdalena’s pendant from my neck and began to examine it. I realized that I felt strangely possessive over it, and
as my resolve grew, and my mind seized upon an idea, I felt the rue’s branches burn into the palm of my hand. I closed my fist tight.
No, Almoro. You are wrong. I am not suffering from delusions.
But now was no time for debate. If I did not discover further evidence, I would be branded a madman by the Republic and arrested by the Consiglio.
I had made a decision. I would break into the cancelleria.
Esteban would have his document, but I would set out to find more than a condottiere contract. I would not just enter into the cancelleria inferiore. I had to delve deeper. I had to find the cancelleria secreta and unearth the secrets of the Consiglio dei Dieci.
If Almoro was hiding something from me, then this was the place where I would find it.
Schemes in the Piazza
Journal of Antonio da Parma
30 December 1422
It is said, although I cannot think who did say it, that in the festive spirit of Carnivale, the Piazza is a place where one can at once best remain hidden and be seen. There are more sights and smells here than anywhere in Venezia, save perhaps in the fish markets of the Rialto.
Upon first entry into this spacious campo, where reeking sweat mingles with cheap perfume, one is soon overcome by the brightly decked crowds. During the warmer months, the stench and sounds are particularly oppressing. It is unfortunate that the respite offered by winter should be tempered by the overbearing Carnivale revelers.
I knew not where to look in this throbbing arena gorged with Veneziani and travelers alike. Meandering among the masked were the jugglers, jesters, a band of bare-footed dancers, minstrels, and those looking down upon us with mocking smiles on their painted faces, the stilt walkers. I edged my way, pushing through the sea of colors until, to my distaste, I was within it, the very heart of Carnivale.
Hundreds of voices rise from this melting pot so that one hears a multitude of foreign tongues. One can discern, here, a Greek, there a Frenchman and an Oriental, over there, a German—without as much comprehending what each has to say. When one finally grows accustomed to the myriads of odors and bustling stalls and one believes oneself to be a hidden entity within the crowd, there appears meddling hawkers and peddlers to bar one’s way. For their eyes are adept at scrutinizing among the faces and we are not as alone as we think because they have seen us among the hundreds.
