The Madman of Venice

by Sophie Masson

  Claudio looked at him and shrugged. Ashby said,

 

  ‘Ned, you don’t understand. They don’t propose to go there alone, but with some of his soldier friends from the other night—and me.’

  ‘But how will you get in?’

  ‘Claudio has watched the Montemoro palace many times. He says the guards are rather lazy. The palace hasn’t been attacked for many years, so they take things for granted.’

  ‘It’s true they didn’t challenge us till we were almost on them,’ said Ned, remembering.

  ‘And it’s especially so at nightfall, when we plan to go. The guards play cards. And there are many back entrances where the men and I can slip in. Sarah will be officially announced, though. I am sure the Countess will receive her.’

  ‘I’m sure the Countess will be delighted to do so,’ cried Ned. ‘Come into my web, said the spider to the fly. No, it can’t be done. Even with the others, it’s madness. Self-slaughter.’

  ‘No. Not if the Duke knows about it too,’ said his master firmly. ‘That’s the other part of the plan. You are to go back to Orlando’s house, tell him what’s happened, and together you go and see the Duke. He must be told everything and persuaded to take action at once.’

  2 0 6

  ‘But how can you be sure that he will act?’

  ‘If his secret police already suspect a link between Gamboretto and the Montemoros, then the Countess’s confession will confirm it, beyond doubt.’

  ‘But what if nothing happens—I mean, if neither the Count nor the Countess says anything incriminating? Then the Duke’s men will just hear a hysterical girl—a hysterical Jewish girl—meddling in a very murky affair indeed. Accusing a prominent family without proof. And then where will she be? Sarah thinks the Count will be a witness against his wife. She must be mad. He’d have everything to lose if he told the truth. It is a crazy gamble.’

  ‘Then why did he mention Verona to Sarah, eh?’ said Ashby triumphantly. ‘And why did he ask you, a complete stranger, if you’d take on a commission for him? He must be feeling either guilty, or frightened, or both. The man’s cracking and there’s no telling at all what he might do.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Ned, ‘that’s why I—’

  ‘Look, Ned, it’s no use arguing.’ Ashby’s face was flushed, his eyes shining.

  ‘Oh, sir! I can’t believe you think it’s a good idea,’ said Ned despairingly.

  ‘But I do. You see, Ned, things have gone on for long enough. This woman must be stopped. We have right on our side. God has protected Sarah and Claudio all this time—and I think He will continue to do so.’

  -M- 207-H*-

  ‘But we have to give Him a helping hand sometimes,’ protested Ned.

  ‘Exactly.’ Matthew Ashby beamed. ‘I knew you’d understand. That’s just what we are doing. Helping ourselves as well. The time is past for discretion and secrecy. We have to take the fight to the enemy’s camp!’

  ‘But Sarah’s father . . .’

  ‘Sarah thinks he will understand and support her.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Ned.

  ‘Are you going to help or not?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ sighed Ned, ‘but I wish that—’

  ‘Then it’s settled.’ Matthew Ashby turned to Sarah and told her.

  She smiled. It was a dazzling smile that lit up her whole face and made her seem even more beautiful. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, looking into his eyes. ‘My heart say thank you, thank you.’

  ‘Not—not at all,’ he faltered, scarlet to the tips of his ears and aware that Claudio was watching him. ‘It... I mean . . . anyone would . . . er . . .’

  ‘Stop talking, Ned, and get going,’ said Master Ashby briskly. ‘Get back to Orlando’s as quickly as you can and tell him to go at once to the Duke and organize things.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Ned, and fled.

  •<~4r 2 0 8

  The madman of Venice

  Celia walked, along briskly, looking in every doorway, every alley, every spot where a madman might take shelter, Ned had first seen him on the way to Dr Leone’s, and then they’d both seen him in Cannaregio, so she had decided to retrace their footsteps back to St Mark’s Square first and then go to Cannaregio by boat. She came to the little square Ned had described. Yes. There was the church. But there was no one in the doorway.

  She was about to move on when she heard music. It

  -H-209-**-

  came from inside the church. On an impulse she pushed open the heavy door and peered in.

  The church was dim, fragrant with incense and crowded with worshipers. A young man was singing, accompanied by three or four instruments. It was soar- ingly beautiful music—heavenly music, she thought. And the singer’s high voice was almost inhuman—no, sexless. Angelic. A strange delight filled her; her soul was stirred. She seemed to see another world opening before her; something trembling on the edge of consciousness, just beyond.

  And then, quite suddenly, she saw him —a twisted wreck of a man with tangled white hair, not huddling fearfully, or shambling aimlessly, but on his knees in a pew at the very back, his head in his hands. No one was near him; they all kept their distance from him, for he smelled bad. Yet no one told him to go. This was the house of God, from which even sad dregs of humanity like this one could not be barred.

  Celia slipped into the church and into the pew where he knelt. He did not look up at her. He seemed to be praying. But his shoulders were heaving, and she thought he was weeping as well. She did not want to intrude into either his grief or his prayers, but she was determined not to let him go before she’d had a chance to speak to him. She dropped her own head to her hands, taking care that she could see sideways between her fingers. She cringed as a whiff of his odour reached her.

  -H- 210->->

  Oh, God, he did smell dreadful. And he looked worse. She tried to control the revulsion that rose up in her throat. Stop it, she told herself. You have been blessed . Fortunate . Unlike this poor lost soul. Yet safe in her own good fortune, she had no care for his misery, his degradation; no, she had come here just to use him for her investigation. To pester him with questions, so she could prove herself. Suddenly, she felt ashamed. A vista of sadness opened before her, a sudden glimpse into someone else’s suffering. Someone else’s story . . .

  The music reached a crescendo. The singer’s unearthly voice rose above it like a skylark in the clear air. All at once Celia found that she was crying too. The tears ran down her fingers and she couldn’t stop them.

  Suddenly, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. A timid finger, quickly withdrawn. She turned her head to one side and saw the madman looking at her out of deep-set, gentle blue eyes. So gentle was his gaze that for a moment she thought she must be mistaken. This wasn’t the raving lunatic Ned had talked about, the crazy man Dr Tedeschi had treated. This was some other man.

  And then he spoke. Softly, wonderingly. Just one word. But it made Celia start. ‘Beatrice,’ he said, and in the whisper was all the longing of the world. ‘Beatrice,’ he repeated. He reached out a hand again and touched her lightly on the shoulder, as if assuring himself she was real. ‘Beatrice,’ he said once more, and his face was suddenly suffused with an unearthly joy.

  -H- 211 •>>

  ‘I’m not. . . ,’ began Celia, and then checked herself as an unexpected insight came to her. His mind was full of phantoms. And to him she must look like the phantom he most longed for, his lost Beatrice. She knew instinctively it was best not to dissuade him. So she reached out and touched his hand gently. She whispered, ‘Come outside. Come with me.’

  She swished out of the pew and he followed meekly, like a lamb.

  ‘You have changed. You speak good English now,’ he murmured when they were outside. ‘Oh, Beatrice! I thought I would never find you again.’

  His voice was calm, almost too calm. And how thin he was, how gaunt, how suffering had etched its harsh way into his features! With a surge of hot pity, Celia
wondered what his story was. He was English, that was clear; but from what he’d said, his Beatrice was not. What had happened to her? Had she married someone else and gone away, and was she a comfortable matron somewhere, with a brood of children? Or was she dead?

  ‘You have been to England,’ she tried.

  He shook his head. ‘In the Lower Countries, and in Sicily, and oh, everywhere in the sad, violent world. To forget.’

  ‘You went as a soldier?’

  ‘Yes. War is hell. Life was hell. But now . . .’ He smiled. ‘Now Heaven has opened and you are here.’

  Her heart turned over. Oh, this was too cruel! She could not go on. But something made her say, ‘Where is your home? Where are your friends?’

  ‘Home? I have none. Only with you.’

  ‘But you . . . you’ve stayed with friends? Here in Venice?’

  He looked at her, his eyes devouring her face. ‘Clam dio wanted me to stay with him, but I would not. You see, I had to search the city for you.’

  Her ears pricked up. ‘Claudio? Was he the one who took you to the doctor?’

  He stared at her. ‘Doctor? Yes. Perhaps. I... I am confused. Claudio is a good friend.’

  ‘I should like you to take me to him,’ she said gently.

  He looked at her, the shadows gathering in his eyes. ‘Why, Beatrice?’

  ‘I should like to thank him for . . . for looking after you,’ she said through the lump in her throat.

  ‘Not now. Not now. Not now.’ There was a rising note of panic in his voice. Celia saw the danger at once and made a rapid decision.

  ‘I will take you home with me,’ she said gently. ‘Will you come?’ He nodded, his smile beatific.

  Taking his hand, she led him unresisting back through the streets to Dr Leone’s house. She hoped desperately that the others might be back at the house by now. She did not think she could bear this piteous predicament for

  -H-213-H-

  very much longer. Nothing had ever prepared her for this, and for the first time in her life, she felt uncertain, rudderless and utterly confused. If only Ned were here ...

  He wasn’t there, of course. But at least Dr Leone and Mistress Quickly were, and Dr Tedeschi had come with them. To her great relief, the doctor grasped the situation right away. He led the madman gently from the room, murmuring soothing things to him all the while, playing the fiction that he was in ‘Beatrice’s’ employ and would take care of the man’s needs. It was extraordinary how gentle the doctor was and how the poor man seemed to trust him.

  When they were alone, Celia said brokenly, ‘It’s just. . . just horrible. He thinks I’m his Beatrice. I let him think it. I feel like a fraud. A cruel fraud.’

  ‘But he’s the man we’ve been looking for?’ said Dr Leone uncomfortably.

  She nodded.

  ‘You found out the name of his friend?’

  She swallowed. ‘Claudio. The friend’s name is Claudio.’

  Dr Leone shrugged. ‘That’s not much to go on—there must be dozens of Claudios in Venice.’

  Mistress Quickly snorted indignantly. ‘Celia has done excellent work.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like excellent work,’ Celia said sadly. ‘It feels like I have coldly pirated a man’s secret heart.’

  Mistress Quickly looked at her, eyebrows raised. That doesn’t sound like you, Celia.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s what I feel.’

  ‘You did not tell him you were Beatrice,’ pointed out Mistress Quickly, comfortingly. ‘He took you for her, and in that joyful fancy he was happy for a while. It is a kindness you have done him, not a cruelty. And now he is safely in Dr Tedeschi’s hands, which is the best possible place for him to be.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘And Dr Tedeschi will be able to get more out of him, I’ll wager,’ said Dr Leone briskly. ‘Now stop fretting about it, Celia, and listen to this—when we went to Dr Tedeschi’s, Marco was awake.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Mostly swearing at first, I’m afraid,’ said Dr Leone. ‘Such language! I quite blushed for Mistress Quickly’s ears.’

  ‘You could have spared your blushes, then,’ Celia’s aunt said tartly, ‘for I don’t understand much Italian, and besides, I’m sure I’ve heard worse than that in my time.’

  ‘I made him understand that his tongue would have to loosen—and pretty smartly too,’ said Dr Leone with a grim chuckle. ‘A sword-point to the throat does wonders, you know. Anyway, he confirmed what we suspected— he’s a small-time informer who’s worked for the Monte- moros at odd times. Not often; he’s not considered too

  reliable. He didn’t say he wasn’t, of course, but I read between the lines of what he was saying.’

  ‘Was it the Countess who sent him to the Ghetto?’

 

  ‘It was Maffei, the head of the Countess’s guards. Maffei has been with the Countess since before her marriage—he is fanatically loyal to her. He said Maffei told him about our visit—described Ned, asked if he’d seen anyone like that around the Ghetto—and Marco realized it was the young Englishman he’d spoken to the day before.’ Dr Leone shook his head. ‘I told you it was a dangerous thing to do! Anyway—he was sent to see if the Tedeschis reacted to this mention of Ned, or whether your beloved was employed by the Duke, or someone else. But being the vicious creature he is, Marco thought he’d increase his own pleasure by sullying Sarah’s reputation as well. He knew about Tartuffo’s feud with the Tedeschis, you see, and thought he could use it to his own advantage.’

  ‘A dirty dog,’ said Celia with feeling.

  ‘Indeed. I’d dump him in the canal, still trussed up, if it were left up to me, but Jacob won’t hear of it. He says we should just let him cool his heels for a while in the locked room, while we find this soldier—this Claudio.’

  ‘He may know nothing about Sarah, of course,’ said Celia rather glumly. ‘He may have had nothing to do with her at all after he left their house with his mad friend.’

  ‘Actually, he had a great deal to do with her, and what’s more, with your father too,’ said Ned, coming panting

  *<4- 216 -H*-

  into the room at that very moment. He grinned to see their astonished faces. ‘Didn’t think you could get rid of me so easily, did you, Dr Leone? And I’m sorry, Celia, I really am, about not telling you at once about—’

  ‘Hush,’ she said, flying to his side. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips for a fleeting instant, then dropped it as she blushed scarlet. ‘Oh, N-Ned,’ she stammered, not looking at him, ‘tell us, Ned, tell us quickly what you mean and what’s happened!’

  But before Ned could find his voice to answer, Dr Tedeschi returned. ‘Our poor friend is settled now,’ he said. ‘His name is Edmund. I do not know his family name. He says he lived in Venice years ago, as a hired man-at-arms. But something happened to make him flee the city and take to war instead. This Claudio was someone he met then, on campaign. They have soldiered together.’ He caught sight of Ned and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Dr Tedeschi, this is my Ned ... I mean, my friend I told you about,’ said Celia, blushing even more as the imprudent words came out of her mouth.

  ‘Glad to meet you at last, Doctor,’ said Ned happily. ‘Very, very glad.’ But his eyes were on Celia as he spoke. There was a little silence.

  Dr Leone coughed. ‘Why are you here, Ned? Why aren’t you—’

  Ned broke in. ‘Dr Tedeschi, what I have to say concerns you more than anyone else in this room. At least, it is the closest to your heart.’

  217 -H*-

  The doctor went very pale. So pale that it looked for an instant as though he was going to faint. ‘My daughter .. . he whispered. ‘You have seen my daughter? She is . . . she is . . .’

  ‘She is very well,’ said Ned cheerfully. ‘And sends her dearest love to you. This is how I met her. . . .’

  -*4-21 8-H-

  The quality of mercy

  It was a short time later and the
y were in the golden splendour of the Ducal Palace, in the presence of the Duke. He was a thin-faced old man with impassive dark eyes and a smartly trimmed white beard. Flanked by a couple of his men, he sat and listened quietly as Dr Leone told him the whole story. When the alchemist had finished, the Duke said nothing for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. They waited anxiously.

  At last the Duke spoke. He said, This is an extraordinary story, Orlando. Quite extraordinary.’ His glance

  -H-219-H-

  flicked over them and Celia’s heart sank. He was not going to take them seriously. At best, he was just going to dismiss them. At worst. . .

  ‘These are very serious allegations to make against one of our leading families, Orlando,’ continued the Duke. ‘You do understand that?’

  ‘I do, your grace,’ said Dr Leone, bowing low. ‘And I would not have come to you if I were not utterly convinced indeed as to the seriousness of these allegations— which I believe are genuinely based on solid fact.’

  The Duke sighed. ‘Yes. I do see that. And I know your judgement in other matters to be sound.’ He was silent a moment more; then he said, ‘This is not entirely new to me. Our own investigations . . .’ He broke off. ‘It has not been easy to obtain information, and if this works, it will be a good thing. If there is one thing that can destroy Venice as much as Ottoman attacks from without, it is corruption from within. It is a cancer that spreads all too quickly. Very well, you shall have your men-at-arms.’

  ‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Dr Leone, beaming. ‘I know well your reputation for great probity, and I knew you would hate the notion of the good name of Venice being besmirched in this manner by this wicked woman, who—’

  ‘Wait,’ said the Duke. He glanced at Dr Tedeschi, who was standing behind Dr Leone and hadn’t spoken all this time. ‘There is one thing: if the Countess does not confess, then the girl will be arrested.’

  Fear leaped into the doctor’s face. ‘But, your grace . .

  The Duke was expressionless. ‘It will never do for a Jew to be seen to make an accusation against a Christian without proper proof. You people are protected under the law from those who would wish to harm you with- out cause, but if you seek to needlessly harm others or take revenge for imagined wrongs, then you will be punished.’