The Forging of Fantom

by Reginald Hill

  When he grew sober, he thanked me for my care and I believe he was truly impressed by the good sense of my action. For my part, I was resolved to be quit of him, for I had no desire to be around when his stupid behaviour got him arrested again. In any case, I had now sufficiently mastered the elements of his language for my purposes. But merely to sever our connection without explanation could be dangerous too. Such fellows as this will strain their intellects to blackmail and extortion if simple physical employment fails.

  ‘Sabino,’ I said, ‘we understand each other well, you and I?’

  ‘We do, master,’ he said, slipping his hand under his rags and grasping his stiletto. ‘Name the man and name the day. Tell me how you wish it done – slow or fast? throat or gut? with time for prayer or plunged headlong into hell?’

  ‘Soon enough, soon enough,’ I said. ‘I am not yet ready. The man I want you to take care of is currently on the terrafirma and I know not when he purposes to return. So wait for me here each Wednesday night from eight till ten. When all is in readiness, I shall let you know.’

  He looked at me doubtfully, as well he might. No money had changed hands, my small store being sadly depleted through his mighty consumption of liquor. But now I took out the purse containing all that remained to me in the world and casually tossed it into his hands.

  ‘These few ducats are for your pains. You will earn a similar amount for each Wednesday that you wait for me here and I do not come. Fair?’

  ‘Fair enough, master. And for the killing?’

  I grasped his filthy wrist and stared deep into his eyes, trying to look like a man eaten with a great hate.

  ‘When the killing is done, you shall name your own price,’ I whispered hoarsely.

  It was a generous offer, the kind that can only be made when you have no belief that it will ever be taken up.

  I now found occasion to be around Quevedo as much as possible, particularly when he was entertaining Señor Miro. Quevedo himself, I believe, was happy to trust me as completely as a confirmed cynic could, but whenever he began to talk of anything that related no matter how peripherally to the hard details of the plot, Miro would slip into Eskuara and tell him angrily to shut up.

  I played dumb, of course, and picked up some interesting snippets, notably that the outside parties to the plot were finding it as hard to agree as ‘allies’ always do. But still there was nothing factual and central till one day, as I lounged about Quevedo’s lodgings, Miro appeared full of excitement. There were no preliminaries in Spanish, but straight Eskuara from the start.

  ‘The ambassador has received messages from the Duke,’ he said. ‘All is in readiness. Terms have been agreed with both the Austrians and the Uskoks. Our dates can be held to.’

  ‘About time!’ observed Quevedo grimly. ‘I had begun to fear that all was for nought.’

  And there things might have rested had he not added flippantly, ‘Spain might have ruled the world if they cut out all her diplomats’ tongues!’

  Miro reacted with the anger of an overwrought man, and a first-class row erupted. This told me a few interesting things about the seamier side of both men’s careers but it was when they had come to their senses and started being conciliatory that the really interesting stuff came out. For in order to placate each other, they went through all the arrangements for the uprising, each making complimentary sounds about those areas the other was responsible for. I must have let my interest become too apparent for Quevedo suddenly coughed, as from too much talking, and said casually, ‘Carlo, fetch me a stoup of wine.’

  I rose to my feet and as I did so realized he had continued to use the Basque tongue as he spoke to me.

  To sit down would have merely increased their suspicion so I wandered slowly over to the window where behind a curtain was kept a piss-pot. At first I could hardly pass water for fear, but finally I managed, opened the window, emptied the pot into the canal, and returned to my seat.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Miro. ‘You think he understands?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Quevedo. ‘Anyway, he’s too thick to grasp what’s going on, even in his own language. Anyone who can remain faithful to the memory of a foul-smelling, spotty girl who’s whoring it up in a nunnery must be stupid!’

  It took more self-control than I believed I had to keep me from flinging myself at his throat. Only by concentrating on the truth of Felicia’s beauty and my hopes for our future did I keep my face a bored blank and Quevedo, apparently satisfied, returned to his conversation with the Spanish secretary.

  After Miro had gone, I hung around for a while the further to allay suspicion, but inside I was mad with impatience to get to Godfrey. When finally I made my excuses Quevedo followed me to the door and grasped my wrist. So angry was I still at the words with which he had tested me that I tried to pull loose, but he held me hard. His voice when he spoke, however, was gentle.

  ‘Carlo,’ he said, ‘we are friends, are we not?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’ he asked.

  ‘Nay! Why should I be?’

  ‘Why indeed? Remember, Carlo,’ he said, ‘a man’s actions and a man’s words are not always the man. For actions may be foolish and words false.’

  ‘Men may be both also,’ I said.

  ‘Some men may not be other,’ he said sadly.

  And let me go.

  14

  ‘WHAT a scheme! What a scheme!’ exclaimed Godfrey. ‘It is magnificent. I almost wish I were to be present to observe it.’

  It’s true. The scheme was magnificent, as these paintings which hang about the walls of Venetian palaces and churches are magnificent. The colours are brighter and the men stronger and the women more desirable than in real life. But a child may poke his puny fist through the rib-cage of a canvas Titan. In other words, such magnificence is for contemplation, not for action, and I felt something of the same about the Spaniards’ scheme for the overthrow of Venice.

  I had not the experience then that I have now in the arts of warfare, but I had sense enough to see that plans which depend wholly on certain circumstances and a certain time are limited by the very things which give them their strength. It has ever been my habit in my career as a soldier to inquire after plans are laid, ‘And if the enemy should know each clause of these plans, what then?’

  But this scheme was nothing of my devising and the only plans I was truly concerned with were those of Godfrey for our departure from the city.

  First to the Spaniards. As I have mentioned before, and as every man of education must know, the greatest ceremony of these most ceremonious Venetians takes place at the Feast of the Ascension. On this day the Doge and all the highest nobles of the State, dignitaries of the Church and foreign ambassadors process from the palace to board the Bucintoro, the huge State galley which can carry upward of one thousand people and is ornamented with gold enough to drown all of them should each take his share and jump over the side. Three hundred free oarsmen propel the barge (for such splendour may not be besmirched by such ragged wretches as Baroja) and, as the rich silks with which she is bedecked flutter like fins and shimmer like scales, she looks like some fabulous leviathan risen from the depths, fit vessel indeed to bear a young Prince of the Ocean to his marriage bed!

  A romantic notion, but like most romance, best not examined close-up, for this young prince was old Antonio Priuli and, if the Spaniards had their way, he was like to spend his wedding night not rolling around in a nuptial bed, but rolled by the tides on the bed of the sea.

  For the plan was this. As the Bucintoro and its accompanying flotilla sailed out beyond the lido to the open Adriatic, sympathizers and infiltrators, many of them Uskoks, would be seizing key positions in the city.

  ‘What?’ asked Godfrey at this point. ‘How may enough of these pirates enter the city without detection?’

  ‘It is the time of the great Ascension Fair,’ I said impatiently. ‘Visitors, merchants, sideshows of all ki
nds – the city will be packed. They have already used the mountebank shows as a cover during Carnival, remember? Fifty or a hundred men, it will be easy. With some inside help, they can occupy the Arsenal, take over the city ordnance, even enter the armoury in the Doge’s palace!’

  Out beyond the lido meanwhile, the Doge would be standing high on the poop of the Bucintoro holding a ring of gold and addressing the ocean, ‘We espouse thee, o sea, in token of our perpetual sovereignty over thee.’

  And as he spoke and cast the ring into the water, a fusillade of shots would ring out and the poor old bastard in full view of everyone of any importance in the city would fall dying in the embraces of his new bride.

  ‘Who will fire these shots?’ asked Godfrey.

  ‘There will be in the flotilla at least two boats, perhaps more, full of sympathizers and concealed weapons. Other arms there will be none, or only few, for who goes armed on such a day?’

  ‘And who else is to die?’

  ‘They did not speak of that, but many I should think.’

  ‘Aye, many,’ agreed Godfrey. ‘If they have sense. Never miss the chance of killing an enemy in hot blood, Carlo, for in cold blood you may not have the stomach for it. But carry on.’

  The confusion would be vast. The flotilla would head back into the lagoon in great disarray. If all had gone well in the city, they would be greeted by a volley of cannon – just enough, so the plan was, to discourage the boats from landing. Then in through the open arms of the lido would drive an Uskok fleet which had been lurking a couple of miles out to sea.

  ‘God’s teeth! Will they set those savages loose on them?’ demanded Godfrey.

  I looked at him strangely. Almost I could forget that he had ever been Godislav, the pirate chief and an acknowledged master in savagery! I wondered if he himself had truly forgotten it.

  ‘They are there merely to back up the change of government and under the Duke Osuna’s command,’ I said.

  ‘Who will be sitting on his viceregal arse in Naples!’ said Godfrey. ‘Even if Majmun is politician enough to rest quiet and obey orders (which I doubt), do you think that such as Jaraj can pass up the chance of such plunder as Venice offers?’

  He was right. I couldn’t. And I waited to see how far his concern might be translated into practical terms. But suddenly the frown left his face and he laughed admiringly and that is when he said, ‘What a scheme! I almost wish I were to be present to observe it. But you and I will be well on our way, Carlo. And with Jaraj and friends loose in the city, ’tis better so. This is good, this is most apt, this suits so well with my own plans that I might almost have plotted it myself!’

  ‘But what of Benetto and Zanetta?’ I protested.

  ‘What of them?’ he echoed.

  ‘If the plot succeeds, they are like to die, being of the Doge’s family.’

  ‘If it fails, your friend Quevedo is like to die too, aye, and more slowly than by an Uskok sword. What of that?’

  I considered the dilemma a while, then replied, ‘That would grieve me much. But he is active in this business by choice. He has chosen his risk.’

  Godfrey seized me by the shoulders and pulled me to him for a moment in what was almost a maternal embrace.

  ‘Oh Carlo, Carlo,’ he said tenderly. ‘Be not deceived. In the world of affairs, all men are active and are so by choice. Think you that Benetto would risk his position or Quevedo his plot to keep you safe? No, and rightly so. ’Tis all a man can do in this world to look after himself! Or, if he is clever as you and I are, to protect one other close and dear friend. Otherwise rely on no one, Carlo, and let none other rely on you.’

  He laughed merrily to lighten his remarks but, I saw, meant to be taken seriously. I was not wholly convinced, but I was so delighted at Godfrey’s declaration that I was his one close and dear friend that I abandoned arguments and was content to put myself completely in his care.

  We were now near the end of April and the Feast of the Ascension was scarcely three weeks away. I was finding it almost as difficult to get details of Godfrey’s plans as I had to discover Quevedo’s and when I challenged him about this, he admitted under pressure that he was deliberately keeping me in the dark as long as possible in case I should be taken and questioned.

  ‘But you’re right, Carlo,’ he said seriously. ‘You take equal risks and must have equal knowledge. Here’s what I propose. You must tell me what you think, my friend.’

  I listened. I considered. I approved. It was dangerous but simple. Few things profitable are not dangerous, so that didn’t bother me. But not many are simple, and that was a great attraction. Though so great was my trust in Godfrey’s judgement that had he suggested I disguise myself as the Pope, I think I would have done it.

  Instead, all I had to do was to conceal myself in the basilica of St Mark when the doors were locked on the eve of Ascension Day.

  This sounds easy enough, but they were more concerned for the security of their churches than a Christian nation ought to need to be. Only a few years before, so the story went, a Jew had concealed himself in the church at night and attempted to prise up a huge agate stone set in the floor of the quire and said to be worth more than 10000 ducats. He couldn’t shift it and was next morning apprehended and later hanged in the piazzetta. The hand of God, or at least St Mark, was here, announced the tellers of the tale with grim righteousness.

  Well, perhaps God and St Mark would not be so hard on a Christian, and Godfrey and I had no intention of doing a demolition job on the floor. No, it was the Treasury itself we were after. Godfrey had charmed his way into a private viewing of it.

  ‘There are diamonds enough to light a dungeon,’ he enthused in vivid if unfortunate metaphor. ‘Huge carbuncles, emeralds, jacinths, pearls and chrysolites. Aye, and no less than three unicorns’ horns, not to mention other priceless treasures.’

  Unicorns’ horns and priceless treasures I was not so keen on as they’re not in much demand on the open market. But the jewels whetted my appetite and I pictured myself showering my share into Felicia’s lap.

  Or perhaps not. Her delicate conscience might not so easily adapt as mine was doing to the thought of such sacrilegious theft. Well, I know how to hold my tongue.

  ‘When all is quiet, you will let me in, through this door here,’ resumed Godfrey.

  He had produced a diagram of the church and pointed now to a small door close by the sacristy.

  ‘How shall we open it?’ I inquired.

  ‘I have taken a print of the key,’ he said smugly, ‘and had a copy made.’

  ‘In that case, why do I need to conceal myself inside?’ I said.

  He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  ‘A key will turn in the lock,’ he said. ‘But I have no magic to remove bolts and bars from the outside.’

  I felt very foolish and listened in silence as he told me the rest of the scheme. Bearing in soft leather bags as much of the treasure as we could manage without discomfort, we would leave the church and make our way by gondola to Felicia’s convent. She would be waiting in the Prioress’s garden, and here again Godfrey with great skill and foresight had provided himself with a key which would unlock the door in the garden wall. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the Prioress took her duties literally and sometimes met him at night to wrestle with sin!

  ‘Next week I shall visit the terrafirma,’ he concluded, ‘and there make all necessary arrangements for a swift coach to bear us as quickly as maybe out of the reach of theseVenetians and their revenges.’

  And this of course was the beauty of his planned timing. In normal circumstances we could not have hoped for much more than half a day’s start at the most – especially with the abduction of Felicia to point the finger most accusingly at me – and half a day was far from enough to get out of Venetian territory. Indeed, as I have said, not until a man has put a whole country and preferably a sea or two between himself and Venice can he feel truly secure from her unremitting agents. But on Ascensi
on Day, the Serene City was going to have other things on her mind than two thieves and an abducted nun! Whichever way the coup went, it could be days before a real investigation of the theft got under way, and the rioting and looting which always follow any civic unrest would further obscure our traces.

  ‘And if,’ added Godfrey with grim delight, ‘our old friends, the Uskoks, get into the city, it won’t be just a few jewels from the Treasury that’ll be missing. They’ll be lucky if the cupolas are left on the basilica!’

  Odd, but that threat turned in my conscience more sharply even than the possibility of death for those who were my benefactors. I have been to Rome (not in the happiest of circumstances admittedly) and seen the city they call the Eternal, and admired her beauty like that of a madonna painted on a chapel wall. But Venice is no artist’s daub, but flesh and blood, painted ’tis sure, but painted like a courtesan and filled with all the exotic delights of a courtesan’s palazzo. And when a soldier lies abed in a hard campaign, and tosses and turns as he waits for the trumpet which may call him to his death, sadly but surely ’tis the lively whore who is more like to rise in his imagination than the placid virgin.