The Deadliest Sin

The Second Sin

Every man in the party had at some point surreptitiously ogled the woman who now moved forward to offer her story. Her clothes were of the finest cloth, and their cut betrayed an origin in the Mediterranean. The south of France, perhaps or one of the northern Italian city-states. She was a mature woman without being matronly, for her waist had not grown thick, as did that of others of her age. Perhaps she had never had children. She was attended by a younger woman, but no one could say whether she was a servant or a daughter. The more discerning males amongst the gathering might have come to a consensus about her age, and supposed she was past her fortieth year, but only just. All would have been surprised to learn she was actually in the middle of her fifties. Her hair was blond with a hint of gold to it, but no white, and her face was healthily rosy and unlined. When she spoke, her voice rang like a small silver bell, and her Italian accent was obvious.

‘I want to tell you about the corrosive effects of that most deadly of the seven deadly sins – greed.’

Here she paused for effect, and cast her pale blue eyes around the gathering. No one challenged her contention that this particular sin was the most deadly. Not yet, anyway. They would reserve judgement until her story was told. Satisfied that she had their full attention, she went on.

‘This is a story often told by my grandfather about a time when I was a young woman living in Venice. Niccolo Zuliani had travelled to the ends of the earth, and seen many wonders. Great palaces where a thousand men may banquet at a time, a robe made of salamander that can resist fire, and a black stone that burns better than logs. Some said he told lies, or at the very least embroidered so heavily on the truth that it would have hardly known itself if it looked in a mirror. I like to think that everything he spoke of was the literal truth. Whatever people may have thought, this story is certainly one I can verify the truth of myself, as I was involved in its unfolding, as you will eventually see.’

The small group of travellers leaned closer to her to hear the tale of…

Greed

Nick Zuliani was bored. Though he was more than seventy years of age, his mind was as sharp as it had ever been. He had recently returned from a small Greek island owned by the Soranzo family, where he had performed a service for Giovanni Soranzo, who was now the Doge of Venice. Since his return, his days had been full of idleness, and he yearned for something to occupy his mind. Even his dearest love, Cat Dolfin, was tired of his sighs and his constant wandering through the rooms of her home, Ca’ Dolfin.

‘You’re like some tiresome ghost, always interrupting my peace, Niccolo. Do stop it.’

Zuliani sighed some more at the rebuke, knowing that if she addressed him by his full name and not as Nick, she was seriously annoyed. Then, seeing Cat’s reaction to his further sigh, he satisfied himself with a silent grimace.

‘Perhaps you are tired of having me around. You should throw me out on the street like some homeless beggar.’

He was indeed homeless, and had been for some time. Since, that is, his own house had been burned down in a fire set by a man seeking to mask his deliberate disappearance. In that conflagration, Zuliani had lost almost everything he possessed, including most of the wonders he had brought from Cathay. Still, at the time it had been a boon, in that it had resulted in him finding and moving in with his long-lost love, the aristocratic Caterina Dolfin. At the same time, he had also discovered the existence of his granddaughter, Katie.

He cast his mournful gaze on the still slim and attractive woman, who as a young lady he had left pregnant when he had skipped Venice over some misdeed or other. His only excuse at the time was that he had not known of Cat’s delicate state when he had fled. Cat returned his soulful look with a steely one of her own. She pursed her lovely red lips.

‘Don’t push your luck, Niccolo.’

Then she sighed, knowing what was behind his irritating behaviour. He needed to be busy, and the only thing that truly excited him was the pursuit of trade and the growth of money.

‘Oh, very well. I will loan you some money, just so that you can lose it on some hare-brained scheme, like you have with your own money.’

Zuliani flashed her a smile.

‘A promissory note will be enough, and I shall be out from under your feet and on my way to the Rialto in an instant.’

She quickly picked up a quill before he could change his mind.

‘So this is about a Venetian’s greed for money,’ said one of the pilgrims gathered in the Angel tavern in Norfolk. Katie frowned, annoyed that the thread of her story, so soon started, had been broken already.

‘Not at all. There is no sin in honest trade, as any Venetian will tell you. Listen, and you will soon learn what sort of greed I am telling you about.’

It was not long before Nick Zuliani found his way to the Rialto. The great wooden bridge was at the centre of the early settlement, and was now the commercial heart of La Serenissima. On its sturdy planks strode impecunious merchants seeking the funds for trading ventures that they could not afford on their own. Any Venetian with a little money to invest could have a share in such trade. Artisans and widows, even the aged and the sick, could enter into what was called a colleganza. This might take the form of a simple partnership between two merchants, or that of a large corporation of the kind needed to finance a trans-Asiatic caravan. It might run for a short, agreed period or might be an ad hoc, ongoing arrangement that would be dissolved automatically when the venture was complete. Whatever the constituent parts of the partnership, it was founded on trust and was inviolable. Even one involving an immense initial outlay, or several years’ duration and considerable risk, could be arranged on the Rialto in a matter of hours.

Zuliani walked up and down for a while assessing the merchants who were on the bridge. They were mostly young men such as he had once been. He too had stood here, eager-faced and keen to find someone past their prime who could afford the money but not the time or effort to travel to the corners of the globe for profit. Now he was on the other side of the fence – one of those aged men too weary for long journeys in pirate-infested waters. He listened in on a couple of merchants who were already trying to persuade the people around them to take a chance on making their fortune.

One, a raw-boned man with a face that looked as though it had been chiselled out of rock and been around the world, was expounding the virtues of trading salted North Sea cod, Rhenish and Bordelais wines, and Breton salt with oil and rice from ports in the Mediterranean. Zuliani knew such a colleganza would provide steady profits, but what he sought was excitement, even if it was of the vicarious sort. The other merchant he turned to was a fresh-faced youth with long, black hair that kept blowing across his eyes in the wind that swept up the Grand Canal. He spoke of cotton from Syria and North Africa, and silks from the East. Zuliani’s heart began to beat a little faster. He moved closer, the eager eyes of the young trader spotted him and his spiel grew more expansive.

‘Remember that at sea there are no toll duties as there are on routes overland. A sea route costs a twentieth of an overland route, and all we have to fund is the basic cost of fitting out a ship, freight charges, and sailors’ wages – which are precious little.’

As he said this, he nudged the well-dressed man standing next to him and laughed. The man did not respond, his face keeping its solemn cast as he twisted the ring on his thumb, so the trader swallowed his joke and pressed on.

‘The more valuable the cargo, the greater the profit. I am proposing a colleganza that will sail as far as Antioch and Tyre in order to benefit from the silks that come from Cathay.’

At the mention of that far distant empire, Zuliani was won over to this young man’s proposition. Memories of his own travels around Cathay at the instigation of the Great Khan, Kubilai, flooded his mind. He elbowed his way to the front of the crowd that had gathered around the young merchant.

‘I will have some of that trade, young man.’

The trader eagerly grasped his hand.

‘You are a wise man, sir, and I shall not let you down. My name is Bernardo Baglioni, and yours is…?’

Zuliani hesitated, fearful that his name and reputation would draw too many into the venture and dissipate the profits. He produced the note signed by Cat.

‘Let’s merely say I am acting on behalf of the Dolfin family.’

Baglioni’s smile broadened. It was not often that someone from the case vecchie – the old aristocracy of Venice – got involved in trade.

‘Then I am honoured at such an association. Come, let us adjourn to a taverna and seal the deal.’

The well-heeled and solemn man with the thumb-ring also stepped forward. In an accent that suggested he was not Venetian, he also proposed part-funding the deal.

‘My name is Agnolo Rosso.’

Zuliani was surprised that someone so formal and reserved should wish to participate in the sort of risk suggested by Baglioni, but he wasn’t worried. There was enough profit in it for at least two big partners. Besides, the trader no doubt already had a few small investors in his pocket too. He nodded at the other man, and all three strode off the bridge and towards the nearest hostelry.

A week later, over a meal prepared by Cat’s cook, and in the presence of both Cat and his granddaughter, Katie, Zuliani expanded upon the brief report he had given on his drunken return to Ca’ Dolfin the day of the business deal.

‘Baglioni now has a large galley commissioned with a capacity of over a hundred and fifty tons and more than a hundred oarsmen to speed it on its way. He will be loading soon with goods for the outbound trip. Now that he has my money…’

Cat gave him a sharp look, and he corrected himself.

‘Now he has your money and Rosso’s, he can fund the whole trip all the way to Antioch. Though when I saw him yesterday in the evening, he seemed a little nervous. It was as if he didn’t want to speak with me.’

Katie thought that must be normal for a young man on his first big colleganza, and told Nick so.

He shrugged. ‘Maybe so. But his captain, Saluzzo by name, behaved in the same way, avoiding me like they both had something to hide.’

Cat ignored his caution. She was more interested in the other big investor.

‘This Agnolo Rosso, he is a Florentine, did you say?’

Zuliani nodded. ‘With a name like that he has to be. And he certainly doesn’t speak Venetian.’

‘And he put up a matching sum to mine?’

Again, she got a nod of agreement from Zuliani. Katie put down a sweetly honeyed chicken leg, sucked her fingers, and asked Cat what she was puzzled about.

‘Oh, nothing, Katie. It’s just unusual for a Florentine to get involved in a colleganza. Though I suppose that, where there’s money and a profit, they are not far behind us Venetians.’

She plucked a grape from the large bunch on the table and popped it in her red-lipped mouth. Zuliani gulped down the last of his wine and yawned in an ostentatious way.

‘Time for bed for an old man like me.’

He cast a meaningful glance at Cat, which Katie saw too. It made her laugh.

‘I’m not too young to know what you adults get up to when you retire early. Just don’t keep me awake by making too much noise.’

Cat pretended to be scandalised, and chided Katie for her coarseness. But she still gave her a wink as she and Nick left the room arm in arm.

Zuliani looked dishevelled the next morning, and his eyes were red-rimmed. It must have been a good night, but he was determined to be up early. Baglioni’s galley sailed that very morning, and he wanted to be on the quay to see it off. He explained his superstition to Cat.

‘See it off, and you will see it back safely. That’s what I say.’

He grabbed a hunk of fresh bread, and hurried out, his fur-trimmed robe flapping round his legs. Katie secretly followed him at a more demure pace. The sun was just coming up over the sea where the galley was soon to go, and the morning mist turned it a rosy red. A few people stood on the quay to watch the oars dipping and swinging in rhythm as Bernardo Baglioni’s galley set off into the lagoon. Zuliani shaded his eyes against the sun, and nodded with satisfaction. An old man stood leaning on a stick only a few yards away. He commented on the trim nature of the vessel.

‘A good ship with a fine crew, though she looks heavy in the water.’

Zuliani cast him a sharp glance. ‘Laden with goods to make my fortune, I hope.’

The old man grinned, the lines on his face creasing up like crushed paper.

‘Mine, too. Though I dare say, looking at that fine robe of yours, you will have more at stake than I do.’

He stuck out a hand made rough and knotted with manual labour.

‘Marco Baseggio, retired shipwright.’

Zuliani took the offered hand and, squeezing it firmly, felt the calluses that years of carving wood had worked on to its surface.

‘No matter how much, or how little, you have invested, if it’s all you’ve got, it’s an awful lot. Here’s wishing us both good luck.’

The old man nodded, and made off down the quay, relying on his stick to steady him on the cobbles.

The months of waiting for the merchant galley to return would have been anxious ones for Zuliani, if it hadn’t been for a curious event that took place some weeks after the galley set off. Katie was seated in her room reading a work by a new Florentine poet called Dante Alighieri. Some might have thought she was reading his love poems, being a girl of no more than seventeen. But Convivio – The Banquet – was about the love of knowledge, and what is more it was written not in stuffy Latin but a local dialect of Italian. The language of the people. It is difficult to imagine how that excited Katie’s young soul. She was so engrossed in the book that she didn’t hear the visitor to Ca’ Dolfin arrive, and closet himself with Zuliani. It was only when her grandfather was leading him back out that she heard their voices echoed in the reception hall. There was an entreaty from the visitor that what he had spoken about should be kept secret. This aroused her curiosity immediately. She put her precious copy of Dante upside down on the table to preserve her place, and moved to the door of her room, which gave out on to the reception hall and the doors to the water gate. But by the time she looked, the visitor was out of the gate and in his boat. She waited until the sound of an oar slapping through the water of the Grand Canal told her that he had gone, and then dashed out to speak with Nick.

‘A secret. Do tell.’

Zuliani took her arm, and they strolled back towards her room.

‘The trouble with telling a secret is that it’s then no longer a secret. So you end up destroying the very thing you are charged with keeping.’

Katie tugged on his beard, which was more grey than red by this time.

‘But I know you can’t keep a secret long, Grandpa. So you might as well tell it to me now.’

He laughed that deep, throaty laugh of his. They were now in Katie’s room, and he saw the book carelessly laid with its pages open facing downwards. That was bad for its spine and he picked it up. He read out a few lines from the place she had been reading, chortling as he did so.

‘“Since knowledge is the highest perfection of our soul, in which our supreme happiness is found, we are all by our very nature driven by the desire to attain this.” Dante Alighieri shouldn’t be the one to lecture on perfection of the soul. He was at the head of the White Guelph faction after they defeated the Ghibbelines in battle, you know, and was as greedy for power and influence as any Florentine.’

Katie knew Nick was talking about the struggles between those who supported the Pope and those on the side of the Holy Roman Emperor. But she didn’t want to know about Dante’s allegiances. Only what the mysterious visitor had told her grandfather in secret, and she wasn’t going to be diverted by a discussion about the greed of a poet. He could see the determination in her eyes, and knew she was as stubborn as he was. He sighed heavily, knowing he would have to tell her eventually.

‘Very well, it will be our secret. They want me to be on the Council of Ten.’

Katie couldn’t believe her ears. The Council of Ten had been set up after the failed coup of a couple of years back purely as a temporary measure to ensure public safety. There had been a fear that in its anxiety to avoid a concentration of power in one man, the republic had ended up with an unwieldy bureaucracy. Almost all the Doge’s decisions had to be ratified by the Great Council, which numbered around a thousand people. It was so cumbersome a process that it could not make decisions quickly, and the coup had almost succeeded because of this. That it had failed was mainly due to its own incompetence, and some underhand work by her grandfather. The Ten was then set up so that urgent matters could be resolved more swiftly and decisively. But the Council was still an elected body.

‘Won’t you have to stand for election?’

Nick smiled enigmatically. ‘Of course, but when I was a youth I worked out a way to circumvent the convoluted system to elect the Doge. I almost made it work, too. So getting on to the Ten will be simple in comparison.’ He pulled a face. ‘Though I’m not sure I want to do it.’

‘Why not? You’ve always complained that the case vecchie run everything. That the old order keeps the common citizens out of the positions of power. Now you can change all that.’

‘I know. And that’s why I was wondering why they asked me to stand for the Council. Maybe I will just be a token commoner. And it’s only for a year, anyway.’

‘But you would have a turn at being the head of the Council in that year.’

He burst out laughing. ‘It’s only for a month, and I would be one of three equal leaders. And the leaders have to stay out of society for the whole month to avoid the risk of being exposed to bribery.’

Katie grinned. ‘Oh dear, a month in Granny Cat’s company. What a burden.’

He punched her arm playfully. ‘You always win the argument with your impeccable logic. You’re right – I should do it. But I hope Baglioni’s ship returns before I’m the co-leader. I would hate to be in purdah and miss our triumph.’

As it turned out, the ship came back much sooner than Zuliani had expected, even before the election. News of its arrival brought members of the colleganza down to the quay, along with the idle onlookers who liked to see what wonders a trading vessel had brought with it. Everyone peered anxiously at the galley until the sly smile on the face of the captain, who stood at the stern, told the story. The trip had been a success, and had been made in record time, too. Zuliani missed the galley’s unexpected arrival because he was busy pressing palms at a gathering at the palace of the grandiose Tron family.

Unused to such exalted company, Zuliani had recruited Cat Dolfin into accompanying him. She was a member of that social élite formed by the case vecchie, and so was at ease with the Trons. And all the others who attended the gathering – the Tiepolos, the Dandolos and the Gradenigos. In the presence of such silken opulence, and expensively clad men and women, Zuliani nervously tweaked the collar of his stiff new jaqueta. Cat smiled at him indulgently at first, but slapped his hand away when he began to pull at the arse of his new hose.

‘Don’t go behaving like some common labourer just to prove a point,’ she warned him through her gritted teeth, ‘or you’ll never be elected.’

‘If I have to wear this gear all the time, I don’t think I want to be on the council,’ Zuliani growled. ‘Who’s that over there?’

Cat looked over to where Zuliani was pointing. A small group of young men, fashionably attired in silk brocade, were bunched around a much older man. The object of their admiration, not to say sycophancy, had a lined, long face and an imperious Roman nose. Cat thought he was probably over sixty, and his expensive clothes spoke of wealth and power.

‘I don’t know, but that’s Domenico Valier standing next to him. He’s my nephew, and as weak as his uncle – my husband – was. I can soon get out of him who the old man is.’

Zuliani almost restrained her, but she was across the room, smiling and touching sleeves courteously and at the same time intimately in a way he was incapable of. He didn’t like her talking to the Valiers. It reminded him of his failure to capture Cat for himself. They had been lovers forty years ago, but then Zuliani had fled Venice under a cloud, leaving Cat pregnant. She had been forced to marry Pasquale Valier, who had brought up Zuliani’s child – a son – as his own. Though it had all been his fault, Zuliani still resented Valier having taken his place, even though the man was now long dead. He deliberately turned away from Cat as she moved closer to her nephew, and began to press palms with others in the grand chamber. He decided that, if he pretended he was a trader selling a colleganza to gullible men with money, he could win the inbred case vecchie members over to his side. After rubbing shoulders with Kubilai Khan, getting on to the Council of Ten shouldn’t be all that hard. Just as he was tiring of his task, Cat Dolfin returned to his side. She bussed his cheek.

‘You have been doing well without me, I see.’

He shrugged his weary shoulders, but still grinned wolfishly.

‘It would seem I have what it takes to be a politician, after all.’ He paused. ‘So who was he?’

She looked at him archly. ‘Who?’

‘You know who. The old man with the big nose.’

She ran a finger down the front of his new silk doublet. ‘Are you jealous? You know what they say about the size of a man’s nose reflecting the dimensions of his other organ.’

Zuliani quickly looked around, hoping no one had heard Cat. He wondered if this was what the conversation was like all the time amongst the old aristocracy. Cat laughed at his discomfiture.

‘Never mind. Your… nose… is quite big enough for me.’

‘Caterina!’

She cast her eyes up to the ceiling high above their heads to signify her delight at his impatience.

‘Very well. To business, if you insist. The old man is Antonio Perruzzi himself.’

Zuliani’s eyes widened. ‘Of…?’

‘Of Perruzzi’s bank. In fact, you could say he is the bank, to which, they say, the English king is so indebted that if he paid off what he owes it would bankrupt his whole kingdom.’

Zuliani frowned.

‘What’s he doing in Venice?’

Cat took his arm and led him out of the chamber.

‘Doing what he always does, no doubt. Making more money.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s what we Venetians do best. What do you think we expected of the money invested in Bagnioli’s colleganza?’

Cat waved a deprecatory hand, as if the money she had loaned Zuliani was of no consequence. But despite her gesture, he knew the loan was important. The Dolfin family, of which Caterina was the last living representative bearing that name, was no longer wealthy. Of course she should have been a Valier after her marriage – and had been for a number of years – but on Pasquale’s death, she had returned to her own illustrious name. Zuliani had pondered asking her to marry him and take his name for herself and their granddaughter, but so far had been afraid to broach the subject. A Dolfin was always a Dolfin, even if this one was his lover too.

As the day was still warm and the sun bright, they began to walk along the quay from Ca’ Tron towards the Arsenale. It was then that Zuliani spotted the galley, which was unloading on the quayside.

‘It’s Baglioni’s vessel, and it looks as though he has returned with a hold full of goods.’

He rubbed his hands briskly, and gave Cat a pleading look. She sighed at being abandoned, but was resigned to Zuliani’s natural instincts.

‘Go on. Go and find out how much Baglioni has earned for us.’

Zuliani grinned his thanks and, leaving Cat stranded on the quay, he pushed through the crowd, which had gathered to gawp. He was soon at the gangplank of the galley, carefully noting the bundles of silk that were being offloaded. Making a mental calculation as to the return on his – on Cat’s – investment, he cast around for Baglioni. There was no sign of him, but he spotted Saluzzo, the ship’s captain, hanging from the rigging. Zuliani called out to him, and the man looked round. His face clouded over a little when he saw Zuliani on the dock. But then Saluzzo soon put a cheerful grin back on his face, and nimbly dropped on to the deck of the galley. He strode over to the gangplank, meeting Zuliani on the quay before he could set foot on the ship. He shook his hand vigorously.

‘A good trip, master, with a well-bought stock of silks and cotton to sell on to the German traders. You will profit well by it.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Saluzzo.’ He looked around the quay. ‘Where is Baglioni?’

Saluzzo looked around too, as if he expected to see the trader on the dock, though his eyes said otherwise. He shrugged.

‘He was here a moment ago.’

Zuliani wondered if Baglioni’s absence was a sign the trader planned to short-change him over his deal. It certainly looked as if the man was avoiding him, and perhaps in the process of falsifying his records. But then, just as his suspicions were mounting, he heard Baglioni’s voice behind him.

‘Messer… Zuliani?’

He turned to be met by the beaming face of a successful trader, who was eager to share his good fortune. And it seemed he had divined Zuliani’s real name.

‘It is Niccolo Zuliani, is it not? You should have told me who you were when we made the contract instead of hiding behind Dolfin money. I would have been proud to have Messer Zuliani as my partner.’

Despite wishing to keep his identity a secret, Zuliani was flattered by Baglioni’s effusiveness. He didn’t think at the time to wonder who had revealed his identity.

‘Please. I am an old man, whose glory days are in his past.’

‘Never! You have shown you can still spot a good business proposition when you see one, if I may say so. I will prepare the accounts in a few days when the silks and other cloths are sold on the German market. But now, I am afraid you must excuse me.’

Zuliani could tell that, though Baglioni was engaging him in conversation, his eyes were elsewhere. He watched as the young man strode across the quay, his posture betraying his nervousness. Then he saw why. The solid figure of Marco Tron stood in the shadows of the buildings that bordered the quay. Baglioni hurried over to him, shook his hand, and they both disappeared inside the building behind them. His actions left Zuliani wondering if the Tron family had invested secretly in the colleganza, too.

‘Big money demands full attention.’

Zuliani turned, and saw that the owner of the voice was the old man who had put his life-savings into the colleganza. He struggled for a moment to remember the man’s name, but then it came.

‘You are right, Baseggio. But who cares? We will both reap a tidy harvest from this business too.’

The old man shrugged. ‘But the big man…’ He stuck out a finger to point at where Tron had gone. ‘… will get a whole lot more.’

He passed a professional eye over the galley, which bobbed sluggishly on the lapping waves of the lagoon.

‘There’s more than meets the eye on that vessel.’

Zuliani wasn’t sure what he meant, but assumed the old man was just jealous of the bigger slices he, Tron and Rosso were taking. As for himself, he could calculate what he stood to make, and was entirely content with the deal. He passed a few more words with the old man, and wandered back to Ca’ Dolfin and Cat’s company. The rest of his day was passed agreeably in drinking to his good luck, and the pleasures of the flesh.

The election to the Council of Ten was only a few days away, so, the next morning, Zuliani was distracted from the more lucrative business of calculating his profits with considerations about whose palm he should grease. But before he could be on his way, there was a loud knocking at the Dolfin street door. Cat’s elderly steward, Donato, eventually answered the persistent hammering, and Zuliani heard loud voices in the hallway, as Donato tried his best to keep whoever it was from entering. Unsure why the old steward was being so obstructive, he poked his head out of the room.

‘What is the matter, Donato? Show our visitor in.’

The steward appeared at the end of the passage, his face red and his arms waving.

‘It’s a mad woman, master. She wants to see you, but I don’t think you should.’

‘Why ever not?’

Before the old man could reply, a matronly woman came up behind him and pushed him peremptorily aside. She spoke up with a strident voice, edged with hysteria.

‘Because he thinks I am too common to see the inside of the Ca’ Dolfin, that’s why.’

Indeed, the woman was shabbily dressed in a brown woollen dress that was tattered at the hem, and her headgear was worn and in holes in places. But she was more care-worn than careless of her appearance. She was poor but not ashamed of her status in life. Zuliani could see recent grief in her face, and was intrigued what had brought her to him.

‘It’s fine, Donato, I will see the lady.’ He took in her strained look. ‘And I think she would benefit from a little of the good Rhenish I know you still have stored away in the cellar.’

The old steward looked scandalised that Zuliani should be offering his mistress’s best wine to the woman. But his sense of duty took over, and he bowed his head graciously and went about his task. Zuliani took the woman’s arm, feeling it trembling with shock now her anger had subsided, and guided her into the main room of Cat’s palatial residence. When she had sat down, and Donato had brought the two goblets of wine, he set about finding out what this incident was all about.

‘Now, tell me why you came to see me. I guess it is me you want, not anyone else, mistress…’ He paused. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

The woman took a deep gulp of the wine, and sighed as it slipped down her throat. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

‘I am Francesca Este, Messer Zuliani, and, yes, it is you I want to see. It’s about my father.’

Zuliani frowned, not recalling an Este as someone he knew, and guessing he would have nothing to do with the elections. The woman saw his puzzlement, and explained.

‘Este is my married name. Before that I was a Baseggio.’

Zuliani knew that name. So, the old shipwright with the stick was her father.

‘Ahhh. How is old Baseggio?’

The woman’s face crumpled, and a tear ran down her cheek.

‘He is… dead.’

‘Dead? Good Lord, I’m sorry. When? Tell me what happened.’

After gulping back a few sobs, Francesca Este told her story. It turned out that the old man had been found that very morning floating face down in the Rio della Celestia close to the Arsenale. When his body had been fished out, there was not a mark on him to suggest foul play. So the authorities assumed he had fallen in accidentally, and informed his daughter accordingly.

Zuliani frowned, and asked the obvious question. ‘So, why are you here, Domina Este? I am sorry for your father’s death, naturally, especially after the success of the colleganza we both invested in. It’s a pity he could not reap the rewards of his good judgement, but I will ensure you receive what was due to him.’ It was the least he could do. ‘Sometimes these things happen to old men, especially if they have been…’

‘Drinking?’

Zuliani shrugged. ‘I was going to say celebrating his good fortune. I, too, had a drink or three last night. Now, if you will excuse me…’

The woman grabbed his arm with a surprisingly firm hand.

‘I came to you because my father said you could be trusted, even though we have heard you are standing for the Council of Ten. He said to me that it didn’t matter what it looked like, that you would never switch sides.’

‘Switch sides?’

Zuliani asked the question, already knowing what was coming. But he still needed to hear it for himself. Francesca Este explained in no uncertain terms.

‘He said, as a Zuliani, you would never kowtow to the old hierarchy. That you would stand up for the common people of Venice. Don’t let him down now.’

Zuliani was embarrassed, and felt his face going red. Was this what everyone outside the charmed circle of the case vecchie thought of his standing for the Council? That he was betraying his origins? If so, he would have to reconsider. He grimaced, and looked the woman squarely in the eyes.

‘What makes you think it was more than an accident? I take it that that is what you want to tell me. That Baseggio didn’t die by accident.’

She nodded her head, and sure of having gained his full attention, let go of his arm. He rubbed the spot where her grip had dug into his arm ruefully as she told him what she thought had happened.

‘We live off the Campo San Biagio, right by the entrance to the Arsenale.’

She was describing the area round the great state-owned basin that formed the shipyards and armoury of Venice. Its naval power emanated from this dockyard, and Marco Baseggio had given his working life over to building ships in the great basin.

‘He had retired on a small pension,’ explained his daughter. ‘But he still went there every day, and checked on what was being built. Some of the younger men got annoyed at his interference, but the older ones – the ones who had known him at work – respected his opinions. They would drink with him, and swap stories of the old times. He could always make his way home afterwards, even though he had to use his stick. He never fell in any canal.’

‘So what made yesterday different?’

‘Because yesterday he saw Baglioni’s galley in the Arsenale, and he told me it was still riding low in the water. Even after all the silk and cotton bales had been removed.’

Zuliani recalled that Baseggio had intimated something similar to him.

‘So it was in the Arsenale to be checked over, in case it had a leak. What is so unusual about that?’

The woman prodded a stubby finger at Zuliani. ‘Because it was the early afternoon when he saw the galley low in the water. When my father came away from his usual drinking session with his old cronies some time later, he saw the ship again. He told me the ship was now as high in the water as it should have been in the first place.’

Zuliani frowned, still not quite seeing where this was taking him. He could not fathom the meaning of this change that had meant so much to the old shipwright.

‘Could they have merely removed the ballast from the scuppers in order to check the boat out? That would explain its different position in the water.’

‘That’s what I said to my father, too. He didn’t think much of my suggestion, and told me so. He was always irritating people over what he saw as their lack of knowledge about ships. So it was then that I gave up trying to get him to tell me what was bothering him, and ignored him. He came over all sulky, and despite my asking him later what the problem was, he clammed up. All he would say was, if it was just ordinary ballast, why didn’t they offload it on the public quay?’

Zuliani began to have an inkling about what had piqued the old man’s interest. It was starting to do the same for him.

‘He had a point there. But you say he said this to you after he had been to the Arsenale? After he had drunk with his fellow ship-builders and seen the changes in the ship?’

‘Yes. As he does… did every day.’

‘So how did he end up in the Rio della Celestia later that same night?’

The woman smiled grimly, seeing that Zuliani was catching up with her.

‘He went out again. After dark. I wish I had known he was going, and that I had taken his worries seriously earlier. He might still be alive now.’

‘You think he saw something on his return to the Arsenale, and was murdered because of it?’

She nodded.

‘But he still could have fallen into the canal accidentally. Especially as it was dark.’

As soon as Zuliani had said those words, he knew how foolish they were. Not only did every Venetian know very single calle and corte in La Serenissima, and could find his way around blindfold, Baseggio’s home was in the opposite direction from the Arsenale to the rio where his body had been found. Francesca Este looked on as the truth dawned on Zuliani. He put into words what she had guessed already.

‘He was murdered and his body thrown in the canal to make it look like an accident. But they made the mistake of dumping his body in a canal that was not on his route home.’

‘Yes.’

The woman said the simple word with a great sigh of relief. She had finally convinced someone else of the truth of her father’s death. Now something could be done about the injustice. Zuliani’s mind was racing, and a plan began to form.

‘I need to check for myself what they were taking off the galley that required such secrecy. Tell me, did you ever learn from your father if there were any private entrances and exits to the Arsenale? I cannot simply turn up at the gate and demand entry.’

She smiled broadly. ‘Oh, yes. Father took me to the ship-yards often when I was a child. I played there a lot.’

The woman paused in her story, and noted with satisfaction that the pilgrims and travellers who made up her audience were entirely engrossed in her tale. The fire was burning low, but no one moved in order to feed it. If anything, they were greedy for more of her story. She smiled quietly and went on.

‘Nick appeared not to know that his conversation with Francesca Este had been overheard.’

As it was still daylight, and he couldn’t sneak into the Arsenale undetected until after dark, Zuliani decided to reconnoitre the area around the great basin immediately. He would need to be sure of his access and escape routes in case of trouble. He strolled down from Ca’ Dolfin to the great square facing the Basilica San Marco and the fortified castle that was the Doge’s Palace. The four gilded horses, stolen from Byzantium over a century earlier, glinted in the watery sun. They were a powerful symbol of Venice’s long reach and history, but Zuliani hardly noticed them. He made his way along the quayside where Baglioni’s ship had originally docked, and towards the Campo San Biagio. Poor dead Baseggio had lived his entire life there and inside the walls of the Arsenale, his days measured by the tread of his feet between the two. Zuliani followed the old man’s daily journey towards the massive gates of the Arsenale, crossing the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the rio that led to the basin.

He stopped on the bridge and peered through the gateway like an old man with nothing else to do in his life but gawp at the business of others. He could see Baglioni’s ship, still docked to the left of the basin. It was true that it now rode high and proud in the water, but Zuliani noticed something else. There was an unusual amount of activity both on the deck of the ship and on the quayside adjoining it and it was not the normal bustle of loading or unloading. Zuliani could hear sharp cries carrying over the still water of the basin, alarm sounding in their tones. The men running backwards and forwards across the gangplank between ship and quay were empty-handed, not like dock workers. Until, that is, a limp and heavy shape draped between two men came across the gangplank. A burden that looked suspiciously like a body was being transferred from ship to shore, but Zuliani was too far away to tell who it was. Or even if it really was a body. The two men carrying the burden shuffled into the building on the edge of the quay, and the door was swiftly closed behind them.

Zuliani hung around on the bridge for a while longer, listening to the soft thud of adze on wood as workers across the other side of the basin shaped planks for a new hull. But no one emerged from the Arsenale and he was unable to ask about what had happened on Baglioni’s galley. Instead, he gave up his surveillance, and followed the alleys around the outside of the great basin, checking on the ways to get in and out of the Arsenale that Baseggio’s daughter had told him about. The best option seemed to be to the north where an old water gate, half hanging off its hinges, would allow an agile person to swing round the gatepost out over the water and on to a narrow ledge inside the great basin. Zuliani wondered if his seventy-year-old body would be up to it. Maybe he couldn’t do it by himself, but someone younger could do it with ease and, once inside, help him perform the acrobatic feat without falling in. He knew who he could ask – it was just a matter of making sure Cat Dolfin didn’t find out.

Later that afternoon, Zuliani found Katie in her room still reading Dante Alighieri’s book. He asked her if she was busy that evening. Of course she didn’t tell him she had overheard his whole conversation with Francesca Este, and already knew it was a case of murder he was investigating. So she was surprised when he seemed to hesitate over asking her assistance.

‘It is nothing very much, and you may be unwilling to give up your nice warm bed.’

‘Oh, Grandpa, now you are intriguing me. Is it something really… exciting?’

‘Noooo. I just need your help with a small matter that needs more than one pair of hands. But maybe I should not bother you with such a trifle.’

By now, Katie was getting nervous about him withdrawing his request for assistance. Perhaps he was afraid to put her in danger. But then, hadn’t he already involved her in more than one murder investigation? And hadn’t she seen some gruesome bodies already? She insisted she would not be inconvenienced even if it was a very minor business. Whatever his thinking was over being so uncertain, he began to tell her his plan.

‘We will wait until it is dark, and make our entry when the sentries are at their lowest ebb physically and mentally. Some time between matins and lauds will be best.’

Katie laughed. ‘What do you know of those monkish hours? You’re usually snoring then after a late night of drinking.’

‘I’ll have you know I am well acquainted with those night offices. The damned chanting in the Church of San Zulian used to wake me up often enough when I was a child. So, if we are to get up then, we should emulate our religious brethren and retire at compline.’

Katie pulled a face at going to bed at such an early hour, but Zuliani insisted. He got up to leave, but had one more word of advice.

‘It would be well done if we were to dress in dark clothes, and in your case in the apparel of a boy, like you so much seem to enjoy doing.’

He was making reference to the fact that before they had actually got to know each other, Katie had stalked him dressed as a youth in order to be inconspicuous. And on another occasion, she had done the same thing when called upon to pretend to be his page. But it was true – she did like the freedom of wearing leggings, and not having her limbs encumbered by a heavy dress, and she took every opportunity to do so. She grinned broadly, for she had already thought to dig her boy’s clothes out of the chest at the foot of her bed. Zuliani grunted and left her to her change of wardrobe.

After a few hours, when neither of them slept well, they were both sneaking through the dark towards the Arsenale. Katie was in the top and leggings of a boy, and Zuliani in his best black jaqueta, which Cat had had made for him. It had been intended to make him a sober-looking individual for the Council of Ten campaign, and Katie was astonished he was intending to wear it for the secret assault on the walls of the Arsenale. So she told him so, but he waved away her objections with a disdainful hand.

‘It is the only garment I possess that is black, and besides, it will come to no harm.’

But then, standing as he was at the rusty, half-open gate round the back of the great basin, he began to doubt his certainty. To gain access to the gate, they had first to edge along a narrow stone ledge set above the dank, smelly canal. The waterway ran from the basin, and was in every sense – including that of smell – a back passage out of the Arsenale. While Zuliani paused, Katie skipped nimbly on to the ledge.

‘Here, let me go first.’

He didn’t make a move to stop her, and watched as she inched along and came up the old, iron gate that hung half off its hinge. Grasping one of the round eyelets that formed the top part of the hinge set into the wall, she swung easily round the obstruction and got her feet on the continuation of the ledge on the other side of the gate. She settled her feet in place, and beckoned Zuliani.

‘Come on. It’s easy.’

Zuliani expressed a lack of belief in her encouragement with a groan. Katie held out her hand, and waved him on. He stepped on to the ledge and began to inch closer to her. Grasping the same rusty eyelet, he paused and then swung round as Katie had done. Unfortunately, Zuliani’s weight was greater than that of a seventeen-year-old girl and the fixture began to pull out. He groaned, and scrabbled for the ledge with his leading foot. Placing it on the stonework, he grabbed his granddaughter’s offered hand and, as the eyelet wrenched free, concentrated on transferring his weight from the unreliable metal peg to her. For a long moment, they both almost overbalanced into the murky waters, then with a lurch they were safe on the ledge. The rusty gate, freed from its moorings, fell into the water with a splash. They tried to still their fast and heavy breathing, and stared into each other’s eyes. But no cries of alarm came from deeper inside the Arsenale, where the guards were located, and they breathed more easily. The clumsy break-in had so far gone undetected. They finished their traverse along the ledge to gain the easier ground of the quayside proper where Baglioni’s ship still rode proudly at its moorings. Zuliani brushed the rust off his hands, and indicated silently that they should proceed to the tall building next to where it was moored.

Using the shadows, they gained the large archway that formed the entrance to the storage sheds. The heavy oaken double doors looked intimidating, but Zuliani tried the small wicket gate set in the right-hand one and found it opened easily. It seemed no one was expecting intruders in the basin. They were inside in a moment, and closed the door behind themselves. The storehouse was almost pitch-dark, with only the weak light of the moon shining through a barred window set high on the rear wall. Zuliani cast round for a lantern, but there wasn’t one.

‘We shall have to take a risk and leave the door open or we won’t see what we are looking for.’

He turned back to the wicket gate and opened it again. It cast a little more light into the interior, and Katie peered around.

‘What are we looking for?’

‘Whatever it was that held the ship low in the water before it was removed.’

‘What if it was just stones?’

Zuliani sighed. ‘Then we shall find a pile of stones and be none the wiser for our adventure. But I don’t think it will be stones, or why did they bring the ship into the Arsenale before emptying it?’

They began to shuffle around in the darkness, reaching out in front of themselves to avoid bumping into anything. It was Zuliani who made the first discovery – with his shins. He cried out sharply as the corner of something substantial cracked his old bones, but then quickly changed his mood.

‘Look at this.’

Katie moved over to his side, and felt out for what had barked his shin. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw what it was. He had bumped into the first of a long stack of wooden boxes, all of the same size. He looked around, and in the light from the door saw what he was seeking. A long metal bar with a flattened end that the dock workers used to prise open crates. He grabbed it, and jammed it under the lid of the nearest box. Prising the wooden slats upwards, he eased out the nails with a frightening screech. The furtive pair waited with bated breath, but could still not hear any sound other than the soft lapping of the waters against the quay. Further effort pulled the nails free, and the lid came away easily. Zuliani looked inside and gasped. Katie peered over his stooped shoulder.

‘It’s a king’s ransom.’

Inside the crate was a heap of gold coins, gold ornaments and gold bars. Even in the soft moonlight they glowed seductively. Zuliani eyed the contents of the crate, and then looked at the stack. Katie could tell his brain was calculating the accumulated worth of the pile of crates, if every one was as full of gold as the one he had opened. He gave out a low whistle.

‘This is more than a king’s ransom. It’s enough to buy his whole kingdom. We…’

He stopped and held a finger to his lips. Listening hard, Katie heard what he had. The sound of men calling to each other out on the quay. Their voices carried easily over the waters of the great basin, so they were probably some way away. But it was obvious they were coming their way. Katie was beginning to get nervous.

‘We should go, Grandpa.’

‘Just what I was about to say.’ But he still hesitated.

‘What is it?’

He was looking around again.

‘There just one more thing. This morning I saw what I thought looked like a body being brought in here.’

The voices were getting closer, and she clutched at his sleeve.

‘A body! It’s too late for that. Let’s go.’

But Zuliani wasn’t deterred, and began to look around the darker corners of the storehouse. With a sigh, Katie set about helping him. With two pairs of eyes, the job would be done quicker, and she reckoned they would be on their way sooner. And it was Katie who found it. Behind the crates she saw a blackened sailcloth with a suspicious hump underneath it. She lifted one corner, and revealed a calloused hand, its fingers curled upwards like a dead spider. On the end of the hand was a tattooed forearm. She pulled the sail-cloth further back. The man’s sightless eyes gazed up into the moonlight. Not daring to shout, she hissed out for Grandpa. But he was already at her shoulder.

‘Saluzzo. The ship’s captain.’

He bent to look closer, and then suddenly heard a cry from outside. The men were much nearer than before. And it was obvious they had seen the open door to the storehouse. They were coming their way, and would be on to Zuliani and Katie very soon. Zuliani was still examining the body, and seemed oblivious to the danger. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

‘We have to go. But how are we going to get out of here? They are at the door and will see us if we go that way.’

Zuliani seemed unconcerned, and with one look back at the body, beckoned his granddaughter towards the rear of the warehouse.

‘This way.’

It seemed madness to her to be trying to hide in the furthest reaches of the big, gloomy chamber. With a guard set on the door, it would take the other men no time at all to flush them out. But Zuliani was not going to cower in the dark and await his fate. As he paced around close to the rear wall, the sound of his feet on the ground changed. He stamped to make sure, and was rewarded with a hollow note echoing back to him. He kneeled down and wiped the accumulated straw and rope strands from the stone floor, revealing a ring set in one of the slabs.

‘Help me with this. It will be heavy.’

She hurried over to him and helped him heave the slab up by means of the ring.

‘How did you know this was here?’

He grinned at Katie. ‘Did you miss that when you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Domina Este? She told me all the secret exits from the Arsenale, including those used by the dockers to plunder what treasures were stored in here in the past.’

She had little time to marvel at how he had known she had overheard his conversation with the bereaved woman. He was already ushering her down the open hatchway and into the impenetrable dark below. He followed her down but was unable to get the slab back in place and cursed his luck.

‘Damn. We shall just have to hope we have made our escape before they find this hatch. Go that way.’

He pointed to his right where there was a patch of light beckoning. Katie realised they were on a level with the ancient wooden pilings that had been driven ages ago by their thousands into the marshy ground to create a base for building La Serenissima. Sliding over mud and wooden post tops, they slithered towards the beam of moonlight. Finally, they squeezed through some rusty bars and found themselves underneath one of the bridges crossing a canal. She poked my head up, and saw exactly where they were. Close to the rear of the Church of San Martino.

‘Damnation. We are in trouble.’

It was Zuliani who uttered the curse, and Katie looked round at him, fearful that they had after all been followed.

‘What is it?’

He poked a finger through a gaping hole in his new jaqueta.

‘I have torn it. Cat will kill me.’

With only a day to go to the elections to the Council of Ten, Zuliani had to set aside his discoveries in the Arsenale. He first needed to concentrate on convincing those with a vote that he was a suitable candidate. With his jaqueta repaired by Katie’s nimble fingers, he started doing the rounds of the good and the worthy, only stopping short of exchanging money in order to court favour. He would have had no qualms about doing this, but Cat convinced him that the old aristocracy would think it too common an approach to the election process. Instead, he should intimate that favours could be carried out for those who voted for him as soon as he was in a position of power.

‘Isn’t that corruption?’

Cat laughed at such naïvety from her lover. She couldn’t believe that Zuliani of all people had said that. The wheeler-dealer par excellence was questioning the rightfulness of using – or maybe misusing – a position of authority.

‘Merely accepted practice, Nick. You do a favour for them, and when you need one, they will do one for you in return.’

Zuliani’s face darkened, and he scrubbed his freshly shaven cheeks.

‘All the same, it will be me using my status to gain advantage. I’ve never been on this side of the fence before.’

Cat patted his arm. ‘And you still aren’t, yet. So get out there and oil the wheels.’

Still grumbling, he left Ca’ Dolfin for his first appointment. Katie looked at her grandma in surprise. She had never heard her grandmother supporting the ways of the case vecchie before, even though she was one by birth herself. Cat saw Katie’s look, winked and walked off to her room.

The mist was being pushed back out to sea by the sun, revealing La Serenissima in all its beauty. Zuliani poked a finger in the tight collar of his jaqueta, and sighed. Being a public figure was harder work than he had imagined. Everyone thought they owned you, and demanded some of your time. He had not been out his door for more than a few moments, and he could already hear the sound of someone hurrying towards him. He turned, a fake smile plastered on his face. When he saw his pursuer was Bernardo Baglioni, he let his mask drop. He could see that the man was terrified.

‘What on earth is the matter, Baglioni? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’

The trader’s face was indeed pasty-looking, almost green, and his mouth was pulled down in a grimace. His voice came out high-pitched and broken.

‘Saluzzo is dead, killed by a fall, they say, from the rigging. But…’

His voice finally failed him, and Zuliani finished the sentence for him.

‘But Saluzzo was as nimble as a monkey up in the rigging. I myself saw him swinging down from it and landing at my feet with barely an intake of breath. Yes, I know.’

He glanced around, concerned in case someone had been following Baglioni. Though there were several men hurrying about their business, no one seemed to be intent on scrutinising their meeting. Still, it was as well to be circumspect, and Zuliani dragged Baglioni into the dead end of a dark, damp alley that led only to the edge of a canal. In the gloom, Baglioni appeared to regain his composure a little.

‘They didn’t let me see his body, but insisted that the only marks were those caused by falling from the top of the mast on to the wooden deck. His neck was broken apparently.’

Zuliani tested out the other man’s understanding of the situation.

‘Then it could have been a tragic accident, after all.’

Baglioni shook his head vigorously, his dark hair flopping over his forehead.

‘Never. He was silenced, and I will be next.’

It was obvious to Zuliani that Baglioni didn’t know about the old man, Baseggio. And yet he had still come to the same conclusion Zuliani had. He wanted to know more from the trader.

‘What reason have you both to be silenced? And who are the “they” that you keep referring to?’

Suddenly, Baglioni glanced nervously back towards the sunlit entrance to the alley where he and Zuliani stood like a pair of thieves. Zuliani could see the indecision on his face. Baglioni was so scared of someone, he was going to backtrack. When he spoke, his voice broke like a boy’s.

‘Maybe I was mistaken and you were right when you said it was a tragic accident. Saluzzo had to miss his footing as some point, being as overconfident as he was.’

All of a sudden, he was suggesting the ship’s captain was not as sure-footed as he had first imagined. Baglioni was now anxious to convince Zuliani of this incontrovertible fact.

‘Yes, that’s it. A simple accident that I have blown up out of all proportion.’

He even puffed out his cheeks and laughed, as though he had convinced himself of his mistake. Not quite making eye contact with Zuliani, he waved his hand in apology and strode back out of the dark alley. However, Zuliani noticed that it was not without looking edgily both ways first that Baglioni walked into the sunlight. Zuliani would have left it there, and planned another strategy to get the truth out of Baglioni, if he had not seen a dark shadow suddenly flit past the end of the alley. His immediate reaction was that someone was walking purposefully after the trader. Someone who had waited for him to come back out of the darkness where Zuliani now stood.

He ran to the end of the alley and looked in the direction Baglioni and his tail had gone. The street twisted to the left only a few yards away, so he didn’t see Baglioni. But he did see the end of a dark cloak, flapping in the breeze, before it too was lost round the corner. He hurried in pursuit. The street he was now in ran straight towards the Franciscan friary of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. Zuliani cursed his old legs as he tried to close the gap between himself and both Baglioni and his dark pursuer. He had a bad feeling about what was happening before his eyes. The man in the cloak was closing rapidly with Baglioni, and there was no one else around to see what might happen.

Zuliani called out a warning to Baglioni, but it only served to aid his attacker. The trader turned round, stopping in his tracks and allowing the man to fall upon him. There was a flash of a blade in the morning sunlight, and Baglioni fell. The attacker ran off diagonally across the small square beside the friary, but Zuliani was close on his heels, cutting him off at the bridge over the canal that ran behind Santa Maria. From under the hood of his cloak, the man snarled, feinting one way, then dodging the other. Zuliani was too slow, and as he twisted round, he felt a sharp pain travelling across his chest. He looked down, and saw that the sober jaqueta was slashed from one side to the other. Wondering how he was going to explain the ruined coat to Cat, he fell to his knees and blacked out.

When he came to, he found himself being bathed solicitously by the very person he had last been thinking of. He realised the offending jaqueta had been removed, and Cat was washing his bare chest. He smiled and looked up at her, but her face was set in a grim mask.

‘Don’t think you are going to get away with ruining that coat just because you have been wounded.’

He tried to look down at his chest.

‘Wounded? I thought I had died and had gone to Heaven, where beautiful handmaidens were attending to my every need.’

‘No, it’s just me making sure this cut doesn’t turn bad.’

With his chin tucked in, he could now see what Cat was referring to. A red line ran across his chest, bisecting his nipples. She had washed away the blood and little was now oozing out. She proceeded to pour an oily liquid along its length. Zuliani struggled to sit up, howling at the pain. Cat laughed and pushed him back down.

‘Don’t be such a baby. It’s just oil, wine and vinegar, but if it was a good enough remedy for the Greeks, it’s good enough for you.’

‘I would much rather have taken one of those ingredients internally.’

Cat pulled a face, and proceeded to bind some clean linen around his chest.

‘You can do that shortly. When you have spoken to the Signori della Notte. One of them is waiting outside to speak to you.’

Zuliani groaned. The Signori della Notte were a shady bunch who looked into all disorder and crime in Venice. He had fallen foul of them when a youth, being accused of a murder for which he was not responsible. He had been wary of them ever since. It had been only his prolonged absence from Venice, and his subsequent return rich and famous that had resulted in the accusation being shelved. But the Signori had long memories and an even longer reach. They could easily dust down his alleged criminal act. And now he would have to explain to them his presence at the attack on Baglioni. Suddenly recalling what he had seen, he asked Cat to enlighten him.

‘Baglioni?’

Cat Dolfin shook her head.

‘Dead.’

Zuliani cursed his luck. The trader could have given him a lead on the matter of the mysterious cases of golden ballast, and now he had been killed. Along with Baseggio and Saluzzo. With much more to do, he decided that now was not the time to tangle with the Signori. They could embroil him in a prolonged debate about what he had seen, and who the killer had been. They might even accuse him of making up the presence of another person, and imprison him for the crime. After all, he had been accused once before of murder. It could end up being weeks before he could prove his innocence, and in the meantime, the true killer could disappear, along with the gold. He sat up, feeling the bandages pull tight across his chest.

‘Tell whoever is waiting that I am too weak to be interviewed. I am after all over seventy, and this has been a great shock to me.’

‘Hmm. I am not sure that will keep them from seeing you. But you do have one other means at your disposal.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I will explain to them that you are shortly to be elected to the Council of Ten, and your friend the Doge would not take very kindly to you being badgered at this crucial time.’

Zuliani was not accustomed to using an elevated position in society to avoid the Signori. He was more used to ducking and diving like the common man he was. But he liked the idea, and grinned suddenly.

‘Excellent. You can put on your most patrician face, and send them on their way.’

Cat laughed at his drawing her into the scheme.

‘I am glad you see the sense in my suggestion. At least it beats what you used to suggest I do to protect you.’

‘And what was that?’

‘That I used my feminine wiles to distract them.’

Zuliani’s smile turned wolfish. ‘Well, your attributes are manifest in that area.’

She gave him a playful slap in the arm and turned away, giving him a view of a wiggling bottom as she went about her errand.

Ruefully, Zuliani picked up the garment ruined by his attacker, and poked his hand through the long slash. The quilted nature of the elaborate stitching was probably what had saved him from a worse injury, but it meant the jaqueta was beyond salvation. He bundled it up, and tossed it aside carelessly. He had never liked it anyway, preferring his old fur-trimmed long gown with its patterned cloth. It had been his favourite garb in distant Cathay, and reminded him of other, more carefree days. Days when he didn’t have to kowtow to the wealthy in order to gain their favour. Then, he had been an agent of the Great Khan, with his personal passport and badge of office – the paizah. The gold bar, etched with the Khan’s command, had been his means of access to officialdom wherever he went in Kubilai’s empire. It had been lost in the fire that had engulfed his home recently, along with most of his other treasured possessions from Cathay.

Now, he had to rely again on his wits to achieve his goals. And wits alone would now be needed solve the mystery that had so far caused three deaths. Most recently, Bernardo Bagnioli had been stabbed because he had been deeply involved in whatever plot revolved around the bringing of gold back to Venice. Zuliani had no doubts about that. Baglioni’s own fears, expressed so clearly, meant he must have known who he would fall foul of if he spoke up. Unfortunately for the trader, his co-conspirator had decided to stop his mouth anyway. Saluzzo had also been murdered. Zuliani had seen the corpse, and there was no way his death had been an accident. You didn’t get three puncture wounds on your chest falling from the rigging, only from a dagger seeking to stop your heart. Saluzzo had met a similar fate to Baglioni, either because he was in the plot as well, or because he had seen too much. Zuliani guessed at the former reason. A ship’s captain knew everything that happened on board his ship. He had to, in order to maintain control. Baglioni and whoever the others were would have had to recruit him to the cause too. And ultimately, that had led to his death. That left only Baseggio.

Zuliani believed the old man was innocent of any wrong-doing. The retired shipwright had no reason to be a part of the plot as his only involvement prior to the venture had been to put a small amount of money into it. No, he had been killed merely because he had been too nosy. Just like Zuliani had been. He began to wonder if he too would be silenced. It all depended on whether he had been seen in the storehouse. But even if he had been, he had one consolation after that night’s escapade: Kate was safe. No one would have identified her as the youth accompanying him on the break-in.

He sniffed at the three jugs that Cat had used to mix the salve for his wounds, finally identifying the wine. He took a swig, and pulled a face. Though it was not the vinegar in the concoction, it was close to it in the sharpness of its flavour. It must have been the cheapest wine she could find for the preparation.

Cat returned, and saw what he was doing. She took the wine jug from him. ‘That was awful wine, and only good to wash wounds with.’

Zuliani wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I know that now. Do you have some good wine to take away the taste?’

She gave him a severe look, and told him that the representative of the Signori della Notte had gone. He had reluctantly bowed to the grand lady’s wishes.

‘But they won’t leave it there. You need to find this murderer before you are accused yourself.’

Zuliani shrugged as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

‘I think I need to do something to cheer myself up. I thought I would attend the Doge’s banquet tonight.’

Cat was startled by Zuliani’s pronouncement. The banquet was intended to parade the Council of Ten candidates one last time before the great and the good of Venice. Everyone whom Zuliani despised would be there, and she had assumed he would not wish to attend, even if he was still set on getting elected. And she had presumed that recently he had stepped back from the idea. That was why she had been pushing him into the fray at every opportunity. She had hated the idea of Zuliani becoming part of the establishment from the beginning. But she knew the only way to dissuade him was to persist in encouraging his involvement with the corruption that power brought. Now he seemed to want to rub shoulders with those in the highest positions in the republic and their supporters. Had her strategy failed?

‘Are you sure you want to?’

Zuliani nodded vigorously. ‘Oh, yes. And you will be on my arm, of course. Now go and get dressed in your finest.’

Caterina Dolfin glanced down at the discarded and ruined jaqueta.

‘Very well. But what will you wear?’

‘Something appropriate to my aspirations, I can assure you. Now go!’

Cat was not convinced by Zuliani’s choice of clothes. They arrived at the palace’s water gate in Rio della Canonica by means of the Dolfin family barchetta. In order to get out of the boat, Zuliani had to lift up the long robe he wore. It was a silk gown embroidered with dragons that he had brought back from Cathay. And though he insisted it was proper court dress in the presence of Kubilai Khan, Cat thought it would not impress the case vecchie. But as its sumptuous nature outdid her own gown, perhaps she was being overcritical. Having straightened his own gown, Zuliani helped her from the boat, which was swiftly rowed away, allowing more vessels to disgorge other richly caparisoned guests at the Doge’s gates. Climbing the grand stone stairs, they made their way towards the hall of the Great Council. The event was already in full swing.

Zuliani cast an enquiring gaze around the hall, and Cat realised that perhaps he wasn’t here to impress the old aristocracy after all. He seemed to be looking for someone in particular. She took his arm, and pulled him to one side, allowing others behind them to pass through into the chattering throng. She whispered in his ear, though it was hardly necessary as the sound of a thousand conversations was almost deafening.

‘Who are you looking for, Nick?’

‘Looking? Why should I be looking for anyone?’

A servant passed by with a tray of wine goblets, and Zuliani grabbed two, splashing some of their contents on the marble floor. He scuffed it with the sole of his boot, and passed one of the goblets to Cat. She pulled a face at his expression of innocence about her question.

‘I may have found you again only after many years, but you were always an open book to me in the past and nothing has changed since then. You think the answer to the murders is here in this room, don’t you?’

Zuliani smiled, and took a long swig of the wine. When he had finished, he waved the goblet in an arc before him.

‘Take a look around this room, and tell me what you see.’

‘I already know who I can see, and everyone is in the pages of the Libro d’Oro.’

She was referring to the book that listed the aristocracy of Venice, without which entry a person could not serve on the Great Council. Or vote for the Council of Ten. But she didn’t need to look around the hall to know that. Zuliani shook his head at her reply.

‘You’re wrong. There are others here who are not Venetian, but are the support and mainstay of those you identify. There is a cardinal or two here, for example. But that is not what I asked. I asked what you saw, not who you saw.’

Cat frowned, not quite understanding what it was Nick wanted of her. But he didn’t keep her in ignorance for long. He waved his goblet again, splashing more wine on the floor, much to the consternation of an elegantly dressed, elderly woman standing close by. She looked his exotic garb up and down with disdain, and moved away. Cat grinned maliciously.

‘You just lost the vote of the whole Tron family. That was Sofia, the matriarch of the Trons, and none of her offspring defies her.’

‘I care little about the vote, and you know it. You’ve spent the last few weeks deliberately pushing these people down my throat, in a bid to convince me of their awfulness. And your ploy has been successful. So I know you can see what I see.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Greed. Not the simple lust for good food and wine. I can understand that sort of greed, and can forgive it. No, they are all greedy for power. And wealth, which brings power with it.’

‘I cannot deny that, Nick. God knows, I have lived with it all my life. But if greed is the cause of those murders, and everyone here is driven by greed, how are you going to weed out the killer?’

Zuliani tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial gesture.

‘By making him reveal himself. Watch this.’

Cat watched as he strode into the crowd of sycophants around the Doge, and began to shake hands like an eager candidate for election. When a hand was not immediately proffered, he grabbed the reluctant man’s arm and took his hand anyway. She observed in bewilderment as he worked his way through the inner circle of Soranzo’s friends, even grasping the Doge’s own hand. Surely he didn’t think that the Doge was involved in the murders?

She noted how he held each hand for a long time, always gazing down as he shook it. Soon he had finished with the group around the Doge, and moved swiftly on, shaking hands as he went. She began to wonder if he had gone mad, and was trying to get elected after all, because she had no idea how his actions would help him find the murderer. Unless he was testing for a sweaty palm. All she could do was trail after him as he bore down on Sofia Tron and her family. Once again he was shaking hands, much to the disgust of the elderly matriarch of the family. Now Cat could believe Sofia Tron capable of murder. The look in her eyes suggested she would cheerfully murder Zuliani before the whole case vecchie. He did pause for a long time over squeezing Marco Tron’s hand, and Cat wondered if Nick had divined something about the man’s guilt. But then he moved on.

Soon he had worked his way almost entirely down the hall, until he spotted someone else. It was the banker, Antonio Perruzzi, who had a similar circle around him as had the Doge. They reminded Cat of buzzing flies hovering around a corpse. In fact, it was an apt analogy, because the banker was quite old, and his face resembled nothing more than a skull with parchment-like skin drawn tightly over it. His cheerless smile exposed a set of yellowed teeth, completing the image of a death’s head. Of course, none of the sycophants around him would dare to tell him this, and Zuliani for his part seemed delighted to encounter Perruzzi at last. As Cat drew closer in order to listen to Nick, she saw a faint aura of horror creeping over the banker’s face as his hand was pressed. He wrestled it away from Zuliani, at the same time responding to his obsequious address.

‘I think your entreaties are ill-placed, messer. I have no influence over the selection of the Council of Ten, being a mere Florentine.’

His voice was grating, and carried a note of disdain. Zuliani responded ingratiatingly.

‘I would not say that, Messer Perruzzi. A man of your wealth and influence wields power wherever he desires.’

Perruzzi narrowed his eyes, not sure if what this ridiculous man in his outrageous garb said was meant sincerely, or as a criticism. Cat, who was now at Zuliani’s shoulder, smiled at Perruzzi reassuringly. Zuliani meanwhile pressed on.

‘You trade in such great amounts of silver coin and gold that we mere mortals can only stand back and admire. They do say that the King of England is so indebted to you that his whole realm could not pay you back what is owed.’

Perruzzi’s thin lips tightened so much that they were all but invisible. Even as he replied, he began to cast around for one of his minions to come to his rescue.

‘I do not trade, sir, and any debt owed is to the bank, not to myself. Now if you will excuse me…’

A hand fell on Zuliani’s shoulder, and he looked round to see it was Agnolo Rosso who had come to the banker’s aid. He turned, taking the man’s hand in his as he did so. He looked down at the heavily ringed fingers, and shook the hand vigorously.

‘Rosso, so good to see you again. I hope you got your profits from Baglioni before his unfortunate demise.’

Rosso nodded curtly. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. A bad business that. Such blatant street robbery as that would not be allowed in Florence. But I am not in the mood for such depressing matters. How about a drink to celebrate our mutual good fortune?’

A servant with a tray of drinks was close at hand, and Rosso took two, passing them to Zuliani and Cat, before taking one for himself. Behind him, Perruzzi slipped away into the throng, and Rosso turned his attention to Caterina.

‘Tell me, Domina Dolfin, is your granddaughter well?’

‘She is very well, Messer Rosso. Thank you for your enquiry. I was not aware you knew I had a granddaughter.’

Rosso’s smile was broad, but somehow unreal.

‘Ah, well, the Doge mentioned her in conversation. And Domina Tron, also, I believe. There is so much to learn about the grand families of Venice.’ He turned his false grin on Zuliani. ‘Is she related in any way to you, Zuliani?’

Zuliani’s face froze.

‘Why would you even ask such a question, Rosso? That would presuppose some family connection with Domina Dolfin, who is, as you rightly observe, a member of one of the grandest families of La Serenissima.’ He paused momentarily. ‘While I am a mere member of the merchant class.’

Rosso flicked a beringed finger at him.

‘And yet you are a candidate for the Council of Ten, and this charming lady is by your side.’

Zuliani shrugged. ‘Merely as a sponsor to smooth my path into the top echelons. And you will have to excuse me now. If I am to win this election, I will have to ingratiate myself some more with the great and the good.’ He took Cat’s arm firmly. ‘If you will introduce me to Domina Tron, I should be obliged.’

As he hustled Cat away from the Florentine, she whispered in his ear, ‘What was all that about? And if you want to win over Sofia Tron, you are going in the wrong direction. She is over there putting the Doge in his place.’

She indicated off to their left, where the matriarch of the Tron dynasty was bending the ear of a glum-looking Giovanni Soranzo. The Doge glanced over at Cat Dolfin and Zuliani with a pleading look in his eyes. But Zuliani was in no mood to come to his assistance. He didn’t know who to trust any more in this palace of greed. And he was suddenly afraid for his granddaughter, Katie, whose name was apparently on the lips of the Doge and the Trons. Perhaps her presence on his trip to the Arsenale wasn’t as secret as he had hoped.

‘We are going home, if you want to know. And as swiftly as possible.’

Not wishing to alarm Cat unnecessarily, he came up with an excuse for his sudden change of plans.

‘This gang of crooks has depressed me.’

Cat beamed at him. ‘I’m glad you said that. I am as tired as you of them all.’

Zuliani did not want to wait for the Dolfins’ barchetta, so the couple exited the palace by the land gate, and hurried home through the dark streets of Venice. Reaching Ca’ Dolfin, Zuliani called out Katie’s name, and when there was no response, ran to her room as fast as his ageing legs could carry him. The room was empty, and the only sign she had been there was the book by Dante Alighieri lying open and face down on the floor. It looked to him as if it had been hastily discarded, or dropped in a struggle. He slumped down on the bed beside it.

‘What’s going on, Nick? Why are you so concerned about Katie?’

Cat stood in the doorway, a dark look on her face. Zuliani hesitated for a moment, not sure whether he wanted to share his fears with her. But then he knew she would never forgive him if he didn’t do so and something terrible had happened.

‘I know who killed Baglioni, Saluzzo, and the old man. And I think he knows about Katie and me uncovering the secret hoard of gold in the Arsenale. Even if he doesn’t, I think he is going to use Katie as a pawn to draw me out, and kill me, too.’

Cat felt the heat of her body falling away, and being replaced by an icy coldness. She leaned on the door frame for support, her legs quivering.

‘What is all this about, Nick. Whose gold is it?’

Zuliani took Cat’s arm and drew her down on to Katie’s bed beside him.

‘At first, I thought it was Soranzo, or another member of the case vecchie – the Trons maybe – accumulating gold secretly. They are not listed in the Libro d’Oro for nothing, after all. But then I began to put Baglioni’s trip together with other stories I have heard bandied about for some time now. The big banking houses have been shipping out silver coins by the thousands in order to buy gold at preferential rates in the Middle East and beyond. They seem to care little about the effect on trading here in the West as our coinage disappears abroad. Greed is all that drives them.’

Cat gasped as she realised the truth.

‘The Florentines are behind this. That is why Rosso funded Baglioni’s colleganza – in order to ensure the scheme went ahead.’

‘Yes, and behind Rosso stands old man Perruzzi – the greediest of them all.’

Cat clutched Zuliani’s arm. ‘But then where does this leave Katie?’

Zuliani shrugged. ‘My best guess is she is at the Arsenale. They have not had time to move their gold yet. If she had been taken anywhere, it will be there.’

‘Then you must find her.’

Zuliani didn’t have time now to sneak in the way Francesca Este had described to him. Nor was he inclined to be circumspect, not caring this time about being seen. Maybe it would be best if Rosso knew he was coming anyway. So he marched up to the main entrance beside the water gate. Surprisingly, he was unchallenged, and swiftly made his way along the quay to where Baglioni’s galley had been moored. It was no longer there, but another vessel was, which was no surprise to him. The galley’s purpose had been served, and its secret cargo would now be moved in a different ship to Florence and the coffers of Perruzzi’s bank. There had not yet been time to move the chests, and so Zuliani assumed they were still in the storehouse where he had found them.

When he approached the building, he saw that the small wicket gate set in the larger main doors was ajar. It looked so inviting it made him think that he was right concerning the whereabouts of Katie. With such precious cargo inside, the door would not normally have been left unlocked. They wanted him to enter. He edged up to the opening, and peered into the gloom.

At the far end of the storehouse a couple of lanterns lit a shadowy figure moving along the stack of wooden chests that Zuliani had seen on his last visit. It was difficult to see who it was because the lanterns provided only a silhouette. Zuliani inched through the door and tiptoed towards some barrels piled along the left-hand wall, trying to get closer before he revealed himself. As he crouched down behind one of the barrels, he almost cried out as a hand touched his shoulder. Looking up, and thinking he was discovered by one of Perruzzi’s henchmen, he was astonished to see a slim, pale face staring at him from under a sugar-loaf hat. The person’s hat was pulled well down and the face was in darkness, but a stray blond tress told him all he needed to know. It was Katie in her page-boy garb. He hissed a strangled question at her.

‘What are you doing here?’

Katie grinned. ‘I might ask you the same question, Grandpa. But seeing as you asked first, I will tell you. I thought you and Granny would be fully occupied for hours at the Doge’s party, so I decided it was time to find out if there was gold in all those boxes, and get to the bottom of the matter.’

Zuliani was so relieved to find Katie had not been taken hostage, or worse, he became very angry.

‘And you didn’t think to speak to me first?’

Katie pouted. ‘You would have stopped me coming. And besides, I thought you had given up as you seemed so busy with wheedling votes from everyone.’

‘Wheedling?’

Zuliani almost forgot where they were, and had to choke off his annoyed cry.

‘Tell me. Have I ever given up on anything as important as three murders?’

Katie thought for a moment, then shook her head.

‘No. You are right and I was wrong. But now we are both here, what do we do next?’

‘What I do is confront a murderer. What you do is get out of here and go safely back home.’

Katie began to protest, but in so doing managed to knock over an adze that had been left by one of the shipbuilders working in the Arsenale. The loud clunk of the wooden handle echoed down the length of the warehouse, alerting the man they had been spying on.

He grabbed a lantern, and called out. ‘Who’s there? Show yourself now.’

He began to stride towards where Zuliani and Katie were hiding, his face still hidden by the hood of his cloak. Zuliani pressed the crouching Katie down, indicating she should stay in the shadows, and stood up himself. As he moved away from Katie’s hiding-place, he spoke up boldly.

‘I’m here, Rosso.’ He peered beyond the beam of the upheld lantern. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’

The man threw his hood back, revealing himself. It was indeed Agnolo Rosso, who was now lit by the lantern he held over his head. He laughed.

‘Yes, it’s me, Zuliani. Damn you for being such a nuisance. I should have killed you sooner, but I can easily get on with the job now.’

‘Just as you did away with Baglioni, Saluzzo and old Baseggio because they got in your way. Or should I say in the way of Perruzzi, because it is his gold in those chests, is it not?’

Rosso merely smiled enigmatically.

‘I would have thought you of all people understood about making profits. You’re the legendary Zuliani, who came back from Cathay a rich man.’

Zuliani didn’t rise to the bait. It was true he believed in making money from trade, but only in the good old-fashioned way of buying and selling goods. That sort of business always carried with it the thrill of a gamble. Perruzzi and his like did nothing but speculate on money and the fluctuating value of gold and silver. And when the profits were not sufficient, they manipulated the markets. Standard silver coin had been the stable currency of the Holy Roman Empire in Europe since Charlemagne’s time. Now it was disappearing into the East at an alarming rate. Zuliani was beginning to see that the massive export of silver coinage from Venice to the East would create severe problems in making payments in trade. But the Florentine bankers were protecting themselves from any difficulties with chests of gold. They were like dangerous sharks swimming in Venice’s seas. He answered Rosso’s taunt.

‘Yes, but I made my money honestly.’

Rosso pulled a face. ‘Do you really want me to believe that you never cheated anyone?’ He held a finger and thumb a little distance apart. ‘Just a little? Besides, what’s dishonest about using money to make money?’

Zuliani didn’t answer him this time. He prayed that Katie would stay hidden. Rosso took Zuliani’s silence as a sign he was winning the argument, and his stance became more relaxed. But then Zuliani saw the man looking not at his face, but over his shoulder. He risked turning his gaze away from Rosso to see where the man was looking, afraid that Katie had been revealed. What he saw was a hessian sack lying by the door to the warehouse, its neck tied up with a heavy rope that was finished in a loop. Zuliani smiled, knowing instantly why Rosso was alone in the building. He had decided that Perruzzi had not rewarded him sufficiently, and was stealing some of the gold for himself. Rosso also guessed what was going through Zuliani’s mind. He shrugged, and placed the lantern at his feet.

‘Who’s going to miss a sackful from such a large consignment? You could help yourself too, and forget you ever saw me here. You could dismiss your suspicions about the deaths of the three men as mere fancy. What do you say?’

Zuliani’s instincts told him the man standing before him wasn’t going to let him leave the warehouse alive, despite what he was saying. But he decided he would go along with him for the time being, until he could find a moment to get under his guard. And he also had Katie to think of.

‘It’s very tempting – what you are suggesting, Rosso?’

Rosso’s laughter echoed around the warehouse. ‘I knew you were a man after my own heart.’

He put his hands on his hips, in a way he hoped would demonstrate his friendliness. But Zuliani could see it put his right hand closer to the dagger in his belt. Zuliani wondered if he could draw his own dagger as swiftly as the younger man. But then Rosso was asking him a question.

‘How did you guess it was I who carried out the killings?’

Zuliani pointed at the rings on the hand that was held loosely on Rosso’s hip. They sparkled in the light.

‘I saw your hand when you tried to stab me, just after you had killed Baglioni. All those rings gave you away. And then there was that ring on your thumb that looks as though it swivels round, leaving the stone on the inside.’

Rosso threw a glance down at his hand, already knowing what Zuliani meant. It was a nuisance, that ring.

‘So that’s why you were shaking everyone’s hand at the Doge’s reception earlier. But what of my thumb ring?’

‘It matches a bruise I saw on Saluzzo’s neck where you held him and choked him as you slid the knife in his heart.’

Rosso looked startled for a moment, then grinned rapaciously.

‘So it was you in this place that night. I thought it might have been, but you disappeared without trace before I could get a look at you.’

Zuliani silently thanked God that Rosso and his men hadn’t seen him. It meant they were also ignorant of Katie’s presence that night. All he had to do now was get out of this alive, and make sure Katie did, too. He saw that Rosso was unconsciously twisting the ring on his right thumb with the fingers of his left hand. It was his moment to strike, while both his opponent’s hands were occupied. He slid his dagger out, and lunged at Rosso. But the younger man was quicker, and when Zuliani’s stiff right knee gave away slightly, he danced backwards, drew his own dagger and thrust out.

Zuliani grunted in pain as he felt Rosso’s dagger skitter across his ribcage and dig into his flesh. His stumble turned into a fall, and he cracked his head hard on the stone floor, dropping his dagger. Rosso smiled coldly as he looked down at Zuliani’s prone figure, blood already seeping out from underneath him. He dashed over to the hessian sack he had set by the door, wrapped the loop of rope that tied the neck off around his wrist for safety, and stepped out of the narrow wicket gate into the night.

Katie had been stunned by the swiftness of the attack on her grandfather, but as Agnolo Rosso disappeared, she came to her senses. With a groan of anguish, she ran over to Zuliani’s body and grabbed his dagger, which still lay on the ground. She was determined to avenge her grandfather, and the three other men that Rosso had killed. She skipped over the sill of the wicket gate, and saw Rosso walking away along the quay. She ran after him and, just as he turned on hearing her light footsteps, swung a murderous blow with Zuliani’s dagger. She missed Rosso’s body completely, but as he dodged the blow, he lost his balance and fell backwards off the edge of the quayside. There was a loud splash as he hit the water in the great basin of the Arsenale. Katie looked down into the water, and saw Rosso flailing with one arm, splashing the water around him. She watched in horror as he struggled to disentangle his wrist from the rope binding the sack’s neck. Unfortunately, he was unable to get his arm free, and the heavy sack of gold dragged him beneath the waters. A few bubbles broke the surface, and then there was nothing except a ring of ripples growing out from where his body had gone under.

Katie Valier looked round her audience as she concluded her tale of greed.

‘You may have guessed that the young girl was me, and I witnessed the price that greed extracts from sinners.’

Every eye was on her, and the fire had been left to turn to a glowing redness. She leaned down and tossed another log on to the glow. It broke the spell, and the old man with the long white beard spoke up.

‘I am sorry that your grandfather died, too.’

Katie smiled.

‘Oh, Grandpa Nick didn’t die. You see, Rosso’s knife was diverted by his ribs and left him with just a flesh wound. Hitting his head on the ground knocked him out temporarily, but he was soon by my side to witness Agnolo Rosso’s demise.

‘“The reward for greed is death,” he said to me in a rather satisfied way. “Too much gold is a burden that only served to drag you down.”’

‘And what of Perruzzi?’ asked the old man. ‘Did he pay too for his greed?’

Katie had to admit that the banker Perruzzi had escaped any blame for the three murders. Someone on the edge of the group of pilgrims, who was sitting outside the circle of light cast by the fire, made a comment on that.

‘Is it not always the way, that the rich escape punishment, while the poor are ground down?’

Katie had an answer to that.

‘But then, as you all probably know, justice came to those who were driven by greed to try to accumulate great wealth at the expense of others. It is only a few years ago that your King Edward reneged on England’s debts, and drove the Florentine banks to a collapse. Antonio Perruzzi was a very old man by then, but he lived to see his world fall down around his ears, and died destitute. The sin of greed found him out in the end.’