The False Virgin

Act Two

It wasn’t my idea of paradise – a godforsaken lump of rock thrust up in a sea full of similar outcrops, where the population was outnumbered by the goats – but Katie loved it. As we got off the galley at Kamares, she looked up at the mountains that surrounded the harbour, and cried out with joy.

‘Oh, Grandpa, it’s beautiful… magical!’

I cringed at her calling me her grandfather, even though it was true. It made me feel old, though that was also true. You see, I gave up counting my years when I passed seventy. And I didn’t want to be reminded of the fact every time Katie opened her mouth. I pulled a face.

‘I told you to call me Nick.’

Katie frowned and tugged at the golden hair that cascaded down over her shoulders. It was a mixture of her grandmother’s ash-blond hair and my red locks. Though my hair was more salt and pepper now.

‘I’m sorry, Grand- Nick. But I haven’t known you all that long, and I love having a real grandfather.’

Maybe I should explain why she hasn’t known me all her life. My name is Niccolo Zuliani of Venice, though my friends call me Nick, a name my English mother gave me. And I have spent most of my life on the furthest edge of the world. The Mongol Empire of Kublai Khan had drawn me like a magnet from the earliest time I heard stories of its fabled wealth. I had travelled there and made some good friends, even becoming a high official at the Khan’s court. But I had always yearned for home, as all Venetians do. And finally I had returned to discover that my long-lost love, Caterina Dolfin – the lithe and sexy Cat of my younger days – was still alive and kicking, with a granddaughter called Katie Valier. It had turned out that the pretty girl, who now stood before me on the quay at Kamares, was my grandchild by the son I had never known. That son had been a seed that I had left spawning in Cat’s belly when I went to seek my fortune on the other side of the world. Now, having discovered my granddaughter, I was striving to make up for lost time. I sighed, knowing that I was already giving in to her every whim.

‘Then you may call me that, but only in private. Every other time it must be Nick, or Messer Zuliani. Now, where is Querini? I was told he would be here to meet us.’

We had been standing on the quay for some time by now. Our baggage was already piled there too, and the oarsmen of our speedy Venetian galley were beginning to file off the boat. But there was no one to greet us. Each oarsman – who was a free Venetian, not a slave, as in other galleys – saluted us as he passed. The men were chosen by lot from each parish, and their families were supported by the remainder of the parish while the rowers were away carrying out their duties. We had been on our travels so long that I had got to know them individually, at least enough to recognise their faces. I saw the cocky one called Stefano, who was working off his debts. Debtors often paid off their obligations by rowing in the galleys along with oarsmen chosen by lot. He grinned at me as he passed.

We were still left waiting after the oarsmen had all gone to find their lodgings. At last the Doge’s private secretary, Bertuccio Galuppi, who had travelled with us on this long journey to the Greek island of Sifnos, came hurrying back down the quay. He had gone to see why no one was waiting for us on our arrival. As he got closer, I could see his face looked like thunder.

‘Messer Galuppi, what is wrong? Is there some delay? I do hope not, as I am quite parched, and standing in this sun is not a good idea for an old man with a thirst.’

Galuppi shook his head. ‘I fear we have a problem, Messer Zuliani.’

‘None greater than my thirst, I can assure you.’

Galuppi, who acted as though he had a rod up his arse at the best of times, bristled at my levity.

‘It is far worse than that. Niccolo Querini is… indisposed.’

‘Indisposed? That is an insufficient excuse when the Doge’s representative lands on this little excuse for an island.’

That’s me, by the way – the Doge’s representative. I’ll tell you later how Nick Zuliani, of dubious origins and shady repute, came to be occupying such an elevated post. But right then I needed to throw my weight around a little. I scowled at Galuppi.

‘Tell him that I don’t care if he’s dying of the French pox, I want him here now.’

Galuppi’s face turned puce, and he anxiously inclined his head to remind me of the presence of my granddaughter. I suppose he imagined such language should not be spoken in the presence of a lady of such tender years. Especially not one from the noble houses of Dolfin and Valier. I had no such compunction. Before I had known of her existence, Katie, dressed as a boy, had spied on me. It had been only when I turned the tables on her and grabbed her that I had felt her burgeoning tits. She had cursed me then in a language that was as robust as any Venetian sailor cursing drunkenly in a tavern in the Arsenal. Which is probably where she had learned it as the wild child she had been before I met her. I had tried my best to be a good grandfather and to put her on the straight and narrow, but to no avail. Besides, I was secretly proud of her vocabulary, and had learned a few choice expressions from her myself. I was tempted to use one or two now, but saw that it would be counter-productive with the sober-sided Galuppi. Instead, I laid an arm over his shoulder, and drew him aside.

‘Bertuccio, tell me, what has indisposed Querini?’

His stiff demeanour bent somewhat, and he leaned towards my ear to whisper into it.

‘He is dead-’

‘Dead?’ I cried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, not dead. Merely dead drunk. He is incoherent and sleeping it off in the tavern along the street.’

I glowered. ‘We shall see about that.’ I turned to Katie. ‘Wait here, the shipmaster will ensure no harm comes to you. I have some business to attend to.’

I saw that she was about to protest at being treated like a child. But she knew the nature of my temper, and decided to save up her complaint about her treatment for when we were in private. I had no doubt I would be called ‘grandfather’ in the frostiest of terms, but I could bear it. Rather that than she get involved in a scene with Querini that could become nasty. She sat down on one of our trunks, and rested her chin in her hand in a way that suggested she was not happy with me. I ignored her gesture and indicated that Galuppi should lead me to our drunken host.

In actual fact, Niccolo Querini was not who I was sent to meet by the Doge. The focus of my long and arduous journey from Venice around the southern coast of Greece and out into the Aegean Sea was Querini’s wife, Speranza Soranzo. Her father, Giovanni Soranzo, had earned a reputation as the hero of Aegean naval operations. He had taken twenty-five galleys up to the Black Sea and the Crimea, restoring Caffa to Venice and taking it away from the hands of the Genoese. He became Head of the Navy, and Governor of the Gulf and Islands of Venice. In 1309 he was appointed Attorney General jointly with Marco Querini, whose son, Niccolo, had married Giovanni’s daughter. All had then seemed well in Soranzo’s world.

But a year later, the Querinis became embroiled in a conspiracy to overthrow Doge Pietro Gradenigo. The plot failed – not without some conniving on my part – and Niccolo Querini and his wife were banished to Sifnos, an island belonging to the Soranzos. Now, two years on, Giovanni Soranzo had been named Doge himself, and his daughter’s life was about to change. I was on Sifnos, that aforementioned chunk of rock in the Aegean, to talk to Speranza about her return to Venice, and the terms on which it would be possible. But first I had to deal with her drunken husband.

Galuppi led me past a noisy boat-builders’ yard and down a narrow cobbled lane to a small doorway pretentiously carved in stone with a coat of arms on the lintel. I didn’t recognise the armorial bearing, but I certainly did the body inside. I had met Niccolo Querini when I had toyed with joining the plotters in the 1310 conspiracy. Then, he had been a hothead with a powerful chest and strong arms. The man slumped over the low table in the anonymous tavern had gone to seed. He had put on a lot of fat round his waist, and his once well-groomed hair was greasy and long. Clearly, Niccolo had not survived his exile well. I grabbed his unwashed locks and lifted his head off the table. He didn’t protest at the mistreatment, merely dragging one bleary eye open to see who it was who was molesting him. The solitary eye was bloodshot, but gave signs of recognition. He propped his heavy head on his palm, which allowed me to let go of his hair. Thankfully, I wiped my greasy palm on the shoulder of his tunic. When he spoke, his speech was slurred and jumbled.

‘Zulz… Zuliani. Good to see you, man. How’s things?’

I peered angrily into his one functioning eye.

‘They could be better, Querini. I have just come through a big storm that threatened to wreck my galley off the Peloponnese. Then we were attacked by pirates who could have been under the command of the Duke of Milan, for all I know. And when I arrive at Kamares, desirous of a soft bed and a roof over my head, I find my host has drunk himself silly in a cheap tavern.’

My last words were shouted right in Querini’s face. He flinched and held his head in both hands, no doubt to try to control the headache that raged within.

‘It’s not my fault, Zuliani. It’s hers.’

‘By ‘hers’ I suppose you mean your wife, the daughter of the Doge. Why is it her fault?’

Prising both eyes open, he gazed at me miserably.

‘She’s forsaken me for a monk. And now she’s gone and shut herself in a nunnery.’

His head fell to the table with a loud clunk, and I could see I would get no more sense out of him. I left Querini to bemoan his fate and asked Galuppi to make arrangements to transfer our baggage across the island to the Querini mansion in the south. He asked about a courtesy visit to the capital, Kastro, but I waved his suggestion aside. The people I needed to see were ensconced in the south and the capital of this little island was in the east. I use the word ‘capital’ advisedly. It doesn’t take much to be the biggest place on an island in the back of beyond. No, the Tou Kontou peninsula was where the Querinis were settled, and that is where I would move my household during my stay on Sifnos. Galuppi hurried off to arrange the required transport.

As I walked back to the quay to meet up with Katie, I pondered on Querini’s words. I was not surprised to find the Doge’s daughter lodged in a religious house. She was supposed to have been living in the monastery of St John the Theologian at Mongou as the terms of her exile. That she would actually be living with her husband, however, was taken as read, and the Querini mansion was close by the monastery. So I assumed she had taken herself off to Mongou in anticipation of my arrival, just for form’s sake. But what had Querini meant about her leaving him for a monk? I would have to do some digging to discover what had been going on here on Sifnos.

My task had all started with a letter. As soon as Giovanni Soranzo had become Doge, the letter had arrived from his daughter, begging to be allowed back to Venice. Soranzo was a canny enough bird to know that as Doge he had to act cautiously, and not show preference to family. Especially family who had plotted against the previous Doge. What he had done had been a surprise to me as much as to others around him.

I had been dining with Cat in Ca’ Dolfin, her family home, where I had been living since my own house had burned down. Both of us had finished the meal, and we were talking finance. It was my favourite subject.

‘I have put what money I have in the Florentine Bank of Peruzzi. They are financing the Venetian bullion trade, which is huge. Twice a year a bullion fleet of twenty to thirty ships, under heavy naval convoy, sail from Venice to the eastern Mediterranean coast or to Egypt, bearing primarily silver. And they sail back to Venice bearing mainly gold.’

‘What profit is there in that?’

I sighed. Cat had the old aristocracy’s lack of understanding of how trading worked.

‘Because it is a trade between regions that value gold and silver differently. Some merchants are making annual rates of profit of up to forty per cent on very large, short-term investments.’

Cat yawned and I knew to stop my monologue. Then I saw by the growing look in her eyes that she was thinking pretty much the same as me. It was still only a month or two since we had found each other again, and the forces of nature worked strongly in both of us. As soon as we could slip Katie’s attention, we would be dashing off to bed together. Old man I may be, but my lust was aroused by the still lithe and sensuous body of Caterina Dolfin. But we were destined never to get there. A scratching at the water door of Ca’ Dolfin had heralded the arrival of a mysterious emissary clad in a hooded cloak. It had turned out to be Bertuccio Galuppi with a strange commission. The Doge wanted to find out discreetly about his daughter’s situation, and have his man recommend what to do about fetching her back to Venice. It seemed I was the man for the job, due, according to Galuppi, to my legendary negotiating skills and discretion. I think he meant I was a slippery and underhand customer, who could be relied on to sneak in and out of Sifnos without anyone knowing. After Galuppi had delivered his message, Cat and I spoke about whether I should take the job. She was adamant I should.

‘You can’t refuse. It’s the Doge who is asking. That means it is a command.’

I snorted. ‘That’s what you members of the case vecchie think. We mere merchant classes need a good deal to be on offer.’

I often teased Cat about her family being of the old aristocracy, which excluded such as the Zulianis from power. It was one of the reasons I had left Venice. Her father had deemed me too common for his snooty daughter. Now I had my feet under her table, but it had taken me forty years, the death of her father, and a trip round the world to get there. Our argument would have raged on, but for the intervention of the one thing that united us both. It was Katie, who had been listening to our row, who finally resolved it.

‘Of course you must go, Grandpa. Then you will have the Doge in your pocket, and eternally grateful to you.’

I pointed at my granddaughter in triumph.

‘See. She is more of a Zuliani than a Valier or a Dolfin. She gets straight to the nub of the matter in the most businesslike way.’ I hit the table with my fist, causing my wine goblet to spill over. ‘I will go.’

Katie smiled, righting my goblet and wiping the spilled wine with her hand. She licked her fingers.

‘Good. And in return for my sound advice, you will take me with you.’

Eventually, after a bone-shaking ride over the hills of Sifnos, Katie, Galuppi and I managed to settle ourselves in Querini’s estate in Moussia. I had to admit the views were spectacular. Venice hunkers down low at sea level, whereas this mansion was perched high on a hill overlooking the bright blue sea. From the balcony of the main room, I could see a curious white chapel stuck out on the peninsula, and beyond it nothing but water. It was a good place to keep a lookout for marauding pirates and had escape routes by the beaches to the west and the east. I reckoned I had appropriated Querini’s own room, but I was not concerned about that. The fool could stay in the stables, for all I cared. If he ever got back from the other end of the island after sleeping off his binge. As for me, it was time to tie one on before embarking on my official business, and I had plenty of Querini’s best wine over dinner.

I awoke the next morning with a hangover, but knew it was nothing that a brisk walk in the fresh air wouldn’t cure. Time to acquaint myself with Speranza Soranzo’s hideaway. Standing on the balcony, I could feel that the morning was warm but the onshore wind was cool. So I pulled a sleeveless velvet robe over my tunic and leggings, and went to see to it that Katie would be entertained while I met the Doge’s daughter. Walking through the archway into the inner courtyard of the Querini mansion, I saw the back of a slim pageboy I had not noticed amongst the servants during last evening’s meal. I called out to him, intending to get him to fetch Katie. When the boy turned round, I saw it was Katie herself dressed in the way I had first seen her when she was stalking me in Venice.

‘What the hell are you doing in that garb?’ I exploded.

She grinned and spun around, showing me the full effect of the white tunic, red tabard, and grey leggings she wore.

‘Don’t you think I would pass as a pageboy? I fooled you at first, didn’t I?’

She had tucked her radiant hair under a red sugar-loaf hat, and I had to admit she was a passable youth. Albeit one that someone with a taste for downy-faced boys might prefer.

‘But why do you want to pass as a boy?’

She pouted in a way that was all female. ‘I knew Galuppi wouldn’t let me come with you on your investigations dressed as myself. He is so stuffy and old-fashioned, and thinks a woman should sit at home and spin and embroider.’ She grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. ‘But you will arouse no alarm being accompanied by your page, will you?’

I knew that pleading tone, and was aware I could not stop her once her mind was made up. I sighed deeply.

‘Very well. But don’t let Galuppi see you. And keep your mouth shut when I am with Querini or his wife. Pages are seldom seen and never ever heard.’

Katie grinned and put a finger to her lips, sealing her vow of silence. I wondered how long it would last.

‘Besides, I am not investigating anything, but merely ascertaining if the Doge’s daughter is suitably chastened by her banishment, and will not stir up feeling on her return.’

Katie shook her head vigorously, almost releasing her long locks. ‘Fat chance of that happening. Speranza was always too full of her own importance. Now she is the Doge’s daughter, she will lord it over everyone.’

She started to walk ahead of me, but I grabbed her arm and held her back.

‘You mean that you knew her before her exile? Then she will recognise you, and your little subterfuge will be in vain.’

Katie blew out her cheeks in exasperation. ‘Of course she won’t, Grandpa. I was only twelve when she last saw me. I’ve grown since then.’

I shrugged in defeat, not wishing to note that she had also grown tits, which were now well concealed, thank God, or the disguise would have been useless. I did have one command for her, though.

‘You will have to walk behind me and not at my side or ahead of me. From now on, you are not my granddaughter, but my servant.’

Katie bowed deeply, put on a solemn face and hung back as I crossed the courtyard. Which was just as well as it meant she didn’t see the big grin on my face caused by her feisty impudence. She was without a doubt a Zuliani.

The land was scrubby and sere between the mansion and the monastery, our feet raising dust that clung to our clothes. It was a far cry from Venice, where dampness and the sea were on every hand. Soon we could see the thick walls of the monastery, which was set on a small rise in the land. Over the doorway hung a bell set in an arch with a thick rope hanging from it, which stirred lazily in the hot wind that blew across the dried-out land. The door to the monastery lay open, its timbers bleached and cracked in the sun. I stepped through the archway and into an open yard. There was no one around, though I got the impression that a black-clad figure had just disappeared through one of several doors to my right. Straight ahead of me, though, stood the church and another open door. On reaching it, and looking into the gloomy interior, I felt rather than saw its enticing coolness. Katie came up close behind me and whispered in my ear.

‘Did you see that priest run off when we arrived? Don’t you think it’s odd that no one has come to ask who we are? Let’s just grab the church silver and run.’

I glared at her, and stepped into the cool interior, which was only sustained by the narrowness of the windows. The interior of the church was dark and sombre. Beyond the sanctuary screen, a solitary candle burned close to the altar, and I could just make out a kneeling figure in the circle of yellowish light it cast. From the slightness of the figure I guessed it was a woman. No doubt this was the Doge’s daughter. I held up my hand to indicate to Katie that she should stay put, and started to make my way down the central aisle. I had got only half-way when someone I had not noticed loomed out of the darkness. He stood in my way. It was a man in a drab brown robe with its hood pulled up, half masking his face. He held his hand palm outwards to stop my progress.

‘You may go no closer. Who are you?’

His words were spoken in a hoarse whisper, as though he were trying not to disturb the prayers of the woman he protected. I had no such compunction, and made my voice boom out echoing around the church.

‘I am Messer Niccolo Zuliani, come to speak privately with the Doge’s daughter, Speranza Soranzo. Who might you be? Take off your hood and show yourself.’

I could see beyond the monk’s shoulder that the kneeling figure, hearing my voice, had turned to look at me. Apprehension was written on the pale face that glowed in the light of the candle. My adversary raised his hand and deftly flicked back the hood of his monkish robe, revealing a tonsured head and a grave, angular face. Though the rest of his features seemed chiselled and lined, and his nose slightly bent, his lips were as full and red as a woman’s. He licked them with the tip of his tongue, betraying a new nervousness.

‘I am Brother Hugh, Mistress Soranzo’s spiritual guide.’

So this was the monk who had stolen Speranza from her husband. He was not the most manly of rivals for Querini, so I could see why Niccolo had turned to his cups in despair. Perhaps it was his religious message that was irresistible. I was to find out the truth of that soon enough. The woman in white had risen from her knees by now, and approached my little confrontation with the charismatic monk. She was more composed now, and calmed him down with a few gentle words.

‘It’s no problem, Brother Hugh, I have been expecting Messer Zuliani.’

She stepped past the monk and gave me a bow that was no more than a curt nod of the head. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any more. I was a common trader, and she the daughter of the Doge of La Serenissima and a member of the same élite ruling gang in which my own Cat Dolfin had her origins. I gave her my best cold stare that had many a business opponent quivering in his boots, but she merely ignored it and ploughed on.

‘I am sorry that I was not at my husband’s house to greet you. We thought the storms at sea would have delayed you.’

I saw from her tone that she wasn’t sorry, and that the ‘we’ she referred to was not herself and her husband, but herself and her monkish mentor. She had slightly inclined her head to indicate him as she spoke. I tipped my own head to acknowledge her comments, and assured her that our stout Venetian galley had weathered the storms easily.

‘We even outran the pirates that seem to infest this region. Now, Domina Soranzo, I need to arrange a time when you and I can speak. In private.’

I made it clear what that meant for the monk, and blushing, he retreated from our presence and walked through the sanctuary arch to where Speranza Soranzo had been praying. I noticed that he picked up a small gilded box from the altar before he snuffed out the candle and plunged the sanctuary into darkness. When he turned the box had disappeared somewhere in his robes. Querini’s wife drew my attention away from his activity by taking my arm and walking me away.

‘I regret I cannot see you in the monastery as I have a private cell not suitable for visitors.’

By her tone of voice I assumed she meant not for male visitors. She was clearly either taking her pretence of following the terms of her exile to an extreme, or she truly had shut herself off from her husband. I guessed the monk was the key to what she was up to, and mentally noted I would have to find out more about him.

‘Then we should talk at your husband’s house. I take it that propriety will not be offended if you met me there. After all, my granddaughter will be there too.’

I looked over my shoulder at Katie who, in her pageboy disguise, had been skulking in the shadows all this time. ‘Won’t she… Sebastiano?’

Katie glared at me in giving her such a stupid name, and with as gruff a voice as she could muster replied, ‘Indeed, master.’

Katie need not have been concerned at me drawing her to Soranzo’s attention. The Doge’s daughter hardly deigned to look at the page who attended me. But I did notice that the monk gave ‘him’ a sharp look. Perhaps he was a more dangerous adversary than I had at first suspected. From his mangling of Italian I guessed he was an Englishman, so maybe I could speak to him in his own language. I had learned some of the rough tongue from my own mother, and could speak it passably. It would pay to know where he stood in the Soranzo household before I questioned Speranza more closely.

After she had agreed to meet me at her husband’s mansion the next morning, I left the monastery with ‘Sebastiano’ trailing sulkily after me. It didn’t take long for Katie to emerge from her mood, though. She grabbed a long, dry twig and started slashing at the trailing brown grass on our return path. Gradually she speeded up and came up to my shoulder. She was bursting to tell me something, but was going to make me repent for treating her badly first.

‘Sebastiano? Where did that stupid name come from?’

I smiled evilly. ‘The way you were behaving, I just thought you resembled a martyr.’

‘Oh, very amusing, Grandfather.’

To be deliberately reminded of my advanced years hurt, and I winced at the jibe.

‘Very well. You are obviously bursting to tell me something you know. So I apologise for the slur on your manhood…’ She swished at my legs playfully with the twig. ‘… and am ready to listen with ears wide open.’

Katie pouted in that endearing way of hers, making a play of deciding whether or not to tell me what she knew. But it was obvious that she would without any further encouragement, and she managed a pause of a few moments.

‘I have seen the monk before.’

‘Brother Hugh? Where?’

‘Why, in Venice, of course. Before you came back from your travels. He was a sought-after guest in the houses of Granny Cat’s friends. The more vacuous ones.’

Katie had some choice words at her disposal, revealing her fine education at the expense of the Valier family, whose name she bore. ‘Vacuous’ was one I would remember when it came to the case vecchie of La Serenissima. I laughed.

‘And what was he peddling? Indulgences to save them from Purgatory?

Katie grinned in a way that suggested she had a salacious secret to reveal. ‘No. Something far more valuable than that.’

‘Oh, what?’

‘Virginity.’

Once we had returned to the Querini mansion, and I had persuaded Katie to dress like a proper girl once again, she told me the story. We first ate a quiet meal with Galuppi, and I sank a few goblets of Querini’s good red wine. Eventually, the fussy secretary saw that his presence was not wanted, and he bowed and left. Relieved by his disappearance, Katie threw her legs over the arm of the chair she had been sitting demurely in, and clasped her hands behind her head.

‘Lord! I thought he’d never go, Grandpa Nick.’

‘Is that why you were sighing heavily all the time? Bertuccio Galuppi is a good man, you know, and doesn’t deserve to be on the end of your bad manners.’

She waved one hand in the air. ‘I’ll apologise to him tomorrow. Now, let me tell you the story of Brother Hugh.’

It seems that the monk had turned up in Venice three years ago in search of a relic. He had come all the way from a place called Carmarthen somewhere in the badlands beyond the edge of England. He was peddling a story about a finger bone belonging to a saint that a Venetian merchant had long ago purchased.

‘My great-uncle Marco!’ I exclaimed. ‘It must have been him. He went all over the place collecting relics to resell at a profit.’

Katie hushed me, and kicked her legs in anger.

‘Let me finish. This Brother Hugh was nothing much of an attraction at first, according to Granny Cat.’ She looked across the table at me. ‘You can see he’s not much to look at, and his message was all about a saint no one had heard of. But then he somehow laid his hands on the relic, and it all changed.’

At a gathering of bored matrons of noble lineage to which Hugh had been invited, more out of habit than expectation of something exciting, a stir had been created. The monk had produced a small gilded box, and announced he had the relic of St Beornwyn.

‘Who?’

Katie sat up and stamped her foot. ‘You’re always interrupting, Grandpa.’

‘Well, what sort of outlandish name is that? Be-orn-wyn.’

‘It’s English… or Welsh… or something. Anyway, I don’t suppose she’s a proper saint like Mark or Agnes, just one of those false Celtic ones.’

I was getting impatient, and tried to hurry Katie along. Like all Zulianis, she did like to tell a tale. I had been accused of telling a million lies when I came back from Xanadu.

‘So where does virginity come into it? On the way back from the monastery, you said he was peddling virginity.’

She grinned broadly. ‘Yes. That was what turned Brother Hugh into a sensation. Imagine what little a gathering of bored Venetian wives, weighed down with the riches of generations, didn’t have and couldn’t buy. Brother Hugh told them that, if they venerated St Beornwyn, and lived as she did, they would somehow regain their virginity.’

I fairly bellowed with laughter, so much so that one of the servants came running to see what was wrong. After I had shooed him away, and wiped the tears from my eyes with the end of my expensively fur-trimmed robe, I asked Katie to run that by me again. She looked at me as if I was some monkey that a crusader had just brought back from Afric lands. And not a very bright or well-trained one at that.

‘Let me explain, Grandfather.’

That name again. I kept my face straight and nodded.

‘This St Beornwyn was apparently a noble Englishwoman who was betrothed to a local lord. But she was renowned for her nightly vigils at the local church, where she prayed for the salvation of her father’s land from invading pagans. And for her own perpetual virginity.’

Katie glanced at me to see if I was going to break out into laughter again. But I managed to look serious. She went on.

‘While she was living she was called a saint, offering up her virginity and her regular vigils for the good of others. Then one night the invaders came and struck her head from her body. They flayed the skin from her body and draped it on the altar, but the Virgin Mary sent blue butterflies to cover her nakedness. So you see she was an exemplar of the virtue of virginity.’

I grunted. ‘It didn’t save her life, though, did it?’

‘Oh, Grandpa Nick, you have no soul.’

I summed up. ‘So St Beornwyn is a saintly virgin, and Brother Hugh was holding her up to the case vecchie as a figure to emulate. What did the husbands of all these newly created virgins think of this?’

‘Granny Cat said they were probably mostly glad to concentrate on their mistresses, and not to have the attentions of their wives to cope with. It was lucrative for Hugh for a while, as the women would offer gifts to St Beornwyn.’

My ears perked up when I heard that. I loved a good scam.

‘Ah, so he got rich with his little cult.’

‘For a while, until the women got bored. Then Hugh decided to concentrate on one of his followers who had been most devoted to the saint.’

‘Let me guess. Speranza Soranzo.’

‘Exactly.’

‘He could see by then that her father was a hero of the Republic, and well on his way to becoming Doge. If he snared Speranza, then he would revive his fortunes. Unfortunately, her husband went and got himself involved in a little conspiracy, and Hugh’s acolyte was banished to a Greek island.’

I waved my arms to encompass the isle of Sifnos, where we were lodged. ‘This very enchanted isle.’

Katie nodded.

‘To give him his due, Hugh followed her into exile. And maybe his gamble will now pay off. If you can persuade the Doge to allow her and her husband back to Venice, Hugh’s fortune will be made again.’

I scowled at my granddaughter. ‘It’s my job to decide if his daughter won’t be an embarrassment to Giovanni Soranzo, not to act as Speranza’s agent and persuade him to allow her back.’ I knew what I had to do. ‘I need to know more about Brother Hugh and his virgin saint. Especially if he is to come back with Speranza and her husband. And where is Querini, anyway?’

It was getting dark outside, and Querini still had not put in an appearance. Maybe he was still sleeping off his binge at the harbour. But I thought he was less of a man for getting in such a state, and for avoiding me into the bargain. Was he afraid of coming back to Venice, where he had attempted to oust the former Doge? Or was he embarrassed by his wife tossing him out of the marriage bed for a monk and a cult of virginity? I suddenly realised that Katie had said something and I had missed it.

‘What was that, girl? Your grandpa is getting deaf in his old age.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t think so. You’re as sharp as that knife you carry at your waist.’

I touched my favourite dagger instinctively, and Katie carried on.

‘I said let me approach Brother Hugh as a possible convert to St Beornwyn. I can then find out more about him, and about Speranza.’

I scrubbed at my beard, worried about what my granddaughter might get herself into. However, it was a sound proposition.

‘I suppose it’s not a bad idea. After all, you are young and virginal.’

I thought I saw a blush emerge on her throat, just for a moment. She coughed delicately.

‘It’s certainly true I’m young enough to remember what virginity is like.’

I guessed she could see the storm brewing in my look, because she quickly held up her hand.

‘Don’t even ask, Grandpa. That’s a girl’s secret, and not even her future husband has a right to know the truth.’

I was about to say it surely was his right to know if his bride was a virgin or not, but I stopped myself. How times must have changed since I left Venice for the distant lands of Kublai Khan. And I had to remind myself that I had left behind in Cathay a black-haired, dark-skinned beauty, who had been part of a virgin tribute to Kublai before I relieved her of her qualification to belong the group. I sighed at my recollection of dear Gurbesu, but then put her to the back of my mind.

‘It’s a good idea, and you should act on it – the sooner the better, in fact. So make a start tomorrow. By then perhaps Niccolo Querini will be available for me to question also.’

It turned out that that was wishful thinking on my part.

Katie arose bright and early, eager to carry out her task of insinuating herself into Brother Hugh’s exclusive circle. So she wasn’t present when the furore began. I was eating a slow and luxurious breakfast, mulling over what I might ask Speranza Soranzo, when Galuppi burst into my room. He was so agitated he stumbled over his words, finally managing to get one sentence out.

‘He really is dead this time.’

I calmed him down a little and asked him to repeat what he had said, though I already suspected what he meant.

‘Who is really dead?’

‘Niccolo Querini. His manservant was giving his hunting dogs some exercise this morning close to the shore below here. When they ran off, he followed them and found Querini lying on the strand just above the tideline. He came back for assistance, and alerted me to the situation. They’ve all gone off to bring the body back.’

I cursed. ‘Damn them. I would have liked to have seen the body in situ.’

Galuppi looked puzzled. ‘Whatever for? His man said he must have fallen from the cliff. He was drunk and paid the penalty for incaution.’

I wished life – or more precisely, death – was that simple. Not for the first time since returning to the West, I longed for the assistance of Masudi al-Din. I had met him in the heart of Kublai’s great Mongol empire at a crucial moment in my investigation of a murder. He was an Arab from Yazd, with a cornucopia of knowledge about the human body. He could examine a body, and tell you all sorts of marvels about it. How the man had died – either by accident or design. What weapon had been used – poison or blade. He could even say how quickly the victim had died, and whether in pain or not. And when he opened a body with his sharp knife, it was like he was opening a book. He had always taught me never to jump to conclusions, so I needed to hurry if I was to see Querini’s body where it had fallen. I threw a tunic over my shirt, and dashed from the room as fast as my old legs could carry me. Galuppi roused himself enough to chase after. I ran down the path he indicated that led to the beach below the mansion. It was one of the sea escape routes in case the mansion was ever attacked from the landward side. I heard the loud barking of the hunting dogs before I even saw the gaggle of servants around Querini. They were bent over the body, in the process of lifting it. Despite my ragged breathing from the unusual exertion, I mustered a loud cry.

‘Leave him where he is.’

Fearfully, the servants looked up at the vision of a red-haired demon descending on them down the cliff path. In China I had earned the nickname of Zhong-Kui, a demon who sets wrongs right. That is how I must have seemed at that moment, even though my hair was no longer quite as flame red as once it had been. I strode over the sand, and the group of men around the body stopped what they were doing, and parted for me. Niccolo Querini lay face up, his arms spread wide and his dull, lifeless eyes staring into the heavens. There was no point in looking at the ground around him for any signs because the sand had been churned up by the restless feet of the servants and the dogs. Even now, the two large hounds were snuffling round their dead master, licking his face.

‘Get these dogs out of here.’

I snarled the command at the man who I knew was Querini’s servant, Antonio. It was he who must have been the one who discovered the body. He hung his head, and muttered an apology, grabbing the dogs by the scruff of their necks, and dragging them away. I looked up at the cliff above where the body lay and at the back slope at its foot where it was supposed to have landed. Mentally noting what I saw, I indicated to the servants that they could now carry out their mournful task. I would examine Querini’s body in detail in the comfort of the mansion, not here on the strand, where the sun was already beating down on the back of my neck. Besides, I needed a good goblet of wine to steel myself for the task ahead. I hated the sight of blood.

I hurried up the slope, anxious to precede the body back to the mansion. Speranza Soranzo would be waiting for me, and I didn’t want her to see her husband before I had spoken to her. Bertuccio Galuppi bustled along breathlessly at my side.

‘There is no question, is there, that it was a terrible accident? I am sure that is how Doge Soranzo would wish it to be.’

I stopped in my tracks, and stared at Galuppi.

‘Is that why you are here? To ensure I do the Doge’s bidding as you see it?’

For a moment the secretary’s façade slipped, and a sneering look transformed his face.

‘You don’t think the Doge sent you here because of your diplomacy skills, do you, Zuliani? You’re here to provide the common touch, and be your usual slippery self when it comes to winkling out secrets. But now that the main impediment to the Lady Soranzo’s return is conveniently dead, I see no further need for your services.’

I smiled politely, and carried on back to the mansion. He ran to catch me up, and grabbed my arm.

‘Did you hear me, Zuliani? You are no longer needed.’

I shook his hand off my arm disdainfully.

‘Oh, really? And you will tell that to the Doge, will you, when you return with the lady and her monkish lover in tow?’

I loved the way Galuppi’s face went puce on such occasions. Feed him something he didn’t know and put him in a sticky position, and he fairly exploded. Of course I had no proof that anything irregular was going on between Speranza and Brother Hugh – especially as he was apparently extolling the virtues of virginity. But it did no harm to overstate the case with Galuppi – he was bound to back off. And so he did, but with ill grace.

‘I am sure you are maligning the lady most foully, but have your way. I will only be the happier when you fall over your own clumsy feet. Then I shall tell the Doge what you said about his daughter with the greatest of pleasure.’

He stormed off in the opposite direction, which was quite amusing because it meant he was walking away from the mansion, and would get tangled up with the impromptu funeral cortège. Let him think what he did about me in his snooty supercilious way. I was the one who had the confidential talk with Doge Soranzo, Hero of the Aegean, Head of the Navy, and Governor of the Gulf, Ambassador to Sicily and Egypt. He told me he had worries about the behaviour of his daughter, not about that of Niccolo Querini. He didn’t tell me exactly what concerned him, only that I had to find out for myself.

‘I don’t want to prejudice your opinion of her, Zuliani. But there is a serpent in her bosom, and I want you to tell me if she is too dangerous to bring back to Venice.’

His voice still rang in my ears. I had thought he meant his son-in-law, but now I had some inkling of what form the serpent had truly taken. I would let Galuppi do his job as he saw it, but I wouldn’t allow him to impede me in doing mine. As I approached the mansion, I could see a figure in a white dress standing on one of the balconies. Katie never wore white, and besides, she would still be with Brother Hugh. So I guessed it was Speranza Soranzo spying out the return of her husband, like a sailor’s wife who had been told some bad news. Then I suppose she saw me because she slipped back through the window.

When I entered the great chamber of the Querini mansion, she was once again on her knees in the little chapel alcove at the far end. It was as if she were deliberately reminding me of our first encounter at the monastery. And of her piety, though I wondered if she should be wearing black. Maybe she imagined herself royalty, now her father was Doge. Many queens wore white mourning garb, just as she was. Whatever her plan was, the sombre effect was spoiled by the sight of a large red boil on the back of her neck. I could see it because of her bowed head.

‘Domina Soranzo, I imagine someone has already given you the bad news. You have my condolences.’

She sighed dramatically, and held out her arm, asking for my assistance in raising her to her feet. It was all a little ponderous and imperious, and an attempt to put me in my place, but it would have been churlish to refuse the assistance. I took her weight and she rose up. Our proximity allowed me to get a closer look at her face than she might have wished. For a woman of only thirty or so, she looked quite careworn, and she clearly had plucked her eyebrows out of existence. Her face was pale without evidence of those foul lead-based whiteners some women used. Though I have heard that some women swallow arsenic to make themselves pale. Masudi al-Din told me this could result in headaches, confusion and hair loss, if not death. So perhaps Speranza Soranzo followed this cosmetic regime. She certainly sounded a little confused when she replied to my half-question about receiving news of Querini’s death.

‘Yes. Antonio told me, when he came back with the dogs. They will be so upset, you know. They loved Niccolo.’

It took me a moment to realise she was talking about the dogs. And it was probably true they loved Querini more than she did, I thought. She gave no sign of sadness at her husband’s passing, or even made an enquiry as to the cause of his death. Instead she rambled on about the dogs and Querini’s manservant.

‘He told me that when he approached the body, a cloud of blue butterflies rose up around Niccolo. It was a sign, of course.’

Of what, she clearly wasn’t going to tell me, though it rang a bell with me. Something Katie had said, but I wasn’t able to recall it. And before I could try, she cast a nervous glance towards the door of the great chamber. There had been the sound of shuffling feet, and subdued voices. It was as if she were afraid her husband might not be dead after all, and would come striding in from the strand. Instead, his lifeless body was unceremoniously borne in like someone who had passed out after a night of heavy drinking. One servant clasped him by the armpits, and another by his ankles. His head was turned at an acute angle on the leading servant’s arm. They paused upon seeing the mistress, but she waved a hand, and they carried on with their task of laying the body in the chapel. Once he had been arranged on the stone altar, she drifted over to the body, and peered closely at it as if reminding herself of what her husband looked like. Her hand went nervously to the back of her neck, where I knew the suppurating boil would be giving her pain. Then her hands closed in prayer, and I knew it was no use questioning her today. Nor would I get to examine the body more closely for a while. I gritted my teeth, and walked out of the great chamber, leaving her to her own thoughts.

‘Niccolo Querini is dead?’

Katie shook her head as she asked her question of me. I had been waiting for her in the shade of the ancient olive tree, which was set in the centre of the courtyard of the Querini mansion. I sat for a long time before her smiling face appeared in the archway. She had skipped over to me, no doubt full of what she had learned from Brother Hugh. But I had to tell her my news first, before she learned of it from somewhere else. I thought it would have upset her, but I didn’t really know my granddaughter that well yet. Her eyes opened wide, and a look of excitement pervaded her beautiful face.

‘Was he murdered?’

Trust my Katie to get straight to the point. I shrugged and waggled my head in a noncommittal way.

‘I can’t say yet. The grieving widow is with the body.’ I indicated the doorway to the great chamber and chapel. ‘Perhaps when she has completed her obsequies, she will allow me to examine him. But from what I saw on the beach, there is no way that he fell from the cliff.’

Katie squeezed my hand. ‘Tell me what you saw that made you come to that conclusion, Grandpa Nick.’

We had both already worked on the case of one murder together, and I knew how she loved the mental exercise involved. And her enthusiasm stoked the fires of my own.

‘The body was at the foot of the cliff, from where it was presumed he had fallen.’

Katie quickly interrupted me. ‘Who presumed this?’

‘Why, Galuppi, of course. He pretty much told me that was the conclusion that the Doge would want me to come to.’

‘Ohhh, Galuppi.’ My granddaughter waved her hand, dismissing Galuppi’s opinion.

I went on with the explanation for my suspicions.

‘The cliff edge is crumbly at that point where the loose soil overrides the rock. So it’s true, a fall was possible. But there was no sign of disturbance above, and no evidence of loose soil on the sandy beach. No, Querini didn’t fall from the cliff, or even get pushed. Of course, he could have died naturally of a failure of his organs. He was a heavy drinker. But I don’t believe that was the case either. I will know more when I can examine the body.’

‘Yes, we can examine it together.’

I knew that was as close Katie would get to a request to be present when I looked at Querini’s body. And to be honest, I didn’t mind the thought of having her as a companion. As I said, blood always turns my stomach. I had already allowed her to see a much more gruesome body when we explored my burned-out house in Venice for any remains. We had come across the body of a man that was no more than a blackened cinder. Katie had a strong stomach and a good eye for detail too. I nodded my agreement.

‘Now tell me what you learned from Brother Hugh.’

She laughed. ‘He showed me his most precious possession.’

I looked suitably concerned for her modesty, just as she had intended with her ambiguous comment. But it turned out that what she referred to was the relic of St Beornwyn. The finger that Great-uncle Marco had originally brought to Venice. Katie was convinced that the monk truly did revere the saint and what she stood for. He came from a small community based in a place called Carmarthen on the edge of the English king’s territories. He had been offended when Katie had called him English, and insisted he was Welsh. I had heard of these hill-dwelling people on the fringes of King Edward’s lands. Troublesome and independent-minded, they had taxed the patience of the older King Edward, now his son was not doing any better apparently. Perhaps that was why he was borrowing so much money from the Bardi and Peruzzi banks, where I had my own funds invested. If Hugh was Welsh he would be an opinionated fellow, no doubt.

‘I told him I had heard of St Beornwyn and the tale of her saintly devotion to keeping her virginity. He blushed a little, but explained more of the saint’s history to me.’

It appeared that Beornwyn had been betrothed to a local lord in the north called Aethelbald, or some such barbaric name. Beornwyn, however, though being the daughter of another lord and therefore always likely to be married off for dynastic purposes, wished to dedicate her life to Christ. There was a belief that as long as she remained a virgin, the pagan invaders would not devastate her father’s lands. Refusing Aethelbald, she maintained a nightly vigil at a remote chapel. Hearing this, I snorted in derision.

‘It sounds like she had a younger lover and her vigils covered some sort of assignation with him. She didn’t want to give him up for some old baron.’

Katie pouted. ‘Grandpa, you are so coarse. The story is beautiful. Anyway, finally the invaders did come, and they murdered Beornwyn when she refused to give up her vigil. They even flayed the skin from her body and hung it on the chapel altar. And that is why she is the saint of virgins, and people with skin diseases.’

‘Hmm. And the relic?’

‘When he had finished his story, Brother Hugh produced this small gilded box from his sleeve. He opened it and inside, laid on red velvet, were the bones of St Beornwyn’s finger held together with gold wire.’

I pulled a face.

‘I have always thought there was something gruesome about holy bones. I mean, how is a saint to be clothed in flesh again at the Resurrection, if his body is scattered all over the Christian world?’

Katie’s laughter was like a tinkling silver bell. Unfortunately, at that very moment, Speranza Soranzo emerged from the great hall into the sunlight. Maybe it was our levity that caused her to screw up her face, or maybe it was the brightness of the sun. Whatever it was, she stormed past us and out the archway. And there went my chance of questioning her about Querini and the cult of virginity. I wearily pushed myself to my feet, my knees protesting at the effort. Katie almost put out a hand to assist me, but seeing my glare, stopped herself. I would be fooling myself if I thought that I still had the physique to give her a run for her money. She would soon outstrip me. However, my mind had not dulled yet, and it occurred to me that she could be my eyes and ears with Domina Speranza Soranzo. But I would leave that until later.

‘Come. Let’s take a look at Niccolo Querini before anyone prepares him for his funeral. They could wash away a lot of evidence.’

The interior of the great chamber was suitably sombre with no candles lit. The small slit windows let in little light as well as keeping the hall cool in high summer. Someone, presumably Speranza herself, had lighted a solitary candle inside the chapel, which was located at Querini’s head. I was glad of it, for it would give me some light for the next task. As we got closer to the body, I saw that she had also placed her husband’s hands in a prayerful pose on his chest. I moved them apart, examining the hands closely.

‘What are you looking for?’

Katie’s question was a good one. I wanted to see if there had been a struggle.

‘A man may have traces of blood on his hands, if he was in the act of defending himself when he died. I see nothing here, though.’

I placed his hands at his side, and proceeded to pull up his eyelids, peering into his eyes. Katie was full of curiosity.

‘I thought it was nonsense to imagine that the image of the murderer was left fixed on the victim’s eyes. Is it then true?’

I smiled at her misunderstanding of my actions.

‘You are right to think it ridiculous. And in response to your enquiry, I was looking to see if the eyeballs were spotted with blood in any way. Masudi al-Din told me that if a person were strangled or smothered, blood vessels in the eyes would be burst. Again nothing.’

I gazed at the torso of Querini, stroking my hands over his chest.

‘Ah, here is something odd.’

‘What?’

Katie leaned forward eagerly. I smoothed out the outer jacket, which was laced up the front over his undershirt, and pulled the opening a little wider. There was a patch of blood on the dark red shirt that had not been noticeable before. And I could see a small hole in the shirt, which I could just poke my finger in. Not caring about the evidence I was now destroying – for who but I cared about it? – I ripped open the hole and revealed a similar hole in Querini’s chest. Swallowing the bitter taste of vomit rising in my throat, I poked my finger in the hole. It ran deep, probably as far as his heart. The wound made a sucking noise as I withdrew my finger. Katie was fascinated, quite unmoved by the presence of blood and violent death.

‘Is this how he was killed? Stabbed to death? Such a small wound and so little blood.’

‘I have seen this before, though. A thrust to the heart with a slim bassillard can kill as effectively as chopping a man to pieces with a sword. And the blood can stay inside the body because the puncture in the skin is so small. You heard how it sucked closed after I pulled my finger out.’

Katie stared at me, her eyes big with an excitement that I suddenly regretted exposing her to. She whispered the word that was in my head.

‘Murder for certain, then.’

I nodded, and added the inevitable question.

‘But who did it?’

The following morning I had my first intimation of what might have happened. Katie had already left for Mongou monastery in the hope of speaking again to both Brother Hugh and Domina Speranza. We had spoken briefly about what information she should gather. Ostensibly, her task was to discover more about the cult of St Beornwyn, and Speranza’s adherence to it. But if in the process she learned more about Querini and his life on Sifnos, then that too would be very useful.

All I knew about him was that he had no obvious income other than his wife’s money, but was living the life of a lord with a heavy drinking habit. It was Antonio, the manservant, who began to explain that conundrum. I requested his presence soon after I had finished my breakfast. I found the heat of midday intolerable, causing my brain to boil and prevent concise thought. Mornings and evenings had become the time on Sifnos for me to apply myself, leaving the middle of the day to eat and rest. A timid tapping on the door alerted me to the arrival of Antonio. I called him in, and observed him closely for the first time. He was a dark-complexioned man with thick black hair, more like a Saracen than a Venetian, and it confirmed that he must be a local man. The Greeks were closely intertwined in physique to the Turks who ruled them, though they were loath to admit it.

‘Is your name really Antonio?’

The man blushed, and shook his head. ‘That is what my master called me. He liked to imagine he was still in Venice, I think. My real name is Antonis.’

‘Antonis, I want to ask you about your master, and why he should have been on the strand in the first place. It is pretty much out of his way if he was coming back here from Kamares harbour. Even drunk, he would know his way home.’

Antonis dropped his gaze to the floor, examining his sandals quite extensively. I had obviously hit a nerve, and needed him to explain. I waited only a moment, then bellowed in the most intimidating way I could muster.

‘Come, man. Tell me what you know, or by the will of the Doge, it shall go ill for you.’

The cowed servant looked over his shoulder, as if fearing that Querini would rise from the altar and stop his words with a ghostly hand.

‘Master, please tell no one or they will surely kill me too.’

This was getting interesting.

‘Who will kill you? Do you then know who killed Querini?’

He licked his lips nervously, and I sought to reassure him.

‘Speak up, and I promise no one will know from me what you said.’

‘The master needed money because the domina had stopped giving him any.’

So Speranza, who no doubt had funds provided by her family, gave nothing to her husband to sustain him in his miserable exile. That of itself was interesting in terms of her immersion in the Beornwyn virgin cult and of her devotion to Hugh. Perhaps the monk was receiving what Querini had lost. I returned my gaze to the man before me, and encouraged him to go on.

‘So how did your master sustain his style of life here?’

Antonis shrugged and remained tight-lipped. But I would not give up, though it took some time before I got the facts from him. It seemed that to supplement his income, Niccolo Querini had resorted to clandestine piracy, along with some of the inhabitants of Sifnos, who were long used to making a living from the pickings of the sea. For many years small trading vessels were boarded and robbed of their goods. Not enough was taken to cause a major problem, which would have resulted in someone like Giovanni Soranzo, in his days as Head of the Navy, cracking down on pirates. They took just enough to feed and sustain a few men and their families. Querini’s role was mostly to discover news of the passage of vessels, but he also relieved his boredom with some active participation too. Antonis was clearly hinting that there might have been a falling out of thieves on the beach.

‘Chlakopo beach is where the pirates bring their loot ashore, you see.’

That was the fearful servant’s last offering. It was going too far for him to offer names. After all, he had to live on this island after we had all gone. But there was one question I had to ask.

‘When you found the body, Domina Speranza said there was a… cloud, I think she said… yes, a cloud of butterflies that rose up from it. Is that true?’

I had remembered in the meantime why her description had chimed with something in my mind. Katie had related to me Speranza Soranzo’s own account of the discovery of St Beornwyn’s flayed body. It had apparently been modestly enveloped with blue butterflies. I was wondering if the miracle had been repeated. Antonis snorted in disbelief.

‘I told her the dogs disturbed some purple butterflies, and that to Greeks they represent the souls of the dead. But there were only two or three. Hardly a cloud.’

Not a miraculous cloud then, more like a figment of Speranza’s fond imagination. I dismissed Antonis, and he practically flew from the room, relief written on his swarthy face. My throat felt dry, and I poured myself a quite palatable Cretan wine of Querini’s. I believe it came from Candia. I decided I would have to follow up Antonis’ information, and find out the names of these petty pirates. The reason why I hadn’t pressed him for the names – besides not having him fear for his life – was that I was unconvinced that Querini’s death had been due to a brawl between thieves. Querini’s hands bore no signs of bruises or scrapes such as he would have got in a fight. However, it was important not to dismiss the idea out of hand. Someone could have crept up on him, and done him in. Besides, what other possibilities did I have at the moment? Katie might come up with something, but until she did, I decided my investigations warranted a journey back to the harbour at Kamares. Querini must have had drinking companions there who could have loose tongues. And the only other avenue I had was Galuppi. If he really did have any orders from the Doge that I was not party to, they may relate to clearing the husband from the scene in order to allow the daughter to return unencumbered. But that was going to be a hard one to tackle. A sojourn in an unnamed tavern close to the harbour had greater appeal as a line of investigation. I would get Querini’s servants to saddle a horse for me.

In the end the horse turned out to be more of a mule, and that was being kind to its ancestry. Perhaps donkey was a more accurate description. Its broad back and recalcitrant ways made the journey over the high back of the island long and sweltering. So I was glad to flop in the shade in one corner of the tavern where I had first seen Querini. In response to my demand for a good red wine, the tavern-keeper brought a jug of something he called Xinomavro. When I poured it into the cracked goblet he provided, it looked as black as old blood. I drank the first draught deeply and incautiously, and my mouth was sucked free of all moisture, leaving me thinking dried blood was an accurate description. I learned later that the name he gave it meant ‘sour black’, which was quite to the point. At first, I didn’t know if I was being played a trick on like some innocent traveller. But everyone else in the tavern seemed to be drinking the same wine, and there were no furtive glances to see if I had been taken in. I poured a second goblet, and took it more slowly. Soon the taste began to grow on me. It was either that, or I was getting drunk enough not to care. I smiled gently and looked around. Several of the faces were familiar from the time I had stormed in to confront Querini, and I wondered if they now knew of his death. And if they did, was it because one of them had been involved in his demise? They all looked like brigands to me.

When I had consumed most of the blood wine, I waved the jug at the tavern-keeper, whose lack of a name made him as anonymous as his hostelry. He brought another jug over, and plonked it on the table by my elbow, splashing some of the wine on my shirtsleeve. I half expected it to burn through the material, but it didn’t. Before he could leave, I grabbed his arm and asked him to sit a while. Reluctantly he did so, casting a defiant glance around the low-ceilinged room in case any of his cronies was of the impression he was consorting with the enemy. I broached the subject on my mind.

‘Querini. Was he a regular here?’

The stubble-chinned man scowled. ‘Why do you want to know? Going to pin his death on one of my customers?’

His Italian was good, which was fortunate. My Greek was execrable. But at least I had learned one thing quickly from his response. They knew Niccolo Querini was dead. I suppose I should not have been surprised – on such a small island bad news would travel fast. It was either that or someone in the tavern had murdered him and boasted of it.

‘Not unless someone here is guilty of his murder. I did hear that he had some… dealings… with local sailors that might have resulted in a falling out.’ I looked around the tavern. ‘Does anyone here fit the bill?’

The tavern-keeper let out a guttural laugh and spat on the rush-strewn floor.

‘Has Antonis been blabbing?’

I kept my mouth shut and my face impassive so as not to give the manservant away. So the tavern-keeper carried on.

‘You don’t need to say anything. He would spread any tale to divert attention from himself.’ He saw the surprise on my face. ‘Oh, yes, he’s dabbled in some offshore fishing, too, if you take my meaning. Him and that little pig-sticker dagger of his. But in answer to your question, there’s some here bold enough to steal, but no one with enough balls to kill a nobleman.’

I nodded sagely. ‘That’s as I thought. But tell me, did Querini talk about his wife much when he drank here?’

Another gob of spit splattered on the floor.

‘That witch? God rot her and her little familiar that follows her around.’

I guessed by the witch’s familiar he meant Brother Hugh. It was not very complimentary for a man of God, but quite apposite. I thought I would stir the pot a little and see what brewed.

‘They say the monk convinced her to deny Querini his rights as her husband, and to play the virgin.’

That amused the Greek, and he chortled deeply in his phlegmy throat.

‘She’s a fake virgin, if you ask me. But it’s true, what you say. Querini always used to boast how wild she was in bed, but recently she had denied him. He used to come here and drink the jug dry and bemoan his fate. He said he wasn’t getting anything from her purse either, though he always paid his bills here.’

We were back to Querini’s illegal business again, and I felt there was nothing more the man could offer. So as I had learned all I was going to from the tavern-keeper, I gave him a coin in way of payment for his information. He got up and shambled back to the corner of the room and his wine barrel, from where he presided over his domain. I too started to get up, but I had been sitting so long, my knees were stiff. They almost gave way under me, and I had to grip the edge of the table for support. It was a toss-up between whether it was infirmity or the effects of the Xinomavro. Whatever, I stayed where I was for a moment, and that slice of pure good luck meant I was not crossing the tavern floor when Galuppi entered. He had a black cloak on with the hood thrown over his head, but I recognised him all the same. No one else in Kamares had the gait of a man with a rod up his arse. I sat back down sharply, and leaned over my jug like some drunken Greek, hoping Galuppi wouldn’t spot me. I watched out the corner of my eye as he spoke briefly to the tavern-keeper. Then he was ushered through a door that presumably led to the owner’s private quarters. I waited to see what would happen next and was rewarded by the swift arrival of another familiar face. It wasn’t a local, but the debtor who was working off what he owed by being an oarsman in the galley that had brought us here. I racked my brain to recall his name, cursing age and poor memory, until it came. What was a common labourer like Stefano doing meeting up with the patrician Galuppi in an anonymous Greek tavern?

I didn’t want to be in the tavern when Galuppi or Stefano came out of the back room, so I got up, paid my bill, and went out into the coolness of the early evening. Walking past the boatyard, I watched idly as a gnarled old man worked on the beginnings of a boat. He drove long nails into the overlapped planks, then bent the nails’ end back into the plank on the inside. I ambled past and, further along the quayside, I noticed a burly figure that I recognised. It was a ship’s captain I had used on a few colleganze – business enterprises overseas to you. I called out his name.

‘Captain Doria! What are you doing here?’

The grey-bearded, old sea dog looked up furtively from making a written record of the goods being loaded on his boat. He looked very concerned that someone had recognised him. Then he realised it was me.

‘Niccolo Zuliani, by the Devil. I might ask the same of you. I noticed that sleek vessel in the harbour, but I would hardly have associated it with you.’

His own vessel was patched and the wood grey and worn. But I knew it to be seaworthy, having trusted my money in it more than once. I gave him a vague explanation of my apparent improvement in fortune.

‘I wish it were mine. It’s borrowed, as I’m on some business for a big man in La Serenissima. But why all the muscle on your ship?’

I had noted the two finely honed men staring disdainfully at me, as if I were a dog turd on the sole of their boots.

Doria cocked a thumb at them, and whispered in my ear, ‘Oh. I’ve got quite a lot of gold on board. The deal has been to buy cheap gold from the Saracens with silver coins. The Doge is behind most of it.’ He tapped the side of his nose, and laughed. ‘Soon, there won’t be any coins to buy goods with anywhere in Europe. It will all be in the hands of the infidels. Not that it will matter to the English. They say the English king is so far into debt with the Peruzzi and Bardi banks, he won’t be able to pay them in the end anyway.’

Doria’s chatter sent a shiver down my spine. What money I had was in those banks, and he had just told me a good recipe for their crashing soon. I asked him to do me a favour when he returned to Venice, and took the quill from his hand. On his bill of lading, I quickly scrawled him an authorisation to arrange the removal of my money from both banks. I cursed the Doge for engineering the crisis, and for keeping me in Sifnos when I most needed to be home.

‘Take this and hold my money for me until I return. There will be a percentage for you.’

Puzzled but compliant, Doria took my note and strode back to his ship. I hoped to God he realised the urgency of the document I had given him. So, what with all that distraction, I think I must have missed Galuppi and Stefano’s emergence from the tavern. I hovered by the end of the cobbled street where the tavern lurked, but it got later and later with no sign of either man. Finally, even the boat-builder gave up his work for the day. The sun was sinking, and I had to get back on my donkey and make for the other side of the island before it got completely dark. I didn’t want to fall over a cliff like I had been told Querini had. My late arrival at the Querini mansion meant that I didn’t know that Katie had not returned until the following morning.

I got anxious when she didn’t appear for breakfast. I thought she would be up promptly in order to tell me what she had found out the previous day from the domina and Brother Hugh. So when she wasn’t, I became concerned. So concerned that I didn’t even talk to Galuppi about being in Kamares the previous day. That would have to wait until I discovered where my precious granddaughter was. And the obvious place to start was the monastery at Mongou.

I hurried across the open fields surrounding the monastery, sweating in the morning sun that was already getting hot. The sound of a doleful bell carried across the valley, and despondency clenched my heart tight. I had a bad feeling about what I might find at the monastery of St John the Theologian. The bell had stopped ringing when I reached the main gateway to Mongou, but it still swung backwards and forwards, and the rope that worked the bell was swinging too. Someone had just left it and disappeared. The doors to the church inside the walls of the monastery were open and I could hear monotonous chanting coming from inside. I peered into the gloom, and saw for the first time the black-clad monks that occupied the monastery. For once they weren’t avoiding me. The heavy aroma of incense hung in the air, and clouds of it drifted on the breeze through the open doors. As a Venetian, I was familiar with the Orthodox heresy. I was old enough to remember tales of Venice’s role in the shambles that was later called the Fourth Crusade, when the Latin Church invaded Constantinople and ousted the Roman Empire and its faith. Venice profited mightily from its fall. That state of affairs didn’t last long, though, and in my youth the Greek Emperor and the Orthodox Church took it all back. Being Venetians, we made deals with the Emperor in the same way we had with the Latin crusaders sixty years earlier. So the bearded black monks were a familiar sight to me, but I had not seen such fervent prayer as was presented to me that morning. I felt awkward about disturbing them, even though I feared that they might be praying for Katie’s soul. I turned away to try and find either Brother Hugh or Domina Speranza, but was blessed instead by the happy sight of Katie Valier rushing across the open courtyard towards me. She almost bowled me over, and hugged me hard.

‘Grandpa, you must have been worried when I didn’t get back to the mansion yesterday.’ To my surprise she then scowled at me. ‘I thought you might have come searching for me last night.’

I smiled broadly, and tried, albeit half-heartedly, to extract myself from her embrace.

‘You can let go of me now. And I am sorry I didn’t come last night. I didn’t get back until late myself, and assumed you were already abed. It was only this morning that I knew otherwise.’

She finally pulled away, much to my regret. I was glad of her warmth, as I had feared deep down that I might have next seen her cold and dead. If this was what it was to have family and blood relatives, it was not entirely pleasant. I shook the bad thoughts from my brain, and asked her what all the fuss was about.

‘I have not seen the black crows so agitated.’

‘Nor I. They are usually hidden away in their cells. Women are not something they like to feast their eyes on in such holy surroundings, I am told. But I can tell you why the monks are so excited.’

Her eyes gleamed with a burning desire to tell me what she had discovered yesterday, and the reason why she had been unable to return last night. But she restrained her natural exuberance in the desire to lay out her facts cogently.

‘I must tell you the story in sequence, so that you understand how it came about.’

She dragged me over to a stone bench that was in the shade created by the walls of the church. As she spoke, her tale was embellished by the hypnotic chanting of the monks inside.

‘When I arrived yesterday morning, I couldn’t get in to see Speranza because the door to her cell was locked. From the inside. Brother Hugh was already at the door trying to talk to her, but she wasn’t answering.’

Katie explained to me that Hugh expressed a worry that something might have happened to Speranza. But on putting her ear to the door, Katie heard sounds from within. It was a low mumbling and the rustle of a linen dress. She reckoned that Speranza was alive and talking to herself. Assuming she was in no immediate danger, she convinced Hugh to leave his benefactor alone for a while. She brought him to the very bench we were now sitting on, and asked him why he thought Speranza had done this.

She looked at me. ‘He said that since her husband’s death, she had been distant and uncommunicative. He had been concerned for her sanity.’

I snorted. ‘More concerned that his meal ticket was slipping away from him.’

‘Perhaps. He did seem to be showing real concern, but I can’t fathom his true feelings. What Grandma told me about him left me with an impression he was a fraud and a charlatan. And it’s true, he did seem more worried about the disappearance of the relic than for Speranza.’

‘The relic has gone?’

‘Yes.’

Apparently, Hugh had placed the saint’s finger on the altar, where Speranza liked to pray, that morning. And when he returned, both the domina and the relic were nowhere to be found. He at first suspected the monks because they had expressed admiration of the relic when he had first shown it to them. And he didn’t think Speranza would have taken it, as she had always left it for Hugh to collect after her prayers. But now that she had locked herself in her cell, he was beginning to suspect otherwise. Katie had asked him if it truly was the finger of St Beornwyn.

‘Oh, yes. Her hands were once brought to Carmarthen by clerics from Whitby. She had lived her mortal life nearby in Lythe. What we know of her comes from the very lips of her constant companion, Mildryth. She was St Beornwyn’s maid in life, and cared for her. After her mistress’s death, Mildryth became the virgin saint’s guardian and protector. Many pilgrims went to her to kiss her hand, for if you touch the hand of the person who touched the saint, then her blessings will flow to you. Mildryth herself told the story of her virgin mistress many times. As for the relic, I wasn’t born when the saint’s hands were in Carmarthen, but I traced them to Broomhill Priory. It was there I learned that a Venetian merchant had obtained one of the fingers. I have to admit to my shame that I coveted a relic of St Beornwyn, so I followed the trail to Venice…’

Katie then told me that Hugh failed to get any further because at that moment a piercing scream came from the direction of Speranza’s cell. He and Katie leaped up and ran across the courtyard. Her door was now ajar, and Katie, arriving ahead of the monk, pulled it open.

Katie stopped her story for a moment and stared at me wide-eyed.

‘Oh, Grandpa Nick, you should have seen the blood.’

‘Blood?’

I was chilled by Katie’s revelation. Was Speranza dead too, and the monks’ chanting a Mass for her? Katie grasped my hands tightly with hers.

‘She stood in the centre of the room with her arms out-stretched, making the shape of Christ on the cross. And her hands – her palms were oozing blood.’

Katie’s eyes were wide open, as if she had witnessed some miracle.

‘You mean that she was marked with…?’

‘Stigmata, yes.’

No wonder the monks were singing. They had a genuine miracle taking place in their own obscure monastery, which could be very lucrative for them. Of course, you would have to put me in the category of sceptic when it came to miracles. Like Doubting Thomas, I needed to see this for myself.

‘Come, show me.’ I could not keep the irony out of my voice. ‘Is the domina approachable by the mere mundane?’

‘Oh, yes. She has calmed down now, and even let me bind her wounds yesterday. She slept last night, but I have not checked on her this morning yet. We can go and see how she is, if you like.’

I followed Katie to the range of buildings where the monks’ cells stood. I refrained from suggesting we should be relieved it was merely the Lord’s wounds that marked Speranza. If she had copied the virgin saint’s affliction, she would have been flayed alive. Katie poked out her tongue in response to my scepticism. She knocked on the cell door, announcing herself to the woman within. A muffled voice gave us permission to enter.

Speranza Soranzo was kneeling beside a simple pallet bed, which was the only furniture in the room. In fact, it was the only item in the room other than the woman herself and a wooden cross on the wall. It was truly a bare, ascetic cell. Believe me. I scanned it carefully, expecting to see something with which the supposed stigmatist could have wounded herself. But there was nothing.

She turned to look at me, a nauseatingly beatific look on her bland face. I could see a growing crop of boils on her neck, though. The saint had not seen fit to cure her of those. Perhaps I was being too cynical, and decided to ask if I could see her wounds. As if more than willing to display the evidence of her special status, Speranza held out her bound hands, and I noticed the bandage on her left hand was partly unwound. I kneeled before her and took the hand in mine, unwinding the loose bandage fully. There was indeed a puncture wound the size of a finger in the centre of her palm, and it was still oozing blood slightly. I sniffed the wound because it is said that holy wounds, like the bodies of dead saints, exude the odour of sanctity. I could smell nothing. I wrapped the bandage back around her hand, and thanked her for her courtesy. It was a puzzle that I could not explain, and I didn’t like the fact.

Having retreated back to our bench in the courtyard, I asked Katie where Brother Hugh was.

‘I don’t know. I have not seen him this morning. You would think, wouldn’t you, that he would be fussing around his great prize? I mean, he not only has a well-connected convert to St Beornwyn’s cause, he now can parade her as a stigmatist.’

A voice spoke up from the porch of the church.

‘Is that what you think of me? That I am doing all this for fame and fortune?’

It was the missing Brother Hugh, still worked up about his missing relic. Apparently he had been hunting in the church for it again, when the Greek monks had filed in. He had been trapped in a side chapel, and had to endure the whole service, which was a lengthy one as Orthodox services are. He had only just been able to escape.

I grunted noncommittally, neither confirming nor excusing my opinion of him.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘No, but I have not searched the domina’s cell yet.’

With a determination that I had not seen in him before, he crossed the blisteringly hot courtyard, making for Speranza’s cell. Katie made as if to get up and follow him, but I stayed her with my hand.

‘Leave them to it. I have no doubt that Speranza has the relic. It’s just a matter of whether she will give it back to him.’

Katie nodded, then tilted her head to one side as she watched Hugh disappear round the corner of the dormitory range.

‘Did you notice something about Hugh’s robe?’

‘No, but I’m sure you have.’ Katie’s young eyes were far better than mine, and I had to rely on my wits and longer time on this earth to stay ahead of her.

‘Yes. The hem of his robe, where it brushes the ground, has a faint white mark around it just above the edge of the robe.’

I frowned, not sure what she was suggesting. ‘Well, I would guess that Hugh has only one robe, and it’s probably been dragging in the dust.’

Katie clapped her hands together in triumph. ‘No, it’s not dust. It’s more deeply stained in the brown wool than that. It’s like when a man sweats in the heat and then the sweat under his armpits or across his back dries, leaving a white mark. Only that wouldn’t happen to the edge of his robe. It looks to me like sea salt has dried around the bottom where he has got his robe wet in the sea.’

I suddenly saw what she was suggesting.

‘Or on the shoreline at Chlakopo beach, where Querini’s body was found.’

I clapped my hands on my knees and rose, rather too abruptly for my creaking knees. But I was determined on action at last.

‘Katie, tell Brother Hugh and the domina to make ready. I intend to sail for Venice tomorrow, and they will both come with me.’

‘You will take her back home along with the killer of her husband?’

I lifted an admonitory finger in the air. ‘If he is the murderer, then he will face justice in Venice. If not, well…’

I strode across the courtyard grinning, knowing that I would have frustrated my granddaughter with my unfinished sentence. The truth was I didn’t know what the alternative was. There were so many possible suspects for Querini’s murder, and I still needed to talk to a few of them. When I got back to the crusader mansion, I told all who were to travel back with me to pack for a long journey.

The first man I summoned was Antonio-Antonis. I was troubled by what the tavern-keeper had said about him. He had referred to the manservant’s involvement with Querini’s piracy, and mentioned his ‘pig-sticker dagger’. I had not given Antonis enough consideration, thinking him just a bystander to the death of his master. As I began to pull my spare clothes out of the chest, he arrived in answer to my summons.

‘You wanted to talk to me, sir?’

I looked carefully at his belt. No dagger. Did that mean he had hidden it after sticking his master through the heart? He certainly looked wary at my examination. I had no time for finesse, even if I had been capable of it in the first place.

‘Yes. Give me your dagger.’

I held my hand out with a lot more authority than I felt. If he decided to oppose me, he could easily kill me where I stood. Instead he wavered, and looked around as if for a way of escape.

‘My… dagger? Sir, I don’t wear one when I am about my duties.’

That enough was true. I could not recall having seen one at his waist, not even when I had seen him out with the dogs at the scene of Querini’s murder. But I needed to be sure he didn’t have the sort of dagger that could have made the small but deadly wound to Querini. And if he was the killer, I could not leave him free on the island after our departure.

‘Except when your duties are standing side by side with your master robbing honest traders of their goods.’

His face went deathly pale at my accusation.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Never mind who did. I can see from your face that it is true. Where is the bassillard you used to stick in the heart of those you robbed?’

My reference to the sort of narrow, slender-bladed dagger that could have done for Querini seemed to puzzle Antonis. He fell to his knees, clutching at my fur-trimmed robe.

‘I don’t now what you mean, sir. Yes, it’s true my master persuaded me to help him once or twice. But I never killed anyone. None of us did. It was enough to wave a good heavy sword in the air, and they usually let us take what we wanted. A little bassillard would have had no effect on them, sir.’

I believed the grovelling servant, and extricated my robe from his grasp. I told him to go, and he would hear nothing more of this. He gasped out his thanks and ran from the room. I felt confident I could eliminate him from my list of suspects, as I had thought all along. Had I not seen there were no signs of a struggle on Querini’s body, and no cuts or bruises on his knuckles? If Antonis had turned on him, he surely would have put up a fight, even drunk as he had been. Querini’s dogs had been another indication of his innocence. Domina Speranza had told me how much they had loved her husband. If Antonis had already been out walking them when he encountered his master and then had slain him, the dogs would have been more agitated around Antonis. And if he had killed Querini without the presence of the dogs, it would have taken a stout heart and great cunning to leave the scene of the murder, walk back to the mansion, collect the dogs and ‘accidentally’ discover the dead body. No, Antonis was off my list of suspects.

As I was completing my preparations for the return to Venice, Bertuccio Galuppi strode into my room.

‘What’s this I hear? We are to return to Venice all of a sudden? Does this mean you have satisfied yourself of the domina’s suitability to present herself before the Doge, her father?’

I grinned in a way I hoped was enigmatical. ‘Indeed. I am assured of her almost virginal status, in fact.’

Galuppi didn’t know what I was talking about, having not been a party to the details of Katie and my examination of Speranza Soranzo’s relationship with Brother Hugh. But of course he knew of the monk’s existence after I had made reference to him as the domina’s possible lover. So, unsure whether he was being mocked, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

‘You mean the monk will be coming back with us, too?’

‘Oh, yes. He is an essential part of my plans for Domina Soranzo’s return to Venice.’

Galuppi shrugged in resignation. ‘Then I shall ready myself for the journey.’

He turned to leave, and I was tempted to confront him with my knowledge of his trip to Kamares, and his meeting with Stefano the oarsman. But I wanted to face them with that fact together. On board ship and before we reached La Serenissima would be time enough. In fact, I was confident that, with all my suspects on board, all would be revealed before our return. If it wasn’t, I would have failed in my mission for the Doge.

It was the following day before we got to sea. It took longer than I thought to move all the baggage across the island to the harbour, and then to load it. I noticed that Captain Doria’s ship had left, and hoped that he would carry out my request to pull my money out of the two banks. I would be only a few days behind him, but those days might be all it took for the banks to crash. We were also delayed by a row over the allocation of cabin space. The domina wanted her own quarters, and the best ones too. Galuppi, Katie and myself had to take second best. In the end the captain of the ship reluctantly gave up his cabin, and everything was settled. But by then it was too late to set sail, so we spent an uncomfortable night on board waiting for the morning. The oarsmen, including the debtor Stefano, had gone back ashore and spent the night in various taverns around the quayside. Their pulling on the oars in the morning had therefore been sluggish at best. But at last Sifnos had disappeared over the horizon, and we were on our way towards the southern coast of Greece. Here we would rest and reprovision before heading north for La Serenissima.

Two days into our homeward journey, I decided it was time to pull at a few threads and see what unravelled. The first person I came across on deck happened to be Bertuccio Galuppi. He was staring out beyond the prow of the ship as if seeking the first sighting of Venice lagoon and its protective shingle bank. We had hardly spoken since getting on board, each of us avoiding the other for whatever reason. Now, I would confront him with his suspicious meeting with Stefano. He was concentrating so much on the vista ahead that he didn’t hear me until I was right behind him. Suddenly realising I was there, he turned to go, much as he had done for the past two days. I grasped his arm abruptly.

‘Don’t go, Messer Galuppi. There is something we must discuss.’

He looked down at my fist crushing the cloth of the arm of his fine jerkin, and tried to release himself from my grip. I was unmoved, and pulled him closer to my face.

‘You may think you are something special here, Galuppi, seeing as you are old family and all that rubbish. But I am the person the Doge confided in, and I will be reporting to him when we return. And I may have to tell him about your rendezvous with a common oarsman in some low tavern, and the conspiracy that it no doubt points to. So you’d better listen to me.’

Galuppi did that sneer that is a part of the armoury of the upper classes. In fact, I was afraid he saw through my feeble reference to a conspiracy, and could tell I had no idea why the two men had met.

‘Oh, so I must listen to you, must I, Zuliani? Well, let me tell you something. Your little task for the Doge was only a pretty charade to cover up the real reason we were on Sifnos. I was charged with the task of getting rid of Niccolo Querini by any means available. So while you were stumbling around talking to the domina and that monk, I sought out a likely member of the crew to assist me. The debtor Stefano was ideal. A man who would do anything for money. If you saw us together the other day, it was when I paid him off. He told me he had carried out his orders to the letter. Now, let go of my arm.’

Stunned by his admission, I did so, and he pushed past me. He was making for the cabins at the stern, but stopped for a parting shot.

‘And don’t think of running to the authorities with this. It was all done at the Doge’s behest, so no one will care to listen to you.’

With that final warning, he went through the door to the cabins, and I was left clutching thin air just as a wave broke over the bow. I would have been swept off my feet and perhaps over the side, had not a firm hand taken hold of me as I tumbled. Down on one knee and staring over the rail at the worsening grey sea, I blurted out my thanks.

‘I thank you, sir, for your life-saving timeliness.’

I heard Katie’s bell-like laugh, and realised the steely grip had been that of my own granddaughter.

‘Your eyesight is fading, Grandpa, if you think I am a man. I think I am more offended even than when you grabbed my tits at our first meeting.’

A passing sailor, sent to trim the sails, gave me a strange look on hearing Katie’s comment. Embarrassed, I hustled her back towards our cabin. I think I have mentioned our first encounter, when Katie had dressed as a boy and was stalking me. I had lurked in wait, and grabbed her roughly round the chest, not expecting a womanly figure to appear under my hands. But the sailor was not to know that.

‘You should not say things like that in front of others. That man will think I am some sort of incestuous pervert.’

Katie laughed. ‘He is probably jealous of your intimate knowledge of my luscious body.’

‘There you go again, Katie. Please stop it.’

She could see I was really embarrassed, and put her solemn face on.

‘Sorry, Grandpa.’

The truth of the matter was that I just didn’t get this parent business. I wanted to be a good example to my granddaughter. But whatever I did, it soon degenerated into the usual fun and games, it seemed. However, Katie did have something serious to tell me.

‘I have just been talking to Speranza, as you requested.’

‘Did you see the crucifix around her neck?’

A few days ago, I had noticed the leather thong around Speranza’s neck that disappeared under the front of her dress, and was curious what it held.

Katie frowned. ‘No. I went to touch the thong as I asked her, and she quickly put her hand over her chest to protect it. She said it was a family heirloom and personal to her.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘You don’t think it is the saint’s missing finger, do you?’

I shrugged noncommittally. ‘Maybe. Now, tell me. Is she all right? Her wounds, are they healing?’

‘No, the wounds are open and they are bleeding again. I can’t figure it out, unless they are truly stigmata.’ She said this in such a way that I knew she didn’t believe in the phenomenon any more than I did. ‘But that isn’t what I want to talk to you about. You see, while I was looking at her hands, she said something to me.’

‘What was it?’

‘She looked at me, all innocently in that virginal way she has now, and said she thought that Brother Hugh had killed Niccolo in order to ensure her husband did not lead her away from St Beornwyn. She sounded quite sure of it.’

I pulled a face. ‘That gives us two murderers in the space of a few moments.’

I explained to the puzzled girl the result of my confrontation with Galuppi. She was as surprised as I was at what he had said.

‘Galuppi involved in a murder plot? With direct orders from the Doge? I don’t believe it.’

‘What’s so unbelievable? That stiff, strait-laced Bertuccio Galuppi could arrange the murder of a man, if it suited the Republic? Or that the Doge – our noble hero of the Aegean – could order it done in the first place, if it fitted in with his own personal situation?’

Katie stamped her foot in frustration. ‘Damn it, Grandpa, why are you always so good at seeing through all the sham?’

‘Because I have lived a long life surrounded by hypocrites.’ I gave her a rueful smile. ‘I fear it is something you will learn too, if you stick around your grandfather. In the meantime, I need you to tutor me about aspects I find much more difficult to comprehend.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Families and marriage. Now there are two things that completely fox me.’

As well as Katie teaching me what went on between men and women inside families – a story with which I was completely unfamiliar – I had another task to perform. This occasioned delving deep into the bowels of the ship where the pitching and yawing was more stomach-churning than on deck, and the odours were of men’s sweat and bodily excretions. But it was worth it. Once I had found out what I had all along believed, I was ready to confront the killer of Niccolo Querini. I was glad to get back on deck and breathing in the clean, fresh air coming off the Adriatic, even if it was whipping up to gale force and throwing a stinging spray into my face. Being thrown from side to side, I reeled back to my cabin, and planned my next step. I hoped it would finally serve to unpick all those threads I had been teasing away at for the last few days.

The seas eventually eased, and I sent a message to the people concerned to meet me on the rear deck. I did it through Katie, because none of them would refuse a pretty girl. I didn’t tell her that, though – she would have slugged me. I stood on the deck with my back to the setting sun, so that when the others looked at me they would have to squint. Bertuccio Galuppi was the first to arrive.

‘What’s all this about, Zuliani? Hasn’t everything been settled to your satisfaction already?’

‘We shall see, Messer Galuppi. I just thought we should get our story straight before we reach Venice.’

‘What is there to get wrong? I told you…’

He paused because the next person to come onto the rear deck was the oarsman Stefano. Galuppi stared at me angrily, and then waved a dismissive hand at the man.

‘What are you doing here? Get below where you should be. You stink.’

In fact, Stefano had taken some care to wash the sweat of below-decks off his body. His hair was wet and droplets of water glistened on his face and arms. I guessed he had scooped up a bucket of sea water and poured it over himself before climbing to the upper reaches of the ship. Still, he hung his head and was about to turn away, when I stopped him.

‘I requested his presence, Messer Galuppi, by the same fair messenger who gave you your summons. I got permission from the ship’s captain first, naturally. We don’t want the ship going round in circles because one of the oarsmen is not pulling his weight. But seeing as his evidence is somewhat compromising, perhaps we can have him speak now, and then I can dispense with his services before the domina comes on deck.’

Galuppi tried to give me an intimidating stare, but the sun behind me simply made him squint like some poor idiot. He mustered as much authority in his voice as he could.

‘If we are talking about Querini’s death, you know we have talked over this man’s evidence. And it does not need to go beyond the three of us.’

I put on as cynical a voice as I was able. ‘Oh, you are referring to Stefano’s assertion that he killed Niccolo Querini?’

Stefano winced, and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else had heard me. Galuppi too was disconcerted by my clear statement.

‘Keep your voice down, man.’

I pressed on regardless. ‘He told you this in the tavern over a few goblets of Xinomavro, no doubt. And you believed him.’

A look of uncertainty came over Galuppi’s face.

‘What do you mean – believed him?’ He turned to the red-faced Stefano. ‘What does he mean?’

Before Stefano could speak, I intervened, looking Galuppi straight in the eye.

‘You told me that you plotted with this man to murder Niccolo Querini.’

Galuppi foamed at the mouth at my accusation.

‘You know at whose instruction it was.’

‘I know who you said it was, and you might have even believed it. Though I think you read more into the words of… this person of note… than were there in the first place. But that is neither here nor there. What is clear is that what Stefano told you was untrue.’

Galuppi rounded on the embarrassed oarsman, who flinched and shook his head.

‘I only told you what you wanted to hear, messer. And I figured that, if Querini was dead, I might as well claim it was me did it, so you would pay me.’

I smiled beatifically. ‘So you see, Galuppi, you have nothing to tell the Doge after all.’

Galuppi wasn’t giving up, however.

‘The man is lying now. You have persuaded him to lie to thwart me. Of course he did away with Querini.’

I shook my head as though chiding a troublesome youth. ‘Not so. You see, I went down to the oar deck to talk to Stefano earlier. I asked to see his knife. It was a wide-bladed dagger, and quite short in length. It is a slashing knife, not an assassin’s blade. Nothing like the murder weapon at all. And when I professed to admire his killing skills, and asked him to tell me how he did it, he told me a pack of lies about stabbing Querini in the gut three times and twisting his knife so.’ I made a twisting motion with my hand held in a fist as if thrusting with a dagger.

‘Needless to say, there were no such marks on Querini’s body.’

Galuppi growled and demanded his money back of Stefano. He would have struck the man if I hadn’t stopped him.

‘No. You have been taken for a fool, and the loss of money will serve to teach you a lesson. Stefano, you can go.’

Mumbling his thanks, the oarsman returned to his nether world, and left us gentlemen to ours. There were a few moments of awkward silence between Galuppi and myself, but then the others arrived. Katie was leading, and Domina Speranza was relying on the sturdy arm of Brother Hugh to prevent her from falling as the ship rolled in the rough seas.

‘I hope you will make this brief, Zuliani. I would rather lie on my bed than try to stand upright in such weather.’

Speranza Soranzo’s words were peremptory, and to my ears bore no sign of the forbearance due from the follower of a Christian martyr. But then I had my doubts about Beornwyn anyway. The daughter of a nobleman – which the saint had been – was not someone used to self-sacrifice, as the domina herself clearly exemplified. I thought Beornwyn was as false a virgin as Speranza was, despite the stories spread by her faithful maidservant. She herself, whose name I had forgotten, would have had a vested interest in creating the myth of her mistress. She probably made a lot of money from pilgrims and the like. It was such a good scam I wondered why I had never tried it myself. Maybe because I was never in the company of virgins. This thought made me look guiltily at my granddaughter. A man who had spent his life enjoying the company of a certain type of woman, and coming late to family obligations, had little to judge a good woman by. But I knew that, virgin or not, Katie was, like her grandmother, the best of women. And far and away above Speranza Soranzo in nobility, even though she had a ne’er-do-well for a grandfather. Oh well, time to pull the final threads of the unravelling tapestry that was Niccolo Querini’s death. I took a deep breath, and began.

‘Before we arrive in Venice, I must conclude the matter of the murder of Domina Speranza’s husband.’

The woman in question opened her mouth to speak, but I raised my hand and surprisingly she remained silent, contenting herself with a deep sigh. I went on.

‘Firstly, there is no truth in the story that he fell to his death accidentally.’ Galuppi glared at me, but I pressed on. ‘It has also been suggested that he was killed in a… brawl – shall we say – between colleagues embarked on a private venture.’ I almost said the word ‘pirate’ but held back to spare the domina’s embarrassment. ‘This I have dismissed because of lack of evidence of a struggle on the body. His hands and knuckles were not-’

This time it was the monk who tried to intervene.

‘Messer Zuliani, does the domina need to be subjected to these intimate and disturbing references? It is her husband’s body to which you are referring, after all.’

I tilted my head to acknowledge his concern. ‘As you wish. I will not go into detail. Suffice it to say that none of the inhabitants on Sifnos, or the servants in the Querini mansion, were guilty of murder. Similarly, none of the crew on this ship were involved.’

I stared hard at Galuppi and defied him to object to my raising this point. He merely stared off to the horizon, which was beginning to tilt alarmingly as the ship rolled on the growing sea. Of course, I had not excluded Galuppi specifically from my list of suspects when I mentioned the crew. But it was to Hugh that I next turned.

‘Brother Hugh, I know you profess to be a man of God, and I have no reason to doubt your sincerity.’

The monk’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as to where my speech was leading.

‘I am glad you acknowledge the nature of my vows, messer. But I detect a note of caution in them. Where is this going?’

Hugh took a step or two away from me as he spoke, leaving Speranza reaching out for support to a rope that angled up to the ship’s mast. Hugh stood with his back to the handrail around the edge of the deck, and he clutched at it as he staggered a little on the lurching deck. I stood with legs apart and my knees flexed as my father had taught me when a boy. Father had been a cruel and harsh man, but he had passed on all I needed to know about ships. I carried on with my investigation of Hugh’s recent behaviour.

‘You have worked hard to bring Domina Speranza to an appreciation of the value of St Beornwyn’s virtues. Her virginity. In the process, you have managed to cut her husband out of her consideration.’

Hugh cast a look around the deck as if seeking an exit.

‘It was the domina’s own choice to reject her husband, and return to the values of virginity. I had no hatred of Querini.’

‘Hatred was not the motive I was looking for, merely expedience. How much more suitable that Niccolo Querini was out of the way permanently, than as an encumbrance that could keep popping up at awkward moments. So when you found him on the strand, drunk and argumentative, you decided to take action, did you not?’

‘I was not there.’

The monk looked hunted now, and kept casting a pleading look at the domina. I thought my plan was progressing well, and pointed dramatically at the hem of his robe. The same robe he had been wearing since I had first met him.

‘Then tell me where you got the stain of sea salt on the hem of your robe, if not on Chlakopo beach.’

‘It wasn’t me. It…’

Brother Hugh’s cries were drowned out by a demonic wail, taking us all by surprise. Before I could do anything to prevent her, Speranza threw herself at Hugh, spitting and clawing.

‘Devil in disguise, you killed my husband. You killed him.’

He looked at her aghast. ‘You know why I was on that beach.’

Before he could finish, she struck him a blow on the head that sent him reeling. The ship lurched, and he didn’t stand a chance. Losing his footing completely, Hugh pitched over the handrail and into the boiling sea.

We rowed in circles as best we could in the gale, searching for him, but it was hopeless. Finally I agreed with the captain that we should give up, and he plotted a course for Venice. I sat disconsolately in my cabin, with Katie perched on a stool close by me. The space was so small that we filled it, our knees touching. There was nowhere for me to brood in solitude.

‘Well, that wasn’t as I had planned it.’

‘Why not, Grandpa? You uncovered the murderer, didn’t you? It is a shame that he drowned rather than face justice in Venice. But in the end it all worked out.’

I sighed, and patted Katie’s knee, which was pressed against my thigh.

‘Did it? Brother Hugh may have been guilty of many sins, but he didn’t deserve to die in that way. And it is time I did something about it.’

I slapped my hands on my knees, and prised myself up, taking care not to bang my head on the low ceiling.

‘Come, Katie. I must set matters right and do it now.’

‘Where are we going, Grandpa?’

‘To speak with Domina Speranza.’

I was in no mood for courtesy any more, and burst into the lady’s cabin without knocking. I groaned at the sight facing me. Katie peered over my shoulder, and gasped.

‘Lady Speranza, your hands.’

Speranza Soranzo sat at the small table in the captain’s cabin with her hands laid out the surface, palms upwards. The stigmata were once again leaking blood onto the table’s surface. She looked up at us slowly, a serene expression on her face, and held out the evidence of her saintliness. I growled in anger, and sprang across the room.

‘Enough of this mountebank tomfoolery.’

I knew what I had to do, and stared the fake virgin in the eyes.

‘I know all, you see, domina. I had planned to scare Hugh in order for him to tell me what he knew about Querini’s death, but you stopped him.’

Her voice, when she spoke was languid and distant.

‘I shall carry the sin of his death on my conscience for ever, but I don’t regret what I did. He killed my husband.’

‘Oh, no, he didn’t. I think he was on the beach when Querini was murdered, but was unable to do anything about it. And he was just about to tell us who did kill Querini, but you prevented him. And you know why? Because it was you who killed your own husband.’

Katie gasped, but Speranza merely smiled beatifically.

‘How could I have done that? A poor, unarmed woman.’

‘But you are not unarmed, are you? You killed him with the same implement you use to fake your stigmata. I couldn’t figure it out at first, but it’s obvious just looking at you.’

Katie peered at the domina.

‘Where, grandfather? Where is it?’

I pointed at the leather cord round her neck.

‘We all thought that was a crucifix. But if it were, why is it hidden, when the domina is so religious? Why is it not on display?’

Speranza’s hand went to her breast, trying to cover what was on the end of the cord, but I was too fast for her. I grasped the leather cord, and yanked on it hard. The knot snapped, and I pulled it away from her breast. On the end dangled a long and viciously sharp ship’s nail with a rounded head. There was blood on it from her efforts to open her own wounds, but I had no doubt that at some point it had also borne Querini’s blood. In cross section the nail was square, and tapered to a point. If it was held by the flat head in a fist with the point protruding from the knuckles, anyone of moderate strength – even a woman – could punch it deep enough into a body to reach and rupture the heart. It fitted the small but deep wound I had found on Querini’s body perfectly.

Speranza Soranzo turned her head away from me as if not caring one jot what I knew. She wrapped her bloodied hands around her and began to rock slowly backwards and forwards. Katie and I retreated from the cabin. There was a key in the door lock on the inside. I transferred it to the outside and turned it. The murderer of Niccolo Querini would be safe until we reached Venice.

Once on deck, and breathing fresh air again, Katie and I stood in silence for a while, each contemplating the recent events as darkness fell around us. It was my granddaughter who spoke first.

‘What are you going to do, Grandpa Nick?’

I shrugged. ‘What can I do? She may be a murderer, but her victim was persona non grata in Venice, involved in plotting against the previous Doge. And she is still the present Doge’s daughter. I can only tell Soranzo what I know, and leave it to him to deal with it. It’s family matters, and as I said to you, I’m not good with those.’

Katie rubbed my arm gently. ‘I think you underestimate yourself. You make a fine grandfather.’

She poked around in the little purse hanging at her waist.

‘I was going to give this to Speranza. I found it on the deck after Hugh fell overboard.’

She showed me what she had. It was a series of finger-bones bound with gold wire. The relic of St Beornwyn. I laughed.

‘Well, you can keep it now. It is quite valuable.’

She gave me a strange look, and shuddered.

‘What? Keep some relic that ensures virginity? I can’t think of anything worse.’

She raised her arm, and without a second thought, tossed the saint’s finger into the sparkling sea.

Footnote

You will no doubt have in your mind the question of the truth of all this. After I returned from my adventures in the far distant land of the Great Khan Kublai and told the people of Venice of the wonders I had seen, many chose to disbelieve me. I was branded a liar at worst, and a storyteller at the very least. Another Venetian to return from a similar place, Polo by name, was dubbed Il Milione – the Teller of a Million Lies. In the future I may be said to be worse than a liar, and be seen as no more than the figment of a deranged imagination myself. But history will tell you who to believe. Certainly there is some dispute about Niccolo Querini’s end, due no doubt to the fact that Speranza murdered her own husband. To obscure the fact, a story went round that he didn’t die until close to 1326. But one thing is certain. After the events of 1310, once his property was forcibly liquidated in Venice and a price was put on his head, clandestine piracy must have been his only means of survival in exile. And the plain truth is that Speranza Soranzo, sometimes called Soranza Soranzo, did return to La Serenissima hoping to be received as the daughter of the Doge. Instead, Giovanni Soranzo ordered her excluded from the Doge’s palace for life. She was to spend the rest of her days in the monastery of Santa Maria delle Vergini in a secluded cell, apart from other nuns, in the occasional company of a servant. She was forced to apply to the Council of Ten for permission to visit her family on very special holidays, or for medical reasons, when she had broken out with boils and stigmata. Upon those occasions, the lady Soranza, by order of Venice, was directed to arrive inconspicuously at a side door of the palace, at night, and in a covered boat – in order to remain undetected.

And by the way, the Italian banks did not crash in my lifetime, after all. But I guarantee that, if you are reading this twenty years or more after I am gone, they will have, creating havoc in the world. History will confirm my good sense in taking out my money before they did.

Niccolo Zuliani, 1314