The Rape Of Venice

Chapter 22

Within the Enemy's Gates

Roger had found himself confronted with many a tricky problem in the past, but never one in which his private interests were so diametrically opposed to his duty to his country.

Before letting him out of the side door of the Consulate, Mr, Watson had made it plain that he believed the secret resistance movement in Venice would become a force to be reckoned with, because among the conspirators who formed its council there were representatives of all classes; and, when considering the matter later, Roger was forced to concede that the Consul was probably right. He had already seen enough of the city to realise that three months had been ample to take the gilt off the gingerbread for even the poorer classes, as far as the new French brand of 'Liberty' was concerned.

Like all the other proletariats in the cities of the Rhine, Belgium, Holland, and Northern Italy, into which the Republic had sent its agitators, they had eagerly drunk in the fine-​sounding phrases about 'equality' and a new 'brotherhood of man' in which the nobles and the priests must disgorge their wealth and surrender their age-​old privileges. But, instead of their taxes becoming less, they had been made far heavier by the crushing indemnity that Buonaparte had imposed upon the city. Food, wine and all other commodities, which had always been so cheap as long as the Serene Republic controlled its great mainland territories, had now become scarce and expensive, owing to the endless requisitions and the French paid for nothing. The French troops proved no 'brothers', but lorded it everywhere as conquerors, ousting the citizens from the best tables at the cafes, and beating up shopkeepers who refused to sell them goods for only a fraction of their value, while after dark no woman, even if escorted by a man, was safe from them. Buonaparte's Commissioners had stripped the Doge's Palace of its finest paintings, commandeered the Venetian Fleet and, bitterest blow of all to Venetian hearts, even made off with the Bucentaur the magnificent gilded barge in which with splendid pageantry the Doge had, each year, celebrated the immemorial festival of the marriage of the city to the sea.

Now that it was August, the people danced no more round the Trees of Liberty that they had set up with such enthusiasm in May.

Whether they would have the courage to rise and massacre their oppressors was another question. As Roger considered it and the possible result of such a rising he wondered if after all Mr. Pitt might not have been right in his contention that if Venice could have been won over in the previous autumn she would have made a valuable ally. From what Mr. Watson had said, it was clear that had the Serenissima decided to fight, even in the last stage, the city would have proved a terrible thorn in Buonaparte's flank. He had had no fleet so could have attacked only from the landward side, from which it was separated by three miles of water, rendered most treacherous by innumerable shoals and shallows to all who did not know the channels. In the face of the many forts that protected it, and with a garrison of 13.000 hardy Slavonians, even Buonaparte's veterans might have found it too hard a nut to crack. Yet, in the event, Roger's estimate of the decadent nobility that then ruled the city had proved correct; they had not had a kick left in them.

Now, however, the situation was entirely different. By surrendering the Three Inquisitors the chosen of the Ten, who had been the real rulers of Venice, with power even to search the Doge's pockets the Serenissima had committed suicide; but the Municipality which had replaced them was only a rabble of puppets who could be thrown out tomorrow had they not been maintained in office by the French. A dozen members of the Great Council had had the courage to vote against surrender, and there must be many lawyers, merchants, doctors and so on who would have resisted if given the chance. The oppression would bring the best among them to the fore and if they led a rising they would find ready backing from a great part of the population.

On the other hand, Buonaparte now held the city and had taken over the Venetian fleet. In view of that, and knowing the ruthlessness with which the French would act, Roger felt that a rising could have little hope of success. Yet the fact remained that, from distant London, Mr. Pitt was doing all he could to bring about a rising, and the ambitious Malderini, aided no doubt by the power of his hypnotic glance, had swiftly established himself as the head of the conspiracy; so to kill him now would be equivalent to killing the General of an allied force.

Considering the matter further, after getting into bed in his lodging, Roger began to wonder if Mr. Pitt's policy was the right one. Should the rising take place and be crushed, as he felt certain it would be. Buonaparte would exact a merciless vengeance. There would be no question of Venice being left as an independent City State after that; or of his letting the Austrians have it as they were apparently pressing him to do. It would probably be first given over by him to his troops to sack and, after that, incorporated into his new Cisalpine Republic, which would remain permanently under the domination of France. Then, if the Austrians could be persuaded to resume hostilities next spring, and they attempted the re-​conquest of northern Italy, they would have it as an almost impregnable base for enemy operations on their flank.

The more Roger thought over the situation, the more convinced he became that a rising in Venice was both against the interests of the Venetians themselves and against the long-​term interests of Britain. If that was so, it followed that one of the best ways of checking the movement would be to kill its leader.

Having reached that, to him, satisfactory conclusion, he at last drifted off to sleep; but not until the early hours of the morning. In consequence, next day he woke late, and even lay for another hour in bed debating with himself possible ways of putting an end to Malderini without being caught.

The result of his deliberations was a mid-​morning outing for a box of paints, a canvas, an easel and a camp stool. To find what he wanted he had had to cross the Grand Canal and walk through a score of tortuous alleys until he hit upon the Merceria, one of the few footways in Venice broad enough to be called a street, and in which were situated some of the best shops.

When making his way back, as he thought, he lost himself completely, but came upon a little square, one side of which was occupied by the Fenice theatre. He recalled having heard Malderini say, when at Stillwaters, that although small it was one of the loveliest in Europe; so he would have liked to see its interior. For a moment he was tempted by the idea of returning there for the performance that evening; but he was still dressed as an Arab and. although there were quite a number of traders and sailors wearing Eastern costumes to be seen among the kaleidoscopic crowds, it seemed very unlikely that any of them would patronise a European theatre: so he decided that to do so would make him undesirably conspicuous.

Nearby there was a tavern with tables on the pavement under a creeper-​covered trellis. It was not yet the dinner-​hour but the sight of the place made him feel hungry, so he sat down and enjoyed a meal of fried scampi, delicious canneloni and fresh apricots. Again, to act in accordance with his appearance as a Mohammedan, he had to deny himself wine to wash down this most enjoyable meal; but on his long journey from Berbera to Alexandria he had become accustomed to going without it.

On leaving the tavern, he picked up a gondola on the Albero Canal and had himself taken up the Grand Canal to the steps leading up to the Salizzada San Samuele, which was exactly opposite the entrance to the Canal San Barnaba. He then set up his easel in the broad passageway at the top of the steps, got out his paints, and began a painting of the Malderini palace.

It was a handsome building with a tall pillared portico above the water-​lapped steps of its front entrance and a graceful carved stone balcony along the first floor, both on its Grand Canal side and also that looking out on the Barnaba. In the latter there was a much smaller water port for the use of servants and tradesmen, as in Venice goods were delivered only by boat. That, Roger suddenly realised, was one of the things which made the city so unlike any other and so delightful. Coaches would have been too wide to pass down many of the streets, but carts of all kinds, horses, mules and donkeys were all also forbidden. In consequence there was no perpetual clatter of wheels and iron-​shod hoofs on cobbles; a restful quiet reigned, broken only by the musical calls of the gondoliers to one another, by which they avoided collisions, and, by night, the strains of violins as family parties glided along the canals taking the air in the soft starlight.

As it was mid-​afternoon, it was quite a time before Roger saw any activity at all in the Palazzo Malderini, but in due course servants made brief appearances from time to time in some of the upper windows. Then, a little before five o'clock, his heart gave a sudden bound. A tall slim figure that, even in the distance, he recognised instantly as that of the Princess Sirisha had come out onto the balcony. Another shorter, plumper woman was with her, but was evidently a maid since, having arranged some cushions in a chair while the Princess leaned for a few minutes on the balustrade of the balcony, she retired.

For about an hour and a half the Princess sat up there idly watching the lively, ever-​changing scene below her in the Grand Canal, then she went in. Roger stayed on for a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of Malderini, but when the light began to fail his painting no longer provided an excuse for his remaining; so he called up a gondola which took him down the Barnaba and through several small canals to some steps near his lodging, where he got rid of his artist's impedimenta.

He had already discovered that in Venice there were scores of small taverns that, despite the steep rise in prices of which the inhabitants complained so bitterly, gave one very good food for quite a moderate price. So he had an evening meal at one of them on the Zattere al Ponte Lungo. Then he crossed again to that only great open space in the whole city, the vast Square of St. Mark, where it seemed at least half its citizens congregated every night to stroll, gossip, flirt, drink at the cafes and listen to the band.

But that night nature spoilt it for him. One of the thunderstorms that so frequently afflict Venice in the summer months broke soon after ten o'clock. The lightning flashed, the thunder rumbled and the rain streaked down in torrents. The crowds rushed for shelter in the long arcades that formed three sides of the Piazza and huddled in them but even after a downpour of an hour, it lessened only to a steady soaking rain; so, when he got back to his inn, he was wet through and in an ill humour.

But next morning he was up early, set off cheerfully again for the San Samuele steps, and was seated at his easel by eight o'clock. In the Minerva, on the way to Cape Town, he had done a little painting, but while in Calcutta he had been far too occupied with other matters to indulge in his hobby; so he was deriving considerable pleasure by combining it with his watch on the Palazzo Malderini.

At a little before nine, two wide, low doors at water level, on the Barnaba side of the palace, opened and from an enclosed dock a gondola emerged. Until the coming of the French, the cabins of all gondolas had been painted black and their gondoliers had worn plain sailor's costume, except in the sole case of the Doge, whose men had worn his livery. Now, anyone could brighten up their conveyances as they would, and Roger noted that Malderini's men wore the same bright colours as those of the great striped mooring posts, like bigger editions of barbers' poles, that stuck up out of the water in front of the palace steps.

The gondola was brought round alongside the steps, the short, heavy figure of Malderini emerged from the front door, was bowed into it by several servants, and the craft set off down stream.

Half an hour later it returned. Soon afterwards the Princess Sirisha came out, accompanied by a tall dark bony man whom Roger recognised as Malderini's valet, Pietro. He got into the gondola with her and it brought them across to the San Samuele steps, where they both landed, then tied up there. Close on midday they returned and it ferried them back to the palace. About two o'clock it went downstream again and brought back Malderini.

By that time Roger was extremely hungry so he walked through to the little square behind the Palazzo Morosini, and had a good meal of minestrone, ossobuco and wood-​strawberries at a tavern there. Satisfied with the progress he had made so far, he decided that it would be unwise to overplay the part of an amateur painter; so he arranged with the proprietor of the tavern to leave his painting things there, and spent the rest of the afternoon sightseeing. First he visited a jewel of the Renaissance, the Church of the Miracoli, next the Rialto bridge, by which he crossed and went on to the huge cathedral-​like church of the Frari; then he idled away the evening.

The following day, events provided for him a programme that differed little from that of its predecessor. He took up his station at eight o'clock, saw Malderini go out at nine and return shortly after two this time accompanied by two other well dressed men and the Princess go out for her walk, accompanied by Pietro, between ten and twelve.

Later in the day, he strolled along to Venice's waterside promenade, the broad Riva degli Schiavoni. on one side of which rose the square Palace of the Doges, supported so miraculously upon its ground-​floor range of arches, and on the other a long row of booths where cheapjacks of all kinds plied their trades against a background of masts rising from the scores of small ships moored alongside the quay. He walked on as far as the great gates of the Arsenal, behind which lay the dockyards of the Venetian fleet, where, in the great days of Venice, 16,000 men had laboured on her ships week in, week out. On his return he left the quay to visit the tiny church of San Giorgio degli Schiavoni and admired the wonderful series of paintings by Carpaccio, which at least the French could not steal, because they were painted on its walls.

Before settling down for the evening again in the Piazza San Marco there was one grimmer sight at which he paused to look. It was a little enclosed bridge-​almost the shape of an inverted V-​high up over the narrow canal between the Doge's Palace and the city prison. It had been named the Bridge of Sighs because so many men had passed over it never to return, for the prison, which was known as the 'Leads', had a reputation as sinister as that of the Bastille.

On his sixth morning in Venice, he took with him to the San Samuele steps his tray of scent samples as well as his paints and canvas, as he felt that, should events follow the same course as on the two preceding days, they would have established a pattern, and he might risk acting upon it. Since Malderini was involved in a conspiracy, it seemed certain that he must often go out by night as well as by day, so Roger had considered lying in wait for him after dark. But to attack him on the water would have necessitated difficult and dangerous negotiations to find a gondolier prepared to accept a heavy bribe to become an accessory to murder; while to attack him on land was to risk a hue and cry being raised with the almost inevitable result that the attacker would get lost in a maze of alleyways and find himself cornered in one of the cul-​de-​sacs in which Venice abounded. In consequence, Roger had decided that the deed must be done in Malderini's own palace and, as a first step, he had prepared a plan by which he hoped to get inside it.

Malderini left in his colourful gondola as usual soon after nine, then it returned and, an hour later, ferried the Princess and Pietro across the Grand Canal. Roger continued his painting for some twenty minutes, then he went to the little tavern in the Campo Morosini, where he had had two midday meals and left his artist's paraphernalia with the proprietor. From there he walked back to the Grand Canal, picked up a gondola near the Palazzo Cavalli, and had himself taken to the landing steps of the Palazzo Malderini.

He did not attempt to land but had his man keep the gondola close in to the steps so that he could do so at any moment. After a wait of nearly half an hour, all the church bells of Venice began to chime midday. They were still pealing when Roger saw the Princess coming down the San Samuele steps. Two minutes later her gondola had ferried her across. By that time Roger had stepped onto the landing place and, as Pietro handed her ashore, he salaamed, presented his tray of scents and cried, 'Gracious lady! Perfumes from the East! Very beautiful but price modest. Please to accept samples.'

To his dismay she gave him only a glance and walked on, while the skull faced Pietro turned to hustle him off the steps. He had meant to whisper a few sentences to her as she was examining his scents. In another moment she would be gone. It was now or never; so he had to take a chance and call aloud after her.

He had before used broken Italian. Now he used a different language for each short sentence French, Arabic, Italian again, then Persian and in the last he cried, 'I come from Bahna. I must talk with you.'

Her steps suddenly slowed. In the doorway she halted, turned and beckoned to him. With the eager smile of the trader who has intrigued a possible buyer, his white teeth flashing between his black beard and moustache, he ran up the steps and presented his tray, once more breaking into a multilingual patter.

After smelling the stoppers from a few of his little bottles, she said in Italian, 'Come with me upstairs.'

Ignoring Pietro's scowl, he followed her through a lofty -pillared hall and up a curved staircase guarded by a beautiful balustrade of wrought and gilded ironwork, to a room on the first floor with tall windows overlooking the Barnaba canal. It was evidently her boudoir and much of its furnishings were of Indian design. Pietro had followed them up, but with a quick word she dismissed him. He gave Roger a suspicious glance and went with obvious reluctance. As soon as the door had closed behind him, she turned to Roger and asked in Persian, in a whisper:

'Did I… did I hear you aright?'

He nodded, but put a finger to his lips, again broke into his mixed Italian Arabic sales talk, and offered her his tray.

She came close to him and made a pretence of examining the scents. Her long fingers were trembling so violently that she could hardly hold the little bottles as he handed them to her, and her great dark eyes stared into his with an expression that was half excitement, half terror. After a minute he said in a low voice:

'Fear nothing. I come to help you. Go now and make sure that Pietro is not listening at the door.'

Controlling her agitation with an effort, she did as he had told her. Pietro was not there. Shutting the door again, she ran back to him and cried, 'What is the meaning of this? Who are you?'

He smiled. 'My disguise must be good, since you fail to recognise me at close quarters. But you will remember your visit to Lady St. Ermins's house down in Surrey, when you were in England; and the Englishman who fought a duel with your husband.'

She gave a little gasp. 'Yes, yes. I know you now. I felt sure I had seen those blue eyes and long eyelashes of yours somewhere before. It is not true, then, that you come from Banna?'

'I do,' he assured her. 'I arrived in Venice a week ago. But there is one question I must ask you without delay. The night before my duel with Malderini, we met at the bottom of the staircase. You said that he was the most evil of men and asked me to kill him. Do you still desire his death?'

Her hand jerked up to her mouth to suppress a cry, and she threw a terrified look over her shoulder. Then, in a fierce whisper, she replied, 'Yes; yes; yes!'

'Then I will rid you of him,' Roger said firmly. 'But I shall need your help.'

'I… I…' she faltered, 'I will give it you if… if I am able. But he has the mastery of my mind. He can turn my will to water. When we are with other people he imposes silence on me. There are often times when I do not know what I am doing. And… and he can read my thoughts. That is why I have never succeeded in running away from him.'

'He did not take you with him to India. Surely you could have found an opportunity to do so during all those months he was away?'

She shook her head, 'No. Before he left, he hypnotised me into following a set routine. I never left the house. Pietro remained here as watch-​dog. Even if I had made a supreme effort and broken the spell, Pietro would have prevented my escape. Now that I am allowed out again for a morning's walk he accompanies me everywhere. It has always been so. I am never permitted to be alone, even for five minutes, with anyone who might help me.'

'You imply that you could make a supreme effort. If I am to free you, this is the time to do so. You must arrange some means by which I can get into the house at night. Or come downstairs and let me in yourself. Does he still sleep with you?'

'Ner… ner… no.' Again she jerked up her hand, but this time to smother a hysterical laugh. 'No; my marriage is a mockery. He married me to get possession of my fortune, and because he knew that he could make a good medium out of me. He came to India when I was a child and got my poor father into his toils. I was very young. Too young to be a wife, but he made me his slave. Then he brought me to Europe. It was only later I realised…'

She broke off, suddenly shaken by a fit of sobs. Then, dashing the tears from her eyes, she began to babble semi-​hysterically about her life with Malderini. Roger was shocked and amazed, but her voice had risen to so high a pitch that he feared someone would hear her and come running to see what was the matter. Grasping her by the arms, he gave her a quick shake and said:

'Quiet! For God's sake lower your voice or someone will think I am maltreating you. What you say is terrible; but it all fits in with what I heard in Bahna.'

After a moment she got control of herself and said in a more nearly normal voice, 'Bahna! What were you doing in Bahna? And what led you to come in pursuit of Malderini?'

It took him several minutes to tell her, and having to give an account of Clarissa's end re-​aroused his hatred of her killer to fever pitch. She listened, her great brown eyes swimming in tears; but she made no comment until he had finished, then she said:

'I understand now why you are set on killing Malderini. The lovely young lady who became your wife I remember well. That she should have died of a chill caught in such a way is especially terrible. I have suffered the same thing at his hands. Five times he has killed cats, and three times human infants, on my body. The first time I thought I should go mad, but he threw me into a trance afterwards which dulled my memory of it; and at least I am still alive.'

'Would you swear to that in front of a magistrate?' Roger asked quickly. 'If so, we'll break out together now. I've a pistol so could hold off the servants. We'll get a warrant and return with the municipals to search the palace. Somewhere in it there is bound to be corroborative evidence: an altar to the Devil, perhaps, books on Satanism, robes with…,'

'No! No! No!' She shrank away from him in terror. 'I dare not! Even to attempt it would be useless. His familiar spirits would warn him of what we were about to do. He would strike me dumb from afar.'

'I cannot believe that he has the power to do that.'

'He has! He has! The evil gods give it to him in return for those blood sacrifices he makes to them. You believe him to be a charlatan because you caught him out in a trick. He is greedy for money and has used it successfully several times to win wagers. Yet he can levitate me. He has done so several times. He learnt how from the fakirs in Bahna. But to perform the feat requires weeks of patient preparation.'

Roger shook his head. 'He only made you believe solely by his will-​power that he raised you from the ground. That he has extraordinarily strong hypnotic powers I admit. I have had personal experience of them. But all this Black Magic hocus-​pocus, and the abominable rites he practises, do no more than give him immense confidence that, by one means or another, he will achieve his ends.'

'You are wrong!' she cried. 'Wrong! He can overlook people from a distance. Of that I am certain. He is the Devil incarnate, the very embodiment of evil, and has become the recipient of many strange powers. He may be overlooking us at this very moment, and listening to us conspiring against him.'

As though to confirm her terrified apprehensions, the tall, gilded double doors of the apartment were thrown open, and Malderini stood framed between them.