The Vault of bones

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘Nicholas Querini owns an island’ said Letice. They were the first words she had spoken to anyone – save a few mutterings to me, ill-tempered with fatigue – for she had slept her way across the Sea of Marmara and down through the Hellespont, and now that she had made her way on deck to join us for luncheon, we were out in the Aegean, with Lemnos far away to starboard and Tenedos behind us.

‘I’m sorry?' said James, looking at her in some amazement, or possibly discomfort, for although his sensual complexion made this seem unlikely, he was the shyer of the two Dominicans.

‘It is called Stampalia’ she went on, and I realised she was speaking Paris French, and well at that. 'Rich Venetians tend to have their own islands’ she explained, cutting herself a slice of salted ham. 'Querini has Stampalia, which lies to the south, near Naxos.'

'How interesting’ said Andrew, distractedly. He was attempting to eat a piece of dry and crumbling bread on which perched a tough sliver of ham while reading some official-looking document. Crumbs were showering over the parchment.

'And I was wondering if, perhaps, he is there’ she said primly, dabbing at her lips with her sleeve. With the holy relic.' The Dominicans looked up as one. 'How far is this Stampalia?' asked Andrew. 'Three or four days’ sail’ said Letice.

'Why would he not have carried his prize back to Venice?' I asked. James nodded in agreement.

‘I do not know, but I wonder… these seas are dangerous at this time of year, and the news in Constantinople, again and again, was of the Greek Emperors navy and their raids on the ships of the Latins. Perhaps he is holding court in his castle until spring comes. Or perhaps he has left the holy relic there under guard. In either case…'

'My dear daughter, you are not suggesting…' began James, a frown ploughing across his pink forehead.

'No, no, I am sure Mistress Letitia was not implying that we should abscond with the relic’ I said hurriedly. 'But…' and I stared hard at Letice as I spoke, 'if Messer Nicholas is at home, we will perhaps be able to treat with him there, and thus save us the long and uncertain passage to Venice.'

'I do not think that Querini has the authority to treat with us’ said Andrew kindly, a little as if he were addressing a child or perhaps a horse. I waited for Letice to bridle at his tone, but she merely smiled impassively. 'I have assumed, from what Master Petroc has told us, that Querini is merely acting as an agent for the Serene Republic of Venice, and that it is in Venice that we will conclude our business.'

'I do not know if that is actually true’I put in. 'That is, I assumed the same thing at first, but now… if he were an agent of the Doge, he would not have made off with Monsieur de Sol, or tried to kill me. De Sol is a resident of the Republic. He is on friendly terms with the Doges' palace.'

Well, then, I… how far is this Stampalia? Perhaps I will at least mention it to the good captain’ said Andrew, and returned to his battle with bread and ham. 'Good Brother Andrew, perhaps you can tell me how this matter is to be settled?' I said. That question had been preying upon my mind since first I had set foot aboard the Seynt Victor, and this seemed as good a time as any to broach it. For it seemed that, if Captain de Montalhac's company was to reap any reward from this ghastly mess, I would have to do the reaping. And indeed I seemed to hear the Captain's voice in my ear: 'Pay attention, Patch! Pay attention.'

The friar looked up again, crumbs flying, jaws working furiously upon a piece of pig gristle. 'It is a simple transaction,' he said at last, after a mighty swallow. 'Possession of the Crown is transferred to His Majesty Louis, depending upon its exchange for a gift, a token of gratitude, from the king to the emperor or empire.'

'Exactly! And the size of this putative gift was, I hazard, known by my master?'

'No,' said Andrew, wiping his greasy mouth with the back of his hand.

'Oh?' I said, surprised. This was not going to be easy, then.

'It had not been decided,' said Andrew. 'Has not, even yet. We were to adjust the magnitude of the gift to the needs, the requirements, of Baldwin de Courtenay. These needs, we hoped, we could estimate without putting His Majesty the Emperor to any embarrassing questions. As, now, the Crown is being held in surety for a loan, the gift, to my thinking, will be in the amount of said loan – for how better to reward Baldwin but to discharge him from onerous and shameful obligation?'

'Indeed. So…' I paused, my mind scurrying ahead to commissions and percentages. 'The mortgage imposed by Querini is in the sum of…' There was a sharp burst of pain in my lower shinbone. I looked around to see that Letice was glaring at me with her piercing eyes, the same docile smile upon her lips. She had kicked me smartly under the table.

'Querini's mortgage is the crux of the matter’ agreed Andrew, not noticing a thing. As soon as we find out what it is, we can send back to Paris and make arrangements. But it is to be assumed that we are concerned with a considerable sum – a very considerable sum indeed, to necessitate such a holy, an indeed priceless security. I would place the Crown's worth far above that of the whole empire, from what I have heard and seen of that!

'Quite so, quite so’ I said smoothly, placing my chin upon steepled fingers, something I had seen Gilles do. I felt like a rank impostor, but nonetheless we seemed, incredibly, to have come to the nub of the matter. And what sum is in your remit to… to disburse?' I enquired casually.

'Oh, good heavens!' cried Andrew. The piece of bread burst asunder in his fist, blasting crumbs everywhere. One caught in my eyebrow, and I spied another upon the ivory skin of Letice's neck. I bit my lip in frustration: I had gone too far. But no: Andrew was brushing his hands together and gazing at the clouds overhead, as if performing some kinetic prayer. I could see his great teeth. He was smiling.

'My dear son’ he said at last, tugging abstractedly at his earlobe, 'I cannot quite believe it myself, but I have the authority – and I tell you this only because you are now, to my mind, the successor of Monsieur de Sol…' he broke off and glanced at Letice. She stood up and dashed the breadcrumbs from her tunic front. 'I believe we need a little more wine’ she said brightly, taking up the jug and wandering off towards the stern.

An extremely well-bred young lady’ I murmured, sanctimoniously. The friar nodded his agreement.

'Indeed, yes’ he said. 'Most discreet, most discreet. Now…' he leaned forward until his mouth was inches from my ear. It is King Louis' wish that James and I give whatever is necessary to secure the Crown.'

Whatever necessary being…?' I could barely get the words out.

When I said that the Crown was worth more than the empire, I was not indulging in rhetoric,' said Andrew, softly. 'Louis is willing to present Baldwin with… with half the royal treasury of France!' he finished in a rush and regarded me, panting a little, as if he had relieved himself of a physical burden. And indeed he had, I thought. What could the kingdom of France be worth? I thought of the barber of King Midas, rushing out to bellow his secret to the bullrushes. Well, I would press on.

'My… my merciful Lord!' I squeaked, blinking in unfeigned shock. 'That could be no less than… than…'

'One hundred and fifty thousand golden livres,' hissed Andrew, in a rapture of release. 'There. It is told. I would have told Monsieur de Sol ere now, and so I am telling you.' 'And I shall tell no one,' I assured him.

Andrew stood up and rubbed his cheeks briskly, as if to force the blood back into them. You see what a dilemma James and I have been in?' he asked. I nodded.

'Good brother Andrew,' I said, leaning forward over the food-strewn table, 'I see what a burden you have borne. But consider this. It may be that to find Querini away from Venice would put us to some advantage. If he should reach Venice, is it not possible, given the record of past Doges, that the Republic might be loath to surrender the relic, even to King Louis himself?'

'It… it is possible,' Andrew conceded. He turned away and gazed eastwards, towards the golden backs of the islands that shimmered there. 'Four days' sail, eh? Not so very far. I shall consult my brother.' And without another word he drifted off, leaving me in possession of the table, and of the ham, on to which I fell in an ecstasy of greed, made sharper by relief, and by the appalling, wonderful secret with which I had just been entrusted. I had not had time to think much about Letice of Smooth Field since we had escaped from the Pharos Chapel. I might have left her there on the shore, but my mind and body were in painful turmoil and it had been easier to take her with me. And strange to say, her kneeling to pray by the water had moved me in some way I could not have explained then or now. Since we had climbed aboard the Seynt Victor we had barely seen each other. But when she had insinuated herself into my conversation with Andrew, and that sly kick beneath the table… All the desolate, impotent rage I had felt when Michael had revealed to me the circumstances of Anna’s death had come flooding back. But I was trapped now, for I could not ill-treat any woman, no matter how evil; nor could I have her put ashore, for I was but a passenger on this ship. We had no power over each other here, and that very thought was a knife in my heart.

Thank you’ I told her now. I had cornered her in the prow, where she was watching the land slip by in the distance. 'Thank you very much. Do not..’ I held up my hand, for she had turned to me in surprise. 'Do not mistake yourself, lady. I do not know what is in your mind, but I know what you are, and what you have done. That you and I are alive together on this ship is an accident, nothing more. You will keep out of my affairs, or by God I'll.. ‘ I broke off, and smacked the rail in confused rage.

'Master Petroc, there is something I must say to you’ I rounded on her in fury, for how dare she address me? But her eyes were cast down and she was hugging herself tightly across the chest, and the unbidden memory of that day in Rome when I had witnessed Querini beating her stilled my tongue.

'I was in London when you were there’ she muttered. With some others. They were looking for…'

‘I know who you were looking for’ I said, quiet in my turn, for I feared that if I raised my voice I would lose control of my passions and strike her, or worse.

'Facio was riding the horse’ she said, eyes still down. 'He was the tall man with me in Rome, down by the river, the one who.. ‘ She gave me a rueful look, and I narrowed my eyes. 'I told him not to kill you, though he had planned on it. He was a mercenary once, before he met Nicholas Querini, and can ride a destrier as well as any knight’ she went on. 'I did not know they planned to kill your woman. I thought they would take her back to Venice. I… I would not have been party to it, I swear’

'I do not believe you’ I told her. Why should I? You are a murderess and the tool of an evil-doer. You killed your own friend in front of me. And Fulk de Grez in Rome, and his companion, no doubt: why would you not murder.. ‘ I could not utter Anna's name in the presence of this creature. 'It would surely be as easy, nay, easier by far, to strike down a defenceless woman’ You were there!' She pleaded. You saw!'

"Twas not you upon the horse’ I hissed, 'but you no doubt guided your friends to Cheapside. That is why you were in London, was it not?'

Well, you are right’ she said, and her eyes met mine. They were rimmed with red, and the pale skin beneath them was bruised with exhaustion. We knew your plans – Nicholas keeps an army of spies to tell him of friends and enemies, and what the world's gold is doing; and at Pope Gregory's court there was a certain Peter of Verona, newly become Inquisitor General of northern Italy, courtesy of Querini gold…'I closed my eyes. The trap that had caught us was monstrous. I saw Peters jolly face and cold eyes, and how spittle had flown from his grinning mouth as he spoke of heretics and what he did with them.'… we were waiting for your ship’ Letice was saying. We had been there since November…'

'But I do not care about this’ I snapped. What does it matter? I know. All of it: all the schemes, all the… waste.' She opened her mouth in shock. 'Oh, do not play the virtuous one’ I told her. 'I have found out your masters plan at last – too late, but a simpleton like me is always late to the feast, eh?'

We were to kidnap the lady, no more’ insisted Letice. 'I thought Nicholas was going to ransom her off to her uncle. And then I heard… I saw her, out in the streets; followed her. She was a fine lady…'

'She was a princess? I cried. 'But that is not why – dear God, I cannot bear this!'

'That wasn't why you loved her’ said Letice, quietly. I stared at her, horrified. 'And Querini is not my master, no matter what you might think – I'd not blame you for thinking it, mind. No, listen’ she said hurriedly, for I had begun to turn away. 'I was his woman, it is true. He took care of me, and what I gave him in return should be obvious. And more: I was useful to him, for I have a quick mind, and men will betray themselves happily for a pretty face. Nicholas has grown rich on such betrayals. I am not dull enough to think I am the first woman he has used thus, and I shall not be the last. But he gave me a fine life and I was happy to do his bidding. Until that day. No: listen to me. I saw you in Rome that day, when Nicholas blacked my eye: remember? He had taken me out to buy me something, or so he said, but we were following you. When I realised, I told him I would have nothing more to do with it, that he had no right…'

'Please, do not mock me with this morality play,' I scoffed, but she shook her head furiously.

Whatever else I may not be, I am a woman’ she said, eyes blazing. 'I will not suffer to watch my sisters ill-treated. I am a whore, Master Petroc’ she said defiantly. 'Not a princess, but I know how men use women, how they hurt us, defile us, kill us as if we were beasts. Do you know why Nicholas had your woman killed? Because it was easier than carrying her off. If she had been a man, do not think but that he would have taken the trouble. That's what I told him, there in the market, and he knocked me down.' 'Much you have suffered’ I sneered.

'Oh, I have suffered all right’ she said, suddenly angry. We've all fucking suffered, haven't we? Do not come the high-handed one with me, Master Gurt Dog of Balecester, Master Priest-killer! You would not blanch at the killing of a lady, from what I've heard! The priest you once were is showing, you moralising popinjay!'

'I was never a fucking priest!' I hissed. 'I was a novice monk, no matter what the… the stories, the songs about me – and they are not about me, no matter what the London street believes – are all of them lies, and…'

'And you are innocent. You never done it, eh?' said the girl, with an angry smile. Well, you must have done something.' ‘I am no priest, no priest-killer, and no-'

'No what? You have done your share, my lad. You've killed more men than I.'

'Is that so?' I asked, bitterly. You seem to know how to use a knife. Who taught you to kill, since we are speaking of such things?' She gave a grim little chuckle and and peered at me sidelong.

'Taught me?' she said. 'I worked it out for myself. Not very hard, is it? Who taught you, then?'

I was silent, remembering Sir Hugh de Kervezey, and the first words he had ever spoken to me: This is how you kill someone quickly and efficiently. Knife forward, your thumb on the blade. Strike upwards under the ribs, and keep pushing upwards.' And I remembered how the light had gone out of his eyes after I had killed him. He had proved a good teacher after all, and I a fine student. I found that I had clenched my fists so tightly that they had gone numb, and that the terrible agonising rage I had felt was quenched, although I could not have said why, or what was taking its place.

'Not hard?' I said at last. 'I suppose it isn't. But it makes everything else impossible.'

She gave me that sidelong look again. 'Depends on who it is, doesn't it?' 'Those who believe in the immortal soul would disagree.'

'Fuck. Of course, you used to be a priest. You aren't squeamish, though, Gurt Dog…'

'Do you not listen? I was never a priest,' I growled. 'As for my soul, it is destroyed, beyond a doubt, but I have ceased to believe in salvation or a loving Saviour. I will not give myself that luxury, to be a murderer and a thief and still under His protection. I leave that to the soldier-priests and the crusaders.'

'I didn't kill your friend,' she said, suddenly. 'The German, in Foligno. That was Facio. You want to know if my arms are bloody to the shoulders? I will tell you. I killed a man in Venice, when I was a girl, and all alone. He beat me and fucked me in an alley, and when he had had his way he fell asleep from all the drink in him, and I stove his head in with a brick.' I heard her swallow hard, as if her mouth had gone dry.

Will you hear my confession, Master I-was-never-a-priest? Here it is anyway: I have stood by while men were killed. I have brought a man to his death, once. In Smooth Field life was not accounted very high, and in Venice they will kill a man over the cut of his clothes. But Dardi was the second one I have slain, and he fucking deserved it,' she said through clenched teeth. Tuck! Fuck it! Ach…' she sniffed, and I suddenly realised she was weeping. Reluctantly I raised my hand to comfort her, and she flinched. My anger flooded back.

'He deserved it, did he? Anna did not deserve it, but he did: you are as just as Solomon, aren't you? You kill your friend, and betray your master, as easy as…' I shook my fist, as if to beat the words out of the air.

'The betrayal was not mine,' said Letice fiercely. 'Nicholas had thrown me aside.'

'He gave you to Dardi,' I said, all of a sudden remembering her hurried words in the chapel. I had not really listened then, for I had been awash with terror, confusion and relief, but now I began to recall that she had given me some explanation that had been enough for me then. 'But, really, what of it? You are a whore: you said so yourself'

Yes, I should not care, should I?' she was saying. 'Nor be surprised, for Nicholas bought me like a sword or a horse. Something to ride. But give me to Dardi? To Dardi! He knew it would mean my death. He had just made Dardi the warden of his island, and I was to sweeten the pot. Stampalia – it is a hideous, dry place, and the castle is-'

'This is nonsense! You would have had your own little kingdom,' I interrupted. 'Not with Dardi. He would have killed me sooner or later – no doubt sooner. Torture was what he really liked. Nicholas, Facio even – they are not cruel, not in that way. They do not hurt for pleasure, except when that might bring gain. They want what they want, and they will do the necessary. They have enough in their heads to keep them occupied: Dardi's head was empty: he must needs keep it filled with a store of horrors inflicted upon others’

Despite the scorn I was trying to keep hold of, I shuddered, remembering all too well the smell of his breath that night by the Tiber. 'He looked too stupid for that’ I said.

'No, no. You men: so arrogant about your cruelty. You do not need to be clever to be cruel, you just do what your flesh tells you. Dardi – suffice to say he once fucked a girl to death, and she was a friend, and I had to clean her up. He wanted me to see’ 'But did Querini know what he was about, when he.. ‘ 'Oh, he knew all right. He'd had enough of me. I think Facio was grown clever and bold enough that Nicholas could lean upon him – he didn't need me any more. And there's many a foreign whore in Venice, cleverer ones than me.'

'But… but didn't he care about you? After all those years?'

'He put me clear out of his mind the moment he left me’ she said. Tm sure he doesn't remember me at all.' We had fair weather and a fair wind out of the north, and so we quickly threaded our way down through the islands of Greece, past Scio and Scopello, between Icaria and Micono and down into the Duchy of the Archipelago, Venetian castles nailing Venetian rule on to barren hillsides and whitewashed villages cowering in their shadow. Late on the third day we raised Stampalia, and not wanting to arrive at night, the captain took the Seynt Victor into the lee of Amorgo. I passed a restless night, for, whatever the Dominicans intended to do should we find Querini at home, I – for all my eagerness to come here – had but one thought in my head. If Messer Nicholas were there, then to avenge my master, and Horst, I must try and take his life from him. This thought had been seeded on that last day in the Bucoleon Palace, and had grown slowly, in darkness, ever since. Out here in the pure light of the Greek seas, however, it had begun to uncurl and to darken, like a shoot pushing its way up from underground, and since the lady Letice and I had reached some strange, uneasy truce its full strength had been turned upon her erstwhile master. I had no idea how my need to avenge Captain de Montalhac could be squared with the extraordinary – nay, stupendous – opportunity offered by Andrew of Longjumeau's revelation. I had never before planned to hurt anyone and I did not wish to now, but there did not seem to be a choice if I were ever to return to the fellowship of the Cormaran. As the boat bobbed gently beneath a dazzling net of stars, I bitterly regretted that I had ever come eastward in the first place.

Letice, on the other hand, was seething with excitement. She had been acting her part with aplomb, so much so that she kept herself sharply to herself and had allowed the captain of the Seynt Victor to appoint himself her chaperon, which office he fulfilled in an absurdly grave manner, no doubt because he felt the eyes of the friars upon him. I had not passed more than the time of day with her since our disagreement, and I found myself urgently wishing that I could divine whatever it was she had going on in her head. I knew little more about her now than I had when I first beheld her in Rome. She fascinated and repelled me, and I did not trust her one hairs breadth. So I was startled to find her at my side as I leaned upon the rail, gazing out at the black silhouette of the island. 'Hello, Master Dog’ she murmured. I looked around, and saw her sharp yet sensual profile outlined against the faint star-sheen on the water.

'Good evening’ I said. Dear God, could I do no better than that? I wished she would leave me be, to my dark and bloody thoughts.

You're a well-mannered dog, aren't you?' she answered. 'I mean, for a blaspheming priest-killer and all.'

'Mistress Letice, you should not be here’I said vehemently. 'The captain, the brothers.. ‘

'Bugger the brothers’ she said. 'Or, mayhap, they are buggering each other as we speak. That is what you get up to, isn't it, you priests?'

'I told you, I was never a priest!' I burst out, then saw she was chuckling.

'Like I said before, you must have done something’ she said.

There was nothing for it but to tell her. I thought perhaps then she might leave me alone. So I hurried through my sad tale, from the night I had met Sir Hugh de Kervezey in the Crozier tavern to that bloody morning on the Koskino beach.

‘I have told you these things because I wish you to leave me be’ I told her sullenly, when I was done. We are not friends, make no mistake.'

Well, we are thrown together, friends or not. And thank you for your tale, though it was less interesting than the songs. Now listen: you know nothing of me, although you assume much. So be silent, and I will tell you of my life, and then you may judge me – but only then. I was born in Smooth Field perhaps two-and-twenty years ago’ she went on in a rush, as if afraid that I would prevent her.

'Mam was a troubadour – nay, she called herself such’ she added with a grave smile, seeing me cock my head sceptically. 'She could sing like a blackbird, trip a neat step and play enough upon the lute. And she had a lovely body – "bumps in all the right places", as she would say – such that gentlemen like to stare at until their wives break jars over their heads. She, for there was no father around to do it, and I never knew who he might have been, earned us pennies by singing at parties, fine and not so fine. When I was starting to grow hair upon my quim she began to bring me too, for folk like to give coins to a pretty little girl, and when I passed the oblation cup around they would fall over themselves to fill it for me’

'I saw Smooth Field – it is a grim place,' I said grudgingly.

You would say that, wouldn't you?' she shot back. 'If all you knew was Balecester, I am sure that all of London seemed a bit grim!

'Balecester? I am not from that poxy kennel,' I told her, laughing. 'I am a Devon boy – to me, Balecester might have been Babylon itself when I first came there. God rest you, girl, but since then I have seen some of the world, and Smooth Field is grim by any comparison.'

Worldly-wise,' she said, shrugging. Well then, you are right: there are prettier and kindlier places to live. Yes, I grew up in a dung-heap, with people who would pay to watch two dogs fucking. And yes, I fingered purses, and watched my mam do things the quality don't. What of it? Do you want to hear my tale, or what?'

'Go to, go to,' I said, feigning unconcern, although in truth her company had become more welcome, for I had been alone save for my anger, and anger is a poor companion.

When I was in my sixteenth year – I suppose I was sixteen, but… well, the year that the king locked up the Earl of Kent…'

'So five years ago’ I put in. That would make you one-and-twenty.'

'All right then, Ptolemy’ she said. Well, well: younger than I thought. Anyway, in that year my mam took up with a merchant from the Aldgate. A rich man, very rich indeed. She was dancing and singing for his company one night, he took a shine to her, and next thing I knew we were living in his house. My God, it was lovely! I mean, we were up in the attic and all, but still… And that went on for all of three months, the nice clothes, having enough to eat, not being bothered by smelly old men with grey whiskers and dead-bird breath. I used to prance up and down Cheapside like royalty, I can tell you, and did I go over to Smooth Field and play the queen? Too right I did. So, all very lovely, until the bloody old fool of a merchant decides he has to crown his virtuous life with a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He set about gathering a merry band of like-minded fellows, all as rich as himself, and servants, mules and muleteers – and of course such a party must needs have entertainment. My mam was bought for a fine purse of gold and the promise of saving her soul.

'She brought me along, of course, for I begged her, and I was useful, and the old codger had taken a shine to me as well. We set off in the spring, crossed the sea with everyone puking over the side even though it was flat as a millpond, and had a lovely time all the way through France: I even got my own donkey. Now it was easy living, for the old codger put us up in the best inns. Mam danced and drank at night and I kept to myself in the daytime, but there wasn't much pawing, for the whole crew of them had their minds on higher matters. So it was sweet, even crossing the mountains, which they'd all been dreading. Down into Italy we went, and very pretty it was. We were headed for Venice, there to take ship for Jaffa. It was before Frederick had returned, so there was peace all the way from Milan to the sea, and hot sun, ripe fruit… and Mam getting closer and closer to the old codger, and hinting that I might be getting a new dad.. She paused, and shook her head, a tiny, wry smile hovering on her lips.

We came into Venice, and the very next day Mam wakes up with a fever. And the day after that, she didn't wake up at all. Just like that: a fever, a bloody flux, and she was dead in a shit-filled bed. Well, the purse of gold was gone, grabbed up by the old codger, who did not want to be my daddy any more. I tried dancing for the gentlemen, but they laughed at me. In their haste to save their souls they made sure to leave me behind when the ship sailed.

'There I was, in the clothes I stood up in and without a groat, wandering about in Venice, not being able to speak a word of their language. And if I thought I'd been pawed in London – Christ almighty! Venetian men are like lice: they get everywhere. I was… you are looking at me with that expression men get, you know: how shocking! Tell me more!’

'Ballocks!’ I spluttered, all wounded dignity. She was right, though.

‘I was going to say that I was no maid of easy virtue, but I was no maid neither, if you catch my meaning. I was hungry, of course, but I knew how to steal, and it kept me going for nigh on a week, until I ran into a mob of bravoes who decided to rape me. I ran from them and kept running, into parts of the town I'd never been, until I stumbled into a square full of… whores. Windows full of them, going up into the clouds it seemed to me, all shaking their tits and cawing at the men below like randy rooks. I was clever enough to work out that I would be safe from the bravoes in one of those houses, so I dashed in and begged the madam to hide me. She did. And before I knew it I was a Venetian whore. I could dance and sing, remember, so I paid my way; and the madam thought I was exotic – Smooth Field, exotic! – so she kept me by for the special customers…' 'Ah. Like Nicholas Querini, perchance?' I ventured.

'Like Messer Nicholas. He took a fancy to me – a bit more than a fancy, in fact, for he bought me from the madam. Bought me, yes, for at some point I had become her property! She hissed the word, and bit her lip. 'Bought and sold, that's me. Nicholas has a wife and a pretty family, so he kept me in an old palace round the corner from Saint Mark's. I was happy, I'll admit. There was a roof terrace, with flowers and a little tree, and do you know? I had my own monkey! Men do like to buy their courtesans monkeys, you know, and pappagallos. A hazard of our trade, you might say: they bite and peck and eat squishy fruits, which makes them shit everywhere, but you know, it is exotic. Tra-la. Nicholas would come around to bed me, and we would talk, and then the talking came before the bedding, and afterwards; and I liked that. He taught me to read, you know: bought me my very own tutor, an old monk – hated my guts.' She threw back her head and barked a harsh laugh. 'He didn't think women should read, and tried to teach me scripture by rote, but I would threaten him with the monkey – he hated the monkey – and in the end I did learn. Funny, it was the parrot killed him in the end, for they carry fever, dirty creatures. Why I didn't get it I don't know, but I didn't.' ‘I like monkeys,' I said. 'They 'Don't start!' she told me.

'All right,' I assured her. 'So you learned your words. Then what?' 'Nicholas brought me things to read, and he noticed that I could pick them apart and find what they really meant, the gold in the dross, if you like. At first he did it for his own amusement – got him worked up, talking to a clever wench. Then he started bringing me other things, his things, papers to do with his affairs. I hadn't realised what a big man he was, but he is very, very… he has power, lots of it. He's as rich as the Doge, oh, more so, and he is always, always plotting. I used to think his skull was full of ants, never resting, always bringing in more ideas, building more schemes. He wore me out, really. Wears everyone out eventually.'

'But he looks like such a typical merchant,' I protested. 'Big and pleased with himself. Lots of food and drink and pats on the back.'

'Oh, he's all of that,' snorted Letice. 'That's how he keeps folk off their guard while he's pinching their stuff.' She saw my surprised look. 'Not pinching like you mean, Petroc. He doesn't steal things and shove them in a bag. He does it with paper and words and numbers. That's the way to nick the really big stuff. Like empires. He would love to be Doge, of course,' she said, thoughtfully. 'I've always known that. He started to let me out of the house, you see, to spy on his rivals. No one knew who I was, or what I was, and I caught on to the language pretty quick, so I could go anywhere. No past, not in Venice. That's when I met Facio and Dardi.' 'I was wondering about that,' I said.

'Dardi was a knife-man, pure and simple,' she told me. 'Anyone Nicholas wanted out of the way, Dardi took care of it. He was busy all the time, and Nicholas paid well, so he got rich. But he didn't get clever, or less like an ape. Facio, however… he's different. Very quick. He'd be a Nicholas if he'd had the right parents, but he's a fisherman's son, so he must needs claw and trample his way up. He's close to Nicholas now, close as can be. He thinks Nicholas will get him made a nobleman – perhaps he's right. He'd kill the pope for that. If it had been Facio in the chapel, we wouldn't be having this talk.'

We were silent for a while. The wind was picking up and it was getting colder. Letice leaned her shoulder against mine for a moment and then pulled away. I found myself wishing she would do it again.

‘We are not so different, you and I,' I said. We have had our lot thrust upon us. It was my fate to fall into the hands of Captain de Montalhac, whom I would call a good man, although others would not. It was yours to be found by Nicholas Querini, who the world accounts a good and gentle man. But we have both been drawn into… into…'

Into a stinking bloody jakes,' she said. 'By your leave I'll wish you goodnight, polite Master Dog, and I'll see you in the morning.'