The Venice conspiracy

CAPITOLO XLII
1777

Ghetto Nuovo, Venezia Neither Jewish-born Ermanno nor Catholic-born Tanina believe in any form of God, but they're both praying they don't get caught as he walks her back to her home near the Rialto. Venice may be considered the most libertine city in the world but it still discriminates heavily against Jews and prohibits their free movement outside the ghetto. Young men foolish enough to follow their hearts beyond its walls are never more than a moment away from fines, imprisonment or beatings.

It's gone midnight, and for the first time in weeks the night sky is clear and the stars look newly shined. The lovers huddle together, hoods over their heads, hands entwined, body heat from one sustaining the other.

As they near her home, Ermanno has something to get off his chest. 'My friend Efran is an intermediary. He arranges shipments with the Turks. His family has done this kind of thing for a long time, trading in coats of camel and goat.'

Tanina frowns.

'I know, you are far too fashionable to wear such coarse things, but listen, this is not my point.'

'And your point is?'

'He knows many courtesans.'

She frowns. 'Jewish ones?'

He laughs at her. 'Of course Jewish ones. There are many Jewish ones making the Catholics and their uncircumcised pricks very happy. You must know this.'

She shakes her head and looks at her feet. 'I do not think of it. I know my mother was a courtesan, and in the nunnery where I was brought up there were many other girls orphaned by courtesans, but they were all Catholic. Or at least, I thought they were.'

He lets go of her hand. 'Tanina, you were young and full of indoctrinated prejudice. Some will certainly have been Jewish. But no matter. Again, this is not my point.'

She turns to look at him, her face as bright as the moon, an expression of amusement mixed with playful mischief. 'Then, kind sir, procrastinate no more with me: what is your point?'

He blurts it out. 'Gatusso has courtesans. Many of them. Efran's seen him with them.'

She falls silent.

Tanina has known her employer and his wife, Benedetta, for almost ten years. When she ran away from the convent it was they who gave her work and lodgings. Benedetta encouraged her to paint and Gatusso always made sure that she was well paid and had ample clothes and food. 'I don't believe it.' She looks sad as she shakes her head.

'It is true.'

Now her temper rises. 'I do not even know this man Efran, so why should I trust what he says? And, I cannot see how he would know or even recognise my employer.'

'He has dealings with one of Gatusso's courtesans. She told him.'

Tanina stops walking. 'One of?' Anger fills her face. 'You say "one of ", as though there is a whole legion of them. As though he runs courtesans as – as a business.' She shocks herself. Deep inside her mind, fragments of old events fuse together. Things she thought nothing of at the time now seem to add up. A cheap mask she found in the storeroom. Stained female underwear in the rubbish pile. A discarded perfume bottle that smelled unlike anything Signora Gatusso would wear.

Ermanno takes her hand again. 'I'm sorry, my love. I thought you should know. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you should be warned in case he said something – maybe suggested something to you.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' She pulls her hand free. 'Gatusso has been like a father to me.'

They walk awkwardly in near silence to her doorstep. Ermanno's comments have ruined her night, and when they kiss goodbye, there's no passion in it.

Tanina shakes her hair free from the back of her cloak as she steps inside and glances back. 'Ermanno, don't ever talk to me again about Signor Gatusso. He's a good man, and I don't want to hear any more nonsense about courtesans.'

He nods and turns away.

From what he's heard, Lauro Gatusso is far from a good man. In fact, good is probably the last word he would use to describe him.