The Venice conspiracy

CAPITOLO XLIII
1777

Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore, Venezia Dawn breaks like a virginal blush on the pale face of Palladio's Church of San Giorgio. In a few hours, when the sun is high over the island, the magnificently columned frontage will gleam and flirt for the attention of anyone gazing out from the Piazzetta. Now, though, it is merely a subtle shape emerging through a shimmering sunrise. Tommaso watches it from the boat.

Normally he'd be skimming across the peaceful morning waters, rowing with all his might. But today he has no intention of taking to the canale.

Instead, he is inside the boathouse and is using the privacy of the craft to examine the cool silver tablet in his hand.

Why did his mother have it? Why did she place so much importance in it? Why was she so concerned about who should have ownership of it?

He ponders all this as he makes a rough pencil sketch of the artefact on paper he's brought from his cell. In length, it runs from his wrist to the tip of his longest finger. In breadth, it's slightly more than four fingers wide. The back is smooth and inscribed in a language he's never seen before. He knows Latin, Hebrew and also a little Egyptian, but none of the characters match those. Some look Greek. Normally he would go straight to the abbot and seek his opinion, but something is stopping him.

Tommaso flips the tablet over. It's heavy and obviously valuable. Perhaps that was the reason his mother treasured it. The proverbial family silver. To be looked after at all costs. Never to be let out of the family's hands. Only to be sold in the most desperate of circumstances.

The engraving on the front is very beautiful. Intricate and shocking. The character is clearly a holy man. The hooked staff that he is impaled upon resembles the crosier that bishops carry. He wonders now whether the figure is Arabian, or possibly Isaurian. The more he looks, the more he recalls sketches of a priest or seer that the Romans referred to as a haruspex and the Etruscans called a netsvis. If it's a netsvis, then the writing is Etruscan and that would explain why some letters look Greek but others are unfamiliar. Behind the figure there seems to be a gate made out of horizontally and vertically entangled snakes. He's aware that the serpent is the symbol of Satan, and supposes this must represent the priest's battle with evil. The snakes seem to flow off either end of the tablet, which also gives him a clue that the artefact might not be a single piece. His mother's words roll back to him: Your sister is a year older than you and I have left her with the nuns. A similar box, and duty, await her.

He wonders what she looks like, where she is, what has become of her – and what she has done with the box left for her. He wonders too about his mother – a feeling he's buried for many years, and now painfully unearthed with the opening of the box and the discovery of the tablet and note. Tommaso holds the silver close to his body as he heads back to the monastery, aware that a bond is being forged between him and the object. For a second he pictures a mother giving a child his first toy, and the thought comforts him.

Many windows are lit by flickering candles. The holy brothers are busy with their pre-breakfast duties, studies or private papers. His mother's warning plays on his mind as he climbs the cool steps and slips inside the holy corridors. As painful as it may be, please believe me that it's best (for you, her and everyone) that you do not seek her out. The duties that I leave to you both are more easily fulfilled if you never meet. Tommaso has decided to do what he knows he should have done immediately. He goes to the abbot's office. His nerves are jangling as he knocks on the huge oak office door.

'Yes. Come.'

He clicks the black wrought-iron handle and enters. The abbot is a rotund man in his late fifties with jet-black, brittle hair and grey wiry eyebrows. He sits with his head down, writing at a vast desk dominated by a heavy brass crucifix that's flanked by two tall brass candlesticks.

Tommaso can see he's working on an official letter, written on white palomba paper with a dove watermark. It's no doubt destined for an ecclesiastical court or chancery. The abbot is using a hand-cut goose quill and black ink, the colour that protocol dictates for the authority of his hand.

Finally, the abbot downs his quill and looks up. 'Yes, Brother, how may I help you?'

Tommaso steps forward to the edge of the desk. 'A box was left by my mother when I was brought here. I have just looked inside and found this.' He opens his hands and places the silver tablet on the desk.

The abbot sits back in his chair. He folds his arms and looks at Tommaso in a way calculated to compel him to expand his story.

'The ornament seems to be silver. A family heirloom of sorts. But it has strange writing on it and what looks to be an ancient priest or haruspex. I would like to learn more about the piece and about why my mother left it to me.'

The abbot reaches over his blotter and pulls the tablet towards him. 'Leave it with me, Brother. I will make enquiries on your behalf.'

Tommaso remembers his mother's words – It must never leave your care. 'With respect, Reverend Father, my mother's wish was that I never part with the object.'

The abbot smiles reassuringly. 'It is safe with me, my child. I can hardly find answers for you if you continue to clutch it so close to your chest, now, can I?'

Tommaso feels embarrassed, but he's still reluctant to hand it over. 'I am happy to show it to you, but less happy to leave it. Perhaps it is enough for you just to examine it?'

The abbot grows irritated. 'Brother, where is your faith?' He stares challengingly at Tommaso. 'Lack of faith in me is lack of faith in God. This thing is corrupting you. Give it to me at once.'

Still Tommaso hesitates.

The abbot rises from his chair and walks around his desk. The two men are now face to face. 'You come in here and ask for my help, then offer me only insolence and distrust. Now hand over that object, or I will have you doing penance until the Sabbath!'

Tommaso still wants to argue. Wants to keep the tablet and leave the room with it. But he dare not defy the abbot. He places the silver tablet in the hand outstretched before him and feels his heart sink.

The abbot turns and walks back to his desk. 'Now go about your duties. Good day.'

Tommaso nods, turns and leaves. He knows he's made a mistake. Let his mother down.

And he knows he must do something to put it right.