Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

Here was Anna’s killer, the half-seen, barely remembered figure on a rearing horse whose face I had strained again and again to make out in dreams and in bitter memories. He was a pale man, tall and thin, whose face bore the deep lines of worry; not very old, but not so young either. He was afraid – the smell of his fear was coming from him like an old fox skin – but not surprised. He knew what we were doing here far better than I did. And he was ready to die.

I did not wish to do this; but now, I found, I had no choice. I turned to Letice, but she was staring at Facio, her face tight, revealing nothing. Every eye in the room was fixed upon the man before me save those of Mother Zaneta. It was I whom she watched curiously, expectantly. Then I knew. I no longer had the stomach for revenge, and if we had been alone I would have let him go. But now Facio was a dead man whether I killed him or not. His life had brought him here to this room, with this audience, and no way out. And I had arrived at the same place. I would not leave here alive if I did not kill this man. Vengeance and justice were but a dream. There was nothing left for me but survival.

I closed my eyes, trying to gore myself with the pain of memory. But all I saw was Anna running away from me, skipping up on to the stepping-stone over the kennel of Cheapside, hair flying. She turned back to me and smiled.

'Goodbye, Anna,' I said. I wrenched Facio's head back, and cut open his throat before he had time to make a sound.

When he was dead, when his legs had ceased to scrape and thrash upon the floor, I stepped back. The faces of our audience – or my audience, for Facio had departed and left but one mummer upon this stage – had come back to life, and suddenly everyone was busy, straightening their clothes, staring in bemusement at the blood-caked implements in their hands. I turned to Letice, and she lowered her eyes. On the floor, Righi had stopped shaking, though he had pissed himself. In his eyes, the artifice of bravery battled with overwhelming fear.

'Not you, boy’ I said, and my voice sounded strange to me. I found Thorn's scabbard on the floor and, wiping her upon my tunic, put her away. My hands were shaking so hard that I had to trap them beneath my arms, yet even as I hugged myself I shook. Facio's blood had soaked me from my navel to my feet. I had better have someone wash them, I thought, and then I was sitting on the bottom step and staring at the soles of the dead man's shoes, swallowing back the bile that had risen, scalding, in my throat. Mother Zaneta leaned over and spat loudly and neatly on Facio's chest. Then she clapped her hands.

'Gather this filth up and take it to the storeroom. Take this child and lock him in there as well. Now, are any of my dear customers hurt?' I was led to the bath-house, for of course there was one, a somewhat dank and cavernous room at the back of the house that smelled of mildew, sweat and rose-oil; stripped naked and helped into the hot water by three girls, who scrubbed Facio's blood from me and left me there. I sat amongst the curls of steam, and my teeth chattered. My blood is cold, I thought. How strange: the doctors are right about that. Nothing else seemed real. I had stepped into a different life, and I was not who I had been. Perhaps this was survival.

I did not notice when Letice came into the bath-house, only when she swung her leg over the edge of the tub and stepped in. She slid beneath the water and came up with her hair plastered to her head. Pale hair; pale, naked skin; glistening water: she glimmered like a fish, like quicksilver. I did not look at her, for she seemed hardly there at all: perhaps just a vision conjured by my frozen blood. But she straddled me and wrapped her arms about me, and at her touch my body began to remember what it was to be warm, and then all of a sudden I was Petroc again. I took her head in my hands and felt the hard vault of her skull and all the thoughts, all the life inside it. We said nothing, but rocked together until life returned, and heat, and sweat; and until I did not care whether or not she saw my tears. My clothes were declared ruined – but by some lucky fate the letters hidden within them were only a little stained – and more were found for me from among the great store left by careless or insensible customers. I couldn't have cared less, so the choice was made by the girls: a short tunic with long flared sleeves in a maroon and chestnut striped silk damask, dark-blue hose, and a cycladibus of black, arm-holes, hem and collar scalloped and trimmed with dark red ribbon. I let them dress me like a mannequin while I stared at the blackened heap of my old clothes, my gift from Anna. The whores were chattering, debating the relative merits of this costume – how I would blend in just enough, but not too much, how rich it made me look, how manly. At last, Mother Zaneta appeared in the doorway. ‘I must have words with you’ she said.

It was a command, and I obeyed. She led me through the girls and serving boys who were scrubbing the floor with lye. The bodies had already vanished. We went upstairs to a finely appointed chamber and she called for wine, which I sipped at, then gulped. When the cup was empty she took it from me and set it down out of reach.

You have killed an important man’ she said. I opened my mouth to speak, though what I would have said in my defence, or perhaps in self-condemnation I did not know then, nor do I know now.

‘It was well done’ she went on, before I could say anything at all. ‘It was necessary, and you did well. He came into my house with his bravoes, and that could not be tolerated. Do you know who he was?' I nodded, glumly.

'The capo of Nicholas Querini’s company’ she went on. 'The coming man in this quarter. Many friends, and many more enemies, as such a man must have. What do you know of Venice, young man?'

What I have heard is that the water in its streets is no match for the fire of its people’ I said, half-remembering some words of my friend Zianni. She wrinkled her eyes at me, questing.

‘I know what you are thinking’ she said at last. You fear for yourself, for what will befall you as a consequence of what you have done. And you fear for this! She leaned forward quickly and placed her hand flat against my breast, over my heart.

You are young, and you have seen and done much’ she went on. It is cut into your face. And you hold yourself well, for which I have reason to be grateful. So I will tell you this. The first of your concerns is nothing. Do you think that you have spilled the first blood that has ever stained my floors? Do you understand what manner of place this is, what manner of city? We kill each other for taking the wrong side when crossing a bridge. Men die here, and my girls die, and if an explanation is sought I give one, but I tell you that I do not often need to do it. Signor Facio was a man of standing, but as such a man stands taller than those around him, so will he be cut down, sooner or later’ 'But Querini..’

Will find another Facio. It is business for him, for me, and what I must tell you, Englishman, is that what you have just done was a fine piece of business for yourself and many others. Querini will not thank you if he ever finds out, but others will, and Messer Nicholas, I am certain, will not take it personally. He is a great man, but when the whores of San Cassiano are angry, even great men's balls shrivel in fear.

And as for this..’ and she patted her own heart, 'if you had not slain that man I would have, and then I would have slain you too, for bringing trouble to my door. If you thought you had a choice, you chose well, and if you knew you did not, you are wise. I thank you for what you did, and for bringing Letitia back to me. Now you must go. The girl will stay here, for I can hide her but not you. Go to the mainland. Letitia told me that your master is in Ravenna – go and find him. You can do no more alone’