The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

When the man, whom I recognized as Vitale Michiel, father to Marino, came out into the sunlight, he squinted in the bright rays, and cast his eyes around. He might have been a little puzzled at the apparent absence of children. But no matter, Malamocco, right on cue, wandered artlessly past him. Fulfilling his instructions to the letter, Michiel hailed the child, and taking him by the shoulder, guided him in a fatherly manner towards the Palace. I breathed a sigh of relief-the first hurdle had been successfully crossed. Now it was all down to Malamocco’s dexterity, and my training.

I followed the pair at a distance, and watched them disappear into the fortress-like structure of the Doge’s Palace. Then I waited. And waited. When the Marangona struck twelve bells at noon, I began to sweat, fearing that something had gone wrong. After another hour had passed without a result, I was sure the scam had failed. For another hour I wandered Venice, until I found myself again at the church of San Gregorio. There, I sat in the cool interior praying. Under my breath, I cursed my ill luck, and the day I had talked myself into this conspiracy. I had a thousand questions. Why had Pasquale Valier passed up on the opportunity of a lifetime? Had he just hedged his bets, or was there a deeper side to his change of mind? I realized this latest act of mine was proving to be not that of a chancy rogue, but of a gullible simpleton. It had been plain boastfulness to even talk of rigging the future election for Venice’s doge. Why hadn’t I stuck to good, honest, sharp business deals. Look at me now-I was even resorting to prayer.

‘Lord, help me now. Only You know that I am doing it for the best of intentions. The case vecchie will never allow new blood into the ruling parties. And only You know how much Venice needs it. But if I am discovered, they will never forgive me for what I have done.’

Even as I spoke, I knew that God was unlikely to respond to the pleasing lies with which I usually beguiled my investors. So, when the response to my prayer came, it came not from God, but from a shadowy figure who had slipped into the ornate wooden pew behind me. From the odour of his bad breath, I knew it was the thief Alimpato. I half turned, but his hoarse voice stopped me.

‘No, don’t turn round. I don’t want to draw attention to us. Just tell me what you needed the boy for.’

‘As ballotino ,’ I tried to explain in words of one syllable, not sure if the thief knew or cared much about politics. ‘Whoever is running the doge’s election, comes out of the Basilica, and selects the first boy in the street he comes across. And it’s that kid who pulls out a name from the voting jar. Into the jar the Forty-One have put a shortlist for doge. It was easy to guess the most likely names that would go on that list. So all I had to do was ensure one particular name from that shortlist was drawn. That name was the one I wagered all on. The boy had a slip of paper with that name on, and I taught him to palm the slip of paper, and appear to draw it from the jar. Easy.’

‘Hmmm. Not so easy, it would seem. Last I heard, the boy was being escorted to the prison, and the whole matter was being hushed up.’

I went cold, and a sick feeling spread in my guts. I felt afraid not only for myself, but mainly for poor Malamocco. No one ever emerged alive from the doge’s prison.

‘What happened?’

‘It’s difficult to tell. As I said, they are keeping the whole thing quiet. But someone must have ratted on you. I have heard that after the paper was drawn, they opened the jar, and still found the same number of slips inside.’

I marvelled at Alimpato’s intimate knowledge of the goings-on of a so-called secret meeting deep in the bowels of the Doge’s Palace. But maybe that is why he is as successful as he is. And I might have wished for some of his insider information myself. I begged him to tell me what had gone wrong. His next words were chilling.

‘Zuliani. You have been betrayed, and they know everything. But it is worse than that. Domenico Lazzari has been found murdered, and you are in the frame for it.’

Lazzari? What had I to do with his death, or his death with the rigged election? My brain could barely contain the flood of events.

‘They say Lazzari was part of the scam, Zuliani, and that you silenced him when the truth came out. Just to save your own skin.’ There was a rustling in the seat behind me, as if Alimpato was eager to put a very great distance between himself and me. And I couldn’t blame him. But first, he had a final warning. ‘It matters little now what has gone before. All is lost, and the Signori are on your trail. I suggest you get out while you still can. I know I am.’

So the flim-flam was blown apart like a powder barrel in the Arsenal shipyard, and the Signori di Notte , or ‘Gentlemen of the Night’, were hunting in broad daylight. I twisted round in my pew, but all I saw was the back of the cloaked shape of Alimpato disappearing down the central aisle, taking his own advice. I crossed myself in one last effort to get God on my side, and dashed out of the church into the bright sunlight of a clear Venetian afternoon. Hesitating for a moment in the church’s doorway, I considered my options.

My best hope of escape lay towards the marshy wastes to the north of the island republic. But I was trapped on the southern side of the Grand Canal, at the bottom of the reversed S-shaped loop of that wide, watery thoroughfare. The only foot crossing was the Rialto pontoon bridge in the middle of the loop. But that was too far away, and too risky to cross-the Signori di Notte police force would have men posted on it. Fortunately, there were also many random points at which the canal could be crossed. On ferry-boats.

I ran along the quay to the tip of the southern island, the Punta della Dogana. But even as I did so, I heard a cry from behind me.

‘Nicolo Zuliani-the game’s up.’

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the man who had called out was dark-browed, solemn and heavily bearded. It was Lorenzo Gradenigo. I knew him from childhood, and he had been a bully then. He strode towards me, as I searched for a way out. Almost upon me, he pointed at my dishevelled mantle with a stubby finger.

‘Look, the blood stain is still on you. Murderer.’

I remembered my drunken antics with the Dolfin sword, and how I had nicked myself. But this was not the time to protest that it was an old stain, and my own blood besides. I stuck my fist hard in Gradenigo’s face, and drew some fresh blood with which to stain my clothes. As he reeled back, clutching his squashed features, I dodged round him. Not far ahead, I saw the drab, dark uniforms of half a dozen Signori coming in pursuit, swords drawn and flashing in the sunlight.

‘The game’s not over yet,’ I muttered through gritted teeth, as I ran down the quay. There was no time to negotiate with any of the waiting boatmen. Their keen sense of a bargain would have ensured several minutes of debate before a price for crossing the canal could have been agreed on. And those were minutes I could not now spare. I was facing the imminent likelihood of capture and incarceration in the doge’s prison, from where I was unlikely ever to emerge. Except in a coffin.

Suddenly, I saw a large, flat barge being expertly steered out of the mouth of the Giudecca canal to my right.

‘Just in time, my friend.’

I put on a spurt as the boat wallowed past the end of the wooden quay along which I and my pursuers were running. Its prow pointed across the Bacino di San Marco towards the landing in front of the Doge’s Palace itself. Without pausing for thought, I sprinted to the end of the quay, and launched myself into space with a yell. ‘I hope you’re carrying something soft.’