The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

‘My life was only saved by the fact the ferryman had left,’ muttered Valier, a shudder running through his entire body. He reached for the goblet again. I was beginning to feel very uneasy.

‘You say you saw di Betto’s attacker clearly by the light of the ferryman’s lantern. Describe him for me.’

Valier stared into the far distance as he spoke, conjuring up the terrifying features again. ‘He had long, black curly hair, and dark skin like a Dalmatian pirate. I think there was some mark on his face, near his jaw. Like a scar or something. And he had a gold ring in his ear. I saw it sparkle in the light from the lamp.’

I sighed deeply. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about encountering your assassin friend again. As long as he told no one about you seeing him kill di Betto-and I think his pride in his work probably meant he didn’t-you are off the hook. He is no longer alive to hound you down.’

I explained to the wide-eyed Valier how I had been trapped under a bridge when the man he described had been murdered by a band of men I knew were the Signori de Notte . I left Valier to drown in his goblet, weak with relief that his life had been given back to him. But I was not so lucky. This was not sounding good to me. And I slunk back through the maze of streets, the fingers of mist curling round my soul, chilling it to the marrow. Malamocco followed in silence, and I think he had come to the same conclusion that I had.

It had been a set-up just as I had surmised. But it wasn’t Valier and Caterina who had engineered it. And poor Lorenzo di Betto had been no more than a pawn that had been sacrificed in a much murkier power play. He had been persuaded, maybe with the lure of preferment for his family, to bear false witness against me. And then silenced by the same assassin who had no doubt killed Domenico Lazzari in the first place. Next, the assassin himself had been despatched to close the loop. Except there was still a loose end-apart from myself-and that was Lorenzo Gradenigo.

It was an easy matter to draw out Gradenigo-all I had to do was send a message anonymously disclosing my whereabouts. Malamocco said I was mad, and maybe I was. But I had to know why this disaster had happened to me just when things had been looking up. So I sent the message, and prepared myself to face the Signori di Notte . I persuaded Malamocco that he had no place in this final confrontation, sending him away with a purse fuller than he might have ever hoped to steal. I have to admit I was a little disappointed when he didn’t put up a fight. But I had also given him a document I wanted him to deliver to the offices of the Quarantia judges, stressing its urgency and importance.

After he had left, I had the house to myself for a while, and felt strangely calm. I put on my best clothes, bought with the proceeds of my colleganza , and only a little stained. Then set the sugar-loaf hat jauntily on my head, with the brim turned up. The Dolfin sword was comfortingly heavy at my waist. It may have got me into all this trouble, but I trusted it still to do its job.

When the hammering came at my uncle’s door, I took my position at the top of the stairs, and called down. ‘The door is unbarred, Gradenigo.’

The big, burly figure of the chief of the Signori barrelled through the door, slamming each leaf back against the wall. He looked up, and his red lips curled into a sneer amidst the thick bush of his dense, black beard. I was pleased to see that his nose was still misaligned after our last encounter.

‘Well, well. I might have known you would be prepared for me, Zuliani. Are you going to come peaceably?’

‘And die with a dagger in my back like the Dalmatian assassin?’

Gradenigo’s piggy eyes screwed up even smaller than usual, as he assessed how much I knew of his business. I decided to play a few cards.

‘Yes, I know all about him, and about di Betto too. How he perjured himself to put the fix in on me. And died for it afterwards. Was my rigging of the election so important that these men had to die?’

Gradenigo had been sidling towards the bottom of the staircase, as I held my ground. However my last statement stopped him in his tracks. His lips curled again, and a deep rumble emanated from the depths of his chest. Disconcertingly, he was laughing.

‘Do you really think you are that important, Zuliani? Don’t kid yourself. You were just a tool, easily used up and discarded. You were there to enmesh Lazzari in a scandal, and so explain away his murder. Neither you, nor di Betto, nor the assassin mattered one jot.’

My heart sank. It was what I had feared all along. And while I might have flattered myself by imagining all the intrigue was aimed at my demise, deep down I had guessed it was all about Domenico Lazzari. He had made enemies in high places. Particularly with the man who fancied himself as the next doge-Girolamo Fanesi. So the intrigue all came back to Fanesi, and I had no chance of proving my innocence against such a high-level conspiracy. And that was why I had sent Malamocco to the judges with a document faked to make it look like it had been Fanesi who had bribed me to get his name pulled out of the electoral jar courtesy of the tricksy Malamocco. He would deny it of course, but mud sticks-especially Venetian mud-and he would never be doge now. It was the best revenge I could expect out of a hopeless situation.

Gradenigo was beginning to ascend the stairs, and I finally backed off, having got him to confirm what I had guessed. I was about to sneak down the secret rear stairs, when a slender hand grabbed my arm, and pulled me into my uncle’s bed-chamber. At first I thought it was Caterina, and wondered how she had got there. And how I was going to get her out of this fix. But then I saw it was the boy, Malamocco.

‘You idiot! What are you doing here?’

‘Saving your hide, Barratieri.’ Hearing the sound of heavy boots coming up the marble staircase, Malamocco slipped the wooden bolt across the bedroom door, and leaned against it. I grabbed his shoulders, and shook him.

‘You didn’t think I was planning to die nobly and unnecessarily, do you? Where’s the profit in that? I had my escape route all worked out, and you’ve gone and spoiled it, you brat. Now what am I going to do?’

His face went pale as a nun’s wimple, as his eyes roamed the trap he had created for us both. ‘You could jump out the window into the canal.’

I leaped over to the window, and looked out.

‘Are you mad? It’s more mud than water.’

‘Then it’ll be a soft landing. Especially if you land headfirst. Anyway, I had to come back.’

‘Eh? Why?’

‘Because the lady told me to.’

‘What lady?’

‘The one who’s been trying to speak to you, and was waiting in the calle when I left here.’

‘Caterina?’

‘That’s her. She says…’ he hesitated, obviously embarrassed by the sentimental nature of the message he had been asked to deliver, ‘she says she will wait for you, and will look after your child.’

The truth hit me like a mailed fist in my stomach. I groaned at my stupidity, at my crass lack of sensitivity, at my suspicious nature, and finally at my bad luck.

‘I think we should…’

Before I could reply, the door burst partway inwards, straining the wooden bar and throwing Malamocco to the floor. The metal end of a pike had been thrust through the gap. Had it wounded the boy? Was that blood on his mantle? Impetuously, I drew my blade, and without thinking, lunged towards the gap between the double doors.

‘Boss! No!’

Malamocco’s cry was in vain as I blindly thrust my sword through the gap. There was a cry of pain from the other side, and the pike end was withdrawn. The gap closed, almost holding my sword fast between the leaves of the door. I yanked it back, the blade smeared with blood.