The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘A good trip, master, with a well-bought stock of silks and cotton to sell on to the German traders. You will profit well by it.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Saluzzo.’ He looked around the quay. ‘Where is Baglioni?’

Saluzzo looked around too, as if he expected to see the trader on the dock, though his eyes said otherwise. He shrugged.

‘He was here a moment ago.’

Zuliani wondered if Baglioni’s absence was a sign the trader planned to short-change him over his deal. It certainly looked as if the man was avoiding him, and perhaps in the process of falsifying his records. But then, just as his suspicions were mounting, he heard Baglioni’s voice behind him.

‘Messer… Zuliani?’

He turned to be met by the beaming face of a successful trader, who was eager to share his good fortune. And it seemed he had divined Zuliani’s real name.

‘It is Niccolo Zuliani, is it not? You should have told me who you were when we made the contract instead of hiding behind Dolfin money. I would have been proud to have Messer Zuliani as my partner.’

Despite wishing to keep his identity a secret, Zuliani was flattered by Baglioni’s effusiveness. He didn’t think at the time to wonder who had revealed his identity.

‘Please. I am an old man, whose glory days are in his past.’

‘Never! You have shown you can still spot a good business proposition when you see one, if I may say so. I will prepare the accounts in a few days when the silks and other cloths are sold on the German market. But now, I am afraid you must excuse me.’

Zuliani could tell that, though Baglioni was engaging him in conversation, his eyes were elsewhere. He watched as the young man strode across the quay, his posture betraying his nervousness. Then he saw why. The solid figure of Marco Tron stood in the shadows of the buildings that bordered the quay. Baglioni hurried over to him, shook his hand, and they both disappeared inside the building behind them. His actions left Zuliani wondering if the Tron family had invested secretly in the colleganza , too.

‘Big money demands full attention.’

Zuliani turned, and saw that the owner of the voice was the old man who had put his life-savings into the colleganza . He struggled for a moment to remember the man’s name, but then it came.

‘You are right, Baseggio. But who cares? We will both reap a tidy harvest from this business too.’

The old man shrugged. ‘But the big man…’ He stuck out a finger to point at where Tron had gone. ‘… will get a whole lot more.’

He passed a professional eye over the galley, which bobbed sluggishly on the lapping waves of the lagoon.

‘There’s more than meets the eye on that vessel.’

Zuliani wasn’t sure what he meant, but assumed the old man was just jealous of the bigger slices he, Tron and Rosso were taking. As for himself, he could calculate what he stood to make, and was entirely content with the deal. He passed a few more words with the old man, and wandered back to Ca’ Dolfin and Cat’s company. The rest of his day was passed agreeably in drinking to his good luck, and the pleasures of the flesh.

The election to the Council of Ten was only a few days away, so, the next morning, Zuliani was distracted from the more lucrative business of calculating his profits with considerations about whose palm he should grease. But before he could be on his way, there was a loud knocking at the Dolfin street door. Cat’s elderly steward, Donato, eventually answered the persistent hammering, and Zuliani heard loud voices in the hallway, as Donato tried his best to keep whoever it was from entering. Unsure why the old steward was being so obstructive, he poked his head out of the room.

‘What is the matter, Donato? Show our visitor in.’

The steward appeared at the end of the passage, his face red and his arms waving.

‘It’s a mad woman, master. She wants to see you, but I don’t think you should.’

‘Why ever not?’

Before the old man could reply, a matronly woman came up behind him and pushed him peremptorily aside. She spoke up with a strident voice, edged with hysteria.

‘Because he thinks I am too common to see the inside of the Ca’ Dolfin, that’s why.’

Indeed, the woman was shabbily dressed in a brown woollen dress that was tattered at the hem, and her headgear was worn and in holes in places. But she was more care-worn than careless of her appearance. She was poor but not ashamed of her status in life. Zuliani could see recent grief in her face, and was intrigued what had brought her to him.

‘It’s fine, Donato, I will see the lady.’ He took in her strained look. ‘And I think she would benefit from a little of the good Rhenish I know you still have stored away in the cellar.’

The old steward looked scandalised that Zuliani should be offering his mistress’s best wine to the woman. But his sense of duty took over, and he bowed his head graciously and went about his task. Zuliani took the woman’s arm, feeling it trembling with shock now her anger had subsided, and guided her into the main room of Cat’s palatial residence. When she had sat down, and Donato had brought the two goblets of wine, he set about finding out what this incident was all about.

‘Now, tell me why you came to see me. I guess it is me you want, not anyone else, mistress…’ He paused. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

The woman took a deep gulp of the wine, and sighed as it slipped down her throat. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

‘I am Francesca Este, Messer Zuliani, and, yes, it is you I want to see. It’s about my father.’

Zuliani frowned, not recalling an Este as someone he knew, and guessing he would have nothing to do with the elections. The woman saw his puzzlement, and explained.

‘Este is my married name. Before that I was a Baseggio.’

Zuliani knew that name. So, the old shipwright with the stick was her father.

‘Ahhh. How is old Baseggio?’

The woman’s face crumpled, and a tear ran down her cheek.

‘He is… dead.’

‘Dead? Good Lord, I’m sorry. When? Tell me what happened.’

After gulping back a few sobs, Francesca Este told her story. It turned out that the old man had been found that very morning floating face down in the Rio della Celestia close to the Arsenale. When his body had been fished out, there was not a mark on him to suggest foul play. So the authorities assumed he had fallen in accidentally, and informed his daughter accordingly.

Zuliani frowned, and asked the obvious question. ‘So, why are you here, Domina Este? I am sorry for your father’s death, naturally, especially after the success of the colleganza we both invested in. It’s a pity he could not reap the rewards of his good judgement, but I will ensure you receive what was due to him.’ It was the least he could do. ‘Sometimes these things happen to old men, especially if they have been…’

‘Drinking?’

Zuliani shrugged. ‘I was going to say celebrating his good fortune. I, too, had a drink or three last night. Now, if you will excuse me…’

The woman grabbed his arm with a surprisingly firm hand.

‘I came to you because my father said you could be trusted, even though we have heard you are standing for the Council of Ten. He said to me that it didn’t matter what it looked like, that you would never switch sides.’

‘Switch sides?’

Zuliani asked the question, already knowing what was coming. But he still needed to hear it for himself. Francesca Este explained in no uncertain terms.

‘He said, as a Zuliani, you would never kowtow to the old hierarchy. That you would stand up for the common people of Venice. Don’t let him down now.’

Zuliani was embarrassed, and felt his face going red. Was this what everyone outside the charmed circle of the case vecchie thought of his standing for the Council? That he was betraying his origins? If so, he would have to reconsider. He grimaced, and looked the woman squarely in the eyes.