The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘What makes you think it was more than an accident? I take it that that is what you want to tell me. That Baseggio didn’t die by accident.’

She nodded her head, and sure of having gained his full attention, let go of his arm. He rubbed the spot where her grip had dug into his arm ruefully as she told him what she thought had happened.

‘We live off the Campo San Biagio, right by the entrance to the Arsenale.’

She was describing the area round the great state-owned basin that formed the shipyards and armoury of Venice. Its naval power emanated from this dockyard, and Marco Baseggio had given his working life over to building ships in the great basin.

‘He had retired on a small pension,’ explained his daughter. ‘But he still went there every day, and checked on what was being built. Some of the younger men got annoyed at his interference, but the older ones – the ones who had known him at work – respected his opinions. They would drink with him, and swap stories of the old times. He could always make his way home afterwards, even though he had to use his stick. He never fell in any canal.’

‘So what made yesterday different?’

‘Because yesterday he saw Baglioni’s galley in the Arsenale, and he told me it was still riding low in the water. Even after all the silk and cotton bales had been removed.’

Zuliani recalled that Baseggio had intimated something similar to him.

‘So it was in the Arsenale to be checked over, in case it had a leak. What is so unusual about that?’

The woman prodded a stubby finger at Zuliani. ‘Because it was the early afternoon when he saw the galley low in the water. When my father came away from his usual drinking session with his old cronies some time later, he saw the ship again. He told me the ship was now as high in the water as it should have been in the first place.’

Zuliani frowned, still not quite seeing where this was taking him. He could not fathom the meaning of this change that had meant so much to the old shipwright.

‘Could they have merely removed the ballast from the scuppers in order to check the boat out? That would explain its different position in the water.’

‘That’s what I said to my father, too. He didn’t think much of my suggestion, and told me so. He was always irritating people over what he saw as their lack of knowledge about ships. So it was then that I gave up trying to get him to tell me what was bothering him, and ignored him. He came over all sulky, and despite my asking him later what the problem was, he clammed up. All he would say was, if it was just ordinary ballast, why didn’t they offload it on the public quay?’

Zuliani began to have an inkling about what had piqued the old man’s interest. It was starting to do the same for him.

‘He had a point there. But you say he said this to you after he had been to the Arsenale? After he had drunk with his fellow ship-builders and seen the changes in the ship?’

‘Yes. As he does… did every day.’

‘So how did he end up in the Rio della Celestia later that same night?’

The woman smiled grimly, seeing that Zuliani was catching up with her.

‘He went out again. After dark. I wish I had known he was going, and that I had taken his worries seriously earlier. He might still be alive now.’

‘You think he saw something on his return to the Arsenale, and was murdered because of it?’

She nodded.

‘But he still could have fallen into the canal accidentally. Especially as it was dark.’

As soon as Zuliani had said those words, he knew how foolish they were. Not only did every Venetian know very single calle and corte in La Serenissima, and could find his way around blindfold, Baseggio’s home was in the opposite direction from the Arsenale to the rio where his body had been found. Francesca Este looked on as the truth dawned on Zuliani. He put into words what she had guessed already.

‘He was murdered and his body thrown in the canal to make it look like an accident. But they made the mistake of dumping his body in a canal that was not on his route home.’

‘Yes.’

The woman said the simple word with a great sigh of relief. She had finally convinced someone else of the truth of her father’s death. Now something could be done about the injustice. Zuliani’s mind was racing, and a plan began to form.

‘I need to check for myself what they were taking off the galley that required such secrecy. Tell me, did you ever learn from your father if there were any private entrances and exits to the Arsenale? I cannot simply turn up at the gate and demand entry.’

She smiled broadly. ‘Oh, yes. Father took me to the ship-yards often when I was a child. I played there a lot.’

The woman paused in her story, and noted with satisfaction that the pilgrims and travellers who made up her audience were entirely engrossed in her tale. The fire was burning low, but no one moved in order to feed it. If anything, they were greedy for more of her story. She smiled quietly and went on.

‘Nick appeared not to know that his conversation with Francesca Este had been overheard.’

As it was still daylight, and he couldn’t sneak into the Arsenale undetected until after dark, Zuliani decided to reconnoitre the area around the great basin immediately. He would need to be sure of his access and escape routes in case of trouble. He strolled down from Ca’ Dolfin to the great square facing the Basilica San Marco and the fortified castle that was the Doge’s Palace. The four gilded horses, stolen from Byzantium over a century earlier, glinted in the watery sun. They were a powerful symbol of Venice’s long reach and history, but Zuliani hardly noticed them. He made his way along the quayside where Baglioni’s ship had originally docked, and towards the Campo San Biagio. Poor dead Baseggio had lived his entire life there and inside the walls of the Arsenale, his days measured by the tread of his feet between the two. Zuliani followed the old man’s daily journey towards the massive gates of the Arsenale, crossing the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the rio that led to the basin.

He stopped on the bridge and peered through the gateway like an old man with nothing else to do in his life but gawp at the business of others. He could see Baglioni’s ship, still docked to the left of the basin. It was true that it now rode high and proud in the water, but Zuliani noticed something else. There was an unusual amount of activity both on the deck of the ship and on the quayside adjoining it and it was not the normal bustle of loading or unloading. Zuliani could hear sharp cries carrying over the still water of the basin, alarm sounding in their tones. The men running backwards and forwards across the gangplank between ship and quay were empty-handed, not like dock workers. Until, that is, a limp and heavy shape draped between two men came across the gangplank. A burden that looked suspiciously like a body was being transferred from ship to shore, but Zuliani was too far away to tell who it was. Or even if it really was a body. The two men carrying the burden shuffled into the building on the edge of the quay, and the door was swiftly closed behind them.

Zuliani hung around on the bridge for a while longer, listening to the soft thud of adze on wood as workers across the other side of the basin shaped planks for a new hull. But no one emerged from the Arsenale and he was unable to ask about what had happened on Baglioni’s galley. Instead, he gave up his surveillance, and followed the alleys around the outside of the great basin, checking on the ways to get in and out of the Arsenale that Baseggio’s daughter had told him about. The best option seemed to be to the north where an old water gate, half hanging off its hinges, would allow an agile person to swing round the gatepost out over the water and on to a narrow ledge inside the great basin. Zuliani wondered if his seventy-year-old body would be up to it. Maybe he couldn’t do it by himself, but someone younger could do it with ease and, once inside, help him perform the acrobatic feat without falling in. He knew who he could ask – it was just a matter of making sure Cat Dolfin didn’t find out.