The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘Yes, indeed, of course you did.’

I recalled that Venice had once been the master of Byzantium, but that it had not been so for long. However, it was no doubt long enough to have made its mark on the city and its people.

‘Here it is, sir.’

We stood at the doors of the Venetians’ warehouse.

‘Tell me what you see, Philip.’

There was a momentary pause while he looked round, then he described what he saw.

‘The store is large, and there are plenty of goods in it, but there is room for much more.’

I could smell spices – cinnamon and pepper, chiefly – and the slightly different aroma that I identified as the bark and dried insects used for dyes. I had become used to the smells of such products on my long journey along the Silk Road.

‘And silk? Does Ricci have raw silk here?’

I had walked into the warehouse on my own to take in the aromas, and Philip was soon at my heels.

‘Yes. I can see some bolts of silk over to our right.’

‘Then these are just the purchases made from the same caravan we travelled here on. Not the result of any major negotiation with Panaretos.’

‘No indeed, Master Falconer. But I can tell you what I do expect to get, if you wish.’

It was the voice of Ricci himself, who had come in behind us. I turned round to face him, aware of his position in the doorway by the change in light his tall body created. It was my only visual sense, and necessitated bright sunlight to provide it to me.

‘Messer Ricci, you have caught me out being nosy. Alas, my studying of the books in the Emperor’s library sometimes becomes boring, and I can’t resist poking around the lower town to see what I can find.’

Ricci moved away from the doorway, and I followed his steps on the flagstone floor with my unseeing eyes.

‘I hardly think there is anything here to assuage the thirst of a scholarly mind.’

‘Oh, but trade is such a fascinating subject.’

He came out with a sort of belly laugh that suggested he was a man who liked a drink, and a good story.

‘Forgive me, Falconer, but trade is hard work. Frustrating and rewarding in equal degrees, it is true. But I would hardly say it is fascinating.’

I heard the clink of glass on glass, and guessed from the aroma that he was pouring a good Rhenish into some goblets. Philip slipped between myself and Ricci, artfully taking my glass and pressing it into my hand without allowing the Venetian to sense my disability. Then the young monk declined his own proffered glass. Ricci grunted, and clinked my glass with his. I drank a draught, and reckoned it a good red wine. With this and the Commandaria I had drunk with Theokrastos, I was beginning to feel quite drowsy. Ricci explained that the wine was a consignment he had brought to Trebizond, being all part of his reciprocal trade with the Emperor. I nodded my head in understanding.

‘And how is the trade – between you and Trebizond, I mean?’

Ricci moved close to me, and all but whispered in my ear, ‘Moving swiftly to a conclusion actually, but don’t tell Finati. I am mostly interested in the alum trade out of Kerasous. The weavers of Bruges will pay well for it as a mordant for their dyes. After the Emperor’s little spat with Genoa that resulted in some fisticuffs, Panaretos is under instructions to offer Genoa’s concessions to Venice, as long as we pay the proper dues.’

‘Which you will?’

Ricci laughed, and audibly downed a great glug of wine.

‘Of course, we will. Anything to get one over Genoa. Finati will be going home empty-handed.’

A final draught of wine went down his throat, and I thought I had all I wanted to know. Though there was one other matter that perhaps Ricci could enlighten me about.

‘What of the Florentines? Is Belzoni going to get what he wants, or could he be as frustrated as Finati, and capable of similar extreme measures to get his way?’

I almost heard the frown creasing Ricci’s face.

‘Extreme measures? I don’t know what you mean. For all of us trade is trade – we are not warriors. No, Belzoni will be glad with what sweepings-up he can get after my deal is concluded. After all, he will be more than satisfied that the Genoans – who are in league with the French here and in Italy – will go home with nothing.’

I downed the rest of my Rhenish wine, and thanked Ricci for his hospitality. I left, thinking he had been wrong – trading was indeed a fascinating subject. Our conversation had told me a great deal. Enough to set Panaretos’ mind at rest. It only remained for me to confront Finati with the facts, and then I would be finished. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, Philip and I had an invitation to a banquet.

The meal turned out to be a special occasion, for Lady Baia was present from the beginning at the table. She had not been relegated to the kitchen, nor was she being used as a serving maid. I detected her patchouli-scented presence from the very start, but as if I needed any confirmation, Philip spoke up eagerly as he guided me into the room. ‘My lady, we are delighted by your presence.’ I could detect the catch in his voice, and wondered if his ears were already glowing. I added my own thanks at her invitation, and bowed in the general direction of her and the stronger scent that hardly hid the odour of the sweating Panaretos. His voice wheezed breathily as he spoke to me.

‘I am told, Master Falconer, that you have been questioning the Venetians about the constant threats on my life. Did you draw any conclusions, or are you still reluctant to come to a decision on who it is wishes me dead?’

I heard a faint rustle of alarm from the lips of Baia, and a quiet remonstration at her husband’s boorishness. But Panaretos clearly waved her concerns aside.

‘This… man was presented to me as some expert on deductive logic. So let him expound his theories.’

I knew the slight hesitation between his first and second words hinted at his desire to say another word. His inclination had been to pour scorn on my sightless state, and wonder how he could have let a blind man even begin to investigate the perpetrator of the threats. For multiple threats there had been – Theokratos had just told me so. Baia had deliberately misled Philip, but before I could ask her why, she broke the awkward silence that hung over us.

‘Look, the warners are being served. We should sit.’

Philip subtly guided me to my place and sat at my elbow. He expressed delight at the sugary subtleties that had been brought to the table as a warning the meal was under way. I had no sweet tooth and declined the carved delicacy, but I could tell that Panaretos had no such reticence, and was cracking the sugary sculpture in his no doubt ravaged teeth. I could smell his bad breath from where I sat. I told him of my discoveries as we awaited the first course.

‘I have no doubt that the document you showed me at the beginning of this enquiry was made to look as if it was written by, or at least on behalf of Messer Finati. He will be much vilified when he returns to Genoa without a renewal of the trade contracts that formerly applied.’

Panaretos laughed harshly, and smacked his lips. The broth was being served, and he was already spooning it into his maw, along with lumps of bread torn from his trencher. I revelled in the aroma of mace and cinnamon that drifted from the bowl placed before me. I tasted the soup appreciatively, noting the flavour of chicken, and the thickness of it that had been achieved with mixing in bread crumbs and then sieving most carefully.

Philip whispered in my ear, ‘He is surely twice as fat as when we first saw him. His chins have multiplied till they rest upon his breast, which is itself of a womanish roundness.’

I was sure the young monk was extra critical of our host due to his enchantment by the man’s wife, but I am sure his assessment of Panaretos was essentially truthful. The man’s gluttony was causing him to expand like some blown up bladder. Apart from expressing his delight at my findings – which I was not sure he understood – he spoke little, addressing more the plates that came forth inexorably from the kitchen.