The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

‘You mean that you knew her before her exile? Then she will recognise you, and your little subterfuge will be in vain.’

Katie blew out her cheeks in exasperation. ‘Of course she won’t, Grandpa. I was only twelve when she last saw me. I’ve grown since then.’

I shrugged in defeat, not wishing to note that she had also grown tits, which were now well concealed, thank God, or the disguise would have been useless. I did have one command for her, though.

‘You will have to walk behind me and not at my side or ahead of me. From now on, you are not my granddaughter, but my servant.’

Katie bowed deeply, put on a solemn face and hung back as I crossed the courtyard. Which was just as well as it meant she didn’t see the big grin on my face caused by her feisty impudence. She was without a doubt a Zuliani.

The land was scrubby and sere between the mansion and the monastery, our feet raising dust that clung to our clothes. It was a far cry from Venice, where dampness and the sea were on every hand. Soon we could see the thick walls of the monastery, which was set on a small rise in the land. Over the doorway hung a bell set in an arch with a thick rope hanging from it, which stirred lazily in the hot wind that blew across the dried-out land. The door to the monastery lay open, its timbers bleached and cracked in the sun. I stepped through the archway and into an open yard. There was no one around, though I got the impression that a black-clad figure had just disappeared through one of several doors to my right. Straight ahead of me, though, stood the church and another open door. On reaching it, and looking into the gloomy interior, I felt rather than saw its enticing coolness. Katie came up close behind me and whispered in my ear.

‘Did you see that priest run off when we arrived? Don’t you think it’s odd that no one has come to ask who we are? Let’s just grab the church silver and run.’

I glared at her, and stepped into the cool interior, which was only sustained by the narrowness of the windows. The interior of the church was dark and sombre. Beyond the sanctuary screen, a solitary candle burned close to the altar, and I could just make out a kneeling figure in the circle of yellowish light it cast. From the slightness of the figure I guessed it was a woman. No doubt this was the Doge’s daughter. I held up my hand to indicate to Katie that she should stay put, and started to make my way down the central aisle. I had got only half-way when someone I had not noticed loomed out of the darkness. He stood in my way. It was a man in a drab brown robe with its hood pulled up, half masking his face. He held his hand palm outwards to stop my progress.

‘You may go no closer. Who are you?’

His words were spoken in a hoarse whisper, as though he were trying not to disturb the prayers of the woman he protected. I had no such compunction, and made my voice boom out echoing around the church.

‘I am Messer Niccolo Zuliani, come to speak privately with the Doge’s daughter, Speranza Soranzo. Who might you be? Take off your hood and show yourself.’

I could see beyond the monk’s shoulder that the kneeling figure, hearing my voice, had turned to look at me. Apprehension was written on the pale face that glowed in the light of the candle. My adversary raised his hand and deftly flicked back the hood of his monkish robe, revealing a tonsured head and a grave, angular face. Though the rest of his features seemed chiselled and lined, and his nose slightly bent, his lips were as full and red as a woman’s. He licked them with the tip of his tongue, betraying a new nervousness.

‘I am Brother Hugh, Mistress Soranzo’s spiritual guide.’

So this was the monk who had stolen Speranza from her husband. He was not the most manly of rivals for Querini, so I could see why Niccolo had turned to his cups in despair. Perhaps it was his religious message that was irresistible. I was to find out the truth of that soon enough. The woman in white had risen from her knees by now, and approached my little confrontation with the charismatic monk. She was more composed now, and calmed him down with a few gentle words.

‘It’s no problem, Brother Hugh, I have been expecting Messer Zuliani.’

She stepped past the monk and gave me a bow that was no more than a curt nod of the head. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any more. I was a common trader, and she the daughter of the Doge of La Serenissima and a member of the same élite ruling gang in which my own Cat Dolfin had her origins. I gave her my best cold stare that had many a business opponent quivering in his boots, but she merely ignored it and ploughed on.

‘I am sorry that I was not at my husband’s house to greet you. We thought the storms at sea would have delayed you.’

I saw from her tone that she wasn’t sorry, and that the ‘we’ she referred to was not herself and her husband, but herself and her monkish mentor. She had slightly inclined her head to indicate him as she spoke. I tipped my own head to acknowledge her comments, and assured her that our stout Venetian galley had weathered the storms easily.

‘We even outran the pirates that seem to infest this region. Now, Domina Soranzo, I need to arrange a time when you and I can speak. In private.’

I made it clear what that meant for the monk, and blushing, he retreated from our presence and walked through the sanctuary arch to where Speranza Soranzo had been praying. I noticed that he picked up a small gilded box from the altar before he snuffed out the candle and plunged the sanctuary into darkness. When he turned the box had disappeared somewhere in his robes. Querini’s wife drew my attention away from his activity by taking my arm and walking me away.

‘I regret I cannot see you in the monastery as I have a private cell not suitable for visitors.’

By her tone of voice I assumed she meant not for male visitors. She was clearly either taking her pretence of following the terms of her exile to an extreme, or she truly had shut herself off from her husband. I guessed the monk was the key to what she was up to, and mentally noted I would have to find out more about him.

‘Then we should talk at your husband’s house. I take it that propriety will not be offended if you met me there. After all, my granddaughter will be there too.’

I looked over my shoulder at Katie who, in her pageboy disguise, had been skulking in the shadows all this time. ‘Won’t she… Sebastiano?’

Katie glared at me in giving her such a stupid name, and with as gruff a voice as she could muster replied, ‘Indeed, master.’

Katie need not have been concerned at me drawing her to Soranzo’s attention. The Doge’s daughter hardly deigned to look at the page who attended me. But I did notice that the monk gave ‘him’ a sharp look. Perhaps he was a more dangerous adversary than I had at first suspected. From his mangling of Italian I guessed he was an Englishman, so maybe I could speak to him in his own language. I had learned some of the rough tongue from my own mother, and could speak it passably. It would pay to know where he stood in the Soranzo household before I questioned Speranza more closely.

After she had agreed to meet me at her husband’s mansion the next morning, I left the monastery with ‘Sebastiano’ trailing sulkily after me. It didn’t take long for Katie to emerge from her mood, though. She grabbed a long, dry twig and started slashing at the trailing brown grass on our return path. Gradually she speeded up and came up to my shoulder. She was bursting to tell me something, but was going to make me repent for treating her badly first.

‘Sebastiano? Where did that stupid name come from?’

I smiled evilly. ‘The way you were behaving, I just thought you resembled a martyr.’