The Deadliest Sin (11 page)

‘Won’t you have to stand for election?’

Nick smiled enigmatically. ‘Of course, but when I was a youth I worked out a way to circumvent the convoluted system to elect the Doge. I almost made it work, too. So getting on to the Ten
will be simple in comparison.’ He pulled a face. ‘Though I’m not sure I want to do it.’

‘Why not? You’ve always complained that the
case vecchie
run everything. That the old order keeps the common citizens out of the positions of power. Now you can change all
that.’

‘I know. And that’s why I was wondering why they asked me to stand for the Council. Maybe I will just be a token commoner. And it’s only for a year, anyway.’

‘But you would have a turn at being the head of the Council in that year.’

He burst out laughing. ‘It’s only for a month, and I would be one of three equal leaders. And the leaders have to stay out of society for the whole month to avoid the risk of being
exposed to bribery.’

Katie grinned. ‘Oh dear, a month in Granny Cat’s company. What a burden.’

He punched her arm playfully. ‘You always win the argument with your impeccable logic. You’re right – I should do it. But I hope Baglioni’s ship returns before I’m
the co-leader. I would hate to be in purdah and miss our triumph.’

As it turned out, the ship came back much sooner than Zuliani had expected, even before the election. News of its arrival brought members of the
colleganza
down to the quay, along with
the idle onlookers who liked to see what wonders a trading vessel had brought with it. Everyone peered anxiously at the galley until the sly smile on the face of the captain, who stood at the
stern, told the story. The trip had been a success, and had been made in record time, too. Zuliani missed the galley’s unexpected arrival because he was busy pressing palms at a gathering at
the palace of the grandiose Tron family.

Unused to such exalted company, Zuliani had recruited Cat Dolfin into accompanying him. She was a member of that social élite formed by the
case vecchie
, and so was at ease with
the Trons. And all the others who attended the gathering – the Tiepolos, the Dandolos and the Gradenigos. In the presence of such silken opulence, and expensively clad men and women, Zuliani
nervously tweaked the collar of his stiff new
jaqueta
. Cat smiled at him indulgently at first, but slapped his hand away when he began to pull at the arse of his new hose.

‘Don’t go behaving like some common labourer just to prove a point,’ she warned him through her gritted teeth, ‘or you’ll never be elected.’

‘If I have to wear this gear all the time, I don’t think I want to be on the council,’ Zuliani growled. ‘Who’s that over there?’

Cat looked over to where Zuliani was pointing. A small group of young men, fashionably attired in silk brocade, were bunched around a much older man. The object of their admiration, not to say
sycophancy, had a lined, long face and an imperious Roman nose. Cat thought he was probably over sixty, and his expensive clothes spoke of wealth and power.

‘I don’t know, but that’s Domenico Valier standing next to him. He’s my nephew, and as weak as his uncle – my husband – was. I can soon get out of him who the
old man is.’

Zuliani almost restrained her, but she was across the room, smiling and touching sleeves courteously and at the same time intimately in a way he was incapable of. He didn’t like her
talking to the Valiers. It reminded him of his failure to capture Cat for himself. They had been lovers forty years ago, but then Zuliani had fled Venice under a cloud, leaving Cat pregnant. She
had been forced to marry Pasquale Valier, who had brought up Zuliani’s child – a son – as his own. Though it had all been his fault, Zuliani still resented Valier having taken his
place, even though the man was now long dead. He deliberately turned away from Cat as she moved closer to her nephew, and began to press palms with others in the grand chamber. He decided that, if
he pretended he was a trader selling a
colleganza
to gullible men with money, he could win the inbred
case vecchie
members over to his side. After rubbing shoulders with Kubilai Khan,
getting on to the Council of Ten shouldn’t be all that hard. Just as he was tiring of his task, Cat Dolfin returned to his side. She bussed his cheek.

‘You have been doing well without me, I see.’

He shrugged his weary shoulders, but still grinned wolfishly.

‘It would seem I have what it takes to be a politician, after all.’ He paused. ‘So who was he?’

She looked at him archly. ‘Who?’

‘You know who. The old man with the big nose.’

She ran a finger down the front of his new silk doublet. ‘Are you jealous? You know what they say about the size of a man’s nose reflecting the dimensions of his other
organ.’

Zuliani quickly looked around, hoping no one had heard Cat. He wondered if this was what the conversation was like all the time amongst the old aristocracy. Cat laughed at his discomfiture.

‘Never mind. Your . . . nose . . . is quite big enough for me.’

‘Caterina!’

She cast her eyes up to the ceiling high above their heads to signify her delight at his impatience.

‘Very well. To business, if you insist. The old man is Antonio Perruzzi himself.’

Zuliani’s eyes widened. ‘Of . . .?’

‘Of Perruzzi’s bank. In fact, you could say he
is
the bank, to which, they say, the English king is so indebted that if he paid off what he owes it would bankrupt his whole
kingdom.’

Zuliani frowned.

‘What’s he doing in Venice?’

Cat took his arm and led him out of the chamber.

‘Doing what he always does, no doubt. Making more money.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s what we Venetians do best. What do you think we expected of the money invested in Bagnioli’s
colleganza
?’

Cat waved a deprecatory hand, as if the money she had loaned Zuliani was of no consequence. But despite her gesture, he knew the loan was important. The Dolfin family, of which Caterina was the
last living representative bearing that name, was no longer wealthy. Of course she should have been a Valier after her marriage – and had been for a number of years – but on
Pasquale’s death, she had returned to her own illustrious name. Zuliani had pondered asking her to marry him and take his name for herself and their granddaughter, but so far had been afraid
to broach the subject. A Dolfin was always a Dolfin, even if this one was his lover too.

As the day was still warm and the sun bright, they began to walk along the quay from Ca’ Tron towards the Arsenale. It was then that Zuliani spotted the galley, which was unloading on the
quayside.

‘It’s Baglioni’s vessel, and it looks as though he has returned with a hold full of goods.’

He rubbed his hands briskly, and gave Cat a pleading look. She sighed at being abandoned, but was resigned to Zuliani’s natural instincts.

‘Go on. Go and find out how much Baglioni has earned for us.’

Zuliani grinned his thanks and, leaving Cat stranded on the quay, he pushed through the crowd, which had gathered to gawp. He was soon at the gangplank of the galley, carefully noting the
bundles of silk that were being offloaded. Making a mental calculation as to the return on his – on Cat’s – investment, he cast around for Baglioni. There was no sign of him, but
he spotted Saluzzo, the ship’s captain, hanging from the rigging. Zuliani called out to him, and the man looked round. His face clouded over a little when he saw Zuliani on the dock. But then
Saluzzo soon put a cheerful grin back on his face, and nimbly dropped on to the deck of the galley. He strode over to the gangplank, meeting Zuliani on the quay before he could set foot on the
ship. He shook his hand vigorously.

‘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.