The Deadliest Sin (19 page)

‘I have dates and figs and raisins. And the makings of jellies, for my husband has a sweet tooth and likes red and yellow ones. So I have sandalwood for the first, and saffron for the
second sort. Of course, I start every meal with subtleties made of sugar. Johannes would be angry if I didn’t.’

She hesitated again, knowing she had said something about their relationship that should not have been revealed.

‘But tell me, sir, have you discovered who sent the message that so troubled him?’

Wishing, I think, to impress the Circassian beauty, Philip started to blurt out the truth of the matter, but I interrupted quickly.

‘We have made some progress, but there is a long way to go yet. Perhaps we could call in on Panaretos and discuss the matter further with him.’

‘Oh, indeed, sir. You are welcome at any time.’ I sensed a little smile in her voice. ‘And I can always accommodate your appetite, for my husband is fond of his food and always
has a plentiful supply. In fact, when he is anxious – as he is now – he is inclined to eat even more than usual. It is my pleasure to see that he is not displeased in such
circumstances.’

‘Good. Then, if we may, we will come this evening and inform Panaretos what we have discovered so far.’

Baia mumbled her shy acquiescence, and the scent of patchouli oil drifted away from me across the square.

The meal that evening was a simpler affair than the banquet we had been provided with the last time we were in Panaretos’ house. But it was delicious nevertheless. It was clear that his
wife had made a great effort to present us with Circassian delicacies, beginning with a delicious round of Circassian cheese, which was moist and tasty. I complimented Baia on her selection, but
Panaretos merely grunted and demanded something more substantial. Philip spoke little, and I wondered if he was tongue-tied in the presence of Baia’s obvious beauty. The next course was made
up of two stews of chicken and turkey in a mouth-watering sauce made of garlic and red peppers. With the appearance of meats, Panaretos was mollified, if not silenced, for the sound of his slurping
became quite disconcerting. Though both I and Philip demurred at the next dish – apparently some sort of Italian pasta parcels filled with beef – Panaretos continued his gourmandising.
Inevitably, the jellies that Baia had planned followed before we retired to Panaretos’ private domain. Through a barrage of not-so-discreet burps, he enquired finally if we had found out who
had threatened him.

‘There is no simple answer to that, I am afraid to say. I could tell you through whose hands the parchment has passed, but that is no guarantee that it was written by those same
hands.’

Panaretos was not satisfied by my response, and insisted I name the source of the parchment.

‘The original document must have passed through the warehouse of the Genoans, though I still have my suspicions that either Belzoni or Ricci may have made use of the palimpsest to cause
Finati trouble. More investigation is required. Tell me, have you had any more death threats?’

Panaretos ignored my last enquiry, brushing it aside with a desultory wave of his hand. Instead, he chose to pick on the name of the man he had suspected all along.

‘Finati! I knew it. The Genoans think they can gain further concessions at the click of their fingers. They think me a dog who will sit up and beg if I am beaten hard enough. Well, they
have a lesson to learn, and I will teach it them. They have already refused the Emperor’s customs officials the right to inspect their stocks, and keep their warehouse locked and barred
against us. Now they threaten a high official of the Emperor with death. I must report this to—’

His angry diatribe was suddenly cut short by an alarming gurgling sound from his gut, and deep groan that turned into a belch on his lips. He shifted in his seat, and called out for Baia.

‘Wife. For God’s sake, bring me the rhubarb powder at once.’

He winced as he turned in his seat towards me. I knew this, for his foetid breath was suddenly in my ear, and he spoke in low tones. I could hear that his voice was strained.

‘You must not say anything of this to anyone, especially not to that old gossip Theokrastos, Falconer. And now I must ask you to leave, as I am unwell.’

‘Yes, of course. But you should not act until I have checked on the activities of the Florentines and Venetians first.’

Panaretos was in no mood to argue.

‘Yes, yes, yes. Do as you see fit.’

He turned away, and I was no longer drowning in his bad breath. He called out for Baia again.

‘Woman, where are you?’

Baia hurried into the room in a cloud of scent. She clearly had the medicinal preparation with her, for she explained why she was delayed.

‘I have mixed the rhubarb root with some dried figs in order to make it more palatable. Here, let me help you.’

Panaretos was obviously by now in agony, but was not prepared to accept the embarrassment of being ill in the presence of guests, and of having to be assisted to eat.

‘Damn you, woman. Just give the bowl here.’

Philip and I hurried discreetly from Panaretos’ inner sanctum, leaving Baia with her thankless task. As we walked home, arm in arm, I spoke to Philip.

‘It is a shame we did not get a chance to talk to Mistress Panaretos.’

‘Why is that, master?’ Philip sounded puzzled.

‘I should like to have known if there had been any other threats against her husband’s life, or unusual occurrences in the last few weeks. I think Panaretos is reticent about telling
me anything more, and even regrets recruiting me to find out about the written threat.’

‘But why should he do so?’

‘Because he is becoming sensitive about his position in Trebizond, and how he appears to foreigners. Perhaps if he appears weak to the Emperor, his position will be in jeopardy. His
present malady was also an embarrassment to him.’

Philip’s next comment was censorious in the extreme, coming no doubt from his austere upbringing as a monk.

‘Then he should pay more attention to how much he eats. Even in the few months we have known him, I can assure you he has got fatter and fatter. Now he reaps the reward of his
gluttony.’

Thinking of the mistress of the house, and her desire to please her glutton of a husband, I had an idea about how I might gather information about any possible further threats on
Panaretos’ life.

‘Philip.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘Do you think that, when you shop tomorrow, that Mistress Baia might be shopping, too?’

Philip’s response was all too quick, and betrayed something of his feelings for Panaretos’ wife.

‘Oh, yes, sir. She is always in the square. I often . . .’

The young monk paused, realising what he was admitting to. And I was certain that he was beginning to blush to the tips of his ears. He was cautious in his next enquiry.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I want you to ask her if there have been any other threats since the parchment was sent.’

The relief in his voice was evident, and he must have been glad that his revelation had not resulted in my censuring him.

‘Ah, yes, master. I am sure I can do that.’

I bet you can, I thought, imagining it was a perfect opportunity for the love-struck young monk to engage the Circassian beauty in conversation with good purpose. But that was for tomorrow. For
now, I was glad of a brisk walk to work off the excessive amount of good food that I had consumed.

The next morning, Philip was eager to carry out his task, and rushed me off to the Emperor’s library as soon as we had broken our fast. Once seated in the marble hall, I
could tell he was champing at the bit. So I arranged for Theokrastos to read to me instead of Philip.

‘Go, Philip, and use your wiles on the lady.’

He coughed nervously at my words, and hurried out, his sandalled feet slapping on the floor. Theokrastos laughed quietly.

‘Did you know that his ears get quite red when he is embarrassed?’

‘Indeed I do. It has been observed by others. Now, what do you have for me?’

The librarian settled in his seat, and I heard him opening a heavy tome. I could even smell the dust of lack of use rising from it. I sneezed.

‘This is the treatise of Cyril, Bishop of Alexandria, entitled
Against the Blasphemies of Nestorius
. It is in five books.’

I sighed, thinking of Sauma, the Nestorian monk in far-off Cathay, who had given me an introduction to Theokrastos. His heretical form of Christianity was about to be ripped apart, and I was
about to be bored stiff. I leaned back, and closed my sightless eyes.

Philip took an inordinate amount of time shopping, and I became a little annoyed that he left me so long with the monotonous voice of Theokrastos. In the end, I suggested that
the librarian might like to wet his throat after such exertions. He took the hint, and brought us both some very nice sweet wine from the island of Kition, sometimes known as Alashiya or Cyprus.
The wine must have loosened his tongue somewhat for I learned a few things about Trebizond that I didn’t know before. And some interesting news about the matter I was investigating.

Eventually, Philip did return full of apologies. As he spluttered his tale of woe, Theokrastos whispered in my ear, ‘His ears are bright red. In fact, they are as red as the wine we have
been drinking.’

I brushed aside the young monk’s apologies, and thanked Theokrastos for his hospitality.

‘Come, Philip, we must leave George to his duties, and return home.’

As we left the library, Philip began to tell me what he had learned. As he guided me through the crowds that thronged the narrow streets of the lower town, he explained.

‘Mistress Baia was most co-operative, master, and even invited us to eat with Panaretos tonight. But I fear she did not have much to tell concerning the campaign of intimidation against
her husband. She said that the letter we have already seen was the only threat that her husband had received.’

I frowned, and wondered what this meant in the light of what Theokrastos had told me. Philip’s news, from the lips of Lady Baia, needed some consideration. In the meantime, I needed him to
accompany me to the warehouses of our various suspects to enquire more closely into the pressures they were being put under by their employers. Even with hundreds of miles separating Belzoni, Ricci
and Finati from their home cities, and letters taking months to travel between them, they must still have felt the heavy breath of their employers on their neck. Each trader would have been sent on
the long journey to Trebizond with orders to achieve certain goals, and to return without reaching them could prove disastrous. A good reason to employ threats as well as cajolements.

I didn’t want to play my hand with the Genoan, Finati, too soon, so I decided to drop in unannounced on Alessandro Ricci first. With Philip leading me along the unfamiliar streets that
dropped down from the top of the lower town to the harbour, I began to smell the odour of fish. It got stronger and stronger, until we must have been close to the quayside. I told Philip what to
look out for.

‘The Venetians’ warehouse will be painted with the sign of the Lion of St Mark. You will not be able to miss it – it rather fancifully has wings.’

‘I know it, sir. It was a familiar sight in Byzantium. If you recall, it was I suggested we seek it out when we arrived in Trebizond.’

‘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.