his beard, and offered a wry comment from where he sat in the shadows.
“I think you will find the Pope has already ensured Doge Gradenigo will go there. Hasn’t he pronounced an excommunication and interdict on the whole of Venice?”
Francesco Tiepolo had been called on to lead the conspiracy against the Doge. But he was a poor stand-in for the main man, his cousin Bajamonte, who had not yet arrived from exile on the mainland. Francesco had a loud mouth and a fiery temper all the same.
“Shut up, Zuliani. This is a serious matter, and not a time for jests.”
Niccolo Zuliani, the old man in question, leaned back in his chair, and held his hands up in mock submission. The truth of the matter was that he agreed with Tiepolo. The papal interdict was very serious for trade. It had been invoked because Venice had tried to take control of Ferrara when Marquis Azzo had died two years earlier in 1308. The Pope was determined to prevent the takeover, and had declared all Venetian goods and possessions confiscate, all commercial treaties annulled, and all trade and traffic suspended. Anyone could grab Venetian goods and ships with impunity, and the Serene Republic’s enemies had done so with relish. Venice and its commercial lifelines were being stifled, and Zuliani stood to lose as much anyone. But, in his opinion, if you couldn’t see the funny side of a desperate situation, you might as well slit your own throat.
Still Tiepolo had ranted on, with Querini and one or two of the other once-rich merchants trying to pour oil on the waters to no effect. In disarray, they had all slipped away like ghosts, fearful of discovery. The heavy hand of the Signori di Notte – a bunch of nobles and their henchmen who ensured the safety of Venice’s six districts, but who chiefly worked for the benefit of the older-established families – were a sinister mob and to be avoided.
The old man dropped the arrow on the floor, and looked around him at the accumulation of years spent thousands of miles away from his family home. Hanging on a frame was a full suit of armour made of boiled leather. Its looming presence in the dark corner of the room struck fear into any visitor who had not seen it before, lurking like some monster on the edge of their vision. To the old man it was a comfortable friend, ageing along with him. He only hoped he would not get as mouldy as the leather was now. A large black stone lay on the rickety table. Sharp and angular, the old man had seen others like it being set fire to and burning with a fierce flame. He could not remember which part of Cathay he had got it from, and had always refrained from setting light to it himself. It was too precious a memento to him. However, now that the cold struck through him so, he was mightily tempted. Next to the rock on the table lay a large bound book. He had thumbed its pages regularly over the years, checking it against his view of the heavens. The Chinese almanack had always told the truth about the sky, and he marvelled at the magical, predictive skills of the sages who had written it. Thinking of the far distant place where he had acquired the tome, he rose from his chair, and hobbled over to the window.
He stared for an age at the dark, starry sky, wondering why he had embroiled himself in the plot to overthrow the Doge. He knew the conspiracy would fail, and that he would have to extricate himself somehow, even if, by doing so, he blew the whole plot. But as yet he didn’t know how. He sighed, and cast his gaze down to the canal. On the opposite bank he saw a figure standing boldly in the starlight staring back at him. It was the same slender youth whom he had seen the previous night and the night before. In fact, he had had the feeling the youth had been following him for days. He wondered if his part in the conspiracy was already known, and this youth was stalking him on behalf of the Signori di Notte. If so, his goose was cooked. Irritated, and not a little frightened, he called down to the figure on the canal-side.
“You, boy. Who are you? What are you up to?’
For a fleeting moment, the youth ignored