Daughters of the Doge (37 page)

Evening, March the 29th 1556 – Ca’ da Mosto

By the time I approached home, the sea mist was really thick; the little lanes of the city seemed to wrap themselves around me as the white wall of fog came closer and closer, until I could see no further than the fingers of my outstretched arm. Feeling suddenly very lonely and vulnerable, I felt for my dagger, aware that someone might at this moment be approaching me unseen in the mist, intent on robbery

Yet, at the same time as my ability to see ahead of me diminished, it seemed that my hearing improved. Reaching a small wooden bridge that I would normally have crossed without thought or notice, I found myself hesitating, reaching for the handrail for fear of falling into the odorous water swirling only a few feet below me.

I stopped, reached and, finding the handrail, stood for a moment. Under the bridge I could hear scratching as the army of rats that inhabited the canal seemed to lose their inhibitions, hidden by the all-enveloping fog. The hair on the back of my neck bristled and I shivered as, for an instant, I imagined the rats spilling across my feet. They sounded so close and so numerous and, in the fog, I imagined them twice as big as any I had seen before. I shook my head and felt my way over the bridge, now only yards from home, yet shuffling forward tentatively and almost in silence. Then I heard more noises.

At first, I assumed the servants were having an argument. During the last two days, Thomas and Tutto having gone with the earl to Ferrara, I had grown used to having the house to myself, with just Cuoca and Bimbo for company. But now, as I approached the Ca’ da Mosto, I was aware of the sound of men – possibly as many as a dozen – crawling all over the house. They were making no attempt at secrecy, for as I flattened myself against the wall I could see they had planted rush lamps on the staircases so that the windows of most of the rooms on the
piano nobile
and some of those above, were lit.

My first instinct was to crash into the house and demand to know what was happening, but there was something sinister about the half-heard and half-seen movements of these men – forceful, deliberate and with a clear purpose. I remained in the shadows until one of them emerged, then I grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him against the door.

‘Who are you and what are you doing in my house?’

To my surprise, he showed no fear and made no attempt to escape from my grip. Instead, he let out a piercing whistle. Two burly companions ran from within the house, daggers drawn, and it was my turn to be bundled against the door.

‘Who are you? Speak, or I’ll have you arrested and tortured until you do.’ The speaker was menacing in his pure confidence.

‘I am Richard Stocker. I live here with my two English companions, the earl of Devon and Dr Thomas Marwood, by personal invitation of the Doge. What are you doing in our house?’

He sneered. ‘You would use the name of the Doge, would you? Where are your companions?’

‘They left two days ago for Ferrara, and will stay there with Duke Ercole d’ Este for some weeks. Take that knife from my throat or I shall call the authorities and have you arrested.’

The man laughed, but took the knife from my throat and put it back in its scabbard. ‘Call the authorities? I’ll save you the trouble. We
are
the authorities, and if anyone is going to get arrested, it’s you.’ He pushed me inside and together we mounted the stone staircase to the
piano nobile.
All was chaos here, as what few possessions had been left behind by Thomas and the earl had been strewn across the main room.

‘Where are the rest of your possessions? This place has been systematically cleaned out. Who by? By you?’ I could understand his suspicions, for Courtenay, in particular, had taken the vast majority of his things with him and what remained did look rather like the remnants of flight.

‘My possessions are all here – on the floor above: the smaller room at the front, on the right. Dr Marwood was using the room on the left, and the earl occupied this entire floor. They have taken most of their things with them.’

The leader grunted, not sure whether to believe me or not.

‘We are from the
provveditori.
We have reason to believe that your friend the earl is plotting against the state. Why has he gone to Ferrara?’

I shrugged. ‘Earls don’t tell you why, they just do it.’

He laughed and, for the first time, I detected a spark of humanity and understanding.

‘Why are you left behind then?’

I shrugged again. Confusion and ignorance seemed appropriate responses. ‘I was told to find us a new house to live in. Besides, I have been travelling with the earl since November, and to be honest I am sick of his company.’

He sat down opposite me and smirked. ‘Oh, we are being honest now, are we? They all say that, and they are all lying their heads off. Enrico – take him with you and search his room.’

Enrico and two more of the gang shoved me ahead of them, up the steep stairs to the floor above. As I climbed, I began to consider what potentially incriminating evidence there was in my room. In truth there was little, as I was no more involved in a plot against the Venetian State than was the earl or Thomas, but the little note from Suor Faustina could get her into trouble – and me, for trying to help her. I had to prevent them from seeing it.

‘What are you after, lads? Perhaps I can save you some time?’ I tried to be casual and friendly. One of them fell for it. ‘Letters, codes, plans, drawings. Seditious books as well.’

I nodded helpfully. ‘I had better show you these then.’

I handed him the folder of drawings I had completed during my lessons with Tintoretto. Most of them were studies of female models – many of Veronica – and I thought they would make a good distraction. They opened the folder and as they looked at the first drawing I interrupted them.

‘Careful – they are drawn with charcoal and chalk and will damage easily.’

As they turned the pages, nudging each other at the more intimate details, I sat down and removed my heavy outside boots. As nonchalantly as I could, I picked up Bullinger’s
Of Christian Perfection
and slipped Faustina’s note from its pages into the palm of my hand, then tossed the book over to them.

‘There’s this too. A bit serious. Someone gave it to me.’ One of them picked up the book and began to look at it, whilst the other continued with my portfolio. While their attention was held, I dropped Faustina’s note into one of my indoor shoes and pulled them on to my feet.

‘What else, lads? There’s not much.’

They began to pull clothing out of my two chests, but I could see their hearts were not in it, and the search was desultory. ‘Are you going to put all that stuff back when you have finished?’ I tried to look indignant. The smallest of the three glared at me self-importantly.

‘Get stuffed. There’s not much of it. The money has not reached as far as you, then?’

I shook my head, as if embarrassed. ‘No, the earl’s a mean bastard. I just get my keep, and the odd present.’

I hoped he would not look at the quality of the dagger that sat in my belt. A present from the Grey family, its blade was best steel and its scabbard jewel-encrusted – hardly the knife of a poor servant. But finally they ran out of enthusiasm, and when two others, who had been in Thomas’s room, appeared empty-handed, the search petered out and we rejoined the others below.

‘How long are your friends going to be away?’ The leader of the group was more persistent than his followers.

‘They went a couple of days ago and expected to be gone for three weeks or a month.’

‘And you have been told to find another house? How soon?’

Again I shrugged my ignorant shrug. ‘As soon as I can find one we can afford. Before they return, I hope.’

He took one final look around the room. ‘Well, my recommendation is that you make it sooner rather than later. This house is needed for someone else and you are in the way. You had better start looking more seriously. I want you out in two weeks. Understand?’

I understood all too clearly.

C
HAPTER
44

March the 30th 1556 – Trattoria Sensazione

When I found her she was sitting alone at the back, almost in the dark.

The note had said ‘Meet me at noon at the little fisherman’s house – VF’ and it had taken me some time to work out where she meant. Finally, I remembered Veronica meeting Pietro outside his father’s trattoria. It was all very mysterious, especially when she could have relied on seeing me at Tintoretto’s studio within a day or two.

‘I was sure you would work it out. Sorry about the urgency and the secrecy but there is a problem and I needed to tell you as soon as I could. This place is ideal as none of the nobility comes to this area and we are unlikely to be recognized.’ She put her hand on mine conspiratorially As always, her touch sent a shiver of excitement through me.

‘I had to tell you. According to my sources, Courtenay has been told he is no longer welcome at Ca’ da Mosto and state spies have been instructed to search the premises for incriminating evidence. I thought you should know.’

I leaned across the table. ‘Thanks, but you are twenty-four hours too late. They came last night and pulled the place to pieces. I discovered them in the process and they were quite rough with me.’

She was clearly shocked and went pale. ‘I’m so sorry. I only found out late yesterday afternoon. I did not realize they would act so quickly.’

I held her hand, glad to have the human contact. ‘It’s not your fault. Do you know why they have suddenly turned against us? When the earl first arrived in Venice, he was ignored. Then, all of a sudden, he was treated like royalty. After that, the mood changed again and he was warned of a murder attempt, but protected by the state. After that, it all went quiet and the guards were withdrawn. Now this. What is going on?’

She leaned forward until our faces were touching, then began to whisper. This was not the confident Veronica I knew; this one sounded frightened. ‘Apparently, the Council considers Courtenay an embarrassment. They knew he was coming here and had asked for protocols from the Imperial Court and from England, but neither instruction arrived until after you did. As a result, they did not know how to respond to him when he arrived, so in traditional Venetian fashion, they did nothing until word reached them.

‘Soon afterwards, there was an attempt on his life and another on the life of an Englishman called Sir Peter Carew. Both were botched and in the case of the earl, the
bravi
killed the wrong man and your party did not even notice, but the state spies found out and were afraid that if he was murdered in Venice, they would be blamed by the English Court. So they protected him. But then the people behind the attempt were found and imprisoned, and everyone thought the coast was clear, so the guard was withdrawn.

‘Now, new word has reached the Doge from Brussels that an English representative in Venice is actively trying to have Courtenay killed, to prevent him from joining up with the French. It is believed the French plan to use him as the core for a rebellion against Queen Mary, and for their Scottish allies to invade England under its cover. They say the Guise family is behind the whole plan, and that Duke Ercole d’ Este is the intermediary, through his brother Ippolito, the cardinal, who is as close to the French King Henri II as he was to his father, King Francis I. The state does not know for certain who this English representative is, but my contacts on the street call him “the priest from Lucca”.’