‘Are you thinking of Venice again?’
Am I so obvious a soul that both Alberoni and Gurbesu can see right through me? She always knew when sweet Cat was on my mind, and now here was the friar reading me like some illuminated manuscript. I sighed deeply, because he was correct.
‘This case we are investigating and all the tales of murder, attempted murder and poisoning, has brought back the death of Agostino to me.’
‘Your father.’
Alberoni always corrected me in the same way when I spoke thus. I could never bring myself to call him my father, only referring to him by his given name. It made me tetchy every time the friar corrected me.
‘Yes, yes. You know who I mean.’
‘And what is it about his death that still bothers you?’
I took a deep breath.
‘I cannot convince myself that my mother didn’t kill him. And I think that she did it for my sake, before I went and got myself in trouble by killing him myself.’
Alberoni gasped, then began to chuckle. I turned on him angrily, my face ablaze.
‘What are you laughing at?’
The friar managed to control himself, with difficulty putting on the solemn look that served him well in the confessional.
‘You think that Rosamund poisoned your father?’
‘Yes. Or at least I fear so. And that she did it because I would have killed him otherwise for all his violent acts against her. That’s why I feel guilt about his death even now.’
Alberoni patted my arm comfortingly.
‘Then set your mind at rest. You were a child when Agostino died, and you saw the world through childish eyes, if I may speak plainly. And despite their stormy relationship, your mother always loved your father. And he loved her in return.’
I did not like what I was hearing from Alberoni. I had long convinced myself that my father was a brute and deserved to die violently. But I was aware that the friar had been the confessor to the Zulianis for many years. When I was a child, he had seemed a very old man, and yet now he looked no older than fifty. I realized he must have been quite young back then.
‘Then who did kill him? And why?’
‘As ever in these matters, it was over money. Do you recall Guido Sarpi? He was a cousin of yours.’
I frowned, trying to remember those long-ago times.
‘I remember a tall man with a trim beard, who used to play rough games with me.’
‘That is the man. I think he had been a suitor of Rosamund’s before your father stole her away. He visited Agostino more often than his family relationship warranted, probably because he was not able to give up his interest in her. Then one day he formed a colleganza with your father.’
Alberoni used the familiar word describing the sort of business partnership that many Venetian merchants entered into with each other. I myself had pulled together many a colleganza to fund my enterprises. Often they worked, and the partners walked away with the spoils. Sometimes they failed, and were the cause of acrimony and argument over what had been lost.
‘Sarpi and my father lost money?’
‘Yes. And Guido accused Agostino of cheating, making a profit and stealing the proceeds all for himself. The argument got quite heated, and Sarpi stormed out threatening vengeance. I thought he had cooled off because it was weeks before… Agostino’s death.’
‘But I recall my mother and father arguing on the day before his death. That is what convinced me it was all to do with her.’
‘Yes, I think your mother, typically, was trying to pour oil on the troubled waters of his dispute with his cousin. But Agostino would have none of it.’ He sighed. ‘You know how pig-headed your father was. After all, you have inherited that trait of his.’
In other circumstances I would have berated the friar for suggesting I had inherited anything from my father. Least of all an unwelcome character trait. But tonight I wanted to learn the truth.
‘You think Sarpi poisoned my father?’
‘I know so. An anonymous denunciation was made against him. He was arrested a few days later, tortured and confessed in the Doge’s prison. He was executed for his deed.’
Once again, torture and confession reared their ugly heads.
‘Why did I never learn of this?’
‘I suppose your mother did not want you – a child – to be tainted with the sordid nature of the matter. Family killing family over money and possessions. She did it for the best of reasons, I am sure. It is a shame that it left you for all these years with a false picture of your father. And your mother. Now I must say goodnight. I am dog-tired after a long journey to get back here.’
I waved a hand, and watched the friar drag his exhausted limbs across the courtyard and into the room that had been set aside for him. Slowly my wine-befuddled mind began to turn over everything that had been said that evening. Of family disputes over money, and of Prester John’s knights, who had planned a long-term strategy to achieve what they wanted. Gradually, a picture began to emerge out of the threads we had left hanging when Alberoni burst into our conversation earlier concerning Old Geng’s death, and that of his son. I knew what I had to do, and realized I would have a busy night ahead of me. There would be no time for sleep.
TWENTY-SIX
Have a mouth as sharp as a dagger, but a heart as soft as tofu.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because Lin woke me in the morning. He looked perturbed, in so far as he was able in that reserved way of his. His eyes shone at least, even if his face showed calm. I shrugged his hand off my arm and tried to turn over and reach for Gurbesu. But the other side of the bed was empty, so I assumed it was later than I thought. Gurbesu was an early riser usually. Lin was insistent, however.
‘Nick, you must get up. Doctor Sun has escaped.’
This got my attention and I groaned, levering myself upright. I dragged open a bleary eye.
‘Escaped, you say? How is that possible?’
‘The gaoler is drunk and must have forgotten to lock the cell door properly after he took Sun his food in the evening.’
By now I was fully alert.
‘What were you doing at the prison so early?’
Lin looked a little rueful.
‘I found some aspects of his story that you retold last night too fanciful for my liking.’
He meant, in his own polite way, that he hadn’t believed me. Or at least my interpretation of Sun’s story. I was not offended – it was a strange tale.
‘Go on.’
‘I thought that if I could speak to him in the cold light of day I might get closer to the truth. There are aspects of the day of Old Geng’s death that still worry me. Things that don’t fit together.’
I was going to ask him what he meant, but he hurried on with his recounting of the events of that morning.
‘When I got to the prison, I could see that one of the doors was ajar. I just assumed at first that it was Wenbo’s cell that had been left open after his body had been removed. As I had been with you when we found him dead, I should have remembered which cell it was, and which was the doctor’s. Under the mistaken impression that the doctor would be tucked up safely in his cell, I looked in each of the other ones. But they were all empty, save for the last one in the row. And that housed a fat, young man who stunk of rice wine and was snoring. He was clearly sleeping off a drunken rampage that had resulted in him being thrown into the cell. Anyway, it was not Doctor Sun. I went back to the open cell and saw a lamp still burning on an upturned log. I remembered about your kindness over Sun’s fear of the dark, and realized this was his cell. So I went in search of the gaoler, only to find him in a stupor with a jug of wine beside his bed. His keys had been discarded on the floor.’