the voice of one of the soldiers demanding in harsh Italian that the man inside give himself up. Nicholas was standing beside him, breathing quickly. The woman Barovier was moving about her workers, talking. The barn seemed to be filled with straw, and clay pots and channels, and sacks of barillo, stamped with the name of the Strozzi of Alicante. When no one came out, the two soldiers moved in, followed by a number of burly yardmen in aprons, bars in their hands. Within moments, someone screamed.
Nicholas was still standing outside. Gregorio walked up to him. He said, ‘Who is it? Do you know?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. They were dragging out the intruder by the arms. His face was covered with blood and his booted feet trailed. He was a small man, pallid of limb and dressed as a labourer. One of the soldiers came over to Nicholas. Under his helmet, his face was lit with delight. ‘We have him, my lord. We’ll find his weapon, and we’ll find out who hired him.’
‘Well done,’ Nicholas said. He seemed to be studying the captive, who at that moment looked up. Instead of speaking, Nicholas turned back to the soldier. He said, ‘Search for a weapon, but I don’t think you should interrogate him here. Can you keep him under lock and key until the boat comes to take us back to the city? Then he can be restrained under proper conditions.’
‘Proper conditions?’ said the man-at-arms. ‘My lord, the wretch tried to kill you.’
The man spoke, through bleeding lips. ‘I didn’t! My lord, believe me! I was only –’
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘you should bandage his lips. They seem to be bleeding. And he sounds as if he is going to be tiresome. Madonna, forgive me. But since we are here, might I ask you to show us the booth you were speaking of? I meant to pay it a visit.’
It seemed odd, after all that had happened. Gregorio saw that again, the woman was taken aback. But, after all, that was why he was here. There was no reason to abandon his purpose. After a moment she nodded, and pointed the way.
The booth lay against one distant wall, and consisted of a long, low building of brick, safely tiled. It had once held a small furnace, but now only contained the Florentine and his possessions, and his workshop.
The Florentine was nervous of Nicholas but he gained confidence as soon as he was asked to present what he was doing, and would have kept them longer if Nicholas had not brought the short interview to a close. Gregorio thought again how little he missed and how quickly, when it suited him, he could establish himself with almost anyone. He had also seen, which was obvious, that the relationship between the man and the Barovier woman was good enough.
By the time they had all returned to the house, the crowd had dispersed and the miscreant had been tied up in the dyeshed, with one soldier beside him, and another outside the door. It was proposed that they should remain there. The presence of another assassin on Murano seemed altogether unlikely.
In the office, during the signing of documents, Marietta Barovier asked the questions Gregorio hadn’t asked. ‘I understood you thought this man a spy, but in reality, it seems you feared an assassin? Why? Why have the Signory given you bodyguards?’
It was Lopez who replied. ‘Excuse me, madonna: perhaps you may not have heard. There was an attempt to kill Messer Niccolò yesterday at the moment of his arrival. It is because of his services in Cyprus. The King has many enemies.’
Then she looked up, as the signing was finished, and said, ‘So you are a powerful young man, to cause such offence. What have I to fear from you?’
Nicholas smiled. ‘That I shall beat you down in the price of the goblet I am about to buy from you,’ he said; and smoothly completed his business, and smoothly took his departure, his doublet over his shoulder, followed by Gregorio and Lopez.
Outside, Lopez said, ‘It is late.’
In one sense it was true. As the sun
Nicholas was still standing outside. Gregorio walked up to him. He said, ‘Who is it? Do you know?’
‘No,’ Nicholas said. They were dragging out the intruder by the arms. His face was covered with blood and his booted feet trailed. He was a small man, pallid of limb and dressed as a labourer. One of the soldiers came over to Nicholas. Under his helmet, his face was lit with delight. ‘We have him, my lord. We’ll find his weapon, and we’ll find out who hired him.’
‘Well done,’ Nicholas said. He seemed to be studying the captive, who at that moment looked up. Instead of speaking, Nicholas turned back to the soldier. He said, ‘Search for a weapon, but I don’t think you should interrogate him here. Can you keep him under lock and key until the boat comes to take us back to the city? Then he can be restrained under proper conditions.’
‘Proper conditions?’ said the man-at-arms. ‘My lord, the wretch tried to kill you.’
The man spoke, through bleeding lips. ‘I didn’t! My lord, believe me! I was only –’
‘I think,’ Nicholas said, ‘you should bandage his lips. They seem to be bleeding. And he sounds as if he is going to be tiresome. Madonna, forgive me. But since we are here, might I ask you to show us the booth you were speaking of? I meant to pay it a visit.’
It seemed odd, after all that had happened. Gregorio saw that again, the woman was taken aback. But, after all, that was why he was here. There was no reason to abandon his purpose. After a moment she nodded, and pointed the way.
The booth lay against one distant wall, and consisted of a long, low building of brick, safely tiled. It had once held a small furnace, but now only contained the Florentine and his possessions, and his workshop.
The Florentine was nervous of Nicholas but he gained confidence as soon as he was asked to present what he was doing, and would have kept them longer if Nicholas had not brought the short interview to a close. Gregorio thought again how little he missed and how quickly, when it suited him, he could establish himself with almost anyone. He had also seen, which was obvious, that the relationship between the man and the Barovier woman was good enough.
By the time they had all returned to the house, the crowd had dispersed and the miscreant had been tied up in the dyeshed, with one soldier beside him, and another outside the door. It was proposed that they should remain there. The presence of another assassin on Murano seemed altogether unlikely.
In the office, during the signing of documents, Marietta Barovier asked the questions Gregorio hadn’t asked. ‘I understood you thought this man a spy, but in reality, it seems you feared an assassin? Why? Why have the Signory given you bodyguards?’
It was Lopez who replied. ‘Excuse me, madonna: perhaps you may not have heard. There was an attempt to kill Messer Niccolò yesterday at the moment of his arrival. It is because of his services in Cyprus. The King has many enemies.’
Then she looked up, as the signing was finished, and said, ‘So you are a powerful young man, to cause such offence. What have I to fear from you?’
Nicholas smiled. ‘That I shall beat you down in the price of the goblet I am about to buy from you,’ he said; and smoothly completed his business, and smoothly took his departure, his doublet over his shoulder, followed by Gregorio and Lopez.
Outside, Lopez said, ‘It is late.’
In one sense it was true. As the sun
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