Fools' Gold Page 24

  ‘I’ll buy your bleeding nobles from you,’ Luca offered. ‘If you will take the low price that Venice has set. At least I can take them off your hands.’

  ‘No,’ Ishraq said, forestalling Isolde, who was eager to accept. She turned to her friend. ‘It was my mistake to try to make money on this market, but if we sell the nobles at this rate then we have lost your mother’s rubies forever. Let’s hold on to them, bad as they are, and see what happens. Luca’s lord must be planning something. He must have some reason to want to buy nobles.’

  ‘Nothing can happen!’ Isolde said irritably. ‘You traded my mother’s jewels for fools’ gold. We have to pay the price.’

  ‘But Milord is doing something else,’ Ishraq said cautiously. ‘He’s buying false coins.’

  ‘But you don’t know what for? You don’t know why?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Ishraq said. ‘But I know he’s no fool. I’ll keep our English nobles until he sells his.’

  ‘When we could have gold instead?’ Isolde said regretfully, gesturing to Luca’s handful of gold rings.

  ‘If you won’t take this then I have to go to the Rialto and buy dross,’ Luca said. ‘I wish we could write to Milord to make sure it is what he wants. I wish we knew what he plans. For this is madness: throwing good money after bad.’

  When the gondola came back for Luca and the two young women, they were ready to go to the Rialto, with their gold and silver coins in their purses and pockets, and the rings on their fingers. The bridge was busy again – the news that the exchange rate for the gold nobles had been fixed by the Doge himself had made people confident enough to open their shops. Only the money changers were still missing, and where Israel had sat there was an obscene scrawl on his board and, in spiky thick letters, the word: Arrestare

  Luca went at once to the mooring post at the foot of the bridge and started forwards when he saw the priest, bending over his little writing table.‘Father Pietro!’

  Slowly, the old priest turned to look at the young man and, at the sorrow in his lined face, Luca did not need to ask more.

  ‘The nobles failed,’ the priest said quietly. ‘Bayeed is not in Trieste; he came to Venice yesterday for repairs to his ship and moored near to the Arsenale. My messenger found him there. So he knew all about the failure of the coins as soon as we did. The nobles bled when he tipped them out of the purse, and then he heard the Doge announce that the whole Ottoman Empire believes that it has been cheated. He thinks that Venice tried to cheat his empire, and that you tried to cheat him. He called me a cheat also. I am sorry, my son.’

  ‘He is here?’ Luca could hardly believe that his father was in the same city, just one mile away, in the dockyard where the galleys were built. ‘Then I can go to him. I have some gold, I can promise more . . . I can explain!’

  Father Pietro nodded. ‘We will try again, in a month or so. When Bayeed’s anger has abated.’

  ‘But he cannot be angry with us . . . we have all been cheated!’

  Father Pietro shook his head, tears filling his eyes, turning his head away from Luca.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ishraq quietly, coming up behind Luca and sensing the older man’s distress. ‘What is it, Father?’

  Blindly, he reached out to her and she took his hand on her shoulder, as if to support him ‘Wait a moment,’ she said to Luca, who was breathlessly impatient. ‘Wait, let the Father speak.’

  The old man raised his head. ‘Forgive me. This has been a blow. This has been a terrible blow. Last year the Ottoman Empire took tribute and traded in pure gold and the best of coins. As they always do. Sometimes they take goods, of course, always they take young boys to serve in their armies. This is how it is. This is how the Christian lands suffer for their defeat by the infidel. This is how the Christian rulers pay for peace: they have to pay tribute in gold and in children. This is our suffering, this is our Stations of the Cross.’ He paused.

  ‘This year, before tribute time, they let it be known that they would take gold or the English nobles. Then, as the English nobles went up in value, they said they would only take the coins. Everyone works to pay the tribute, the whole country has to pay the tax to give to the Ottoman overlords. They took goods also, and the young men, but this year they only wanted the gold coins. They loved the gold coins, the English nobles.’

  ‘And what happened?’ Luca asked, unable to contain himself any longer. ‘When did they find out?’

  ‘The coins bled,’ the old man said simply. ‘Bled like the wounds of Our Lord. Bled into the hands of the murderous infidel. And they swore that they had been cheated. They think they have been cheated by us. They think we gave them false coins on purpose, that we thought the coins would not break down and bleed until they had taken the tribute home and spread them throughout their country, destroying trust in every village market throughout their infidel empire. And so they are angry – beyond anger – and they are sending back the bleeding coins and demanding gold. Every country that has to pay tribute has to find the money all over again, and this time, send gold, only solid gold. It is a terrible burden. It is a terrible price to pay.’

  He bowed his head and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his gown. ‘We cannot pay it,’ he said simply. ‘And so they will take the children. Our children. When we cannot pay the money they will take many, many children into slavery to serve as their soldiers. We will lose our children from their nurseries and their souls from salvation. God help us,’ he whispered. ‘God help us all. People will starve to death to get this tax together. Half of Greece will be ruined and hundreds, thousands, of innocent children will be taken from their mothers into slavery. All of the Christian lands conquered by the infidel will be crucified all over again.’

  ‘And my father?’ Luca breathed.

  Father Pietro rubbed his face with his hands. ‘He will remain enslaved,’ he said shortly. ‘Along with the half a dozen other men who expected their freedom today or tomorrow. Yours was not the only ransom we paid. Bayeed has sent back the false coins and will set sail tonight cursing us for cheats. He accuses us of double dealing, my reputation as an agent for enslaved men is destroyed. My years of service are made worthless. My name is shamed.’

  He took a breath, trying to steady himself ‘We will try again, my son, we will try again. We will find our courage, and I will rebuild my reputation and we will try again. But your father will not be free this month, nor the next.’

  ‘But I sent the money.’ Luca could hardly speak. ‘I sent the money in good faith.’

  ‘And Bayeed would have released your father in good faith. But you sent counterfeit coins, my son. You sent fools’ gold, and Bayeed is no fool.’

  Luca turned away like a man stunned, as Brother Peter and Freize came up to the little group. ‘Give me the purse,’ Brother Peter said shortly. ‘There is a bank here that will give me counterfeit coins for Milord’s gold or silver, they will take coppers – whatever we have.’

  Wordlessly, Luca held out the purse.

  ‘You are buying the counterfeit coins?’ the priest asked in utter amazement. ‘The bleeding nobles?’

  Brother Peter hushed him, and nodded. ‘I should not have spoken aloud. I beg you not to repeat it.’

  ‘But why, my son?’ Father Pietro said quietly, putting a hand on Brother Peter’s arm as he took the purse from Luca and the girls pulled the rings off their fingers. ‘Why would you buy false coins?’

  ‘Because I am ordered to do so,’ Brother Peter said shortly. ‘God knows, I take no pleasure in it and it makes no sense to me.’

  Father Pietro turned to Luca but the young man was silent, and stood as if he were dreaming. Ishraq and Isolde stood on either side of him, and when he did not move, took his arms and guided him, like a fever patient, back to the gondola. They helped him down the steps and waited with him in the boat until Brother Peter and Freize joined them.

  ‘They will keep the coins at the bank for me until we are ready to leave this accursed city,’ Brother Peter
said. ‘We will have sacks and sacks of dross to carry.’ He turned to Freize. ‘You’ll have to buy us another donkey to carry nothing but rust.’

  Dully, Luca shook his head. Isolde and Ishraq exchanged a worried glance behind his back. Giuseppe guided the gondola into the centre of the canal. ‘Home?’ he asked monosyllabically.

  Nobody replied until Freize said: ‘Home,’ and they all thought how cheerless the word seemed today.

  ‘My father will never come home,’ Luca said quietly.

  ‘We’ll try again,’ Isolde assured him. ‘We know where he is now, and we know how to get a message to Bayeed. We’ll try again. And we know where your mother may be. We can try again, Luca. We can hope. We can save money and make them an offer. We can try again.’

  He sighed wearily, as if he were tired of hoping, and then he rested his chin in his hands and stared across the water as if he wished he were somewhere else, and not in the most beautiful city in Christendom.

  They had a quiet cheerless dinner. Brother Peter said nothing but a few words for grace over the dishes, Luca was completely silent, Freize tried a few remarks and then gave up and concentrated on eating. Isolde and Ishraq watched Luca, ate a little, and said a few words to one another. After dinner, Brother Peter rose up, gave thanks, said a quiet goodnight to them and went into his room and closed the door.

  ‘I will go to him,’ Luca said suddenly. ‘Bayeed the slaver. I will go and see him.’ Suddenly decisive, he rose up from the table. ‘They could sail at any moment. I’ll go now.’

  ‘What for?’ Ishraq asked. ‘We have nothing to buy your father’s freedom with.’

  ‘I know he won’t trade,’ Luca said. ‘But I want to try to see my father. Just to see him. To tell him that I tried and I will try again.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Isolde asked quietly.

  ‘No,’ Luca said shortly. ‘Stay here. I have to go at once. I can’t think . . .’ He broke off and bent his head and kissed her hand. ‘Forgive me. I can’t think of you now. I have to go to my father and tell him I will find him again, wherever that monster takes him, and I will free him. If not now, then soon, as soon as I can.’

  Freize cleared his throat. ‘Better take Ishraq,’ he said. ‘For the language.’ He turned to her. ‘Can you wear your Arab clothing?’ he asked.

  She nodded and ran to change out of her gown.

  ‘And money,’ Freize said. ‘To bribe the guard, there’s bound to be a guard.’

  Luca rounded on him. ‘I have no money!’ he shouted. ‘Thanks to your pretty girlfriend and her father I have no money to buy my father’s freedom!’

  ‘I’ll give you something,’ Isolde interrupted. ‘Don’t blame Freize. It’s not his fault. I’ve got something. A little gold ring.’

  ‘I can’t take your mother’s jewellery.’

  ‘You can,’ she said. ‘Please, Luca. I want to help.’

  She ran from the room to fetch it and came back with two thin rings in her hand.

  ‘I’ll get Giuseppe,’ Freize said and went downstairs leaving Luca alone with Isolde. She took his hand and pressed the rings into his palm. ‘It’s worth it,’ she said. ‘For you to see your father, to bring him some hope.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I am grateful. I really am.’

  ‘Please let me come with you,’ she whispered.

  He shook his head, and she thought he had not really heard her, he did not even see her stretch out her hand to him as he went from the room; and then she heard him run swiftly down the stairs to the waiting gondola.

  Giuseppe, standing tall in the stern of the gondola, worked the single oar, rowing the narrow black boat down the Grand Canal in silence broken only by the splash of the waves. The light from the lantern in the prow bobbed and danced, reflecting in the dark water, the waning moon traced a silvery path before them. Ishraq sat with her back to the gondolier. The two young men sat facing her, Luca constantly turning to look towards their destination over the glossy darkness of the moving tide.

  Even at night, even on the water, even during carnival they could see that the city had been hit by loss. There were far fewer people in costume, there were far fewer assignations. One or two determined lovers were being slowly rowed around, the door of the cabin tightly shut; but Venice was in mourning for money, quietly at home, turning over bleeding gold nobles, trying to settle up the accounts.

  Luca was taut with nerves, staring ahead into the darkness as if he would see the towers of the Arsenale looming up before them. They went past the square of San Marco where the lights burning in the high windows of the Doge’s Palace showed that surveillance was unsleeping. Freize nudged Luca.

  ‘They held me in a room like a wooden box,’ he said. ‘And from the little window of the box I could see a rope, two ropes, hanging from the high ceiling, and a set of stairs to climb up to them.’

  ‘Do they hang men indoors?’ Luca asked without interest.

  ‘Not by the neck. They hang them by their wrists till they give information,’ Freize said. ‘I was glad to be most ignorant. Nobody would waste their time hanging me, if they wanted information. You would have to hang me by my heels to shake a thought out of my head.’ He had hoped to make Luca smile, but the young man only nodded briefly and carried on staring into the darkness.

  There was a cold wind coming across the water and it blew ravelled strips of dark cloud across the stars. There was a waning moon which helped the gondolier to see the bank. It was a long way. Ishraq wrapped her cloak tightly around her and pulled her veil over her mouth for warmth as well as modesty.

  ‘Here,’ Giuseppe said finally. ‘Here is where the galleys are moored overnight when they wait for repair.’

  Luca stood up and the gondola rocked, perilously.

  ‘Sit down,’ Giuseppe said. ‘What is the name of the Captain?’

  Ishraq turned to tell him: ‘Bayeed.’

  ‘From Istanbul?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Giuseppe pointed to a long low building. ‘The galley crews sleep in there,’ he said. ‘The master goes into town. He will come at dawn, perhaps.’

  ‘In there?’ Luca looked with horror at the building, the barred windows, the bolted doors.

  ‘Sentry on the door,’ Freize remarked quietly. ‘Sword in his belt, probably a handgun too. What d’you want to do?’

  ‘I just want to see him,’ Luca said passionately. ‘I can’t be so near him and not see him!’

  ‘Why don’t we try bribing the sentry?’ Ishraq suggested. ‘Perhaps Signor Vero could come to the window?’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Freize said.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Ishraq overruled them. ‘He won’t draw his sword on a woman. You can watch out for me.’

  Luca fumbled in his pocket and found Isolde’s two rings. ‘Here.’

  Ishraq took them, recognised them at once. ‘She gave you her mother’s rings?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Distracted, Luca dismissed the importance of the gift. ‘Go to him, Ishraq. See what you can do.’

  Giuseppe brought the gondola to the quayside. Ishraq went up the steps and walked towards the sentry, careful to keep in the middle of the quay so that he could see her slow progress towards him, spreading her hands so that he could see she was carrying no weapon.

  ‘Masaa Elkheir,’ she called from a distance, speaking Arabic.

  He put his hand to his sword. ‘Keep back,’ he said. ‘You’re a long way from home, girl.’

  ‘You too, warrior,’ she said deferentially. ‘But I would have words with you. My master wants to speak with one of the galley slaves. He will pay you, if you allow such a thing, for your kindness. He is a faranj, a foreigner and a Christian, and it is his father who is enslaved. He longs to see the face of his father. It would be a kindness to let them speak together through the window. It would be a good deed. And you would be well rewarded.’

  ‘How well rewarded?’ the man asked. ‘And I want none of the English nobles. I know they are as precious as
sand. Don’t try to cheat me.’

  In answer she held up a golden ring. ‘This to let him come to the window,’ she said. ‘The same again as we sail away safely.’

  ‘He must come alone,’ the man stipulated.

  ‘Whatever you say,’ Ishraq said obediently.

  ‘You give me the ring and go back to your gondola and send him. The gondolier and everyone else to stay on board. He can have a few minutes, no more.’

  ‘I agree,’ Ishraq said. She made a gesture to show that she would throw the ring and he snapped his fingers to show that he was ready. Carefully she threw it into his catch, and then went back to the gondola.

  ‘You have a few moments, and he has to have the other ring at the end of your talk,’ she said. ‘But you can go to the window. You can talk for only a few minutes.’

  Luca leaped out of the gondola and was up the steps in a moment. He gave a nod to the sentry and went quickly to the window. It was set high in the wall but there was a barrel nearby. Luca rolled it under the grille, and jumped up on it. Dimly he could see a dark room, filled with sleeping men, and he could smell the stench of exhaustion and illness.

  ‘Gwilliam Vero!’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Gwilliam Vero, are you in there?’

  ‘Who wants him?’ came a muffled reply, and Luca recognised, with a gasp, the accent of his home village, his father’s beloved voice.

  ‘Father, it’s me!’ he cried. ‘Father! It is me, your son Luca.’

  There was a silence and then a scuffling noise, and the sound of a man curse as Gwilliam made his way, stumbling over the sleeping men, to the window. Luca, looking in and downward, could see the pale face of his father looking up from the sunken floor below.

  ‘It’s you,’ Luca said breathlessly. ‘Father!’ He tightened his grip on the bars over the window as he felt his knees weaken beneath him at the sight of his father. ‘Father! It’s me! Luca! Your son!’

  The old man, his skin scorched into leather by the burning sun on the slave galley deck, his face scored with deep lines of pain, peered up at the window where Luca peered in.