“You are so great a man, and I’m just a child. You wouldn’t have paid me any attention.”
Zuliani grinned.
“Now I know you are lying. Someone your age thinks they know everything, and is full of bombast.” He peered closely at Katie.
“Are you spying on me for the Doge?”
It was the girl’s turn to laugh.
“Do you really think the Doge would employ a child to check on you? Besides, you’re not so important that you would worry so great a man.”
Zuliani was taken aback by the girl’s poise. It reminded him of someone from his distant past, at a time when he had to flee Venice under a cloud. He recovered himself quickly.
“So you are of the Gradenigo faction. The Valiers always rolled over for those in power.”
The girl’s face reddened at this scornful criticism of her family, but she was not thrown as much as Zuliani had hoped. She merely returned his gaze, and tossed a question back at him.
“Where were you going this morning? To the Doge’s palace to split on the Tiepolos?”
Zuliani knew he would not like to have this child as a business opponent. She was too canny for her own good. If she — a mere child — knew about his involvement in the conspiracy, who else did? She saw the wary look in his eyes, and reassured him.
“Don’t worry, no one else knows. Though it was easy enough to get your servant drunk and have him tell me who had been visiting you.”
Zuliani cursed Vettor under his breath, and resolved to fire the man. Or slit his throat. He felt as if he was trapped in a vice, neither knowing if he should betray the plot or ride it out and pray no one would link him to it. The girl smiled at his discomfiture.
“I can help you, if you like. You don’t want the Doge to know you were even linked with the Tiepolos’ plot, do you? So you can’t tell him about it without implicating yourself.”
Zuliani shook his head in bewilderment. Was this a girl or a demon?
“What do you suggest I do, Katie Valier?”
The girl settled back in her chair, letting her cloak fall open. It revealed the short, boyish tunic she had worn to fool Zuliani in the first place. A little ashamed of himself, he admired the long legs that were encased in tight leggings. She was enjoying her triumph, and didn’t notice his lascivious look.
“I have a cousin — Marco Donato — who is close to the Gradenigos. He can warn the Doge, and even put in a good word for you as his source of information.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea, mistress. But why would you do this for me? What is your reward?”
The girl sighed with pleasure.
“In return, you can tell me all about your sexual exploits at the court of Kubilai Khan.”
It was Monday the 15th of June, the Feast of St Vitus, and the conspiracy was in motion. Two groups, led by Bajamonte Tiepolo and Marco Querini, made their move at first light, crossing the Rialto Bridge and advancing towards the Piazza and the Doge’s Palace. They were supposed to have been supported by a third group led by Badoero Badoer from the mainland. Unfortunately, on the night before, there had been a violent summer storm, which whipped up the waters of the lagoon. Badoer and his party were unable to cross to the city. Not knowing this, and unaware that the Doge had been informed of their intentions by a certain Marco Donato, the others galloped through the narrow streets in driving rain to shouts of “Liberta, e Morte al Doge Gradenigo”.
Bajamonte Tiepolo might have pulled it off, but his arrival in the Piazza had been delayed slightly. Zuliani had received a message from Marco Donato by the agency of his new friend Katie, who was at his door at some unearthly hour of the morning. She had merely said that the Doge wanted Tiepolo held up — minutes would suffice. A reluctant Zuliani had pulled his heavy, fur-trimmed cloak around him and braved the rain. He suspected the ruse was a way of the Doge showing the conspirators that Zuliani was a turncoat. He didn’t like it, but the die was cast. He hovered by the great elder tree outside the front of San Zulian Church until Tiepolo and his men approached. He held up his hand, and the impatient Bajamonte reined in his steed.
“Zuliani, what now? Not having second thoughts, I hope.”
Zuliani grimaced.
“Indeed no, Tiepolo. I just wanted to wish you success.”
Impatiently, the leader of the conspiracy pulled on the reins of his dancing horse, eager to be off. What was this old fool playing at?
“Thank you. Liberty, citizen.”
“Liberty, Tiepolo.” Zuliani now had his own hand on the horse’s reins, preventing Tiepolo from proceeding. “This is a necessary deed … isn’t it?”
Tiepolo let out a cry of rage at the old man’s prevarication. Thank God they had not involved the dodderer any more deeply into the conspiracy. Age had robbed him of his former clear thinking, and he could not come down from off the fence. He wrenched his reins free, and rode off. Zuliani’s eyes lost their vacant stare, put on for the dumb show, and he grinned at Tiepolo’s disappearing back. His task was done.
Even as Bajamonte imperiously threatened the Piazza, the local populace failed to rise in support. Instead they hurled insults and imprecations. One old lady even resorted to tipping a heavy piece of stone parapet out of an upper window. It missed Tiepolo, but struck down his standard-bearer. The banner, emblazoned with the word Libertas, lay in the mud. The insurrection was over almost as soon as it began, and the conspirators scattered throughout Venice.
The
On the day of the insurrection, she had delivered her message and he had acted on it. Then he had convinced her that it was prudent not to be on the streets for a while. He had shown her his collection of artefacts from the Mongol Empire of Kubilai Khan — the Greatest Khan of them all.
She had politely sat through his well-rehearsed speech, and his tales of derring-do, then suggested they leave Venice and all the disturbance. They crossed the lagoon to Torcello, and hid away for a few days. There, Katie had got him talking again, only on a different tack.
“They say the girls at Kubilai’s court were the prettiest in the world.”
Zuliani had laughed, and touched Katie’s rosy cheek.
“But not as pretty as you.”
Which was true. Abandoning her boyish garb with which she had stalked Zuliani, Katie now had emerged as a true beauty. Her golden hair was set off perfectly by her blue gown that clung to her shapely thighs and bosom. Zuliani recalled clutching her breast when he had thought her a boy. He could almost feel the firmness of it still. He had avoided talking of the women he had known in the East on that first occasion. But on the next day, and the one after that, Katie had skilfully turned the conversation round to the same topic.
Finally Zuliani reckoned it was safe to return. The day was sunny, and they had stopped outside the dark and damp confines of Zuliani’s house under the great elder tree next to the church. It was the scene of Zuliani’s Judas kiss with Bajamonte Tiepolo, but, just now, he didn’t care about that betrayal. He had a pretty girl by his side. He knew Katie was young enough to be his granddaughter — or even his great-granddaughter — but he liked the feel of her warm thigh against his own. The sun shone on his face, and he gave in to her persistent demands for salacious gossip about his conquests in the East. He closed his eyes, leaned back against the smooth trunk of the tree, and smiled.
“There was one girl, actually. Well, there was more than one, but this one was special. Gurbesu had long,
