Part 70 (2/2)

It happened that he and I were the only ones left later: he because he was arranging for warehouse guards, I because I was going back over one of my calculations which did not tally. By now I was almost cross-eyed with fatigue, so was only too grateful when the soft-spoken Signor Falcone came over and in a couple of minutes traced my mistake and amended it.

”Only one error: tenths are important, youngster. Still, well done.” His fingers were long and well manicured. ”You are Master Summer, I believe?”

I nodded. Relief at having finished without too much blame made my tongue careless and impudent. ”Matthew must have great trust in you. I wouldn't-”

and I stopped, blus.h.i.+ng to the roots of my hair.

”Trust someone so greatly without supervision? Of course you should not, unless you know him well.” He regarded me gravely. ”But then, you see, I owe him and his friend not only my livelihood, but my education. And also my life.”

”Your life?”

He hesitated.

”I'm sorry,” I said. ”I shouldn't be so inquisitive.”

”No matter. At your age I was the same.” He hesitated again. ”It is not a tale I recount easily. Still . . .” His eyes were bright and dark as sloe berries. He took a bundle of keys from his belt and, beckoning me to follow, locked up the warehouse, nodded to a couple of armed men lounging nearby, and started back towards the center of the city. ”Come, we shall walk together. . . .”

It was a strange enough tale, and I forgot my weariness as I listened.

”When I was eight years old I was sold into slavery by a parent burdened by too many children. It was in a country far from here, and I was pretty enough to be auctioned as a b.u.m-boy-you understand what I mean?-but I was lucky.

A stranger stopped to watch the bidding and among those who fancied me was an old enemy of the stranger. So, to teach this man a lesson, the stranger bid for me too, and in the course of time he won himself a boy he had no use for. The stranger's name was Suleiman, on his way to visit his old friend Matthew Spicer-I see that first name means something to you?”

I wasn't conscious of having betrayed myself, but I nodded. ”I met him while I was at Master Spicer's.” I didn't add that it was the gifted Suleiman whose doctoring had saved the life of my blind knight, the man I had once fancied myself in love with.

”Then you will know that he is both wise and kind. He left me with his friend, to care for and educate, to learn to read, write and calculate. There I also learned French, Italian and Latin, for my own language was Arabic. At about the same age as yourself I was sent abroad to learn the ways of trade, and after some years Matthew appointed me his agent here. I have never regretted it, nor, I believe, has he. His is a generous and trusting nature, and such a man's trust is not easily abused. Nor should it be: remember that.”

How could I not? For in my own way I had betrayed his trust in worse ways than Signor Falcone could imagine.

We had reached the end of the street where I lodged.

”Your journey starts in a day or two. I do not think you have the slightest idea how far it will take you, nor are you mentally prepared as you should be.

About that I can do little, but at least I can see you are physically ready. Do not forget you will be representing Master Spicer, and you need a new outfit for that.” He fished in his purse and brought out a handful of coin. He saw my eyes widen with surprise at the gold, and allowed himself a wry grimace. ”Call this the Special Fund. For emergencies-and youngsters who need smartening up. Choose good materials, and something neat but not gaudy.”

He put a couple of coins in my hand. ”You will also need travelling gear: leather breeches and jacket; a thick cloak; good, strong boots; riding gloves.”

Another couple of coins in my hand. ”It can be cold at nights where you are going, so a woollen cap, underwear and hose.” A last coin. ”And a good, sharp dagger. Go to Signor Ermani in the Via Orsini and say I sent you.” And he swung away across the square. ”And get your hair cut! At the moment you look like a girl!”

It was so late by now that the pie shop around the corner was closing as I went past, but I managed to grab some leftovers and broken pieces for my dog, who was almost crossing his back legs in an effort not to relieve himself by the time I reached my room. So pressured was he that he forwent his supper until he had christened every post and arch within a considerable distance. I trailed after him without fear of marauders, for he had a piercing bark, an aggressive manner, and extremely sharp teeth.

And, after all, when one has bitten a dragon and got away with it, what else has a dog to fear?

That evening, what was left of it, I brought my journal up to date. This was Part Two of my life. Part One was already finished the day I left Matthew's for the second time. It was a bulky volume, bound with a wooden cover, and as I weighed it in my hands I realized how much of an extra burden it would be to carry it any further. It would be better to leave it with someone I could trust.

Part Two was far less bulky. I had already devised a form of shortened words and wrote smaller, so could justify taking it with me. Pen and inks would have to go with me as part of my job, and a couple of extra rolls or so of vellum were neither here nor there.

Next morning I went out in search of new clothes. Neat but not gaudy, Signor Falcone had said, but although hose, breeches and boots were easy enough in shades of brown, the jacket was an entirely different matter. Finding a good, plain one was practically impossible. They all seemed to be embroidered with vine leaves, pomegranates, artichokes, red and white flowers and even stars and moons, but then Venice catered mainly to the rich and fickle. The materials, too-silks and satins-were too fine for prolonged wear, but at least after a search I tracked down a fawn-colored jerkin with the minimum of decoration, and a green surcoat of fine wool, without the usual scallops, fringes and frills.

The afternoon I spent in mending my existing hose and underwear, a ch.o.r.e I detested, but just as I had decided it was candle time, there was a rush of feet on the stair and a hammering at the door.

”Master Summer? You there?”

”Yes . . .” I was practically naked, so the door stayed shut.

”Master Alphonso says you're to be ready at dawn.”

”So soon?”

”Outbreak of plague reported in the south. Report to the quayside at first light.” The feet stumbled back down the stairs.

Plague? Perhaps the greatest fear man had, far more threatening than battle or siege. Against a human enemy there were weapons, but the plague recognized no armies but-deadlier than sword, spear or arrowhead, unseen, unheard, unfelt-could decimate the largest army in the world within days.

Either great pustules broke out on the skin and the victim died screaming, else it was the drowning sickness, when the chest filled with phlegm and a choking death came in less than a day- I s.h.i.+vered in spite of the heat, fear closing my throat and opening my pores.

No time to waste. I must call down for water to wash in, then collect my cloak from the laundry down the road. Once my father's, then my mother's, it was practically indestructible, being of a particularly fine and thick weave, though light and soft, with a deep hood. Much mended and much worn, it was nevertheless better than many new ones I had seen, but I had thought to have the mire and mud of the journey to Venice dispersed by a good soak.

So, that to collect, a good scrub for myself-and the dog, if possible-then everything to be packed as tight as could be. Something to eat, and lastly a safe place to leave Part One of my journal.

I hurried as well as I could, but the last streaks of gold and crimson were staining the skies to the west when I knocked at Signor Falcone's door, praying that he had not gone out to dine.

I was shown by a liveried servant to an upstairs room and gasped in wonder at the fine furniture, glowing tapestries, delicate gla.s.s and silken drapes. My host smiled at my expression.

”Without Suleiman and Matthew a mere slave could never have afforded all this. . . . What do you want of me, youngster?”

I started to explain about the plague and our early departure, but he cut me short.

”I know all this. We have worked throughout the day to get everything loaded and ready. What is that package under your arm?”

Straight to the point, Signor Falcone! I had rehea.r.s.ed my story on the way.

”It contains a journal I have been keeping. Before I-before Master Spicer sponsored me I had some amusing adventures, which I have written down plain. If-if anything should happen to me on my travels I should wish Master Spicer to have it. A sort of thanks . . . It might also explain some of my actions more clearly.” I was floundering, and I knew it. ”Besides, it is too heavy to carry. Please?”

”So, if anything should happen to you on the way-Allah forbid!-this is to be forwarded to Matthew? Otherwise I hold it until your return; is that it? Very well. The package if you please.” Going over to his ornate desk he extracted sealing wax and, rolling the stick in a candle flame, dropped the pungent- smelling stuff onto the knots in my package. He motioned to quill and ink.

”Write Master Spicer's name there clearly. So. Now come with me.”

Taking up a candle I followed him down a short pa.s.sage into a small locked back room, windowless, full of shelves and nose-tickly with dust. Boxes, scrolls, books, small paintings and other packages lined the shelves, all neatly labelled. He placed my parcel high up on the nearest shelf.

”There, it will be safe till you return. And, should anything happen to me, my servants' orders are to forward everything in here to the name on the label.

<script>