City of Masks Page 5

  As soon as this tale finished I quickly excused myself from the table, in the hope of getting away before Mother asked where I was going. It had been two days since I’d last played at dice, and the coins in my purse were hopping against the strings. I wanted to get into the city and find a tavern, but my escape was not to be so easy.

  Mother placed her hand upon my arm. “Oswald. I thought you might accompany me to the carnival today. It would be pleasant to spend some time together, before the city is overrun with Hungarians.”

  My heart began to beat quickly. “I have to meet with somebody, Mother.” I gave a quick, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whom are you meeting?” she said sharply, causing all other conversation about the table to stop.

  I tried to pull a name from thin air, but as I hesitated, Bearpark came to my rescue. “I expect Lord Somershill is visiting a young lady,” he said. “The carnival heats the blood, you know. Especially in such times as these.” He then laughed coarsely. “The threat of death is a great arouser, my lady. A great arouser!”

  Mother grimaced at his comment, before turning to me with a look of disapproval. “Is this right, Oswald? Have you befriended a young woman?” I shook my head, but clearly she didn’t believe me. “Then why don’t you invite her to Ca’ Bearpark?” she said. “I would certainly like to meet her.”

  I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. “There is no young woman.”

  “Is she married? Is that it?” Mother raised her eyebrows in rebuke, as if this indeed was the answer to the mystery. “Then you should be very careful. Venetian husbands can be violent when provoked.”

  “I am not visiting a married woman,” I said.

  “Then you can take me to the carnival,” she said, patting my hand. “An English noblewoman cannot wander about Venice unaccompanied.”

  “No, Mother,” I said very firmly. “I’m sorry, but you will have to find another companion.”

  Mother turned, wide-eyed to Bearpark. “John. Why don’t you take me instead?” She clapped her hands together. “Indeed, I would enjoy your company a great deal more than my son’s.” She threw me a reproachful glance. “He’s become so dull recently.”

  I had to admire Bearpark’s speed of thought, for he shook his head despondently and feigned a great sorrowful frown. “My dear Lady Somershill, how I would love to accompany you to the carnival. But you know how painful my knees have become in recent days. The bone grates like blades against my flesh.” Mother went to object, but the old fox was too quick for her. “But I have the answer,” he boomed, before Mother had the chance to speak. “I’m sure that Bernard here and his sister Margery would love to see the carnival.”

  I could never be sure that Bernard was following a conversation, but, in this instance, it seemed he had understood every word. “But Master Bearpark,” he said with a low bow of his head, “I’m afraid that Margery has committed herself to prayer today, as otherwise we would be most delighted to join Lady Somershill.” He gave a short cough. “Margery is always at her most devout in the days before Lent, and therefore cannot leave the house.”

  Having appeared initially horrified by the suggestion of attending the carnival with Bernard and Margery, Mother was suddenly peeved by the pilgrim’s excuses. “Margery seems to have left the house often enough in recent days,” she said. “In fact the two of you are barely here.”

  Bernard smiled. “We have been visiting the many venerable shrines and holy places of Venice, my lady. Before Margery enters her period of reflection.”

  Mother pursed her lips. “I see. And can your sister not begin her reflection tomorrow? There are still five days until Lent begins.”

  Bearpark jogged the pilgrim’s elbow. “Of course she can. Can’t she, Bernard.”

  Bernard drew his arm back, as if it were scalded. He was cornered, and he knew it. “But, Master Bearpark. If only you—”

  Before the excuse could land, Bearpark heaved himself to his feet, and then pointed to Mother. “Would you allow this poor noblewoman of England to roam the streets of Venice alone? Is that what you’re saying?” He spoke fiercely. “What sort of pilgrim are you, Bernard Jagger? Where is your charity?”

  Bernard regarded Bearpark with a strange, sullen stare, as if making one last silent entreaty to be excused from this ordeal—but it was an entreaty that Bearpark ignored, giving the pilgrim no choice but to get to his feet and bow to Mother with a flourish.

  “My dear Lady Somershill. It would be an honor to attend the carnival with you,” he said. “I thank you for requesting the company of this humble pilgrim and his poor sister.” I looked to Mother and could tell that she suddenly regretted this victory—but she had forced the invitation, so now she would have to endure its consequences.

  I left the house soon after, following some of Bearpark’s servants along the Calle Nuova, as they noisily made their way toward the city. Their master had given many of them the rest of the day off, so that they might also attend the carnival. They were rowdy and full of laughter, ready to forget the war with Hungary and enjoy themselves before the long and arduous privations of Lent.

  I kept my distance, but as I turned the corner into the Campo Santo Stefano—I happened to bump into Enrico Bearpark. He looked tired and unkempt, and the creases in his tunic betrayed that he had not returned home the previous night.

  He embraced me, and I could smell the clammy, smoky scent of Venice upon his clothes. “De Lacy! You’re out early,” he said to me in his perfect English.

  “I’m going to the Piazza San Marco,” I said quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t want to join me. “I’ve heard there’s some entertainment worth watching?”

  Enrico wrinkled his nose. “It’s tolerable, I suppose. But let’s meet later,” he said with a sudden grasp of my arm. “The evening of the Giovedì Grasso is much more exciting. Do you have a mask?”

  I should have lied and pretended to have one of the leather creations hidden somewhere in my cloak, but instead I gave an embarrassed shrug and admitted the truth. “No.”

  Enrico regarded me for a moment. “You do intend to go to the carnival?”

  “Of course.”

  He hesitated again and dropped his hand. “I haven’t seen so much of you lately, de Lacy,” he said gently. “Too many games of dice, I think?”

  I feigned a laugh to hide my irritation at this comment. “It is just a way to pass the time.” I said quickly. “But I’ll see you tonight, Enrico. You can show me the delights of Giovedì Grasso.”

  He studied me for a moment, not convinced by my sudden act of enthusiasm. He looked tired, and he needed to shave. “Take care of yourself, Oswald,” he said, before we embraced again.

  “Oh, de Lacy!” he shouted, as I scurried away.

  I considered pretending that I hadn’t heard him, but my friend didn’t deserve such rudeness. “Yes, Enrico,” I said, turning around.

  “Take care of your money,” he shouted to me with one of his mischievous smiles. “Remember that Venice is full of thieves and murderers!” This was enough to stop some passersby in their tracks, but whether they were offended by his words, or merely surprised at his English, I could not say.

  I raised my arm and shouted back. “Until later, my friend.”

  I was soon at the great Piazza San Marco, pushing my way past the many Venetians who had gathered to watch the spectacles of the day. The human pyramids, the pig-chase, and the display of fine clothes did not hold any interest for me, so I continued through the Piazzetta, toward the sestiere of Castello with single-minded strides, heading for a tavern where I could find a game of dice.

  I had visited my money changer the previous day in the Rialto to draw down against my Letter of Credit, and now my purse clinked with the sweet jingle of coins. Since my first introduction to dice games the previous September, on the night of my abortive visit to the convent of Santa Lucia, I had become an enthusiastic player at Hazard, finding every opportunity I could to slip away from Ca�
�� Bearpark and find a table at which to gamble.

  It had started well enough, though I should admit that my early winnings had been canceled out by recent losses. In fact, I had been rather surprised to learn from my money changer, the day before, that my Letter of Credit was now exhausted. We had argued, until he showed me his ledger, and it seemed the old crook was telling the truth.

  This lack of funds should have caused me a great deal of concern, but it didn’t. For I knew that I was going to be fortunate again that night—winning back everything that I’d lost in the previous weeks and more—much more. This was a certainty. I needed only luck. And luck would not continue to desert me. Why would she? I was not a lord. I was a king. King of the dice!

  I had been a prudent, cautious boy, and I had grown into a prudent, cautious man. So you might wonder how I became a gambler. How had the thrill of taking a risk suddenly become so appealing to me? The answer was this—that playing dice had reawakened something within me. It had reminded me of what it felt like to be joyful. And this was an emotion that had been absent from my life for too long.

  Mother had dragged me on this pilgrimage in the hope that a holy expedition would heal my sorrows—so she would have been disappointed to discover that it was gambling instead that had been my salvation. She would not have understood that throwing the dice threw light upon my shadow. That it helped me to forget my creeping, watchful follower, and blot out its misery with the thrill of excitement and anticipation. Gambling seemed to have no downsides, for even when I lost my stake, there was always the promise of the next game, and the next win. To sit and play at dice was more than a distraction, it was a liberation, so I was blinded to the harm in it. Not even when I had gambled down to our last few ducats, and farther losses would mean that we were stranded, without funds, in a city that was a thousand miles from our home in Kent. I didn’t see this as a problem, because I was convinced that my luck would turn at the next throw. I was convinced I would win again.

  Today I was returning to an inn on a narrow lane that ran along the border of San Marco and Castello. I had been to this establishment before on a few occasions and it had been a lucky place for me. In fact, the last time I’d played here, I had won a whole ducat in a single game. In the main chamber, at the street level, the inn served the sourest, second-pressed wine and a cloudy ale that tasted as if it had been brewed from oats and canal water. But at the back of the establishment was a dusty staircase that led to a farther, airless chamber where the dice games took place. Not everybody knew about this room, as there was sporadic suppression of gambling by the Signori di Notte, though they were apt to ignore the practice during the carnival season, especially if the innkeeper was minded to pay them to stay away.

  I nodded to the man sitting on the foot of the stairs, and, after looking me up and down, he indicated that I could pass with a flick of his hand. I then took my place at a table, in a room that was lit by tallow candles and filled with silent, sweating men—each of whom looked as if they might pull a dagger upon a fellow player at any moment. There was something about the degradation of this place that also thrilled me. As a younger man, I would never have entered such a den, and yet here I was, sitting among them, brave enough to take a chair at their table.

  At first I was lucky. The dice obeyed my commands, and my opponents were both poor in their calculations and wearied by a day of drinking. It was easy to take their money, and soon, one by one, they had exhausted their meager funds and dropped out of the game.

  When left without an opponent I turned to the other men in the room. “Who will play me now?” I asked. My question was met with wariness. They had seen my luck was in, and none of them was willing to take their chances.

  I had decided to leave, when somebody called to me from the far corner of the room.

  “I’ll play you, de Lacy,” he said. As I focused my eyes, I could see that the voice belonged to my old adversary Vittore, his ugly, porcine features just discernible through the gloom.

  I should have turned and run at that point, but I didn’t. Instead I welcomed him and his two friends to my table. I had never seen this pair before, and they were rougher, dirtier men than the usual spoiled young followers who flocked to Ca’ Bearpark.

  “Roll the bones,” said Vittore.

  I hesitated. There was a menace to this man that always caused me to catch my breath, no matter how hard I tried to keep my composure. At least it was dark and he could not see the blood rush to my face. He banged his hands upon the table and leaned toward me. “I said, roll the bones, de Lacy. Time to play.”

  I began well enough. The dice were falling in my favor. But this promising start was my downfall, for it only encouraged me to take greater risks. To throw my restraint into the fire and watch it burn. And how it burned! Soon I had lost all of my early winnings and had to reach into my pouch to retrieve yet more and more coins. Whenever Vittore threw the dice now, they fell in his favor, but when I threw these same cubes of ivory, they rarely showed me any kindness. I began to suspect the man was cheating, perhaps even swapping the dice at each throw, for a pair that was loaded—but I could not prove this accusation. The presence of Vittore’s two dirty, menacing friends watered down my willingness to make such a claim. Instead, I relied upon luck to save the day, so I gambled more. And then some more, to win back my losses. At each throw I hoped to save my situation, but succeeded only in digging myself deeper into the mire. Over and over I made the same mistake, until there was nothing left. Nothing at all from the great sum I had deposited with the money changer in London, to draw upon as we traveled.

  Vittore laughed. “No more money, de Lacy?”

  I scratched my ear to stop myself from throwing a punch. “I have plenty more at home,” I lied.

  “Shall I accompany you back to Ca’ Bearpark? And then you can fetch this money?”

  I coughed. “It’s not actually there,” I mumbled. “I just need to raise more from my Letter of Credit. And, of course, the money changers won’t be working today.” I stood up to leave, but Vittore put his hand upon my arm. His grip was firm and unwavering.

  “Your credit is good with me,” he said, as he forced me to sit down—his two friends grinning at me like demons. “Stay here,” he said. “I trust you.”

  “I would rather play with real coins,” I said weakly.

  “Come on, de Lacy. Don’t leave now.” Then he leaned forward and leered at me, and I couldn’t help but hate him. His pig-like snout. His protruding, rabbit-like teeth. “You could win all your money back,” he told me with a menacing grin.

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know you’d honor your debts. You’re an Englishman, after all.” He looked about the room and caught the eye of our fellow drinkers. Until this point I had not realized how much interest the other men in the tavern had been taking in our game—but now I could see that we had been playing something of a spectator sport, and Vittore’s comments about my nationality were the comedic interlude.

  It was their laughter that persuaded me to carry on. Another weakness: to be provoked by the ridicule of others. I should have left the tavern there and then. I should have cut my losses and run, but instead, I became determined to win all my money back from Vittore. To watch the men of this tavern laugh at his misfortune instead of mine.

  It was Vittore who stopped the game in the end. I would tell you that he felt sorry for me—but, in hindsight, I believe he was just protecting his winnings. He knew that a victor should not obliterate his opponent, for fear of never receiving his money. He didn’t want to find my body, and his debt, washed up in a canal the next day. I owed a lot to Vittore, but not so much that I would give up hope completely. He wasn’t to know the truth. That I could not draw down another soldino from my Letter of Credit. That I had thrown away a fortune on dice.

  I left the inn in a daze. In my pouch was a square of parchment that I had signed under the menacing eyes of Vittore’s two rough-looking frie
nds. Vittore had an identical copy. On both these documents I had written the words: “I, Oswald de Lacy, Lord Somershill of Kent, owe forty ducats to my friend, Vittore Grimani. Payable within a week and one day.”

  I had no idea how I would find this sum. No idea at all. At first, Vittore had asked me to pay the following morning, but I had managed to negotiate a little more time to settle my debt, claiming that my money changer would need longer to come up with such a sum. But one week and one day was hardly long enough to conjure up forty ducats that I didn’t own. And yet I knew what would happen to me if I couldn’t pay. Vittore’s companions had made this very clear.

  I left Castello, needing to get away from the crowds of the Giovedì Grasso and to find a silent place where I could think. How could I extricate myself from this predicament? As I sped through the streets in a panic, ideas spun through my head and were dismissed as soon as they appeared. Perhaps Mother had some jewelery that I could sell, though she had left most of her best pieces at home, for fear of being robbed by bandits. Or perhaps I could borrow the money? I had heard rumors that a Jew was secretly practicing usury on the island of Giudecca. It was a good enough idea in principle, but this man would require security against any advance. And what security did I have to offer? My clothes were old-fashioned, and my sword was blunt. I might raise a ducat or two if I were lucky.

  And then, as I fought my way through the crooked and unpredictable streets of San Marco, I felt something following me, scampering along in the dimness, always on the periphery of my vision. I moved faster, so that it could not catch up with me, for I knew what it was. After many weeks of freedom from its unwelcome company, it had found me again.