Giovanni entered the laboratory confidently, not even knowing that
Marietta was with her father, and not suspecting that he could have
anything to fear from her.
"I have come to take my leave of you, sir," he began, going towards his
father at once.
He did not see the broken jar, which was at some distance from the door.
"Before you go," said Beroviero coldly, "pray look at this."
Giovanni saw the box on the table, but did not understand, as he had
never seen it before. His father again took the key from his neck and
opened the casket.
"This is Paolo Godi's manuscript," he said, without changing his tone.
"You see, here is the book. The seal is unbroken. It is exactly as I
left it when Zorzi and I buried it together. You suspected him of having
opened it, and I confess that you made me suspect him, too. For the sake
of justice, convince yourself."
Giovanni's face was drawn with lines of vexation and anxiety.
"It was hidden in the jar of broken glass," Beroviero explained. "You
did not think of looking there."
"No--nor you, sir."
"I mean that you did not look there when you searched for it alone,
immediately after Zorzi was arrested."
Giovanni was pale now, but he raised both hands and turned up his eyes
as if calling upon heaven to witness his innocence.
"I swear to you," he began, "on the body of the blessed Saint Donatus--"
Beroviero interrupted him.
"I did not ask you to swear by anything," he said. "I know the truth.
The less you say of what has happened, the better it will be for you in
the end."
"I suppose my sister has been poisoning your mind against me as usual.
Can she explain how her mantle came here?"
"It does not concern you to know how it came here," answered Beroviero.
"By your wholly unjustifiable haste, to say nothing worse, you have
caused an innocent man to be arrested, and his rescue and disappearance
have made matters much worse. I do not care to ask what your object has
been. Keep it to yourself, pray, and do not remind me of this affair
when we meet, for after all, you are my son. You came to take your
leave, I think. Go home, then, by all means."
Without a word, Giovanni went out, biting his thin lip and reflecting
mournfully upon the change in his position since he had talked with his
father in the morning. While they had been speaking Marietta had gone to
a little distance, affecting to unfold the mantle and fold it again
according to feminine rules. As she heard the door shut again she
glanced at her father's face, and saw that he was looking at her.
"I told you that I was learning patience to-day," he said. "I longed to
lay my hands on him."
"You frightened him much more by what you said," answered Marietta.
"Perhaps. Never mind! He is gone. The question is how to find Zorzi.
That is the first thing, and then we must undo the mischief Giovanni has
done."
"I think Pasquale must have some clue by which we may find Zorzi,"
suggested Marietta.
Pasquale was called at once. He stood with his legs bowed, holding his
old cap in both hands, his small bloodshot eyes fixed on his master's
face with a look of inquiry. He was more than ever like a savage old
watch-dog.
"Yes, sir," he said in answer to Beroviero's question, "I can tell you
something. Two men were looking on last night when the Signor Giovanni
made me open the door to the Governor's soldiers. They wore hoods over
their eyes, but I am certain that one of them was that Greek captain who
came here one morning before you went away. When Zorzi came out, the
Greek walked off, up the footway and past the bridge. The other waited
till they were all gone and till Signor Giovanni had come in. He
whispered quickly in my ear, 'Zorzi is safe.' Then he went after the
others. I could see that he had a short staff hidden under his cloak,
and that he was a man with bones like an ox. But he was not so big a
man as the captain. Then I knew that two such men, who were seamen
accustomed to using their hands, quick on their feet and seeing well in
the dark, as we all do, could pitch the officer over the tower of San
Piero, if they chose, with all his sleazy crew of lubberly, dressed-up
boobies, armed with overgrown boat-hooks. This I thought, and so it
happened. That is what I know."
"But why should Captain Aristarchi care whether Zorzi were arrested or
not?" asked Beroviero.
"This the saints may know in paradise," answered Pasquale, "but not I."
"Has the captain been here again?" asked Beroviero, completely puzzled.
"No, sir. But I should have told you that one morning there came a
patrician of Venice, Messer Zuan Venier, who wished to see you, being a
friend of Messer Jacopo Contarini, and when he heard that you were away
he desired to see Zorzi, and stayed some time."
"I know him by name," said Beroviero, nodding. "But there can be no
connection between him and this Greek."
Pasquale snarled and showed his teeth at the mere idea, for his instinct
told him that Aristarchi was a pirate, or had been one, and he was by no
means sure that the Greek had carried off Zorzi for any good purpose.
"Pasquale," said Beroviero, "it is long since you have had a holiday.
Take the skiff to-morrow morning, and go over to Venice. You are a
seaman and you can easily find out from the sailors about the Giudecca
who this Aristarchi really is, and where he lives. Then try to see him
and tell him that Zorzi is innocent of all the charges against him, and
that if he will come back I will protect him. Can you do that?"
Pasquale gave signs of great satisfaction, by growling and grinning at
the same time, and his lids drew themselves into a hundred wrinkles till
his eyes seemed no bigger than two red Murano beads.
Then Beroviero and Marietta went back to the house, and the young girl
carried the folded mantle under her cloak. Before going to her own room
she opened it out, as if it had been worn, and dropped it behind a
bench-box in the large room, as if it had fallen from her shoulders
while she had been sitting there; and in due time it was found by one of
the men-servants, who brought it back to Nella.
"You are so careless, my pretty lady!" cried the serving-woman, holding
up her hands.
"Yes," answered Marietta, "I know it."
"So careless!" repeated Nella. "Nothing has any value for you! Some day
you will forget your face in the mirror and go away without it, and then
they will say it is Nella's fault!"
Marietta laughed lightly, for she was happy. It was clear that
everything was to end well, though it might be long before her father
would consent to let her marry Zorzi. She felt quite sure that he was
safe, though he might lie far away by this time.
Beroviero returned at once to the Governor's house, and did his best to
undo the mischief. But to his unspeakable disappointment he found that
the Governor's report had already gone to the Council of Ten, so that
the matter had passed altogether out of his hands. The Council would
certainly find Zorzi, if he were in Venice, and within two or three
days, at the utmost, if not within a few hours; for the Signors of the
Night were very vigilant and their men knew every hiding-place in
Venice. Zorzi, said the Governor, would certainly be taken into custody
unless he had escaped to the mainland. Beroviero could have wrung his
hands for sheer despair, and when he told Marietta the result of his
second visit to the Governor, her heart sank, for Zorzi's danger was
greater than ever before, and it was not likely that a man who had been
so mysteriously rescued, to the manifest injury and disgrace of those
who were taking him to prison, could escape torture. He would certainly
be suspected of connivance with secret enemies of the Republic.
Beroviero bethought him of the friends he had in Venice, to whom he
might apply for help in his difficulty. In the first place there was
Messer Luigi Foscarini, a Procurator of Saint Mark; but he had not been
long in office, and he would probably not wish to be concerned in any
matter which tended to oppose authority. And there was old Contarini,
who was himself one of the Ten; Beroviero knew his character well and
judged that he would not be lenient towards any one who had been
forcibly rescued, no matter how innocent he might be. Moreover the law
against foreigners who attempted to work in glass was in force, and very
stringent. Contarini, like many over-wise men who have no control
whatever over their own children, was always for excessive severity in
all processes of the law. Beroviero thought of some others, but against
each one he found some real objection.
Sitting in his chair after supper, he talked earnestly of the matter
with Marietta, who sat opposite him with her work, by the large brass
lamp. For the present he had almost forgotten the question of her
marriage, for all his former affection for Zorzi had returned, with the
conviction of his innocence, and the case was very urgent. That very
night Zorzi might be found, and on the next morning he might be brought
before the Ten to be examined. Marietta thought with terror of the awful
tales Nella had told her about the little torture chamber behind the
hall of the Council.
"Who is that Messer Zuan Venier, who came to see Zorzi?" asked Marietta
suddenly.
"A young man who fought very bravely in the East, I believe," answered
Beroviero. "His father was the Admiral of the Republic for some time."
"He has talked with Zorzi," said Marietta. "Pasquale said so. He must
have liked him, of course; and none of the other patricians you have
mentioned have ever seen him. Messer Zuan is not in office, and has
nothing to lose. Perhaps he will be willing to use his influence with
his father. If only the Ten could know the whole truth before Zorzi is
brought before them, it would be very different."
Beroviero saw that there was some wisdom in applying to a younger man,
like Zuan Venier, who had nothing at stake, and since Venier had come to
visit him, there could be nothing strange in his returning the courtesy
as soon as he conveniently could.
On the following morning therefore the master betook himself to Venice
in his gondola. Pasquale was already gone in the skiff, on the errand
entrusted to him. He had judged it best not to put on his Sunday
clothes, nor his clean shirt, nor to waste time in improving his
appearance at the barber's, for he had been shaved on Saturday night as
usual and the week was not yet half over. Hidden in the bow of the
little boat there lay his provision for the day, half a loaf of bread, a
thick slice of cheese and two onions, with an earthen bottle of water.
With these supplies the old sailor knew that he could roam the canals of
Venice for twenty-four hours if he chose, and he also had some money in
case it should seem wise to ply an acquaintance with a little strong
wine in order to promote conversation.
The morning was sultry and a light haze hung over the islands at
sunrise, which is by no means usual. Pasquale sniffed the air as he
rowed himself through the narrow canals. There was a mingled smell of
stagnant salt water, cabbage stalks, water-melons and wood smoke long
unfamiliar to him, and reminding him pleasantly of his childhood.
Wherever a bit of stone pier ran along by an open space, scores of
olive-skinned boys were bathing, and as he passed they yelled at him and
splashed him. Many a time he had done the same, long ago, and had
sometimes got a sharp knock from the blade of an oar for his pains.
The high walls made brown shadows, that struck across the greenish
water, shivering away to long streaks of broken light and shade, and
trying to dance and rock themselves together for a moment before a
passing boat disturbed them again. In the shade boats were moored, laden
with fresh vegetables, and with jars of milk brought in from the islands
and the mainland before dawn. From open windows, here and there,
red-haired women with dark eyes looked down idly, and breathed the
morning air for a few minutes before beginning their household work. The
bells of Saint John and Saint Paul were ringing to low mass, and a few
old women with black shawls over their heads, and wooden clogs on their
feet, made a faint clattering as they straggled to the door.
It was long since Pasquale had been in Venice. He could not remember
exactly how many years had passed, but the city had changed little, and
still after many centuries there is but little and slow change. The ways
and turnings were as familiar to him as ever, and would have been
unforgotten if he had never taken the trouble to cross the lagoon again,
to his dying day. The soft sounds, the violent colours, the splendid
gloom of deep-arched halls that went straight from the great open door
at the water's edge to the shadowy heart of the palace within; the
boatmen polishing the metal work of their gondolas with brick dust and
olive oil; the servants, still in rough working clothes, sweeping the
steps, and trimming off the charred hemp-wicks of torches that had been
used in the night; the single woman's voice far overhead that broke the
silence of some narrow way, singing its song for sheer gladness of an
idle heart; it was all as it used to be, and Pasquale had a dim
consciousness that he loved it better than his dreary little den in
Murano, and better than his Sunday walk as far as San Donato, when all
the handsome women and pretty girls of the smaller people were laughing
away the cool hours and showing off their little fineries. It was but a
vague suggestion of a sentiment with him, and no more. He knew that he
should starve if he came back to Venice, and what was the pleasant smell
of the cabbage stalks and water-melons that it should compare with the
security of daily bread and lodging, with some money to spare, and two
suits of clothes every year, which his master gave him in return for
keeping a single door shut?
He pushed out upon the Grand Canal, where as yet there were few boats
and no gondolas at all, and soon he turned the corner of the Salute and
rowed out slowly upon the Giudecca, where the merchant vessels lay at
anchor, large and small, galliots and feluccas and many a broad
'trabacolo' from the Istrian coast, with huge spreading bows, and hawse
ports painted scarlet like great red eyes. The old sailor's heart was
gladdened by the sight of them, and as he rested on his single oar, he
gently cursed the land, and all landlocked places, and rivers and fresh
water, and all lakes and inland canals, and wished himself once more on
the high seas with a stout vessel, a lazy captain, a dozen hard-fisted
shipmates and a quarter of a century less to his account of years.
He had been dreaming a little, and now he bent to the oar again and sent
the skiff quietly along by the pier, looking out for any idle seamen who
might be led into conversation. Before long he spied a couple, sitting
on the edge of the stones near some steps and fishing with long canes.
He passed them, of course, without looking at them, lest they should
suspect that he had come their way purposely, and he made the skiff fast
by the stair, after which he sat down on a thwart and stared vacantly at
things in general, being careful not to bestow a glance on the two men.
Presently one of them caught a small fish, and Pasquale judged that the
moment for scraping an acquaintance had begun. He turned his head and
watched how the man unhooked the fish and dropped it flapping into a
basket made of half-dried rushes.
"There are no whales in the canal," he observed. "There are not even
tunny fish. But what there is, it seems that you know how to catch."
"I do what I can, according to my little skill," answered the man. "It
passes the time, and then it is always something to eat with the
bread."
"Yes," Pasquale answered. "A roasted fish on bread with a little oil is
very savoury. As for passing the time, I suppose that you are looking
for a ship."
"Of course," the man replied. "If we had a ship we should not be here
fishing! It is a bad time of the year, you must know, for most of the
Venetian vessels are at sea, and we do not care to ship with any
Neapolitan captain who chances to have starved some of his crew to
death!"
"I have heard of a rich Greek merchant captain who has been in Venice
some time," observed Pasquale carelessly. "He will be looking out for a
crew before long."
"Is Captain Aristarchi going to sea at last?" asked the man who had not
spoken yet. "Or do you mean some other captain?"
"That is the name, I believe," said Pasquale. "It was an outlandish name
like that. Do you ever see him about the docks? I saw him once, a piece
of man, I tell you, with bones like a bull and a face like a bear."
"He is not often seen," answered the man who had spoken last. "That is
his ship; over there, between the 'trabacolo' and the dismasted hulk."
"I see her," returned Pasquale at once. "A thorough Greek she is, too,
by her looks, but well kept enough if she is only, waiting for a cargo,
with two or three hands on board."
The men laughed a little at Pasquale's ignorance concerning the vessel.
"She has a full crew," said one. "She is always ready for sea at any
moment, with provisions and water. No one can understand what the
captain means, nor why he is here, nor why he is willing to pay twenty
men for doing nothing."
"Does the captain live on board of her?" inquired Pasquale
indifferently.
"Not he! He is amusing himself in Venice. He has hired a house by the
month, not far from the Baker's Bridge, and there he has been living for
a long time."
"He must be very rich," observed Pasquale, who had found out what he
wished to know, but was too wise to let the conversation drop too
abruptly. "From what you say, however, he needs no more hands on his
vessel," he added.
"It is not for us," answered the man. "We will ship with a captain we
know, and with shipmates from our own country, who are Christians and
understand the compass."
This he said because all sea-going vessels did not carry a compass in
those days.
"And until we can pick up a ship we like," added the other man, "we will
live on bread and water, and if we can catch a fish now and then in the
canal, so much the better."
Pasquale cast off the bit of line that moored his skiff, shipped his
single oar, and with a parting word to the men, he pushed off.
"You are quite right!" he said. "Eh! A roast fish is a savoury thing."
They nodded to him and again became intent on their pastime. Pasquale
rowed faster than before, and he passed close under the stern of the
Greek vessel. The mate was leaning over the taffrail under the poop
awning. He was dressed in baggy garments of spotless white, his big blue
cap was stuck far back on his head, and his strong brown arms were bare
to the elbow. He looked as broad as he was long.
"Is the captain on board, sir?" asked Pasquale, at a venture, but
looking at the mate with interest.
He expected that he would answer the question in the negative, by
sticking out his jaw and throwing his head a little backward. To his
surprise the mate returned his gaze a moment, and then stood upright.
"Keep under the counter," he said in fairly good Italian. "I will go and
see if the captain is in his cabin."
Pasquale waited, and in a few moments the mate returned, dropped a
Jacob's ladder over the taffrail and made it fast on board. Pasquale
hitched the painter of the skiff to the end that hung down, and went up
easily enough in spite of his age and stiffened joints. He climbed over
the rail and stood beside the mate. The instant his feet touched the
white deck he wished he had put on his Sunday hose and his clean shirt.
He touched his cap, as he assuredly would not have done ashore, to any
one but his master.
"You seem to have been a sailor," said the Greek mate, in an approving
tone.
"Yes, sir," answered Pasquale. "Is Zorzi still safe?"
"The captain will tell you about Zorzi," was the mate's answer, as he
led the way.
Aristarchi was seated with one leg under him on a inroad transom over
which was spread a priceless Persian silk carpet, such as the richest
patrician in Venice would have hung on the wall like a tapestry of great
value. He looked at Pasquale, and the latter heard the door shut behind
him. At the same instant a well-known voice greeted him by name, as
Zorzi himself appeared from the inner cabin.
"I did not expect to find you so soon," said the porter with a growl of
satisfaction.
"I wish you had found him sooner," laughed Aristarchi carelessly. "And
since you are here, I hope you will carry him off with you and never let
me see his face again, till all this disturbance is over! I would rather
have carried off the Doge himself, with his precious velvet night-cap on
his head, than have taken this fellow the other night. All Venice is
after him. I was just going to drown him, to get rid of him."
There was a sort of savage good-nature in the Greek's tone which was
reassuring, in spite of his ferocious looks and words.
"You would have been hanged if you had," observed Pasquale in answer to
the last words.
Zorzi was evidently none the worse for what had happened to him since
his arrest and unexpected liberation. He was not of the sort that suffer
by the imagination when there is real danger, for he had plenty of good
sense. Pasquale told him that the master had returned.
"We knew it yesterday," Zorzi answered. "The captain seems to know
everything."
"Listen to me, friend porter," Aristarchi said. "If you will take this
young fellow with you I shall be obliged to you. I took him from the
Governor's men out of mere kindness of heart, because I liked him the
first time I saw him, but the Ten are determined to get him into their
hands, and I have no fancy to go with him and answer for the half-dozen
crowns my mate and I broke in that frolic at Murano."
Pasquale's small eyes twinkled at the thought of the discomfited
archers.
"We have changed our lodgings three times since yesterday afternoon,"
continued Aristarchi, "and I am tired of carrying this lame
bottle-blower up and down rope ladders, when the Signors of the Night
are at the door. So drop him over the rail into your boat and let me
lead a peaceful life."
"Like an honest merchant captain as you are," added Pasquale with a
grin. "We have been anxious for you," he added, looking at Zorzi. "The
master is in Venice this morning, to see his friends on your behalf, I
think."
"If we go back openly," said Zorzi, "we may both be taken at any
moment."
"If they catch me," answered Pasquale, "they will heave me overboard. I
am not worth salting. But they need not catch either of us. Once in the
laboratory at Murano, they will never find you. That is the one place
where they will not look for you."
The mate put his head down through the small hatch overhead.
"I do not like the look of a boat that has just put off from Saint
George's," he said.
Aristarchi sprang to his feet.
"Pick him up and drop him into the porter's skiff," he said. "I am sick
of dancing with the fellow in my arms."
With incredible ease Aristarchi took Zorzi round the waist, mounted the
cabin table and passed him up through the hatch to the mate, who had
already brought him to the Jacob's ladder at the stern before Pasquale
could get there by the ordinary way.
"Quick, man!" said the mate, as the old sailor climbed over the rail.
At the same time he slipped the bight of short rope round Zorzi's body
under his arms and got a turn round the rail with both parts, so as to
lower him easily. Zorzi helped himself as well as he could, and in a few
moments he was lying in the bottom of the skiff, covered with a piece of
sacking which the mate threw down, the rope ladder was hauled up and
disappeared, and when Pasquale glanced back as he rowed slowly away, the
mate was leaning over the taffrail in an attitude of easy unconcern.
The old porter had smuggled more than one bale of rich goods ashore in
his young days, for a captain who had a dislike of the customs, and he
knew that his chance of safety lay not in speed, but in showing a cool
indifference. He might have dropped down the Giudecca at a good rate,
for the tide was fair, but he preferred a direction that would take him
right across the course of the boat which the mate had seen coming, as
if he were on his way to the Lido.
The officer of the Ten, with four men in plain brown coats and leathern
belts, sat in the stern of the eight-oared launch that swept swiftly
past the skiff towards the vessels at anchor. Pasquale rested on his oar
a moment and turned to look, with an air of interest that would have
disarmed any suspicions the officer might have entertained. But he had
none, and did not bestow a second glance on the little craft with its
shabby oarsman. Then Pasquale began to row again, with a long even
stroke that had no air of haste about it, but which kept the skiff at a
good speed. When he saw that he was out of hearing of other boats, and
heading for the Lido, he began to tell what he intended to do next, in a
low monotonous tone, glancing down now and then at Zorzi's face that
cautiously peered at him out from the folds of the sackcloth.
"I will tell you when to cover yourself," he said, speaking at the
horizon. "We shall have to spend the day under one of the islands. I
have some bread and cheese and water, and there are onions. When it is
night I will just slip into our canal at Murano, and you can sleep in
the laboratory, as if you had never left it."
"If they find me there, they cannot say that I am hiding," said Zorzi
with a low laugh.
"Lie low," said Pasquale softly. "There is a boat coming."
For ten minutes neither spoke, and Zorzi lay quite still, covering his
face. When the danger was past Pasquale began to talk again, and told
him all he himself knew of what had happened, which was not much, but
which included the assurance that the master was for him, and had turned
against Giovanni.
"As for me," said Zorzi, by and by, when they were moored to a stake,
far out in the lagoon, "I was whirled from place to place by those two
men, till I did not know where I was. When they first carried me off,
they made me lie in the bottom of their boat as I am lying now, and they
took me to a house somewhere near the Baker's Bridge. Do you know the
house of the Agnus Dei?"
Pasquale grunted.
"It was not far from that," Zorzi continued. "Aristarchi lives there.
The mate went back to the ship, I suppose, and Aristarchi's servant gave
us supper. Then we slept quietly till morning and I stayed there all
day, but Aristarchi thought it would not be safe to keep me in his house
the next night--that was last night. He said he feared that a certain
lady had guessed where I was. He is a mysterious individual, this Greek!
So I was taken somewhere else in the bottom of a boat, after dark. I do
not know where it was, but I think it must have been the garret of some
tavern where they play dice. After midnight I heard a great commotion
below me, and presently Aristarchi appeared at the window with a rope.
He always seems to have a coil of rope within reach! He tied me to
him--it was like being tied to a wild horse--and he got us safely down
from the window to the boat again, and the mate was in it, and they took
me to the ship faster than I was ever rowed in my life. You know the
rest."
All through the long July day they lay in the fierce sun, shading
themselves with the sacking as best they could. But when it was dark at
last, Pasquale cast off and headed the skiff for Murano.