Jacopo Contarini's luck at dice had changed of late, and his friends no
longer spoke of losing like him, but of winning as he did, on almost
every throw.
"Nevertheless," said the big Foscari to Zuan Venier, "his love affairs
seem to prosper! The Georgian is as beautiful as ever, and he is going
to marry a rich wife."
It was the afternoon of the day on which Zorzi had left Aristarchi's
ship, and the two patricians were lounging in the shady Merceria, where
the overhanging balconies of the wooden houses almost met above, and the
merchants sat below in the windows of their deep shops, on the little
platforms which were at once counters and window-sills. The street smelt
of Eastern silks and Spanish leather, and of the Egyptian pastils which
the merchants of perfumery continually burnt in order to attract custom.
"I am not qualmish," answered Venier languidly, "yet it sickens me to
think of the life Jacopo means to lead. I am sorry for the glass-maker's
daughter."
Foscari laughed carelessly. The idea that a woman should be looked upon
as anything more than a slave or an object of prey had never occurred to
him. But Venier did not smile.
"Since we speak of glass-makers," he said, "Jacopo is doing his best to
get that unlucky Dalmatian imprisoned and banished. Old Beroviero came
to see me this morning and told me a long story about it, which I cannot
possibly remember; but it seems to me--you understand!"
He spoke in low tones, for the Merceria was crowded. Foscari, who was
one of those who took most seriously the ceremonial of the secret
society, while not caring a straw for its political side, looked very
grave.
"It is of no use to say that the poor fellow is only a glass-blower,"
Venier continued. "There are men besides patricians in the world, and
good men, too. I mean to tell Contarini what I think of it to-night."
"I will, too," said Foscari at once.
"And I intend to use all the influence my family has, to obtain a fair
hearing for the Dalmatian. I hope you will help me. Amongst us we can
reach every one of the Council of Ten, except old Contarini, who has the
soul of a school-master and the intelligence of a crab. If I did not
like the fellow, I suppose I should let him be hanged several times
rather than take so much trouble. Sins of omission are my strongest
point. I have always surprised my confessor at Easter by the
extraordinary number of things I have left undone."
"I daresay," laughed Foscari, "but I remember that you were not too
lazy to save me from drowning when I fell into the Grand Canal in
carnival."
"I forgot that the water was so cold," said Venier. "If I had guessed
how chilly it was, I should certainly not have pulled you out. There is
old Hossein at his window. Let us go in and drink sherbet."
"We shall find Mocenigo and Loredan there," answered Foscari. "They
shall promise to help the glass-blower, too."
They nodded to the Persian merchant, who saluted them by extending his
hand towards the ground as if to take up dust, and then bringing it to
his forehead. He was very fat, and his pear-shaped face might have been
carved out of white cheese. The two young men went in by a small door at
the side of the window-counter and disappeared into the interior. At the
back of the shop there was a private room with a latticed window that
looked out upon a narrow canal. It was one of many places where the
young Venetians met in the afternoon to play at dice undisturbed, on
pretence of examining Hossein's splendid carpets and Oriental silks.
Moreover Hossein's wife, always invisible but ever near, had a
marvellous gift for making fruit sherbets, cooled with the snow that was
brought down daily from the mountains on the mainland in dripping bales
covered with straw matting.
Loredan and Mocenigo were already there, as Foscari had anticipated,
eating pistachio nuts and sipping sherbet through rice straws out of
tall glasses from Murano. It was a very safe place, for Hossein's
knowledge of the Italian language was of a purely commercial character,
embracing every numeral and fraction, common or uncommon, and the names
of all the hundreds of foreign coins that passed current in Venice,
together with half-a-dozen necessary phrases; and his invisible but
occasionally audible wife understood no Italian at all. Also, Hossein
was always willing to lend any young patrician money with which to pay
his losses, at the modest rate of seven ducats to be paid every week for
the use of each hundred; which one of the youths, who had a turn for
arithmetic, had discovered to be only about 364 per cent yearly, whereas
Casadio, the Hebrew, had a method of his own by which he managed to get
about 580. It was therefore a real economy to frequent Hossein's shop.
In spite of his pretended forgetfulness, Venier remembered every word
that Beroviero had told him, and indolently as he talked, his whole
nature was roused to defend Zorzi. In his heart he despised Contarini,
and hoped that his marriage might never take place, for he was sincerely
sorry for Marietta; but it was Jacopo's behaviour towards Zorzi that
called forth his wrath, it was the man's disdainful assumption that
because Zorzi was not a patrician, the oath to defend every companion of
the society was not binding where he was concerned; it was the insolent
certainty that the others should all be glad to be rid of the poor
Dalmatian, who after all had not troubled them over-much with his
company. On that very evening they were to meet at the house of the
Agnus Dei, and Venier was determined to speak his mind. When he chose
to exert himself, his influence over his companions was very great, if
not supreme.
He soon brought Mocenigo and Loredan to share his opinion and to promise
the support of all their many relations in Zorzi's favour, and the four
began to play, for lack of anything better to do. Before long others of
the society came in, and as each arrived Venier, who only played in
order not to seem as unsociable as he generally felt, set down the dice
box to gain over a new ally. An hour had passed when Contarini himself
appeared, even more magnificent than usual, his beautiful waving beard
most carefully trimmed and combed as if to show it to its greatest
advantage against the purple silk of a surcoat cut in a new fashion and
which he was wearing for the first time. His white hands were splendid
with jewelled rings, and he wore at his belt a large wallet-purse
embroidered in Constantinople before the coming of the Turks and adorned
with three enamelled images of saints. Hossein himself ushered him in,
as if he were the guest of honour, as the Persian merchant indeed
considered him, for none of the others had ever paid him half so many
seven weekly ducats for money borrowed in all their lives, as Jacopo had
often paid in a single year.
There are men whom no one respects very highly, who are not sincerely
trusted, whose honour is not spotless and whose ways are far from
straight, but who nevertheless hold a certain ascendancy over others, by
mere show and assurance. When Contarini entered a place where many were
gathered together, there was almost always a little hush in the talk,
followed by a murmur that was pleasant in his ear. No one paused to look
at Zuan Venier when he came into a room, though there was not one of his
friends who would not have gone to him in danger or difficulty, without
so much as thinking of Contarini as a possible helper in trouble. But it
was almost impossible not to feel a sort of artistic surprise at
Jacopo's extraordinary beauty of face and figure, if not at the splendid
garments in which he delighted to array himself.
It was with a slight condescension that he greeted the group of players,
some of whom at once made a place for him at the table. They had been
ready enough to stand by Venier against him in Zorzi's defence, but
unless Venier led the way, there was not one of them who would think of
opposing him, or taking him to task for what was very like a betrayal.
Venier returned his greeting with some coldness, which Contarini hardly
noticed, as his reception by the others had been sufficiently
flattering. Then they began to play.
Jacopo won from the first. Foscari bent his heavy eyebrows and tugged at
his beard angrily, as he lost one throw after another; the cold sweat
stood on Mocenigo's forehead in beads, as he risked more and more, and
Loredan's hand trembled when it was his turn to take up the dice box
against Contarini; for they played a game in which each threw against
all the rest in succession.
"You cannot say that the dice are loaded," laughed Contarini at last,
"for they are your own!"
"The delicacy of the thought is only exceeded by the good taste that
expresses it," observed Venier.
"You are sarcastic, my friend," answered Jacopo, shaking the dice. "It
is your turn with me."
Jacopo threw first. Venier followed him and lost.
"That is my last throw," he said, as he pushed the remains of his small
heap of gold across to Contarini. "I have no more money to-day, nor
shall I have to-morrow."
"Hossein has plenty," suggested Foscari, who hoped that Contarini's luck
would desert him before long.
"At this rate you will need all he has," returned Venier with a careless
laugh.
Before long more than one of the players was obliged to call in the
ever-complacent Persian merchant, and the heap of gold grew in front of
Jacopo, till he could hardly keep it together.
"It is true that you have been losing for years," said Mocenigo, trying
to laugh, "but we did not think you would win back all your losses in a
day."
"You shall have your revenge to-night," answered Contarini, rising. "I
am expected at a friend's house at this hour."
His large wallet was so full of gold that he could hardly draw the
strong silken strings together and tie them.
"A friend's house!" laughed Loredan, who had lost somewhat less than the
others. "It would give us much delight to know the colour of the lady's
hair!"
To this Contarini answered only by a smile, which was not devoid of
satisfaction.
"Take care!" said Foscari, gloomily contemplating the bare table before
him, over which so much of his good gold had slipped away. "Take care!
Luck at play, mischance in love, says the proverb."
"Oh! In that case I congratulate you, my dear friend!" returned
Contarini gaily.
The others laughed at the retort, and the party broke up, though all did
not go at once. Venier went out alone, while two or three walked with
Contarini to his gondola. The rest stayed behind in the shop and made
old Hossein unroll his choicest carpets and show them his most precious
embroideries, though he protested that it was already much too dark to
appreciate such choice things. But they did not wish to be seen coming
away in a body, for such playing was very strictly forbidden, and the
spies of the Ten were everywhere.
Contarini dismissed his gondola at the house of the Agnus Dei, and was
admitted by the trusted servant who had once taken a message to Zorzi.
He found Arisa waiting for him in her favourite place by the open
window, and the glow of the setting sun made little fires in her golden
hair. She could tell by his face that he had been fortunate at play, and
her smile was very soft and winning. As he sank down beside her in the
luxurious silence of satisfaction, her fingers were stealthily trying
the weight of his laden wallet. She could not lift it with one hand. She
smiled again, as she thought how easily Aristarchi would carry the money
in his teeth, well tied and knotted in a kerchief, when he slipped down
the silk rope from her window, though it would be much wiser to exchange
it for pearls and diamonds which Contarini might see and admire, and
which she could easily take with her in her final flight.
He trusted her, too, in his careless way, and that night, when he was
ready to go down and admit his companions, he would empty most of the
gold into a little coffer in which he often left the key, taking but
just enough to play with, and almost sure of winning more.
She was very gentle on that evening, when the sun had gone down, and
they sat in the deepening dusk, and she spoke sadly of not seeing him
for several hours. It would be so lonely, she said, and since he could
play in the daytime, why should he give up half of one precious night to
those tiresome dice? He laughed indolently, pleased that she should not
even suspect the real object of the meetings.
By and by, when it was an hour after dark, and they had eaten of
delicate things which a silent old woman brought them on small silver
platters, Contarini went down to let in his guests, and Arisa was alone,
as usual on such evenings. For a long time she lay quite still among the
cushions, in the dark, for Jacopo had taken the light with him. She
loved to be in darkness, as she always told him, and for very good
reasons, and she had so accustomed herself to it as to see almost as
well as Aristarchi himself, for whom she was waiting.
At last she heard the expected signal of his coming, the soft and
repeated splashing of an oar in the water just below the window. In a
moment she was in the inner room, to receive him in her straining arms,
longing to be half crushed to death in his. But to-night, even as he
held her in the first embrace of meeting, she felt that something had
happened, and that there was a change in him. She drew him to the little
light that burned in her chamber before the image, and looked into his
face, terrified at the thought of what she might see there. He smiled at
her and raised his shaggy eyebrows as if to ask if she really distrusted
him.
"Yes," he said, nodding his big head slowly, "something has happened.
You are quick at guessing. We are going to-night. There is moonlight and
the tide will serve in two or three hours. Get ready what you need and
put together the jewels and the money."
"To-night!" cried Arisa, very much surprised. "To-night? Do you really
mean it?"
"Yes. I am in earnest. Michael has emptied my house of all my belongings
to-day and has taken the keys back to the owner. We have plenty of time,
for I suppose those overgrown boys are playing at dice downstairs, and I
think I shall take leave of Contarini in person."
"You are capable of anything!" laughed Arisa. "I should like to see you
tear him into little strips, so that every shred should keep alive to be
tortured!"
"How amiable! What gentle thoughts you have! Indeed, you women are sweet
creatures!"
With her small white hand she jestingly pretended to box his huge ears.
"You would be well paid if I refused to go with you," she said with a
low laugh. "But I should like to know why you have decided so suddenly.
What is the matter? What is to become of all our plans, and of
Contarini's marriage? Tell me quickly!"
"I have had a visit from an officer of the Ten to-day," he said. "The
Ten send me greeting, as it were, and their service, and kindly invite
me to leave Venice within twenty-four hours. As the Ten are the only
persons in Venice for whom I have the smallest respect, I shall show it
by accepting their invitation."
"But why? What have you done?"
"Of course it is not a serious matter to give a sound beating to an
officer of justice and six of his men," answered Aristarchi, "but it is
not the custom here, and they suspect me of having done it. To tell the
truth, I think I am hardly treated. I have sent Zorzi back to Murano,
and if the Ten have the sense to look for him where he has been living
for five years, they will find him at once, at work in that stifling
furnace-room. But I fancy that is too simple for them."
He told her how Pasquale had come in the morning, and how the officer
who had been in pursuit of him had searched the ship for Zorzi in vain.
The order to leave Venice had come an hour later. The anchors were now
up, and the vessel was riding to a kedge by a light hawser, well out in
the channel. As soon as Arisa could be brought on board Aristarchi meant
to make sail, for the strong offshore breeze would blow all night.
"We may as well leave nothing behind," said Aristarchi coolly. "Michael
will wait for us below, in one of the ship's boats. There is room for
all Contarini's possessions, if we could only get at them."
"Would it not be better to be content with what we have already, and to
go at once?" asked Arisa rather timidly.
"No," replied Aristarchi. "I am going to say good-bye to your old friend
in my own way."
"Do you mean to kill him?" asked Arisa in a whisper, though it was quite
safe for them to talk in natural tones. "I could go behind him and throw
something over his head."
Aristarchi grinned, and pressed her beautiful head to his breast,
caressing her with his rough hands.
"You are as bloodthirsty as a little tigress," he said. "No. I do not
even mean to hurt him."
"Oh, I hoped you would," answered the Georgian woman. "I have hated him
so long. Will you not kill him, just to please me? We could wind him in
a sheet with a weight, you know, and drop him into the canal, and no one
would ever know. I have often thought of it."
"Have you, my gentle little sweetheart?" Aristarchi chuckled with
delight as he stroked her hair. "I am sorry," he continued. "The fact
is, I am not a Georgian like you. I have been brought up among people of
civilisation, and I have scruples about killing any one. Besides, sweet
dove, if we were to kill the son of one of the Council of Ten, the
Council would pursue us wherever we went, for Venice is very powerful.
But the Ten will not lift a hand to revenge a good-for-nothing young
gamester whose slave has run away with her first love! Every one will
laugh at Contarini if he tries to get redress. It is better to laugh
than to be laughed at, it is better to be laughed at than to cry, it is
better to cry one's eyes blind than to be hanged."
Having delivered himself of these opinions Aristarchi began to look
about him for whatever might be worth the trouble of carrying off, and
Arisa collected all her jewels from the caskets in which they were kept,
and little bags of gold coins which she had hidden in different places.
She also lit a candle and brought Aristarchi to the small coffer in
which Contarini kept ready gold for play, and which was now more than
half full.
"The dowry of the glass-maker's daughter!" observed the Greek as he
carried it off.
There were small objects of gold and silver on the tables in the large
room, there was a dagger with a jewelled hilt, an illuminated mass book
in a chased silver case.
"You will need it on Sundays at sea," said Aristarchi.
"I cannot read," said the Georgian slave regretfully. "But it will be a
consolation to have the missal."
Aristarchi smiled and tossed the book upon the heap of things.
"It would be amusing to pay a visit to those young fools downstairs, and
to take all their money and leave them locked up for the night," he
said, as if a thought had struck him.
"There are too many of them," answered Arisa, laying her hand anxiously
upon his arm. "And they are all armed. Please do nothing so foolish."
"If they are all like Contarini, I do not mind twenty of them or so,"
laughed Aristarchi. "They must have more than a thousand gold ducats
amongst them. That would be worth taking."
"They are not all like Contarini," said Arisa. "There is Zuan Venier,
for instance."
"Zuan Venier? Is he one of them? I have heard of him. I should like to
see whether he could be frightened, for they say it is impossible."
Aristarchi scratched his head, pushing his shaggy hair forward over his
forehead, as he tried to think of an effectual scheme for producing the
desired result.
"The Ten might pursue us for that, as well as for a murder," said Arisa.
Meanwhile the friends assembled in the room downstairs had been occupied
for a long time in hearing what Zuan Venier had to say to Jacopo
Contarini, concerning the latter's treatment of Zorzi. For Venier had
kept his word, and as soon as all were present he had boldly spoken his
mind, in a tone which his friends were not accustomed to hear. At first
Contarini had answered with offended surprise, asking what concern it
could be of Venier's whether a miserable glass-blower were exiled or
not, and he appealed to the others, asking whether it would not be far
better for them all that such an outsider as Zorzi should be banished
from Venice. But Venier retorted that the Dalmatian had taken the same
oath as the rest of the company, that he was an honest man, besides
being a great artist as his master asseverated, and that he had the same
right to the protection of each and all of them as Contarini himself. To
the latter's astonishment this speech was received with unanimous
approbation, and every man present, except Contarini, promised his help
and that of his family, so far as he might obtain it.
"I have advised Beroviero," Venier then continued, "if he can find the
young artist, to make him go before the Council of Ten of his own free
will, taking some of his works with him. And now that this question is
settled, I propose to you all that our society cease to have any
political or revolutionary aim whatever, for I am of opinion that we are
risking our necks for a game at dice and for nothing else, which is
childish. The only liberty we are vindicating, so far as I can see, is
that of gaming as much as we please, and if we do that, and nothing
more, we shall certainly not go between the red columns for it. A fine
or a few months of banishment to the mainland would be the worst that
could happen. As things are now, we are not only in danger of losing
our heads at any moment, which is an affair of merely relative
importance, but we may be tempted to make light of a solemn promise,
which seems to me a very grave matter."
Thereupon Venier looked round the table, and almost all the men were of
his opinion. Contarini flushed angrily, but he knew himself to be in the
wrong and though he was no coward, he had not the sort of temper that
faces opposition for its own sake. He therefore began to rattle the dice
in the box as a hint to all that the discussion was at an end.
But his good fortune seemed gone, and instead of winning at almost every
throw, as he had won in the afternoon, he soon found that he had almost
exhausted the heap of gold he had laid on the table, and which he had
thought more than enough. He staked the remainder with Foscari, who won
it at a cast, and laughed.
"You offered us our revenge," said the big man. "We mean to take it!"
But though Contarini was not a good fighter, he was a good gamester, and
never allowed himself to be disturbed by ill-luck. He joined in the
laugh and rose from the table.
"You must forgive me," he said, "if I leave you for a moment. I must
fill my purse before I play again."
"Do not stay too long!" laughed Loredan. "If you do, we shall come and
get you, and then we shall know the colour of the lady's hair."
Contarini laughed as he went to the door, opened it and stealthily set
the key in the lock on the outside.
"I shall lock you in while I am gone!" he cried. "You are far too
inquisitive!"
Laughing gaily he turned the key on the whole company, and he heard
their answering laughter as he went away, for they accepted the jest,
and continued playing.
He entered the large room upstairs, just as Aristarchi had finished
tying up the heavy bundle in the inner chamber. Arisa heard the
well-known footstep, and placed one hand over Aristarchi's mouth, lest
he should speak, while the other pointed to the curtained door. The
Greek held his breath.
"Arisa! Arisa!" Contarini called out. "Bring me a light, sweetest!"
Without hesitation Arisa took the lighted candle, and making a gesture
of warning to Aristarchi went quickly to the other room. The Greek crept
towards the door, the big veins standing out like knots on his rugged
temples, his great hands opened wide, with the tips of the fingers a
little turned in. He was like a wrestler ready to get his hold with a
spring.
"I want some more money," Contarini was saying, in explanation. "They
said they would follow me if I stayed too long, so I have locked them
in! I think I shall keep them waiting a while. What do you say, love?"
He laughed again, aloud, and on the other side of the curtain Aristarchi
grinned from ear to ear and noiselessly loosened the black sash he wore
round his waist. For once in his life, as Zorzi would have said, he had
not a coil of rope at hand when he needed it, but the sash was strong
and would serve the purpose. He pushed the curtain aside, a very little,
in order to see before springing.
Contarini stood half turned away from the door, clasping Arisa to his
breast and kissing her hair. The next moment he was sprawling on the
floor, face downwards, and Arisa was pressing one of the soft cushions
from the divan upon his head to smother his cries, while Aristarchi
bound his hands firmly together behind him with one end of the long
sash, and in spite of his desperate struggle got a turn with the rest
round both his feet, drew them back as far as he could and hitched the
end twice. Jacopo was now perfectly helpless, but he was not yet dumb.
Aristarchi had brought his tools with him, in the bosom of his doublet.
Kneeling on Contarini's shoulders he took out a small iron instrument,
shaped exactly like a pear, but which by a screw, placed where the stem
would be, could be made to open out in four parts that spread like the
petals of a flower. Arisa looked on with savage interest, for she
believed that it was some horrible instrument of torture; and indeed it
was the iron gag, the 'pear of anguish,' which the torturers used in
those days, to silence those whom they called their patients.
Holding the instrument closed, Aristarchi pushed his hand under the
cushion. He knew that Contarini's mouth would be open, as he must be
half suffocated and gasping for breath. In an instant the iron pear had
slipped between his teeth and had opened its relentless leaves, obedient
to the screw.
"Take the pillow away," said Aristarchi quietly. "We can say good-bye to
your old acquaintance now, but he will have to content himself with
nodding his head in a friendly way."
He turned the helpless man upon his side, for owing to the position of
his heels and hands Contarini could not lie on his back. Then Aristarchi
set the candle on the floor near his face and looked at him and indulged
himself in a low laugh. Contarini's face was deep red with rage and
suffocation, and his beautiful brown eyes were starting from their
sockets with a terror which increased when he saw far the first time the
man with whom he had to deal, or rather who was about to deal with him,
and most probably without mercy. Then he caught sight of Arisa, smiling
at him, but not as she had been wont to smile. Aristarchi spoke at last,
in an easy, reassuring tone.
"My friend," he said, "I am not going to hurt you any more. You may
think it strange, but I really shall not kill you. Arisa and I have
loved each other for a long time, and since she has lived here, I have
come to her almost every night. I know your house almost as well as you
do, and you have kindly told me that your friends are all looked in. We
shall therefore not have the trouble of leaving by the window, since we
can go out by the front door, where my boat will be waiting for us. You
will never see us again."
Contarini's eyes rolled wildly, and still Arisa smiled.
"You have made him suffer," she said. "He loved me."
"Before we go," continued the Greek, folding his arms and looking down
upon his miserable enemy, "I think it fair to warn you that under the
praying-stool in Arisa's room there is an air shaft through which we
have heard all your conversation, during these secret meetings of yours.
If you try to pursue us, I shall send information to the Ten, which will
cut off most of your heads. As they are so empty it might seem to be
scarcely worth while to take them, but the Ten know best. I can rely on
your discretion. If I were not sure of it I would accede to this dear
lady's urgent request and cut you up into small pieces."
Contarini writhed and sputtered, but could make no sound.
"I promised not to hurt you any more, my friend, and I am a man of my
word. But I have long admired your hair and beard. You see I was in
Saint Mark's when you went there to meet the glass-maker's daughter, and
I have seen you at other times. I should be sorry never to see such a
beautiful beard again, so I mean to take it with me, and if you will
keep quiet, I shall really not hurt you."
Thereupon he produced from his doublet a bright pair of shears, and
knelt down by the wretched man's head. Contarini twisted himself as be
might and tried instinctively to draw his head away.
"I have heard that pirates sometimes accidentally cut off a prisoner's
ear," said Aristarchi. "If you will not move, I am quite sure that I
shall not be so awkward as to do that."
Contarini now lay motionless, and Aristarchi went to work. With the
utmost neatness he cropped off the silky hair, so close to Jacopo's
skull that it almost looked as if it had been shaved with a razor. In
the same way he clipped the splendid beard away, and even the brown
eyebrows, till there was not a hair left on Contarini's head or face.
Then he contemplated his work, and laughed at the weak jaw and the
womanish mouth.
"You look like an ugly woman in man's clothes," he said, by way of
consoling his victim.
He rose now, for he feared lest Contarini's friends might break open the
door downstairs. He shouldered the heavy bundle with ease, set his blue
cap on the back of his head and bade Arisa go with him. She had her
mantle ready, but she could not resist casting delighted glances at her
late owner's face. Before going, she knelt down one moment by his side,
and inclined her face to his, with a very loving gaze. Lower and lower
she bent, as if she would give him a parting kiss, till Aristarchi
uttered an exclamation. Then she laughed cruelly, and with the back of
her hand struck the lips that had so often touched her own.
A few moments later Aristarchi had placed her in his boat, the heavy
bundle of spoils lay at her feet, and the craft shot swiftly from the
door of the house of the Agnus Dei. For Michael Pandos, the mate, had
been waiting under the window, and a stroke of the oars brought him to
the steps.
In the closed room where the friends were playing dice, there began to
be some astonishment at the time needed by Jacopo to replenish his
purse. When more than half an hour had passed one pair stopped playing,
and then another, until they were all listening for some sound in the
silent house. The perfect stillness had something alarming in it, and
none of them fully trusted Contarini.
"I think," said Venier with all his habitual indolence, "that it is time
to ascertain the colour of the lady's hair. Can you break the lock?"
He spoke to Foscari, who nodded and went to the door with two or three
others. In a few seconds it flew open before their combined attack, and
they almost lost their balance as they staggered out into the dark hall.
The rest brought lights and they all began to go up the stairs together.
The first to enter the room was Foscari. Venier, always indifferent, was
among the last.
Foscari started at the extraordinary sight of a man in magnificent
clothes, lying on one shoulder, with his heels tied up to his hands and
his shorn head and face moving slowly from side to side in the bright
light of the wax candle that stood on the floor. The other men crowded
into the room, but at first no one recognised the master of the house.
Then all at once Foscari saw the rings on his fingers.
"It is Contarini," he cried, "and somebody has shaved his head!"
He burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, in which the others
joined, till the house rang again, and the banished servants came
running down to see what was the matter.
Only Zuan Venier, a compassionate smile on his face, knelt beside
Contarini and carefully withdrew the iron gag from his mouth.
At the same instant Aristarchi's hatchet chopped through the hawser by
which his vessel was riding, and he took the helm himself to steer her
out through the narrow channel before the wind.