Act of Faith (16 page)

It was an old city, as old as London, but now a little past its prime. Signora Contarini wouldn’t have approved of it at all. The houses seemed heaped up on top of one another, as if at any moment they might collapse into the narrow laneways below. Everything here — the cobbled Roman roads, the carts heading to market, even the houses — faced towards the harbour and the busy quay.

So did we.

We left the horses at a water trough and walked to the wharf. Dozens of ships and even more fishing boats filled the harbour; some swaying at anchor, others getting ready to dock or sail.

‘It’s incredible,’ said Willem.

‘
La Superba
,’ I said. ‘That’s what they call it.’

‘Don’t know about that,’ said Willem. ‘But have you ever seen so many masts? It’s a forest.’

‘How will we ever find them?’

‘We’ll have to ask at every ship, every boatman,’ he said.

‘It’ll take forever.’

Willem slapped my arm. He did that a lot more often now I was dressed in boy’s clothes — and seemed to enjoy it a great deal, too.

‘We didn’t come all this way for the sea air,’ he said. ‘We just need a shipping agent.’

I cast my mind back to those final frantic days in London and silly, stalwart Justinian Jonson. ‘Do you know how to find one?’

‘Of course. We use them for sending books to England.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ I said. ‘Which books?’

‘Don’t worry about that now,’ he said, and pulled at my arm. ‘Come on.’

We walked past the low, stone buildings that edged the quay. Willem knocked on one door. No answer. He tried another shuttered window — no luck.

A head peered out of the window at the place next door. The sign above read: ‘Rodrigo, R., Safe Passage for Travellers and Freight.’

‘Hello!’ I shouted.

We heard the door slam and lock fast.

Willem knocked hard. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, making a brave attempt at a kind of Italian, though possibly not a dialect ever heard in these parts before — or anywhere else, for that matter.

‘Are you an agent?’ I asked through the door.

‘We’re closed. Holy day.’

‘Can you help us?’

‘You’re too late.’

‘We need a ship,’ Willem said, his mouth right up against the lock.

‘Tomorrow, tomorrow.’

Then nothing.

We stood staring at the door for a few minutes, and then looked around to find that every building on the quay was shuttered and locked for the day.

‘He knows something,’ I said. ‘Why did he say we were too late?’

‘We’ll try again in the morning,’ said Willem. ‘Let’s find somewhere to stay.’

‘But —’

‘I’ll ask around in the taverns, later on,’ he cut in. ‘But we really need to sleep, wash, and find something to eat. Besides, nobody will want to help us as we are — covered in dirt and looking a little mad.’

I had to agree.

We found rooms in a smelly inn just near the waterfront. The innkeeper agreed to buy the horses, so Willem, suddenly wealthy, ordered a whole chicken for our supper and ate it faster than I’ve ever seen anybody eat in my life. Afterwards, he readied himself for a snooze by the fire.

‘I need some air,’ I said, grabbing my cloak.

‘It’s not safe,’ he said. ‘Women shouldn’t walk around foreign cities in the dark.’

‘You forget, nobody here knows I’m a woman.’

‘Please,’ he said. ‘This is not some little village.’

‘I’ll be fine. Back soon.’

I flung the cloak around my shoulders and stepped out into the night. It was gorgeous, with a pitch-black sky and only a few stars. Flaming torches at street corners lit my way as I wandered, my legs aching from so many days in the saddle. I stared at the dark outlines of buildings and tried to guess what they were. The cathedral was easy enough to spot. I ducked down a side street and headed back towards the harbour. It was dark, but I could just make out the glimmer of the sea at the end of the lane.

Someone grabbed me roughly, hard, one huge arm tight around me. He slammed me sideways into a wall. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Saw nothing but night-time and fear.

Then — a knife. At my throat. The blade angled onto my skin, so I could tell how incredibly sharp and swift it was.

A voice in my ear — a whisper. ‘I have a message for you.’

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

‘Go back the way you came. Return to Venice and stay there with the Jews and the women. You hear me?’

I blinked. ‘Who sent you?’ My voice came out hoarse and unfamiliar.

‘God.’

‘Personally?’

‘You blaspheme!’ He shook me hard. ‘Turn back. You have been warned.’

Footsteps clanged somewhere in the darkness.

‘Please,’ I whimpered.

He shoved me clear across the alley. I hit the opposite wall face first and fell, sprawling onto the cobblestones.

By the time I looked up, he was little more than a shadow sprinting alongside the cathedral wall; and there, running fast and low just behind him, was the unmistakable shape of the Crow.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Over breakfast, I told Willem about the strange man with the knife. I expected him to argue that we should turn back, take heed of the warning. Instead, he jumped to his feet and flung the curtains aside, glaring out at the sunrise.

‘How dare he!’

‘I suppose the Inquisition believes itself to be above the law,’ I said.

‘I’ll kill him,’ he said. ‘I’ll put my hands around his throat and —’

‘I don’t even know what he looked like,’ I said. ‘Anyway, we don’t want trouble. Not now.’

‘It’d be no trouble at all.’

‘I mean it,’ I said, not sure if I were more rattled by the attack or by Willem’s suddenly fierce expression. ‘We have to find Master de Aquila. That’s all that matters.’

He grabbed his cloak. ‘Then why are we sitting here?’

We were on the shipping agent’s doorstep just after dawn. He opened the doors at eight.

‘Get out of here,’ he said.

‘Good morning to you, too,’ said Willem, whose fury had cooled a little in the chill morning air. ‘Master Rodrigo?’

‘I can’t help you.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Never you mind.’

‘We’re looking for some friends of ours,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen them.’

‘A day or so ago,’ said Willem. ‘Four priests and an old Jew?’

‘What of it?’

‘They asked for passage,’ I said. ‘To where?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about.’

‘The priests,’ I pleaded. ‘You must know. Where were they bound?’

Rodrigo shrugged and resumed shuffling papers on a bench. He bent over and I could see the grease in his long, thin hair and the way his bald patch glistened in the weak morning sun. I walked to the window and gulped some air.

Behind me, Willem rattled the coins in his purse. ‘How much will it cost for you to remember?’

‘Some memories cannot be bought.’

Willem snorted.

‘Some thoughts belong only to God,’ said Rodrigo.

‘Then let me give you the chance to discuss them with Him,’ Willem snapped.

His dagger was out of its scabbard and at Rodrigo’s throat before I knew he’d moved.

Rodrigo took a moment to realise what was happening. ‘That’s not very friendly, young man.’

‘It’s the same welcome my friend received on our arrival here last night.’ There was real anger in Willem’s eyes.

‘Oh, well,’ Rodrigo said. ‘No old man is worth me losing my life.’ He held Willem’s gaze but pointed to the logbook.

I ran to the desk and scrabbled at its pages. ‘Where?’ I said. ‘Tell me! Where were they bound?’

‘Seville, as I recall,’ said Rodrigo, ‘if it’s the same men you’re after.’

Willem put a little more pressure on the knifepoint at Rodrigo’s Adam’s apple. ‘When’s the next ship to Seville sail?’

‘Tomorrow, as it happens. You’re lucky. Not usually that many in a week.’

He smiled, damn him, even with a dagger at his throat.

Willem shoved him, hard, towards the desk. ‘We need two bunks.’

‘None left, I’m afraid.’ He raised his hands in a show of apology. ‘Fully booked.’

‘We’ll take anything,’ I said.

‘Tell your friend to put down the knife and I’ll see what I can do.’

A matter of minutes later, we stood outside each with a paper providing passage to Seville. Willem tucked his inside his shirt, and then patted his dagger.

‘Was that absolutely necessary?’ I asked.

He looked blank. ‘What?’

‘All that shouting and weapon brandishing.’

‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But I do feel better for it.’

The next afternoon we stood on the quay waiting for the boat that would ferry us aboard the
Sea Nymph
. My face must have betrayed me.

‘It’s only the Mediterranean,’ said Willem. ‘Just a big salty lake.’

‘I’ve read
The Odyssey
, Willem. I know what dangers lurk in this lake.’

‘I haven’t,’ he said brightly. ‘You see? There are advantages to not knowing enough Greek and Latin.’

‘The monster Cyclops, gigantic waves, the mesmerising Sirens …’

‘Fairytales.’

‘Like the Pyramids?’

‘Exactly.’

He felt no more enthusiastic about the ocean than I did, I realised. Someone who got seasick on a canal barge had no business crossing the Mediterranean. Willem had never been on the open sea, for all his talk of ships and
kromsteven
that never sank. But he tried to smile and gave me a shove in the back.

‘Let’s go.’

So the two most reluctant sailors in Europe clambered aboard the
Sea Nymph
, our cloaks wrapped tightly around us, and settled down on the few feet of bare deck assigned to us.

Hours of cargo-stowing, rope-tying and inevitable shouting followed. At last, when the moon was high in the sky, the ship lurched as its sails found the wind. Ominous and familiar noises
filled the air: creaks and slaps, splashes and surges, flaps and thumps, and the hollow sound of sailors’ bare feet pounding on timber decking.

Soon we were tacking across the bay, past the famous lighthouse, and heading out to sea. I snuggled down into my cloak — men’s clothes were so much warmer than women’s — and readied myself for sleep. All around us on the deck, people lay huddled, some already snoring. Others talked quietly, a few women fed babies, and some of the single men sat staring at the stars.

Willem nudged me hard in the ribs and pointed. ‘What’s he doing here?’

A tall, silver-haired figure stood in the bow, gazing out to sea.

We had no answers any more.

Later, as he went aft towards the cabin passengers’ hatch, the Crow raised one hand in greeting as he passed us.

‘Damn him,’ I said.

‘Perhaps it’s nothing. He’s just being friendly.’

I hadn’t laughed so hard since we left Venice.

We saw the Crow each morning and evening as we all made our way towards Seville across the quietly heaving Mediterranean Sea. Willem was sick for the first two days, then, though still a little greenish, recovered enough to debate the Crow’s motives all over again — until we drove each other so mad we had to stop.

Late one night, as we drew close to the Strait of Gibraltar, Willem groaned. ‘Will this ship never stop moving?’

‘It feels the swell from the Atlantic now.’

‘You mean it’s going to get worse?’

‘I’m sure it will be just as smooth as it has been thus far.’

‘You call this smooth?’ He groaned once more and then rushed to the rail.

I tried not to look or to listen, but instead of the noise I was expecting, there came a shocked shout. I jumped to my feet just as someone pushed past me, nearly knocking me to the deck again. I didn’t notice who it was: my eyes were fixed on a strangely silent splash in the sea — a blond blur in the darkness.

‘Willem!’

‘Help!’

‘Man overboard!’ I screamed.

Footsteps thundered towards me, but I still heard Willem’s voice — further away now. ‘Come back! Help me!’

The sailors crowded around me. ‘What happened?’

I glared at them. ‘Don’t stand about talking. Help him.’

‘We’ve thrown him a line,’ one said. ‘He either grabbed it or he didn’t.’

I clutched at his sleeve. ‘Stop the ship! You have to turn around.’

They looked at each other sheepishly.

‘It’s rotten, I know,’ said one of the older sailors, ‘but we don’t heave to for just one man.’

‘Sorry, lad,’ said another. ‘Can’t do it.’

The ship kept moving. Every moment Willem was sinking deeper into the ocean.

‘Would you do it for two men?’ I asked.

‘What?’

I didn’t stop to think. Perhaps I should have. But, as Willem says, I’m really not that bright sometimes. I flung myself over the rail before anyone could stop me. It was a hell of a long drop, and I collided with the water like a slap. It was freezing cold and I felt it fill my boots and soak my heavy clothes in an instant.

That’s when I started thinking. A little too late.

I felt something graze my leg. A rope — the rope they’d flung out for Willem. I grabbed it, and suddenly I was moving along with the ship, still away from wherever he was.

‘Help!’ I shouted it with all my power. ‘Heave to!’

At last, my words were echoed on board.

‘Heave to!’ someone ordered. ‘Send out a boat for the fools.’

‘Willem!’

I kept one hand tight around the rope and thrashed about in the water, trying to work my way back towards where he’d fallen. My soggy clothes dragged me downwards, while the rope pulled me along as the ship came about slowly. Every time I opened my mouth to shout, a wave slapped me in the face. Over and over.

‘Will!’

It was no use.

‘Will!’

He was gone, like my father, under the waves. Gone forever.

‘Will!’

‘Isabella, you idiot!’

Never in my life, before or since, have I been so happy to be insulted.

‘There’s a rope,’ I shouted into the darkness.

‘Got it.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Behind you.’

He was close. I heard him gasping for breath. Then he splashed right next to me and grabbed for my hand. Above us, a boat winch slowly unwound, creaking.