The Venice Conspiracy (22 page)

The cold tip of a blade noses into Teucer’s heart.

Now there’s only blackness.

Blackness layered upon blindness.

Tetia is mouthing her vows but he cannot hear her.

Everything is mute.

In the soft, pillowed darkness, with the door to the afterlife half open, a demonic noise comes screaming towards him.

The cry of a newborn.

The child he’ll never see.

The seed the rapist has sown in his wife’s womb.

Rooted to
the spot by loss of blood, Tetia can only watch as Masu wipes Teucer’s blood from his hands. He picks up his sword and grins, baring his yellow teeth. ‘Killing you may indeed prove even more pleasurable than raping you.’

Tetia painfully picks up Arnza’s fallen sword. Her wound makes it impossible for her to wield it.

Masu sees her weakness and takes half a step forward. He’s going to enjoy this. Slice by slice he’s going to slowly hack the life out of her.

He begins his swing.

But never completes it.

Tetia’s sword arrows upwards and finds the front of his throat. His eyes widen as it severs his windpipe and protrudes through the back of his neck.

Even as he falls, he wonders how a dying woman could have moved so quickly and powerfully.

Tetia’s wondering, too. The explosive, violent force that surged through her is now gone. There’s a deep ache of pain in her womb, as though the spent energy has come from her child. She drops the blade and slumps beside her husband.

The darkness is coming for her. It’s galloping towards her like black stallions in a thunderstorm. She drags herself up and puts her hands across Teucer’s chest. Her fingers brush a blood-soaked cord threaded with a ceramic keepsake, one she’d given him on their wedding day. She remembers making it for him, kissing it as she tied it there in the morning. She gasps for air as she holds it.

People are approaching.

She determines to hold on – keep breathing – keep her child alive at all costs.

She hears footsteps down the side of the temple.

Voices to the left and right of her.

Through a mist of blood and sweat she sees Venthi’s horrified face as he lifts her in his arms.

The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria

Pesna and
Kavie dismount at the gates of the mine. A ragged group of bare-chested slave boys rush forward to take their horses from them. Brushing dust from his tunic, the magistrate hisses, ‘When this is over, Larth must be removed as quickly as possible. I no longer have faith in the man.’

Kavie is taken by surprise. ‘
Removed –
as in killed? Or removed as in promoted and given far-off lands to manage?’

‘That man cannot manage his own bowels, let alone anything of consequence. His ambition outruns his intelligence and makes fools of us all.’

‘What you ask will not be easy.’

‘But still it must be done.’ Pesna stops and turns to his aide. ‘You saw the way he challenged me. He had treachery in his eyes.’

Kavie tries to shrug it off. ‘He was humiliated, that’s all. Larth is a proud man, a former soldier. It is hard for him to be chastised in front of a lowly driver.’

‘No matter. Arrange his exit.’

‘Very well,’ says Kavie thoughtfully, ‘but I shall need many – and I do mean
many
– loyal men to remove a monster like Larth.’

‘Then make sure you have them. He is a liability, Kavie, and we are entering a time when we cannot afford such liabilities.’

Dry tracks lead them to the first and the biggest of six interconnecting silver mines. Most of the workings are outside: great craters in the earth, fenced off and guarded to the hilt. Some of the mines are below the surface, where chiselled biceps swing heavy iron picks into the dense rock.

Aranthur, the site manager, stands outside the entrance, shielding his eyes and squinting into the sun and dust. He is small, bald and fat. Three thick silver chains adorn the neckline of his cream tunic. Each finger is embellished with a silver ring and he nervously clicks the bands together as he steps forward to greet them. ‘May the gods be with you, Magistrate. All is arranged.’

‘Good!’ barks Pesna. ‘We’re late, so take us inside
and show us the gifts.’

Aranthur had hoped for longer with Pesna. Perhaps at the end of a successful day he’ll be able to press his claim for more power and influence over the way the mine is run. Sensing the magistrate’s mood, he does not attempt to detain him now but pulls open the weathered entrance door. ‘This way, please.’

Kavie glances back into the low dazzling sunlight. ‘The first of our guests are arriving. We must hurry.’

The area they enter is a vast outbuilding normally used by the workers for changing, washing and sleeping. In the centre is a table where slaves sit to devour their scraps. Today, however, it is laden with silver plates, goblets, bracelets, rings and chains. ‘This is excellent.’ Pesna runs a hand over the glittering gifts. ‘We will let the pigs sink their noses in the trough and whet their appetite for more.’

Aranthur sees an opening: ‘Since you so wisely improved our production methods, output has increased threefold. I believe I now have the honour of running the most productive silver mines in all Etruria.’

Pesna grants the sycophant his first genuine smile of the day. ‘Well done. At a future date we will talk more about this. Now, make sure our guests are refreshed before we give them the tour of the mine. Show them the ore and let them fill their pockets.’

The manager waddles back to the door and hurries out into the sunlight.

Kavie points at the silver. ‘I feel uncomfortable with all this wealth in one place.’ He glances around.

Pesna pats his shoulder. ‘Do not worry. It won’t be here for long. Besides, did you not arrange extra guards to stand watch both outside and inside the mines?’

Kavie bites his lip. ‘I did. But given our recent conversation, perhaps it is timely to remind ourselves that Larth was the one who oversaw this matter. It is Larth who always oversees such matters.’

Pesna’s smile disappears.

Present Day

Luna Hotel Baglioni, Venice

When
Tom gets back to Tina’s room his mind is awhirl with Valentina’s grief.

Tina can tell he’s distracted. Since he came in he’s hardly said a word. It’s certainly not the mood she was hoping for, the mood he needs to be in for
the chat
she’s been planning. ‘Ground Control to Major Tom, are you still in my orbit?’

He looks up from the chair he’s slumped in. ‘Sorry, I’m mulling over bits of this case.’ He wonders why he didn’t mention Valentina.

Tina goes over to him and puts her arms around his neck. ‘Use my laptop. Google whatever it is and get it out of your system. I’m going to shower before dinner.’

‘Good idea. Thanks. Do I need a password or anything?’

‘Nope.’ She smiles and points to the desk as she heads to the bathroom. ‘It’s all fired up. Just pour me a glass of wine for when I get out, okay?’

‘Sure. White?’

‘Please. There’s some Sauvignon Blanc in the minibar. Spoil me with some ice as well.’

‘Will do.’

Tom goes to the computer first. His theological studies give him a head start on the Etruscan research. He already knows the importance attached to the liver in their culture, and the fact that they were an incredibly organised and advanced society. From around 900
BC
they were governed by predestination – a belief that every aspect of their fate was in the hands of a collection of deities. Their fortunes depended on remaining in favour with the gods, heeding omens and offering sacrifices to appease angry deities or win favour. To this end they relied heavily on the guidance of a seer or augur, known as a netsvis or, in the later Roman culture, a haruspex. Both the Romans and the Catholic Church eventually adopted
elements of Etruscan ritual and garb; the crooked staff of modern-day bishops was derived from the lituus, a ceremonial stick employed by the netsvis.

As Tina sings in the shower, he digs deep into the ancient art of liver-divining. An academic treatise describes how the organ was divided into many zones, each representing a particular deity and the position it held in the sky. For example, if the section of the liver associated with Tinia, Etruscan god of thunder and weather, was torn or damaged in some way, the netsvis might interpret this as an omen that a raging storm would devastate crops and wreck fishing boats.

‘I’m out of the shower!’ shouts Tina. ‘You want to help dry me?’

Tom doesn’t hear her. He’s engrossed in a photograph of the Piacenza Liver, a priceless, life-size, bronze model of a sheep’s liver made some three centuries before the birth of Christ. Discovered in Gossolengo near Piacenza way back in the late nineteenth century, it is believed to have been a teaching aid for augurs. Peering at the markings, Tom wonders what messages the seers of old might have deciphered as a result of their studies.

Tina appears next to him. ‘Okay, no help getting dry, I can put up with that. But no wine?’

‘Sorry.’ Tom jumps up from the desk. ‘I just got carried away.’ He scurries to the fridge and pours two glasses of white.

‘You find what you want?’

‘Kind of.’ He looks at her – really looks – for the first time since he came in.

She’s dressed in a soft white robe with a towel around her wet hair. When she notices the way he’s studying her she smiles. ‘What? I look scary without make-up and blow-dried hair?’

‘Far from it. You look even more beautiful.’ He steps closer to her. Kisses her lightly. Feels excited by the touch of her wet hair, her freshness and the softness of her mouth.

He puts his arms around her waist and starts to untie the robe’s belt.

She pulls away and puts her drink on the dressing table. ‘Come sit on the bed with me a minute. I’ve got something I want to say to you.’

‘Oh. This doesn’t sound good.’

Tina takes his hand as they sit. ‘I’ve got to leave, Tom.’

He looks at her like he doesn’t understand.

‘Another job’s come up and I have to leave here pretty quick. Very quick, in fact.’

He frowns at her. ‘What job?’

She looks away from him, tries
to hide her awkwardness. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t really say. It’s – well, it’s an exclusive – and the magazine has this confidentiality policy. I hope you understand.’

‘No, not really. Don’t we have something that goes a bit beyond a magazine article? Or am I really just naive?’

‘You’re not naive.’ She looks more cross than sympathetic. ‘Tom, it’s business. Business is business. If you were still a priest, you wouldn’t tell me what someone had said in the confessional, now, would you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t believe you said that. If I was still a priest we wouldn’t have been having sex, would we?’

Now it’s her turn to be annoyed. ‘Oh, like Catholic priests never have sex?’ She unconsciously tightens her robe. ‘I’m a professional and I stick to my principles. I guess you can respect that, can’t you?’

Tom hopes his anger and disappointment don’t show. ‘Okay. Let’s stop arguing. I’m sorry. When do you have to go?’

Her face stays hard. ‘Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.’

666
BC

The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria

The nobles are in. The doors shut. Pesna’s plan is in full swing.

The man who dreams of being king of the new territories of Etruria stands at the end of the silver-laden table. His position ensures that, should their concentration wander, then their eyes will inevitably fall upon the riches laid out in front of him.

‘Noblemen, it is my privilege to welcome you here. I thank you all again for your time and the honour of being your host.’

‘The honour is ours!’ booms a jolly-faced man whose vast belly bumps against the table. ‘And we’ll be even more honoured when you let us fill our pockets with these glittering works of beauty.’

A chorus of laughter breaks out.

Pesna waves them quiet. ‘In good time, in good time, dear friends.’ He trails a hand across the table, catching chains and bracelets in his fingers.

‘And not only today, not
only with these
small
gifts, but I hope for the rest of your days.’

The nobles laugh again.

‘After we have feasted, I will speak to you of how we – together – can build new cities, open new mines and reap riches far greater than the modest trinkets twinkling on this table.’

The audience cheer.

A small underground rumble makes the earth shiver. Pesna sees concern on their faces. ‘Nothing to worry about, my friends. Aranthur, explain to our guests the slight tremor they just experienced.’

The works manager’s face fills with the smugness of one who relishes being centre stage but rarely gets the chance. ‘The vibration is underground blasting. We build large fires under sections of rock where we know precious ore is ingrained. The rock heats up to an unimaginable ferocity, then we douse it with freezing water channelled from the ground above. The rapidly cooling rock then cracks and caves away.’ He makes a splitting gesture with his closed hands. ‘There follows a collapse of stone, rock, ore and earth. Then our men move in and dig the silver out.’

An elderly noble from Velzna looks concerned. ‘Do many of your slaves get killed?’

‘Some,’ answers Pesna, matter-of-factly. ‘It is dangerous work.’ He waves a hand over the table. ‘But the risks are richly rewarded and well worth the loss of a few slaves. This mine is the first and biggest of six that I own.’

There are mumblings among the nobles – speculation as to the extent of Pesna’s wealth rather than concern at the dangers.

‘Please!’ The mine manager tries to recapture their attention. ‘Please – be so kind as to follow me across the room.’ He walks towards rough tables erected in a far corner. ‘Here are samples of the latest ore we have recovered. See how rich the seams are?’ Aranthur steps back so they can examine the precious metal for themselves.

‘Most of our silver is easy to extract.’ He walks to another small table. ‘Slaves have to do little more than shovel it, wash it and harvest it from the dusts of the earth. But these easily grabbed riches tend to be on the small side.’ He holds up a nugget the size of his thumbnail. ‘It’s when we dig deep into the groins of the hills that we find the bigger prizes.’