Читать книгу Ransom Bride - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 8

So this was Venice! Kathryn looked about her eagerly as their ship weighed anchor in the great lagoon. They were too far out to see the shoreline clearly, but the grand palaces of the rich merchant princes lay shimmering in the sunshine, the waters of the lagoon lapping over the steps at which brightly coloured gondolas were moored.

‘What do you think of Venice, my dear?’ Lady Mary asked as she came to stand beside the girl. ‘Is it what you expected?’

‘It is beautiful. I did not know what to expect. I have seen a pastel of the Grand Canal and its palaces, ma’am, but reality far exceeds the artist’s imagination. Those palaces seem almost to be floating.’

Lady Mary laughed. She was a stout, good-tempered lady, who had been pretty in her youth, and her smile was warm with affection, for she had grown fond of Kathryn on their journey. They had been together some months and it was now the spring of 1570. In England it would still be very cool, but here it was much warmer as the sun turned the water to a sparkling blue.

‘Yes, it has a magical appeal, does it not? My late husband was an enthusiastic traveller in his youth. He told me of his visit to Venice. We must visit St Mark’s Square and gaze upon the Doge’s palace while your uncle is at his business, Kathryn.’

It had been decided that she should look upon her kind friends as Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles.

‘We may not be blood related,’ Charles Mountfitchet had told her at the beginning of their journey, as they set out to London to meet his sister. ‘But we shall be together en famille for some months and must be comfortable with one another.’

Kathryn had been very willing to accept him as an honorary uncle, for she had long felt close to him. They had comforted each other throughout the years since Dickon’s abduction and she was fonder of him than anyone other than her father.

‘Oh, I want to see everything,’ she said now. Her eyes had a glow of excitement that had been missing for a long time. The journey had suited her for she had not been seasick, as Lady Mary had for the first few days of their voyage. ‘And you will feel so much better to be on land again, Aunt.’

‘Indeed, I shall. I might wish to go no further,’ Lady Mary said with some feeling. ‘I fear that this is but a temporary respite, for my brother wishes to settle in Cyprus and so we must put to sea once more.’

‘He plans to grow his own wine,’ Kathryn said. ‘But who knows? His plans may change.’

‘You are thinking of Richard, of course.’ Lady Mary frowned. ‘I know that both you and my brother hope for a miracle, my dear, but I fear you will be sadly disappointed.’

‘But it does happen,’ Kathryn said. ‘Suleiman Bakhar told my uncle that sometimes slaves may be either rescued or bought from their masters. If Dickon was sold as a house slave, it is possible that we might be able to find him and purchase his bond.’

‘My brother has tried to find his son,’ Lady Mary said, sighing deeply. She did not believe their search would come to anything and feared that they merely brought more pain on themselves. ‘For years he petitioned men of influence to help him in his search, to no avail. I believe that Richard is dead. I am sorry, but I think that some trace of him would have come to light before this if he were alive.’

‘I know what you say is sensible,’ Kathryn said, her eyes bright with the fervour of her belief. ‘But I feel that he lives. Here inside me.’ She pressed her hands to her breast. ‘I cannot explain it, for it must sound foolish, but if Dickon had died—a part of me would have died too.’

Lady Mary shook her head, but said no more on the subject. In her own opinion Kathryn was living on false hope. Even if her nephew had somehow survived, he would not be the same. Any man who had endured years of slavery must have changed; he might be hard and bitter or broken in spirit. Either way, Kathryn was doomed to grief. It might be better if no trace of Richard was ever found, for surely in time she would learn to love someone else.

The girl had blossomed under her care. While in London they had visited the silk merchants, buying materials to make into gowns suitable for a warmer climate. Lady Mary had been pleased to take the girl about, introducing her to her friends, giving her a taste of what life could be, and the change in Kathryn had pleased her. She smiled more and her laughter was warm, infectious, though there was a stubborn streak beneath her pretty manners. Yet she had thrown off the air of sadness that had haunted her lovely face and was revealed as a charming, intelligent girl.

Lady Mary had great hopes of finding a suitable husband for her charge before the time came for Kathryn to return home.

‘I believe this is the gondola come to take us ashore,’ Kathryn said as she turned to her companion. ‘We are to be taken to the house Uncle Charles has hired for our use, but he is to meet that friend of his immediately. Signor Santorini, I believe he called him.’

‘He hopes for news, I dare say.’ Lady Mary smothered a sigh. ‘Well, at least it will give us time to settle in. Men are always in the way at such times.’

Kathryn smiled, but made no answer. Given a free choice she would have wished to go with her uncle to the meeting, but she had not been asked. She would be of much more help to Lady Mary—but she would be impatient for news.

‘I trust your journey was a good one, sir?’ Lorenzo rose to meet his visitor. He had chosen to receive him in one of the smaller salons to the right of the grand entrance hall, for it was more welcoming and more conducive to privacy. ‘I am pleased to meet you at last, Lord Mountfitchet.’

His words were spoken frankly, his eyes going over the older man and finding that he was drawn to him in a way that was not often the case with strangers. He saw suffering in the other’s face, the greying at his temples and in his beard; it was a face grown old before its time. It was the face of a man who had known terrible grief. For some reason Lorenzo was saddened by his grief, though the man was a stranger to him.

‘Come, sir, will you not take a glass of wine with me? Pray be seated.’ He indicated the principal chair, which was of a kind not common in England, the seat well padded, and the low back comfortable and shaped to accommodate a man’s bulk. ‘I dare say you are weary from your journey?’

‘Indeed, a glass of wine would be welcome, Signor Santorini,’ Charles Mountfitchet said as he took his seat. ‘My sister and niece wanted me to accompany them to our lodgings and rest for a day or so, but I was impatient to meet you.’

‘Unfortunately, I have no definite news of your son,’ Lorenzo said. ‘However, there is a man I would have you meet, sir. He was rescued from a Corsair galley two months ago, but has been too ill to question. We believe that he may be English, though as yet he has hardly spoken a word.’

‘What does he look like?’ Charles asked barely able to contain his excitement. ‘What colour are his hair and eyes?’

‘What colour hair did your son have? Were there any distinguishing features?’

Charles thought for a moment. ‘It distresses me to say it, but I can no longer see Richard’s face. His hair was fair—darker than yours, but of a similar texture. His eyes were blue…’ He frowned. ‘I might be describing a thousand men. I fear I have given you but poor help, sir. But loath as I am to admit it, I spent little time with my son when he was young. He was there and I took my good fortune for granted. It was only when I lost him that I understood what he had meant to me.’ His voice broke with emotion.

‘Yes, it is often so, I believe,’ Lorenzo said. He was not certain why he felt affected by Lord Mountfitchet’s story, for he was not a sentimental man. ‘We all take what we have for granted. My father died some months ago and I miss him sorely. I was away much of the time and afterwards regretted that I did not show more gratitude towards him.’

‘I was sorry to learn of Antonio’s death. We met only twice when he visited England, but we were drawn to each other.’ Charles hesitated, then said, ‘I did not realise at the time that he had a son.’

‘I was adopted some years ago,’ Lorenzo said, revealing more than was his wont. ‘My father was a good and generous man. I owe him much. He was not a wealthy man, so it was given to me to improve our fortunes and I was happy that I was able to see him end his days in comfort.’

‘He was fortunate to have you. I have tried to preserve my estate for Richard, but it would have been a relief to me to have him with me. I fear I grow old and the days seem lonely.’ His eyes were clouded with grief, the years of futile searching carved deep into his face.

‘The man I would have you meet has blue eyes,’ Lorenzo said with a frown. ‘As for his hair—it has turned grey from the suffering he endured at the hands of his captors. I must warn you that this man has terrible scars on his arms, back and legs.’

‘The poor devil,’ Charles said and his hands shook as he sipped his wine. He took a deep breath, trying to control the images in his mind—images that had haunted his dreams for years of his son being beaten and tortured. ‘This wine is excellent.’ He made an effort to banish his nightmares. ‘A new one, I think? You have not sent me this before?’

‘It came from a vineyard in Cyprus,’ Lorenzo told him. ‘I have been trying it before adding it to the shipment.’ He refilled his guest’s cup. ‘I shall speak to the man I mentioned myself, ask him if he will see you.’ He saw the surprise in the other’s eyes. ‘He is not my prisoner. He was saved from the wreck of a galley and we have nursed him through his illness. Now that he is well, he will be given a choice. He may work for me as a free man or return to his homeland. If he asks me for help to find his family, I shall give it.’

‘Do you ask a ransom for him?’

‘If his family can afford to pay. I am a man of business, sir.’

‘And if he has no family?’

‘Then he is free to go where he will—or stay with me.’ Lorenzo’s eyes held a glint of ice. He lifted his head defiantly. ‘He has his life returned to him. What more would you have of me?’

‘Nothing you have not given,’ Charles replied. ‘For myself, I would be glad to pay for the return of my son.’

‘I wish that I might give you more hope,’ Lorenzo said. ‘But let us speak of other things. You have an idea of settling on Cyprus, I believe?’

‘I have thoughts of my own vineyard.’

‘Then I may be of more help to you there,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Come to dinner tomorrow evening. Bring your sister and niece to dine. I may have more news for you by then.’

‘Thank you. I shall look forward to it.’

Charles was thoughtful as he took his leave. He believed Lorenzo Santorini an honest man. His manner was somewhat reserved and at times his eyes were cold. He was clearly unsentimental about his business, a man of purpose. Some might think him harsh to take ransom money for men he rescued from slavery, but Charles found no fault in his seeking some profit from what he did. There were others who would simply have left the galley slave to die or even have sent him back to the markets to be sold again.

No doubt it was Santorini’s keen intelligence and lack of sentiment that had made him wealthy. Yes, perhaps he was a little harsh in matters of business, but who knew what had caused him to be that way? He sensed some mystery in the man’s past, but it was not his affair. Santorini would deal fairly with him and he could ask for no more.

His thoughts turned to the man he had been told of—a man who might be English with blue eyes. Could he possibly be Richard? Charles felt a flicker of hope. Yet it was ridiculous to allow himself to hope. There must be many blue-eyed Englishmen who had been lost at sea and taken as galley slaves, and not only by the Corsairs. Some served in Spanish galleys and there was little to choose between their masters, for they were beaten and tortured, made to work until they collapsed at the oar and were tossed into the sea to die. The Spanish hated the heretic English and it was often said that they were crueller than the Corsairs to those they took in battle.

Charles closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pictures that crowded into his mind. God forgive him, he could almost wish his son dead rather than know that he had suffered such a terrible fate.

‘But that is wicked!’ Kathryn exclaimed as Charles spoke of the ransom he would pay if the man he had been told of should by some extreme chance be his son. ‘Why, this Lorenzo Santorini is little better than those evil men whose business is to trade in slaves.’

‘No, Kathryn,’ he said. ‘You do not understand, my dear. I would be willing to pay any sum for Richard’s return and should be grateful to the man who found him for me.’

‘But a decent man would not ask for money, Uncle Charles.’ She was outraged, her eyes scornful of this man she had yet to meet.

‘Hush, Kathryn,’ he chided. ‘We must not judge him. He does much good, I think, and if he makes a profit by it…’Charles shrugged his shoulders. ‘I found him honest. He is a man I can do business with. You may feel it wrong to take money for restoring a man to his family, but others would have let the poor fellow die.’

‘Please, Charles,’ Lady Mary said with a little shudder, ‘I wish you would not say such things. You will give Kathryn nightmares.’

‘No, dear Aunt Mary,’ Kathryn said and smiled at her. ‘My nightmares have become a thing of the past since we began our journey. I do not know why, but my heart has become much lighter.’ It was as if she felt that she was going to meet Dickon, that she would find him at her journey’s end. In her dreams he seemed very close and he was no longer in pain or distress. She seemed to see him smiling at her, opening his arms to enfold her and kiss her.

‘Well, I am happy for it,’ Charles said with a smile. ‘But it would be too much to expect to find Richard so swiftly. It may be months or years—or perhaps never—but Signor Santorini has promised to do what he can. I pray you, Kathryn, do nothing to antagonise him this evening.’

‘Of course I shall not, Uncle Charles,’ Kathryn said. ‘If you believe he can help us, then I shall do nothing to make him change his mind. I may think him unprincipled and wrong, but I shall not say it.’

He smiled at her, nodding his satisfaction with her promise. It was time for them to leave, and the gondola was waiting at the steps outside their house to take them to Lorenzo Santorini’s palace.

Kathryn’s eyes widened as she saw it, for it was surely one of the most important and attractive of the many beautiful buildings built by the Grand Lagoon. This Signor Santorini must be very wealthy; if that were so, he did not need to ask for money from the families of the poor wretches he rescued from cruel masters.

Her antagonism was growing towards the man she had never met, her feelings of outrage at the obvious trappings of his great wealth building a picture in her mind so that, when the tall, golden-haired man came towards them, she did not at first imagine that he was Lorenzo Santorini. She had seldom seen a more attractive man, Kathryn thought, and as she looked into his deep blue eyes her breath caught and she felt very strange. She had only ever known one person with eyes that colour and so strong was the emotion that gripped her then that she almost fainted. Indeed, she swayed and put out her hand to steady herself, finding her arm gripped by a firm hand.

‘Are you ill, Madonna?’

His voice was so deep and husky; yet she heard only the echoes of the sea against a rocky shore on a windswept night, her mind whirling in confusion. For a moment she was there again, looking down as the Corsairs carried her beloved Dickon away with them, her feeling of terror so strong that she almost fainted.

‘Kathryn? Is something wrong, my dear?’

Lady Mary’s voice brought her back from the edge of the precipice and her head cleared. She looked at the man, who still held her arm in a vicelike grip, her eyes suddenly dark with revulsion as she dismissed the foolish notion that had come to her. How could she have thought even for one moment that this man was her beloved Dickon? His face was deeply tanned, with sculptured cheekbones and lines about his eyes. Richard Mountfitchet would be no more than five and twenty; this man must be some years older, of course, the set of his mouth harsh and unforgiving, so different from the easy smile that she had been wont to see on Dickon’s lips.

Why, from what she had heard of him, he was little better than the evil men who had abducted her dearest friend!

She moved her arm and his grip relaxed, releasing her as her head went up proudly, daring him to touch her again. ‘I am all right, Aunt Mary,’ she said, smiling at the woman who was clearly concerned for her. ‘It was just a moment of faintness. Perhaps the change from the bright sunlight to darkness?’

It was a weak excuse, of course, for it was not truly dark in the palace, which was a place of colour and sunshine from the many windows high above that gave the grand hall a churchlike feel.

‘It has been very warm today,’ Lorenzo said, his eyes narrowing as he sensed her hostility. What ailed her—and why had she looked at him so oddly for a moment? ‘And I believe it may be cool in here. Please come through to my private chambers, ladies. I believe you may be more comfortable there.’

Lorenzo led the way to another, smaller chamber, which was lavishly appointed with beautiful tiled walls and floors, the colours rich and vibrant. It was furnished with the most exquisite things that Kathryn had ever seen, some of them with a distinctly Byzantine look to them. For surely those silken couches belonged more properly in the harem of an eastern potentate?

‘I have never seen such a lovely room,’ Lady Mary declared, echoing the thoughts Kathryn would not for pride’s sake utter. ‘Where did you find all these lovely things, Signor Santorini?’

‘Some of them were given me in gratitude for saving the life of a precious son,’ Lorenzo told her. His eyes were on Kathryn as he spoke, a mocking gleam deep in their mysterious depths. ‘It was in Granada and the boy was a Moor, the son of a merchant prince—a man whose wealth would make me seem a pauper by comparison.’

‘How interesting,’ Lady Mary said. ‘Pray do tell us more, sir.’

‘It was nothing,’ Lorenzo told her with a fleeting smile, his eyes becoming colder than deep water ice as he saw that Kathryn’s mouth had curled in scorn. ‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time—and the grateful father showered me with gifts of all kinds, some of which you see here.’

‘You must also be a very wealthy man,’ Kathryn said and her tone made it sound like the worst of insults. ‘Might it not have been nobler to refuse the gifts and be satisfied with the pleasure of saving a life?’ Her eyes flashed with green fire, challenging him so clearly that the air seemed to crackle between them.

‘No, no, Kathryn,’ Charles reminded her uneasily. He was afraid she would antagonise the Venetian, and Santorini was his best hope of ever finding his son. Indeed, since they had met, he had been filled with new hope. ‘You must not say such things, my dear. It is not for you to judge these matters.’

‘Kathryn’s fault lies in her ignorance,’ Lorenzo said easily and she saw that there was an amused curl to his mouth. His eyes glinted with ice and she felt her heart catch, for something about him drew her despite herself. ‘To have refused the gifts from such a man after rendering him a significant service would have been to offer him a deadly insult. Had I been unwise enough to do so, he would have thought that I believed he owed me more and would simply have increased the size of his gift—even to beggaring himself, if I demanded it. But of course, your niece could not know anything of the customs, or indeed the pride, that prevails amongst such people.’

He was looking at her as if she were a foolish child!

Kathryn felt as if she were in the hands of her old nurse, being scolded for some childish misdemeanour. He was humiliating her, stripping her to the status of an ignorant girl, making her feel foolish—and she hated him for it. If she had not remembered her promise to Lord Mountfitchet at that moment, she might have given him an honest opinion of his morals, telling him what she thought of his habit of asking a ransom from his victims.

‘I bow to your superior judgement, sir,’ she said, her nails turned inwards to the palms of her hands as she fought her instinct to rage at him. Dickon’s father was relying on his help. It was through him that they might learn something that would lead them to find Dickon. She must remember that, no matter how great her disgust of this man and his trade. ‘Forgive me, I did not know…’

The apology was the hardest she had ever had to make and she tasted its bitterness; she was determined to say nothing more that evening, for it would kill her to be civil to him! She could not know that the look in her eyes and the tilt of her head betrayed her, nor that he found her defiance amusing.

‘No, do not apologise, sweet Madonna,’ he murmured and the mockery in his voice stung her like the lash of a whip. ‘We should be churlish indeed not to forgive such beauty a small mistake of judgement.’

Kathryn inclined her head. Oh, he was so sure of himself, so secure in his position of power and wealth! She would like to wipe that mocking expression from his face and were she alone with him she would do it! But no, she must not let him drive her to further indiscretion. She would behave as befitted an English gentlewoman.

‘I bow to your generosity, sir.’ The look she gave him was so haughty that it would have slain any other man, but he merely smiled and turned his attention to Lord Mountfitchet.

Wine was served and there was a choice of a sweeter wine for the ladies, but Kathryn stubbornly chose the same as he and her uncle drank and nearly gagged on the dryness of it. She took one sip and set the glass down, her irritation mounting as she saw that he had noted her distaste. When they were directed outside to a small courtyard garden, where a table had been set for them, she noticed that he made a small signal to his servant, and when she looked for her wineglass her wine had been changed.

Oh, was there no ending to this torture? Kathryn asked the servant who served her from the many delicious varieties of fish, meat and rice dishes to bring her some water, refusing to be tempted by the wine, which Lady Mary had declared was delicious.

The food was wonderful too. Used to the more heavily spiced dishes her father’s cooks served at home and sickened by the awful food on board ship, she could not resist trying the delicious prawns and unusual fruits and vegetables that were served to her. After each main course a cold ice sherbet was served, which cleared the palate, and the sweet courses included a delicious sticky jelly that she simply could not resist.

‘I see you approve of one of the gifts my friend from Granada sends me from time to time,’ Lorenzo said, smiling at her. ‘You see, as his son grows to a man, his gratitude increases and he will not allow me to forget that he considers me as another son.’

Kathryn had been reaching for another piece of the sticky sweet and her hand froze in mid-air, then withdrew, her eyes darting a glare at him that would have made most men retreat in confusion. His answer was to smile so wolfishly that it sent a chill through her, the flash of white teeth sudden and menacing, as if he would devour her.

‘Please continue to enjoy them, Madonna,’ he told her. ‘It will please my friend mightily to know that his generosity is not wasted. He fears that I do not appreciate it, but now I can tell him quite truthfully that it brought me favour in your eyes.’

‘I am glad that your friend will be pleased,’ Kathryn said and defiantly took the piece of lemon-flavoured sweetmeat that she desired, biting into it with such venom that she saw his eyes flicker with laughter. He enjoyed taunting her! She could see it in his face, but there was nothing she could do, for she was at his mercy. Please God, let this meal be over soon and then, perhaps, she need not ever see him again.

‘I was thinking,’ Charles said, seemingly unaware of the duel going on between Kathryn and their host. ‘I have cudgelled my brains to think of a distinguishing mark that might help you find Richard, sir—but I cannot recall a thing.’

‘Oh, but—’ Kathryn began and then stopped as all eyes turned on her. She shook her head. ‘I cannot be sure that it would still be there.’

‘If you know of something, you should tell us, Kathryn,’ Charles said. ‘I believe you knew Richard better than anyone.’

‘Pray do give me any information you can,’ Lorenzo said and reached for his wineglass. As he did so she caught sight of a leather wristband chased with silver symbols. The wristbands were so at odds with the richness of his dress that she was mesmerised for a moment and he saw her interest. ‘You are admiring my bracelets, Kathryn?’ He pulled back his sleeves so that she could see that he wore the curious bands on each wrist. ‘The symbols may not be familiar to you, for they are in Arabic. One stands for life, the other for death.’ There was something in his eyes that made her shiver inwardly, an expression so different to any other that she had seen in him that her stomach clenched with fear. ‘It is to remind me, lest I should forget, that one is the close companion of the other.’

‘Surely…’The words died on her lips, for now she felt a sense of desolation in him and it touched her, reaching down inside her so that she shared his grief, his pain, and it almost sent her reeling into darkness. ‘They are remarkable, sir,’ she said, fighting to pull herself back from that deep pit. ‘But you asked about a distinguishing mark. There was one that Uncle Charles would not know about.’ She paused, for the memory was so strong in her mind then that it made her ache with the grief of her loss. ‘Dickon was my closest companion, my dearest friend. One day he told me that he would always love only me, even though I was but nine years to his fifteen. I said that when he grew up he would forget me, and he drew his knife. He cut my initial into his arm, just above his wrist.’ She saw Lorenzo’s eyes darken, his gaze intensifying on her face. ‘It bled a great deal and I was frightened. I gave him my kerchief to bind his wrist, but it was deep and the bleeding would not stop. My nurse bound it for him when we went home and scolded me for allowing him to hurt himself. When it began to heal, there was a livid mark in the shape of a K.’

‘You have never told me this, Kathryn,’ Charles said and frowned. ‘It might help in the search—if it still remains.’

‘It might have been obliterated by other marks,’ Lorenzo said and he looked thoughtful, serious now, all mockery gone. ‘I do not wish to distress the ladies, Lord Mountfitchet, but you must realise that the manacles galley slaves wear leave deep scars. Even if the scar that Richard inflicted on himself remained, it might not be easy to see after so many years of being chained to an oar.’

‘If he was a galley slave,’ Kathryn said. ‘He was but fifteen, sir. Might he not have been sold as a house slave?’ She had prayed so often that it might be so, otherwise there was little hope that Dickon would have survived.

‘It is possible—but if he was strong for his age he would more likely have been put to the oars. The rate of death amongst such unfortunates is high and anyone with the strength to pull an oar might be used if the Corsairs had lost some of their oarsmen.’

‘Yet that makes it all the more likely that the mark may still be there,’ Kathryn said. ‘For if he lives, it is unlikely that he was in the galleys.’

‘You speak truly, for I doubt that any man could survive ten years in the galleys,’ Lorenzo told her and the expression in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. ‘We must hope that for at least some part of the time your cousin was more fortunate.’

Kathryn looked at him, seeing an odd expression in his eyes. What was he thinking now?

‘Would your friend in Granada help us to find Dickon?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that is possible,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I will write to him and ask if he will make inquiries, though after so long…’ His words drifted away and he lifted his shoulders in a gesture that made her want to defy him all the more.

‘You think it is impossible, don’t you?’ Kathryn saw the answer in his face. ‘But I don’t believe that Dickon is dead. I am certain he lives. I feel it in here.’ She put her hands to her breast, her face wearing an expression of such expectation, such hope, that he was moved. ‘As we journeyed here my feeling grew stronger. I believe that he is alive and may be closer than we think.’

‘All things are possible,’ Lorenzo said, for he found that he did not wish to dim the light in those beautiful eyes by telling her she was wrong. ‘My friend would tell you that it is the will of Allah, but I believe it is the will of man. If Dickon was strong enough, if he wanted to live badly enough, he would find a way to survive. And perhaps he might have been fortunate. Not all slaves are ill treated, Kathryn. Some masters are better than others.’

‘You speak as if you have some experience of these things, sir?’

Lorenzo smiled oddly. ‘Perhaps…’

Kathryn would have pressed for an answer, but he turned to Lord Mountfitchet and began to talk of Cyprus and the land most suitable for wine growing. Kathryn sat and listened, her first disgust of him waning a little as she realised that he was a man of knowledge and influence.

She could not condone what he did in the matter of the ransoms he demanded from the families of those he rescued, and yet she began to understand that it could be but a small part of his business and not the source of his vast wealth.

She could not like him, she decided, for he was too arrogant, too certain of his position, and he could not understand how she felt—how Lord Mountfitchet felt—about the loss of Dickon. But perhaps Uncle Charles was right and he would deal honestly with them.

Besides, what right had she to judge him when she did not know him?

Lorenzo turned his gaze on her again for a moment, and she felt that strange sensation that had almost made her faint when they first met. Why was it that she felt as if they had met before?

‘This is so beautiful,’ Kathryn exclaimed as they wandered about the square that was the centre of Venice. ‘Is it true that the Church of Saint Mark was built to house his body when it was brought from Alexandria?’

‘That is what I have been told,’ Lorenzo answered her though she had addressed her question to her aunt. ‘The building you see near by is the Palazzo Ducale—and over there is the Cathedral, which was first begun in the ninth century and rebuilt after a fire in the eleventh. Notice the architecture, which bears a distinctly Byzantine influence.’

‘It is very fine,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I had thought the people of Byzantium were barbarians, but it seems that they knew how to build.’

‘They knew many things,’ Lorenzo replied with a smile. ‘It was a great empire that demands our respect.’

‘You seem to know so much,’ she said, a little overcome by all the things he had told them as they explored the beautiful city of Venice and its waterways. ‘What, pray tell me, are those buildings over there?’

‘That is the Procuratie Vecchie, and used by the procurators or magistrates, from amongst whom the Doge is chosen, and is built, as you see, in the Italian style, as are many of the palaces themselves. And those columns were erected in the twelfth century. That one bears the winged lion of St Mark and the other portrays St Theodore on a crocodile.’ He looked at Kathryn, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Would you wish to visit the Bridge of Sighs—or would you prefer return to my home and take some refreshment?’

‘Tell me, why is it called the Bridge of Sighs?’

‘I imagine Signor Santorini has had enough of your questions for one day,’ Lady Mary said. ‘It was kind of him to accompany us, but perhaps like me he is ready to return home for some refreshment.’

‘Oh, forgive me,’ Kathryn said, for she was not in the least tired and might have carried on exploring for another hour or more. ‘Yes, we shall go home—at least, we shall return to your home, signor.’

‘It is also yours for the duration of your stay,’ Lorenzo said. On discovering the previous evening that the lodgings they had taken were less than they had hoped for, he had sent his servants to remove their baggage, insisting that they stay with him until they left for Cyprus. It was also his suggestion that he accompany Lady Mary and Kathryn on their tour of the city, for Lord Mountfitchet had other business and, despite Kathryn’s protests, he did not think it suitable that they should go alone. ‘And as to the matter of why the bridge has that name, it is because the palace connects to the prison and the bridge is the route by which prisoners are taken to the judgement hall.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Kathryn said and smiled. ‘I had thought it might have had a more romantic story attached to it.’

‘Perhaps a lover who had cast himself into the water after having his heart broken?’ Lorenzo laughed huskily. ‘I can see that you are a follower of the poets, Madonna. You have come to the right country, for this is a land of beauty and romance. You have only to look at our fine sculptures and paintings.’

She blushed, looking away from the mockery in his eyes, for her heart was behaving very oddly. ‘I have noticed some very fine paintings in your home, sir.’

‘Tell me, which ones do you admire?’

‘I noticed one that had wonderful colours…’ Kathryn wrinkled her brow. ‘It was in the great hall and I saw that the colours seemed to glow like jewels when the sunlight touched them. Most of the paintings I have been used to admiring were tempera, but I believe that one was done in oils, was it not?’

‘Indeed, you are right,’ he said. ‘The artist was a man called Giovanni Bellini and my father bought the painting some years ago. I have others that I have bought that you might like to see one day.’

‘Yes, I believe I should, if you have the time to spare, sir. I know you must be a very busy man and—Have a care, sir!’ Kathryn gave a little cry as she saw someone suddenly lunge at his back with what looked like a curved and deadly knife.

Lorenzo whirled round even as she spoke, catching the would-be assassin’s wrist as he raised his arm to strike. There was a sharp tussle and she heard something that sounded like a bone cracking, and then, before she knew what was happening, three men rushed up and overpowered the assassin, dragging him away with them.

‘Forgive us, Madonna,’ Lorenzo said and his face had become the customary hard mask that she found so disturbing, all trace of softness and laughter gone. ‘I believe your safety was not in doubt, but it should not have happened. My men were instructed to keep a look out for anything that might cause an unpleasant incident.’

‘What a terrible thing,’ Lady Mary said, looking distressed. ‘I trust you are not hurt, sir?’

‘I thank you for your concern,’ he said, but his eyes were on Kathryn, an odd expression in their depths. ‘Perhaps now you will understand why it would not be safe for you to wander at will in this city.’

‘But why did he attack you?’ Kathryn had been startled by the incident, but he had dealt with it so swiftly that she was not frightened, though Lady Mary looked shaken. ‘Do you have enemies, sir?’

Lorenzo frowned. ‘I believe that any man in my position must have his share of enemies, but I did not know until today that I had one prepared to attack me here in Venice.’

‘Do you know who the man was?’

‘A hired assassin,’ Lorenzo dismissed the man with a twist of his lips. ‘I dare say I know who paid him.’

‘Someone who hates you?’

‘He has cause enough,’ Lorenzo said. ‘He belongs to that fraternity you despise so much, Kathryn—a Corsair by trade and inclination. He is called the Feared One, for his cruelty exceeds that practised by most of his brethren. Even they fear and hate him, but they do not dare to betray him.’

‘Why does he hate you enough to pay someone to kill you?’

‘Because I have made it my life’s work to destroy as many of his galleys as I can.’ Lorenzo’s eyes were colder than she had ever seen them. Gazing into them, she was caught up in an emotion so strong that it robbed her of breath. ‘I have nineteen galleys at the moment—we recently lost one in a battle with Rachid—but I have ordered six more. Soon my fleet will be large enough to meet him wherever and whenever he takes to the seas—and then I shall destroy him, little by little.’

Kathryn gazed into his eyes, feeling herself drawn into a vortex that had her spinning down and down, drowning in the bottomless depths of his eyes. ‘Then I must tell you that I owe you an apology,’ she said when she could breathe again. ‘I believed that you were as guilty as those men who enslave others because you asked for a ransom for those you rescued, but if you have dedicated your life and your fortune to destroying such an evil man, then—’

‘Pray do not continue,’ Lorenzo said and she saw that his eyes had lost their haunted look and were filled with laughter. ‘You run the risk of flattering me, Madonna. Say only that you approve of what I do and I’ll not ask for more.’

‘You are mocking me,’ she said and could not quite hide her pique.

‘Indeed, it is very unkind in me,’ he said, ‘but do not grudge me the pleasure that teasing you has brought into a life that has hitherto known very little, Madonna.’

Once again she was aware of powerful emotions swirling beneath the mask he showed to the world and was silent for the moment. They had been walking as they talked, a little ahead of Lady Mary and two men who now shadowed them more closely than before, and had now reached one of the canals where Lorenzo’s gondola was waiting to convey them to his palace.

‘You are not what you seem,’ she said. ‘Will you tell me the reason you hate Rachid so much? For there must be other pirates almost as feared, and yet it is he whom you wish to destroy.’

‘That is something I have told to very few,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘One day perhaps I may tell you, Kathryn. But for the moment I think I shall keep my secret.’