The Sultan's Eyes (2 page)

I shook my head, not sure if we were seriously discussing murdering someone — even if it was someone I hated. ‘You were right,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t listen. If only I had.’

‘You see?’ Willem leaned back in his chair and put both boots on the table. The
signora
raised one eyebrow and he sat upright, feet slamming onto the floor, and dusted off the table edge with his sleeve.

‘Fra Clement is evil,’ I said. ‘He’s wrong and he’s greedy and he doesn’t care who he hurts. He has the blood of many people on his hands. But that doesn’t mean —’

‘You don’t think I would do it?’ asked the
signora
.

‘I have no doubt about that, but Al-Qasim’s right. It would make us just like him, like them.’

‘Nonsense.’

I paused, not quite willing to speak the words that were forming in my mind. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we have to leave Venice.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Luis at last. ‘You would be safer somewhere Fra Clement cannot follow you. Even Amsterdam would be better.’

‘Yes!’ Willem jumped to his feet. ‘Let’s go home.’

I sighed. ‘If only that was possible.’

‘Come, Isabella, the city fathers will never let him back into Amsterdam after all he’s done. We’d be safe there. We could set up shop again, with Paul. It’ll be just like it used to be.’

‘With Clement’s spies watching our every move?’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Willem.

‘I do. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. He has good reason to hate me, to hunt me down.’

‘He can’t be everywhere,’ said the
signora
. ‘Surely even Fra Clement will get tired of looking for you eventually.’

‘You must understand,’ I said. ‘He can see us no matter where in Christendom we flee. He has eyes everywhere, especially in Amsterdam. We already know that — we’ve suffered for it.’

‘Isabella is right,’ said Al-Qasim. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. ‘After what happened in Seville, Fra Clement will not rest until he brings her before the Tribunal.’

‘And the same, I fear, applies to you,’ Luis said to Al-Qasim. ‘You must all go.’

The two men exchanged a long look, until Al-Qasim bowed his head.

‘I know,’ he said softly.

‘This is an outrage,’ said the
signora
. ‘Why should you be hounded out of Venice?’

‘I’m afraid,
signora
, you are also not safe here,’ said Luis.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she scoffed. ‘He can’t touch me. I am a Contarini. A Venetian.’

‘But not above the law.’

‘Who says?’ She crossed her arms.

‘
Signora
,’ I said, ‘remember how the Inquisition took Master de Aquila? In the darkness, silently? You might not have time to argue.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You cannot make me afraid. I will not have it. We’re staying here, and if anyone comes to arrest you they will have to drag you out over my dead body.’

I sat down heavily next to her. ‘I’ll have to talk to Fra Clement. Perhaps I can pacify him, make him think we’re no threat to him or his precious Church.’

‘I can’t see that ending happily,’ said Willem.

‘Have faith. I know how to handle him.’

‘I noticed that, when you were throwing a flaming torch at his head.’

‘I didn’t throw it at him as such,’ I said. ‘Just nearby.’

‘A fine distinction,’ said Willem. ‘But by all means, try talking to him. I, for one, can’t wait to see how this turns out.’

‘Please don’t do this,’ said Pietro, when we told him of my plan over coffee the next day. ‘If you anger the Inquisitor, even I may not be able to protect you.’

‘We won’t make him angry,’ I said.

‘It’s not possible to make him any more furious than he already is,’ said Willem. ‘But now you mention it …’

‘It is a peace mission,’ said Al-Qasim. ‘Although that makes me sick to my stomach.’

‘Me, too,’ said Willem. ‘I prefer the assassination option.’

He was joking — I hoped.

‘I don’t see any alternative,’ I said. ‘All we can do is be as virtuous as possible while he’s here, try not to print anything too outrageous or objectionable for a while, and hope that he doesn’t stay long.’

‘Isabella, almost everything we do is objectionable to Fra Clement,’ Willem argued. ‘So many books are banned by the Church.’

‘I know, but surely we can take on some other work, just for a while. What about those medical theories Al-Qasim is translating?’

‘They are banned,’ said Willem.

‘Then Pliny’s
Natural History
,’ I suggested. ‘Or Luis could translate Aristotle again, or Dante?’

‘The world is already full of their books,’ he said. ‘At least, those that aren’t forbidden.’

‘Why not just confine ourselves to printing invitations and prayer sheets?’ asked the
signora
. ‘We’ll all die of boredom, and Fra Clement won’t have to worry any more.’

‘We’ll think of something innocuous to publish,’ I said. ‘That’s not the point. We just have to tell Fra Clement that we’re no threat to him, but that we won’t be frightened away.’

‘Very well,’ said the
signora
. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Now?’ Suddenly I felt a little queasy.

‘Yes, why wait?’

‘Agreed,’ said Willem.

‘Pietro, if we don’t come back by evening,’ said Signora Contarini, ‘you will know he has sent us straight to the dungeons — you must talk to the Council and get us released.’

‘I will try.’

Willem and I swapped glances.

‘Do you think that’s likely?’ Willem asked.

‘I am just being practical,’ said the
signora
. ‘Pietro knows what to do.’

‘Yes,’ said Pietro. ‘But I don’t like it.’

‘Willem, call the boatmen, please.’

He nodded and ran out of the room.

Al-Qasim was staring out at the sunlight glinting on the canal.

‘My friend,’ Luis said softly, ‘you do not have to come.’

Al-Qasim wrapped his arms tightly around himself as if against a cold wind. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he said.

‘You have faced Fra Clement enough for one lifetime,’ said Luis. ‘You’ve been braver than all of us. Stay here.’

Al-Qasim closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you.’

He had never spoken about the horrors he had endured in Fra Clement’s torture chamber in Seville, and I never wanted to ask. Every day I saw the scars on his hands and the places where his fingernails had never grown back. I’d watched him learn, all over again, how to hold a pen, tie a knot, fold a piece of paper. I’d seen him struggle to find meaningful work now that he could no longer paint intricate maps or charts of the night sky. I couldn’t ask him to face his torturer again.

‘Luis,’ I said, ‘you should stay here, too. If Clement recognises you from Seville, you could be in real trouble — you were the one who drew your sword against him. Hopefully, he doesn’t know who you are.’

‘But I should be there to protect you,’ said Luis.

‘Please, stay here with Al-Qasim,’ said the
signora
. ‘You can rescue us later if necessary.’

Luis looked anxiously at his friend, now slumped on the cushions in the corner, and nodded.

‘Nobody,’ I said firmly, ‘is going to need to be rescued.’

‘Except perhaps the Inquisitor,’ said Signora Contarini.

My resolve faltered more than once as the boatmen rowed us the short distance along the Grand Canal to the Doge’s Palace.
We retraced our steps up the Golden Staircase, then Signora Contarini led us down a corridor away from the Council’s chambers and into a maze of dark, wood-panelled offices. She knocked on two doors before she found the one she wanted. Beyond it was a chamber as richly decorated as any in the palace, but dimly lit and deserted. Our footsteps echoed in the silence.

‘This is where the Inquisitor normally hears his cases,’ the
signora
said. ‘But it seems that Fra Clement is not fond of public hearings.’

‘No,’ said Willem. ‘One of his previous attempts didn’t work out as he wished.’

I grinned, in spite of the fear boiling in my belly. ‘It was his own fault.’

‘I don’t suppose he remembers it quite as fondly as I do,’ said Willem.

Behind the Inquisitor’s podium, the
signora
found a carved wooden door.

‘Here we are,’ she whispered. ‘Ready?’

I nodded.

‘Just remember, both of you,’ said Willem. ‘Stay calm, and whatever you do, don’t let him upset you — and don’t get him all riled up, either.’

‘You must learn to trust us, Willem,’ said the
signora
. ‘We can be very well behaved when the circumstances call for it.’

She pushed open the door. Behind me, Willem muttered a prayer.

Inside, a young Dominican monk sat scribbling in a ledger. He looked up when we entered, as surprised as if we had fallen from the sky. Signora Contarini glided across the room like a Venetian galley under full sail.

‘I would like to request an audience with the Inquisitor.’ Her voice echoed around the room.

The monk looked even more astonished. ‘Do you have information about some heresy, some crime, you wish to report?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Signora Contarini.

‘Perhaps you would care to speak to one of the Assistant Inquisitors? I can arrange a meeting for you with Father Francesco in three weeks’ time.’

‘Three weeks?’ said Willem.

‘We’re very busy at present,’ the monk said.

‘Yes, I’m sure you are,’ Willem said.

‘Or you can write down the names of those you suspect and slip the paper into the Lion’s Mouth.’ He waved in the direction of one of the dreaded letterboxes, shaped like a grimacing face, set into the wall nearby. ‘Nobody will know it was you who denounced them.’

‘Listen to me, young man …’ Signora Contarini’s tone was ominous.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked quickly.

The monk blinked. ‘I am Brother Andreas.’

‘Very well, then, Brother Andreas, please tell the Inquisitor that Isabella Hawkins is here. He will see us.’

‘Hawkins?’

‘You heard her,’ said Willem.

Brother Andreas swallowed.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know who she is.’ Willem put both hands on the desk and leaned down until his face was level with the monk’s. ‘Just go and tell Fra Clement we’re here. All of us. Believe me, he wants to hear it.’

Brother Andreas slammed his ledger shut, picked it up and ran from the room.

‘That was very manly of you, Willem,’ said the
signora
. ‘Almost menacing, except to those who know you.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think.’

Minutes later, Brother Andreas ushered us down yet another corridor. As we passed the door to one room, there was a moan from within.

‘What was that?’ asked Willem.

‘That,’ said Brother Andreas, ‘is the sound of a sinner reaping his reward.’

Before any of us could respond, Brother Andreas knocked on a door, opened it and announced in a faltering voice, ‘Mistress Isabella Hawkins and associates.’

‘Bring them here.’

Willem gave my hand a squeeze and I nodded gratefully. Then we walked into the presence of the man I hated more than anyone on this earth.

He sat at a huge desk on which were heaped scrolls of paper and several large ledgers. Both of his hands were clenched, white-knuckled, on the desktop and his thin lips were pursed. He watched us as we walked in and sat in three chairs in a line facing him, as if set there especially for us.

‘That will be all,’ he said to Brother Andreas, who bowed his head and left the room.

Fra Clement didn’t even glance at him — his eyes were fixed on my face, as if he was trying to burn a hole deep into my soul. I tried my best not to blink, not to flinch, and stared back at him.

‘So, Isabella Hawkins,’ he said at last. ‘In all your arrogance, you come to speak to me here?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Where better?’

‘You do not lack courage, I grant you. But wisdom? That is another matter.’

‘You don’t scare me,’ I said, although frankly I was deeply regretting my insistence on speaking to him. It seemed now, in the distant reaches of the palace, like an extremely foolish idea.

‘A pity,’ said Fra Clement. ‘I’m sure we can change that.’

‘Are you threatening her?’ said the
signora
. She leaned forward.

‘And who is this?’ Fra Clement cast his eyes over Signora Contarini’s defiant face and expensive, obviously Venetian attire. I was sure he knew perfectly well who she was.

‘This,’ she said, her voice crackling with fury, ‘is Signora Valentina Nicola Priuli Contarini, descended from the doges of Venice, and proprietor of the Mermaid Press.’

‘I see,’ said Fra Clement. He turned back to me. ‘Your partner in heresy and dissent?’

‘We try,’ I said.

‘Isabella …’ I heard the warning note in Willem’s voice.

‘And you, boy.’ Fra Clement turned his attention to Willem, who paled visibly. ‘You have not yet realised that associating with such people can bring dire consequences?’

‘Yes. I mean — no.’ Willem gave up trying to speak under the full force of Fra Clement’s gaze, and bowed his head.

‘I expect not,’ said Fra Clement. ‘You were never very bright.’

Willem looked up, his face filled with pure hatred. I’d never seen him look like that at anyone, ever.

‘What do you want?’ Fra Clement said to me.

‘It’s simple,’ I began. I’d rehearsed my speech over and over, but now it seemed only a few fragments had stuck in my memory. ‘We listened to your words yesterday and heeded your warnings about the publication of troubling materials.’

‘Really?’ Fra Clement smiled, but there was no warmth in it. ‘I am astonished that a few mere phrases can have such an immediate curative effect.’

‘Words are very powerful,’ I said.

‘As we both know.’

‘Indeed.’ I swallowed a retort and went on. ‘It seems to us that your —’

‘Let me guess,’ Fra Clement broke in. ‘You are going to praise my wisdom and insight and assure me that you will never defy the laws of state or Church again. Is that it?’

‘Not in those precise words,’ said the
signora
.

‘There wasn’t going to be anything about wisdom, for example,’ said Willem.

Fra Clement shot him a look so scathing it could have shredded paper.

I tried again. ‘But we wanted to assure you —’

‘You can assure me of nothing, Mistress Hawkins, nothing at all. Even if you tried, I would not believe you.’

‘You won’t hear us out?’ asked Signora Contarini.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Fra Clement. ‘It will only waste my time.’

‘Then what will you do?’ I said.

Fra Clement sighed. ‘In my first few weeks here, I learned much about the Venetian ways of doing business. I was warned that you are under the protection of the Contarini and Priuli families, among the most important in the city.’

‘That is true,’ said the
signora
. ‘My uncles are much more powerful than any Inquisitor sent from Rome.’

‘Until now,’ said Fra Clement. He tapped his fingers on his desk. ‘I have also been told that to accuse you, madam, of complicity in the crimes perpetrated by these two adventurers,’ he waved
a hand in our direction, ‘would be impolitic. But you, and that infidel astronomer you harbour, have published endless numbers of books and pamphlets expressly forbidden by Rome.’

‘We have committed no crimes against Venice,’ I said.

He glared at me. ‘Only against the Pope, against the Duke and Duchess of Seville, against the Holy Office and the laws of the Church, against the Word of our Lord and all humanity.’

‘You exaggerate my influence,’ I said.

‘Not to mention mine,’ said Willem.

Fra Clement’s dark eyes didn’t leave my face. ‘Mistress Hawkins.’ He spat my name like a curse. ‘Your sins and crimes are so many that nobody can save you — not from me, and certainly not from Divine justice.’

‘Then why haven’t you arrested me?’ I said. ‘Because you know that you can’t, that Venice will protect us.’

‘For the moment.’ He jumped to his feet so fast his chair slammed back into the wall, and leaned across his desk towards me. ‘I am a very patient man. It took me five years of watching and waiting until I had enough evidence to convict your beloved Master de Aquila. I can wait another few months to collect proof to send you to the stake — all of you!’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ The
signora
stood up, her eyes bright with anger.

‘Indeed, I would,’ he said. ‘And I will.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘You inherited all of Master de Aquila’s property on his death, did you not? You printed the heretical manuscripts he left behind, even
The Sum of All Knowledge
, knowing that it calls into question the motions of the very stars in the heavens. In doing so, you published the writings of any number of banned authors, infidels and reformist scum, including your precious father.’

Now I leaped to my feet. ‘Don’t speak of him in that way.’

‘Your father was a blight on Christendom, like your precious Master de Aquila, like you,’ said Fra Clement.

‘Who are you to say that?’

‘I am the Holy Father’s Inquisitor. I am the appointed hand of the Faith.’

‘You know nothing about faith,’ I said. ‘You think it is about restricting people’s minds, people’s words.’

‘Faith without rules is merely superstition.’

‘Is that what you believe? You couldn’t be more wrong. Faith without wisdom is merely superstition. Rules are made by men, and rules can change.’

‘These rules,’ Fra Clement took a breath through clenched teeth, ‘hold the world together. Shatter them, Mistress Hawkins, and you shatter faith.’