Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Read online

  ‘I’ve seen it all over the world’ Gerben rumbled, ‘it’s as common as horse shit.’

  ‘Not necessarily’ said the Professor with an indignant shrug, John and Gerben looked to respond, but Prince Fano waved them down.

  ‘Gentlemen... please. Let me explain our position to this young man’ he said with another strained smile, ‘what is a spider good at Mr Sloane?’ Winston flapped his arms.

  ‘Spinning webs: what else?’

  ‘Yes, this is true Mr Sloane, but she also entraps, binds, and devours her prey. And what better way to capture a man’s heart than with the golden threads of earthly love?’ The Professor shook his head.

  ‘There are women that love women as well, you know?’ said Winston, with a knotted brow, who well understood the metaphor, but did not feel like agreeing with the men and wanted to annoy them by stating the opposite. The three men rolled their eyes, and the Professor shrank like a child.

  ‘This is familiar enough, Mr Sloane’ Prince Fano continued, ‘We’ve known many that prefer their own sex - the Sapphists are some of our best clients. But men are different: ask any woman who's fond of them. It's not for nothing the wise ones say that “to attract a man is an art, but to keep a man is work”.’ Prince Fano wagged his finger with a wink of his eye - added to by the laughter and back slaps of the other two men. The Professor shook where he stood till his knuckles turned white:

  ‘Are you going to sell me the spiders or not!’ he shouted, ‘I’ve not come here like some back-street-witch to make up silly love charms.' Then in an instant the men fell silent and sat stony-faced. The Professor turned to look behind him to see if someone had come in. No one had. He spun back round to face the men: ‘what?’ he said perplexed before he went over in his mind what he had blurted out. He wiped a sweaty palm over his damp brow and looked down to the floor before he replied. ‘So… I say back-street-witch, and you ALL go quiet’ he said with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Even some love magic must be taken seriously’ said Prince Fano in a whisper, ‘the ingredients for spells are some of our most lucrative trade’ he added. The Professor paused, curiosity aroused, to think again before he answered:

  ‘Do any of you know a woman so high’ he gestured with his hand raised to his shoulder, ‘with skin like porcelain, and hair like gold...?' All three men paused, 'called Lucia?' He added. The Merchants took in a collective breath.

  ‘You know our Lucia?’ said Gerben agog.

  ‘Yes, I do’ said Winston with an air of triumph, ‘she sent me here’ he lied.

  The three Merchants became still for a moment and looked at their visitor with fresh eyes.

  ‘John, fetch the brandy’ said Prince Fano, ‘Gerben, please lock the door, and put the sign in the window: for now, we’re closed.' The man mountain did not waste time at the request and brushed past the polished wooden counter to walk to the door with thunderous strides, before snatching up the closed sign from a hook on the wall, locking the door, and hanging it in the window before he returned. ‘Mr Sloane’ said Prince Fano, ‘please come with me’ he added with a gesture of great respect and ushered the Professor toward another side door, down a shelving area bulging with goods. Prince Fano led the way with confident strides and took the Professor into a warm room furnished with exquisite items and stuffed animals that hung from the walls lined with cabinets of polished rosewood and glass. Prince Fano gestured for the Professor to sit down at a wide table, spread with a white cloth adorned with nun’s lace, which stood upon a vast Persian rug of stunning colours and details.

  John, scurrying like a rodent, had retrieved four glasses from one of the cabinets and reached into another to draw out a Murano glass carafe filled with honeyed liquid. Prince Fano gestured to John to have the Professor served first before he laid out the glasses, and Gerben arrived with a platter of raisin bread, salt, soft butter, and Dutch cheese:

  ‘From my homeland’ said Gerben, with pride, as he plonked the plate down and sliced into the red wax seal that encased the Edam.

  The Professor struggled to contain his surprise at the turn of events, seeing Lucia in a new light, but he maintained an image of a man that was accustomed to such respect in Venice. The merchants sat down, and John poured out measures into the glasses. Prince Fano raised his glass in a toast, and the others followed:

  ‘To new friends’ he said, ‘anyone who knows Lucia the Great is a friend of ours.' Winston bathed in the new kudos accorded to him and accepted that there was at least some compensation in his encounters with Lucia and some of the harsh lessons he had learned from her. He drank a mouthful of the brandy as the other men did, and as the fiery liquid filled his mouth Winston then saw his father appear between the merchants, jolly and laughing. Gerald winked at his son, clinked his glass with theirs, drank his measure and vanished. The startled Professor blinked several times. He paled. Winston then recovered himself and gave a faint nod to acknowledge his father's presence, and smiled as the rich brandy, of high quality, suffused his senses. His father loved brandy. He shook off his day dream and blamed fatigue. The Professor then eased back with a long sigh of contentment in the plump high-backed chair offered to him, like a prince. The merchants leaned forward in silence, as the Professor spun the brandy in his glass as if he owned the orbit of the world.

  ‘So?’ said John, ‘how do you know of our Lucia?’

  The Professor took a languid sniff of his beverage, peering at the merchants through his eyelashes, and sipped his brandy - swilling the liquid through his teeth and over his tongue, and enjoyed the warmth as the beverage glided down his throat before he replied. He gathered his thoughts with care:

  ‘We met, due to some business matters I had in Florence...' The merchants waited for more. The Professor coughed. 'There were some books and some other things that I needed to get, and I heard it said, in some places, that I could find what I wanted at Lucia's convent.’

  ‘She’s a NUN?’ John exclaimed, and the other two men seemed as shocked as he.

  ‘She’s not a nun’ the Professor corrected, ‘She’s an Abbess. She was mistress of a whole establishment in Arcetri.' The Merchants looked incredulous. The men then whispered amongst themselves like fishwives chewing saucy gossip.

  ‘She doesn’t look or move like a woman of pious faith to me - let alone an Abbess’ said the Dutchman. ‘I reckon she’d destroy a man with those hips and her beauty...' Winston had a flashback of Lucia taking her pleasure of him. 'I tremble when I see her, yet I’m built like an oak!’ he said as he clutched at his bulging biceps.

  ‘What I would give for a night with her?’ John sighed, as Lucia’s gleaming body flashed into the Professor’s mind.

  'You'd never survive' laughed Prince Fano.

  ‘She’d be worth a thousand courtesans' John continued, dreamy-eyed.

  ‘And she could converse with the best of them’ added Prince Fano, ‘whenever she came here she couldn’t hide her learning; it seemed she knew the world.’ The pierced merchant rubbed at his gold piercings for wisdom, casting his mind back. ‘I always knew there was more to her. Lucia's not a bit like the common maids that fetch things for their ladies around here: not a stitch of wit between the lot of them.’

  ‘Aye, but an educated woman can be a dangerous thing’ mused John as he wagged a cautionary finger, ‘and fathers are right not to educate their girls…’ The Professor saw himself stand up and backhand John across his face, he clenched his jaw, as he held his tongue, but could not restrain an expression of distaste that crept across his face at the statement. The Professor could almost hear the whistles and guffaws come from the brilliant and educated women he had met in his own life.

  He swallowed another sip of brandy and reminded himself of the times. John continued as if inspired: ‘Lucia’ he said, flinging his arms wide before cuddling himself, ‘read me the sweet poetry of carnal love.' The Professor almost laughed, when he saw Lucia using The Grip to throw John through a brick wall.

  ‘She glows, she glows
’ said Gerben transfixed, and the tattooed man took another swig of brandy that emptied his glass before he crumbled a little salt into the vessel and poured more brandy on top. The Professor gave a quizzical look: ‘to remember the sea’ said the man raising his glass again for another sip of brandy.

  ‘So... the spiders’ said the Professor wishing to gain an answer to his initial enquiry, ‘how many do you have and how much do they cost?’

  All three men drew in sharp breaths.

  ‘We have five left’ said Gerben.

  ‘But they're not cheap’ added John who cradled his glass.

  ‘The spiders come from a long way away Mr Sloane, and it takes them months to get here’ said Prince Fano.

  ‘Where are they from?’ said the Professor.

  ‘They’re from Madagascar: my homeland.’

  So that’s where you’re from thought Winston. ‘They spin their golden webs high in the trees to catch their prey in the sun: the webs are beautiful. As children we would climb up high, in my tribe, just to see them; even the girls. It was worth it.’

  ‘I need twelve.’ The merchants all choked on their brandy.

  ‘Why do you need more than one? Let alone twelve? They cost two ducats each, and the next shipment will not be due back for some time: it takes three months both ways’ gasped Prince Fano. The Professor’s shoulders slumped at the news, and he rubbed at his temples.

  ‘Let’s just say there is more than one use for a Golden Orb Weaver’ he said, ‘but I’ll take the five that you have.’

  ‘But that’s ten Ducats worth’ said John.

  'I can count.'

  ‘But you don’t look like you have the means to provide such an offer.' The Professor snorted air out of his nostrils and reached into his top pocket for a small, but heavy, bag which he tossed onto the table. The bag landed with a thudding clink. The merchants, seasoned dealers, knew by the sound alone that the Professor had more than enough to pay for his goods.

  ‘We’re happy to do business with you, Mr Sloane’ said Prince Fano in a brighter tone. The Professor smiled and lapped up the evident respect that emanated from the three men. He relished his new power.

  ‘Tell me something, gentlemen, before I conclude my business here’ he said before he took a final swig of his brandy and paused for dramatic effect. He then gestured to each man in turn. ‘Why do you have a tattoo of a Unicorn on your arm?' He said to Gerben. 'How did Gerben save you if you're a Prince?' He said to Prince Fano. 'And why in God’s name didn’t you leave John where you found him?’ The Merchants squirmed in their seats as they tittered.

  ‘I’ve often asked myself the same question’ said Prince Fano with resignation. John glared at the Professor.

  ‘The tattoo is for a ship I once had: The Silver Unicorn.’ The Dutchman twisted the skin of his forearm to look at the detailed ink work, ‘I had the creature carved in wood and gilded with silver at the prow.’ Memory seemed to grip the vast man. ‘She was a beauty that ship, light and strong. I still miss her, and she galloped through the waves in all weathers. A breath on her sails was enough to move her, and not even a clipper could keep pace with her in a good wind.’ Prince Fano and John rested their palms to their chins as Gerben told his story, and they seemed to look through the broad man, and through the walls, past the lagoon, and into the Adriatic that lay beyond. ‘In the sunshine’ he continued, ‘the silver gild shone just like your hair, young man, and the moonstones of the Unicorns eyes glowed just like the real moon above when all was calm at sea. My men would dangle themselves over the prow just to look at her.’

  ‘And the ship now?’

  ‘He sold it’ said John.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ said Winston flicking his head to the Englishman.

  ‘You were a shipwreck, weren’t you?’ Said Prince Fano slapping the man on the back, ‘ruined on the north coast of my country.’

  ‘The land of the Moon!’ added John who then howled like a wolf, ‘the New World’s not for me’ he added deadpan, 'I’m not suited to the colonies.' The Professor let his eyes linger on John.

  ‘Madagascar is a long way from the New World. Why did you keep him?’ said the Professor. John crossed his arms at the persistent questioning and tone of their new client.

  ‘He made us laugh’ said Prince Fano, ‘and at sea, that's a precious thing.' The Professor gave a sage nod.

  ‘So, you’ Winston said with a loose gesture to Prince Fano - the Brandy doing its work, ‘how did Gerben rescue you?’ The mood in the room changed with the question, and the merchants looked less comfortable. Prince Fano leaned forward to answer the Professor, but he hesitated before speaking.

  ‘I was betrayed by a rival that wanted me out of the way. I’m a Prince in my land.’

  ‘And as good as any Englishman’ said John, thrusting his glass in the Professor’s direction. The two natives of England locked eyes before John pulled back to take another swig of his Brandy.

  Prince Fano raised a hand, as if to break the tension between the two men, and smiled as he lowered it before he continued.

  ‘My rival envied my wealth and trade with the Arabs, Indians and Ethiopians. My tribe did very well. So, he had me kidnapped and put on a ship bound for the Caribbean.' The Professor could tell Prince Fano looked uncomfortable telling his story. ‘Luckily, for me, Gerben was coming the other way on his Unicorn’ he continued, smiling with immense warmth at the Dutchman, ‘and he raided our ship to free the captors. We found John back along the way.' The Professor took the story in.

  ‘And so all of you are here now’ he said, with a motion at the walls and a warm glow in his head.

  ‘We’ve had many years in Venice now, after much more at sea’ said Gerben.

  ‘So, is that why you sold your ship? So you could all be here?’ The Dutchman looked awkward and glanced around for help.

  ‘Well, Prince Fano knew everyone: all the tradesmen and spices’ said John.

  ‘And I was done with my work’ said Gerben, ‘I’d freed many men, and the ship had served its purpose.’

  ‘A dream had made him see the error of his ways’ John blurted out, topping up everyone's glasses before his own. Gerben’s face darkened. The Professor gave another quizzical look before the Dutchman answered.

  ‘I dreamed of a Unicorn that rammed through hulls, cast light into the dark, and broke the bonds of chains. I understood the meaning at once, and stopped my former trade.' The Professor considered the statement, as Prince Fano and John reflected. Gerben pushed the platter of food closer to the Professor to encourage him to eat. ‘Today’ he said, ‘I trade goods, not slaves.'

  ‘Oh’ said the Professor with a humbled face, ‘now I understand.'

  Chapter 7

  The Dungeons of the Doge

  Venice, afternoon, outside the Palace of Doge, Monday the 24th of October 1611

  Hermes and Antonio arrived at the exalted and revered Doge’s palace, after walking through the grandeur of San Marco’s square, and past the spectacular San Marco’s Basilica that stood as a lavish nod to Byzantium. Hermes had paused to look at the onion-domed mosaic of plundered ornaments - a placard trophy of Christendom - and the gilded pride of Venice.

  The pair had then alighted like tourists to take in the imposing height of the Campanile tower, craning their necks to see the bells at the top. After arriving at their destination, the two young men walked to the side of the palace, to go over what was to be said to whom, and together they reappraised the advice that Giovanni had given to Antonio.

  ‘What’s it like in there?’ asked Hermes after they had talked for some time.

  ‘I’ve no idea’ said Antonio his palms upturned, ‘it’s the first time I’ve tried to visit anyone in there, but I’ve heard from others that it’s not a good place to be.' Hermes looked concerned.

  ‘What did they say about it?’ he asked rubbing his brow.

  ‘Like my father said it's not good. They say it’s dark and cramped, and that the lower down in the du
ngeons you are, the worse it gets.’

  Hermes gave an involuntary shudder although the air in San Marco’s square had warmed as the day progressed. He took several steps backwards into the square to look at the building again and tried to ignore the pigeons that pecked around his feet for stray crumbs tossed here and there by bread sellers that had finished business for the day. The birds seemed desperate to him:

  ‘Get a grip on yourselves’ he muttered under his breath, and he almost kicked a pigeon with tattered feathers and a stumped leg that pecked about his feet in a wobbling frenzy. Hermes re-joined Antonio at his side: ‘how is it possible’ he said, ‘that a building - no, a PALACE - as beautiful as this can also be a prison and dungeon? It looks like it’s made from lace and sugar loaf.’ Antonio smirked.

  ‘This is Venice’ he shrugged, ‘when there’s no space The Republic must be clever with what it has.' Antonio then stepped back himself to scrutinise the building. ‘In any case’ he continued, as he eyed the delicate pillars and arches of the upper galleries, ‘I’m sure it suits the Council of Ten, and the Doge, to keep their prisoners close.' The youth looked confused.

  ‘The Council of Ten?’ he said. Antonio’s face buckled before he threw a plebeian look in Hermes direction.

  ‘You’ve never heard of the Council of Ten?’ Hermes gave a blank expression and shook his head. ‘You're strange sometimes’ said Antonio crossing his arms, before he held up three fingers and took on the tone of a private tutor. ‘They say if three people know it so does the Council of Ten: and they know EVERYTHING worth knowing.' The youth raised his brows before Antonio pointed to a stone carving, at street level on the palace wall, that looked like a gargoyle, ‘you see that lion over there?’ Hermes nodded, ‘what does it mean?’ He shrugged again, ‘the winged lion represents San Marco, our patron saint, and San Marco represents Venice: he protects us.’

  ‘I know who San Marco is’ said Hermes flat faced, ‘didn’t they smuggle out his relics in pork?’ He tittered. Antonio eyed the youth with a tilted head and searching eyes: