Tim Willocks

  “For her, it became so.”

  “Women are prone to infatuation, especially with their protector. The protector of a woman’s child exerts a charm more potent still.”

  “I’m reassured to hear you say that,” said Ludovico. “It reflects my own observations, but in these respects you are more seasoned than I.”

  “I was a monk of sorts, too.”

  “But you never fell in love.”

  “That abyss I was never able to bridge. My weakness inclines to the flesh, not the spirit.”

  “The Spanish girl, Amparo, dotes on you.”

  “Is she well?”

  “Like Carla, she’s enjoyed every courtesy and comfort.”

  “I’d be loath to see her come to any harm,” said Tannhauser.

  “Use your wits and no hand will touch her but your own.”

  It occurred to Tannhauser that there was a serpentine vagueness to these answers, yet he did not sense any lies. Lies or not, the Inquisitor held the trumps.

  “Why did you return to the Borgo?” said Ludovico.

  Ludovico intended the query to discomfit him. Tannhauser shrugged. “I left a small fortune here in opium and precious stone. Enough to mount a healthy enterprise, be that in Italy or Tunis or back on the Stambouli shore. Besides, the thought of my companions in Turkish chains did not sit well, and I fancied I could save them from that end.”

  Ludovico leaned forward. “Does Carla hate me?”

  The question escaped as if he’d held it captive for a lifetime.

  “She’s never said so to me,” replied Tannhauser, “and not for want of opportunity. Or encouragement. Her soul provides no ground in which hate might take root. She’s bewildered by your cruelty. Women in general find barbarity an insoluble puzzle. I doubt she’d appreciate you tying me to a stake. But I would say in respect of you that her sentiments are more in the way of sorrow, at the spectacle of a man she once loved given over to evil.”

  Ludovico nodded, as if for the moment sorrow would do. “During all the years I dealt with death, I never wanted anyone to die. Duty and the safety of the Church demanded otherwise. But at times, I will admit, I’ve desired your death with a very great passion indeed.”

  “I’ll admit a similar hankering for yours,” said Tannhauser.

  “Nevertheless, when now we meet face-to-face, I find my anger drained.”

  “As the Arabs say, better a wise man for an enemy than a fool for a friend.”

  “I’ve come to offer you a bargain.”

  “I find myself with precious little to trade.”

  Ludovico said, “I want you to kill La Valette.”

  Tannhauser managed not to blink. That this might be Ludovico’s purpose had escaped his every speculation, yet an instant’s reflection made it almost banal. Treachery of the highest order, but he knew better than most that no instrument of State was more hallowed than murder.

  He said, “When?”

  Ludovico said, “At once.”

  “So Admiral Del Monte is the Pope’s man.”

  “He will be Ghisleri’s man, though as yet he is unaware of it. No stain attaches to the admiral’s character, except, perhaps, an insufficiency of guile.”

  “I can see Del Monte bending to a pope, but not to an inquisitor.”

  “Before the year is out, the Fisherman’s Ring will shine on Ghisleri’s finger.”

  Tannhauser shrugged one brow. “If you plan a pope’s murder too, I expect the Prince of the Religion is small game.”

  “The business must be concluded quickly—while the outcome of the war is yet uncertain and passions are high. As a final act to the drama it will play nicely. The valiant Grand Master, slain in the moment of victory by a nameless Turkish assassin. A role you are more than fit to play. In the vulgar outpouring of grief, as well as of triumph, no one will dare dispute La Valette’s chosen successor. Del Monte will ascend the throne. And La Valette’s name will live forever.”

  “Superb,” said Tannhauser.

  In a rare show of vanity, Ludovico inclined his head.

  “And the bargain?” asked Tannhauser.

  “If you decline,” said Ludovico, “your throat will be cut in this room and your body consigned to the sea by first light.”

  “I’ve struck less-compelling deals,” said Tannhauser. “But as this will be concluded on a handshake, perhaps not even that, and will require you to set me at liberty, your proposition requires a healthy degree of good faith—on your part.”

  “Then you have no qualms.”

  “La Valette is no innocent. The Turks would hail me as the slayer of a vicious demon, and with good reason. But what chance will I have to survive this escapade?”

  “Your survival is my earnest desire. If you are killed in the attempt, your identity would tarnish the stratagem’s perfection. There would be a mystery, and questions—an investigation—and while such obstacles could be surmounted, I’d rather they didn’t arise.”

  “By what means shall I perform this assassination?”

  “Your rifle has been fettled, the finest powder and solid steel shot provided.”

  “My pistol?”

  “As you wish. Your horse will be saddled and at your disposal. The Kalkara Gate will be open and the bastion unmanned. These things I pledge on my honor. As always, La Valette is careless of his person. He is armorless and in plain view at the shrine of Philermo. He will remain in San Lorenzo until lauds are concluded. Place yourself while it’s dark. When he leaves the church at dawn, you can kill him from a hundred feet and be beyond the walls before the hue and cry is up. From the look of him your Buraq can outpace any other mount in the city. After that the choice is yours: the Turkish fleet at Marsamxett or your little boat at Zonra.”

  This deliberate mention of the boat disturbed him. It must have gone hard with Bors. For the moment he let it lie.

  “I recommend the Mohammedans,” continued Ludovico, “who as you point out, will treat you as a hero.”

  “These pledges,” said Tannhauser. “My horse, the open gate.”

  “Trust them. I’m able to rise above malice, especially in success. Your future among the infidel is of no consequence to me. But if you’re captured alive, the torturers will have their day. While my word would prevail over yours, it’s not a complication I relish and might provide grounds to dispute Del Monte’s succession. In the event of your capture my men have orders to slaughter you, as if in a fit of rage, but as you’ve proved yourself hard to kill, uncertainties abound. Your clean escape is in my interest as much as it’s in yours.”

  “My sword, dagger, and cuirass, in case I must fight my way out.”

  “Ready and waiting. Along with Turkish garb.”

  “My opium and precious stones?”

  Something shifted in Ludovico’s expression, as if this were a request he’d hoped for. “Already packed in your saddle wallets. Wages may not guarantee fidelity, but they help.”

  “The prospect of prosperity will lend me wings,” said Tannhauser. He added: “I want Bors with me.”

  “No,” said Ludovico. His tone brooked no negotiation.

  “He’s alive?”

  “Sound in body but addled in mind.”

  “Then give me your pledge that you’ll free him when I’m gone.”

  “The English only lives as a possible, though inferior, assassin should you have refused. I will grant him a quick death, but no more.” Ludovico spread his hands. “If I make one false promise, you’d have reason to doubt those which are sincere, and you know that Bors must die. He’d spill this tale, somewhere, over the first jug of wine.”

  Tannhauser made a show of considering this. He said, “I don’t want Bors to suffer damnation. Will he have a chance to make his peace with God?”

  Ludovico took this as proof of hardheaded acquiescence. “Confession and Holy Communion from my own hand,” he said.

  “What of the women?”

  “When I leave this chamber, Carla will ride with me t
o Mdina. Since I treasure her favor, and enjoy her consent to our marriage, Amparo will enjoy every luxury and protection in our household. You will never see either again.”

  “And Orlandu?”

  Ludovico looked at him for what seemed like a long time.

  “My son is dear to me. To Carla, dearer still. Bors told me you left him in the care of the Yellow Banners. One General Abbas bin Murad.”

  He waited for confirmation. Tannhauser nodded.

  “Mustafa’s cavalry protect the retreat to the ships. The Yellow Banners will be among the last to embark. I will secure Orlandu’s release.”

  “The boy works with hostlers,” said Tannhauser. “If it comes to battle, the regiment will take spare horses into the field to replace those killed. If he’s there, that’s where you’ll find him.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Orlandu’s a fine boy. I wish him all good fortune.”

  Ludovico nodded. “Therein lies another reason why I wish for your escape to the Turk. If I should fail to find my son, I would pay a healthy ransom for his return from Constantinople.” He added: “He is my flesh.”

  Tannhauser nodded. “Then we seal a twofold bargain in this pit.”

  “Good.” Ludovico stood up. “Is any part of this stratagem unclear?”

  Tannhauser hoisted himself to his feet. “What if I reveal your plot, to La Valette?”

  “Then Del Monte would not succeed, a disappointing outcome, and wounding to my pride, but hardly disastrous. You, however, would have to defend your charge of an absurd conspiracy against the word of four heroic knights in good standing—you who would be proven guilty of desertion by the testimony of Carla alone. The torturers would be called, you would confess to a vile slander, and by sundown you’d be swinging from the gallows.”

  “And if I just ride out of the Kalkara Gate and away?”

  “My agents in the Courts of Law must have news of La Valette’s death before the sun clears Monte San Salvatore. If not, Amparo will die in his place. She will die unpleasantly, and in terror. If La Valette lives, Amparo dies. The choice is yours.”

  “You’d risk Carla’s abhorrence?”

  “Carla would never know. She’d be given to understand that I’d allowed Amparo to leave the island with you.”

  Tannhauser ignored the lurch in his gut. He nodded. “Again, I congratulate you.”

  “I have a man close to La Valette in the church,” added Ludovico. “Any treachery on your part and he will expedite the girl’s death.”

  “This is yet a tricky chore,” said Tannhauser. “Its essence is stealth. If I find some knight clanking after me in the dark, or one of your familiars on my tail, I won’t answer for their lives.”

  “The degree of trust you ask for is yours. I agree you need it. My man will watch La Valette, not you. You’ll find your gear and clothing outside the door. A barge waits at the wharf. Buraq is tethered by the ruined bridge.”

  “When first we met you absolved me of my sins,” said Tannhauser.

  Ludovico studied him, as if for mockery. He found none. He raised his hand.

  “Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu Sancti, Amen.”

  Ludovico turned and started away into the dark.

  “At the Kalkara Gate,” said Tannhauser. “Who betrayed us?”

  Ludovico stopped and turned, now a faceless black silhouette against the gloom.

  “Your girl, Amparo,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Tannhauser.

  “Her abandonment of Buraq so broke her heart, she told the horse everything she knew.”

  Did Ludovico smile in the dark? Tannhauser couldn’t tell.

  “The Sicilian crone overheard her.”

  The Feast of the Nativity of the Virgin: Saturday, September 8, 1565

  Church of the Annunciation—San Lorenzo—The Courts of Law

  By the time he’d located Gullu Cakie, in the church of the Annunciation, Tannhauser’s temper had risen to a boil. The tearful rapture that crammed the church cooled his fury back down, and this was good, for he wanted the blood in his veins to run as cold as snow.

  Though it was still dark, the parish church overflowed and he guessed it would overflow until the feast of the evening to come. That deliverance from the Moslem peril should come on so holy a day of obligation was taken by all as a sign of Divine compassion. And if, this year, the people had no harvest to celebrate, they’d reaped their freedom on the field of battle, and it was for this that they gave their heartfelt thanks to Christ and the Virgin. The summer was over, and they were saved.

  The Annunciation’s interior flickered yellow and black with hundreds of candles and votive lights. Lamp wicks smoked in the brackets below the Stations of the Cross. A child-size statue of the Madonna was festooned with silk flowers. A fistful of dried wheat stalks and a bunch of grapes from some garden vineyard on L’Isola lay at Her feet. Goats be-decked with ribbons trembled here and there among the crowd. Baskets of shriveled vegetables and eggs lay at the foot of the altar. After a struggle through the congregation, Tannhauser found Gullu Cakie against one wall, below a plaster relief of Christ being scourged at the pillar. When he saw the look on Tannhauser’s face, he genuflected to the altar and crossed himself, and without a word being said he followed him back outside. Buraq stood with hanging reins in the shadows.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” said Gullu Cakie. “Many believe you deserted.”

  “And you?” asked Tannhauser.

  Gullu shook his head. “Your boat was still at Zonra.”

  Tannhauser’s surprise lasted only an instant. Cakie knew of more intrigues and goings-on than anyone in Malta. He’d probably known about the boat since the day Tannhauser stole it.

  Gullu added, “And the Inquisitor’s Sicilian hag decamped to the Courts of Law.”

  “Is Starkey aware of this?”

  Gullu shook his head. “He believes you gone, with the women.”

  Tannhauser felt vaguely wounded. “Starkey believes me a deserter?”

  Gullu shrugged, too gnarled to point out that Tannhauser was just that.

  Tannhauser said, “I need you to deliver him a message.”

  Gullu Cakie was one of very few outside the Order with immediate access to the high command. He pleated his bald brow. “To Starkey?”

  “I need to speak with Starkey at once, on a matter of the greatest urgency.”

  “He’ll be in San Lorenzo, at lauds. They’re all there. Why not go yourself?”

  “I can’t reveal my hand. He and I must meet in secrecy. Tell him so. Do you know Ludovico’s familiars?”

  Gullu gave him a look, as if offended by the suggestion he might not.

  “He has a man on La Valette’s staff,” said Tannhauser. “Who might that be?”

  “The Sienese, Pandolfo, is a snake in the grass.”

  “Pandolfo it is. Neither he nor La Valette must suspect anything is amiss.”

  Gullu Cakie said, “Only a fool tangles with the Inquisition.”

  “A fool stands before you, sure enough, but you’ll earn the Grand Master’s gratitude.”

  “I’ve earned myself an abundance of his gratitude,” Gullu scowled. “And it won’t put a single loaf of bread on my kitchen table.”

  “La Valette’s life is at stake.”

  Gullu pursed his lips, both unmoved and unimpressed. “Grand Masters? They come, they go, we shovel up their shit. And now that the war is over?” He shrugged again.

  “You’ll earn my gratitude too. I’ll be in your debt as deep as you want to call it.”

  “But both of us will have to live if I’m to collect.”

  Tannhauser couldn’t help a grin. “You’re a man after my own heart.” His grin faded. “Amparo’s life is in danger, too. Ludovico has her in his lair.”

  Gullu’s expression changed. “Amparo is one of us.”

  “I’d say so.”

  Gullu looked at his shiny, ca
llused palm. “Amparo told me I’d live to see my great-grandson born.” He looked up at Tannhauser. There was no hesitation in the beady eyes. “That’s a prophecy I will not see cursed.”

  Torchlight made the crypt of San Lorenzo seem eerie. The vaults set into the floor stretched back with geometric ingenuity until lost in the haunted darkness. Some of the burial chambers lay open, their stone lids stacked aside, and the white folds of recently shrouded corpses could be seen within. Flies snarled in the gloom. A lingering tang of incense was swamped by the stench of putrefaction, for embalmment was a luxury long abandoned. The chancel of San Lorenzo lay directly above and Tannhauser heard the faint sound of singing. The monks’ celebration of the dawn was under way. And time was running out. He heard a set of footsteps and returned to the crypt’s entrance. Starkey stepped into the torchlight. His expression was guarded, yet not unfriendly.

  “Tannhauser. You’ve been missed.”

  “I’ve been taking my ease,” said Tannhauser. “In the Guva.”

  “The Guva?” Starkey was shocked. A rare sight. “On whose authority?”

  Tannhauser waved this aside. “There’s a plot afoot against the Grand Master’s life. I am his appointed assassin.”

  Starkey was unarmed. His eyes reaffirmed the fact that Tannhauser was festooned with weapons, but whatever alarm he felt didn’t show on his face. “Appointed by whom?” he asked.

  “Brother Ludovico.”

  Starkey didn’t seem surprised, but was ever difficult to read. “Fra Ludovico,” he mused. “Ghisleri’s man to the knife.”

  Tannhauser summarized his arrest and confinement—relocating their capture to the Auberge of England. He outlined Ludovico’s proposition and plan.

  “You have proof of this intrigue?” Starkey asked.

  “Give me a free hand with young Pandolfo and you’ll hear it for yourself.”

  “Pandolfo too?” Starkey’s mouth twisted. “Ludovico’s scheming to promote Del Monte was brazen enough, but I did not imagine he’d be so bold as this.”

  “Time presses,” said Tannhauser.

  “Is Del Monte party to this conspiracy?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God.”