Cesare nodded appreciatively whilst making private calculations.
‘And my deductions were confirmed,’ Slovo went on, ‘by today re-meeting Michelotto – or Sebastiano, as was – in your employ. He has altered appearance, posture and manner most convincingly; but a mask worn for one month in the fierce Roman sun leaves indications not easily erased. I also note, in passing, it transpires he has no scar.’
‘No,’ said Cesare. ‘My brother thought there might be advantage in the employ of a masked servitor and so concocted a pretence.’
‘But he is a businessman,’ said Slovo.
‘… and therefore open to alternative offers, yes,’ confirmed Cesare. ‘Yet he remains a person of sensitivity and has been much troubled by his previous meeting with you. I believe he wishes to apologize.’
By way of rare indulgence, he indicated that his servant might enter the conversation.
‘My Lord Admiral,’ said Michelotto in a dead, dull voice. ‘I want to broaden your understanding of our encounter in the vineyard. I desire to convince you that I am not always thus. May I say that my sordid speech was dictated by Duke Juan’s company. In matters of the flesh he was a very degraded man and in certain roles, one has to make … accommodations that can be distasteful.’
‘I quite understand,’ replied Admiral Slovo. ‘Men are driven by the storms of circumstances and, unable to stand alone against them, are hardly accountable for the course of their little ship.’
Michelotto stood and bowed in apparently genuine appreciation of the Admiral’s generous spirit.
‘If I take your meaning,’ said Cesare, ‘it prompts me to suggest a possible explanation of Juan’s death.’
‘Really?’ said Slovo, counterfeiting surprise.
‘Could it not be, Admiral, that he was removed by an ambitious member of his family, say a younger brother, anxious to secure the secular honours that would otherwise ever be showered on Juan? Might not such a ruthless and resourceful man infiltrate the Duke’s household with a killer and then disguise the murder as an all too plausible crime of passion?’
‘It is entirely possible, my Lord,’ agreed Slovo. ‘In fact, such is the favoured solution detailed in a number of letters written by myself to His Holiness; presently secured in places various and intended for delivery only in the event of my unexpected demise.’
‘Then may that day be long delayed,’ said Cesare solicitously.
‘But that eventuality aside,’ Slovo continued determinedly, ‘I detect the very brightest future for you now that you are the senior of your clan. And since that is so, I would welcome your guidance on my report to His Holiness. In short, my Lord, and to be plain, the bill of fare being before you, would you care to make a selection? I’ll call it suicide if you wish …’
Cesare sighed with pleasure and sank back into his chair. ‘What all too rare a joy it is,’ he said, smiling and savouring the moment, ‘to meet with such clarity of vision.’
Admiral Slovo woke from sleep – and then wondered whether in fact he had. Instead of being bedded and in his night attire, he was fully dressed and out and about. Quite where he was about he couldn’t say, but from literature and elsewhere he recognized a labyrinthine cave system when he saw one.
The tunnel walls were high and irregular, disappearing up out of sight, beyond the reach of the diffuse and flickering yellowy-red light whose point of origin he could not detect. Looking round for same, he found he was not alone.
‘I want a word with you!’ said a rather cruel voice, whereupon a tall, dark and sodden figure stepped out of the shadows to the Admiral’s side.
‘Good evening, Duke Juan,’ said Admiral Slovo politely. ‘How are you?’
‘Dead – and covered in indescribable things,’ replied Duke Juan, gesturing angrily at his gaping wounds, ‘as you can well see! Otherwise I’m fine. Start walking.’
He pushed at Slovo’s shoulder and they set off together down the gently sloping tunnel.
‘How do I come to be here, may I ask?’ said the Admiral. ‘Am I dead too?’
‘Sadly no,’ said Duke Juan. ‘The explanation is that my anger, being so great, is able to fetch you hence in the hours of the night, when the tide of man’s spirit is at low ebb.’
‘I see,’ said Slovo, clearly fascinated. ‘And this word you wanted with me?’
‘Humanity’s ingenuity has not yet constructed a word of the required ferocity. Therefore I am obliged to resort to whole sentences.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Admiral Slovo, sounding remarkably unperturbed all the same. ‘That sounds rather unpleasant.’
‘It does and it will be,’ said Juan, showing his fine white teeth through the muck of the Tiber. ‘I would prefer to kill you but, that not being permitted, will settle for driving you mad.’
‘How so?’ asked Slovo. ‘Your company is not appreciably more repugnant than in life and this place is marginally tolerable. Purgatory, by definition, has to be so. Incidentally, which route do we take at this junction?’
‘It makes no damn difference which path you take,’ growled Duke Juan. ‘The tunnels are all the same and go on for ever. You never meet anyone, you never see anything different or interesting. That’s Purgatory for you!’
‘I’m prompted to mend my ways so as to avoid it,’ said Admiral Slovo.
‘Oh, but avoid it you will not!’ crowed Duke Juan. ‘I shall keep my fury at boiling point and fetch you here every night to walk with me. Each morning you will wake tormented and drained, and eventually your sanity will depart. Then you may linger on awhile, deprived of all dignity in some inferno of an asylum and breath your last done up in chains with fine ladies laughing at you. Or perhaps you will throw yourself from your villa roof, driven beyond endurance or, fondly imagining you can fly, smash into fragments on the hard pavement below. Either way, I’ll have you treading these tunnels in your own right before long.’
Admiral Slovo obligingly looked suitably impressed. ‘I tremble at the prospect,’ he said and Duke Juan smiled like an evil child. ‘However, as a matter of curiosity, might I enquire why your resentment is focused on me? It was not me that caused the needle to be inserted in your ear; not me currently usurping all the honours bestowed on you by a proud father. It is your brother, Cesare, who is now Gonfaloniere, out doing the subduing and conquering that you might have done. Isn’t picking on me a trifle unjust?’
Duke Juan spat at the tunnel wall. ‘Of Cesare I expect nothing! What he did was predictable and in accordance with his character – I just didn’t anticipate him moving so soon. But you, Admiral, I’m shocked! Entrusted by St Peter’s heir to seek out the killer of his eldest son, and what do you do? Don’t think that I haven’t been watching. I’ll call it suicide if you wish – disgraceful! You let Cesare get away with it!’
Slovo having no reply, they trudged on in silence for a while, choosing paths at random. Even in the pre-industrial fifteenth century, Admiral Slovo had never encountered such profound quiet and he was beginning to enjoy it. Until he recalled that he had an early appointment with the Pope that morning and he needed his rest.
‘Duke Juan,’ he said apologetically, ‘I hesitate to mention it but there may be something you’ve overlooked …’
‘So the rest of the night you slept well?’ asked Rabbi Megillah.