The Venice conspiracy

'You must support him or kill him. There is no field to plough between those two trees.'

Pesna pours wine as he ponders the options. 'Very well. Tomorrow – when my head is clear and my balls are empty – we will decide his fate. Now, my friend, I pray silence from you. No more of your news.' He nods to the servant girl waiting by the door. 'I have much debauchery to engage in.'

CAPITOLO XI

Larthuza's Hut, Atmanta In his fevered sleep, Teucer shouts and screams. He thrashes wildly and spits out names of demons unknown to Tetia and Larthuza. Pain roars through him. As hot as flames. As sharp as a needle through the eye. Larthuza holds him and with Tetia's help administers another draft of valerian. They press his shoulders to the bed until the drug kicks in and his mind passes into calmer waters of unconsciousness.

It's long after dawn when they next check him. The healer seems pleased with the progress of the last few hours. 'The gods have taken the fury from his wounds. He will be left with scars, but they will look naught but the scratches of an animal.'

'And his sight?'

'Sweet Tetia, it is too soon to speak of this. There was burning ash and wood rooted in his orbs. If the celestial gods wish their seer to see, then it shall be so.' He takes her smooth and gentle hands in his bony old fingers. 'Your love for him will impress the gods and bring him fortitude. Hold nothing back. Use your most feminine powers to bring him comfort and healing in every way you can. His body is hurt, but so too is his spirit and his soul.'

Tetia nods. 'I will always be indebted to you for your help.'

He stands and hugs her. 'Then I hope I will be repaid by living long enough to see that child of yours come into your life.'

She instinctively puts a hand to her stomach.

'And remember, you need to take care of yourself and that baby as well as your husband,' Larthuza adds as he starts to prepare a poultice of feverfew.

'I will.' Tetia wrinkles her nose. The poultice smells worse than the sulphur baths her mother is so fond of. 'I hope its healing power is as strong as its stench. What will it do?'

Larthuza laughs. 'It will make you feel sick, such is its noxiousness. But it will further remove the fire from Teucer's burns. I dare not give him more valerian, so this will help keep him bound in the healing folds of gentle sleep.'

Larthuza removes the pads of ram's wool and pats the poultice gently over the netsvis's eyes. 'Injuries such as Teucer's are similar to those of the battlefield. When the body is wounded it creates its own medicines, powerful potions that race in the blood and kill the pain, but only for a short spell. When the body's potions are spent, then terrible pain surfaces. Feverfew will ease the agony in Teucer's mind.'

Tetia is still grimacing from the smell. 'I hope it is so.'

'It is, my child. Now I must go. There is sickness with a newborn and I promised its parents I would attend.'

Tetia touches his arm tenderly. 'Thank you again.'

'You are most welcome. Now I think you should settle beside your husband for a while and get some sleep.' He leans closer and whispers, 'Baby will need it too.'

Tetia smiles as he leaves. She would indeed like to rest. And she supposes it is her duty to endure the awful smell of the poultice. She wipes Teucer's brow and moistens his dry mouth with fresh water, then she lies next to him and kisses him softly on his dampened lips. She closes her eyes and prays for a speedy recovery.

She is in that magical space between daydreams and sleep, when it happens -

Teucer grabs her by the throat.

Squeezes so hard she cannot breathe.

She kicks out but can't get free. Grabs his wrists but can't unlock his grip.

'Be gone! Be gone!' shouts Teucer. 'Dark demon with no name, I vanquish you!'

Tetia gasps for air.

'I need to kill it. I must kill it!' His grip tightens murderously.

Tetia kicks again. Connects with something fleshy. She thrashes harder. Her foot hits Larthuza's fire and scatters embers.

Blackness floods in.

She's losing consciousness.

Through the sickly fog she sees Teucer's outstretched arm, his blistered face and the creamy poultice masking his eyes.

And then she collapses.

CHAPTER 16

Present Day Luna Hotel Baglioni, Venice By the time they've finished making love, the coffee is undrinkable and the pastries too paltry to pacify Tom and Tina's raging hunger. They quickly shower and dress. Downstairs, in the hotel's palatial Canova Room, they persuade staff to let them catch the last of the breakfast buffet.

Tom takes in the splendour of the giant ancient oils hung on rich, oak-panelled walls as they work through fresh fruit, smoked salmon with scrambled eggs and enough fruit juice to fill the lagoon outside their window. 'So, my wonderful writer friend, what can you tell me about Venice?'

Tina looks over her coffee cup. 'You didn't read a guide book before you came?'

'Glanced at some guff.'

'Hey, travel writing isn't "guff ". It's how I earn my living.'

'Sorry. I forgot. But tell me anyway – give me the verbal tour.'

'Okay. Well, next to Rome, Venice is my favourite place on earth. La Serrenista has blessed us with so much: Marco Polo, Canaletto, Casanova, Vivaldi – the Red Priest…' She laughs. 'The list of famous Venetians is endless! This is the place that gave us wonderful words like mandolin and ciao and awful ones like ghetto and arsenal. But more than anything, I love the fact that in Venice time stands still – there are no cars on the streets, no overhead power cables and none of those ghastly cell-phone masts. Come here, and you just drift back hundreds of years.'

'Here's to drifting.' He raises a tumbler of juice to toast the fact.

'To drifting.' They clink glasses. She sips then asks him, 'You remember any of the guff?'

Tom looks thoughtful. 'Some. Way back, there was nothing here but water and marshes, rough fishing harbours and stuff. Then, old Attila the Hun appears in the middle of the first century and people scatter from his murderous wake to the islands around here.'

'How many islands?' she says, sounding like a teacher.

'Lots.'

She laughs. 'About a hundred and eighteen, maybe a hundred and twenty – even the Venetians don't always agree.'

'Like I said, lots.'

'The main area of initial settlement turned out to be Torcello. Venice itself didn't develop any real influence until malaria swept through the Torcello and people drifted down to what we now call the Rialto.'

'Seventh century?'

'Eighth. The Venetians chose their first doge – a strange sort of democratically elected quasi-religious governor – and set up their own regional government in 720-something. They went from strength to strength and never faltered until the great plague. That knocked them sideways. They got all religious, then, being typically Italian, went off into a period of massive sexual and artistic indulgence. Finally, Napoleon brought their endless partying and copulating to a rude end in the eighteenth century.'

'Impressive. You ever get bored with travel writing, you could probably bag a job as a city guide.'

'Thanks.' Tina wipes a white cotton napkin across her lips. 'Let's completely change the subject, now. And forgive me, because this is a bit personal – but do you know that you have about the worst dress sense I've ever seen?'

Tom laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. 'Mea culpa! I have no defence. I could plead that my suitcase was lost when I left LA – which is true – but the fact is, you're still right. It contained nothing that would have convinced you I could strut a catwalk.'

'You don't like clothes?'

'Sure, I like them. I like them – to feel comfortable, to fit – be clean – last a long time. Beyond that, I guess they do nothing for me.'