The Venice conspiracy

'I am fine, Father,' Teucer mumbles weakly from his makeshift bed.

Kavie looks challengingly at Venthi. 'Then with your consent, may we have a moment alone with our priest?'

Teucer's father addresses Pesna. 'Why at this moment do you seek such urgent counsel with my son? Can you not see that he needs to rest?'

'We will not be long.' The magistrate steps close to him. 'We have important matters that need but a very short – and private – time with him, alone.' He flashes a diplomatic smile and claps the old man's arm. 'The sooner we begin, the sooner we are gone.'

Larthuza coughs and motions Teucer's parents to the doorway. 'Perhaps you could help me pick herbs from my garden? I need thyme, pimpernel and root of gentian to make an infusion to speed his recovery.'

Reluctantly, Venthi and Larcia follow him outside.

Kavie and Pesna take positions either side of Teucer. The magistrate speaks first. 'So, young priest, how came you to be so injured? The word among commoners is that you were blinded in the curte. This kind of tale augurs badly for your popularity and the success of the task I set you.'

Teucer chooses his words carefully. 'Commoners never care for the entire story. It is true that while in the curte I was hurt by the fire I had built. My injuries are solely the will of the gods.'

Kavie and Pesna exchange disturbing looks.

'But what the commoners do not know is that I was there entirely on your business and that before my punishment the gods revealed to me why I must suffer such pain.'

'What do you speak of, Netsvis?' Pesna leans close to him. 'I am not a man amused by riddles. If you have a divine message for me, then out with it.'

Teucer replies tonelessly: 'Before a mighty force threw me into the flames, the gods set my eyes on the temple. They told me they were angry you had stopped work on their home in order to increase output at your mines. They did this to me to punish your short-sightedness.'

Pesna glances towards Kavie and reads the anxiety on his face. 'Your insolence is only forgivable because of your illness. If this is an act of the gods then they are communicating their wishes through you, so tell me, what needs be done to please them?'

Teucer manages a thin smile. 'Their temple needs to be finished and due homage must be paid in the form of gifts and sacrifices. If you please the gods in these ways then they will reward me by returning my sight and will grant you the peace and prosperity you so urgently seek.'

'And if they are not pleased?' asks Kavie.

Teucer cannot see the men, but senses their apprehension. 'If the gods are displeased then they will leave me blind. And they will wreak most terrible vengeance on you and all you hold dear.'

CHAPTER 20

Present Day Venice Tom and Tina take dinner at the kind of restaurant only locals know about – the kind that even travel writers keep secret from their readers. Tina pauses until the waiter is out of earshot. 'So' – she fights back a cat-got-the-cream-smile – 'I hope you don't mind me talking about this, but was I really your first?'

He looks up from his spaghetti vongole and pretends not to understand, 'My first what?'

'You know…' She slices steak piazzella, and whispers, a little louder than intended, 'Your first full sexual communion? '

Tom slugs a jolt of chilled white wine and shoots her a disapproving look. 'Sex and communion are words that don't really go together.'

She arches an eyebrow, 'Oh, I don't know, I could see you in those long purple robes, nothing on beneath, me kneeling at your feet and-'

'Don't go there!' He puts up a hand. 'Don't even think it. You're a very sick girl.'

'Mister, you can't begin to imagine! I'm a journalist, I was born sick,' she apologises with a soft smile. 'And hey, you've still not answered my question.'

Tom fiddles with his wine glass. 'Yes.' He looks up at her. 'Yes, you were.'

'Phew.' She rewards him with an approving tilt of the head.

'Is that a good phew, or a bad phew?'

'It's like a wow, phew.'

'A "wow, phew"?' He laughs. 'I've never had a "wow, phew" before.'

'I guess that's because you've never had sex before.'

'Point taken.'

'So, describe it, then. What's it like, first time?'

Tom drops his cutlery in mock exasperation. 'Oh, come on! Give the boy a break. You've had your own first time, you know what it's like.'

'A long time ago.' She half laughs, picks up her wine glass, stem between middle fingers, a glisten of condensation outside a bowl of golden fluid. 'Actually, now I remember, it was horrible. Hurt like fuck and I thought I'd never want to do it again.'

Tom looks shocked.

She pins her smile back on. 'Not that bad for you, I hope.'

'No. Not bad at all.'

She feigns offence. 'Charming. I've never had a "not bad" before.'

He finally twigs. This is about emotion. Feelings. Communicating. Building a relationship. The spiritual side. The very thing he should be good at and is now blundering around at. 'I'm sorry. I guess I'm spectacularly poor at this.' He pauses and makes sure she's looking at him, staring straight into his eyes, the proverbial windows of the soul. 'Sleeping with you-' he corrects himself: 'Having sex with you – is something I'll never, ever forget.'

'Of course you won't. No one does.'

'No. Not because it was my first time, that wasn't what I meant. I didn't rush out of the church and think, whoopee, now I can have sex. It wasn't like that.'

She's taken aback, reaches for a glass of water rather than her wine.

'I'll never forget it because I felt closer to you at that moment than I've ever felt to any human being. Never mind the rush, the adrenalin, the desire. There was all that. And more. And thank you, God, for the intensity of it all. But there was more.'

Tina feels embarrassed. She'd raised the topic to be playful, to tease him, to spice up the dinner. Now she's somewhere she hadn't expected to be. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be crass, earlier.'

Tom smiles; the inquisition is over. He picks up his glass again. 'You weren't.' He takes a calmer sip this time. 'Talking about it was good. The right thing to have done. So what now? What happens next?'

Next? Tina had never thought about next. She disguises her shock by looking away. Now she reaches for the wine and she hopes there's no panic on her face when she turns back to him. 'Don't expect too much, Tom. Please don't. I have an awful habit of letting people down.'

CHAPTER 21

Isola Mario, Venice The historic mansion on the private island owned by reclusive millionaire Mario Fabianelli is in the news for all the wrong reasons.

Formerly a respected seat of Venetian grandeur, it is now a hippy commune. Its manicured lawns are overgrown and neglected, and the only hint of affluence comes in the presence of the black-uniformed security guards who patrol the perimeters.

The guards are in good spirits as they end their shift inside an ugly grey Portakabin surrounded by a crop of cypresses at the rear of the mansion.

'Another day over – another cheque in the bank.' Antonio Materazzi slumps against a door-jamb and lights a cigarette. The four guys in the locker room, including their supervisor, think he's an out-of-work bouncer from Livorno. None of them have a clue his real name is Pavarotti or that he's an undercover cop. Luca, the supervisor who gave him the job, is a big friendly guy who's taken a liking to him – maybe even sees a bit of his old self in the well-muscled kid. 'Antonio, come eat with us,' he shouts as he struggles to tie his laces beneath the heavy sagging stomach that's he's keen to fill. 'Spumoni makes the best tortellini in Venice, come with us.'