Here’s another cut scene – a long one. After leaving Verona, Pietro kept company with the Moor and the astrologer Ignazio as far as Venice. There they met with Manuel’s cousin, Shalakh. This scene was more a over-clever attempt to bring Shylock into the novel. He was already mentioned, but as he plays a much larger role in book three, I thought I could lay the groundwork here:

Venice

– 3 March, 1315

It was Pietro’s first trip to Venice, and he ferverently hoped it wouldn’t be his last. Used to the bustle of Florence, Paris, and Verona, the Serene City was a revelation. Not that it wasn’t a hive of activity. But navigating streets made of water made everything seem calmer, more refined and stately.

The islands of the Venetian lagoon were first settled during long past barbarian incursions when the people of the Feltro sought refuge in the marshes. The refugees built watery villages on rafts of wooden posts, laying the foundations for the floating palaces that Pietro had sailed past. He asked, “Are we going to call on Ambassador Dandolo?”

“Later,” the Moor replied.

Ignazzio found himself explaining. “We’d never escape the palace. The Doge is rather fond of having his chart reviewed, reinterpreting it in light of recent events. Better to take care of business first, before they know we’re here.”

Pietro’s guides clearly knew their way about. Once landed they set off at a brisk pace. Ignazzio seemed wary of every stranger, but Theodoro’s bulk cut a wide swath through the crowds, careless of the angry stares. There were many Negroes in Venice, but most were servants or slaves, and none dared walk with such careless ease as the Moor. Pietro, who was awed by the man, felt a mixture of fear and pride to be in his company.

Theodoro led the way to the Rivo Alto, known more commonly as the Rialto. It was the highest point of land in the lagoon and the natural focus of settlement. All around him flew flags bearing the Seal of San Marco. The device was engraved on a dozen walls, and atop a pillar stood the lion holding a shield bearing the Cross. Venice had forever linked its name with San Marco when the apostle’s earthly remains were spirited out of Alexandria four hundred years before to rest in the aptly named Basilica da San Marco.

After a series of turns – the streets had no names, so Pietro wondered how the Moor knew his way – they arrived in the small section of the Rialto, known as the Yellow Crescent. A curved street only two blocks long, it was so called because it was there that the Jews plied their one and only trade – usury.

As they approached the house Manuel had described, Pietro could feel many eyes upon them, sizing up their strange party with mistrustful sidelong looks. A knock on a solid-looking door produced nothing at first. From inside Pietro could hear the wail of a newborn child. “Manuel said his wife had just given him a daughter.”

“I should offer to make her chart,” Ignazzio replied. The Moor looked dubious. He knocked again.

The door opened with a suddenness that surprised them all. Facing the Moor had been a small man, a head shorter than Pietro and barely reaching the Moor’s breastbone. In his own home the man didn’t wear the cap mandated for his people, and his bare head showed a considerable mass of white and grey curls, with a few traces of their original black. The face under the white moustache and chin beard was kindly by nature, almost comical. But use had made sagging pouches along the frown lines, and deep depressions around the eyes. Still, there was a twinkle in the eye that struck Pietro as canny as they surveyed the three visitors. “Yes, lords?”

“Shalakh?”

“I am he,” said the short fellow warily. The Moor passed him a sealed note, two papers folded into another. Shalakh glanced at the seal and snorted. “Manuel’s friends? Oh very well. Enter my house, but please keep your voices low. My wife is with my daughter,” at this his chest doubled in size, “and I shouldn’t wish her disturbed.”

They introduced themselves sotto voce and he showed them into a small room, very neat, just to the left of the entryway. The only furniture in this room were chairs and a small strongbox. It bore a series of intricate hasps and locks. Waving them to a seat, he perched himself upon this and broke the seal on his cousin’s letter. He read it twice, then removed a folded paper that bore a drawing. It was a copy of the medallion the scarecrow had lost in his attempt to kidnap Cesco. The real medallion, Pietro knew, was secreted away in Ignazzio’s luggage.

At last Shalakh lifted his grave gaze from the papers. “I see. Setting aside the secured loan I am to make to Ser Alagheiri, there is this other matter. To sum up – you are looking for the name of a tall, thin man advanced a large sum this month, who wore a medallion like this one,” he held up the drawing, “and who did not receive the remainder.”

“His name, and the name of the account holder,” said Pietro. He knew how flimsy it sounded. Judging by his expression, Shalakh seemed to think so, too. Pietro added, “Money is no object.”

The little Jew laughed mirthlessly and snapped his fingers. “Oh, well then, I’ll have these names by sundown! Heaven knows, give a Jew enough gold and he can bribe the Pope! You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I have real business to attend to.” Despite his words he seemed to be enjoying himself. He stared at them, eyes glittering, daring them to speak.

“You won’t help?” asked Pietro.

“Or he cannot,” said Ignazzio.

Shalakh made a wry face. “Oh yes, play on my vanity. As it happens, I have contacts in all the banking houses, for often men of means require ready monies, theirs being tied up in trade. Since I am forbidden to trade, I have nothing but ready money. So, yes, I could make enquiries. If I so chose.”

“What could influence your choice?” asked Ignazzio.

Shalakh considered, stroking his trim moustache. “I am a fortunate man. I have a new daughter, and she makes me near giddy. I should be providing for her future, so I will accept the Scaliger’s gold – oh, don’t, please. He sent you, it’s no use denying it. But, to keep his name out of my inquiries, there must be an additional enticement.”

Pietro felt himself bristle. Ignazzio, however, was unruffled. “What would that be?”

Shalakh looked up, as if for inspiration. “Oh, anything that would bring a smile to my face.”

Pietro almost stood to leave, but the Moor’s hand restrained him. Theodoro said, “There is a shipment coming along the Adige this week, a large amount of pine and larch. It will pass safely through Verona, but it will never reach Venice. River pirates shall waylay it.”

Pietro looked around in surprise. Ignazzio seemed equally taken aback at the Moor’s comment. But Shalakh’s face was hawkish with interest, all pretence of airiness vanished. “I suppose if I consent to make these inquiries, I shall be granted the name of the unhappy owner of this wood?” The Moor nodded. “I could find out myself, of course, given this much. But then, I suppose if I do not consent, these mysterious river pirates may decide to take a holiday and let the shipment through.”

“A clever man could use this information,” said Ignazzio, picking up where the Moor had stopped, “and purchase a great amount of timber. Through surrogates, which I’m sure you have.”

“Perhaps,” said Shalakh. He made up his mind. “Very well. Because he has been so generous to my cousin, and in the hope that he shall look as favorably upon me, I shall brut about for the great Greyhound. I make no promises, and it may take weeks. If this transaction was made in Venice, no doubt we shall soon learn of it. But it could have happened in Genoa, or Constantinople, or Bruges. It could take some time. Now, the name.”

Pietro looked at Theodoro, whose face was expressionless as he said, “Ambassador Dandolo.”

One might have thought the Jew would quail at that, but instead his face lightened as if it were a lamp lit by some internal glow. “You have done it,” he said. “Now, to more mundane matters. Ser Alaghieri, I learn from this letter that you are traveling to Bologna to pursue your studies. How much money do you require at purse, and how much upon credit?”