A Death in the Venetian Quarter Read Free Page A

we could borrow someone else’s fleet. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing? What navy do we usually use when we need one?”
    â€œVenice’s, Your Majesty,” said Laskaris.
    Alexios slumped back in his throne, sighing.
    â€œI suppose that won’t do this time,” he said.
    â€œNo, Your Excellency.”
    â€œAll right, see how much they want to go away,” commanded the Emperor. “And, my Lord Admiral, since you don’t have a navy, I want you to follow the fleet from the shore. Take five hundred knights with you.”
    â€œYes, sire.”
    â€œWe do still have some horses left, don’t we?” thundered the Emperor.
    â€œYes, sire,” said Stryphnos, and he bowed and left.
    â€œAnd we’ll be eating them inside a fortnight,” Rico muttered to me.
    â€œDear me, I had better warn Zeus,” I said. “All that money I’ve spent keeping him stabled here would go to waste.”
    â€œBetter keep him handy,” said Rico. “You never know when you might have to leave in a hurry around here. Look, your ball-less friend is trying to catch your eye.”
    I looked up to see Philoxenites, the Imperial Treasurer, jerking his head toward a corridor, then vanishing down it. I played on a bit to give him time, then stood and stretched and strolled out of the room as if I was heading for the nearest chamberpot.

TWO
    The concession to the Venetians of a Quarter in Constantinople, with
shops in the district of the Ferry, between the gate called the Jews’
Gate and the gate called the Watch Gate, with all occupied and un-
occupied lands, and comprising the three wharfs or landing stages on
the shore of the Golden Horn.
    â€”—FROM THE ALEXIAN CHRYSOBULL (1082 A.D.)
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    P hiloxenites kept his offices at the northeast corner of the palace, with a view overlooking the Golden Horn. He was a large, bald man, a source of much ridicule among the masses, but he was a wily, manipulative, ambitious schemer. That in itself did not distinguish him from the average member of the upper echelon. What did was his knack for thriving no matter who was on the throne or in favor of the Emperor. He had his fingers in every pie in Byzantium, which made him a useful source of information as long as you kept your back to the wall.
    He was a eunuch, something favored by those who knew him. Such creatures should not be allowed to reproduce.
    He waved off our usual preliminary banter, though observing the social amenities. I always made sure he drank first, just in case.
    â€œTo Byzantium,” he said, smirking as he lifted his cup to his lips. “I might as well get right to it,” he began as I cautiously tasted my wine. “There’s been a death in the Venetian quarter. I thought you might want to look into it.”
    â€œWho died?” I asked.
    â€œFellow by the name of Bastiani,” he said. “Camilio Bastiani. A silk merchant.”

    â€œAnd why should the death of a merchant interest me?”
    â€œI thought all humanity interested you.”
    â€œI don’t have time for every single one of them. There’s probably a sparrow falling somewhere that I’ve missed as well. What’s so important about Bastiani?”
    â€œHe’s a Venetian.”
    â€œSo? Venetians die. There’re thousands of them sailing toward martyrdom as we speak.”
    â€œWhich makes the timing of Bastiani’s death all the more interesting.”
    â€œWhy? What makes this particular Venetian significant to you?”
    He walked to the door, opened it briefly, and glanced in both directions. Satisfied that no one was listening, he closed the door and pulled a chair close to mine. His appearance did not improve with proximity.
    â€œHe was my principal informant inside the Venetian quarter,” he said softly. “And a possible conduit to the fleet if we needed to open negotiations quietly. He is a major