Fools' Gold (7 page)

Freize rose to his feet and let the man see his height, his broad shoulders and his honest friendly face. Ishraq noticed the girl gather her money into a purse and tuck it under her robe, and the swift glance that passed between her and her accomplice in the crowd. Quietly, her partner moved so that he was between her and the disgruntled gambler. For a girl working as a gambler in the streets she looked surprisingly apprehensive at this minor trouble. Ishraq would have expected her to be accustomed to brawls.

‘It’s really nothing to do with us,’ Ishraq suggested quietly, putting a hand on the back of Freize’s jacket. ‘And we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Why don’t we just go now?’

‘I want my money back!’ the man said loudly, tossing the hem of his cape over his shoulder and stripping off his blue gauntlets as if he were readying himself for a fight. ‘I want it now.’

The shill stepped forwards so that he was beside the girl, who bent down to smooth the sand out and kept her head low, almost crouching down, as Freize spoke to the angry man in blue.

‘Now you wait a moment,’ Freize said, completely ignoring Ishraq’s warning. ‘Did you bet that the pretty stone was under the cup?’

‘Yes!’ the man said. ‘Over and over.’

‘And were you wrong?’

‘Yes! Over and over!’

‘And did you put your money down?’

‘Six times!’

‘Six times,’ Freize marvelled. ‘Then I have good advice for a man as clever as you. Don’t waste your time here: go to the university!’

Completely distracted, the man hesitated and then asked: ‘Why? What d’you mean?’

Everyone waited for Freize’s answer, the shill standing protectively over the girl as she looked curiously upwards.

‘At the university, at Padua, they take students who study for years. And here, in one morning, you have taken six tries to discover that her hands are quicker than your eyes. See how slow you are to observe the obvious! Think how long you could study at Padua! It could be the occupation of a lifetime. You could become a philosopher.’

There was a roar of laughter from the man’s friends, and they slapped him on the back and called him ‘Philosopher!’ and jostled him away. Ishraq watched them go and turned back to see the young woman was laying out the game again. The little quarrel had attracted more attention and this time there were more bets, on all three cups, so that she was forced to pay out to some players. She took some silver and handed over two quarter gold nobles and then packed up her cups and her ball and swept the white sand into the crevices of the paving stones to indicate that play was ended for the day.

‘Thank you,’ she said briefly to Freize and she fastened her little satchel.

‘Thank you for the game,’ Freize said. ‘I am new in town and it is a pleasure to see a pretty girl at her work. What’s your name, sweetheart?’

‘Jacinta,’ she said. ‘This is my father, Drago Nacari.’

‘A pleasure to meet you both,’ Freize said, pulling off his hat and smiling down at her as she rose to her feet and handed the heavy purse of money to her father.

‘Have you heard of a priest called Father Pietro?’ Ishraq asked her, recalling Freize to their task.

She nodded. ‘Everyone knows him. He sits over there, at the corner of the bridge; he has a little desk and a great list of many, many names of people enslaved, poor souls. He comes after Sext. You will find him here after the clock has struck one.’ She gave them a little bow and walked away from them. Her father tipped his hat to them both and walked with her. Freize looked after her.

‘I think I am in love,’ he said.

‘I think you are hopelessly fickle,’ Ishraq said. ‘You swore a lifetime of service to Isolde, you insisted on a kiss from me, you flirted with the innkeeper’s wife in Piccolo, and now you are chasing after a girl who has done nothing but take money off you.’

‘But her hands!’ Freize exclaimed. ‘So fast! So light! Think, if you married her, of the cakes she would make! She must make fantastic pastries with hands as quick and light as that.’

Ishraq giggled at the thought of Freize lusting after a young woman because he thought she would make a good pastry cook. ‘Shall we wait for Father Pietro?’

Freize nodded, looking round. ‘While we’re waiting, we could change some coins. I have a handful of coins that I took from Milord’s funds. Luca has to study the gold coins here, the lord of his Order commanded him to look at the gold nobles. Shall we try that man, see if he has any English nobles?’

They walked over to a long trestle table. Behind it, on a row of stools, sat the money changers. Each man had a small chalkboard beside him, and constantly wrote and rewrote the exchange rate of the coins he had to offer. One man was busier than all the others, he had a queue of men waiting to do business with him. As they watched, he altered his sign to read:

Two Venetian Ducats for One Gold Noble of England.

Ishraq nudged Freize. ‘He has them,’ she said quietly. ‘That moneylender. He has English gold nobles, and at a better rate than all the others.’

Freize stepped up to the man who was dressed all in black, except for a bright round yellow badge that he wore on his chest, his dark hair plaited away from his clean-shaven face, a small black cap, the
kippah,
on the back of his head, his fingers busy with a small worn abacus, two locked boxes on the table before him, a young man standing for protection behind him.

‘I’d like to change some money,’ Freize said politely.

‘Good day,’ the man replied. ‘Today, I am only offering English gold, English gold nobles. Their value at the moment is of two Venice ducats.’

‘Good day to you,’ Freize replied. ‘Is that good value? I am a stranger in the city.’

‘I am Israel, the Jew. I can promise that you will find no better price.’

Freize took out his purse and emptied it onto the desk, then he went through all his pockets, of his breeches and his jacket, and even the band of his hat, producing coins from the most unexpected places, much like a conjuror.

‘What are you doing?’ Ishraq asked, amused.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ Freize said. ‘You steal my purse from me but –
ecce
! – half my fortune is in my hat.’

The trader started to sort the copper from the silver, the bronze and the chips of metal, and weigh them.

‘Do you have much English gold?’ Freize said casually.

‘I buy only gold of the best quality,’ the man replied. ‘And last year these English nobles started to become available in great numbers. They are excellent quality, the best gold that can be got. They are as good as gold: the coin is pure gold, there is nothing added and nothing taken away.’

He started to weigh the coins against tiny weights, the smallest the size of a grain of wheat, in a precisely balanced scale. ‘I see you are a traveller,’ the man remarked. ‘For here are coins from Rome and from Ravenna, and from the west of Italy too.’

‘I’m in the service of a lord from the west of Italy.’ Freize told the lie that they had agreed. It was coming more and more easily to him. ‘A young lord who wants to visit this city and try his hand at trade here. He has a share in a cargo in a ship which is coming in any day now.’

‘He could come to nowhere more prosperous. I wish him good fortune,’ the man said quietly. ‘Tell him to come to me for fair dealing in gold. Now,’ he paused and looked doubtfully at the scales. ‘I am sorry to have to tell you that some of your coins are not very good. Some of them have been clipped to make them into smaller coins, and some of them have been shaved and the value stolen from them.’

Freize shrugged. ‘It’s the luck of the road. I trust you to deal fairly with me. Oh!’ he exclaimed. ‘I had forgotten.’ He leaned over the table and picked out one copper penny coin. ‘I should not have put this among the others,’ he said. ‘It’s my lucky penny. I don’t want to change it. I keep it for good fortune.’

‘Since when did you have a lucky penny?’ Ishraq asked him. ‘I thought you were just telling that girl a story. What’s so lucky about it?’

‘I had it in my pocket when I was snatched by the sea, and when everything else was washed from my pocket I still had this one penny,’ Freize said. ‘And do you see? It was minted by the Pope himself, in the Vatican, in the year of my birth. It’s practically an amulet. What could be luckier than that?’

The merchant bowed slightly and put the rest of the copper coins in his set of scales, balanced a weight against them and showed Freize the result. ‘That’s your copper.’

‘No worse than I expected,’ Freize said cheerfully. ‘Try the silver.’

‘I can give you a half noble for it all,’ the trader said, weighing the handfuls of coins and chips of metal in his scales.

‘I’ll take it,’ Freize replied.

The man tipped the copper coins into a little sack, and the silver into one of the boxes at his side. He opened the other box and, before Ishraq could glimpse more than the gleam of gold, took out an English half noble and handed it over to Freize.

‘You don’t weigh it?’ Ishraq asked him. ‘You trust the weight of the English noble?’

He made a little bow to her. ‘This is why everyone wants the English noble coins. They are all, always, full weight.’

Confidently, he tossed it into the scales and showed her the weight. ‘Fifty-four grains,’ he said. ‘A full noble is 108. They all are. Always. They are perfect coins.’

‘It looks like new!’ Freize exclaimed. ‘As if it were fresh from the mint.’

The man nodded. ‘As I said, they’re very fine coins,’ he confirmed.

‘But how can it be so shiny and fine?’ Ishraq asked him. ‘Since it must have come all the way from England, from the royal mint in England?’

The man shrugged. ‘Actually, it came from the English royal mint in Calais,’ he said shortly. ‘You can tell by the signs on the coin if you look closely.’

‘They hardly look like coins at all,’ Freize said, accustomed to the worn and jagged currency that he usually carried, coins that had been snipped and clipped by people wanting to break them down into smaller currency, or worn smooth by years of use.

‘Put it away before someone with less discernment takes it off you,’ the merchant recommended. ‘And before you make people think that there is something wrong with it.’ He glanced down the row of tables. Some of the traders were watching them. ‘We all exchange money here, the town depends on trade, like it depends on water. Nobody wants anyone looking at a coin and wondering about its value. A good piccoli buys you a loaf of bread and a fish for your dinner. Tell people that a piccoli is not really worth a penny, but only half a penny, and you’ll only get a loaf and no fish. Faith in the currency is what makes trade in this town. We don’t like people questioning our coins. Our coins are good, these nobles are exceptionally good, everyone else is trading them for more than two ducats. I shall put up my price again tomorrow. You are lucky that I have these at this price today. Take it or leave it.’

‘Indeed I wasn’t questioning it,’ Freize said pleasantly. ‘I was admiring it, I was so impressed by the quality. Thank you for your patience.’

He bowed politely to the money changer and then the two of them turned away and strolled towards the Rialto Bridge. ‘Let me see it,’ Ishraq said curiously. ‘What’s the coin like?’

In answer, Freize handed it to her. It was as bright as newly minted, newly polished gold. There was a picture of a king in the prow of his ship on one side, and an eight-petalled heraldic rose on the other side. In English currency it was worth three shillings and four pence, a sixth of a pound; in Venice it could be exchanged today for a gold ducat, tomorrow it might be more or less.

‘It looks like new,’ Freize remarked. ‘Whatever he says.’

‘But who would be minting fake English nobles in Venice?’ Ishraq wondered aloud.

‘And that’s the very question that Milord has set Luca to answer,’ Freize agreed. ‘But I can’t help but wonder why Milord is so interested. It’s hardly a sign of the end of days. It’s hardly a holy inquiry. Since Luca is appointed to the Order of Darkness to travel throughout Christendom and find the signs for the end of the world, why would he be ordered to discover the source of gold coins in Venice? I would have thought it was rather a worldly question for an Order that was established by the Pope to discover the date of the end of the world. What do they care about the value of English nobles?’

He saw, in her downturned face, the same scepticism about Milord that he felt. ‘Ah, you don’t like him any more than I do,’ he said flatly.

‘I don’t know him,’ she said. ‘Who does know him? He has never let any of us see his face. He didn’t tell us anything, beyond ordering us to come to Venice in disguise to find out about the coins. He commands Luca and Brother Peter as the commander of their Order but he gives us no reason to trust him. He hates the Ottomans as if they were poison – well, I understand that – they have just conquered Constantinople and he thinks that if they reach Rome then the world will end. But I don’t see how to trust a man who lives his life as if he were always on the very edge of world disaster. His whole work, his whole life is waiting for the end of the world. He’s an angry man and a fearful man, I really don’t like him.’