The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [92]
Giacomo could not speak for some moments, his voice weak from the coughs and screams.
The figure took his hesitation for defiance. Had he but known it, Giacomo would have told him anything, everything, if only he could.
`Do you know why no man ever escapes from here?'
Giacomo knew very well. He desperately tried to say yes, for he did not want to hear it again, not here.
`Because if a guard ever lets a prisoner escape, that guard must finish the prisoner's sentence'
At last Giacomo could croak. `I know.'
The faceless figure inclined its cowled head. `Then you see, I am your only hope!
Hope. Hope from the Devil.
'We went to Sant'Ariano. To your friend's grave. Do you know what we found?'
Silence.
`We found loose earth and torn sackcloth. Your friend has gone'
The clouds parted for Giacomo, as realization dawned. Non omnis moriar. Corradino did not altogether die. He felt like singing. His secret hope since he had read the Latin words had come to pass. His son was alive. The note which he had kept was an assurance, an instruction that he should not grieve. Praise God. Giacomo felt warm for the first time in months. But the voice went on:
`That night a ship was chartered from Mestre to Marseilles. Two men boarded from a fishing bark which was found with earth in the bottom.Your friend Corrado Manin has gone to France. He is the one we seek.'
A fast as joy and relief came, they left again. Giacomo felt the bile rise as he knew what had been done to him, to Murano, to the art of glass and mirror-making to which he had devoted his life. His dry eyes sprang fresh tears in the dark, but they were not the cold tears of grief but the hot tears of anger. I shall not altogether die. No, but you have killed me, and our trade too. Corradino, my son, how could you? You have given our secrets away. Non omnis moriar.
The words were echoed in the hideous voice. `Non omnis moriar.'
Giacomo's blood froze. They had been to his house. Of course they had. They had the note.
`I see these words have some significance. We found his letter to you.'
Giacomo cursed himself. Sentiment had made him keep the note - the last thing that Corradino wrote, or so he thought. This note, which meant his own death, was a keepsake from a man who had betrayed him. If Giacomo had known what was planned, he would have killed Corradino himself. The irony was exquisite.
`You helped him.' Again, a statement.
`No!'
`You knew what he planned. He wrote you the note.'
`No, I swear it. 'A scream at the last.
`You will die here.'
They left him then. The light, the phantom and the guard outside. As the footsteps receded, Giacomo began to scream. The pain in his chest and throat were nothing. The betrayal hurt the most.
Wordless, nameless hours later. His hours were filled with Corradino, laughing at him, taking his expertise and charity, and yes, love, for years and now making the best glass of his life for the French.The palaces in Giacomo's head were made of walls of crystal. The chairs, tables and food were glass. Corradino sat at the table which groaned with glass food. He ate his fill of the glass delicacies till the blood ran from his mouth, laughing all the time with a glass King. He must be stopped.
Giacomo felt death approach him. And Death came. Again with a guard and a candle.
The door was opened and the phantom entered. `Well? Are you ready?'
Giacomo's voice was weak, but just audible.
`If I tell you, will you give me materials to write to my son Roberto?
It was like bargaining with the Devil and it took the last of Giacomo's courage. The terrible shade inclined its cowled head. `I will send you a scribe if you tell me what I need. And I will send you all comforts for your last hours. Now, hurry. Your life is ebbing away.'
`My son ... he is in Vicenza. He bears the del Piero name. I wish him ... I want him to know, and his sons to know, that Corradino finished me, and that he, not I, was the traitor.'
`It shall be accomplished. Now, what do you have to tell me?'
`Corradino, he