Doria obliged them, albeit reluctantly, asking questions, and nodding sagely at their answers. But Harry knew his mind was elsewhere. He was tense and his hand hovered near his sword as the coach made its way, with some difficulty, through the crowded narrow streets, with much shoving and shouting from their escorts before emerging into the more spacious boulevards of the city proper. The buildings now looked reasonably new, with fine stone fronts and carved lintels over the huge windows. But they were mixed in with ancient structures. They passed an imposing church, twin-spired with a central dome, in walls made up of black and white marble in horizontal stripes. It stood at the apex of a crowded piazza, its roof towering above them. Once past this landmark, Doria lost his tense look, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

  He turned back to James. All in black, you say?"

  James nodded, making his next point quickly. It strikes me as curious that they didn't exchange a single word."

  Doria just looked at him, waiting for him to provide the answer.

  "It's as though speaking would have given them away.

  "How so?"

  "What if they'd spoken in French, Admiral? asked Harry, finally joining in. French may be common among well-educated citizens of Genoa, such as yourself, but it is hardly the language of local footpads."

  "I see that you share your compatriots obsession with that French sloop."

  "Captain Howlett's death was meant as a warning, Admiral. I can think of no one else who would gain from issuing one. Can you?"

  "I can, and I have already made my conclusions known to your Admiral."

  "Taken in conjunction with the attack on us last night..."

  "Signori! Provide me with evidence of a connection, and perhaps I will take your suspicions more seriously."

  "Until then? asked James.

  "I will institute some enquiries. A dozen black-clad villains cannot run around such a crowded city without attracting some notice.

  There was little passion in those words. The Ludlows were left wondering how energetic he would be. But being able to say nothing that would force him to action they remained silent.

  Again the tenements pressed closely on each side, until they once more emerged into an area of more imposing buildings. Each one occupied an entire block and Doria, noticing James interest, named the owners as they rattled over the cobblestones. All the great names of the Genoese republic seemed to be represented in these few thoroughfares. Doria reeled them off, preceding each name with the word Pa1a~zo, and pointing to the coats of arms that adorned the cap of each portico. Several Spinola palaces, Grimaldi, Fieschi, Visconti, Lecari, Gambaro, Pallavacino, and a modest nod to a palace of the extended Doria tribe.

  "They are certainly imposing enough, said James, his head bobbing from one side window to the other. Yet I wonder that the magnates of Genoa wish to construct their houses in such close proximity?"

  Doria smiled, but ventured no answer.

  James turned to Harry. I can envisage only two reasons. Either a fear of the mob, or the wish to outdo each other."

  "Since all the ground-floor windows are heavily barred, and those above are shuttered, I would choose the former, replied Harry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The coach shuddered to a stop outside another substantial building. James put his head out of the coach window again, and saw their guards take up defensive positions on either side of the great oak doors. The building was older, more weathered than the others, with white and black horizontal stripes in the same pattern as the large church they'd passed. Doria informed James how this denoted wealth since, in times past, only the important families of the Republic were permitted to decorate their residences in such way.

  ( The lack of windows on the ground floor made it look very forbid-ding. Indeed, with the size and thickness of the gates, and the narrowness of the windows above them, the place looked more like a fortress than a palace, harking back to an earlier age when open warfare was common in the streets of the Italian city states. Pitched battles were now a thing of the past, but the knife in the back, or the ambush of a poorly armed party, was still commonplace.

  The oak door swung open and they pulled into a shaded courtyard with a fountain in the centre surrounded by trees. Livened servants hurried to open the door and steps were produced. Other servants, under instructions from the coachman, and under the watchful eye of Admiral Doria, unloaded Harry's strongbox and carried it inside. Harry indicated silently that Pender should stay with the remainder of their possessions. The sudden laugh from a corner of the courtyard made him look towards the sound. A party of French marines lounged there, hats off, muskets leaning against the wall, taking their ease.

  Harry stared at them, trying to determine whether their presence represented a threat. If it did he was powerless to do much about it. He followed his brother inside.

  James stood with his head back, looking around the vaulted hallway, lit, even in daylight, by huge chandeliers and guttering candles in sconces around the bare stone walls. Tall desks lined one side of the area, each one with a clerk busy at his labour, quill pen in hand. Messengers brought slips of paper from various rooms that surrounded this central area, all transactions being carried out in a funereal hush of rustling parchment and whispered instructions.

  Admiral Doria's heavy footsteps echoing off the bare stone walls caused even the most conscientious of the clerks to look up from their labours. He made straight across the hallway and up the broad staircase, beckoning for Harry and James to follow. James noticed that the eyes of each clerk dwelt not on the Admiral, but on the chest being carried between the two servants following on behind, as though they were attempting to penetrate the stout wood of the brass-bound box and discover the value of the contents inside.

  Doria, followed by the brothers, bounded swiftly up the stairs and on reaching the first floor, without a knock or any form of announcement, flung open the double doors to a set of elegantly furnished rooms. The contrast with the hall and stairway could not have been more marked. The walls and ceilings were a blaze of colour, with frescos edged by ornate gilded cornices. Nymphs danced, gods played and beasts gambolled, all overseen by a benign deity.

  Doria didn't hesitate. He made his way across the carpeted room to another set of matching doors at the other end. These too were flung open and a buzz of conversation flowed out. Harry and James followed him as far as the doorway, stopping there to observe the scene that greeted them. They looked in upon yet another sumptuously appointed and decorated apartment. Well-dressed men, bewigged, in coats of every colour of silk, stood around in groups, while others sat on ornate couches engaged in earnest conversation. A fat, well-fed prelate, robed in the red of a cardinal of the Roman Church, stood surrounded by acolytes, his huge stomach ringed by a jewelled belt. All heads turned in Doria's direction and nods were exchanged as he crossed to the other side of the room, to yet another set of double doors. Harry and James were left standing in the second doorway, unsure what to do. The noise of conversation died as the occupants of the salon turned their attention to these strangers.

  There was no welcome in the looks, neither was there malice. Just undisguised curiosity. No one made any attempt to welcome them. James, more sure in such surroundings than his brother, bowed slightly, and with a touch of Harry's arm led the way into the throng. Those nearest them moved away, as if fearing physical contact. This movement revealed one other person obviously not part of this society. He stood alone and still, with his hands clasped behind his tricolour sash, the gaunt grey face expressionless. Harry stared at him, once more struck by the natural authority of the man. Even being politely ignored by those around him, he dominated his immediate area. Seeing the stare, he favoured Harry with a slight bow and a chilling smile.

  A servant sidled up to them carrying a tray bearing coffee and several varieties of sweetmeats. The babble of conversation resumed as the people in the room turned their attention back to their own business. Another servant, a rouged fellow in an old-fashioned wig, senior to the others by the cut of his livery, eased himself through the groups, bowed low, and beckoned for them to follow. Again the conversation faltered as they were led to the other set of doors, which opened to admit them. Doria stood in the inner sanctum by a large ornate fireplace. Tall windows overlooking the courtyard filled the room with light. Two men in plain black coats rose from behind matching Louis Quinze desks as they were shown in, and advanced to be introduced.

  "The brothers Guistiani, Signori, boomed Doria, addressing the Ludlows. Then he turned to the two men, and in a quieter tone, reversed the introduction. I bring these gentlemen to you on a personal recommendation. Please treat them as though you were transacting business for me."

  The words were certainly impressive, but somehow the delivery lacked conviction, as though in the presence of these two Doria was in some way diminished. The Admiral gave them a slight bow, then left the room.

  "The Admiral's introduction was somewhat brief, said the taller of the two Guistiani brothers, he too bowing slightly. Allow me a proper introduction. I am Giacomo Guistiani, and this is my brother Alfredo."

  The shorter one bowed also, but there was no servility in either of these acts of courtesy. Harry spoke for them both, since James seemed more intent on the paintings that lined the office walls. Harry and James Ludlow."

  "Admiral Doria informs us that you require our services."

  Harry was looking around the room too, but not at the walls. He was seeking the strongbox, which was nowhere to be seen. A slight frown crossed his face. James, having finished his inspection, turned to look at his brother, seemingly unaware of the nature of his curiosity. Harry pulled an oilskin pouch from the inside of his coat.

  "I have here some letters of credit from my bankers in London."

  The elder of the Guistiani brothers raised his eyebrows, as if to question the fact that Admiral Doria was unaware of this addition to their available funds.

  "Splendid. Alfredo Guistiani was more businesslike than his elder brother, immediately holding out his hand to take the pouch. He turned away from the Ludlows to examine the contents. Simultaneously a side door opened and an elderly clerk, with the grey skin of a man who saw little sunlight, sidled up to the older brother, handing him a slip of paper. Giacomo glanced at it, and waved the clerk away, raising his head to smile at Harry as the man retreated through the side door. He reached behind him to his desk and picked up another slip of paper, passing it to Harry.

  "The Admiral informs me that he is indebted to you for this sum, which, for convenience, we have calculated at the latest price we have from London."

  Harry looked closely at the paper, frowned, but said nothing. Then he looked at it again and the frown deepened and a flash of anger crossed his face. He passed the slip of paper to James, who, in turn, examined it. He too frowned as soon as he saw that the Admiral had, by using imaginative accounting related to the differing value of both bullion and the currencies, substantially increased the percentage of his gain. Harry indicated the papers that Alfredo Guistiani was still studying.

  "I can appreciate currency fluctuations on letters of credit, Signor Guistiani. That is in the nature of things, and accepted by all as matter of some risk. But that strongbox contained gold, and the price of that, so close to a zone of conflict, tends to be high. It is also well known that gold has less value in England than it does on the entire continent of Europe. To set it at the English rate is to devalue it."

  Giacomo's face showed not the slightest flicker of reaction at the implications of what Harry was saying.

  "It would also be true to say that this is not the only banking concern in the Republic, added James, still frowning at the paper in his hand.

  "That is true, of course. But I would be disappointed if a good friend like Admiral Doria were to deposit his funds elsewhere."

  The banker emphasized the word his', and the inference of that was as plain as a pikestaff. You have come to some arrangement with the

  Admiral. It's his money we've deposited. If you want to dispute the sum he has given you, take it up with him.

  The smaller Guistiani, who had finished perusing Harry's letters of credit, quickly grabbed a pen and wrote on yet another slip of paper. Then he intervened, passing the paper to his brother. Giacomo looked at it, a slight flicker of his eyebrow showing that he was impressed. Had Harry not been angry, perhaps he would have admired the smooth way that Giacomo Guistiani executed a hundred-and-eighty degree turn.

  "It was, of course a hurried affair. And once we have had it checked, the figure in your hand could well be revised."

  "Upwards, said Harry coldly.

  "As you so rightly point out, Signor Ludlow, gold, in times of trouble,

  tends to increase in value. And we do live in troubled times."

  Giacomo Guistiani smiled, and indicated that the Ludlow brothers should be seated. James declined, taking the opportunity to get a closer look at a large painting which dominated the wall above the mantelpiece. It was of Venice, Genoa's great commercial rival. James peered closely, looking not just at the content, but at the brushwork and colouring.

  "Canaletto? he said, without turning round.

  "Security, said Alfredo dismissively. For a loan to the Pope."

  Giacomo was looking at James back. These funds, gentlemen.

  Am I to understand that they are for the purchase of works of art? James shot a glance at Harry before speaking, eyebrows raised.

  His brother nodded, smiling. A proportion of the funds could be used for that purpose."

  "Ah. Admiral Doria mentioned that you wish to purchase a ship."

  Giacomo's brow creased, leaving no doubt that he regarded such an act as unwise. The harbour is full of such vessels, and one wonders if there is really enough profit to sustain them all, let alone the hands to crew them. I believe the situation in Livorno is even worse. In terms of investments, we could offer ventures with a higher potential return.. For instance, we have one gentleman waiting to see us who needs to dispose of a cargo of alum. Given that his need for funds is acute, and the shipment is due at any time, it would seem a better use for part of these funds than privateering."

  "Or art? asked James, finally sitting down.

  "Who knows, Signor, with war in the offing, if works of art are a good investment, said Alfredo mournfully.

  "I don't see them in financial terms, said James.

  "Alas, we are bankers. Aesthetic values are a luxury we can ill afford."

  "Then all these works of art are pledges?"

  Giacomo answered. No, Signor. Some of them are indeed ours."

  "So you do collect?"

  "Of course. But some of those you see here have come by default. While they afford great pleasure, the method of their acquisition does not."

  James favoured them both with a slim smile. I imagine that my brother has a similar attitude to investments in cargoes of alum. But if you feel that you're unable to assist ..

  "Please, Signor Ludlow, said the older Guistiani, hand held high to stop James. It is no part of our duties to direct our clients. If you wish to purchase a painting, or a sculpture, so be it. We will happily do all in our power to introduce you to those who have artefacts to sell. As for a ship, then there is also someone in the next room who has a ship available."

  Harry's attention had wandered at all this talk of art. But the mention of a ship brought him back into the conversation. It would have to be the right sort of craft."

  "I think I can guarantee that. The price, however, will be high, since it has just come out of the dockyard after an extensive refit."

  "And commissions? asked Harry, his caution doubled by the previous chicanery with the gold.

  "They fall upon the vendor, said Alfredo. The ship would seem perfect for the task you have in mind, though I cannot say that encouraging someone to prey on cargo vessels is something I would normally engage in."

  "Rest assured, Signor Guistiani, the ships of Genoa will be entirely safe."

  "Would that all your fellow countrymen showed equal restraint, said Giacomo sourly.

  Harry wondered if he was referring to Bartholomew. Was that how they made their money, preying on Genoese ships, like a parasite on a host body? He would ask, perhaps, when he knew this man better.

  "I know of fellow countrymen of mine who would rather you didn't trade with their enemies."

  Giacomo smiled. Enemies, Signor? The only enemies we have are usury and poverty."

  There was an unmistakable trace of eagerness in Harry's tone as he spoke again. I would like to meet this shipowner."

  "Then please come this way, said Giacomo.

  Alfredo Guistiani returned to his desk, content to leave his brother to carry out the task while he got on with the business of running the various family interests. Again all the heads turned as the doors opened, but this time, instead of patent uninterest, the crowd of people looked towards the Ludlows eagerly, their status obviously enhanced by the presence of one of the banking brothers. Giacomo led them through the crowd, ignoring the keen, and occasionally desperate, looks of most of those he passed. He paused quite deliberately by the tall Frenchman, forcing Harry and James to stop.

  Mr.. Ludlow, said Giacomo. Allow me to name Monsieur Tilly, the French charge d'affaires to the Republic of Genoa."

  The man bowed slightly as Guistiani introduced them. Harry was struck by the lack of expression, even in the man's eyes. Yet he had the feeling that he was looking at someone who harboured a great deal of passion, but took great care to keep it in check. The fat cardinal was close by, yet it was this black-clad figure who looked more like a priest. Harry bowed in return and they passed on.

  "A neat way to underscore the utter neutrality of a man of commerce, said James quietly.

  "No wonder Hood is worried about this place, replied Harry, earning a frown from his brother.

  A knot of gaudily dressed men, gathered round a chaise, parted to let them through, and Harry was startled to see a very beautiful girl, who could not have yet reached full maturity, sitting on the couch. Surprised, for this was definitely a salon for gentlemen only. A place of business, not society. And surely no place for such an innocent-looking creature.